AT MARKET VALUE 
 
MEW NOVELS AT ALL LIBRARIES. 
 
 A COUNTRY SWEETHEART. By Dora Rlssell. 3 vols. 
 
 LOURDES. By E. Zola, i vol. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF A LANDLADY. By G. R. Sims, i vol. 
 
 RED AND WHITE HEATHER. By Robert Buchanan. 
 I vol. 
 
 THE RED SHIRTS. By Paul Gaulot. i vol. 
 
 MR. SADLER'S DAUGHTERS. By Hugh Coleman David- 
 
 SON. I vol. 
 
 A SECRET OF THE SEA. By T. W. S.eight. 1 vol. 
 THE SCORPION. By E. A. Vizetellv. 1 vol. 
 TOM SAWYER ABROAD. By Mark Twain. 
 
 London: CHATTO & WINDUS, 214 Piccadilly. 
 
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 B IHovel 
 
 BV 
 
 GRANT ALLEN 
 
 'this mortal CO 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 IL,' ' BLOOD ROYAL,' 'THE SCALLYWAO,' KTC. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 VOL. L 
 
 UonHon 
 CHATTO cS: WINDUS, PICCADILLY 
 
 1894 
 
COlBtCK> 
 
 U.B.C. 
 
 Libraries> 
 
CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 UHAPTEK 
 
 fAOE 
 
 I. AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING . - - - 1 
 
 II. MRS. HESSLEGRAVE 'AT HOME' - - - 16 
 
 III. MILLIONAIRE AND SAILOR - - " - B2 
 
 IV. FRATERNAL AMENITIES - - " - 48 
 V. A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 
 
 VI. A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 
 VII. MAKING THEIR MINDS UP - - - - 9o 
 
 VIII. A DIGRESSION ------ 108 
 
 IX. BY THE BLUE ADRIATIC 
 X. VISITORS IN VENICE - - - - 
 
 XI. MRS. HESSLEGRAVE MISAPPREHENDS - - - 150 
 
 XII. A mother's DILEMMA .... 165 
 
 XIII. A MISSING LOVER . - - - 
 
 XIV. THE AXMINSTER PEERAGE 
 
 64 
 79 
 
 122 
 135 
 
 183 
 196 
 
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 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING. 
 
 'TwAS a dejected, dispirited, sheepish-looking thron^^ 
 that gathered, one black Wednesday, round the big 
 back door in Burlington Gardens. For it was Taking- 
 away Day at the Eoyal Academy. 
 
 For weeks before that annual holocaust, many 
 anxious hearts have waited and watched in eager 
 suspense for the final verdict of the Hanging Com- 
 mittee. To hang or not to hang — that is the ques- 
 tion. But on Taking-away Day the terrible fiat at 
 last arrives ; the Committee regret (on a litho- 
 graphed form) that want of space compels them to 
 decline Mr. So-and-so's oil-painting, ' The Fall of 
 Babylon,' or Miss Whatshername's water-colour, * By 
 Leafy Thames,' and politely inform them that they 
 
 VOL. I. 1 
 
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 may remove tlicm iii llicir leisure, uiul at tlieir own 
 expense, from ]5urliiigton House by the back door 
 aforesaid. Then follows a sad ceremony: the rejecti'd 
 flock together to recover their slighted goods, and 
 keep one anotlier company in their liour of humilia- 
 tion. It is a comnumity of grief, a fellowship in 
 misery. Eacli is only sustained from withering under 
 the observant eyes of his neighbour by the inward 
 consciousness that that neighbour himself, after all, is 
 in the self-same l)Ox, and has been the recipient that 
 day of an identical letter. 
 
 Nevertheless it was some consolation to Kathleen 
 Hesslegrave in her disappointment to observe the 
 varying moods and shifting humours of her fellow- 
 sufferers among the rejected. She had a keon. sense of 
 the ridiculous, and it lightened her troul)le somewhat 
 to watch among the crowd the different funny ways in 
 which other people bore or concealed their own dis- 
 appointment for her edification. There were sundry 
 young men, for example, with long hair down their 
 backs and loose collars of truly Byronic expaiisiveness, 
 whom Kathleen at once recognised as unacclaimed 
 geniuses belonging to the very newest and extremest 
 school of modern impressionism. They hailed from 
 Newlyn. These lordly souls, budding Raphaels of the 
 future, strolled mto the big room with a careless air of 
 absolute unconcern, as who should wonder they had 
 
/l.V ACCIDENTAL MEETING 3 
 
 ever doif^nefl to submit their immortal works to the 
 arlHtrameiit of a mere everyday Hangin;^' Committee ; 
 and they affected to f«el very Httle surprise indeed at 
 finding; that a vulgar bourgeois world had disdained 
 their efforts. They disdained the vulgar l)Ourgeois 
 world in return with contempt at compound interest 
 visibly written on their {esthetic features. Others, 
 older and shabbier, slunk in unol>sorvcd, and 
 shouldered their canvases, mostly unobtrusive land- 
 scapes, with every appearance of anti(|ue familiarity. 
 It was not the first time they had received that insult. 
 Yet others again — and these were chiefly young girls 
 — advanced blushing and giggling a little from sup- 
 pressed nervousness, to recover with shame their 
 unvalued property. Here and there, too, a l)ig 
 burly-shouldered man elbowed his way through the 
 crowd as though the place belonged to him, and 
 hauled off his mafinum opus (generally a huge field of 
 historical canvas, * King Edward at Calais,' or, 
 * The Death of Attila ') with a defiant face which 
 seemed to bode no good to the first Academi- 
 cian he might chance to run against on his way 
 down Bond Street. A few, on the contrary, were 
 anxious to explain, with unnecessary loudness of 
 voice, that they hadn't sent in themselves at all this 
 year ; they had called for a picture by a friend — that 
 was all, really. Kathleen stood aside and watched 
 
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 their varied moods with quiet amusement ; it dis- 
 tracted her attention for the time from her own poor 
 picture. 
 
 At last she found herself almost the only person 
 remaining out of that jostling crowd, wiih a sailor- 
 looking man, brown and bronzed, beside her. 
 
 ' " In a Side Canal ; Kathleen Hesslegrave." Yes, 
 this is yours, mum,' the porter said gruffly. ' But 
 you'll want a man to take it down to the cab for 
 you.' 
 
 Kathleen glanced at her little arms ; they were not 
 very strong, to be sure, though plump and shapely. 
 Then she looked at the porter. But the porter stood 
 unmoved. With a struggling little effort Kathleen 
 tried to lift it. ' In a Side Canal ' was a tolerably 
 big picture, and she failed to manage it. The sailor- 
 looking body by her side raised his hat with a smile. 
 His face was brown and weather-beaten, but he had 
 beautiful teeth, very white and regular, and when he 
 smiled he showed them. He looked like a gentleman, 
 too, though he was so roughly dressed, with a sailor's 
 roughness. * May I help you '?' he asked, as he raised 
 his hat. 'We two seem to be the last — I suppose 
 because we were more modestly retiring than the rest 
 of them. This is a good big picture.' 
 
 * Yes,' Kathleen answered regretfully. * And it took 
 me a good long time to paint it.' 
 
AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING 5 
 
 The sailor-looking young man glanced at the subject 
 carelessly. 
 
 *0h, Venetian!' he cried. 'Why, how odd! 
 We're neighbours. Mine's Venetian, too. The very 
 next canal ; I painted it quite close to San Giovanni e 
 Paolo.' 
 
 * So did I,' Kathleen exclaimed, brightening up, a 
 little surprised at the coincidence. 
 
 ' When were you there ?' 
 
 ' Last autumn.' 
 
 ' Then I wonder we never met,' the young man put 
 in with another sunshiny smile. * I was working on 
 that canal every day of my life from November to 
 January.' 
 
 He was carrying her picture as he spoke towards the 
 door for a cab. 
 
 * Oh, how funny !' Kathleen exclaimed, looking 
 closer at his features. ' It's queer we never hap- 
 pened to knock up against one another. And we 
 knew so many people in Venice, too. Used you ever 
 to go to the Martindales' palazzo ?' 
 
 The young man smiled once more, this time a 
 restrained smile of deprecatory modesty. If his teeth 
 were good, he certainly lost no opportunity of show- 
 ing them. 
 
 ' No ; I didn't know the Martindales,' he answered 
 very hastily, as if anxious to disclaim the social 
 
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 honour thus thrust upon him, for the Martindales 
 lead Anglo-Venetian society. 
 
 ' Then, perhaps, the Chericis ?' Kathleen interposed 
 once more, with that innate human desire we all of us 
 feel to find some common point with every stranger 
 we run against. 
 
 ' No,' her new friend replied, looking graver now. 
 ' Nor Countess Cherici either. In point of fact, I may 
 say — except one or two other painter-fellows, if I can 
 call myself a painter — I know nobody in Venice. I 
 was not in society.' 
 
 ' Oh !' Kathleen answered, dropping her voice 
 a little ; for, though she was a sensible girl, in the 
 circle she had been brought up in, not to be in society 
 was considered almost criminal. 
 
 The young man noted the sudden drop in her voice, 
 and a curious little line developed itself for a second 
 near the corners of his mouth — an upward line, 
 curving sideways obliquely. It was clear he was 
 amused by her altered demeanour. But he made no 
 reply. He only bore the picture gravely to the door 
 of the Academy, and there tried to call the attention 
 of some passing hansom. But it was clearly useless. 
 They were all engaged already, and the crush at the 
 door was still so great there could be no chance of 
 hiring one for another ten minutes. So the young 
 man laid down the big picture near the door, with its 
 
AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING 7 
 
 face propped up against the entrance wall, and saying 
 quietl}^ * I'll help you in with it hy-and-by when I see 
 any chance,' went back to the inner room to recover 
 his own Venetian canvas. 
 
 He was gone a minute ; and when he returned, 
 Katlileen could see he almost ostentatiously set his 
 own picture down at some distance from hers, as 
 though he was little anxious to continue the conversa- 
 tion. She was sori-y for that. He had seemed so 
 eager to help her with such genuine kindliness ; and 
 she was afraid he saw his last remark about not being 
 in society had erected an instinctive class-barrier 
 between them. So, after a moment's hesitation, she 
 left her own work to take care of itself, and took a 
 step or t\\o forward toward her new acquaintance's 
 ambitious canvas. ' You saw mine,' she said apolo- 
 getically, by way of reopening conversation : * May I 
 see yours? One likes to sit in Judgment on the 
 Hanging Committee.' 
 
 The young man seemed pleased. He had a speak- 
 ing face, and was handsome withal, with a seafaring 
 handsomeness. ' Oh yes, if you like,' he answered ; 
 * though I'm afraid you won't care for it.' And he 
 turned the painted face of the picture towards her. 
 
 ' But why on earth didn't they take it ?' Kathleen 
 cried spontaneously, almost as soon as she saw it. 
 ' What lovely light on the surface of the water ! And 
 
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 oh ! the beautiful red sails of those Chioggia fishing- 
 boats !' 
 
 ' I'm glad you like it,' the stranger replied, with 
 evident pleasure, blushing like a girl. * I don't care 
 for criticism as a rule, but I love sincerity ; and the 
 way you spoke showed me at once you were really 
 sincere about it. That's a very rare quality — about 
 the hardest thing to get in this world, I fancy.' 
 
 * Yes, I was quite sincere,' Kathleen answered with 
 truth. ' It's a beautiful picture. The thing I can't 
 understand is why on earth they should have re- 
 jected it.' 
 
 The young man shrugged his shoulders and made 
 an impatient gesture. * They have so many pictures 
 to judge in so short a time,' he answered with a 
 tolerance which was evidently habitual to him. * It 
 doesn't do to expect too much from human nature. 
 All men are fallible, with perhaps the trifling exception 
 of the Pope. We make mistakes ourselves, some- 
 times; and in landscape especially they have such 
 miles to choose from. Not,' he went on after a short 
 pause, * that I mean to say I consider my own fishing- 
 boats good enough to demand success, or even to 
 deserve it. I'm the merest beginner. I was thinking 
 only of the general principle.' 
 
 'I'm afraid you're a dreadful cynic,' Kathleen put 
 in with a little wave of her pretty gloved hand, just 
 
AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING 9 
 
 to keep up the conversation. She was still engaged 
 in looking close into the details of his rejected handi- 
 craft. Though deficient in technique, it had marked 
 imagination. 
 
 The stranger smiled a broader and more genial 
 smile than ever. * Oh no, not a cynic, I hope,' he 
 answered with emphasis, in a way that left no doubt 
 about his own sincerity. * It isn't cynical, surely, to 
 recognise the plain facts of human nature. We're all 
 of us prone to judge a good deal by the most super- 
 ficial circumstances. Suppose now, you and I were 
 on the Hanging Committee ourselves : just at first, of 
 course, we'd be frightfully anxious to give every work 
 the fullest and fairest consideration. Eesponsibility 
 would burden us. We would weigh each picture well, 
 and reject it only after due deliberation. But human 
 nature can't keep up such a strain as that for long 
 together. We'd begin very fresh, but towards the 
 end of the day we'd be dazed and tired. We'd say : 
 " Whose is that? Ah ! by So-and-so's son; a brother 
 R. A. I know his father. Well, it's not badly painted ; 
 we'll let it in, I think. What do you say, Jiggamaree?" 
 And then with the next: "Who's this by, porter? 
 Oh, a fellow called Smith ! Not very distinctive, is 
 it ? H'm ; we've rejected every bit as good already ; 
 space is getting full. Well, put it away for the 
 present, Jones: we'll mark it doubtful." That's 
 
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 human nature, after all ; and what we each of us feel 
 we would do ourselves, we can none of us fairly blame 
 in others.' 
 
 * But I call that cynicism,' Kathleen persisted, look- 
 ing up at him. 
 
 If the stranger was a cynic, he had certainly caught 
 the complaint in its most genial form, for he answered 
 at once with perfect good-humour : ' Oh no, I don't 
 think so. It's mere acceptance of the facts of life. 
 The cynic assumes a position of censure. He implies 
 that human nature does this, that, or the other thing, 
 which ]«', with his higher and purer moral sense, 
 would never so much as dream of doing. Knowledge 
 of the world is not necessarily cynicism. The cynical 
 touch is added to it by want of geniality and of human 
 tolerance. It is possible for us to know what men and 
 women are like, and yet to owe them no grudge for it 
 — to recognise that, after all, we are all of us au fond 
 very nearly identical.' 
 
 He spoke like a gentleman and a man of culture. 
 Kathleen was a little surprised, now she heard him 
 talk, to find him so much more educated than she 
 had at first fancied. For his rough exterior had 
 rather prejudiced her against the sailor - looking 
 stranger. But his voice was so pleasant, and his 
 smile so frank, that she really quite admired him, in 
 spite of his sentiments. She was just going to answer 
 
AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING II 
 
 him, in defence of human nature, against his supposed 
 strictures, when a voice in the crowd close by dis- 
 tracted her attention. ' Why, Miss Hesslegrave, there 
 you are !' it cried. ' I wondered if I should see you. 
 Oh, yes, indeed, I also am among the killed and 
 wounded. I've got no fewer than three of them. 
 What, all my pretty ones ! A perfect massacre of the 
 innocents. But there, the Hanging Committee is as 
 bad as its name. No respecter of persons. Euthless, 
 ruthless, ruthless ! And Arnold Willoughby, too ! 
 Well, Willoughby, how are you ? I really didn't 
 know you two knew each other.' 
 
 * We don't,' Kathleen answered, taking the new- 
 comer's hand. ' We've only just met here. But 
 your friend's been so kind. He's carried my poor 
 rejected picture down for me, and we're waiting for a 
 cab. It is such a crush — and all of us trying to pre- 
 tend we don't mind about it !' 
 
 ' Who's cynical now ?' the stranger put in, with a 
 mischievous twinkle in his eye. ' I do mind very 
 much ; it's bread and butter to nte ; and I don't pre- 
 tend to conceal it. But I'll leave you now. I see 
 you've found a friend, and I can be of no further 
 service to you.' He raised his hat with more grace 
 than Kathleen could have expected from those rough 
 sailor-like clothes : ' Good-bye,' he said ; * Mortimer, 
 you'll see after the picture.' 
 
12 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 The American, for he was one, nodded a polite 
 assent. 
 
 * Howhickyl am, Miss Hesslegrave,' he murmured, 
 ' to have met you by accident ! And talking to Wil- 
 loughby, too ! You can't think what a conquest that 
 is.' He glanced with some amusement after the 
 stranger's retreating figure. 'You know,' he said, 
 lowering his voice, * Willoughby's a professed miso- 
 gynist, or next door to one, anyhow ; this is the very 
 first time I've ever seen him speaking to a lady. As 
 a rule, he runs away from them the moment he sees 
 one. It was conjectured in Venice among the fellows 
 who knew him that he had been what school- girls 
 describe as "crossed in love," he avoided them so 
 carefully. I suppose the truth is one of them must 
 have jilted him.' 
 
 ' He was very kind to me,' Kathleen interposed 
 quietly. ' He saw me struggling with this great big 
 canvas, and he came up to help me, and was so nice 
 and polite about it.' 
 
 * Ah yes,' the American answered, a little lower 
 than before, with a meaning glance. ' Kind to you, 
 Miss Hesslegrave ; that doesn't prove much ; even a 
 confirmed misogynist could hardly be less ; we must 
 allow for circumstances.' 
 
 Kathleen coloured a little, but didn't altogether dis- 
 like the compliment, for Mortimer was rich — very rich 
 
AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING 13 
 
 indeed — and the acknowledged catch of the artistic 
 American colony in Paris. But she turned the subject 
 hastily. 
 
 * Where did you meet him ?' she asked, looking 
 down at her pretty shoes. ' He's so rough-looking 
 outside ; yet he seems a gentleman.' 
 
 * Oh, he is a gentleman, undoubtedly,' Mortimer 
 answered with true American candour ; * a born 
 gentleman, though not quite the conventional one. 
 He's as poor as a church mouse, and he's been a 
 sailor, I fancy.' 
 
 ' Who is he ?' Kathleen asked with evident 
 interest. 
 
 ' Ah, who is he ? That's the question,' Mortimer 
 answered mysteriously. * He's a dark horse, I imagine. 
 I picked him up accidentally last autumn in Venice. 
 He used to lodge at a tiny Italian trattoria, down a 
 side canal — not far from my palazzo — and live off 
 fritura — you know the sort of stuff— fish, flesh, and 
 fowl, three meals a penny.' 
 
 ' How brave of him !' Kathleen said simply. ' He 
 looks very nice. And all for art's sake, I suppose, 
 Mr. Mortimer ?' 
 
 The American laughed. 
 
 'All for poverty's sake, I imagine,' he answered 
 with candour. * So he told me himself. He didn't 
 care so much about art, he said, as about earning a 
 
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 livelihood ; and I really believe he starves in his den 
 when he sells no pictures.' 
 
 * Why did he run away from us '?' Kathleen asked, 
 peering around into the crowd to see if she could 
 discover him. 
 
 * Well, to tell you the truth,' Mortimer replied, ' I 
 think it was mainly because he saw me come up ; and 
 also because of the faint intonation in your voice when 
 you said, " We don't know one another." Willoughby's 
 a misogynist, as I told you, and he's also sensitive, 
 absurdly sensitive — he might almost be one of my 
 fellow-countrj-men. I don't doubt, when you said 
 that, he took it as his dismissal. He understood you 
 to mean, *' Now I've done, sir, with i/ok. Here's 
 somebody else I know. You may go al)out your busi- 
 ness." And being a person who always feels acutely 
 when he's de trap, he went about his business at once, 
 accordingly.' 
 
 * I'm sorry,' Kathleen put in ; ' for I really rather 
 liked him.' 
 
 *0h, he's a thorough good sort,' the American 
 answered quickly. ' He's sterling, Willoughby is. 
 Not at all the sort of man that's given away with a 
 pound of tea. None of your cotton-backed gentlemen. 
 You may test him all through, and you'll find from 
 head to foot he's the genuine material.' 
 
 * Couldn't you bring him with you to tea, this after- 
 
AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING 1^ 
 
 noon ?' Kathleen suggested, half hesitating. ' I think 
 mamma sent you an "at home" card for Wednesdays.' 
 'Oh, I'm coming,' the American answered with 
 prompt acquiescence ; ' I have not forgotten it, Miss 
 Hesslegrave ; is it likely I should ? Well, no, I don't 
 think so. But as for AVilloughby— ah, there you 
 know, that's quite a different matter. I don't suppose 
 anything on earth would induce him to go to an "at 
 home " of anybody's. He'd say it was hollow ; and he 
 despises hollowness. He'll never go in for anything 
 but realities. To tell you the truth, I think the only 
 reason he spoke to you at all at the Academy here this 
 morning was because he saw a chance of being of 
 some practical service to you ; and the moment the 
 practical s<irvice was performed, he took the very first 
 opportunity that offered to slip off and leave you. 
 That's Willoughby all over. He cares for nothing at 
 all in life except its realities.' 
 
CHAPTEE II. 
 
 MRS. HESSLEGRAVE ' AT HOME.' 
 
 That same afternoon, Mrs. Hesslegrave's little rooms 
 in a side street in Kensington were inconveniently 
 crowded. Mrs. Hesslegrave would have been wounded 
 to the core had it been otherwise. For, though she 
 was poor, she was still 'in Society.' Every second 
 "Wednesday through the season Mrs. Hesslegrave re- 
 ceived ; sooner would she have gone without breakfast 
 and dinner than have failed to fill her rooms for after- 
 noon tea with ' the Best People.' Indeed, Mrs. Hessle- 
 grave was the exact antipodes of Arnold Willoughby. 
 'Twas for the appearances of life she lived, not for its 
 realities. ' It would look so well,' * it would look so 
 bad ' — those were the two phrases that rose oftenest 
 to her lips, the two phrases that summed up in anti- 
 thetical simplicity her philosophy of conduct. 
 
 Therefore it was a small matter to Mrs. Hesslegrave 
 that her friends were jostling and hustling each other 
 
^fRS. HESSLEGRAVE 'AT HOME' 
 
 17 
 
 to their mutual inconvenience in her tiny lodj^ings. 
 Their discomfort counted to her for less than nothing. 
 It looks 80 well to have your * at homes ' attended. It 
 looks so bad to see them empty, or, worse still, filled 
 by the wrong sort of people. 
 
 *0h, here's that dear Mr. Mortimer!' Mrs. Ilessle- 
 grave gushed forth, rising with empresscmcnt as the 
 young American entered. * How do you do, Mr. 
 Mortimer? How good of you to come! Kathleen, 
 will you take Mr. Mortimer into the other room to 
 have a cup of tea ? I'll introduce him to you, -Lady 
 Barnard, as soon as ever he comes back. Such a 
 charming young man !' Mrs. Hesslegrave had 
 smoothed her path in life by the judicious use of that 
 one word charm inr/. 'He's an American, you know, 
 of course, but not the least like most of them ; so 
 cultivated and nice, and belongs, I am told, to a first- 
 rate old Philadelphia family. Eeally, it's quite sur- 
 prising what charming Americans one meets about 
 nowadays — the best sort, I mean — the ladies and 
 gentlemen. You wouldn't believe it, but this young 
 man hasn't the slightest Yankee accent ; he speaks 
 like an English officer.' Mrs. Hesslegrave's late 
 lamented husband had been a General of Artillery, 
 and she looked upon an English officer accordingly 
 as the one recognised model of deportment and cliar- 
 acter in the two hemispheres. * Besides, he's very 
 
 VOL. I. 2 
 
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 well off indeed, they tell me ; he's iron in the States, 
 and an artist in Paris ; but he practises art for art's 
 sake only, and not as a means of livelihood, like my 
 poor dear Kathleen. Such a delightful young man ! 
 You really must know him.' 
 
 Lady Barnard smiled, and in less than ten minutes 
 was deep in conversation with the * charming ' Ameri- 
 can. And charming he was, to say the truth ; for 
 once in its life, Mrs. Hesslegrave's overworked adjec- 
 tive of social appreciation was judiciously applied to 
 a proper object. The rich young American had all 
 the piquant frankness and cordiality of his nation, 
 with all the grace and tact of Parisian society. More- 
 over, he was an artist ; and artists must be surely poor 
 creatures to start with if the mere accidents of their 
 profession don't make them interesting. He was 
 chatting away most brightly to Lady Barnard about 
 the internal gossip of Parisian studios, when the door 
 opened once more, and the neat-capped maid with the 
 long white apron announced in her clearest official 
 voice, * Canon and Mrs. Valentine !' 
 
 Their hostess rose once more quite effusively from 
 her place, and advanced towards the new-comers with 
 her best smile of welcome. Mrs. Hesslegrave had no 
 fewer than seven distinct gradations of manner for 
 receiving her guests; and you could gather at once 
 their relative importance in the social scale by observ- 
 
MRS. HESSLEGRAVE 'AT HOME' 19 
 
 ing as they arrived Avith which of the seven Mrs. 
 Hesslegrave greeted them. It was clear, therefore, 
 that the Valentines were people of distinction : for 
 she moved forward towards the Canon and his wife 
 at the door with the sweetest inclination of that white- 
 haired head. 
 
 * Oh, how good of you to come!' she cried, clasp- 
 ing the lady's hand in both her own. * I know, Canon 
 Valentine, how very much engaged you are ! It is so 
 sweet of you!' 
 
 The Canon was a fat little bald-headed man, rather 
 waistless about the middle, and with a self-satisfied 
 smirk on his smooth red countenance. He had the 
 air of a Judge of port and horses. In point of 
 fact, he was a solitary survivor into our alien epoch 
 of the almost extinct type of frankly worldly 
 parson. 
 
 * Well, we arc rather driven, Mrs. Hesslegrave,' he 
 admitted with a sigh — heartless critics might almost 
 have called it a puff — pulling his white tie straight 
 with ostentatious scrupulosity. * The beginning of 
 the season, you see — torn by conflicting claims ; all 
 one s engagements before one ! But I've heard sitcJi 
 good news, such delightful news ! I've come here 
 straight, you know, from dear Lady Axminster's.' 
 
 ' Ah, yes,' Mrs. Hesslegrave echoed, glancing 
 askance towards the American to see if he was 
 
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 listening. * She is so charming, isn't she — Lady 
 Axminster ?' 
 
 * Quite so,' the Canon answered. * A very dear old 
 cousin of minO; os you know, Lady Barnard ; and so 
 much cut up about this dreadful business of her 
 scapegrace grandson. Well, we've got a clue to him 
 at last ; we really believe we've got a genuine clue to 
 him.' 
 
 * No, you don't mean to say so !' Mrs. Hesslegrave 
 cried, deeply interested. You would "have believed 
 Lady Axminster was her dearest friend, instead of 
 being merely a distant bowing acquaintance. * I thought 
 he had gone off to South Africa or somewhere.' 
 
 * What ? A romance of the peerage ?' the young 
 American asked, pricking up his ears. ' A missing 
 lord? A coronet going begging? Lost, stolen, or 
 strayed, the heir to an earldom ! Is that about the 
 size of it ?' 
 
 'Precisely,' the Canon answered, turning towards 
 him, half uncertain whether it was right to encourage 
 so flippant a treatment of a serious subject. * You've 
 heard of it, no doubt — this unfortunate young man's 
 very awkward disappearance? It's not on his own 
 account, of course, that the family mind ; lie might 
 have gone off if he chose, and nobody would have 
 noticed it. He was always a strange, eccentric sort 
 of person ; and for my part, as I say often to dear 
 
MRS. HESSLEGRAVE 'AT HOME' 21 
 
 Lady Axminster, the sooner they could get rid of him 
 out of the way, the better. But it's for Algy she 
 minds ; poor Algy Eedburn, who, meanwhile, is being 
 kept out of the family property.' 
 
 ' Well, but this is very interesting, you know,' 
 Jlufus Mortimer interjected, as the Canon paused. ' I 
 haven't heard about this. Tell me how it all hap- 
 pened, and why you want a clue. A missing link or 
 a missing earl is always so romantic' 
 
 The Canon leaned back luxuriously in his easy-chair 
 and sipped at the cup of tea Kathleen Hesslegrave 
 had brought him. 
 
 * Thank you, my dear,' he said, rolling it critically 
 on his palate. * One more lump, if you please ; I 
 always had a sweet tooth, though Sir Everard has 
 just cut me off my sugar. Says I must take sac- 
 charin; but there isn't any flavour in it. I'm thankful 
 to say, however, he hasn't cut me off my port, which 
 is always something. Said he to me : " I'll tell you 
 what it is. Canon ; if you drink port, you'll have the 
 gout ; but if you don't drink port, the gout '11 have 
 you." So that's highly satisfactory.' And the bald- 
 headed old gentleman took another sip at the sweet 
 syrup in his cup, of which the tea itself only formed 
 the medium. 
 
 ' But how about Lord Axminster ?' the American 
 persisted, with the insistence of his countrymen. 
 
22 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 * Oh, ah, poor Axmmster !' the Canon went on 
 reflectively, stirring the liquid in his cup with his 
 gilt-bowled apostle spoon. (Mrs. Hesslegrave was by 
 no means rich, and she lived in lodgings, to her 
 shame, during her annual visit to London, but she 
 flattered herself she knew the proper way to pro- 
 vide afternoon tea for the best society.) * I was 
 coming to that. It's a sad, bad story. To begin 
 with, you know, every romance of the peerage in- 
 volves a pedigree. Well, old Lady Axminster — 
 that's my cousin, the dowager — she had two sens ; 
 the eldest was the late earl ; Mad Axminster they 
 called him, who married a gipsy girl, and was the 
 father of the present man, if he is the present man — 
 that is to say if he's still living.' 
 
 * The missing lord, in fact ?' Eufus Mortimer put 
 in interrogatively. 
 
 * Quite so,' the Canon assented — * the missing lord ; 
 who is, therefore, you will see, my cousin Maria's 
 grandchild. But Maria never cared for the lad. 
 From his childhood upwards, that boy Bertie had 
 ideas and habits sadly unbefitting that station in life, 
 et cffitera, et cfetera. He had always a mania for 
 doing some definite work in the world, as he called 
 it — soiling his hands in the vineries, or helping the 
 stable-boys, or mending broken chairs, or pottering 
 about the grounds with an axe or a shovel. He had 
 
MRS. HESSLEGRAVE 'AT HOME' 23 
 
 the soul of an imder-gardener. His father was just 
 as bad ; picked up wonderful notions about equality, 
 and Christian brotherhood, and self-help, and so forth. 
 But it came out worse in Bertie — his name was 
 Albert ; I suppose the gipsy mother had something 
 or other to do with it. I'm a great believer in 
 heredity, you know. Lady Barnard, heredity's every- 
 thing. If once you let any inferior ))lood like 
 that into a good old family, there's no knowing 
 what trouble you may be laying in store for your- 
 self.' 
 
 ' But Galton says,' the young American was bold 
 enough to interpose, ' that all the vigour and energy 
 of the British aristocracy — when they happen to have 
 any — comes really from their mesalliances ; from the 
 handsome, strong, and often clever young women of 
 the lower orders — actresses and so forth — whom they 
 occasionally marry.' 
 
 The Canon stared hard at him. These might be 
 scientific truths indeed, not unworthy of discussion 
 at the British Association, but they ought not to be 
 unexpectedly flung down like bom])-shells in an inno- 
 cent drawing-room of aristocratic Kensington. 
 
 * That may be so,' he answered chillily. ' I have 
 not read Mr. Galton's argument on the subject with 
 the care and attention which no doubt it merits. But 
 gipsies are gipsies, and monomania is monomania — 
 
24 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 with all due respect to scientific authority. So, at 
 an early age, as I was about to observe, these bad 
 ancestral traits began to come out in Bertie. He 
 insisted upon it that he ought to do some good work 
 in the world — which was very right and proper, of 
 course ; I hope we all of us share his opinion on that 
 score,' the Canon continued, checking himself, and 
 dropping for a moment into his professional manner. 
 ' But then, his unfortunate limitation of view to what 
 I m\\ venture to call the gipsy horizon made him fail 
 to see that the proper world in the work of an English 
 nobleman is — is ' 
 
 * To behave as sich,' the irreverent young American 
 suggested parenthetically. 
 
 Canon Valentine regarded him with a peering look 
 out of his small black eyes. He had a vague suspicion 
 that this bold young man was really trying to chaft" 
 him ; and one should abstain from chaffing a beneficed 
 clergyman of the Church of England. But he thought 
 it on the whole wisest and most dignified to treat the 
 remark as a serious contribution to a serious con- 
 versation. 
 
 ' Quite so,' he answered with a forced smile. ' You 
 put it briefly but succinctly. To fulfil, as far as in 
 him lies, the natural duties and functions of his — 
 ah'm — exalted position. Bertie didn't see that. He 
 was always stupidly wishing he was a shoemaker or 
 
MRS. HESSLEGRAVE 'AT HOME' 25 
 
 a carpenter. If you make a pair of shoes, he used 
 to say, you do an undoubted and indubitable service 
 to the community at large ; a man goes dryshod for 
 a year in joiir handiwork: if you give a vote in 
 Parliament or develop the resources of your own 
 estate, the value of your work for the world, he used 
 often to tell me, was more open to question.' 
 
 ' Pre-cisely,' the American answered, with a most 
 annoying tone of complete acquiescence. 
 
 The Canon stared at him once more. He expected 
 such singular views as his unfortunate kinsman's to 
 rouse at once every sensible person's reprobation. 
 For he had not yet discovered that the world at large 
 is beginning to demand of every man, be he high or 
 low, that he should justify his presence in a civilized 
 nation by doing some useful work, in one capacity or 
 another, for the community that feeds and clothes 
 and supports him. 
 
 ' Very odd notions, indeed,' he murmured half to 
 himself, as a rebuke to the young American. ' But 
 then, his father was mad, and his mother was a gipsy 
 girl.' 
 
 * So at last Lord Axminster disappeared ?' the 
 American continued, anxious to learn the end of this 
 curious story. 
 
 * At last he disappeared,' the Canon went on, some- 
 what dryly. ' He disappeared into space in the most 
 
26 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 determined fashion. 'Twas like the bursting of a 
 soap bubble. He wasn't spirited away. He took 
 good care nobody should ever fancy that. He left a 
 letter behind, saying he was going forth to do some 
 good in the world, and a power of attorney for his 
 grandmother to manage the Axminster property. 
 His father and mother were dead, and Maria was 
 the nearest relative he had left him. But he dis- 
 appeared into space, drawing no funds from the estate, 
 and living apparently upon whatever he earned as a 
 gardener or a shoemaker. And from that day to this 
 nothing has since been heard of him.' 
 
 * Wasn't there a lady in the case, though ?' Mrs. 
 Hesslegrave suggested, just to show her familiarity 
 with the small-talk of society. 
 
 The Canon recollected himself. 
 
 * Oh yes ; I forgot to say that,' he answered. 
 'You're quite right, Mrs. Hesslegrave. It was 
 cherchez la femme, of course, as usual. Bertie had 
 been engaged to a girl of whom he was passionately 
 fond ; but she threw him overboard ; I must say 
 myself, though I never cared for the boy, she threw 
 him overboard most cruelly and unjustifiably. In 
 point of fact, between ourselves, she had a better 
 ofifer. An offer from a marquis, a wealthy marquis. 
 Axminster was poor, for a man in his position, you 
 understand ; these things are relative ; and the girl 
 
MRS. HESSLEGRAVE 'AT HOME ' 37 
 
 threw him overboard. I won't mention her name, 
 because this is all a family matter ; l)ut she's a 
 marchioness now, and universally admired. Though I 
 must admit she behaved badly to Bertie.' 
 
 * Shook his faith in women, I expect ?' the American 
 suggested. 
 
 * Entirely,' the Canon answered. * That's just what 
 he wrote in his last letter. It gave him a distaste for 
 society, he said. He preferred to live henceforth in a 
 wider world, where a man's personal qualities counted 
 for more than his wealth, his family, or his artificial 
 position. I suppose he meant America.' 
 
 ' If he did,' Mortimer put in with a meaning smile, 
 ' I should reckon he knew very little about our 
 country.' 
 
 * And you say you've got a clue?' Mrs. Hesslegrave 
 interposed. * What is it, Canon ?' 
 
 The Canon wagged his head. 
 
 * Ah, that's it,' he echoed. ' That's just it. What 
 is it? Well, Maria has found out — clever woman, 
 Maria — that he sailed from London three years ago, 
 under the assumed name of Douglas Overton, in a 
 ship whose exact title I don't remember — the 
 Saucy something-or-other — for Melbourne or Sydney 
 And now we're in hopes we may really track 
 him.' 
 
 * But if you don't care about him, and the family's 
 
28 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 well quit of him,' the American interjected, ' why on 
 earth do you want to ?' 
 
 Canon Valentine turned to him with an almost 
 shocked expression of countenance. 
 
 * Oh, we don't want io JIikJ him,' he said, in a depre- 
 catory voice. 'We don't want to find him. Very 
 much the contrary. What we want to do is really to 
 prove him dead ; and as the Suiici/ something-or-other, 
 from London to Melbourne, went ashore on her way 
 out in the Indian Ocean somewhere, we're very much 
 in hopes — that is to say, we fear — or, rather, we think 
 it possible, that every soul on l^oard her perished.' 
 
 * Excellent material for a second Tichborne case,' 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave suggested. 
 
 The Canon pursed his lips. 
 
 'We'll hope not,' he answered. 'For poor Algy's 
 sake, we'll hope not, Mrs. Hesslegrave. Algy's his 
 cousin. Mad Axminster had one brother, the Honour- 
 able Algernon, who was Algy's father. You see, the 
 trouble of it is, by going away like this and leaving no 
 address, Bertie made it impossible for us to settle his 
 affairs and behave rightly to the family. He's keeping 
 poor Algy out of his own, don't you see '? That's just 
 where the trouble is.' 
 
 * If he's dead,' Rufus Mortimer suggested with 
 American common-sense ; * but not if he's living.' 
 
 * But we'll hope ' the Canon began ; then he 
 
MRS. HESSLEGRAVE 'AT HOME' 39 
 
 checked himself suddenly. * We'll hope,' he went on 
 with a dexterous after-thought, * this clue Maria has 
 got will settle the question at last, one way or the 
 other.' 
 
 * Oh, here's Mrs. Burleigh !' the hostess exclaimed, 
 rising once more from her seat with the manner suit- 
 able for receiving a distinguished visitor. * So glad 
 to see you at last. When did you come up from 
 that lovely Norchester ? And how's the dear 
 Bishop?' 
 
 ' 1 knew Axminster at Oxford,' a very quiet young 
 man in the corner, who had been silent till then, 
 observed in a low voice to liufus Mortimer. ' I mean 
 the present man — the missing earl — the gipsy's son, 
 as Canon Valentine calls him. I can't say I ever 
 thought him the least bit mad, except in the way of 
 being conscientious, if that's to be taken as a sign of 
 madness. He hated wine-parties, which 'vas not 
 unnatural, considering his grandfather had drunk 
 himself to deatli, and one of his uncles had to be con- 
 fined as an habitual inebriate ; and he liked manual 
 labour, which was not unnatural either ; for he was a 
 splendidly athletic fellow, as fine-built a man as ever 
 I saw, and able to do a good day's work with any 
 navvy in Britain. But he was perfectly sane, and a 
 martyr to conscience. He felt this girl's treatment of 
 him very much, I believe — you know who it was — 
 
30 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 Lady Sark, the celebrated beauty ; and he alao felt that 
 people treated him very differently when they knew he 
 was Lord Axminster from the way they treated Inm 
 when he went about the coast as a common sailor, in 
 a little tub fishing yacht, which he was fond of doing. 
 And that made him long to live a life as a man, not as 
 an earl, in order that he might sec what there really 
 was in him.' 
 
 * A very odd taste,' the young Philadelphian replied. 
 * Now, I for my part like best to live among people who 
 know all about me and my grandfather, the Vice- 
 president, who made the family pile ; because, when I 
 go outside my own proper circle, I see people only 
 value me at my worth as a man — which I suppose 
 must be just about twelve shillings a week, and no 
 allowance for beer-money.' 
 
 At the very same moment, in the opposite corner of 
 the room. Canon Valentine was saying under his breath 
 to Mrs. Hesslegrave : 
 
 ' Who is that young man — the very flippant young 
 fellow with the straw-coloured moustache ? I can't 
 say at first sight I'm exactly taken with him.' 
 
 And Mrs. Hesslegrave made answer with the wisdom 
 of the serpent : 
 
 ' No, not at first sight, perhaps ; I can understand 
 that : he's American, of course, and a leetle bit 
 brusque in his manner, to begin with : but when you 
 
MRS. HESSLEGRAVE 'AT HOME' 31 
 
 know him, bo's charming. Has lovcJji rooms in Paris, 
 near the Arc de Triomphe ; and a palazzo in Venice 
 on the Grand Canal; and gives dehghtful receptions. 
 He's taken a house in Stanhope Street this year for 
 the season. I'll get him to send you cards ; his after- 
 noons are celebrated : and when you go to Paris, he'll 
 make every thhig smooth for you. He can do so much ! 
 He has influence at the Embassy.' 
 
 American ? Yes. But what a match he would 
 make, after all, for dear Kathleen ! 
 
CHAPTEK III. 
 
 .xILLIONAIRE AND SAILOR. 
 
 While these things were being said of him in the side 
 street in Kensington, Albert Ogilvie Redburn, seventh 
 Earl of Axminster, alias Arnold Willoughby, alias 
 Douglas Overton, was walking quietly by himself down 
 Piccadilly, and not a soul of all he met was taking the 
 slightest notice of him. 
 
 It was many years since he had last been in town, 
 and, accustomed as he was to his changed position, 
 the contrast could not fail to strike him forcibly. 
 Ladies he had once known dashed past him in smart 
 victorias without a nod or a smile ; men he had often 
 played with at the Flamingo Club stared him blankly 
 in the face and strolled by, unrecognising ; the cross- 
 ing-sweeper at the corner, who used to turn up to him 
 a cringing face, with a * Gi' me a penny, my lord,' 
 now scarcely seemed to notice his presence on the 
 pavement. ' If you really want to know how insigni- 
 
MILLIONAIRE AND SAILOR 33 
 
 ficant you are,' Arnold thought to himself for the 
 fiftieth time, 'viewed as a mere human being, all 
 you've got to do is just to doff your frock-coat, pull 
 the flower from your button-hole, forget you're a lord, 
 and come down to the ordinary level of work-a-day 
 humanity. It's a hard life before the mast, on a 
 Dundee sealer ; and it's almost harder in its way, this 
 trying to earn enough to live upon with one's pencil ; 
 but it's worth going through, after all, if only for the 
 sake of feeling one's self face to face with the realities 
 of existence. I never should have found out, now, 
 how poor a creature I really was — or how strong a one 
 either — if I hadn't put my worth quite fairly to the 
 test in this practical manner. It makes a man realise 
 his market value. — As it is, I know I'm a- tolerable 
 A.B., and a very mediocre hand at a paying sea- 
 scape.' 
 
 It was not without difficulty, indeed, that Arnold 
 Willoughby (to call him by the only name that now 
 generally belonged to him) had managed thus to 
 escape his own personality. Many young men of 
 twenty-seven, it is true, might readily shuffle off their 
 friends and acquaintances, and might disappear in the 
 common ruck, no man suspecting them ; though even 
 for a commoner, that's a far more difficult task than 
 you might imagine, when you come to try it. But 
 for a peer of the realm to vanish into space like a 
 
 VOL. I. 3 
 
34 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 burnt-out fire-balloon is a far more serious and 
 arduous undertaking. He knows so many men, and 
 so many men know him. So, when Albert Ogilvie 
 Redburn, Earl of Axminster, made up his mind to 
 fade away into thin air, giving place at last to Arnold 
 Willoughby, he was forced to do it with no small 
 deliberation. 
 
 It would not be enough for him to change no more 
 than his name and costume. In London, New York, 
 Calcutta, Eio, Yokohama, there were people who might 
 any day turn up and recognise him. His disguise, to 
 succeed, must be better than superficial. But he was 
 equal to the occasion. He had no need for hurry ; 
 it was not as though the police were on his track in 
 hot haste; time after time, his disguise might be 
 detected, but he could learn by his errors how to make 
 it safer for the future. His one desire was to get rid 
 for ever of that incubus of a historical name and a 
 great position in the county which made it impossible 
 for him to know life as it was, without the cloaks and 
 pretences of flunkeys and sycophants. He wished to 
 find out his own market value. 
 
 His first attempt, therefore, was to ship on board an 
 outward-bound vessel as a common sailor. From 
 childhood upward he had been accustomed to yachts, 
 and hati always been fond of managing the rigging. 
 So he found little difficulty in getting a place on board 
 
MILLIONAIRE AND SAILOR 35 
 
 during a sailors' strike, and making a voyage as far as 
 Cape Town. At the Cape, he had transferred himself 
 by arrangement on purpose to a homeward-bound 
 ship ; partly in order to make it more difficult for his 
 cousins to trace him, but partly, too, in order to return 
 a little sooner to England. He thus accidentally es- 
 caped the fate to which Canon Valentine so devoutly 
 desired to consign him in the Indian Ocean. Arriving 
 home in his common sailor clothes, at Liverpool he 
 determined to carry out a notable experiment. He 
 had read in a newspaper which he found on board a 
 most curious account of one Silas Quackenboss, an 
 American face doctor, who undertook to make the 
 plainest faces beautiful, not by mere skin-deep devices, 
 but by surgical treatment of the muscles and cartilages 
 of the human countenance. The runaway earl made 
 up his mind to put himself through a regular course 
 of physical treatment at the hands of this dis- 
 tinguished American Professor of the art of disguises. 
 The result exceeded his utmost expectations. His 
 very features came out of the process so altered that, 
 as the Professor proudly affirmed, * India-rubber 
 wasn't in it,' and ' His own mother wouldn't have 
 known him.' It was no mere passing change that 
 had thus been effected ; he was externally a new 
 person : the man's whole expression and air were 
 something quite different. The missing earl had 
 
36 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 arrived at Liverpool as Douglas Overton ; he left it 
 three weeks later as Arnold Willoughby, with an 
 almost perfect confidence that not a soul on earth 
 would ever again be able to recognise him. 
 
 Of course, he had not confided the secret of his 
 personality to the American quack, who probably be- 
 lieved he was assisting some criminal to escape from 
 justice, and who pocketed his fee in that simple belief 
 without a qualm of conscience. So, when he sailed 
 from Liverpool again in his new character as Arnold 
 Willoughby, it was in the confident hope that he had 
 shuffled off for ever his earldom, with its accompany- 
 ing limitations of view, and stood forth before the 
 world a new and free man, face to face at last with 
 the realities and difficulties of normal self-supporting 
 human existence. * Now I live like a man,' Nero said 
 to himself, when he had covered half the site of burnt 
 Kome with his Golden House. * Now I live like a 
 man,' the self-deposed earl exclaimed in the exact 
 opposite spirit, as he munched the dry biscuit and 
 coarse salt pork of the common sailor on the Dudley 
 Castle. 
 
 Three years at sea, however, began to tell in time 
 even upon Arnold Willoughby's splendid physique ; 
 he had to acknowledge at last that early training to 
 hardships, too, counts for something. His lungs, it 
 turned out, were beginning to be affected. He con- 
 
MILLIONAIRE AND SAILOR 37 
 
 suited a doctor ; and the doctor advised him to quit 
 the sea, and ioke up, if possible, with some more 
 sedentary indoor occupation. Above all, he warned 
 him against spending the winters in northern seas, 
 and recommended him, if a land-lubber's life was out 
 of the question, to ship as much as practicable in the 
 colder months for tropical voyages. Arnold smiled 
 to himself at the very different spirit in which the 
 medical man approached the sailor's case from the 
 way in which he would have approached the case of 
 Lord Axminster ; but he was accustomed by this time 
 to perfect self-repression on all these matters. He 
 merely answered, touching an imaginary hat by pure 
 force of acquired habit as he spoke, that he thought 
 he knew a way in which he could earn a decent liveli- 
 hood on shore if he- chose ; and that he would avoid 
 in future winter voyages in high latitudes. But as 
 the bronzed and weather-beaten sailor laid down his 
 guinea manfully and walked out of the room, the 
 doctor said to himself with a little start of surprise, 
 * That man speaks and behaves with the manners of 
 a gentleman.' 
 
 When Arnold Willoughby, as he had long learned to 
 call himself, even in his own mind (for it was the 
 earnest desire of his life now to fling away for ever the 
 least taint or relic of his original position) began to 
 look about him for the means of earning that honest 
 
38 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 livelihood of which he had spoken so confidently to the 
 doctor, he found in a very short time it was a more 
 difficult task than he had at first contemplated. He 
 did not desire, indeed, to give up the sea altogether. 
 The man who carries useful commodities from country 
 to country fulfils as undeniable a service to the State 
 as the man who makes a pair of good shoes, or builds 
 a warm house, or weaves a yard of broadcloth. And 
 of such visible and tangible service to his fellow men, 
 Arnold Willoughby was profoundly enamoured. He 
 couldn't bear to give up his chosen profession in spite 
 of, or perhaps even because of, its undeniable hardships. 
 Still, he didn't desire to commit what would be prac- 
 tical suicide by remaining at soa through the northern 
 winter. It occurred to him, therefore, that he might 
 divide his time between winter and summer in different 
 pursuits. He had always had a great inherited taste 
 for art, and had studied, ' when he was a gentleman,' 
 as he used to phrase it to himself, in a Paris studio. 
 There he had acquired a fair though by no means 
 exhaustive knowledge of the technique of painting, 
 and he determined to try, for one winter at least, 
 whether he could supplement the sea by his pictorial 
 talent. 
 
 But it is one thing to paint or sing or write for your 
 own amusement as an amateur, and quite another 
 thing to take up any of these artistic pursuits as a 
 
MILLIONAIRE AND SAILOR 39 
 
 means of livelihood. Arnold soon found he would have 
 enough to do to get through the winter at Venice on 
 his own small savings. "When he left Membury Castle, 
 near Axminster, three j^ears before, he left it and all it 
 meant to him behind him for ever. He had taken a 
 solitary half-crown in his waistcoat pocket, that being 
 the traditional amount with which the British sailor 
 is supposed to leave home ; and he had never again 
 drawn upon the estate for a penny. He didn't want 
 to play at facing the realities of life, but really to face 
 them. If he could fall back from time to time upon 
 the Axminster property to tide him over a bad place, 
 he would have felt himself an impostor — an impostor 
 to himself, untrue to his own inmost beliefs and con- 
 victions. Whether he was right or wrong, at any rate 
 he felt so. He wanted to know what he was really 
 worth. He must stand or fall by his own efforts now, 
 like the enormous mass of his fellow-countrymen. 
 
 So all that winter in Venice, the resolute young 
 man, now inured to penury, lived, as Eufus Mortimer 
 put it, down a side canal off Italian fritura at three 
 meals a penny ; lived, and thrived on it, and used uj) 
 his savings : and appeared at last in London that 
 spring with the picture he had painted, anxious to pit 
 himself, in this as in other things, on equal terms 
 against his fellow-craftsmen. 
 
 As he walked down Piccadilly, gazing somewhat 
 
40 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 aimlessly into the windows of the picture shops, and 
 wondering whether anybody would ever buy his 
 * Chioggia Fisher-boats,' he suddenly felt a hand 
 clapped on his shoulder, and turned round, half terri- 
 fied, to observe who stopped him. Had some member 
 of his old club, in front of which he was just passing, 
 seen through the double disguise of burnt skin and 
 altered features ? But no. He recognised at a glance 
 it w^as only Eufus Mortimer, tired of the inanities 
 of afternoon tea at Mrs. Hesslegrave's rooms, and 
 escaping from the Canon on the Tithes Commutation 
 Bill. 
 
 * For what port are you bound ?' the young Ameri- 
 can asked, running his arm spontaneously through 
 his casual acquaintance's ; and Arnold liked him for 
 the action, it w'as so frank and friendly. 
 
 ' No port in particular,' Willoughby answered with 
 his cheery smile. 'I'm driven out of my course — 
 storm-bound, in point of fact, and scudding under bare 
 poles in search of a harbour.' 
 
 The American seized at once upon the meaning that 
 underlay this quaint nautical phraseology. ' I sus- 
 pected as much,' he replied, with genuine good-nature, 
 looking hard at his man. * It was a disappointment 
 to you, I'm afraid, not getting your picture taken.' 
 
 The sailor half- coloured. He was prepared for 
 almost anything on earth except sympathy. * Oh, 
 
MILLIONAIRE AND SAILOR 4' 
 
 not much,' he answered with his brec/ ' carelessness 
 — the brisk nonchalance of the born aristocrat was one 
 of the few traits of his rank and class he had never 
 even attempted to get rid of, consciously or uncon- 
 sciously. 'I should have liked to have it taken, of 
 course ; but if it isn't worth taking, why it'll do me 
 good to be taught my proper place in the scale of 
 humanity and the scale of painters. One feels at 
 least one has been judged with the ruck, and that's 
 always a comfort. One's been beaten outright, on a 
 fair field and no favour.' 
 
 'It's a queer sort of consolation,' the American 
 answered, smiling. 'For my own part, I'm in the 
 same box, and I confess I don't like it. Though, 
 with me, of course, it doesn't matter financially; 
 it's only my amour iwopre, not my purse, that's hurt 
 
 by it.' 
 
 Arnold liked this frank recognition of the gulf 
 between their positions. ' Well, that does make a differ- 
 ence,' he said; 'there's no denying it. I counted 
 upon selling this picture to go on painting next winter. 
 As it is, I'm afraid I shall have to turn to some other 
 occupation. I can't earn enough at sea in one 
 summer to keep me alive and find me in painting 
 materials during the winter after it.' 
 
 Rufus Mortimer gave a sudden little start of sur- 
 prise. 
 
42 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 ' Why, I never thought of that !' he cried. * One- 
 half the world doesn't know how the other half lives 
 —in spite of the constant efforts of the society 
 journahsts to enlighten it on the sul)ject. I suppose to 
 you, now, canvas and paint, and so forth, cost some- 
 thing considerable. And yet one never before so much 
 as thought of them as an element in one's budget.' 
 
 * They're a very serious item,' Arnold answered, with 
 that curious suppressed smile that was almost habitual 
 to him. 
 
 'Then, what do you mean to do?' the American 
 asked, turning round upon him. 
 
 * I hardly know yet myself,' Arnold answered, still 
 carelessly. * It doesn't much matter. Nothing matters, 
 in point of fact ; and if it does, never mind — I mean 
 to say, personally. One lone ant in the hive is hardly 
 worth making a fuss about.' 
 
 'Where are you going to dine?' the American put in 
 with a sudden impulse. 
 
 Thus unexpectedly driven to close quarters, Arnold 
 replied with equal truth and candour : 
 
 * I'm not going to dine anywhere. To say the plain 
 fact, I didn't think of dining.' 
 
 •Why not?' Mortimer persisted. 
 
 ' Because,' the other answered, with a very amused 
 look, 'I don't happen to possess the wherewithal to 
 dine upon.' 
 
MILLIONAIRE AND SAILOR 43 
 
 'Have a chop with me at the BiirHngton,' the 
 American interposed with genuine friendHness, 'and 
 let's talk this over afterwards.' 
 
 'If I'd meant to accept an invitation to dinner,' 
 the sailor answered proudly, with just a tinge of the 
 carl showing dimly through, 'I would certainly not 
 have mentioned to you that I happened to be minus 
 one.' 
 
 Mortimer looked at him with a puzzled air. 
 
 ' Well, you are a queer fellow !' he said. ' One can 
 never understand you. Do you really mean to say 
 you're not going to dine at all this evening ?' 
 
 * Sailors learn to go short in the matter of food and 
 sleep,' Arnold replied, with a faint shrug. 'It becomes 
 a second nature to one. I'm certain you're thinking a 
 great deal more of it than I am myself this moment. 
 Let me be perfectly open with you. I've reached my 
 last penny, except the few shillings I have in my 
 pocket to pay my landlady down at Wapping. Very 
 well, then, it would be dishonest of me to dine and 
 leave her unpaid. So I must go without anything to 
 eat to-night, and look about me to-mori-ovr for a ship 
 to sail in.' 
 
 * And next winter ?' Mortimer asked. 
 
 * Well, next winter, if possible, I shall try to paint 
 again. Should that fail, I must turn my hand to some 
 other means of livelihood.' 
 
44 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 * What a philosoplier you are !' the American ex- 
 claimed, astonished. * And what a lesson to fellows 
 like us, who were born and l)rouglit up in the lap of 
 luxury, and complain to the committee if the chef at 
 the club serves up our cutlets without sauce itiquante! 
 But there ! I suppose you other chaps get used 
 to it.' , 
 
 Albert Ogilvie Eedburn, seventh Earl of Axminster, 
 smiled once more that quiet little self-restrained smile 
 of his ; but Arnold Willoughby it was who replied with 
 good humour : 
 
 * I suppose we do. At any rate, I shall try to ship 
 southward to-morrow.' 
 
 * Shall I tell you the truth ?' the young American 
 asked suddenly. 
 
 ' It's the one desire of my life to hear it,' Arnold 
 answered with sincerity. 
 
 * Well, I'll tell you what it is ; I like you very much, 
 and I admire you immensely. I think you're solid. 
 But I watched those Chioggia boats of yours when 
 you were painting them at Venice. You're a precious 
 clever fellow, and you have imagination, and taste, 
 and all that sort of thing ; but your technique's defi- 
 cient. And technique's everything nowadays. You 
 don't know enough about painting, that's the truth, 
 to paint for the market. What you want is to go for 
 a year or two to Paris, and study, study, study as 
 
MILLIONAIRE AND SAILOR 45 
 
 hard as you can work at it. Art's an exacting 
 mistress. She cUiims the whole of you. It's no good 
 thinking nowadays you can navigate half the year and 
 paint the other half. The world has revolved out of 
 that by this time. You should give up the sea and 
 take to art quite seriously.' 
 
 ' Thank you for your kindness and frankness/ 
 Arnold replied with genuine feeling, for he saw the 
 American was doing that very rare thing— really 
 thinking about another person's interests. ' It's good 
 of you to trouble yourself about my professional 
 
 prospects.' 
 
 ' But don't you agree with me ?' 
 
 *0h, perfectly. I see I still sadly want train- 
 ing.' 
 
 There was a moment's pause. Then the American 
 
 spoke again. 
 
 'What are you going to do,' he asked, 'about 
 your Chioggia Fisher-boats, if you mean to sail to- 
 morrow ?' 
 
 * I had thought of offering them on commission to 
 some dealer ; and if nobody rose to the fly, taking the 
 canvas back again to Venice next winter, and painting 
 it over with another picture.' 
 
 Eufus Mortimer paused a moment. This was a 
 delicate matter. Then he said, in a rather constrained, 
 half -hesitating way : 
 
46 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 * Suppose you were to leave it with me, and 
 see whether I could manage or not to dispose 
 
 of it?' 
 
 A round red spot burned bright in Arnold 
 Willoughby's cheek. He flushed like a girl with 
 sudden emotion. All the rent-roll of the Axminster 
 estates was waiting for him in Lincoln's Inn, if he 
 had cared to take it; but, by his own deliberate design, 
 he had cut himself off from it ; and, sink or swim, he 
 would not now, after putting his hand to the plough, 
 turn back again. He would starve sooner. But the 
 generous offer thus delicately cloaked half unmanned 
 his resolution. 
 
 * My dear fellow,' he exclaimed, turning round to 
 the American, * how much too good you are ! Not for 
 worlds would I leave it with you. I know what you 
 mean, and I am no less grateful to you than if I 
 accepted your offer. It isn't often one meets with such 
 genu'ne kindness. But for character's sake, I prefer 
 to w^orry through my own way, unaided. That's a 
 principle in life with me. But thank you all the same ; 
 thank you, thank you, thank you !' 
 
 He stood for a moment irresolute. Tears trembled 
 in his eyes. He could put up with anything on earth 
 but kindness. Then he wrung his friend's hand hard, 
 and with a sudden impulse darted down a side street 
 in the direction of St. James's. 
 
MILLIONAIRE AND SAILOR 47 
 
 The American gazed after him with no little 
 interest. 
 
 ' That's a brave fellow,' he said to himself, as Arnold 
 disappeared round a corner in the distance. ' But he 
 won't go down Just yet. He has far too much pluck 
 to let himself sink easily. I expect I shall find him 
 next autumn at Venice.' 
 
CHAPTEK IV. 
 
 FRATERNAL AMENITIES. 
 
 The season was waning towards its latter end ; Mrs. 
 Hesslegrave and Kathleen were on the eve of flight 
 for their regular round of autumn visits in the 
 country, before returning to their winter quarters at 
 Venice. These autumn visits were half friendly, 
 half professional. It was one of the griefs of Mrs. 
 Hesslegrave's life, indeed, that Kathleen's vocation 
 as an artist compelled her to do and to suffer many 
 things which in her mother's eyes were undignified, 
 and almost unladylike. Foremost among them was 
 the necessity, when visiting in the country, for carry- 
 ing her portfoHo of sketches along with her; for 
 Kathleen's success was merely a private and local 
 one; she depended largely for selling her pictures 
 upon the friendly appreciation of her own acquaint- 
 ances. It is true, being a timid and retiring girl, 
 she never thrust her work incontinently upon her 
 
FRATERNAL AMENITIES 49 
 
 hosts ; on the contrary, she was nervously shy about 
 anything that looked like self-advertisement or push- 
 ing. Still, the fact remained that unless she went a 
 round of country visits in the autumn she would 
 never have sold most of her pictures at all ; and this 
 fact, which gave Kathleen herself no small shrink- 
 ings of natural delicacy, covered Mrs. Hesslegrave 
 in a very different way with shame and humilia- 
 tion. 
 
 For to Mrs. Hesslegrave it was a painful and dis- 
 graceful thing that people should know her daughter 
 had to work for her living at all ; in her young days, 
 she was wont to say severely, young ladies used to 
 paint for their own amusement, not for filthy lucre : 
 and whenever she said it, with a disapproving toss 
 of the dainty coffee - coloured Honiton head-dress, 
 Kathleen had somehow an unpleasant feeling in the 
 background of her heart that it was really very wrong 
 of her to be so badly off, and that if only she had in- 
 herited the feelings and manners of a perfect lady, 
 she would have managed to be born with five thou- 
 sand a year, and nothing to do for it. Though, to 
 be sure, if she hadn't so managed, after all, it might 
 with some show of reason be urged hi extenuation 
 that the fault lay rather at the door of that impeccable 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave herself, and the late lamented 
 General of Artillery, her husband, who had been 
 
 VOL. I. 4 
 
50 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 jointly responsible for bringing Kathleen into the 
 world with no better endowment than just a pair of 
 pretty white hands, and an artistic faculty for deftly 
 employing them in the production of beautiful and 
 pleasing images. 
 
 On this particular evening, however, Kathleen was 
 tired with packing ; her head ached slightly ; and she 
 was anxious to be kept as undisturbed as possible. 
 Therefore, of course, her brother Eeginald had chosen 
 it as the aptest moment to drop in towards the dinner- 
 hour for a farewell visit to his mother and sister. 
 Eeginald was twenty, with a faint black line on his 
 upper lip — which he called a moustache — and he 
 was a child entirely after Mrs. Hesslegrave's own 
 heart ; in his mother's eyes, indeed, a consummate 
 gentleman. To be sure, the poor boy had the mis- 
 fortune to be engaged in an office in the City — a most 
 painful position : Mrs. Hesslegrave's narrow means 
 had never allowed her to send him to Sandhurst or 
 Woolwich and get him a commission in the army — 
 but that the fond mother regarded as poor Eeggie's 
 ill-luck ; and Keggie himself endeavoured to make up 
 for it by copying to the best of his ability the tone 
 and manner of military circles, as far as was com- 
 patible with the strict routine of a stockbroker's 
 office. If collars and cuffs and the last thing out in 
 octagon ties constitute the real criterion of the gentle 
 
FRATERNAL AMENITIES 51 
 
 life (as is the na'irc belief of so large a fraction of the 
 City), then was Reginald Hesslegrave indeed a gentle- 
 man. What though he subsisted in great part on 
 poor Kathleen's earnings, and pocketed her hard- 
 won cash to supplement his own narrow salar}', with 
 scarcely so much as a * thank you ' — one doesn't like 
 to seem beholden to a woman in these matters, you 
 know — yet was the cut of his coats a marvel to Adam's 
 Court, and the pattern of his sleeve-links a thing to 
 be observed by the stipendiary youth of Threadneedle 
 Street and Lothbury. 
 
 Eeginald flung himself down in the big easy-chair 
 by the bow window with the air of a man who drops 
 in for a moment to counsel, advise, assist, and over- 
 look his womenkind — in short, with all the dignity 
 of the head of the family. He was annoyed that * his 
 people' were leaving town; leave they must, sooner 
 or later, of course ; if they didn't, how could Kathleen 
 ever dispose of those precious daubs of hers? — for 
 though Eeginald pocketed poor Kathleen's sovereigns 
 with the utmost calm of a great spirit, he always 
 affected profoundly to despise the dubious art that 
 produced them. Still, the actual moment of his 
 people's going was always a disagreeable one to 
 Reginald Hesslegrave. As long as mother and Kitty 
 stopped on in town, he had somewhere respectable 
 to spend his evenings, if he wished to; somewhere 
 
52 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 presentable to which he could brmg other fellows at 
 no expense to himself ; and that, don't you know, is 
 always a consideration ! As soon as they were gone, 
 there was nothing for it but the club; and at the 
 club, that sordid place, they make a man pay himself 
 for whatever he consumes, and whatever he offers m 
 solid or liquid hospitality to other fellows. So no 
 matter how late mother and Kitty stayed in town, it 
 made Eeggie cross, all the same, when the day came 
 for their departure. 
 
 'How badly you do up your back-hair, Kitty!' 
 Eeggie observed with a sweet smile of provocation, 
 after a few other critical remarks upon his sister's 
 appearance. ' You put no style into it. You ought 
 just to look at Mrs. Algy Eedburn's hair ! There's 
 art if you like. She does it in a bun. She knows 
 how to dress it. It's a model for a duchess !' 
 
 'Mrs. Algy Eedburn keeps a maid, no doubt,' his 
 sister answered, leaning back in her chair a little 
 wearily, for she was worn out with packing. ' So 
 the credit of her bun belongs, of course, to the maid 
 who dresses it.' 
 
 * She keeps a maid,' Eeggie went on, with his hands 
 on his haunches in an argumentative attitude. * Why, 
 certainly, she keeps a maid. What else would you 
 expect? Every lady keeps a maid. It's a simple 
 necessity. And you ought to keep a maid, too. No 
 
FRATERNAL AMENITIES 53 
 
 woman can be dressed as a lady should dress, if 
 she doesn't keep a maid. The thing's impossible.' 
 And he snapped his mouth to like a patent rat- 
 trap. 
 
 ' Then I must be content to dress otherwise than as 
 a lady should,' Kathleen responded quietly; 'for I 
 can't afford a maid — and to tell you the truth, 
 Keggie, I really don't know that I should care to have 
 one !' 
 
 * Can't afford !' Reggie repeated with a derisive 
 accent of profound scorn. * That's what you always 
 say. I hate to hear you say it. The phrase is unlady- 
 like. If you can't afford anything, you ought to be 
 able to afford it. How do / afford things ? I dress 
 like a gentleman. You never see me ill-tailored or 
 ill-groomed, or doing without anything a gentleman 
 ought to have. How do / afford it ?' 
 
 Kathleen had it on the tip of her tongue to give 
 back the plain and true retort, 'Why, by making 
 your sister earn the money to keep you ;' but native 
 kindliness and womanly feeling restrained her from 
 saying so. So she only replied : 
 
 * I'm sure I don't know, my dear ; I often wonder : 
 for / can't afford it, and I earn more than you do.' 
 
 Eeggie winced a little at that. It was mean of 
 Kitty so to twit him with his poverty. She was 
 always flinging his want of ready-money in his face— 
 
54 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 as though want of money (when you spend every 
 penny that fate allows you — and a little more too) 
 were a disgrace to any gentleman ! But he continued 
 none the less in the same lordly strain : 
 
 * You dress badly ; that's the fact of it. No woman 
 should spend less than three hundred a year on her 
 own wardrobe ! It can't be done for one shilling 
 under that. She oui/ht to spend it.' 
 
 * Not if she hasn't got it,' Kathleen answered 
 stoutly. 
 
 ' Whether she's got it or not,' Eeggie responded at 
 once, with profound contempt for such unladylike 
 morality. ' Look at Mrs. Algy Redburn ! How does 
 she do, I'd like to know ? Everybody's well aware 
 Algy hasn't got a brass farthing to bless himself with ; 
 yet who do you see dressed in the Park like his wife ? 
 Such bonnets ! Such coats ! Such a bun ! There's 
 a model for you !' 
 
 ' But Mrs. Algy Redburn will some day be Lady 
 Axminster,' Kathleen answered with a sigh, not per- 
 ceiving herself that that vague contingency had really 
 nothing at all to do with the rights and wrongs of the 
 question. ' And I will not.' (Which was also to 
 some extent an unwarrantable assumption.) 
 
 Reggie flashed his cuffs, and regarded them with 
 just pride. 
 
 ' That's no matter,' he answered curtly. ' Every 
 
FRATERNAL AMENITIES 55 
 
 lady is a lady, and should dress like a lady, iio matter 
 what's her income. And she can't do that under 
 three hundred a year. You take my word for it.' 
 
 Kathleen was too tired to keep up the dispute. So 
 she answered nothing. 
 
 But Reggie had come round to his sister's that 
 night in the familiar masculine teasing humour. He 
 wasn't going to he balked of his sport so easily. 'Twas 
 as good as ratting, at half the cost, and almost equal 
 to badger-drawing. So he went on after a minute : 
 
 ' A man doesn't need so much. His wants are 
 simpler. I think I can dress like a gentleman myself 
 — on two hundred and fifty.' 
 
 ' As your salary's eighty,' Kathleen put in I'esignedly, 
 with one hand on her aching head, ' I don't quite 
 know myself where the remainder's to come from.' 
 
 Eeggie parried the question. 
 
 * Oh, I'm careful,' he went on — ' very careful, you 
 know, Kitty. I make it a rule never to u-ante my 
 money. I buy judiciously. Look at linen, foi example. 
 Linen's a very important item. I require a fresh 
 shirt, of course, every morning. Even you will ad- 
 mit ' (he spoke with acerbity, as though Kathleen were 
 a sort of acknowledged social Pariah) — ' even you will 
 admit that a supply of clean linen is a necessary ad- 
 junct to a gentleman's appearance. Well, how do you 
 think, now, I manage about my cuffs ? I'll tell you 
 
S6 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 what I do about them. There are fellows at our place, 
 if you'll believe it, who wear movaljle cuffs — cuffs, 
 don't you know, that come oft' and on the same as a 
 collar does : nasty separate sliirt cuff's. I don't call 
 such things gentlemanly. The fellows that wear them 
 take them off when they come to the oftice, and slip 
 them on again over their hands when they have to 
 run across with a client to the House — that's what we 
 call the Stock Exchange — or when they go out for 
 luncheon. Well, I don't like such ways myself. I 
 hate and detest all shams and subterfuges. I wouldn't 
 wear a cuff' unless it was part and parcel of my shirt. 
 So I've invented a dodge to keep them clean from 
 morning till evening. As soon as I go into the oflice, 
 I just cut a piece of white foolscap the exact size of 
 my cuff's ; I double it back, so, over the edge of the 
 sleeve; I pass it under again, this way. Ther, while 
 I stop in the oflice, I keep the cover on ; and it looks 
 in-etty much the same as the linen. That prevents 
 blacks and smuts from settling on the cuff, and keeps 
 the wear and tear of writing and so forth from hurt- 
 ing the material. But when I go out, I just slip the 
 paper off, so ! — and there I am, you see, with spotless 
 linen, like a gentleman !' And he demonstrated 
 triumphantly. 
 
 * A most ingenious dodge !' Kathleen answered with 
 languid interest. 
 
FRATERNAL AMENITIES 57 
 
 'Yes, it's careful of me,' Eegnrie went on; 'I'm 
 naturally careful. And by such strict bits of economy 
 I expect in the end— to keep down my expenditure on 
 dress to two hundred and fifty.' 
 
 Kathleen smiled very faintly. 
 
 * You don't think a fellow can do it on less, do you ?' 
 Reggie continued once more in an argumentative 
 spirit. 
 
 'Yes, I do,' Kat^^'.een replied. 'I certainly think 
 so. And if he's a man, and can't aflford to spend so 
 much, I think he should be ashamed of himself for 
 talking such nonsense.' 
 
 'Well, but look here, you know,' Eeggie began, 
 ' what's a man to do ? You just think of it this way ! 
 First, he must have a dress suit once a year, of course ; 
 you'll admit that's a necessity. Gloves and white 
 ties -those he uccds for evening. Then a frock coat 
 and waistcoat, with trousers to match ; and a black 
 cutaway lot for afternoon tea ; and two suits of dittos 
 for country wear ; and a tweed with knickerbockers 
 for shooting and so forth ; and a tennis coat, and 
 boating flannels, and ' 
 
 'Oh, don't, Eeggie!' his sister cried, shrinking 
 away and clapping her hands to her aching head. 
 ' You comb my brain ! I'm too tired to argue with 
 you ! ' 
 
 ' That's just it,' Eeggie continued, delighted. 'You 
 
58 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 live in wretched lodgings, with no proper food — your 
 cook's atrocious — and you work till you drop at your 
 beastly painting ; and you tire yourself out with pack- 
 ing your own boxes, instead of keeping a maid, who'd 
 do it all like a shot for you ; and what's the conse- 
 quence? Why, you're unfit for society! When a 
 fellow comes round to pay you a visit after a hard day's 
 work, and expects a little relaxation and stimulating 
 talk with the ladies of his family, he finds you worn 
 out — a mere boiled rag ; while as to music, or conver- 
 sation, or some agreeable chat — oh, dear me, no ! not 
 the ghost of an idea of it !' 
 
 Kathleen's patience was exhausted. 
 
 * My dear boy,' she said half angrily, ' I have to 
 work to keep myself alive, and you, too, into the 
 bargain. And if you expect me to supply you with 
 two hundred a year to spend upon your wardrobe, 
 why, you must at least consent to give up the pleasure 
 of music in the evenings.' 
 
 What Eeginald might have answered to this un- 
 expected attack remains an unknown fact in the 
 history of the universe; for just at that minute the 
 :.4v.3,t-capped little waiting-maid of the Kensington 
 lodgings opened the door with a flourish and an- 
 nounced, * Mr. Mortimer !' 
 
 The young American entered with undisguised 
 alacrity, and gazed delighted around the room. 
 
FRATERNAL AMENITIES 59 
 
 'Mrs. Hesslegrave is <>iif, I hear,' he l)egan with 
 meaning, as he took Kathleen's liand. Then he 
 started a Httle in surprise as Pieginald rose from the 
 chair where he had heen sitting, unseen. * But your 
 brother's here,' he added in a disappointed after- 
 thought, whose distinct tone of regret must needs 
 have struck anybody less self-centred and self- 
 satisfied than the stockbroker's assistant. 
 
 'Yes, I dropped round to say good-bye to my 
 people to-night,' Reggie answered with a drawl, 
 caressing that budding black line on his upper lip 
 with all a hobbledehoy's affection. * They're off on 
 a round of visits in the country just now. Hard 
 lines on me ! I shall be left all alone by myself in 
 London !' 
 
 Rufus Mortimer survej'ed him from head to foot 
 with a comprehensive glance, which seemed to say, 
 about as clear as looks could say it, that whatever he 
 did he wouldn't be much missed anywhere — especially 
 just at that moment ; but being a polite young man, 
 after his own lights, he failed to put his idea into 
 words for the present. He merely sat down on the 
 divan, not far from Kathleen, and began to talk with 
 her about art (a subject which invariably bored Mr. 
 Reginald), taking not the slightest notice in any way 
 all the while of her brother's presence. Before he 
 knew it almost, they were away in Florence : deep in 
 
6o A T MA RKE T VA L UE 
 
 their Eaphaels and Andrea del Sartos, and so forth. 
 Eeggie stood it for ten minutes or so ; then he rose 
 and yawned. Fra FiHppo Lippi had ahnost choked him 
 off : hut Pacchiarotto finished him. He wasn't going to 
 stoj) and hear any more of this rot. He longed for 
 something sensihle. He'd go out and see what the even- 
 ing papers said of the favourite for the Two Thousand. 
 
 But Kathleen called him back anxiously. * Where 
 are you going to, lleggie "?' she asked, with unexpected 
 affection. It wasn't often she seemed so eager for the 
 pleasure of his society. 
 
 ' Oh, just strolling out for a bit,' her brother 
 answered evasively, ' till the Mums comes back. I 
 thought you and Mortimer seemed to be hitting it off 
 on high art very well together.' 
 
 * Don't go just yet,' his sister put in, with a quick 
 look at him. 'I'm sure mother 'd be vexed if you 
 went away without seeing her.' 
 
 ' I meant to come back soon,' Eeggie responded with 
 a sigh, his right hand still fingering the knob of the 
 door. ' I expect you won't miss me.' 
 
 'Oh, don't let him stay on /;;// account,' Mortimer 
 echoed with polite anxiety, giving Kathleen a pleading 
 look half aside in his turn. It was clear ^rom that 
 look he wanted a tete-a-tete with her. 
 
 But Kathleen was hiexorable. ' I'd rather you 
 stopped, Eeggie,' she said in such a decided voice that 
 
FRATERNAL AMENITIES 6l 
 
 even Eeggie understood, and made up his mind to 
 give way to her. ' Mother '11 be here before long, and 
 I want you to wait for her.' 
 
 Eeggie sat down with a bump. 
 
 * Oh, as you will,' he answered, dropping back into 
 his easy-chair. ' I'm sure I don't mind. It's all the 
 same to me. Only, I thought you two could run this 
 Fra Angelico business just about as well without me, 
 don't you know, as with me. I don't pretend to 
 excite myself over Fra Angelico, any way.' 
 
 So for the next half-hour poor Eufus Mortimer sat 
 on, still discussing art — which is a capital subject, no 
 doubt, w'hen 3'ou want to talk of it, but which palls a 
 little, it must be confessed, if it intervenes inconti- 
 nently at the exact moment of time when you're 
 waiting to ask the young woman of your choice whether 
 or not she'll have you. Eufus Mortimer, for his part, 
 was rather inclined, as things stood, to put his money 
 on the )i<)t. For if that delightful English girl had 
 really wanted him, surely she would have managed to 
 get rid, by hook or by crook, of her superfluous 
 brother. Instead of which, she had positively en- 
 couraged him in remaining. Which things being so, 
 Eufus Mortimer was more than half disposed to think 
 she desired to avoid having to give him an answer. 
 For that he was really and truly sorry ; for he had 
 always liked her very much ; and now that she showed 
 
62 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 some disposition to refuse him, why, he came ex- 
 ceedingly near to loving her. Such is the way of 
 man ! The fact that Kathleen Hesslegrave seemed 
 to hold him at arm's-length made Eufus Mortimer 
 resolve in his own mind at all hazards to marry 
 her. 
 
 After Mrs. Hesslegrave had returned for a few 
 minutes, somewhat later, the young man rose to go. 
 It was no use waiting now ; Kathleen was fenced in, 
 as it were, by a doul)le thorn hedge of mother and 
 brother. Yet he paused by the open door, and held 
 Kathleen's hand for a second in his own as he said 
 good-bye. 
 
 * Then we shall meet in Venice,' he said at last, re- 
 gretfully. ' In Venice ; in October.' 
 
 Kathleen looked at him with some concern. 
 
 'But you would do better to be in Paris,' she said 
 low. * It's so much more important for your art, you 
 know !' And she trembled slightly. 
 
 ' No,' the American answered, brightening up at 
 that little spark of seeming interest in his private pur- 
 suits. ' It shall be Venice, Miss Hesslegrave. I make 
 it Venice.' Then he paused for a second, as if afraid 
 of going too far. * There are things,' he said, gazing 
 wistfully at her with his big brown eyes, ' much more 
 important in one's life than art ! So Venice it shall 
 be ! Let me meet you hi Venice !' 
 
FRATERNAL AMENITIES 63 
 
 As soon as he was gone, Eeggie turned to her with 
 a sniggle. 
 
 ' That chap's awfully gone on you, Kitty,' he said, 
 much amused. ' He's awfully gone on you. For my 
 part, I never can understand any fellow being gone on 
 such a girl as you ; but he's awfully gone on you . 
 Why wouldn't you let me go out ? Didn't you see he 
 was Just dying to have ten minutes alone with you ?' 
 
 * Yes, I did see,' Kathleen answered ; ' and that was 
 exactly why I didn't want you to go out that moment. 
 I didn't wish to be left alone with him.' 
 
 Eeggie opened his eyes wide. 
 
 'He's a jolly good match,' he continued. * And a 
 decent enough sort of fellow too — though he knows 
 nothing of horses. I'm sure I don't see why you 
 should make such bones about accepting him!' 
 
 * I quite agree with Eeggie,' put in Mrs. Hesslegrave, 
 who had entered. 'He's an excellent young man. 
 I'm surprised at what you say of him.' 
 
 Kathleen rose from her seat like one who doesn't 
 care to continue a discussion. 
 
 ' He's a very good fellow,' she said, with one hand on 
 the door : ' and I like him immensely. So much that 
 — I didn't care to be left alone with him this evening.' 
 
 And with that enigmatical remark she sliiDped away 
 from the room and ran quietly upstairs to complete 
 her packing. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 A CHANCE ENCOUNTER. 
 
 ' October in Venice is always charming,' Euf us Morti- 
 mer remarked, as he leaned back luxuriously on the 
 padded seat of his own private gondola, the Crhtofovo 
 Colombo. ' The summer's too hot here, and the 
 winter's too chilly ; but October and April are perfect 
 poems. I'm so glad I made up my mind to come, 
 after all. I never saw Venice before to such absolute 
 advantage.' 
 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave gathered her light wrap round her 
 ample shoulders, and settled herself down on the best 
 back bench with an air of unalloyed and complete 
 enjoyment. She was thoroughly in her element. 
 * There's nothing more delightful than a gondola to 
 travel in,' she said with placid contentment in her full 
 round face, looking up at the two sturdy gondoliers in 
 gay costumes, who handled the paddles at prow and 
 stern with true Venetian mastery of the art and craft 
 
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 65 
 
 of the lagoons. She would have said, if she had been 
 quite candid, ' Nothing more delightful than a priratr 
 gondola ;' for 'twas that last touch indeed that made 
 up to Mrs. Hesslegrave half the pleasure of the situa- 
 tion. It flattered her vanity, her sense of superiority 
 to the vulgar herd. She hated to hire a mere ordinary 
 hack-boat at the steps by the Molo ; to entrust herself 
 to the hands of a possibly extortionate and certainly 
 ill-dressed boatman, and to be lost in the common 
 ruck of plain tourist humanity. But what her soul 
 just loved was to glide like this along the Grand Canal 
 in a private craft, with two gentlemen's servants in 
 full Venetian costume— red sash and black jerkin— by 
 the iron bow; to know herself the admired of all 
 beholders, who really couldn't tell at a casual glance 
 whether she was or was not the proprietor in person 
 of the whole turn-out, the eminently respectable family 
 equipage. I don't know why, but we must all admit 
 there is certainly a sense of extreme luxury and aristo- 
 cratic exclusiveness about a private gondola, as about 
 the family state -barge of the seventeenth - century 
 nobleman, which is wholly wanting to even the most 
 costly of modevn carriages and beliveried footmen. Mrs. 
 Hesslegrave felt as much — and was happy accordingly ; 
 for nothing gave her mind such pure enjoyment as 
 the feeling, quite hateful to not a few among us, that 
 she was enjoying something which all the world could 
 VOL. I. 5 
 
66 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 not equally enjoy, and was giving rise to passing 
 qualms of envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitable- 
 ness in the ill-balanced minds of casual spectators. 
 
 So she glided in placid enjoyment down the Grand 
 Canal, drinking it all in as she went with receptive 
 eyes, and noting, by the mute evidence of blinds and 
 shutters, which families were now back in their stately 
 palazzos from their summer holidays, and which were 
 still drinking ' the gross mud-honey of town ' in 
 London or Paris, Berlin or Vienna. 
 
 * There's the Contarini-Fasan,' Kathleen cried in 
 delight as they passed in front of one delicious little 
 palace with mouldering pointed Venetian arches of the 
 fourteenth century. * How lovely it always looks ! 
 That exquisite moulding ! That rich work round the 
 windows ! And those romantic balconies ! — I wonder, 
 Mr. Mortimer, you didn't try to rent some old place 
 like that, instead of the one you've got. It's so much 
 more picturesque, you know !' 
 
 * Do you think so ?' the young American answered, 
 looking quite pleased for a second that she should 
 make the suggestion. ' Well, you see, I didn't know 
 you'd prefer a medieval one. And the Eenaissance 
 are certainly more convenient to live in.' 
 
 * Why, my dear child,' Mrs. Hesslegrave interposed, 
 with quite a shocked expression, * what on earth could 
 be more lovely than Mr. Mortimer's palazzo ? It's 
 
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 67 
 
 much the largest and most important-looking house 
 (except, of course, the Pi-efecture and the foreign 
 ambassadors') on the Grand Canal. I don't see, my- 
 self, how in the world you can find fault with it.' 
 
 ' Miss Hesslegrave's quite right,' the American 
 answered quickly, with grave politeness, darting a 
 glance at Kathleen. * Of course, in point of beauty, 
 there can be no comparison between a palazzo like 
 mine, all plain round windows or Eenaissance doors, 
 and such crystallized dreams in lace- like stone as the 
 Ca d'Oro or the Palazzo Pisani. One capital of their 
 columns is worth my whole courtyard. It's for those 
 alone w^e come to live in Venice. But then, they're 
 not always in the market, don't you see ; and besides, 
 in many ways they're less convenient to live in. One 
 must think of that sometimes. The picturesque is all 
 very w^ell as an object of abstract contemplation in 
 life ; but when it comes to daily needs, we somehow 
 seem to prefer the sanitary and the comfortable.' 
 
 ' Oh, and what an exquisite glimpse up the side- 
 canal there !' Kathleen exclaimed once more, with a 
 lingering accent on the words, as they passed Just in 
 front of an old red tower with bells hung in its arch- 
 ways. * That's the campanile of San Vitale, that 
 tower. I always love it : it's a beautiful bit. These 
 quaint out-of-the-way places, that nobody else ever 
 paints, I love the best of all in Venice. They're so 
 
68 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 much more beautiful and picturesque, after all, than 
 the common things all the world admires, and one sees 
 everywhere — the Rialto, and the Bridge of Sighs, and 
 Santa Maria della Salute.' 
 
 ' The Macdougalls are back, I see,' Mrs. Hesslegrave 
 interposed with a glance at a first-floor. ' That's their 
 house, Mr. Mortimer. They're charming people, and 
 immensely wealthy. That big red place there, just 
 round by the Layards'.' 
 
 'And what lovely old windows it has!' Kathleen 
 exclaimed, glancing up. ' Those deep-recessed quatre- 
 foils ! How exquisite they look, with the canary- 
 creeper climbing up the great stone mullions to the 
 tracery of the arches ! Don't you love the blue posts 
 they moor their boats to ?' 
 
 * I wonder if they've begun their Friday afternoons 
 yet,' Mrs. Hesslegrave went on, following out the 
 track of her own reflections. ' We must look and see, 
 Kathleen, when we go back to our lodgings.' 
 
 ' There was a whole heap of cards, mother,' Kathleen 
 replied, watching the curl of the water from the 
 paddle's edge. ' I didn't much look at them ; but I 
 stuck them all in the yellow Cantagalli pot on the 
 table by the landing. For my part, I just hate these 
 banal gaieties in Venice. They interfere so much with 
 one's time and one's painting.' 
 
 ' Ah, yes, poor Kathleen !' Mrs. Hesslegrave mur- 
 
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 69 
 
 mured pathetically. 'It's so hard on her, Mr. 
 Mortimer. I'm sure you pity her. She has to work 
 like a slave ! She grudges all the time she gives up 
 every week to the natural sports and tastes of her age 
 and her position in society. It's so different with ijou, 
 of course. You have only to paint just when and 
 where you like. Yours is art for art's sake. Poor 
 Kathleen feels compelled to stick at it for a liveli- 
 hood.' 
 
 ' But I like it, mother,' Kathleen cried, colouring 
 up to her very ears. *I love my art. I'd much 
 rather be out painting on one of these lovely, solitary 
 side-canals than cooped up in a drawing-room talking 
 silly small-talk to a whole lot of stupid people I don't 
 care a pin about.' 
 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave sighed, and shook her head 
 faintly, with a speaking glance beneath her eyelids 
 at Mortimer. (She was under the impression that 
 she was ' drawing him on ' by the pathetic channel.) 
 
 ' It's so sweet of you to say so, dear,' she murmured 
 half aside. ' You want to reassure me. That's charm- 
 ing and sweet of you. And I know you like it. In 
 your way you like it. It's a dispensation, of course. 
 Things are always so ordered. What's that lovely 
 text about " tempering the wind to the shorn lamb " ? 
 I'm sure it applies to you. I invariably think so in 
 church when I hear it.' For Mrs. Hesslegrave was 
 
70 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 not the first to attribute to Holy Scripture that 
 sentimental and eminently untrustworthy saying, 
 which belongs by right to the author of ' Tristram 
 Shandy.' 
 
 Just at that moment, however, as they turned with 
 a dexterous twirl under a low bridge up the silent little 
 water-way that leads through quaint lanes to the 
 church of the Frari, they were startled by a sudden 
 voice crying out from close by in clear English tones : 
 * Hullo, Mortimer ! There you are ! So you're back 
 again in Venice !' 
 
 The speaker was not in a gondola, whether private 
 or otherwise ; and his costume was so unaffectedly and 
 frankly sailor-like, as of the common mariner, that 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave was at first sight inclined to resent 
 his speaking in so familiar a tone of voice to the 
 occupants of a distinguished and trimly-kept craft like 
 the Cristoforo Colombo. But his accent was a gentle- 
 man's ; and Mrs. Hesslegrave reflected, just in time 
 to prevent her from too overtly displaying her hostile 
 feelings, that nowadays young men of the very best 
 families so often dress Just like common sailors when 
 they're out on a yachting cruise. No doubt this 
 eccentric person in the jersey and cap who called out 
 BO easily to their host as ' Mortimer,' must be one of 
 these ; otherwise, he would surely have known his 
 place better than lo shout aloud in that unseemly 
 
A CHANCE EN COUNTER 71 
 
 hail-fellow-well-met way to the occupants of a hand- 
 some private gondola. 
 
 But Rufus Mortimer looked up at him with a quick 
 glance of recognition. ' Hullo, Willoughby,' he cried, 
 waving his hand to the gondoliera to draw near the 
 bank. ' So you're back again, too ! This is better 
 than I expected. I was more than half afraid we 
 shouldn't see you at all at the old perch this winter.' 
 
 And even as Mrs. Hesslegrave looked up and won- 
 dered — oh, miracle of Fate ! — Kathleen rose from her 
 seat and leant over the edge of the gondola with one 
 hand outstretched in quite kindly recognition towards 
 the sailor-looking stranger. 
 
 * Why, it's you, Mr. Willoughby,' she cried with 
 clear welcome in her voice. ' I a)ii so glad to see you 
 in Venice !' 
 
 Arnold Willoughby held out his hand in return with 
 a slight tremor of pleased surprise at this unwonted 
 reception. 
 
 ' Then you haven't forgotten me ?' he exclaimed 
 with unaffected pleasure. ' I didn't think, Miss Hessle- 
 grave, you'd be likely to remember me.' 
 
 Kathleen turned towards her mother, whose eyes 
 were now fixed upon her in the mutely interrogative 
 fashion of a prudent mamma when her daughter 
 recognises an uncertified stranger. 
 
 * This is the gentleman I told you about, dear,' she 
 
73 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 Baid simply, presenting him. ' The gentleman who was 
 BO good to me that Taking-away Day at the Academy 
 this spring. Don't you remember, I mentioned him ?' 
 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave froze visibly. This was really too 
 much. She drew herself up as stiff and straight as 
 one can easily manage in a wobbling gondola. * I 
 have some dim recollection,' she said with slow 
 accents in her chilliest tone, * that you spoke to me of 
 some gentleman you didn't know who was kind enough 
 to help you in carrying back your picture. I— I'm 
 de-lighted to meet him.' But the tone in which Mrs. 
 Hesslegrave said that word * de-lighted ' belied its 
 significance. 
 
 * Step into the gondola, Willoughby,' the young 
 American suggested with the easy friendliness of his 
 countrymen. ' Are you going anywhere in particular ? 
 — No ? Just lounging about reconnoitring the ground 
 for the winter's campaign ? Then you'd better jump 
 in and let's hear what you've been up to.' 
 
 Arnold Willoughby, nothing loath, descended lightly 
 into the gondola. As he entered Mrs. Hesslegrave 
 drew her gown just a little on one side instinctively. 
 She had a sort of feeling in her soul that this maritime- 
 looking young man didn't move in exactly the same 
 exalted sphere as that to which she and hers had 
 always been accustomed. He hadn't at all the air of 
 a cavalry officer; and to Mrs. Hesslegrave's mind 
 
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 73 
 
 your cavalry officer was the measure of all tliinpis. 
 So she shrank from him unol)trusively. But Kathleen 
 noticed the shrinking, and heinr:; half afraid the nice 
 sailor-like painter might have noticed it too, she was 
 even more polite to him than she might otherwise 
 have been in consequence of her mother's unspokeii 
 slight. 
 
 Willoughhy took a place in the stern, on the com- 
 fortahle stulied seat between IMortimer and Kathleen. 
 His manners at least, Mrs. Hesslegravo observed with 
 comparative pleasure, were those of a gentleman ; 
 though his tailor's bill would certainly not have suited 
 her son Reginald's enlightened views on that im- 
 portant subject. 
 
 'Well, tell us all about it,' Mortimer began at once, 
 with the utmost cordiality. ' You're here, we all see. 
 How have you managed to come here ? It was only 
 
 yesterday I was telling Miss Hesslegrave at tht> station 
 how you weren't sure whether things would turn out 
 
 so as to enable you to return; and she said she so 
 
 much hoped you'd manage to come back again.' 
 'We should be painting so near one another this 
 
 year, no doubt,' Kathleen said with a pleasant smile, 
 
 ' we'd be able to see something of one another's work 
 
 and one another's society.' 
 Arnold Willoughby's face flushed with genuine and 
 
 unexpected pleasure. Could it be really the fact that 
 
74 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 thia pretty and pleasant-mannered artist girl was 
 genuinely glad he had come back to Yenice ? And he 
 a poor painter with only his art to bless himself with '? 
 To Arnold Willoughby, after his rude awakening to 
 fuller experience of the ways and habits of men and 
 women, such disinterested interest seemed well-nigh 
 incredible. He glanced at her timidly, yet with a face 
 full of pleasure. 
 
 * That was very, very kind of you,' he answered, 
 rather low, for kindness always overcame him. Then 
 he turned to the American. * Well, it was like this, 
 you see, Mortimer,' he said ; ' I sold my picture.' 
 
 * Not the Chioggia Fisher-boats '?' Kathleen cried, 
 quite interested. 
 
 ' Yes, the same you saw that day I met you at the 
 Academy,' Arnold answered, with secret delight that 
 the pretty girl should have remembered the name and 
 subject of his maiden effort. 
 
 'I thought you'd sell it,' Kathleen replied, really 
 radiant. * I am so glad you did. Mr. Mortimer told 
 me your return to Venice and your future in art very 
 largely depended upon your chance of selling it.' 
 
 ' Kathleen, my dear,' Mrs. Hesslegrave interposed 
 in her chilliest voice, ' do take care what you do. 
 Don't you see you're letting your shawl hang over into 
 the water ?' 
 
 Kathleen lifted it up hurriedly, and went on with 
 
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 75 
 
 her conversation, unheeding her mother's hint, which 
 indeed fell flat upon her. 
 
 'I knew you'd sell it,' she continued with girlish 
 enthusiasm. ' It was so good. I liked it immensely. 
 Such rich colour on the sails; and such delicate 
 imagination !' 
 
 'But it rather lacked technique,' the American 
 interposed, just a trifle chillily. 
 
 ' Oh, technique anybody can get nowadays,' Kathleen 
 answered with warmth—' if he goes to the right place 
 for it. It's a matter of paying. What he can't buy 
 or be taught is imagination — fancy — keen sense of 
 form — poetical colour-perception.' 
 
 'And how much did they give you for it?' the 
 American asked, point-blank, with his country's 
 directness. (An Englishman would have said, 'I 
 hope the terms were satisfactory.') 
 
 Willoughby parried the question. 
 
 ' Not much,' he answered discreetly. ' But enough 
 for my needs. I felt at least my time had not been 
 wasted. It's enabled me to come back this autumn ot 
 Venice, which on many grounds I greaily desired to 
 do; and it will even allow me to get a little more 
 instruction in that technique of art which you rightly 
 say is the weak point of my position. So, of course, 
 on the whole, I'm more than satisfied.' 
 
 * And what have you been doing all summer ?' 
 
76 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 Mortimer continued, with a lazy wave to the 
 gondolier, leaning back at his ease on his padded 
 cushions. 
 
 Arnold Willoughby still retained too much of the 
 innate self-confidence of the born aristocrat to think it 
 necessary for him to conceal anything that seemed to 
 himself sufficiently good for him to do. If he could do 
 it, he could also acknowledge it. 
 
 ' Oh, I just w^ent to sea again,' he answered frankly. 
 ' I got a place as A.B. on a Norwegian ship that traded 
 with Dieppe ; deal planks and so forth ; and the hard 
 work and fresh air I got in the North Sea have done 
 me good, I fancy. I'm ever so much stronger than I 
 was last winter.' 
 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave had been longing for some time to 
 interpose in this very curious and doubtful conver- 
 sation ; and now she could restrain her desire no 
 longer. 
 
 ' You do it for your health, then, I suppose ?' she 
 ventured to suggest, as if on purpose to save her own 
 self-respect and the credit of Rufus Mortimer's society. 
 ' You've been ordered it by the doctor ?' 
 
 ' Oh, dear no ! I do it for my livelihood,' Arnold 
 Willoughby answered stoutly, not in the least ashamed. 
 * I'm a sailor by trade ; I go to sea all summer, and I 
 paint all winter. It's a very good alternation I find 
 it suits me.' 
 
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER ■ yy 
 
 This was too much for Mrs. Hesslegrave. She felt 
 that Mortimer, though he had a perfect right, of 
 course, to choose his own friends where he Uked, 
 ought not to have exposed dear Kathleen and herself 
 to the contagion, so to speak, of such strange acquaint- 
 ances. 
 
 ' Dear me !' she cried suddenly, looking up at the big 
 brick tower that rose sheer just in front of them : 'here 
 we are at the Frari !— Kathleen, didn't you say you 
 wanted to go in and look again at that picture of What's- 
 his-name's— Ah, yes, Tintoretto's— in the Scuola di 
 San Eocco?— Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Mortimer; 
 we won't trouble you to wait for us. Kathleen knows 
 her way on foot all over Venice. She can get from 
 place to place in the most wonderful fashion, from end 
 to end of the town, by these funny little calli. It 
 n-as so kind of you to give us a lift so far.— Here, 
 Kathleen; step out! Good-morning, Mr. Mortimer; 
 your gondola's just charming.— Good-morning, Mr.— 
 ah— I forget your friend's name; oh, of course: Mr. 
 Willoughby.' 
 
 The inevitable old man with a boat-hook was hold- 
 ing the gondola by this time to the bank, and extend- 
 ing his hat for the expected penny. Mrs. Hesslegrave 
 stepped out, with lier most matronly air, looking a 
 dignified Juno. Kathleen stepped after her on to the 
 slippery stone pavement, green-grown by the water's 
 
78 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 edge. As she did so, she turned, with her sweet 
 sHght figure, and waved a friendly good-bye to the two 
 painters, the rich and the poor impartially. 
 
 'And I hope, Mr. Mortimer,' she called out in her 
 cheeriest tone, ' you'll bring Mr. Willoughby with you 
 next week to our usual tea-and-talk at four on Wednes- 
 day.' 
 
 As for poor Mrs. Hesslegrave, she stood speechless 
 for a second, dumfounded with dismay, on the stone 
 steps of the Frari. What could Kathleen be thinking 
 of ? That dreadful man ! And this was the very 
 misfortune she had been bent on averting ! 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 But the cup of Mrs. Hesslegrave's humiliation was not 
 yet full. A moment's pause lost all — and lo ! the 
 floodgates of an undesirable acquaintance were opened 
 upon her. 
 
 It was charity that did it— pure feminine charity, 
 not unmingled with a faint sense of how noblesse ohlifie, 
 and what dignity demands from a potential Lady 
 Bountiful. For the inevitable old man, with a ram- 
 shackled boat-hook in his wrinkled brown hand, and 
 n'^ teeth to boast of, who invariably mocrs your 
 gondola to the shore while you alight from the prow, 
 and holds his hat out afterwards for a few loose soldi, 
 bowed low to the ground in his picturesque rags as 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave passed him. Now, proper respect 
 for her superior position always counted for much with 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave. She paused for a moment at the 
 top of the mouldering steps m helpless search for an 
 
8o AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 elusive pocket. But the- wisdom and foresight of her 
 London dressmaker had provided for this contingency 
 well beforehand by concealing it so far back among the 
 recesses of her gown that she fumbled hi vain and 
 found no suldi. In her difficulty she turned with an 
 appealing glance to Kathleen. 
 
 ' Have you got any coppers, dear ?' she in(iuired in 
 her most mellifluous voice. And Kathleen forthwith 
 proceeded in like manner to prosecute her search for 
 them in the labyrinthine folds of her own deftly- 
 screened pocket. 
 
 On what small twists and turns of circumstance does 
 our whole life hang ! Kathleen's fate hinged entirely 
 on that momentary delay, coupled with the equally 
 accidental meeting at the doors of the Academy. For 
 while she paused and hunted, as the old man stood 
 bowing and scraping by the water's edge, and consider- 
 ing to himself, with his obsequious smile, that after so 
 long a search the forcsticrl couldn't decently produce 
 in the end any smaller cohi than half a lira — Eufus 
 Mortimer, perceiving the cause of their indecision, 
 stepped forward in the gondola with his own purse 
 open. At the very same instant, too, Arnold 
 Willoughby, half-torgetful of his altered fortunes, and 
 conscious only of the fact that the incident was dis- 
 composing at the second for a lady, pulled out loose 
 his scanty stock of available cash, and selected from it 
 
A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 8i 
 
 tlie smallest silver coin he happened to possess, whicli 
 chanced to be a piece of fifty rciitcHiini. Then, while 
 jMortinier was hunting among his gold to find a franc, 
 Arnold handed the money hastily to the cringing old 
 bystander. The man in the picturesque rags closed 
 his wrinkled brown hand on it with a satisfied grin ; 
 and Mortimer tried to find another half-franc among 
 the folds of his purse to repay on the spot his sailor 
 acquaintance. But Arnold answered with sucli a firm 
 air of quiet dignity, 'No, thank you; allow me to 
 settle it,' that Mortimer, after a moment of ineffectual 
 remonstrance—' But this is my gondola '—was fain to 
 hold his peace ; and even Mrs. Hesslegrave was con- 
 strained to acquiesce in the odd young man's whim 
 with a murmured, ' Oh, thank you.' After that, she 
 felt she could no longer be frigid— till the next oppor- 
 tunity. Meanwhile, when Kathleen suggested in her 
 gentlest and most enticing voice, ' Why don't you two 
 step out and look at the Tintorettos]with us '?'— Mrs. 
 Hesslegrave recognised that there was nothing for it 
 now but to smile and look pleased and j)retend she 
 really liked the strange young man's society. 
 
 So they went into the Scuola di San Bocco together. 
 But Rufus Mortimer, laudably anxious that his friend 
 should expend no more of his Inird-earned cash on 
 such unseasonable gallantries, took good care to go on 
 a few paces ahead and take tickets for the whole party 
 
 VOL. I. 6 
 
82 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 before Mrs. Hesslegrave and Kathleen, escorted l)y the 
 unsuspecting Arnold, had turned the corner by the 
 rearmg red church of the Frari. The elder lady 
 arrived at the marble-coated front of the Scuola not a 
 little out of breath ; for she was endowed with asthma, 
 and she hated to walk even the few short steps from the 
 gondola to the tiny piazza ; which was one of the 
 reasons, indeed, why Kathleen, most patient and 
 dutiful and considerate of daughters, had chosen 
 Venice rather than any other Italian town as the 
 scene on which to specialize her artistic talent. For 
 nowhere on earth is locomotion so cheap or so easy as 
 in the city of canals, where a gondola will convey you 
 from end to end of the town, without noise or jolting, 
 at the modest expense of eightpence sterlmg. Even 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave, however, could not resist after a 
 while the contagious kindliness of Arnold Willoughl)y's 
 demeanour. 'Twas such a novelty to him to be in 
 ladies' society nowadays, that he rose at once to the 
 occasion, and developed at one bound from a confirmed 
 misogynist into an accomplished courtier. The fact 
 of it was he had been taken by Kathleen's frank 
 gratitude that day at the Academy ; and he was really 
 touched this afternoon by her evident recollection of 
 him, and her anxiety to show him all the politeness in 
 her power. Never before since he had practically 
 ceased to be Earl of Axminster had any woman 
 
A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 83 
 
 treated him with half so much consideration. Arnold 
 Willouf;}il)v was almost tempted in his own heart to 
 try whether or not he had hit here, by pure accident 
 of fate, upon that rare soul which could accept him 
 and love him for the true gold that was in him, and 
 not for the guinea stamp of which he had purposely 
 divested himself. 
 
 As they entered the great hall, Campagna's master- 
 piece, its walls richly dight with Tintoretto's frescoes, 
 Arnold Willoughhy drew back involuntarily at the 
 first glance with a little start of astonishment. 
 
 'Dear me,' he cried, turning round in his surprise 
 to Kathleen, and twisting his left hand in a lock of 
 hair l)eliind his ectr — which was a trick he had when- 
 ever he was deeply interested — * what amazing people 
 these superb old Venetians were, after all ! Why, one's 
 never at the end of them ! What a picture it gives 
 one of their magnificence and their wealth, this sumptu- 
 ous council-house of one unimportant brotherhood !' 
 
 'It is fine,' Mortimer interposed, with a little smile 
 of superiority, as one who knew it well of old. * It's 
 a marvel of decoration. Then, I suppose, from 
 what you say, this is the first time you've been here ?' 
 
 'Yes, the ver^ first time,' Arnold admitted at once 
 with that perfect frankness which was bis most 
 charming characteristic. ' Though I've lived here so 
 long, there are in Venice a great many interiors I've 
 
84 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 never seen. Outside, 1 ilihik I know every nook and 
 corner of the smallest side-canals, and the remotest 
 calU, about as well as anybody; for I'm given to 
 meandering on foot round the town ; and it's only on 
 foot one can ever really get to know the whole of 
 Venice. Perhaps you wouldn't believe it, Init there 
 isn't a single house on all the islands tliat make up the 
 town which can't be reached on one's own legs from 
 every other by some circuit of bridges, without one's 
 ever liavhig to trust to a ferry-boat or a gondola. Jiut 
 of course you must know the tortuous twists and turns 
 to get round to some of them. So, outside at least, 1 
 know my Venice thoroughly. But inside— ah, there ! 
 if you except St. Mark's and a few other churches— 
 with, of course, the Academy— I hardly know it at all. 
 There are dozens of places you could take me to like 
 this that I never stepped inside yet.' 
 
 Kathleen was just going to ask, ' Why ?' when the 
 answer came of itself to her. In order to gain admit- 
 tance to most of these interiors, you have to pay a 
 franc ; and she remembered now, with a sudden burst 
 of surprise, that a franc was a very appreciable sum 
 indeed to their new acquaintance. So she altered her 
 
 phrase to : 
 
 ' Well, I'm very glad at least we met you to-day, 
 and have had the pleasure of bringing you for the 
 first time to San Eocco.' 
 
A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 85 
 
 And it »Y^<? a treat. Arnold couldn't deny that, 
 lie roamed round those great rooms in a fever of 
 delight, and gazed with the fulness of a painter's soul 
 at Tintoretto's masterpieces. The gorgeous hrilliancy 
 of Titian's Annunciation, the naturalistic reality of the 
 Adoration of the Magi, the heautiful penitent Magda- 
 lene beside the fiery cloud-flakes of her twilight 
 landscape — he gloated over them all with cultivated 
 appreciation. Kathleen marvelled to herself how a 
 mere common sailor could ever have imbibed such an 
 enthralling love for the highest art, and still more 
 how he could ever have learned to speak of its inner 
 meaning in such well-chosen phrases. It fairly took 
 her breath away when the young man in the jersey 
 and blue woollen cap stood entranced before the fresco 
 of the Pool of Bethesda, with its grand far-away land- 
 scape, and mused to himself aloud as it were : 
 
 ' What a careless giant he was, to be sure, this 
 Tintoretto ! Why, he seems just to fling his paint 
 haphazard upon the wall, as if it cost him no more 
 trouble to paint an Ascension than to sprawl his brush 
 over the face of the plaster : and yet— there comes out 
 in the end a dream of soft colour, a poem in neutral 
 tints, a triumx)hant pa^an of virile imagining.' 
 
 ' Yes ! they're beautiful,' Kathleen answered : * ex- 
 ceedingly beautiful. And what you say of them is so 
 true. They're dashed off with such princely ease. 
 
86 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 You put into words what one would like to say one's 
 self, but doesn't know how to.' 
 
 And, indeed, even Mrs. Hesslegrave was forced to 
 admit in her own mind that, in spite of his rough clothes 
 and his weather-beaten face, the young man seemed to 
 have ideas and language above his station. Not that 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave thought any the better of him on that 
 account. Why can't young men be content to remain 
 in the rank in life in which circumstances and the law 
 of the land have placed them ? Of course there were 
 Burns, and Shakespeare, and Keats, and so forth— 
 not one of them a born gentleman : and Kathleen was 
 alwaj s telling her how that famous Giotto (whose 
 angular angels she really couldn't with honesty 
 pretend to admire) was at first nothing more than a 
 mere Tuscan shepherd boy. But, then, all these were 
 geniuses ; and if a man is a genius, of course that's 
 quite another matter. Though, to be sure, in our own 
 day, genius has no right to crop up in a common 
 sailor. It discomposes one's natural views of life, and 
 leads to such unpleasant and awkward positions. 
 
 When they had looked at the Tintorettos through the 
 whole history of the Testament, from the Annuncia- 
 tion downstairs with the child-like Madonna to the 
 Ascension in the large hall on the upper landing, they 
 turned to go out and resume their places in the wait- 
 ing gondola. And here a new misfortune lay in wait 
 
A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 87 
 
 for Mrs. Hesslegrave. 'Twas a day of evil chances. 
 For as she and Eufus Mortimer took their seats in the 
 stern on those neatly-padded cushions which rejoiced 
 her soul, Kathleen, to her immense surprise and 
 no small internal annoyance, abruptly announced her 
 intention of walking home over the bridge by herself, 
 80 as to pass the colour-shop in the Calle San Moise. 
 She wanted some ultramarine, she said, for the picture 
 she was going to paint in the corner of the Giudecca. 
 Of course, Arnold Willoughby insisted upon accom- 
 panying her; and so, to complete that morning's 
 mishaps, Mrs. Hesslegrave had the misery of seeing 
 her daughter walk off, through a narrow and darkling 
 Venetian street, accompanied on her way by that 
 awful man, whom Mrs. Hesslegrave had been doing all 
 she knew to shake off from the very first moment she 
 had the ill-luck to set eyes on him. 
 
 Not that Kathleen had the slightest intention of 
 disobeying or irritating or annoying her mother. 
 Nothing, indeed, could have been further from her 
 innocent mind ; it was merely that she didn't under- 
 stand or suspect Mrs. Hesslegrave's objection to the 
 frank young sailor. Too honest to doubt him, she 
 missed the whole point of her mother's dark hints. 
 So she walked home with Arnold, conscience free, 
 without the faintest idea she was doing anything that 
 could possibly displease Mrs. Hesslegrave. They 
 
88 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 walked on, side by side, through strange Uttle hines, 
 bounded high on either hand by lofty old palaces, which 
 raised their mildewed fronts and antique arched 
 windows above one another's heads, in emulous striv- 
 ing towards the scanty sanshine. As for Arnold 
 Willoughby, he darted round the corners like one that 
 knew them intimately. Kathleen had flattered her 
 soul she could find her way tolerably well on foot 
 through the best part of Venice : but she soon dis- 
 covered that Arnold Willoughby knew how to thread 
 his path through that seeming labyrinth far more 
 easily than she could do. Here and there he would 
 cross some narrow high-pitched bridge over a petty 
 canal, where market-boats from the mainland stood 
 delivering vegetables at gloomy portals that opened 
 close down to the water's edge, or woodmen from the 
 hills, with heavily-laden barges, handed fagots through 
 grated windows to bare-headed and yellow-haired 
 Venetian housewives. Bagged shutters and iron bal- 
 conies overhung the green waterway. Then, again, 
 he would skirt for awhile some ill- scented Eio, where 
 strings of onions hung out in the sun from every 
 second door, and cheap Madonnas in gilt and painted 
 wood sat enshrined in plaster niches behind burning 
 oil-lamps. On and on he led Kathleen by unknown 
 side-streets, past wonderful little squares or flag-paved 
 cauqn, each adorned with its ancient church and its 
 
A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 89 
 
 slender belfry; over the colossal curve of the Rialto 
 with its glittering shops on either side ; and home by 
 queer byways, where few feet else save of native 
 Venetians ever ventured to penetrate. Now and again 
 round the corners came the echoing cries, * StaVi,* 
 * Premc ' and some romantic gondola with its covered 
 trappings, like a floating black hearse, would glide 
 past like lightning. Well as Kathleen knew the town, 
 it w^as still a revelation to her. She walked on, 
 entranced, with a painter's eye, through that ever- 
 varying, ever-moving, ever-enchanting panorama. 
 
 And they talked as they went; the young sailor- 
 painter talked on and on, frankly, delightfully, charm- 
 ingly. He talked of Kathleen and her art ; of what 
 she would work at this winter ; of where he himself 
 meant to pitch his easel ; of the chances of their both 
 choosing some neighbouring subject. Confidence be- 
 gets confidence. He talked so much about Kathleen, 
 and drew her on so about her aims and aspirations in 
 art, that Kathleen in turn felt compelled for very 
 shame to repay the compliment, and to ask him much 
 about himself and his mode of working. Arnold 
 Willoughby smiled and showed those exquisite teeth 
 of his when she questioned him first. * It's the one 
 subject,' he answered — * self — on which they say all 
 men are fluent and none agreeable.' But he belied 
 his own epigram, Kathleen thought, as he continued : 
 
90 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 for he talked about himself, and yet he talked delight- 
 fully. It was so novel to hear a man so discuss the 
 question of his own place in life, as though it mattered 
 little whether he remained a common sailor or rose to 
 be reckoned a painter and a gentleman. He never 
 even seemed to feel the immense gulf which in 
 Kathleen's eyes separated the two callings. It 
 appeared to be to him a mere matter of convenience 
 which of the two he followed. He talked of them 
 so calmly as alternative trades in the pursuit of 
 which a man might if he chose earn an honest live- 
 lihood. 
 
 • But surely you feel the artist's desire to create 
 beautiful things?' Kathleen cried at last. 'They're 
 not quite on the same level with you— fine art and 
 sail-reefing !' 
 
 That curious restrained curl was just visible for a 
 second round the delicate corners of Arnold Wil- 
 loughby's honest mouth. 
 
 ' You compel me to speak of myself,' he said, ' when 
 I would much rather be speaking of somebody or 
 something else ; but if I must, I will tell you.' 
 
 'Do,' Kathleen said, drawing close, with more 
 eagerness in her manner than Mrs. Hesslegrave would 
 have considered entirely ladylike. 'It's so much 
 more interesting.' And then, fearing she had perhaps 
 gone a little too far, she blushed to her ear-tips. 
 
A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 9» 
 
 Arnold noticed that dainty blush— it became her 
 wonderfully— and was confirmed by it in his good 
 opinion of Kathleen's disinterestedness. Could this 
 indeed be the one woman on earth to whom he could 
 really give himself ? — the one woman who could take 
 a man for what he was in himself, not for what the 
 outside world chose to call him ? He was half inclined 
 to think so. 
 
 •Well,' he continued with a reflective air, 'there's 
 much to be said for art— and much also for the 
 common sailor. I may be right, or I may be wrong ; 
 I don't want to force anybody else into swallowing my 
 opinions wholesale ; I'm far too uncertain about them 
 myself for that ; but as far as my own conduct goes 
 (which is all I have to answer for), why, I must base 
 it upon them ; I must act as seems most just and 
 right to my own conscience. Now, I feel a sailor's 
 life is one of undoubted usefulness to the community. 
 He's employed in carrying commodities of universally 
 acknowledged value from the places where they're 
 produced to the places where they're needed. Nobody 
 can deny that that's a useful function. The man who 
 does that can justify his life and his livelihood to his 
 fellows. No caviller can ever accuse him of eating his 
 bread unearned, an idle drone, at the table of the 
 commonalty. That's why I determined to be a 
 common sailor. It was work I could do ; work that 
 
92 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 suited me well ; work I felt my conscience could wholly 
 approve of.' 
 
 * I see,' Kathleen answered, very much taken aback. 
 It had never even occurred to her that a man could so 
 choose his calling in life on conscientious rather than 
 on personal ••rounds; could attach more importance 
 to the usefulness and lawfulness of the trade he took 
 u]) than to the money to be made at it. The earnest- 
 looking sailor-man in the rough woollen clothes was 
 opening up to her new perspectives of moral possi- 
 bility. 
 
 * But didn't you long for art too?' she went on after 
 a brief pause ; ' you who have so distinct a natural 
 vocation, so keen a taste for form and colour ?' 
 
 ^ Arnold Willoughby looked hard at her. 
 
 *Yes,' he answered frankly, with a scrutinizing 
 glance. 'I did. I longed for it. But at first I kept 
 the longing sternly down. I thought it was wrong 
 of me even to wish to indulge it. I had put my hand 
 to the plough, and I didn't like to look back again. 
 Still, when my health began to give way, I saw things 
 somewhat differently. I was as anxious as ever, then, 
 to do some work in the world that should justify my 
 existence, so to speak, to my fellow-creatures ; anxious 
 to feel I didn't sit, a mere idle mouth, at the banquet 
 of humanity. But I began to perceive that man 
 cannot live by bread alone ; that the useful trades, 
 
A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 93 
 
 though they are, after all, at hottom the nohlest and 
 most ennohlmg, do not fill up the sum of human exist- 
 ence : that we have need, too, of books, of poetry, of 
 pictures, statues, music. So I determined to give up 
 my life, half-and-half, to either— to sail by summer, 
 and paint by winter, if only I could earn enough by 
 painting to live upon. For my first moral postulate is 
 that every man ought to be ashamed of himself if he 
 can't win wage enough by his own exertions to keep 
 him going. That is, in fact, the one solid and practical 
 test of his usefulness to his fellow-creatures— whether 
 or not they are willing to pay him that he may keep 
 at work for them. If he can't do that, then I hold 
 without doubt he is a moral failure. And it's his duty 
 to take himself sternly in hand till he fits himself at 
 once for being the equal hi this respect of the navvy 
 or the scavenger.' 
 
 'But art drew you on?' Kathleen said, much 
 wondering in her soul at this strange intrusion of con- 
 science into such unfamiliar fields. 
 
 'Yes, art drew me on,' Arnold Willoughby answered; 
 ' and though I had my doubts, I allowed it to draw 
 me. I felt I was following my own inclination ; but 
 I felt, too, I was doing right to some extent, if only I 
 could justify myself by painting pictures good enough 
 to give pleasure to others : the test of their goodness 
 being always saleability. The fact is, the sea didn't 
 
94 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 satisfy all the wants of my nature ; and since we 
 men are men, not sheep or monkeys, I hold we are 
 justified in indulging to the full these higher and 
 purely human or civihzed tastes, just as truly as the 
 lower ones. So I determined, after all, to take to 
 art for half my livelihood— not, I hope, without con- 
 scientious justification. For I would never wish to do 
 anything in life which might not pass the honest 
 scrutiny of an impartial jury of moral inquisitors. — 
 Why, here we are at the Piazza ! I'd no idea we'd 
 got so far yet !' 
 
 * Nor I either !' Kathleen exclaimed. ' I'm sorry for 
 it, Mr. Willoughby— for this is all so interesting.— But, 
 at any rate, you're coming with Mr. IMortimer on 
 Wednesday.' 
 
 Arnold Willoughby's face flushed all aglow with 
 pleasure. The misogynist in him was thoroughly over- 
 come; nothing remained hut the man chivalrously 
 grateful to a beautiful woman for her undisguised 
 interest. He raised his cap, radiant. 'Thank you 
 BO much,' he answered simply, like the gentleman 
 that he was. 'You may be sure I won't forget it. 
 How kind of you to ask me !' 
 
 For he knew it was the common sailor in rough 
 clothes she had invited, not Albert Ogilvie Eedburn, 
 seventh Earl of Axminster. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MAKING THEIE MINDS UP. 
 
 That winter through, m spite of Mrs. Hesslegrave, 
 Kathleen saw a great deal of the interesting sailor who 
 had taken to pninting. Half hy accident, half hy 
 design, they had chosen their pitches very close 
 together. Both of them were painting on that quaint 
 old quay, the Fondamenta delle Zattere, overlooking 
 the broad inlet or Canal della Giudecca, where most 
 of the sea-going craft of Venice lie at anchor, unload- 
 ing. Kathleen's canvas was turned inland, towards 
 the crumbling old church of San Trovaso, and the 
 thick group of little bridges, curved high in the 
 middle, that span the minor canals of that half- 
 deserted quarter. She looked obliquely down two of 
 those untrodden streets at once, so as to get a double 
 glimpse of two sets of bridges at all possible angles, 
 and afford herself a difficult lesson in the perspective 
 of arches. Midway between the two rose the tapering 
 
96 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 campanile of the quaint old church, with the acacias 
 by its side, that hang their drooping branches and 
 feathery foliage into the stagnant water of the placid 
 Rio. But Arnold "VVilloughby's easel was turned in 
 the opposite direction, towards the seaward runlets 
 and the open channel where the big ships lay mooi'ed ; 
 he loved better to paint the sea-going vessels he knew 
 and understood so well — the thick forest of masts; the 
 russet-brown sails of the market-boats from Mestre ; 
 the bright reds and greens of the Chioggia fisher-craft ; 
 the solemn gray of the barges that bring fresh water 
 from Fusina. It was maritime Venice he could best re- 
 produce ; while Kathleen's lighter brush reflected rather 
 the varying moc ds and tessellated floor of the narrow 
 canals, which are to the sea-girt city what streets and 
 alleys are to more solid towns of the mainland. 
 
 Thus painting side by side, they saw much of one 
 another. Ruf us Mortimer, who cherished a real liking 
 for Kathleen, grew jealous at times of the penniless 
 sailor-man. It seemed to him a pity, indeed, that Kath- 
 leen should get entangled with a fellow like that, who 
 could never, by any possibility, be in a position to marry 
 her. But then Mortimer, being an American, had a 
 profound faith at bottom in the persuasive worth of the 
 almighty dollar ; and though he was really a good 
 fellow with plenty of humanity and generous feeling, 
 he didn't doubt that in the end, when it came to 
 
MAKING THEIR MINDS UP 97 
 
 settling down, Kiithloon would profor the solid advan- 
 tages of starting in life as a rich Philadelphian's wife 
 to the sentimental idea of love in a cottage — and a poor 
 one at that — with a destitute sailor who dahhled like 
 an amateur in marine painting. However, heing a 
 prudent man, and knowing that proximity in these 
 affairs is half the hattle, Mortimer determined to pitch 
 his own canvas in the same part of the town, and to 
 paint a picture close by to Kathleen and Willoughby. 
 This involved on his part no small departure from his 
 usual practice ; for Mortimer was by choice a confirmed 
 figure-painter, who worked in a studio from the living 
 model. But he managed to choose an outdoor 
 subject combining figure with landscape, and dashed 
 away vigorously at a background of brown ware- 
 houses and mouldering arches, with a laughing group 
 of gay Venetian models picturesquely posed as a merry 
 christening-party, by the big doors of San Trovaso. 
 
 Money gives a man a pull ; and Arnold Willoughby 
 felt it when every morning Kathleen floated up to her 
 work in Rufus Mortimer's private gondola, with Mrs. 
 Hesslegrave leaning back (in her capacity of chaperon) 
 on those well-padded cushions, and the two handsome 
 gondoliers waiting obsequious and attentive by the 
 marble steps for their employer's orders. But it was 
 just what he wanted. For he could see with his own 
 eyes that Mortimer was paying very marked court to 
 
 VOL. I. 7 
 
98 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 the pretty English girl-artist ; and, indeed, Mortimer, 
 after his country's wont, made no attempt to disguise 
 that patent fact in any way. On the other hand, 
 Arnold perceived that Kathleen seemed to pay quite 
 as much attention to the penniless sailor as to the 
 American millionaire. And that was exactly what 
 Arnold Willoughby desired to find out. He could get 
 any number of women to flutter eagerly and anxiously 
 round Lord Axminster's chair ; but he would never 
 care to take any one of them all for better, for worse, 
 unless she was ready to give up money and position 
 and more eligible offers for the sake of Arnold 
 Willoughby, the penniless sailor and struggling 
 artist. 
 
 And, indeed, in spite of his well-equipped gondola, 
 Kufus Mortimer didn't somehow have things all his 
 own way. If Kathleen came down luxuriously every 
 morning in the Cristoforo Colombo, she oftenest re- 
 turned to the Piazza on foot, by devious byways, with 
 Arnold Willoughby. She liked those walks ever so 
 much : Mr. Willoughby was always such a delightful 
 companion; and, sailor or no sailor, he had really 
 picked up an astonishing amount of knowledge about 
 Venetian history, antiquities and architecture. Oii 
 one such day, towards early spring, as they walked 
 together through the narrow lanes, overshadowed by 
 mighty cornices, where one could touch the houses on 
 
MAKING THEIR MINDS UP 99 
 
 either hand as one went, a pretty Uttle ItaUan girl, 
 about five years old, ro,n hastily out of a musty shop 
 over whose door hung salt fish and long strings of 
 garlic. She was singing to herself as she ran a queer 
 old song in the Venetian dialect — 
 
 'Tastu che mi te insegna a navegar? 
 Vate a far una barca o una batela :' 
 
 but when her glance fell on Arnold Willoughby she 
 looked up at him with a merry twinkle in her big 
 brown eyes, and dropped him a little curtsey of the 
 saucy Southern pattern. ' Buon giorno, sior,' she cried, 
 in the liquid Venetian patois. And Arnold answered 
 with a pleasant smile of friendly recognition, ' Buon 
 
 giorno, piccola.' 
 
 ' You know her ?' Kathleen asked, half wondering 
 to herself how her painter had made the acquaintance 
 of the little golden-haired Venetian. 
 
 • Oh dear yes,' the young man answered with a 
 smile. 'That's Cecca, that little one. She knows 
 me very well.' He hesitated a moment ; then on 
 purpose, as if to try her, he went on very quietly : * In 
 point of fact, I lodge there.' 
 
 Kathleen was conscious of a distinct thrill of sur- 
 prise, not unmixed with something like horror or 
 disgust. She had grown accustomed by this time to 
 her companion's rough clothes, and to his sailor-like 
 demeanour, redeemed as it was in her eyes by his 
 
lOo AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 artistic feeling, and his courteous manners, which she 
 always felt in her heart were those of a perfect gentle- 
 man. But it gave her a little start even now to find 
 that the man who could talk so heautifully about 
 Gentile Bellini and Vittore Carpaccio— the man who 
 taught her to admire and understand for the first 
 time the art of the very earliest Venetian painters; 
 the man who so loved the great Eomanesque arcades 
 of the Fondaco dei Turchi, and who gloated over the 
 details of the mosaics in St. Mark's— could consent to 
 live in a petty Italian shop, reeking with salt cod and 
 overhanging the noisome bank of a side-canal more 
 picturesque than sweet-smelling. She showed her 
 consternation in her face ; for Arnold, who was watch- 
 ing her close, went on with a slight shadow on his 
 frank sun-burnt forehead : ' Yes, I live in there. I 
 thought you'd think the worse of me when you came 
 to know it.' 
 
 Thus openly challenged, Kathleen turned round to 
 him with her fearless eyes, and said perhaps a little 
 more than she would ever have said had he not driven 
 
 her to avow it. 
 
 'Mr. Willoughby,' she answered, gazing straight 
 into his honest face, ' it isn't a pretty place, and I 
 wouldn't like to live in it myself, I confess; but I 
 don't think the worse of you. I respect you so much, 
 I really don't believe anything of that sort— of any 
 
MAKING THEIR MINDS UP loi 
 
 sort, perhaps— could ever make me think the worse of 
 you. So there ! I've told you.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' Arnold answered low. And then he 
 was silent. Neither spoke for some moments. Each 
 was thinking : ' Have I said too much ?' And Arnold 
 Willoughby was also thinking very seriously in his 
 own mind : * Having gone so far, ought I not now to 
 
 go farther ?' 
 
 However, being a prudent man, he reflected to him- 
 self that if he could hardly pay his own way as yet by 
 his art, he certainly could not pay somebody else's. 
 So he held his tongue for the moment, and went home 
 a little later, to his single room overlooking the side- 
 canal, to ruminate at his leisure over this new face to 
 his circumstances. 
 
 And Kathleen, too, went home— to think much 
 about Arnold Willoughby. Both young people, in 
 fact, spent the best part of that day in thinking of 
 nothing else save one another ; which was a tolerably 
 good sign to the experienced observer that they were 
 falling in love, whether they knew it or knew it not. 
 
 For when Kathleen got home, she shut herself up 
 by herself in her own pretty room with the dainty 
 wall-paper, and leaned out of the window. It was a 
 beautiful window, on the Grand Canal, quite close to 
 the Piazza, and the Doges' Palace, and the Eivi degli 
 Schiavoni ; and it looked across the inlet towards the 
 
102 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 Dogana cli Mare, and the dome of Santa Maria, with 
 the campanile of San Giorgio on its lonely mud-island 
 in the middle distance. Beyond lay a spacious field 
 of burnished gold, the shallow water of the lagoon in 
 the full flood of sunshine. But Kathleen had no eyes 
 that lovely afternoon for the creeping ships that glided 
 in and out with stately motion through the tortuous 
 channel which leads between islets of gray slime to 
 the mouth of the Lido and the open sea. Great red 
 lateen sails swerved and luffed unnoticed. All she 
 could think of now was Arnold Willoughby, and his 
 lodgings at the salt-fish shop. Her whole soul was 
 deeply stirred by that strange disclosure. 
 
 She might have guessed it before : yet, now she 
 knew it, it frightened her. Was it right of her, she 
 asked herself over and over again, to let herself fall in 
 love, as she felt she was doing, with a common sailor, 
 who could live contentedly in a small Italian magazen, 
 inside whose doors she herself would hardly consent 
 to show her face ? Was it ladylike ? was it womanly 
 of her ? 
 
 She had her genuine doubts. Few women would 
 have felt otherwise. For to women the conventions 
 count for more than to men ; and the feelings of class 
 are more deep-seated and more persistent, especially 
 in all that pertains to love and marriage. A man can 
 readily enough * marry beneath him '; but to a woman 
 
MAKING THEIR MINDS UP 103 
 
 it is a degradation to give herself away to what she 
 thinks an inferior. An inferior ? Even as she thought 
 it, Kathleen Hesslegrave's mind revolted with a rush 
 against the base imputation. He was not her inferior ; 
 rather, if it came to that, be he sailor or gentleman, 
 he was her superior in every way. The man who 
 could paint, who could think, who could talk as he 
 could, the man who cherished such high ideals of life, 
 of conduct, of duty, was everyone's equal and most 
 people's superior. He was her own superior. In cold 
 blood she said it. He could think and dare and attain 
 to things she herself at her best could but blindly 
 
 grope after. 
 
 In her diary that afternoon (for she had acquired 
 the bad habit of keeping a diary) Kathleen wrote down 
 all these things, as she was wont to write down her 
 inmost thoughts ; and she even ended with the direct 
 avowal to herself, ' I love him ! I love him ! If he 
 asks me, I will accept him.' She locked it up in her 
 safest drawer, but she was not ashamed of it. 
 
 At the very same moment, however, Arnold Wil- 
 loughby for his part was leaning out of his window in 
 turn, in the wee top room of the house above the salt- 
 fish shop in the tiny side-street, with his left hand 
 twisted in the lock behind his ear, after that curious 
 fashion of his, and was thinking— of what else save 
 Kathleen Hesslegrave ? 
 
104 ^^ MARKET VALUE 
 
 It was a pretty enough window in its way, too, that 
 leaded lattice on the high fourth floor in the Calle del 
 Paradiso; and, as often happens in Venetian side- 
 streets, when you mount high enough in the skyward- 
 clambering houses, it commanded a far more beautiful 
 and extensive view than any stranger could imagine 
 as he looked up from without at the narrow chink of 
 blue between the tall rows of opposite stonework. For 
 it gave upon a side-canal full of life and bustle ; and 
 it looked out Just beyond upon a quaint round tower 
 with a Komanesque staircase winding spirally outside 
 it, and disclosing glimpses in the further distance of 
 spires and domes and campanili innumerable. But it 
 wasn't of the staircase, or the crowded canal, or the 
 long shallow barges laden with eggs and fruit, that 
 Arnold Willoughby was just then thinking. His mind 
 was wholly taken up with Kathleen Hesslegrave and 
 the new wide problems she laid open before him. 
 
 He knew he was in love with her. He recognised 
 he was in love with her. And what was more, from 
 the way she had said those words, * I respect you so 
 much, I don't believe anything on earth could ever 
 make me think the worse of you,' he felt pretty sure 
 in his own mind she loved him in return, and had 
 divined his love for her. Even his native modesty 
 would not allow him to deceive himself on that score 
 any longer. For he was a modest man, little given to 
 
MAKING THEIR MINDS UP 105 
 
 fancying that women were 'gone on him,' as Mr. 
 Reginald Hesslegrave was wont to phrase it in hii5 
 peculiar dialect. Indeed, Arnold Willoughby had hao 
 ample cause for modesty in that direction ; Lady Sark 
 had taught him by bitter experience to know his 
 proper place; and he had never forgotten that one 
 sharp lesson. She was a simple clergyman's daughter 
 near Oxford when first he met her ; and he had fallen 
 in love at once with her beauty, her innocence, her 
 seeming simplicity. She rose quickly to an earl. He 
 believed in her with all the depth and sincerity of his 
 honest nature. There was nobody like Blanche, he 
 thought ; nobody so true, so simple-minded, so sweet, 
 so trustworthy. A single London season made all the 
 difference. Blanche Middleton found herself the 
 belle of the year ; and being introduced to the great 
 world, through Lord Axminster's friends, as his 
 affianced bride, made the best of her opportunities by 
 throwing over one of the poorest earls in England in 
 favour of one of the richest and most worthless 
 marquises. From that moment, the man who had 
 once been Albert Ogilvie Eedburn, Earl of Axminster, 
 was never likely to overestimate the immediate effect 
 produced by his mere personality on the heart of any 
 
 woman. 
 
 Nevertheless, Arnold Willoughby was not disinclined 
 to believe that Kathleen Hesslegrave really and truly 
 
jo6 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 loved him. Because one woman had gone straight 
 from his arms to another man's bosom, that did not 
 prove that all women were incapable of loving. He 
 believed Kathleen liked him very much, not only for 
 his own sake, but also in spite of prejudices— deeply 
 ingrained prejudices, natural enough under the cir- 
 cumstances, and which almost every good woman (as 
 good women go) would have shared to the full 
 with her. And he began to wonder now whether, 
 having gone so far, it was not his duty to go a step 
 further and ask her to marry him. A man has no 
 right to lead a woman's heart up to a certain point of 
 expectation, and then to draw back without giving her 
 at least the chance of accepting him. 
 
 But how could he ask her? That was now the 
 question. He certainly wasn't going to turn his back 
 upon his own deliberate determination, and to claim 
 once more the title and estates of the earldom of 
 Axminster. Having put his hand to the plough, as he 
 so often said to himself, for very shame of his man- 
 hood, he must never look back again. One way alone 
 shone clear before him. Every labourer in England 
 could earn enough by his own exertions to support at 
 need a wife and family. Arnold Willoughby would 
 have ielt himself a disgraceful failure if he could not 
 succeed in doing what the merest breaker of stones on 
 the road could do. He made up his mind at once. 
 
MAKING THEIR MINDS UP I07 
 
 He must manage to earn such a living for himself as 
 would enable him without shame to ask Kathleen 
 whether or not she liked him well enough to share it 
 with him in future. 
 
 From that day forth, then, this aim was ever 
 present in Arnold Willoughby's mind. He would 
 succeed in his art, for the sake of asking the one 
 woman on earth he could love to marry him. And 
 often er and oftener as he paced the streets of Venice, 
 he twisted his finger round the lock by his ear with 
 that curious gesture which was always in his case the 
 surest sign of profound preoccupation. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A DIGRESSION. 
 
 In London, meanwhile, Mr. Reginald Hesslegrave, to 
 use his own expressive phrase, was * going it.' And 
 few young gentlemen with an equally exiguous income 
 knew how to * go it ' at the same impetuous pace as 
 Mr. lleginald Hesslegrave. That very same evening, 
 indeed, as he walked down the Strand arm-in-arm 
 with his chum, Charlie Owen — the only other fellow 
 in the office who fulfilled to the letter Mr. Reginald's 
 exalted ideal of * what a gentleman ought to be ' — he 
 stopped for a moment opposite the blushing window 
 of a well-known sporting paper to observe the result 
 of the first big race of the season. Mr. Reginald, 
 as is the wont of his kind, had backed the favourite. 
 He drew a long breath of disappointment as he 
 scanned the telegram giving the result. * Amber Witch 
 wins in a canter,' he murmured with marked disgust 
 to his sympathizing companion. *A rank outsider !' 
 
A DIGRESSION ,. 109 
 
 * Pipped again ?' Charlie Owen inquired in the 
 peculiar dialect at which they were both experts. 
 
 And Reginald Hesslegrave answered : 
 
 * Pipped again ! For a tenner !' with manly resig- 
 nation. He was sustained under this misfortune, 
 indeed, by the consoling reflection that the * tenner ' 
 he had risked on Yorkshire Lass would come in the 
 end out of Kathleen's f>ocket. It's a thing to be 
 ashamed of, for a gentleman, of course, to have a 
 sister who is obliged to dabble in paint for a liveli- 
 hood : but, from the practical point of view, it has its 
 advantages also. And Reggie found it a distinct advan- 
 tage during the racing seas u ^hat he was able to draw 
 upon Kathleen's earnings for unlimited loans, which 
 were never repaid, it is true, but which were described 
 as such in order to save undue wear and tear to Mr. 
 Reginald's delicate feelings. It doesn't ' look well ' to 
 ask your sister point-blank for a present of a ten- 
 pound note ; but a loan to that amount, from time to 
 time, to meet a pressing temporary emergency, is a 
 form of advance that never grates for a moment upon 
 the most refined susceptibilities. 
 
 * That's a nuisance,' Charlie Owen responded, with 
 a sympathetic, wry face ; * for I suppose you counted 
 upon it.' 
 
 Now, this was exactly what Mr. Reginald had done, 
 after the fashion of the City clerk who fancies himself 
 
110 
 
 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 as a judge of horse-flesh; but he wasn't going to 
 acknowledge it. 
 
 * It never does to count upon anything in the 
 glorious uncertainty of racing,' he answered with a 
 bounce, swallowing his disappointment in that resigned 
 spirit which is born of a confident belief that your 
 sister, after all, will have in the end to make good the 
 deficit. * Though, to be sure, I was in need of it ; for 
 I've asked Florrie Clarke and her mother to run round 
 to the Gaiety for an hour with me this evening; and 
 I can tell you it comes heavy on a fellow, and no mis- 
 take, to settle for the grub for Florrie's mother ! She 
 is a dab at lobster salad !' 
 
 * Then, you're taking them to supper afterwards !' 
 Charlie inquired with admiration. One young fool 
 invariably admires another for his courage and nobility 
 in spending the money he hasn't got, to somebody 
 else's final discomfort and detriment. 
 Reginald nodded a careless assent. 
 « To Romano's,' he answered, with justifiable pride 
 in the background of his tone. ' When I do the thing 
 at all, I like to do it properly ; and Florrie's the sort 
 of girl, don't you know, who's accustomed to see 
 things done in the very best style ; so I mean to go it.' 
 ♦What a fellow you are!' Charlie Owen exclaimed 
 with heart-felt admiration. * After a knock-down blow 
 like this, that would dishearten most chappies !' 
 
A DIGRESSION in 
 
 Mr. Re^'iiuild smiled a deprecatory Hinilo of modest 
 self approval. 
 
 * Well, I flatter myself I am a bit of a philosopher,' 
 he admitted with candour, like one who glides lightly 
 over his own acknowledged merits. * Why don't you 
 come too ? There'd be room in my box for you.' 
 
 'Does it run to a box, then?' Charlie Owen asked, 
 open-eyed. 
 
 And Reggie answered, with an expansive wave of 
 his neatly-gloved hand : 
 
 * Do you suppose I'd ask Florrie and h.3r mother to 
 go in the pit? I imagine I know how to do the thing 
 like a gentleman.' 
 
 'Well, of course, if you've got a box,' Charlie 
 assented with alacrity, 'one more or less doesn't count. 
 But still — there's the supper !' 
 
 Mr. Reginald dismissed the sordid suggestion with 
 another dainty wave of his well-gloved left. 
 
 ' When a gentleman asks another gentleman to sup 
 with him,' he observed with sententious dignity, ' it 
 isn't usual for his guest to make inquiries beforehand 
 as to the cost of the entertainment.' After which 
 noble rebuke, Charlie Owen felt it would be positive 
 bad manners not to accept with effusion ; and was lost 
 in wonder, delight, and awe — as Reggie intended he 
 should be — at the magnanimity of a chappie who, 
 after a loss like that, could immediately launch out 
 
112 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 into fresh extravagance by inviting a friend to a quite 
 unnecessary and expensive banquet. What a splendid 
 creature the fast young man really is, after all ! and 
 how nobly he dispenses unlimited hospitality to all 
 and sundry on his relations' money ! 
 
 So that evening at eight saw Mr. Eeginald Hessle- 
 grave in full evening dress and a neat hired brougham, 
 stopping at the door of the Gaiety Theatre to deposit 
 Mrs. Clarke and her daughter Florrie. The party, to 
 be sure, was nothing if not correct ; for mamma was 
 there to ensure the utmost proprieties ; and Miss 
 Florrie herself, who was a well-conducted young lady, 
 had no idea of doing anything more decided than 
 accepting a box for nothing as affection's gift from 
 the devoted Eeggie. Miss Florrie' s papa was an 
 eminently respectable West-end money-lender ; and 
 Miss Florrie and her mamma were practically used, in 
 the way of business, partly as decoy ducks for unwary 
 youth, and partly as a means of recovering at once, in 
 presents and entertainments, a portion of the money 
 advanced by papa on those familiar philanthropic 
 principles of ' note-of-hand at sight, without inquiry, 
 and no security,' which so often rouse one's profound 
 esteem and wonder in the advertisement columns of 
 the daily papers. Unfortunately, however, it is found, 
 for the most part, in this hard business world of ours, 
 that philanthropy like this can only be made to pay 
 
A DIGRESSION 1 13 
 
 on the somewhat exorbitant terms of sixty per cent., 
 deducted beforehand. But Mr. Reginald, as it 
 happened, "was far too small game for either Miss 
 Florrie or her papa to fly at ; his friendship for the 
 young lady was distinctly a platonic one. She and 
 her mamma used him merely as an amiable young 
 fool who could fill in the odd evenings between more 
 serious engagements, when papa's best clients took 
 her to the opera with mamma, and presented her with 
 a brooch or an amethyst bracelet out of the forty per 
 cent, which alone remained to them from papa's 
 munificence. Not that Miss Florrie's conduct was 
 ever anything but the pink of propriety ; with a con- 
 nection like papa's, it was always on the cards that 
 she might end (with good luck) by becoming ' my lady ' 
 in lieu of accumulated interest on bills renewed ; and 
 was it likely that Miss Florrie was going to fling away 
 a first-rate chance in life like that by ill-timed 
 entanglements with a penniless clerk in a stockbroker's 
 office ? Miss Florrie thought not : she knew her 
 market worth too well for such folly ; she might flirt, 
 but she perfectly understood where to stop flirtation ; 
 meanwhile, she found Mr. Eeginald Hesslegrave an 
 agreeable and harmless companion, and an excellent 
 wedge of an unobtrusive sort for attacking the narrow 
 opening into certain grades of society. It ' looks well ' 
 to be seen about with mamma in the company of an 
 VOL. I. 8 
 
114 AT MA RKET VA L UE 
 
 excellently 'onnected yonnp; man of no means at all ; 
 people can never accuse you, then, of unmitigated 
 fortune-hunting. 
 
 ]\[iss Florrie and her mamma were most charming 
 that evening. Mrs. Hesslegrave herself wo'ild have 
 been forced to admit they were really most cliarming. 
 The mamma was as well dressed as could reasonably 
 be expected — that is to say, not much more over- 
 dressed than in the nature of things a money-lender's 
 wife must be ; and her diamonds, Charlie Owen 
 remarked with delight, were greatly noted and com- 
 mented upon by feminine occupants of neighbouring 
 boxes. As for Eeginald Hesslegrave, he felt the 
 evening was what he would himself have described 
 as 'a gigantic success.' 
 
 'It's all going off very well,' he observed with 
 nervous pride to Charlie Owen as they paced the 
 corridor, cigarette in mouth, during the interval 
 between the acts. 
 
 And Charlie Owen, patting his back, made answer 
 emphatically : 
 
 * Going off very well, man ! Why, it's a thundering 
 triumph ! What a fellow you are to be sure ! Ices in 
 the box and everything ! Clinking ! simply clinking ! 
 The eldest son of a duke couldn't have done the thing 
 better. It's made a distinct impression on the Clarkes, 
 I can tell you.' 
 
A DIGRESSION 115 
 
 * You think so ?' Reggie asked, with a proud flush 
 of satisfaction. 
 
 * Think so ?' CharHe repeated once more. * Why, I 
 can see it with half a glance. Florrie's gone on you, 
 that's where it is. Visibly to the naked eye, that 
 girl's clean gone on you !' 
 
 Mr. Eeginald returned to the box feeling half an 
 inch taller. He knew himself a lady-killer. And he 
 noticed with pride that Miss Florrie and her mamma 
 were on terms of bowing acquaintance with a great 
 many people in the stalls and dress circle ; the very 
 best people ; gentlemen for the most part, it is true, 
 but still, a sprinkling of ladies, including among them 
 Mrs. Algy Redburn, who ought by rights to be Lady 
 Axminster. And though the ladies returned Miss 
 Florrie's bows and smiles with a tinge of coldness, 
 and seemed disinclined to catch the eagle eye of her 
 mamma — who was a stoutish matron of a certain age 
 and uncertain waist — it was an undeniable fact that 
 those who did catch it were for the most part women 
 of title and of social distinction, in the fastest set : so 
 that Mr. Eeginald felt himself in excellent society. 
 
 As they were leaving the theatre, while Mrs. Clarke 
 and Florrie went off in search of their wraps from the 
 ladies' cloak-room, Reggie drew Charlie Owen mys- 
 teriously aside for a moment. 
 
 * Look here, old fellow,' he said coaxingly, in a 
 
ji6 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 whispered undertone, button-holing his friend as he 
 spoke ; ' you're coming on to supper with us. Could 
 you manage to lend me a couple of sovereigns for a 
 
 day or two ?' 
 
 Charlie Owen looked glum. He pursed his under 
 lip. Like Bardolph's tailor, he liked not the security. 
 ' What's it for?' he asked dubiously. 
 Reggie made a clean breast of it. 
 ' Well, the brougham and things have run into a 
 little more than I expected,' he answered with a forced 
 smile ; ' and of course we must open a bottle of cham ; 
 and if Mrs. Clarke wants a second— she's a fish at 
 fizz, I know— it'd be awkward, don't you see, if I 
 hadn't quite cash enough to pay the waiter.' 
 
 ' It would so,' Charlie responded, screwing up a 
 sympathetic but exceedingly doubtful face. 
 
 « Do you happen to have a couple of quid about 
 you ?' Reggie demanded once more, with an anxious 
 
 air. 
 
 Charlie Owen melted. 
 
 * Well, I have,' he answered slowly. ' But mind 
 you, I shall want them on Saturday without fail, to 
 pay my landlady. She's a demon for her rent. 
 Raises blazes if it runs on. Will insist on it weekly. 
 Can you promise me faithfully to let me have the oof 
 back by Saturday ?' 
 
 Reggie drew a sigh of relief. 
 
A DIGRESSION "7 
 
 •Honour bright!' he answered, clutching hard at 
 the straw. 'It's all square, I assure you. I've 
 remittances coming.' 
 
 ' Where from ?' Charlie continued, not wishing to 
 be hard, but still anxious for 'the collateral,' as 
 Florrie's papa would have put it. 
 
 • Oh, I've telegraphed to-day to my people at Venice,' 
 Keggie responded airily. But 'my people' of course 
 was a euphemism for ' my sister.' 
 
 • And got an answer ?' Charlie insisted. He didn't 
 want to seem mean, but business is business, and he 
 desired to know on what expectations precisely he was 
 risking his money. 
 
 'Yes; here it is,' Eeggie replied, drawing it out, 
 somewhat sheepishly, from the recesses of his pocket. 
 He didn't like to show it, of course ; but he saw too 
 well that on no other terms could he be spared the 
 eternal disgrace of having to refuse Florrie Clarke's 
 mamma a second bottle of Veuve Clicquot, should she 
 choose to demand it. 
 
 Charlie ran his eye over the telegram. It was short 
 
 but satisfactory. 
 
 •Entirely disapprove. Am sending the money. 
 This is the last time. Eemember. —Kathleen.' 
 
 ' She always says that,' Mr. Eeginald interposed in 
 an apologetic undertone. 
 
ii8 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 ' Oh, dear yes ; I know ; it's a way they have,' 
 Charlie responded with a tolerant smile, as one who 
 was well acquainted with the strange fads of one's 
 people. * How much did you ask her for ?' 
 
 * A tenner,' Mr. Reginald responded. 
 
 Charlie Owen drew the coins with slow deliberation 
 from his dress waistcoat pocket. * Well, this is a debt of 
 honour,' he said in a solemn voice, handing them over 
 impressively. * You'll pay me off, of course, before 
 you waste any money on paying bills or landlords and 
 such-like.' 
 
 Reggie slipped the two sovereigns into his trousers- 
 pocket with a sigh of relief. ' You are a brick, 
 Charlie !' he exclaimed, turning away quite happy, 
 and prepared, as is the manner of such young gentle- 
 men in general, to spend the whole sum recklessly at 
 a single burst on whatever first oftered, now he was 
 relieved for the moment from his temporary em- 
 barrassment. For it is the way of your Reggies to 
 treat a loan as so much cash in hand, dropped down 
 from heaven, and to disburse it freely on the nearest 
 recipient in light-hearted anticipation of the next 
 emergency. 
 
 The supper was universally acknowledged to be the 
 success of the evening. It often is, in fact, where the 
 allowance of Veuve Clicquot is sufficiently unstinted. 
 Mrs. Clarke was most affable, most increasingly 
 
A DIGRESSION 119 
 
 affable ; and as to Miss Florrie, a pretty little round- 
 faced ingenue, with a vast crop of crisp black hair, cut 
 short and curled, she was delightful company. It 
 was her rdle in life to flirt ; and she did it for the love 
 of it. Reginald Hesslegrave was a distinctly good- 
 looking young man, very well connected, and she 
 really liked him. Not, of course, that she would ever 
 for a moment have dreamed of throwing herself away 
 for life on a man without the means to keep a carriage ; 
 but Miss Florrie was one of those mod^^rn young ladies 
 who sternly dissociate their personal likes and dislikes 
 from their matrimonial schemes ; and as a person to 
 sup with, to talk to, and to flirt with, she really liked 
 Master Reggie — nay, more, she admired him. For 
 he knew how to ' go it '; and ability for ' going it ' was 
 in Miss Florrie's eyes the prince of the virtues. It 
 was the one that enabled a man, however poor in 
 reality, to give her the greatest amount of what she 
 lived for — amusement. So Florrie flooded Reggie 
 with the light of her round black eyes till he was fairly 
 intoxicated with her. She played li^.' crisp curls at 
 him with considerable effect, and was charmed when 
 he succumbed to them. 'Twas a pity he wasn't the 
 heir to a hundred thousand pounds. If he had been. 
 Miss Florrie thought, she might have got papa to 
 discount it oft'hand on post-obits, and have really 
 settled down to a quiet life of balls and theatres in his 
 agreeable society. 
 
I20 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 So much smitten was Reggie, indeed, that before 
 the end of the evening, under the expansive influence 
 of that excellent Yeuve Clicquot, he remarked chaffingly 
 to Florrie, at a moment when Mrs. Clarke was deep 
 in talk with Charlie Owe^i : ' I tell you what it is, Miss 
 Clarke — or rather Florrie — I shall call you Florrie — 
 some day, you and I wull have to make a match of it !' 
 
 Miss Florrie did not resent this somewhat abrupt 
 and inartistic method of broaching an important and 
 usually serious subject. On the contrary, being an 
 easy-going soul, she accepted it as a natural compli- 
 ment to her charms, and smiled at it good-humouredly. 
 But she answered none the less, with a toss of the 
 crisp black curls : ' Well, if we're ever to do that, Mr. 
 Hesslegrave, you must find the wherewithal first ; for 
 I can tell you I want a carriage and a yacht and a 
 house-boat. The man for my heart is the man with 
 a house-boat. As soon as you're in a position to set 
 up a house-boat, you may invite me to share it with 
 you. And then ' — she looked at him archly with a 
 witchi^ig smile — ' I may consider my answer.' 
 
 She was a taking little thing ! — there was no deny- 
 ing it. * Very bad style,' so the ladies in the stalls 
 remarked to one another, as they scanned her through 
 their opera - glasses ; 'but awfully taking!' And 
 Reginald Hesslegrave found her so. From that 
 moment forth, it became his favourite day-dream that 
 
A DIGRESSION I2t 
 
 he had made a large fortune at a single stroke (on the 
 turf, of course), and married the owner of the crisp 
 black curls. So deep-rooted did this ideal become to 
 him, indeed, that he set to work at once to secure the 
 large fortune. And how ? By working hard day and 
 night, and saving and investing ? Oh dear me, no ! 
 Such hoiinjeois methods are not for the likes of Mr. 
 Keginald Hesslegrave, who prided himself upon being 
 a perfect gentleman. By risking Kathleen's hard- 
 earned money on the Derby favourite, and accepting 
 ' tips ' as to a * dark horse ' for the Leger ! 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 BY THE BLUE ADRIATIC. 
 
 April in Venice, young ladies aver, is * just too lovely 
 for anything.' And Rufus Mortimer utilized one of its 
 just too lovely days for his long-deferred project of a 
 picnic to the Lido. 
 
 Do you know the Lido? 'Tis that long natural 
 bulwark, ' the bank of sand which breaks the flow of 
 Adria towards Venice,' as Shelley calls it. It stretches 
 for miles and miles in a narrow belt along the mouth 
 of the lagoons ; on one side lies the ocean, and on one 
 the shallow pool of mudbanks and canals. This is 
 the only place near Venice, indeed, where a horse can 
 find foothold ; and on that account, as well as for the 
 sake of the surf-bathing, it is a favourite resort of 
 Venetians and visitors in spring and summer. The 
 side towards the lagoon rises high and dry, in a sort 
 of native breakwater, like the lofty Chesil Beach that 
 similarly cuts off the English Channel from the 
 
BY THE BLUE ADRIATIC 123 
 
 Hhallow expanse of the Fleet in Dorsetshire; its 
 opposite front descends in a gentle slope to the level 
 of the Adriatic, and receives on its wrinkled face the 
 thunderous billows of that uncertain main, Horace's 
 'turbulent Hadria.' Hither, then, Rufus Mortimer 
 brought his guests and friends one bright April morn- 
 hig, when the treacherous sea was sleeping calmly 
 like a child, and no breath of wind from the Dalma- 
 tian hills disturbed the tranquil rest of its glassy 
 bosom. 
 
 They crossed over partly in Mortimer's own private 
 gondola, partly in a hired harca—a hencoop, as Arnold 
 Willoughby irreverently called it— from the steps of 
 the Molo. As they passed out of the harbour, the 
 view behind them rose even lovelier than usual. That 
 is the way to see Venice ; its front-door is the sea ; it 
 breaks upon one full face as one looks at it from the 
 Lido. We who arrive at it nowadays by the long and 
 tedious railway embankment over the shallow lagoon 
 hardly realize that we are entering the city of the 
 Doges by its back-door. We come first upon the 
 slums, the purlieus, the Ghetto. But the visitor who 
 approaches the Bride of the Adriatic for the first time 
 by sea from Trieste or Alexandria sees it as its makers 
 and adorners intended he should see it. As he draws 
 nigh shore, the great buildings by the water's edge 
 rise one after another before his enchanted eyes. He 
 
124 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 sees Fortnna on her golden ball above the Popjana di 
 Mare ; he sees the Doges' Palace with its arcade and 
 its loggia ; ho sees the clustered ciipolns and spires of 
 St. Mark's ; he sees the quaint volutes and swelling 
 domes of Santa IMaria della Salute. Then, as he 
 nears the Molo, the vast panorama of beauty bursts 
 upon him at once in all its detail— the Bridge of Sighs, 
 the famed Lion Column, St. Theodore on his crocodile, 
 St. Mark on his airy pinnacle, the Piazzetta, the 
 Piazza, the Campanile, the Clock Tower. He lands 
 by the marble steps, and finds himself face to face 
 with the gorgeous pilasters of Sansovino's library, the 
 facade of the great church, the porphyry statues, the 
 gold and alabaster, the blaze of mosaics, the lavish 
 waste of sculpture. With a whirling head, he walks 
 on through it all, amazed, conscious of nothing else 
 save a phantasmagoria of glory, and thanking 
 heaven in his heart that at last he has seen 
 Venice. 
 
 This was the view upon which the occupants of 
 Rufus Mortimer's gondola looked back with delighted 
 eyes that April morning. But this was not all. 
 Behind and above it all, the snow-capped chain of the 
 Tyrolese Alps and the hills of Cadore rose fairy-like 
 in a semicircle. Their pencilled hollows showed 
 purple : their peaks gleamed like crystal in the morn- 
 ing sun. Cloudless and clear, every glen and crag 
 
BY THE BLUE ADRIATIC 125 
 
 pinked out by tlio searcliiiif; rays, tliey stood silhouetted 
 in pure white against the soUd bhie sky of Italy. In 
 front of them, St. Mark's and the Campanile were 
 outlined in dark hues. 'Twas a sight to rejoice a 
 painter's eyes. Arnold Willough])y and Kathleen 
 Hesslegrave sat entranced as they looked at it. 
 
 Nothing rouses the emotional side of a man's 
 nature more vividly than to gaze Pu beautiful things 
 with a beautiful woman. Arnold .lloughby sat by 
 Kathleen's side and drank it all in delighted. He 
 half made up his mind to ask her that very day 
 whether, if he ever could succeed in his profession, 
 she would be willing to link her life with a poor 
 marine painter's. 
 
 He didn't mean to make her Lady Axminster. That 
 was far from his mind. He would not have cared for 
 those * whose mean ambition aims at palaces and titled 
 names,' as George Meredith has phrased it. But he 
 wanted to make her Mrs. Arnold Willoughby. 
 
 As they crossed over to the Lido, he was full of a 
 new discovery he had made a few days before. A 
 curious incident had happened to him. In hunting 
 among a bundle of papers at his lodgings, which his 
 landlady had bought to tie up half-kilos of rice and 
 macaroni, he had come, it appeared, upon a wonderful 
 manuscript. He hardly knew himself at the time how 
 important this manuscript was to become to him here- 
 
126 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 after ; but he was full of it, all the same, as a singular 
 discovery. 
 
 * It's written in Itahan,' he said to Kathleen; ' that's 
 the funny part of it; but still, it seems, it's by an 
 English sailor; and it's immensely interesting — a 
 narrative of his captivity in Spain and his trial by 
 the Inquisition, for standing up like a man for Her 
 Grace's claim to the throne of England.' 
 
 * What's the date of it ?' Kathleen asked, not know- 
 ing or not catching the special Elizabethan tinge of 
 that phrase, Her Grace, instead of Her Majesty. 
 
 * Oh, Elizabeth, of course,' Arnold answered lightly. 
 ' Such a graphic story ! And the queerest part of it 
 all is, it's written in cipher.' 
 
 * Then how did you make it out ?' Kathleen asked 
 admiringly. To her mind, it seemed a perfectly 
 astonishing feat that any man should be able to 
 decipher such a thing for himself by mere puzzling 
 over it. 
 
 * Why, easily enough,' Arnold answered with a 
 smile ; ' for happily I took it for granted, since I found 
 it in Italy, the language was Italian ; so I soon spelt it 
 out. Those sixteenth-century people always made use 
 of the most simple ciphers — almost foolishly simple. 
 Any child could read them.' 
 
 Kathleen looked up at him with profound admira- 
 tion. For her own part, she couldn't imagine how on 
 
BY THE BLUE ADRIATIC W 
 
 earth it could be done. 'How wonderful!' she ex- 
 claimed. * You must show it to me some day. And 
 it's interesting, is it ? I should love to see it.' 
 
 * Yes, it's interesting,' Arnold answered. * As inter- 
 esting as a novel. A perfect romance. Most vivid 
 and amusing. The writer was a man named John 
 Collingham of Norfolk, the owner and skipper of an 
 English barque; he was taken by the Spaniards off 
 Cape Finisterre, and thrown into prison for six 
 months at Cadiz. Afterwards he escaped, and made 
 his way to Venice, where he wrote this memorial in 
 cipher to the Council of Ten, whom he desired to 
 employ him ; but what became of him in the end I 
 haven't yet got to. It takes some time to decipher the 
 
 whole of it.' 
 
 That was all, for the moment. More important 
 concerns put the manuscript afterwards for a time out 
 of Kathleen's head ; though in the end she had good 
 reason indeed to remember it. However, just then, 
 as soon as they landed, Kufus Mortimer hurried heJ 
 off to admire the view from the top of the Lido ; and 
 he took excellent care she should have no other 
 chance that day of private conversation with Arnold 
 
 Willoughby. 
 
 They lunched al fresco on the summit of the great 
 bank, looking down on the sea to the right, and the 
 long stretch of the shallow lagoon to the left, with the 
 
128 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 distant towers of Venice showing up with all their 
 spires in the middle distance, and the jagged range of 
 snowy Alps gleaming white in the background. As 
 soon as they had finished, Kufus Mortimer managed 
 to get Kathleen to himself for a quiet stroll along the 
 sea-beach. The sand was hard and firm and strewn 
 with seaweed ; here and there a curled sea-horse lay 
 tossed up by the tide; and innumerable tiny shells 
 gHstened bright like pearls on the line of high-water. 
 
 Kathleen felt a little shy with him. She guessed 
 what was coming. But she pretended to ignore it, 
 and began in her most conventional society tone : 
 
 ' Have you heard that Canon Valentine and his wife 
 are coming out here to Venice next week to visit us ?' 
 
 Mortimer gazed at her with a comic little look of 
 quizzical surprise. He had got away alone with her 
 after no small struggle, and he meant to make the 
 best of this solitary opportunity. 
 
 ' Have I heard that Canon Valentine and his wife 
 are coming ?' he asked with a sort of genial satire in 
 his voice. ' Now, do you think, Miss Hesslegrave, I 
 planned this picnic to the Lido to-day, and got off 
 with you alone here, for nothing else but to talk 
 about that bore, Canon Valentine, and that stick of 
 
 a wife of his ?' 
 
 'I— I really don't know,' Kathleen faltered out 
 
 demurely. 
 
BY THE BLUE ADRIATIC 129 
 
 Mortimer gazed at her hard. 
 
 * Yes, you do,' he answered at last, after a long deep 
 pause. * You know it very well. You know you're 
 playing with me. That isn't what I want, and you 
 can see it. Miss Hesslegrave. You can guess what I've 
 come here for. You can guess why I've brought you 
 away all alone upon the sands.' He trembled with 
 emotion. It took a good deal to work Eufus Mortimer 
 up, but when once he was worked up, his feelings ran 
 away with him. He quivered visibly. ' Oh, Miss 
 Hesslegrave,' he cried, gazing wildly at her, * you 
 must have seen it long since. You can't have mis- 
 taken it. You must have known I loved you ! I've 
 as good as told you so over and over again, both in 
 London and here ; but never till to-day have I 
 ventured to ask you. I didn't dare to ask, because 
 I was so afraid you'd say me nay. And now it has 
 come to this : I must speak. I must. I can't keep it 
 back within myself any longer.' 
 
 Every woman is flattered by a man's asking for her 
 love, even when she means to say ' No ' outright to him ; 
 and it was something for Kathleen to have made a 
 conquest like this of the American millionaire, whom 
 every girl in Venice was eager to be introduced to. 
 She felt it as such. Yet she drew back, all tremu- 
 lous. 
 
 'Please don't, Mr. Mortimer,' she pleaded, as the 
 
 VOL. I. 9 
 
130 ■ ^ AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 American tried hard to seize her vacant hand. * I — 
 I wish you wouldn't. I know you're very kind ; but 
 — I don't want you to take it.' 
 
 * Why not ?' Mortimer asked, drawing back a little 
 space and gazing at her earnestly, 
 
 ' Because,' Kathleen answered, finding it hard 
 indeed so to phrase her feelings as not unnecessarily 
 to hurt the young man's, *I like you very much— 
 as a friend, that is to say— but I could never love 
 you.' 
 
 •You thought you could once,' Mortimer replied, 
 with a face of real misery. ' I could see you thought 
 it once. In Venice here, last year, you almost hesi- 
 tated ; and if your mother hadn't shown herself so 
 anxious to push my interest with you, I really believe 
 you would have said ' ' Yes ' ' then to me. What has made 
 the difference now ? You must— you must tell me.' 
 
 ' I hardly know myself,' Kathleen answered truth- 
 fully. 
 
 'But I must hear it,' the American answered, 
 placing himself in front of her in an eager attitude. 
 He had all the chivalrous feeling of his countrymen 
 towards women. Eich as he was, he felt, and rightly 
 felt, it was a great thing to ask such a girl as Kathleen 
 Hesslegrave for the gift of her heart ; and having 
 wound himself up to make what for him was that 
 fatal plunge, he must know the worst forthwith ; he 
 
BY THE BLUE ADRIATIC 131 
 
 must learn once for all then and there whether or not 
 there was any chance left for him. So he stood with 
 clasped hands repeating over and over again : ' You 
 must tell me, Miss Hesslegrave. I have a right to 
 know. The feeling I bear towards you gives me a 
 claim to know it.' 
 
 ' I can't tell myself,' Kathleen replied, a little 
 falteringly, for his earnestness touched her, as earnest- 
 ness always touches women. ' I shall always like you 
 very much, Mr. Mortimer, but I can never love you.' 
 
 * Do you love somebody else, will you tell me that ?' 
 the young man asked, almost fiercely. 
 
 Kathleen hesitated, and was lost. 
 
 *I— I don't know myself, Mr. Mortimer,' she 
 answered feebly. 
 
 Mortimer drew a long breath. 
 
 ' Is it Willoughby ?' he asked at last, with a sudden 
 turn that half frightened her. 
 
 Kathleen began to cry. 
 
 ' Mr. Mortimer,' she exclaimed, ' you have no right 
 to try to extort from me a secret I have never told yet 
 to anybody— hardly even to myself. Mr. Willoughby 
 is nothing more than a friend and a companion to 
 me.' 
 
 But the American read her meaning through her 
 words, for all that. * Willoughby !' he cried—* Wil- 
 loughby ! It's Willoughby who has supplanted me. 
 
132 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 I was half afraid of this.' He paused irresolute for a 
 moment. Then he went on much lower: 'I ought 
 to hate him for this, Miss Hesslegrave ; but somehow 
 I don't. Perhaps it isn't in my blood. But I like him 
 and admire him. I admire his courage. I admire 
 your courage for liking him. The worst of it is, I 
 admire you, too, for having the simple honesty to 
 prefer him to me— under all the circumstances. I 
 know you are doing right ; I can't help admiring it. 
 That penniless man against American millions ! But 
 you have left my heart poor. Oh, so poor ! so poor ! 
 There was one thing in life upon which I had fixed 
 it, and you have given that to Willoughby ; and. 
 Miss Hesslegrave, I can't even quarrel with you for 
 
 giving it !' 
 
 Kathleen leant forward towards him anxiously. 
 * Oh, for heaven's sake,' she cried, clasping her hands, 
 'don't betray me, Mr. Mortimer! I have never 
 breathed a single word of this to him, nor he to me. 
 It was uncanny of you to find it out. I ask you, as a 
 woman, keep it— keep it sacred, for my sake, I beg of 
 
 you'' 
 
 Mortimer looked at her with the intensest affection 
 in his eyes. He spoke the plain truth ; that woman 
 was the one object in life on which he had set his 
 heart ; and without her, his wealth was as worthless 
 dross to him. 
 
BY THE BLUE ADRIATIC i33 
 
 ' Why, Miss Hesslegrave,' lie answered, ' what do 
 you thmk I am made of? Do you thmk I could 
 surprise a woman's secret like that, and not keep it 
 more sacred than anything else on earth ? You must 
 have formed indeed a very low opinion of me. I can 
 use this knowledge but for one aim and end— to do 
 what I can towards making Willoughby's path in life 
 a little smoother and easier for him. I wished to do 
 so for his own sake before ; I shall wish it a thousand 
 times more for your sake in future.' 
 
 Tears stood in his eyes. He spoke earnestly, 
 seriously. He was one of those rare men who rise far 
 above jealousy. Kathleen was touched by his attitude 
 —what woman would not have been ? For a moment 
 she half regretted she could not answer him * Yes.' He 
 was so genuinely in love, so deeply and honestly 
 grieved at her inability to love him. Of her own 
 accord she took his hand. 
 
 ' Mr. Mortimer,' she said truthfully, ' I like you 
 better this minute than I have ever liked you. You 
 have spoken like a friend ; you have spoken like a 
 gentleman. Few men at such a moment could have 
 spoken as you have done. Believe me, indeed, I am 
 deeply grateful for it.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' Mortimer answered, brushing his tears 
 away shamefacedly. Americans are more frank about 
 such matters than we self-restrained Britons. * But, oh. 
 
134 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 Miss Hesslegrave, after all, what poor comfort that is to 
 a man who asks your love, who loves yon devotedly !' 
 
 They turned with one accord, and wandered hack 
 along the sands in silence towards the rest of the 
 party. So far as Rufus Mortimer was concerned, that 
 picnic had been a dead failure. 'Twas with an effort 
 that he managed to keep up conversation the rest of 
 the afternoon with the mammas of the expedition. His 
 heart had received a very heavy blow, and he hardly 
 sought to conceal it from Kathleen's observant vision. 
 
 Sad that in this world what is one man's loss is 
 another man's gain. Arnold Willoughby, seeing 
 those two come back silent from their stroll along 
 the sands together, looked hard in Kathleen's face, and 
 then in Mortimer's — and read the whole history. He 
 felt a little thrill of pleasure course through his spine 
 like a chill. ' Then he has asked her,' Arnold thought; 
 * and she — she has refused him. Dear girl, she has re- 
 fused him ! I can trust her, after all. She prefers the 
 penniless sailor to the richest man this day in Venice !' 
 
 It is always so. We each of us see things from our 
 own point of view. Any other man would have taken 
 it in the same way as Arnold Willoughby. But 
 Kathleen went home that evening very heavy at heart 
 for her American lover. He was so kind and true, so 
 manly and generous, she felt half grieved in her heart 
 she couldn't have said ' Yes ' to him. 
 
CHAPTEK X. 
 
 VISITORS IN VENICE. 
 
 Canon Valentine stared about him in the midst of the 
 Piazza with a stony British stare of complete disappro- 
 bation. He rejected it in toto. 
 
 ' So this is modern Venice !' he exclaimed, with the 
 air of a man who revisits some painful scene he has 
 known in its better days. ' This is what emancipated 
 Italy has made of it ! Dear me, Mrs. Hesslegrave, 
 how altered it is, to be sure, since the good old times 
 of the Austrian occupation !' 
 
 ' Ah, yes,' Kathleen interposed, not entering into 
 his humour. 'No doubt you see great changes, 
 Canon. You haven't been here before since United 
 Italy. How much lovelier it must look to you, now 
 it's really and truly Italian!' 
 
 The Canon gazed at her, full face, in the blankest 
 
 astonishment. 
 
 ' Quite the contrary,' he said curtly. ' I see very 
 
136 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 great changes — but they're all for the worse. These 
 pigeons, for example ; they were always a nuisance ; 
 Hying about under one's feet, and getting in one's way 
 at every twist and turn — but there are ten times as 
 many of them now. as there ever used to be.' 
 
 'Why, I love the pigeons,' Kathleen cried, all 
 amazed. ' They're so tame and familiar. In England, 
 the boys would throw stones at them and frighten 
 them ; but here, under the shadow of St. Mark's, they 
 seem to feel as if they belonged to the place, and as if 
 man was a friend of theirs. Besides, th(:^.y're so cha- 
 racteristic ; and they're historically interesting too, 
 don't you know ! They're said to be the descendants 
 of the identical birds that brought Doge Dandolo good 
 news from friends on shore, which enabled him to 
 capture Crete, and so lay the foundations of the Vene- 
 tian Empire. I Just love the pigeons.' 
 
 *I dare say you do,' the Canon answered testily; 
 * but that's no reason why they should be allowed to 
 stroll about under people's heels as they walk across 
 the Piazza. In the good old Austrian days, I'm sure, 
 that was never permitted. Intolerable, simply ! — And 
 then the band ! What very inferior music ! — When 
 the Austrians were here, you remember, Amelia, we 
 had a capital bandmaster ; and everybody used to 
 come out to listen to his German tunes in the evening. 
 The Square was always gay with bright uniforms 
 
VISITORS IN VENICE 137 
 
 then — such beautiful coats ! Austrian hussar coats, 
 deep braided on either side, and flung carelessly open. 
 The officers looked splendid by the tables at Florio's. 
 Venice was Venice in those days, I can tell you, 
 before all this nonsense cropped up about United 
 Italy.' 
 
 'But what could be lovelier,' Kathleen exclaimed, 
 half shocked at such treason, ' than the Italian officers 
 in their picturesque blue cloaks — the Bersaglieri espe- 
 cially? I declare, I always fall quite in love with 
 them.' 
 
 * Very likely,' the Canon answered. He was never 
 surprised, for his part, at a)iy aberration of feeling on 
 the part of young girls, since this modern education 
 craze. It had unsexed women for him. ' But the 
 place is spoiled, for all that. You should have seen it 
 at its best, before it was vulgarized. Even St. Mark's 
 is gilded and furbished up now out of all recognition. 
 It's not fit to look at. — Amelia, my dear, don't you 
 agree with me, the place was far more picturesque 
 when the Austrians had it ?' 
 
 ' Oh, very much more picturesque !' Mrs. Valentine 
 echoed dutifully. She was a meek-looking old lady, 
 in a long black cloak, absolutely overborne by fifty 
 years of the Canon's individuality, and she would have 
 answered the exact opposite in perfect good faith if 
 only she perceived the Canon expected it. Irreverent 
 
138 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 young men in their catliedml town were wont to speak 
 of her familiarly as ' the propliet's donkey.' 
 
 The Canon examined critically the fa(;ade of St. 
 Mark's— that ^jlorioiis composite fa(;ade, of no par- 
 ticular time or style or fashion, which Kathleen 
 admired so fervently, with its fantastic mixture of all 
 elements alike— Byzantine, Oriental, Romanesque, 
 Gothic, Renaissance. * Very mixed !' the Canon mur- 
 mured, holding his head on one side—* very mixed 
 indeed. I can't say I care for it. It's so low and 
 squat. And how the mosaics disfif];ure it !' 
 
 In answer to criticism like that, poor Kathleen had 
 
 nothing to say ; so she wisely held her tongue. She 
 
 knew when to he silent. The Canon strolled on, with 
 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave hy his side, past Leopardo's bronze 
 
 sockets, which still hold aloft the great flagstaffs of the 
 
 Republic in front of the marvellous church ; past the 
 
 corner of St. Mark's where stand the square pillars 
 
 from St. Saba at Ptoleraais; past the main gate of the 
 
 palace, with its sculptured design of Doge Francesco 
 
 Foscari, in cap and robes, kneeling in submission 
 
 before the lion of St. Mark ; past the noble arcades 
 
 and loggias of the Piazzetta ; past the two huge 
 
 columns in the seaward square, and down by slow 
 
 degrees to the steps of the Molo. Kathleen listened in 
 
 wonder, half incredulous, to his criticisms as he passed. 
 
 She was so little accustomed herself to anything save 
 
VISITO/iS IN VENICE 139 
 
 breathless admiration and delight at the glories of 
 Venice, tliat this strange attitude of cold blame seemed 
 to her well-nigh unnatural. To think that any man 
 sliould stand unawed before the very faces of St. 
 Mark and St. Theodore ! 
 
 At the Molo they called a gondola, and glided in it 
 slowly down the Grand Canal. The Canon thought it 
 had fallen off since the days of the Austrians. Half 
 the palaces were worse kept, and the other half were 
 scraped and cleaned and redecorated throughout in 
 the most ridiculous Wardour Street fashion. He 
 couldn't bear to see Venice Blundell-Mapled. It was 
 all quite depressing. But what astonished Kathleen 
 the most was the singular fact that, after passing the 
 bend in the canal by the Palazzo Contarini, the Canon 
 seemed almost entirely to forget in what city they 
 were, though this was his first day for thirty years in 
 the sea-born city, and, looking no longer at churches 
 or palaces, began to gossip about the people he had 
 left behind him in London. His world went with 
 him. They might have been in Bond Street or Kotten 
 Row, for any notice he took of the Rialto or the 
 C^ d'Oro. He glided past the Fondaco without even 
 a single word : he never deigned to give a glance to 
 the School of St. Mark or the tower of San Zanipolo. 
 To Kathleen's artistic soul it was all a strange puzzle. 
 She couldn't understand it. Had the man no eyes in 
 
I40 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 his head that he could pass those glorious arcades, 
 those exquisite balconies, without even looking up at 
 them? 
 
 * And you were going to tell us something about this 
 Axminster business,' Mrs. Hesslegrave remarked after 
 a pause, as they reached the front of the Arsenal on 
 their circuitous peregrination, which Kathleen had 
 arranged so as to take in at one round all the principal 
 buildings. ' Poor dear Lady Axminster ! Has any- 
 thing been done yet about this affair of the peerage ?' 
 
 ' Oh dear yes,' the Canon replied, brightening up 
 at the suggestion. ' I was coming to that. I intended 
 to tell you all about it. Haven't you read it in the 
 papers ? We're in hopes at last we're really going to 
 get a definite settlement.' 
 
 ' That's well,' Mrs. Hesslegrave echoed with a 
 sympathetic smirk. 'What's being done about it 
 now? We haven't seen a paper in this benighted 
 place for weeks and weeks, don't you know — except, of 
 course, Galigiiani. It's really quite dreadful how one 
 falls behind the times about all the most important 
 and interesting things that are going on in England !' 
 The Canon looked big. This appeal flattered him. 
 He liked to feel he came primed with news about the 
 best people. * Well, we've taken the thing to the 
 House of Lords,' he said, with as much delight as if 
 he were himself the appellant. ' Poor Algy has 
 
VISITORS IN VENICE I4' 
 
 claimed the peerage on the ground that his cousin 
 Bertie is dead, as I told you. We've reduced success 
 to a practical certainty. The Lords will adjudicate 
 on his claim in a week or two ; but it's a foregone con- 
 clusion. I'm very glad, I must say, for Algy's sake, 
 and for his wife's too. She's a nice little thing, Mrs. 
 Algy Redburn!' 
 
 'My brother knows her slightly,' Kathleen said, 
 with a tolerant smile, * and seems to think a great 
 deal of her.' 
 
 ' Oh yes ; she's a charming woman,' Mrs. Hessle- 
 grave interposed—' a most charming woman.' (Mrs. 
 Hesslegrave thought all peers and peeresses, actual or 
 prospective, particularly charming— even more charm- 
 ing, indeed, than the rest of the people in the best 
 
 society.) 
 
 The Canon took no notice, however, of these inter- 
 jected remarks. He severely ignored them. To say 
 the truth, he regarded the entire Axminster connection 
 as his own private property, from a social point of 
 view, and rather resented than otherwise the im- 
 pertinent suggestion that anyone else in the world 
 could have anything to do with them. ' Yes, we've 
 reduced it to a practical certainty,' he went on, lean- 
 ing back in his place in the gondola and staring hard 
 at the water. 'The crux of the case consisted, of 
 course, in the difficulty of proving that the man 
 
142 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 Douglas Overton, who shipped from the port of 
 London in the Sauctj Sally — that was the name of the 
 vessel, if I recollect aright — for Melhourne, Australia, 
 was really the same man as Albert Ogilvie Redburn, 
 seventh Lord Axminster. And it was precious hard 
 to prove satisfactorily, I can tell you ; but Marip. has 
 proved it — proved it up to the hilt. Maria's a very 
 clever woman of the world, and she knows how to 
 work these things like a private detective. Her 
 lawyer said to her in my hearing : " Nobody but you, 
 Lady Axminster, would ever have succeeded in pulling 
 it through ; but thanks to your ability and energy and 
 acumen, not even the House of Lords can have the 
 shadow of a doubt about it." And the House of 
 Lords, you may take your affidavit, will doubt any- 
 thing any mortal on earth could doubt, to keep a 
 claimant out of a peerage, if only they can manage 
 it.' 
 
 ' But you think it's quite safe now ?' Mrs. Hessle- 
 grave asked with interest. Anything that referred to 
 a peer of the realm had for her mind a perfectly en- 
 thralling attraction. 
 
 * Oh dear yes, quite safe. Not a doubt in the 
 world of it. You see, we've established, in the first 
 place, the fact that the man Douglas Overton really 
 was Bertie Redburn, which is always something. And 
 we've established in the second place the complemen- 
 
VISITORS IN VENICE 143 
 
 tary fact that the Saucy SciUt/, from London for 
 Melbourne, went ashore on some wretched island 
 nobody ever heard of in the Indian Ocean, and that 
 all souls on board perished — including, of course, the 
 man Douglas Overton, who is Bertie Eedburn, who is 
 the late Lord Axminster. A child can see it — let alone 
 the Privilege Committee.' 
 
 ' I'm glad it's going to be settled,' Mrs. Hesslegrave 
 remarked with unction. ' It's such a dreadful thing 
 for poor Mr. Algernon Eedburn to be kept so long, 
 through no fault of his own, out of the money j,nd 
 title.' 
 
 ' Oh, dreadful,' the Canon assented — * dreadful, 
 dreadful, dreadful ! But there, poor Bertie never had 
 any conscience ! It was quite painful the distressing 
 views he used to hold on such subjects, for a man in 
 his position. I always set it down to the gipsy blood in 
 him. I've heard hihi say more than once he longed to 
 be doing something that he called useful for the mass 
 of the community. Long before he gave way to these 
 abnormal longings, and neglected his natural duties, 
 and ran away to sea, he's told me time and again he felt 
 a sailor's life was a life of undoubted value and useful- 
 ness to the country. A sailor was employed in carry- 
 ing commodities from one place where they were 
 produced to another place where they were wanted or 
 eaten or something — consumed, I think he called it — 
 
144 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 and nobody could deny that was a good and useful 
 thing for the people that consumed them. " Very 
 well, Bertie," said I — half in a joke, don't you know 
 — " then why shouldn't you go yourself, and carry coals 
 to Newcastle, or whatever else may be the crying want 
 in that line at the moment?" — never dreaming, of 
 course, the poor silly boy would go and follow my 
 advice, as he did to the letter. But there ! these 
 things come out all right in the long-run. " There's 
 a divinity that shapes our ends," as Tennyson or 
 somebody says — ah, thank you, was it Shakespeare? 
 — " rough-hew them how we may;" and that's been 
 the case, I say, with this Axminster peerage business. 
 For the upshot of it all is, that poor Bertie's dead 
 and gone, sooner than one could reasonably have ex- 
 pected, and Algy's come into the property and title 
 before his time ; which is a very desirable thing to 
 have happened : for Bertie might have married a 
 woman after his own heart, no doubt — a sailor's Poll 
 for choice — and if he had, why, one trembles to think 
 what the children might have been like — a perfect 
 disgrace to their ancestry !' 
 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave smiled an acquiescent smile. 
 But as for Kathleen, a flash of light broke suddenly 
 upon her. * A sailor is employed in carrying com- 
 modities from the place where they are produced to 
 the place where they are needed ; and that nobody 
 
VISITORS IN VENICE 14S 
 
 can deny to be on the whole a useful and a valuable 
 function for society!' Surely this line of reasoning, 
 were it right or wrong, sounded strangely familiar to 
 her ! And then, as she thought it over, it broke 
 upon her like a revelation that she had heard similar 
 words before now— from Arnold Willoughby ! From 
 Arnold Willoughby! From the courteous artist- 
 sailor. A strange misgiving seized upon her. If Lord 
 Axminster could disguise himself as Douglas Overton, 
 why not also as Arnold Willoughby ? She thought at 
 once of her sailor friend's extraordinary knowledge of 
 art and literature for a common sailor ; of his chival- 
 rous manners ; of his demeanour, which so belied his 
 dress and his pretensions. Turning sharply to Canon 
 Valentine she ventured to put all at once the dubious 
 question : 
 
 * Did Lord Axminster paint ? Had he any know- 
 ledge of art, I mean ?' 
 
 * Oh dear me, yes !' the Canon answered without a 
 second's hesitation. 'He studied in Paris under a 
 first-rate painter, a fellow, with one of their long- 
 winded double-barrelled names : Bastien-somebody it 
 was ; I never can get the hang of them.' 
 
 Kathleen asked no more. Her heart was strangely 
 troubled. For her sailor had spoken more than once 
 incidentally of Bastien-Lepage's studio. Loyalty to 
 Arnold Willoughby made her hold her peace, and 
 
 10 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
146 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 refrain from blurting out the doubt that rose within 
 her. If he was really Lord Axminster, why, it would 
 be wrong of her even to attempt to surprise his secret 
 — still more to betray it. The words from which she 
 suspected she discovered his identity had been spoken 
 in confidence, in the most private conversation. 
 Kathleen couldn't help framing to herself ofTliand a 
 pretty little romance, based on the familiar Lord-of- 
 Burleigh model—' He was but a landscape painter, 
 And a village maiden she !' A romance of how this 
 young man had tried to win her love as a common 
 sailor (and what was more, succeeded in it), and how 
 he meant in the end to astonish the world by telling 
 her he was an Earl, and carrying her off unawares to 
 his home in Devonshire, to share the fancied glories 
 of Membury Castle. 
 
 ' And while now she wonders blindly, 
 Nor the meaning can divine, 
 Proudly turns he round and kindly, 
 " All of this is mine and thine." ' 
 
 'Twas a romantic little day-dream. To say the 
 truth, Kathleen regarded it only as such. For as yet 
 she had no positive reason to believe that Arnold 
 Willoughby even loved her. She had but guessed 
 it instinctively, with a woman's intuition. And as to 
 his real position in life she knew absolutely nothing. 
 The singular coincidence in thought and phrase 
 
VISITORS IN VENICE 147 
 
 between the things he had said to her and the things 
 the Canon repeated as Lord Axminster's sayings was 
 indeed close enough ; but it might be accidental. No 
 human being is ever really unique ; every thought 
 and feeling we can have, somebody else has had in 
 almost the same form, we may be sure, before us. 
 And perhaps they had both taken word and thought 
 alike from some previous thinker, as often happens 
 with all of us. For aught she knew to the contrary, 
 it might be some commonplace of Emerson's or 
 Thoreau's. At any rate, Kathleen attached no serious 
 importance to this flash of identification, at least after 
 the first moment. Still, she went on indulging the 
 day-dream, as one often will, for many minutes 
 together, out of mere fanciful delight in it. It gave 
 her some slight relief from the clinrf, cling, cling of the 
 Canon's perpetual chatter about the sayings and 
 doings of his great folk in London. While he went 
 droning on to Mrs. Hesslegrave about Lady This and 
 Lady That, their virtues and their delinquencies, 
 Kathleen leaned back in her seat in the broad 
 Italian sunshine, and closed her ears to it all mentally, 
 while she enlarged to herself upon this Axminster day- 
 dream, and saw herself as Arnold Willoughby's bride 
 pacing entranced through the full leaf of June at 
 Membury Castle. 
 
 At last she shut her eyes for a moment, as they 
 
148 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 were nearing a bridge at one familiar corner, where a 
 Romanesque staircase of exquisite workmanship ran 
 spirally up outside a round tower in the background. 
 It helped her day-dream somewhat to shut her eyes : 
 she could see the great oaks of an English park : she 
 could see the fallow deer on dappled spots of shade 
 under the spreading chestnuts. A sharp cry from the 
 Canon made her open them again suddenly. Glancing 
 ap in alarm, she looked in the direction where her 
 visitor's eyes were fixed, and saw, leaning on the 
 parapet of the high-pitched bridge that spanned their 
 canal close by— who else but Arnold Willoughby ! 
 
 The Canon's last w^ords, unheeded as he spoke them, 
 now rang clear in her ears—' He's dead ; that's certain. 
 "We've got full particulars. All hands were lost — and 
 he must have been lost among them.' 
 
 But this moment, at sight of Arnold Willoughby's 
 bent head, with one linger twisted carelessly in the 
 lock behind his ear, the Canon sat staring wildly in 
 front of him with wide-open eyes. 
 
 * Why, look there !' he cried, taken aback, in a 
 voice of something very little short of horror. ' Look 
 there ! Who's that ! The man on the bridge just in 
 front of us ?' 
 
 ' What's the matter with him !' Mrs. Hesslegrave 
 exclaimed, following blankly the direction of the 
 Canon's eyes. She had always been sure there must 
 
VISITORS IN VENICE I49 
 
 be something seriously wrong about that dreadful 
 Willoughby man ; and now they were discovering it. 
 Could the Canon have recognised him as an escaped 
 convict, or told him at a glance as the Banbury 
 murderer ? 
 
 But Canon Valentine gazed harder and more 
 steadily than any of them. He seized Kathleen's arm 
 with a convulsive start. 
 
 ' Yes, it's him !' he said excitedly, in a tone of blank 
 alarm ; * a good deal altered, of course, and quite dis- 
 guised beyond anybody else's recognition. But it's 
 him, sure enough ! I should know him in a thou- 
 sand !' 
 
 * It's 2vlio r Mrs. Hesslegrave faltered out, hardly 
 
 daring to ask. 
 
 The Canon gasped for breath. He could only just 
 
 speak. 
 
 'Why, Bertie!' he answered low, leaning forward 
 to whisper it. * Don't you understand ? Bertie 
 Redburn ! The man that's dead ! The late Lord 
 Axminster !' 
 
CHAPTEK XI. 
 
 MRS. HESSLEGRAVE MISAPPREHENDS. 
 
 The words were scarcely out of the Canon's mouth 
 when straightway he repented of them. If this was 
 really Bertie, he ought to have held his peace. The 
 man was skulking in that case — quite evidently skulk- 
 ing ; he wanted to disappear : he didn't wish to be 
 recognised. It was no business of the Canon's, then, 
 to drag a feliow-creature against his will out of volun- 
 tary retirement, and so spoil Algy's chance of obtain- 
 ing the peerage. On the other hand, if it wasn't Bertie, 
 the Canon should, of course, have been the last man 
 on earth to call attention to a likeness — really, now 
 he came to think of it, a very remote likeness — to the 
 late Earl, and so give rise to a rumour which might 
 prove prejudicial in the end to Algy's position. He 
 had cried out in the heat of the moment, in the first 
 flush of surprise ; he began to hedge at once, as soon 
 as ever he perceived, on cooler reflection, the possible 
 
MRS. HESSLEGRAVE MISAPPREHENDS 151 
 
 consequences of his instinctive action. This is a very 
 small planet. Sooner or later, we all collide upon its 
 
 surface. 
 
 As for Kathleen, her first thought was one of loyalty 
 to Arnold. If he teas Lord Axminster— and of this 
 she had now very little doubt left ; the double coinci- 
 dence settled it— he was trying to hide himself : he 
 didn't wish to be recognised. That was enough for 
 her. He desired that his personality as Arnold 
 Willoughby should not be mixed up with his person- 
 ality as Bertie Eedburn. Therefore, it was her clear 
 duty not to betray him in any way. She glanced 
 nervously at her mother. Mrs. Hesslegrave had half 
 risen from her seat, overjoyed to hear that this was 
 really an English earl, whose high birth and intrinsic 
 nobility they had discovered for themselves under the 
 guise of a common sailor, and was just about to call 
 out : ' Mr. Willoughby ! Mr. Willoughby !' But Kath- 
 leen darted upon her suddenly such a warning glance 
 that she withered up forthwith, and held her peace 
 devoutly. She didn't know why she was to keep 
 silent; but she could see, from Kathleen's half- 
 imperious, half - imploring look, there was some 
 good reason for it; and Mrs. Hesslegrave was one 
 of those rare stupid people who recognise the fact 
 of their own stupidity, and allow themselves to be 
 blindly guided in emergencies by others. So she 
 
152 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 held her peace, merely remarkinp;, as she sat down 
 again : 
 
 * So you thmk that's Lord Axminster ! Dressed up 
 like that ! Well, really now, how interesting !' 
 
 Arnold Willoughhy's face, meanwhile, was all the 
 time turned half in the opposite direction. He did 
 not see the gondola, nor Kathleen, nor the Canon. 
 He was engaged, in fact, in watching and mentally 
 photographing for artistic purposes the graceful move- 
 ments of a passing barge as she swung slowly through 
 the bridge over whose balustrade he was hanging. 
 While Mrs. Hesslegrave spoke, he turned and went 
 on without observing them. Next instant, he was 
 lost in the crowd that surged and swayed through 
 the narrow caUc. The danger was averted. He had 
 never so much as observed the Canon. 
 
 As for that astute old gentleman, now he had 
 recovered his breath, he saw his mistake at once, and 
 faced it boldly. When Mrs. Hesslegrave said, ' So 
 you think that's Lord Axminster !' he answered im- 
 mediately, with perfect self-control : 
 
 * No, I don't. I was mistaken. It was — a passing 
 fancy. For a second I imagined — merely imagined, 
 don't you know — the man looked something like him. 
 I suppose it was the sailor get-up which just at first 
 deceived me. Poor Axminster used to dress like a 
 sailor when he yachted. Amelia, my dear, that was 
 
MRS. HESSLEGRAVE MISAPPREHENDS 153 
 
 not Bertie, was it? You could see the man dia- 
 tinctly.' 
 
 * Oh doar uo, Fred,' Mrs. Valeutiiie cclioed iu a 
 voice of profound conviction ; * not the least bit Hke 
 him !' 
 
 The Canon frowned sUghtly. Ameh'a had l)ottorod 
 her instructions unl)idden. He irrift tlie least bit like 
 him, else why should the Canon have mistaken him 
 at first sight for his kinsman Bertie ? But not very like. 
 
 'A mere superficial resemblance,' he went on, hedg- 
 ing violently. ' Just at the first glance, to be sure — 
 having my head full of the subject, and seeing the 
 sailor dress— I mistook him for Bertie. But when I 
 came to look again, the fellow was altogether different. 
 Same build, perhaps, but features gone shorter and 
 thicker and flatter. A man may dye his hair, and 
 cut his beard, and so forth; but, hang it all, Mrs. 
 Hesslegrave ! he can't go and get rid of his own born 
 
 features.' 
 
 He talked all the rest of the way home of nothing 
 on earth except singular resemblances and mistaken 
 identities. There were Perkin Warbeck, and Edmund 
 Wyld, and the Tichborne Claimant. There was Sidney 
 Carton in the ' Tale of Two Cities.' And he came back 
 always to the fundamental point, that the features of 
 a face at least— the features must always remain ; you 
 might dress, and you might paint, but there was no 
 
154 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 possibility of getting over the features. He over- 
 elaborated this issue, in fact. Kathleen could see 
 from every phrase he was sure in his own heart he 
 had seen Bertie Eedburn, and was trying to argue 
 himself, and still more his hearers, out of that positive 
 conviction. Even Mrs. Hesslegrave saw it, indeed, 
 and murmured aside to Kathleen, as they stood on 
 the steps of the Molo : 
 
 ' That is Lord Axminster, Kitty, and the dear Canon 
 knew it ; but, for Algernon Eedburn's sake, he didn't 
 like to acknowledge it.' 
 
 Kathleen gazed at her seriously. 
 'Mother, mother,' she cried, in a low voice, 'for 
 heaven's sake, don't say so! Don't say anything 
 about it. You won't understand yet; but when we 
 get home, I'll tell you. Plcasr say nothing more now. 
 If you do, you may upset everything !' 
 
 A vague idea crossed Mrs. Hesslegrave's mind at 
 that moment, that Kathleen might perhaps have known 
 this all along, and that that might account for her 
 being so much taken up with this dreadful sailor-man 
 — who wasn't really a dreadful sailor-man at all, as it 
 turned out, but the real Lord Axminster ! If so, how 
 delightful '; However, she waited for more light on 
 these matters in Kathleen's own good time, only 
 murmuring, meanwhile, half under her breath, to her 
 d aughter : 
 
MRS. HESSLEGRAVE MISAPPREHENDS 155 
 
 * Well, whoever he is, he's a charming fellow. You 
 must admit, yourself, I've thought all along he's a 
 charming fellow.' 
 
 By this time the Canon had settled with the gondo- 
 lier — after a resolute attempt at resistance to the 
 man's extortionate endeavour to exact his proper fare 
 by municipal tariff— and was ready to stroll up to the 
 Hesslegraves' apartments. For it was a principal 
 clause in the Canon's private creed that every foreigner 
 is always engaged in a conspiracy to defraud every 
 British subject on whom he can lay his hands ; and 
 that the way to make your road easy across the 
 Continent is to fight every item of every account, all 
 along the line, the moment it is presented. The 
 extortionate gondolier had conquered, however, by 
 producing a printed tariff which fixed his hire at the 
 modest rate of a franc an hour ; so the Canon, paying 
 it ouv, without a sou of pourboire, strode on towards 
 the lodgings, disconsolate and distracted. He knew 
 in his heart of hearts that was really Axminster; 
 much altered, no doubt, by deliberate disguise; dis- 
 torted beyond belief, but still undeniably Axminster ; 
 and he firmly resolved never to mention his conclusion 
 for worlds to anyone — not even to Amelia. A man 
 has no right to appear and disappear and then 
 suddenly crop up again by fits and starts in this 
 uncanny manner — to play bo-peep, as it were, with 
 
156 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 the House of Lords, the most dignified, exalted, and 
 supreme court in the United Kingdom. Once dead, 
 always dead, was a rule that ought to be applied to 
 these TichLornian revivalists. If you choose to go out 
 like a candle of your own free will, why, the world 
 should sternly decline to recognise you when you 
 want to come to life again at inconvenient moments. 
 There should be a Bill brought in to declare Bertie 
 Eedburn was really dead ; and then dead he should 
 remain, by Act of Parliament ! 
 
 But as soon as they w^ere inside the house, and 
 Kathleen had gone up with her mother and Mrs. 
 Valentine into her pretty little bedroom to take off 
 her bonnet, the Canon's own wife gave vent explosively 
 to a fearful and wholly unexpected disclosure. ' You 
 know, my dear,' she said confidentially, * that was 
 Lord Axminster. I feel quite sure of it. Only, of 
 course, I wouldn't say so, on dear Fred's account. 
 You know dear Fred can't bear to be contradicted.' 
 
 Once more Kathleen darted a warning look at her 
 mother ; and once more Mrs. Hesslegrave accepted 
 the hint blindly. ' But he was so different, the 
 Canon thought,' she remarked, just to keep up the 
 conversation, wondering dimly all the while what this 
 mystification could mean — too deep, in fact, for a 
 quiet, respectable old lady's fathoming. 
 
 ' Oh, you can't deceive me /' Mrs. Valentine 
 
MRS. HESSLEGRAVE MISAPPREHENDS 157 
 
 answered with warmth. * I'm sure it was Lord 
 Axminster. And I'll tell you how I know : his 
 features were really changed, exactly as Fred said : 
 he must have had something done to them. They 
 say you can get your face moulded like putty, if you 
 choose to bear it, nowadays. But he had always a 
 nervous trick of pulling one back lock of his hair, as 
 he stood still and thought — like this, don't you know ! 
 a sort of back-handed twirl : and the moment I saw 
 him, I remembered it instantly. He might walk down 
 Bond Street any morning, and meet every friend he 
 ever knew in the world, and not one in a thousand 
 would ever suspect it was he ; but Fred and I, we 
 would know, because we saw such a lot of hiii; as a 
 child, and were accustomed to reprove him for this 
 same awkward trick of his.' 
 
 And, as a matter of fact, the moment Mrs. Valentine 
 mentioned it, Kathleen recollected perfectly that she 
 had often observed Arnold Willoughby stand in just 
 the way she mimicked, pulling a particular lock at the 
 back of his hair, whenever he was observant of a 
 person's face, or attentive to any element in a picture 
 or landscape. 
 
 The moment she could get alone with her mother 
 upstairs, she began to speak to her seriously. 
 
 ' Mother,' she said in her most coaxing tone, 'you 
 were so good to take my hints. I didn't want Canon 
 
158 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 Valentine to know who Mr. Willoughby was — I mean, 
 what name he calls himself — or that you and I knew 
 him ; for I'm sure the Canon was right : Mr. Wil- 
 loughby's Lord Axminster.' 
 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave made no immediate reply except 
 to step forward with the utmost gentleness and press 
 a motherly kiss upon her daughter's forehead. * Oh, 
 Kitty,' she cried, gazing fondly at her, ' how awfully 
 clever of you ! My darling, I'm so glad ! And I've 
 been seeing all along how much attention he was 
 paying you.' 
 
 Kathleen flushed up to her eyes again. It was a 
 way she had when deeply moved. And she knew her 
 mother was very much pleased with her indeed ; for 
 only when very much pleased did Mrs. Hesslegrave 
 ever address her by her pet name of Kitty. *But 
 that's not all, mother,' she went on eagerly. ' I want 
 you to promise me, oh, ever so faithfully, you won't 
 tell anybody who he is, or anything else about him. 
 He wouldn't like it, if you did. Promise me, dearest, 
 promise me !' 
 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave drew back for a second, lost in 
 mazes of thought. She couldn't quite understand 
 this queer Axminster mystery. Then, being a 
 romantic old lady, as many old ladies are, she wove 
 for herself on the spot a little private romance of how 
 it had all happened. Lord Axminster, it appeared. 
 
MRS. HESSLEGRAVE MISAPPREHENDS 159 
 
 distrusting all womankind, after his bitter experience 
 with Lady Sark, had come abroad in disguise as a 
 common sailor, in order to look out for some girl he 
 could really love — some girl who could really love 
 him, as a man wishes to be loved, for himself, not for 
 his estate, his rank or his title. But Kathleen, like a 
 clever girl that she was, had discovered by intuition 
 his real position in life under those humble surround- 
 ings, and had fallen in love with him, and made him 
 fall in love with her. Mrs. Hesslegrave could under- 
 stand now what she had never understood before — 
 how a well-conducted girl like her Kitty could have 
 permitted herself to form a romantic attachment for a 
 man apparently so very far beneath her. It was just 
 like Kitty to have unmasked the real Earl ; in her joy 
 and pride — to think her own daughter should have 
 captured a peer of the realm under such adverse con- 
 ditions by sheer dint of insight — Mrs. Hesslegrave 
 once more bent tenderly forward, and kissed the 
 wondering Kathleen a second time on her forehead. 
 
 * I'll promise whatever you like, dear,' she said in a 
 very pleased tone, for this was a great occasion, ' Oh, 
 Kitty, I'm so delighted ! And indeed, dear, I'm sorry 
 I ever seemed to throw any obstacles in Mr. Willough- 
 by's way — I mean, in Lord Axminster's. But there ! 
 you'll forgive me: I didn't understand the circum- 
 stances as you did. And though I didn't quite approve 
 
l6o AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 of your seeing so much as you did of him — under 
 misapprehension, of course, as to his real place in 
 society — you must remember yourself I always allowed 
 that, viewed as a man alone, he was a most charming 
 person.' 
 
 Kathleen didn't exactly understand what her mother 
 was driving at ; these words were too deep for her : 
 but for the moment she didn't think it necessary to 
 inquire as to their hidden meaning : she was so afraid 
 her mother might by some imprudence betray Arnold 
 Willoughby's secret. And no matter wdiy he wished 
 it kept, she felt for her own part 'twas a point of 
 honour for them both to insist upon keeping it. So 
 she said very hurriedly : 
 
 'Whatever you do, dear mother, don't let Canon 
 Valentine know Mr. Willoughby's a friend of ours. 
 Don't say a word about him, in fact. Let the Canon 
 suppose the man he saw on the bridge is a perfect 
 stranger to all of us. I must manage to prevent 
 Mr. Wllloughby from visiting the house for the present, 
 somehow. If Canon Valentine w^ere to find out who 
 he really was, it would spoil all— and then Mr. Wil- 
 loughby would be so dreadfully disappointed.' 
 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave caught instinctively at that one 
 phrase, ' spoil all,' which confirmed her at once in her 
 most romantic preconceptions. Then it was just as 
 she expected : the Earl and Kitty had arrived at an 
 
MRS. HESSLEGRAVE MISAPPREHENDS i6i 
 
 understanding. There was a mystery in the case, of 
 course ; })ut Kitty would clear it all up ; and she 
 should live yet to see her only daughter a countess. 
 
 * My darling,' the proud mother said, looking at her 
 with affection — for it is something to have a daughter 
 who can catch earls in disguise — * tell me all about it ! 
 "When did Lord Axminster ask you ?' 
 
 * He has never asked me, mother,' Kathleen an- 
 swered with a very deep blush. Then she paused for 
 a moment. Her heart rose into her mouth. The 
 avowal seemed so natural at a crisis like that. ' But 
 I love him,' she went on, clasping her hands ; ' and 
 I'm sure he loves me. Oh, mother, don't say any- 
 thing that would lead him to suppose you've heard a 
 word of all this. If you do, all will be lost ! I know 
 he wouldn't care for any of us to know he was really 
 Lord Axminster.' 
 
 She trembled for her unavowed lover, now the truth 
 was upon her. 
 
 * My dear,' Mrs. Hesslegrave answered, her admira- 
 tion for Kathleen's cleverness and power of self-restraint 
 growing deeper each minute, * you may set your mind 
 at rest : you may rely upon my prudence. I grasp 
 the situation. I couldn't have believed it, Kitty ; but 
 I'm very, very glad of it. What a wonderful girl you 
 are! I declare you really almost take my breath 
 away !' 
 
 VOL. I. 11 
 
i62 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 And, indeed, Mrs. Hesslegrave felt it was most meri- , 
 torious in Kathleen to have discovered the young 
 man's rank so early — as of course she must have done 
 — and to have succeeded in keeping her own counsel 
 so well that even her mother never for a moment 
 suspected the real rank of her lover ; for that a lover 
 he was, Mrs. Hesslegrave took for granted at once, 
 now she knew the dreadful sailor-man was really an 
 earl. She would hardly have given her Kathleen 
 credit before for so much gumption. 
 
 As for Kathleen, she was so fully bent upon pre- 
 serving Arnold Willoughby's secret, that she never 
 even noticed her mother's misapprehension. Her one 
 desire now was to keep the matter entirely from Canon 
 Valentine, aiid, if possible, to prevent their accident- 
 ally meeting. And that,, she foresaw, would be no 
 easy task ; for of late, in spite of Mrs. Hesslegrave's 
 marked coldness, Arnold had frequently called round 
 on one errand or another with sketches or books at 
 the lodgings by the Piazza. 
 
 Just as she was wondering how best to avert the 
 misfortune of an unexpected encounter, however, Mrs. 
 Hesslegrave observed with her blandest smile : 
 
 * We haven't seen much of Mr. Willoughby lately. 
 I really think, Kathleen, I'll write this very day and 
 invite him to come round to tea some afternoon while 
 the Canon's with us,' 
 
MRS. HESSLEGRAVE MISAPPREHENDS 163 
 
 Kathleen stood aghast with horror. She quite 
 understood Arnold Willoughhy's motives now ; with 
 a flash of intuition, the minute she learned who he 
 really was, she read at once the reasons for his strange 
 behaviour. Something of the sort, indeed, had oc- 
 curred to her as possible even before, when she con- 
 trasted the man's talk and wide range of information 
 with his supposed position in life ; but now she knew 
 who he was, it all burst at once upon her. And she 
 had loved him as the common sailor ; that she had 
 never concealed from her own heart for many days, 
 since the trip to the Lido. He could never say of her 
 in future it was his rank and his artificial position in 
 the world that had captivated her fancy. She loved 
 him for himself ; she knew it ; she was certain of it ! 
 Had she not written it down in plain black and white 
 in her diary ? Yet if he were to find out now that she 
 had discovered his true name— Kathleen trembled to 
 herself as she thought of the possible result, for she 
 was very much in love— he might never ask her. She 
 wished in her heart he was really Arnold Willoughby, 
 the sailor-painter, or that she had never discovered 
 the truth as to his artificial position. 
 
 But something must be done at once to prevent 
 this catastrophe which Mrs. Hesslegrave so innocently 
 proposed to bring about. Kathleen seized her mother's 
 arm with a nervous clutch. 
 
1 64 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 * Mother,' she cried, much agitated, * for worlds you 
 mustn't write ! for worlds you mustn't ask him ! Oh, 
 promise me you won't ask him ! You don't know how 
 much depends on it. For Heaven's sake, say you 
 won't ; say you'll do as I beg of you !' 
 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave, much puzzled as to what all this 
 mystification and agitation could mean, yet drew back 
 at once, and answered in perfect good faith : 
 
 • Oh, certainly, certainly, I'll do as you wish, dear ; 
 though I'm sure I don't know why. Such plot and 
 counterplot is a great deal too deep for a poor simple 
 old woman.' 
 
 Kathleen's heart sank at the words. They were 
 only too true. She felt sure she could trust her 
 mother's good intentions implicitly ; but she was by 
 no means so certain she could trust her discretion. 
 
 'Though I've always said,' Mrs. Hesslegrave re- 
 marked in conclusion, ' he was really in his way a 
 most charming person.' 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A mother's dilemma. 
 
 Canon Valentine had intended to stop a week at 
 Venice. He stopped just two days; and then, to 
 Kathleen's secret joy and no small relief, bronchitis 
 seized him. That stern monitor hm-ried him off in- 
 continently to Florence. ' I'm sorry, Mrs. Hessle- 
 grave,' he said ; ' I can't tell you how sorry. I'd 
 looked forward to seeing everything in this charming 
 place under your daughter's guidance-she's a capital 
 cicerone, I must say, your daughter ; we did so enjoy 
 going round the Grand Canal with her the day before 
 yesterday. It's so deUghtful to see all these beautiful 
 things in company with an artist ! But the damp of 
 the lagoons is really too much for my poor old throat ; 
 we're given to throat-trouble, you see ; it's common 
 to my cloth ; and as I went along with Miss Hessle- 
 grave to the Academy yesterday in an open gondola, 
 I felt the cold air rise up bodily from the Canal and 
 
i66 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 catch hold of me and throttle me. It took me just 
 BO, by the larynx, like a hand, and seemed to choke 
 me instantly. " Amelia," said I at the time, '* this 
 chilly air has done for me." And, sure enough, I 
 woke in the night with a tickle, tickle, tickle in my 
 bronchial tubes, which I know means mischief. 
 When once that sets in, there's nothing for it but to 
 leave the place where you are immediately. Change 
 the air without delay : that's the one safe remedy. 
 And indeed, to tell you the truth, Venice is so spoilt, 
 80 utterly spoilt, since the Austrians left it, that, 
 except for you and Miss Hesslegrave, I must confess 
 I shan't be sorry to get out of it. Most insanitary 
 town, I call it — most insanitary in every way.' 
 
 Kathleen could hardly even pretend to regret their 
 departure. During the last two days she had lived 
 in instant dread that the Canon would somehow knock 
 up against Arnold Willoughby. And if the truth 
 must be told, it was the very same dread on the 
 Canon's part, not bronchitis alone, that was driving 
 him to Florence. For as they stood on the balcony 
 of the Doges' Palace the day before, looking out upon 
 the liiva and the busy quays and the panorama of 
 the harbour, Canon Valentine beheld a man's back 
 in the distance, rounding the corner by Danieli's, 
 and he said to himself with a shudder : * Axminster's 
 back — or the devil's !' (Being an old-fashioned clergy- 
 
A MOTHER'S DILEMMA '67 
 
 man, the Canon, you ^vill perceive, was not afraid of 
 a very mild unparliamentary expression.) And the 
 more convinced he became that the mysterious person 
 thus flitting about Venice was really Lord Axmhister, 
 the more desirous did he grow to avoid the misfortune 
 of actually meeting him. For if they met face to 
 face, and caught one another's eyes, the Canon 
 hardly knew how, for very shame, he could let Algy 
 go on with his claim of right without informing him 
 -which he was loath to do-that his cousin Bertie 
 had never been drowned at all, but had been sighted 
 in the flesh, and in sailor costume, in the city of 
 
 Venice. 
 
 There are compromises we all make now and again 
 with our consciences ; and there are points where we 
 feel the attempt at compromise becomes practically 
 impossible. Now, the Canon was quite willing to give 
 Algy and his wife the benefit of the doubt, as long as 
 he'felt only just morally certain that the person m 
 the street with the trick of twisthig his back hair was 
 the last Lord Axminster. But if they met face to 
 face, and he recognised his man without doubt, as 
 he felt sure he must do when they came to close 
 quarters, then the Canon felt in his heart he could 
 no longer retain any grain of self-respect if he per- 
 mitted the claim to be pushed through the House of 
 Lords without even mentioning what he had seen to 
 
1 68 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 Algy. He might have kept silence, indeed, and let 
 self-respect take its chance, if he met the man alone ; 
 but what on earth could he do if he met him, full 
 front, while out walking with Amelia ? That was the 
 question. And I may remark parenthetically that 
 most men feel keenly this necessity for preserving 
 their self-respect before the face of their wives — 
 which is a very important ally, indeed, to the cause 
 of all the virtues. 
 
 So, on the third morning of his stay, the Canon 
 left Venice. Kathleen breathed freer as soon as he 
 was gone. The load of that gnawing anxiety was 
 much lightened upon her. 
 
 That very same day, as it chanced, Arnold Wil- 
 loughby, reflecting to himself in his own room, made 
 his mind up suddenly to step round in the afternoon 
 and have a word or two with Kathleen. Ever since 
 that morning when they picnicked at the Lido, he 
 had been debating with himself whether or not he 
 should ask that beautiful soul to marry him ; and 
 now his mind was made up ; he could resist no longer : 
 he had decided that very day to break the ice and 
 ask her. He was quite sure she liked him — liked him 
 very, very much : that she showed unequivocally : 
 and he had waited so long only because he couldn't 
 muster up courage to speak to her. Would it be 
 right of him, he asked himself, to expect that any 
 
A MOTHER'S DILEMMA 169 
 
 woman should share such fortunes as his would 
 henceforth he? Was he justified in begging any 
 woman to wait till an obscure young painter could 
 earn money enough to keep her in the comfort and 
 luxury to which she had been accustomed ? 
 
 He put that question to himself seriously ; and he 
 answered it in the affirmative. If he had really been 
 always the Arnold Willoughby he had now made 
 himself by his own act, he need never have doubted. 
 Any young man, just starting in life, would have 
 thought himself justified in asking the girl he loved 
 best in the world to wait for him till he was in a 
 position to marry her. Why should not he do what 
 any other man might do lawfully? He had cast the 
 past behind him ; he was a painter sailor now ; but 
 why need he hesitate on tha.t account to ask the girl 
 whose love he believed he had won on his own merits 
 if she would wait till he could marry her ? Arnold 
 Willoughby would have done it ; and he ivas Arnold 
 Willoughby. 
 
 So, about three o'clock, he went round, somewhat 
 tremulous, in the direction of the Piazza. He hadn't 
 seen Kathleen for a day or two ; she had told him 
 friends would be visiting them, without mentioning 
 their name; and she had given herself a holiday, 
 while the friends were with her, from her accustomed 
 work on the Fondamenta della Zattere. 
 
I70 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 When he got to the door, Francesca, who opened it, 
 told him, with a sunny display of two rows of white 
 teeth, that the signorina way out, but the signora was 
 at home, if he would care to see her. 
 
 Much disappointed, Arnold went up, anxious to 
 learn whether any chance still remained that, later in 
 the afternoon, he might have a word or two with 
 Kathleen. To his immense surprise, the moment he 
 entered, Mrs. Hesslegrave rose from her seat with 
 obvious warmth, and held out her hand to greet him 
 in her most gracious manner. Arnold had noticed by 
 this time the seven distinct gradations of cordiality 
 with which Mrs. Hesslegrave was accustomed to 
 receive her various '^iuests ill accordance with their 
 respective and relative positions in the table of prece- 
 dence as by authority established. This afternoon, 
 therefore, he couldn't help observing her manner was 
 that with which she was wont to welcome peers of the 
 realm and foreign ambassadors. To say the truth, 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave considerably overdid it in the matter 
 of graciousness. There was an inartistic abruptness 
 in her sudden change of front, a practical inconsist- 
 ency in her view of his status, which couldn't fail to 
 strike him. The instant way in which Mrs. Hessle- 
 grave, who had hitherto taken little pains to conceal 
 her disli^'.e and distrust of the dreadful sailor man, 
 flung^^herself visibly at his head, made Arnold at once 
 
A MOTHER'S DILEMMA i7i 
 
 suspect some radical revolution must have taken place 
 meanwhile in her views as to his position. 
 
 'Why, Mr. Willoughby,' she cried, holding his 
 hand in her own much longer than was strictly neces- 
 sary for the purpose of shaking it, ' what a stranger 
 you are, to be sure ! You never come near us now. 
 It's really quite unfriendly of you. Kathleen was 
 saying this morning we must write round to your 
 chambers and ask you to dine with us. And she 
 hasn't seen you for the last day or two on the Zattere, 
 either ! Poor child ! she's been so occupied. We've 
 had some friends here, who've been taking up all 
 our time. Kitty's been out in a gondola all day 
 long with them. However, that's all over, and she 
 hopes to get to work again on the quay to-morro\\-— 
 she's so anxious to go on with her Spire and Canal ; 
 wrapped up in her art, dear girl-you know, it's all 
 she lives for. However, she'll be back at it, I'm glad 
 to say, at the old place, in the morning. Our friends 
 are just gone— couldn't stand the climate— said it gave 
 them sore throats-and Kathleen's gone off to say 
 good-bye to them at the station.' 
 
 ' That's fortunate,' Arnold answered a little stiffly, 
 feeling, somehow, a dim consciousness that, against 
 his will, he was once more a lord, and lapsing for the 
 moment into his early bad.habit of society small-talk. 
 • For the lights on the Canal have been lovely the last 
 
172 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 three days, and I've regretted so much Miss Hessle- 
 grave should have missed them.' 
 
 * Not more than she has, I'm sure,' Mrs. Hessle- 
 grave went on, quite archly, with her blandest smile — 
 ' mother's society smirk,' as that irreverent hoy Keggie 
 was wont to term it. 'I don't know why, I'm sure, Mr. 
 Willoughby, but Kathleen has enjoyed her painting on 
 the quay this winter and spring a great deal more than 
 she ever before enjoyed it. It's been a perfect treat to 
 her. She says she can't bear to be away for one day from 
 that dear old San Trovaso. She just loves her work ; 
 and I assure you she seemed almost sentimentally sad 
 because these friends who've been stopping with us 
 kept her away so long from her beloved picture. — And 
 from her fellow-artists,' Mrs. Hesslegrave added after 
 a pause, in some little trepidation, uncertain whether 
 that last phrase might not go just one step too far in 
 the right direction. 
 
 Arnold Willoughby eyed her closely. All his 
 dearest suspicions were being fast aroused ; he began 
 to tremble in his heart lest somebody had managed to 
 pierce the close disguise with v hioh he had so care- 
 fully and so long surrounded himself. 
 
 ' Will Miss Hesslegrave be back by-and-by ?' he 
 asked in a coldly official tone. * Because, if she will, 
 I should like to stop and see her.' 
 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave jumped at the chance with unwise 
 
A MOTHER'S DILEMMA i73 
 
 avidity. This was the very first time, in fact, that 
 Arnold Willoughby had ever asked to see her daughter 
 in so many words. She scented a proposal. 
 
 ' Oh yes,' she answered, acquiescent, with obvious 
 eagerness, though she plumed herself inwardly as she 
 spoke upon her own bland ingenuity ; ' Kathleen will 
 be back by-and-by from the station, and will be 
 dehghted to see you. I know there's some point in that 
 last year's picture she's touching up that she said she 
 wanted to consult you about, if possible. I shall have 
 to go out myself at four, unfortunately— I'm engaged 
 to an " at home" at dear Lady Devonport's ; but I dare 
 say Kathleen can give you a cup of tea here ; and no 
 doubt you and she can make yourselves happy to- 
 gether.' 
 
 She beamed as she said it. The appointment with 
 Lady Devonport was a myth, to be sure; but Mrs. 
 Hesslegrave thought it would be wise, under the 
 circumstances, to leave the young people alone with 
 one another. Arnold Willoughby's suspicions grew 
 deeper and deeper. Mrs. Hesslegrave was one of 
 those transparent people w4iose little deceptions are 
 painfully obvious ; he could see at half a glance some- 
 thing must have occurred which gave her all at once a 
 much more favourable view of him. He m<3asured 
 her doubtfully with his eye. Mrs. Hesslegrave in 
 return showered her sweetest smiles upon him. She 
 
174 ^T MARKET VALUE 
 
 was all obsequiousness. Then she began to talk with 
 ostentatious motherly pride about Kathleen. She 
 was such a good girl ! Few mothers had a comfort 
 like that in their daughters. The only thing Mrs. 
 Hesslegrave couldn't bear was the distressing thought 
 that sooner or later Kathleen must some day leave 
 her. That icoidd be a trial. But there ! no mother 
 can expect to keep her daughter always by her side : 
 it would be selfish, wouldn't it? — and Kathleen was 
 adapted to make a good man so supremely happy. 
 And then Mrs. Hesslegrave, leaning forward in her 
 chair, grew almost confidential. Had Mr. Willoughby 
 noticed that Mr. Mortimer, the rich young American, 
 thought so much of Kathleen ? Well, he certainly 
 did ; he quite haunted the house ; though Mrs. 
 Hesslegrave believed in her heart of hearts Kathleen 
 didn't really care one bit for him. And she was a 
 girl of such high principle — such very high principle ! 
 Unless she truly loved a man — was fascinated, 
 absorbed in him — she never would marry him, 
 though he were as rich as Croesus. Kathleen meant 
 to come back by the Zattere, she believed ; and she 
 knew Mr. Mortimer would be waiting there to see her ; 
 he always hung about and waited to see her every- 
 where. But Kathleen was such a romantic, poetical- 
 minded girl ! She would rather take the man of her 
 choice, Mrs. Hesslegrave believed — with an impressive 
 
A MOTHER'S DILEMMA I75 
 
 nod of the coffee-coloured Honiton head-dress— than 
 marry the heh to all the estates in England, if he 
 didn't happen to please her fancy. 
 
 As she maundered on, floundering further into the 
 mire each moment, Arnold Wiiioughby's conviction 
 that something had gone wrong grew deeper and 
 deeper with every sentence. He shuffled uneasily on 
 his chair. For the first time since he had practically 
 ceased to be an Earl, he saw a British mamma quite 
 obviously paying court to him. He would have liked 
 to go, indeed, this queer talk made him feel so 
 awkward and uncomfortable ; it reminded him of the 
 days when adulation was his bane: more still, it 
 jarred against his sense of maternal dignity. But 
 he couldn't go, somehow. Now the doubt was once 
 aroused, he must wait at least till Kathleen returned 
 —that he might see her, and be rid of it. Yet all 
 this strange dangling of inartistically-wrought flies 
 before the victim's eye was disagreeably familiar to 
 him. He had heard a round dozen of Mayfair 
 mammas talk so to him of their daughters, and 
 always in the same pretended confidential strain, 
 when he was an Earl and a catch in London society ; 
 though he confessed to himself with a shudder that 
 he had never yet heard anybody do it quite so 
 fatuously, transparently, and woodenly as Kathleen's 
 mother. She, poor soul ! went on with bland self- 
 
176 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 satisfaction, convinced in her own soul she was 
 making the running for Kathleen in the most masterly 
 fashion, and utterly unaware of the disgust she 
 was rousing in Arnold Willoughby's distracted 
 bosom. 
 
 At last, Arnold's suspicions could no longer be 
 concealed. The deeper Mrs. Hesslegrave probed, the 
 more firmly convinced did her patient become that 
 she had somehow surprised his inmost secret, and 
 was trying all she knew to capture him for Kathleen ; 
 and trying most ineptly. This sudden change of 
 front from her attitude of sullen non-recognition to 
 one of ardent sycophancy roused all his bitterest and 
 most cynical feelings. Was this day-dream, then, 
 doomed to fade as his earlier one had faded ? Was 
 Kathleen, the sweet Kathleen he had in^-ested to 
 himself in his fervid fancy with all the innocent 
 virtues, to crush his heart a second time as Lady 
 Sark had once crushed it? Was she, too, a self- 
 seeker ? Did she know who he was, and what title 
 he bore ? Was she allowing him to make love to her 
 for his money (such as it was) and his earldom ? 
 
 With a sudden resolve, he determined to put the 
 question to the proof forthwith. He knew Mrs. 
 Hesslegrave well enough to know she could neve- 
 control her face or her emotions. Whatever passed 
 within, that quick countenance betrayed to the most 
 
A MOTHER'S DILEMMA 177 
 
 casual observer. So, at a pause in the conversation 
 (when Mrs. Hesslegrave was just engaged in wonder- 
 ing to herself what wouk. he a good fresh subject to 
 start next with an Earl in disguise whom you desired 
 to captivate), Arnold turned round to her sharply, 
 and asked with a rapid swoop, which fairly took her 
 off her guard : ' Have you seen the English papers ? 
 Do you know what's being done in this Axminster 
 peerage case ?' 
 
 It was a bold stroke of policy; but it committed 
 him to nothing, for the subject was a common one, 
 and it was justified by the result. Mrs. Hesslegrave, 
 ful) herself of this very theme, looked up at him in 
 astonishment, hardly knowing how to take it. She 
 gave a little start, and trembled quite visibly. In 
 her perplexity, indeed, she clapped her hand to her 
 mouth, as one will often do when the last subject on 
 earth one expected to hear broached is suddenly 
 sprung upon one. The movement was unmistakable. 
 So was the frightened and hesitating way in which 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave responded as quickly as she could : 
 ' Oh yes — that is to say, no — well, we haven't seen 
 much about it. But — the young man's dead, of 
 course — or, do you think he's living ? I mean — well, 
 really, it's so difficult, don't you know, in such a 
 perplexing case, to make one's mind up about it.' 
 She drew out her handkerchief and wiped her fwe- 
 VOL. I. 12 
 
178 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 head in her confusion. She would havo given ten 
 pounds that moment to have Kathleen by her side to 
 prompt and instruct her. Arnold Willoughby pre- 
 served a face of sphinx - like indifference. How 
 dreadful that he should have boarded her with that 
 difficult and dangeroiis subject ! What would Kath- 
 leen wish her to do? Ought she to pretend to 
 ignore it all, or did he mean her to recognise 
 him? 
 
 'Is he dead or living? Which do you think?' 
 Arnold asked again, gazing hard at her. 
 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave quailed.' It was a trying moment. 
 People oughtn't to lay such traps for poor innocent 
 old women, whose only desire, after all, is the perfectly 
 natural one to see their daughters well and creditablj' 
 married. She looked back at her questioner with a 
 very frightened air. 
 
 'Well, of coiiYSG, y oil know,' she faltered out, with 
 a glimmering perception of the fact that she was 
 irrevocably committing herself to a dangerous position. 
 * If it comes to that, you must know better than any- 
 one.' 
 
 'Why so?' Arnold Willoughby persisted. He 
 wasn't going to say a word either way to compromise 
 his own incognito ; but he was determined to find 
 out just exactly how much Mrs. Hesslegrave knew 
 about the matter of his identity. 
 
A MOTHER'S DILEMMA I79 
 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave gazed up at him with tears rising 
 fast in her poor puzzled ej'es. 
 
 'Oh, what shall I do?' she cried, wringing her 
 hands in her misery and perplexity. * How cruel 
 you are to try me so ! What ought I to answer ? I'm 
 afraid Kathleen will he so dreadfully angry with me.' 
 ' Why angry ?' Arnold Willoughby asked once more, 
 his heart growing like a stone within him as he spoke. 
 Then, the worst was true. This was a deliberate con- 
 spiracy. 
 
 'Because,' Mrs. Hesslegrave blurted out, * Kathleen 
 told me I wasn't on any account to mention a word of 
 all this to you or to anybody. She told me that was 
 imperative. She said it would spoil all-those were 
 her very words ; she said it would spoil all ; and she 
 begged me not to mention it. And now I'm afraid 
 I lave spoiled all ! Oh, Mr. Willoughby - Lord 
 Axminster, I mean— for Heaven's sake, don't be 
 angry with me. Don't say I've spoiled all ! Don't 
 say so ! Don't reproach me with it !' 
 
 * That you certainly have,' Arnold answered with 
 disdain, growing colder and visibly colder each 
 moment. * You've spoiled more than you know— two 
 lives that might otherwise perhaps have been happy. 
 And yet— it's best so. Better wake up to it now than 
 wake up to it— afterwards. Miss Hesslegrave has been 
 less wise and circumspect in this matter, though, 
 
1 8o AT M A R KE T VA LUE 
 
 than ill the rest of her conduct. She took me in com- 
 pletely. And if she hadn't been so ill-advised as to 
 confide her conclusions and suspicions to you, why, 
 she might very likely have taken me in for ever. As 
 it is, this edaircissnncnt has come in good time. No 
 harm has yet been done. No word has yet passed. 
 An hour or two later, the result, I dare say, might 
 have been far more serious.' 
 
 * She didn't tell me,' Mrs. Hesslegrave burst out, 
 anxious, now the worst had come, to make things 
 easier for Kathleen, and to retrieve her failure. ' It 
 wasn't she who told me. I found it out for myself — 
 that is, through somebody else ' 
 
 'Found out icliatr Arnold asked coldly, fixing his 
 eye upon hers with a stony glare. 
 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave looked away from him in abject 
 terror. That glance of his froze her. 
 
 ' Why, found ou{ that you were Lord Axminster,' 
 she answered with one burst, not knowing what to 
 make of him. * She knew it all along, you know ; but 
 she never told me or betrayed your secret. She never 
 even mentioned it to me, her mother. She kept it 
 quite faithfully. She was ever so wise about it. I 
 couldn't imagine why she — well, took so much notice 
 of a man I supposed to be nothing but a common 
 sailor ; and it was only yesterday, or the day before, 
 I discovered by accident she had known it all along, 
 
A MOTHER'S DILEMMA i8i 
 
 and had recognised the born gentleman under all dis- 
 guises.' 
 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave thought that last was a trump 
 card to play on Kathleen's behalf. But Arnold Wil- 
 loughby rose. 
 
 'Well, you may tell Miss Hesslegrave,' he said 
 stiffly, * that if she thought she was going to marry 
 an English Earl, and live like a Countess, she was 
 very much mistaken. That was wholly an error. 
 The man who loved her till ten minutes ago — the 
 man she seemed to love — the man who, thinking she 
 loved him, came here to ask for her hand this very 
 afternoon, and whom she would no doubt have 
 accepted under that painful misapprehension — is and 
 means to remam a common sailor. She has made 
 a mistake — that's all. She has miscalculated her 
 chances. It's fortunate, on the whole, that mistake 
 and miscalculation have gone no farther. If I had 
 married her under the misapprehension which seems 
 to have occurred, she might have had in the end a 
 very bitter awakening. Such a misfortune has been 
 averted by your lucky indiscretion. You may say 
 good-bye for me to Miss Hesslegrave when she returns. 
 It is not my intention now to remain any longer in 
 Venice.' 
 
 * But you'll stop and see Kathleen !' Mrs. Hessle- 
 grave exclaimed, awe-struck. 
 
i82 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 * No, thank you,' Arnold answered, taking his hat 
 in his hand. * "What you tell me is quite enough. It 
 is my earnest wish, after the error that has occurred, 
 never as long as I live to set eyes on her again. You 
 may give her that message. You have, indeed, 
 spoiled all. It is she herself who said it !' 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A MISSING LOVER. 
 
 'TwAS in bitter disappointment that Arnold Willoughhy 
 strode away from the Hesslegraves' door that afternoon 
 in Venice. For the second time in his life his day- 
 dream had vanished. And the new bubble had burst 
 even more painfully than the old one. He was young, 
 he said to himself, when he fell in love with Blanche 
 Middleton. With a boy's simplicity, he mistook the 
 mere blushing awkwardness and uncertainty of the 
 ingdiuie for innocence of mind and purity of purpose. 
 He had a rude awakening when he saw Lady Sark 
 sell herself for money and title, and develop into one 
 of the vainest and showiest among the heartless clan 
 of professional beauties. But this time, he had said 
 to his own heart, he was older and wiser. No such 
 hasty mistakes for him nowadays! He knew the 
 difference now between the awkward bashfulness of 
 the frightened school-girl and the pure white integrity 
 
1 84 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 of a noble-minded woman. Bit l)y bit, Kathleen 
 Hesslegrave had won back the soured misogynist to a 
 belief in her sex, in its goodness, in its unselfishness, 
 in its nobility of nature. He knew she could have 
 married Rufus Mortimer if she wished ; but he 
 believed she had refused him for the penniless sailor's 
 sake. It was because he believed her capable of real 
 disinterested affection like that, that he had fallen in 
 love with Kathleen Hesslegrave. 
 
 And now, what a disillusion ! He found he had been 
 mistaken in her from the very beginning. The woman 
 whom he had thought so far raised above her fellows 
 that she could love a struggling artist, without past, 
 without future, for his own sake alone, turned out, 
 after all, to be an intriguer, more calculating and 
 more deceitful in her way than Lady Sark herself 
 had been. Kathleen must have known from the 
 beginning that the man whose advances she had 
 accepted with so much blushing uncertainty and with 
 such pretty coyness was really Lord Axminster. She 
 had been saying those sweet things, about respecting 
 him so much and not caring for rank or wealth or 
 position, because she thought that was the way that 
 WQuld lead her to a coronet. With incredible cunning 
 and deceptiveness, she had managed to hide from him 
 her knowledge of his original position, and to assume 
 a sort of instinctive shrinking from his lowly calling, 
 
A MISSING LOVER 185 
 
 which she allowed her love and respect to overcome, 
 as it were, (iiiite visil)ly hefore his eyes, with consum- 
 mate cleverness. As a piece of fine acting in real life 
 it was nothing short of admiral)le. If that girl were 
 to go upon the stage now, Arnold said to himself 
 hitterly, she would make her fortune. Those modest 
 side-glances; those dexterously summoned hlushes ; 
 that timid demeanour at first, giving way with fuller 
 acquaintance to an uncontrollahle affection, so strong 
 that it compelled her, agahist her will, as it seemed, 
 to overlook the prejudices of hirth, and to forget the 
 immense gulf in artificial position— oh, as acting it 
 was marvellous ! But to think it was only that ! 
 
 Arnold Willoughby's brain reeled. Ah, why could 
 he never cast this birthright of false adulation and 
 vile sycophancy behind him? Why could he never 
 stand out before the world on his merits as a man, 
 and be accepted or rejected for himself alone, without 
 the intervention of this perpetual reference to his arti- 
 ficial value and his place in the peerage ? 
 
 And the secrecy of it, too! The baseness! The 
 privy planning and plotting! Why, this woman, 
 whom he imagined all frankness and candour, with a 
 heart as straightforward as that open brave face of 
 hers, had concocted this vile trap to catch a coronet 
 unawares, all by herself, unaided, and had concealed 
 her inmost thoughts from her own mother even. 
 
l86 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 There was a cold-blooded deliberateness about it all 
 which disgusted and disillusioned Arnold Willoughby 
 on the first blush of it. He had gone into that house 
 that afternoon in a lover's fever and with a lover's 
 fervour, saying to himself as he crossed the thres- 
 hold: 
 
 ' There is none like her, none ; I shall ask her this 
 very day ; 1 could risk my life for her with joy ; I 
 could stake my existence on her goodness and purity !' 
 And now— he came out of it coldly numb and 
 critical. He hated to think he had been so readily 
 deceived by a clever woman's wiles. He hated and 
 despised himself. Never again while he lived would 
 he trust a single one of them. Their most innocent 
 smile hides their blackest treachery. 
 
 It's a way men have, when they are out of conceit 
 for a time with their wives or their sweethearts. 
 
 As for poor Mrs. Hesslegrave, the unoffending cause 
 of all this lamentable misapprehension, sli'3 sat by 
 herself, meanwhile, wringing her hands in impotent 
 despair, in her own drawing-room, and wondering 
 when Kathleen would come in to comfort her. Each 
 minute seemed an hour. What could be keeping 
 Kathleen ? As a rule, the dear child came back so 
 soon from such errands as this to her beloved work ; 
 for Kathleen was never so happy as when painting or 
 sketching ; and she wrought with a will, both for 
 
A MISSING LOVER 187 
 
 love's sake and money's. But to-day she was some- 
 how unaccountably delayed. Her stars were unpro- 
 pitious. And the real cause of the delay, as fate 
 would have it, was one of those petty ch'cumstances 
 upon which our lives all hinge. She had gone round 
 on her way home by the Fondamenta delle Zattere, 
 as a woman in love will do, expecting to find Arnold 
 Willoughby at work on his canvas there, and hoping 
 to seem as if mere accident had brought her l)ack to 
 the place she had abandoned during the Valentines' 
 visit. Three days was so long a time to go without 
 seeing Arnold ! But instead of finding him, she had 
 fallen in with Eufus Mortimer, engaged upon his 
 christening scene ; and Mortimer, guessing her object, 
 and generously anxious, as was his nature, to aid her 
 in her love affair, had kept her talking long in front 
 of the picture he was painting, under the belief that 
 Arnold would shortly turn up, and that he was doing 
 her a kindness by thus making her presence there 
 seem more natural and less open to misconstruction. 
 
 Yet, as often happens in this world of mischance, 
 Mortimer's very anxiety to help her defeated his own 
 purpose. It was the kind-hearted young American's 
 fate in life to do as much harm by his well-intentioned 
 efforts as many worse natures do by their deliberate 
 malice. 
 
 Into this unconscious trap Kathleen fell readily 
 
l88 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 enough, and waited on as long as she could, m the 
 vain hope that Arnold Willoughby would turn up 
 sooner or later. But when at last it seemed clear that 
 he was taking an afternoon off, and wouldn't he there 
 at all, she accepted Mortimer's offer of a lift home in 
 his gondola, and, having wasted her day hopelessly by 
 this time, went in on her way hack to fulfil a few 
 small commissions at shops in the Calle San 
 !Moise, which still further delayed her return to her 
 mother's. 
 
 When she reached home and went upstairs she was 
 astonished to find Mrs. Hesslegrave rocking herself up 
 and down distractedly in her chair, and the yellow 
 Honiton head-dress in a last stage of disorder, which 
 betokened a long spell of very vigorous misery. * Why, 
 mother dear,' she cried in alarm, * what has happened 
 since I went out ? You haven't had another letter 
 from Reggie, asking for money, have you ?' 
 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave broke down. 
 
 ' I wish I had,' she answered, sobbing. * I wish it 
 was only that ! I wish it was Reggie ! Oh, Kitty, 
 Kitty, Kitty, how am I ever to tell you ? He's been 
 here since you went out. And you'll never, never 
 forgive me.' 
 
 * He's been here ?' Kathleen repeated, not knowing 
 what her mother could mean. ' Reggie's been here ? 
 To-day ? Not at this house — in Venice !' 
 
A MISSING LOVER 189 
 
 'No, no, no! not Rej^'^ie,' Mrs. Hesslegrave an- 
 swered, rocking herself up and down still move 
 vigorously than before. 'Mr. Willoughby — Lord 
 
 Axminster.' 
 
 In a second the colour tied from Kathleen's cheek 
 as if by magic. Her heart grew cold. She trembled 
 
 all over. 
 
 ' Mr. Willoughby !' she cried, clasping her bloodless 
 hands. Every nerve in her body quivered. Never till 
 that moment did she know how far her love had 
 carried her. ' Oh, mother, what did you say ? What 
 did he do? What has happened ?' 
 
 * He's gone !' Mrs. Hesslegrave cried feebly, wring- 
 ing her hands in her distress. ' He's gone for good 
 and all. He told me to say good-bye to you.' 
 
 ' Good-bye !' Kathleen echoed, horror-struck. ' Good- 
 bye ! Oh, mother ! Where's he going, then ? What 
 can it mean ? This is very, very sudden.' 
 
 ' I don't know,' Mrs. Hesslegrave answered, burst- 
 ing afresh into tears. * But he said T'd spoiled all. 
 He said so more than once. And he told me it was 
 you yourself who said so.' 
 
 For a minute or two Kathleen was too agitated 
 even to inquire in any intelligent way what exactly 
 had happened. Just at first, all she knew was a 
 vague consciousness of fate, a sense that some terrible 
 blow had fallen upon her. Her mother had com- 
 
1 90 AT MA RKET VA L UE 
 
 mitted some fatal indiscretion ; and Arnold was 
 gone — gone, without an explanation! But slowly, 
 as she thought of it all, it began to dawn upon her 
 what must have happened. With a fearful sinking at 
 heart, she hardened herself for the effort, and drew 
 slowly from the reluctant and penitent ^Irs. Hessle- 
 grave a full and complete confession of her share in 
 this misfortune. Bit by bit, Mrs. Hesslegrave allowed 
 the whole painful and humiliating scene to be wrung 
 out of her, piecimeal. As soon as she had finished, 
 Kathleen stood up and faced her. She did not 
 reproach her mother ; the wound had gone too deep 
 by far for reproach ; but her very silence was more 
 terrible to Mrs. Hesslegrave than any number of 
 reproaches. 
 
 * I must go, mother,' she cried, breaking away from 
 her like some wild and wounded creature ; * I must go 
 at once and see him. This cruel misapprehension is 
 more than I can endure. I didn't know who he was 
 till Canon Valentine told us. I fell in love with 
 him for himself, as a common sailor ; I never knew 
 he was Lord Axminster. I must go and tell him 
 so!' 
 
 Mrs. Hesslegrave's sense of propriety was severely 
 outraged. Not only was it dreadful to think that a 
 young lady could have fallen in love with a man 
 unasked, and that man, too, a common sailor ; but it 
 
A MISSING LOVER 191 
 
 was dreadful also that Kathleen should dream of going 
 to see him in person, instead of writing to explain to 
 him, and asking him to call round for the further 
 clearing up of this painful entanglement. 
 
 ' Oh, my dear,' she cried, drawing back, * you're not 
 surely going to call for him ! It would look so bad ! 
 Do you think it would be right? Do you thhik it 
 would be womanly ?' 
 
 *Yes, I do!' Kathleen answered with unwonted 
 boldness. ' llight and womanly to the last degree. 
 Most right and most womanly. Mother dear, I don't 
 blame you; you did what you thought best in my 
 interest, as you imagined ; but you have left him under 
 a cruel misapprehension of my character and motives 
 — a misapprehension that would be dreadful for me 
 to bear with anyone, but ten thousand times worse 
 with a nature like Arnold Willoughby's ; and I can't 
 sit down under it. I can't rest till I've seen him and 
 told him how utterly mistaken he is about me. There's 
 no turning back now. I must and shall see him.' 
 
 And in her own heart she said to herself a great 
 deal more than that—' I must and shall marry him.' 
 So, with face on fire and eager steps that never 
 paused, she rushed hotly down the stairs and out into 
 the Piazza. The pigeons crowded round her as if 
 nothmg had happened. Thence she took the narrow 
 lane that led most directly, by many bridges, to the 
 
192 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 little salt-fish shop, and went to make her first call on 
 the man of her choice at his own lodgings. 
 
 Little Cecc? was at the door, plajdng with a big 
 new doll. She looked up with a smile at the beautiful 
 lady, whom she recognised as the person she had 
 seen out walking one day with ' our Inglese.' 
 
 * Is the signore at home ?' Kathleen asked, too 
 deeply moved to return the child's smile, yet touching 
 her golden head gently. 
 
 The little one looked up at her again with all the 
 saucy southern conlidingness. ' No, he isn't,' she 
 answered, dimpling, ' The signore' s gone away ; but 
 he gave me two lire before he went, don't you see, and 
 I bought this pretty doll with it, at neighbour 
 Giacomo's. Isn't it a pretty one ? And it cost all 
 two lire.' 
 
 'Gone away?' Kathleen echoed, a cold thrill coming 
 over her. * Gone away ? Not from Venice ?' 
 
 The child nodded and puffed out her lips. 
 
 ' Si, si,' she said, ' from Venice.' And then she 
 went on singing in her childish nursery rhyme : 
 
 ' Vate a far una barca o una batela ; 
 Co ti I'a fata, butila in mar ; 
 La ti condurra in Venezia bela.' 
 
 ' But he hasn't done that,' she added in her baby-like 
 pvattle. 'He's taken his boat and gone away from 
 
A MISSING LOVER 193 
 
 Venice ; away from Venice ; from Venezia bela ; right 
 away, right away from Venezia bela.' 
 
 Kathleen stood for a moment reeling. The child's 
 words unnerved her. She had hard work to restrain 
 herself from fainting then and there. A terrible 
 weakness seemed to break over her suddenly. Gone ! 
 and with that fatal misapprehension on his mind. 
 Oh, it was too, too cruel. She staggered into the 
 shop. With an effort she burst out : 
 
 • The signore, your lodger — the Inglese — Signer 
 Willoughby ?' 
 
 A large young woman of the florid Venetian type, 
 broad of face and yellow of hair, like a vulgarized 
 Titian, was sitting behind the counter knitting away 
 at a coloured head-dress : she nodded and looked 
 grave. Like all Italians, she instantly suspected a 
 love-tragedy, of the kind with which she herself was 
 familiar. 
 
 • Is gone !' she assented in a really sympathetic 
 tone. * Si, si, is gone, signora. The little one says 
 the truth. Is gone this very evening.' 
 
 * But where ?' Kathleen cried, refraining with a 
 struggle from wringing her poor hands, and repress- 
 ing the rising tears before the stranger's face with 
 visible difficulty. 
 
 The bountiful-looking Italian woman spread her 
 hands open by her side with a demonstrative air. 
 VOL. I. . 13 
 
194 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 * Who knows ?' she answered placidly. * 'Tis the way 
 with these seafarers. A bella ragazza in every port, 
 they say ; one here, one there ; one in Venice, one in 
 London — and perhaps, for all we know, one in Buenos 
 Ayres, Calcutta, Eio. — But he may write to you, 
 signora ! He may come back again to Italy !' 
 
 Kathleen shook her head sadly. Much as the 
 woman misunderstood the situation, reading into it 
 the ideas and habits of her own class and countiy, 
 Kathleen felt she meant to be kind, and was grateful 
 for even that mechanical kindness at such a terrible 
 moment. 
 
 * He will not return,' she answered despairingly, 
 with a terrible quiver in her voice. * But it wasn't 
 that I wanted. I wanted to speak with him before he 
 went, and — and to clear up a misconception. — Which 
 way has he gone, do you know ? By sea or by land ? 
 The port or the railway- station ?' 
 
 There was time even yet ; for at that moment, as 
 it chanced, Arnold Willoughby was still engaged in 
 registering his luggage for Genoa, whence he hoped 
 to get employment on some homeward-bound steamer. 
 And if the woman had told the truth, much trouble 
 would have been averted. But truth is an article of 
 luxury in Italy. The vulgarized Titian looked at 
 Kathleen searchingly, yet with a pitying glance. 
 
 *0h, he's gone,' she answered, nodding her head; 
 
A MISSING LOVER 195 
 
 * he's gone altogether. He got out his box and his 
 pictures quite suddenly just now; and our Pietro 
 rowed him off to a stoamer in the harbour. And I 
 saw the steamer sail ; she's at the Lido by this time. 
 But he'll write ; he'll write, make sure ! Don't take 
 it to heart, signora.' 
 
 Kathleen pressed her hand to her bosom, to still its 
 throbbing, and went forth into the street. All was 
 black as night for her. She staggered home in a 
 maze. Her head reeled unspeakably. But as soon 
 as she was gone, the woman turned to a man who 
 lounged among the packing-cases at the back of the 
 shop, with a smile of triumph. 
 
 * He was a good fellow,' she said, with true Southern 
 tolerance, 'and I wasn't going to tell her he'd gone by 
 train to Genoa. Not likely I should! You know 
 what she wanted ? She would have stuck a knife into 
 him. I saw it in her eye, and, aha ! I prevented it. 
 But sailors icill be sailors ; and. Signer Villabi, say I, 
 was always a pleasant one. Why should I wish him 
 harm? He liked little Cecca, and paid his bill 
 punctually. She's not the first signora, we all know 
 well, who has been deceived and deserted by a good- 
 looking sailor. But what would you have ? 'Tis the 
 way of them ! Mariners, mariners— like the gulls of 
 Marano ! Here to-day, and there to-morrow !' 
 
CHAPTEK XIV. 
 
 THE AXMINSTER PEERAGE. 
 
 At Genoa, as luck would have it, Arnold Willoughby 
 found a place on a homeward-bound brigantme direct 
 for London. That was all he wanted. He craved for 
 action. He was a sailor once more, and had cast art 
 behind him. No more dalliance with the luxurious 
 muse of painting. In the daily drudgery of the sea, 
 in the teeth of the wind, he would try to forget his 
 bitter disappointment. Hard work and dog-watches 
 might suffice to cauterize the raw surface of the wound 
 Kathleen Hesslegrave had unwillingly and unwittingly 
 
 inflicted. 
 
 He did wrong to fly from her, of course, without 
 giving her at least the chance of an explanation ; but, 
 then, that was exactly Arnold Willoughby's nature. 
 He would have been other than himself if he had not 
 so acted. Extreme modifiability was the keynote of 
 his character. The self-same impulse which had 
 
THE AXMINSTER PEERAGE 197 
 
 made him in the first instance sink name and indi- 
 viduality at a moment's notice, in order to become a 
 new man and a common sailor, made him also in the 
 second instance rush at once to the conclusion that 
 he had been basely deceived, and drove him to re- 
 model, without a second's delay, his whole scheme of 
 life and activity for the future. Half gentleman, half 
 gipsy, he was a man of principle, and yet a creature 
 of impulse. The instant he found his plans going 
 hopelessly wrong, he was ready to alter them off-hand 
 with drastic severity. 
 
 And yet, he said to himself, it was never his own 
 individuality he got rid of at all. That alone persisted. 
 All these changes and disguises were forced upon him, 
 indeed, by the difficulty of realizing his own inner 
 personality in a world which insisted on accepting him 
 as an Earl, instead of reckoning him up, as he wished, 
 at his intrinsic value as a human being. That intrinsic 
 value Arnold Willoughby was determined to discover 
 and appraise, no matter at what cost of trouble and 
 disillusion ; his naked worth as a man among men 
 was the only kind of worth he cared one jot or tittle 
 
 to realize. 
 
 When he reached London, therefore, he decided to 
 see what steps were being taken in the vexed question 
 of the Axminstpv peerage, before he engaged for a 
 longer voyage to the Northern seas, which he liked 
 
198 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 best to sail in bracing summer weather. So, on the 
 very afternoon of his discharge fro?u the brigantine, 
 where he had sigred for the single voyage only, he 
 walked into a coffee-house on the -iver bank, and 
 invested a ha'penny in an evening paper. He was 
 not long in coming upon the item he wanted : * Ax- 
 minster Peerage Case. — This afternoon, the House of 
 Lords will deliver judgment upon the claim of Algernon 
 Loftus Kedburn, eldest son of the late Honourable 
 Algernon Eedburn, of Musbury, Devonshire, to the 
 Earldom of Axminster. The case is a romantic one. 
 It will be remembered that the seventh Earl, who was 
 a iDerson of most eccentric habits and ideas, closely 
 bordering upon insanity, disappeared without warn- 
 ing from London society' — and so forth, and so 
 forth. 
 
 Arnold set down the paper, with a deeper curl than 
 usual at the corner of his genial mouth. It ' bordered 
 on insanity,' of course, for a born gentleman, who 
 might have spent his time in dining, calling, shooting 
 grouse, and running racehorses, to determine upon 
 doing some useful work in the world ! So very un- 
 dignified ! Arnold was quite familiar by this time 
 with that curious point of view ; 'tis the point of view 
 of nine-tenths of the world in this United Kingdom ; 
 but none the less, every time he saw it solemnly com- 
 mitted to print, it amused him afresh by its utter in- 
 
THE AXMINSTER PEERAGE 199 
 
 congruity. The contrast between the reahty and the 
 grasp of life he obtained in his chosen vocation of 
 sailor, with the shadowy superficiality of the existence 
 he had led in the days when he was still Lord Ax- 
 minster, made such criticism seem to him rather 
 childish than unkindly. 
 
 He made up his mind at once. He would go down 
 to the House and see them play this little farce out. 
 He would be present to hear whether, on the authority 
 of the highest court in the realm, he was dead or 
 living. He would watch the last irrevocable nail 
 being knocked into his cofi&n as Earl of Axminster, 
 and would emerge with the certainty that some other 
 man now bore the title which once was his, and that 
 he was legally defunct by decision of Parliament. 
 
 Go down to the House ! Then a little laugh seized 
 him. He was thinking of it to himself as he used to 
 think in the days when he had but to order his 
 carriage and drive down from Eaton Place to the 
 precincts of Westminster. What chance would there 
 be for a sailor in his seaman's dress to get into the 
 House by mere asking for a place ? Not much, he 
 confessed to himself. However, he would try. There 
 was something that pleased him in the idea of the 
 bare chance that he might be turned back from the" 
 doors of the Chamber to which he hereditarily belonged 
 on the day when he was to be declared no longer living. 
 
200 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 It would be funny if the Lords refused to let him hear 
 them pronounce their decision of his own death ; 
 funnier still if they solemnly declared him dead in his 
 living presence. 
 
 So he walked by St. Paul's and the Embankment 
 to Westminster, and presented himself at that well- 
 known door where once — nay, where still — he had, by 
 law and descent, the right of entry. It was a private 
 business day, he knew, and their lordships would only 
 be sitting as a committee of privilege ; in other words, 
 half a dozen law lords would have come down sleepily, 
 as a matter of duty, to decide the vexed question of 
 the peerage before them. On such occasions, the 
 Strangers' Gallery is never at all full; and Arnold 
 hoped he might be lucky enough to corrupt by his 
 eloquence the virtue of the under door-keeper. The 
 door-keeper, however, was absolutely incorruptiljle 
 — except, of course, by gold, which was too rare 
 an object now for Arnold to bestow upon him 
 lightly. 
 
 *I don't know all the peers by sight,' the ofl&cial 
 said with some contempt, surveying the new-comer 
 from head to foot; 'there's peers from the country 
 that turn up now and again when there's important 
 bills on, that you wouldn't know from farmers. Times 
 like that, we let any gentleman in who's dressed as 
 such, and who says he's a Markis. But you ain't a 
 
THE AXMINSTER PEERAGE 201 
 
 peer, anyhow ; you ain't got the cut of it. Nor you 
 don't much look like a Distinguished Stranger.' 
 And the door-keeper laughed heartily at his own 
 
 humour. 
 
 Arnold laughed in turn, and walked away discon- 
 solate. He was just on the point of giving up the 
 attempt in despair, when he saw an old law lord enter, 
 whom he knew well by sight as a judge of appeal, and 
 who had the reputation of being a good-humoured 
 and accessible person. Arnold boarded him at once 
 with a polite request for a pass to the gallery. The 
 old peer looked at him in surprise. 
 
 'Are you interested in the case?' he asked, seeing 
 the sailor's garb and the weather-beaten features. 
 
 Arnold answered with truth : 
 
 ' Well, I know something of the man they called 
 
 Douglas Overton.' 
 
 Lord Helvellyn (for it was he) scanned the bronzed 
 face again with some show of interest. 
 
 * You were a ship-fellow ?' he asked. 
 
 And Arnold, without remembering how much the 
 admission implied, Diade answer with truth once 
 
 more : 
 
 « Yes— at least— that is to say-I sailed in the 
 
 Saucy Sally.' 
 
 The old peer smiled acquiescence, and waved him 
 to follow to the door of the waiting-room. Arnold did 
 
202 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 so, somewhat amused at the condescending air of the 
 new-made peer to his hereditary companion. In the 
 House of Lords he couldn't, somehow, altogether 
 forget his traditions. 
 
 * Pass this man to the gallery,' the old law lord said 
 with a nod of command to the door-keeper. 
 
 The door-keeper bowed low, and Arnold Willoughby 
 followed him. 
 
 The proceedings in the House were short and 
 purely formal. The Committee, represented by one 
 hall-blind old gentleman, read their report of privilege 
 in a mumbling tone ; but Arnold could see its decision 
 was awaited with . the utmost interest by his cousin 
 Algy, w^ho, as claimant to the seat, stood at the bar of 
 the House awaiting judgment. The Committee found 
 that Albert Ogilvie Eedburn, seventh Earl of Ax- 
 minster, was actually dead ; that his identity with the 
 person who sailed in the Saucy Sally from Liverpool 
 for Melbourne under the assumed name of Douglas 
 Overton had been duly proved to their satisfaction ; 
 that the Saucy Sally had been lost, as alleged, in the 
 Lidian Ocean, and that all souls on board had really 
 perished; that amongst the persons so lost was Albert 
 Ogilvie Eedburn, alias Douglas Overton, seventh Earl 
 of Axminster ; that Algernon Loftus Eedburn, eldest 
 son of the Honourable Algernon Eedburn, deceased, 
 and grandson of the fifth Earl, was the heir to the 
 
THE AXMINSTER PEERAGE 203 
 
 peerage ; and that this house admitted his claim of 
 right, and humbly prayed Her Majesty to issue her 
 gracious writ summoning him as a Peer of Parliament 
 
 accordingly. 
 
 Algernon Redburn, below, smiled a smile of triumph. 
 But Arnold Willoughby, in the gallery, felt a little 
 shudder pass over him. It was no wonder, indeed. 
 He had ceased to exist legally. He was no longer his 
 own original self, but in very deed a common sailor. 
 He knew that the estates must follow the title ; from 
 that day forth he was a beggar, a nameless nobody. 
 Till the report was read, he might have stood forth at 
 any moment and claimed his ancestral name and his 
 ancestral acres. Nov. i le die was cast. He felt that 
 after he had once stood by as he had stood by that 
 day and allowed himself to be solemnly adjudicated 
 as dead, he could never again allow himself to be 
 resurrected He should have spoken then, or must 
 for ever keep silent. It would be wrong of him, cruel 
 of him, cowardly of him, unmanly of him, to let Algy 
 and Algy's wife take his place in the world, with his 
 full knowledge and assent, and then come forward 
 later to deprive them of their privilege. He was now 
 nothing more than ' the late Lord Axminster.' That 
 at least was his past ; his future would be spent as 
 mere Arnold Willoughby. 
 
 Had Kathleen proved different, he hardly knew 
 
204 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 whetlier, at the last moment, he might not have 
 turned suddenly round and refused so completely to 
 burn his boats ; but as it was, he was glad of it. The 
 tie to his old life, which laid him open to such cruel 
 disillusions as Kathleen had provided for him, was 
 now broken for ever ; henceforth he would be valued 
 at his own worth alone by all and sundry. 
 
 But no more of women ! If Arnold Willoughby 
 had been a confirmed misogynist before he met Kath- 
 leen Hesslegrave by accident at the Academy doors, 
 he was a thousand times more so after this terrible 
 reaction from his temporary backsliding into respect- 
 able society. 
 
 He went down into the corridor, and saw Algy 
 surrounded by a whole group of younger peers, who 
 were now strolling in for the afternoon's business. 
 They were warmly congratulating him upon having 
 secured the doubtful privileges of which Arnold for his 
 part had been so anxious to divest himself. Arnold 
 was not afraid to pass quite near them. Use had 
 accustomed him to the ordeal of scrutiny. For some 
 years, he had passed by hundreds who once knew 
 him, in London streets or Continental towns, and yet, 
 with the solitary exception of the Hesslegraves (for he 
 did not know the part borne in his recognition by the 
 "N'alentines), not a soul had ever pierced the successful 
 disguise with which he had surrounded himself. A 
 
THE AXMINF' PEERAGE 205 
 
 few years before, the same men would have crowded 
 just as eagerly round the seventh as round the eighth 
 Earl ; and now, not a word of the last holder of the 
 title ; nothing but congratulation for the man who 
 had supplanted him, and who stood that moment, 
 smiling and radiant, the centre of a little group of 
 friendly acquaintances. 
 
 As Arnold paused, half irresolute, near the doors of 
 the House, a voice that he knew well called out 
 
 suddenly : 
 
 « Hullo, Axminster, there you are ! I've been looking 
 
 for you everywhere.' 
 
 Arnold turned half round in surprise. \Vhat an 
 unseasonable interruption! How dreadful that at 
 this moment somebody should have recognised him ! 
 And from behind, too-that was the worst-for the 
 speaker was invisible. Arnold hesitated whether or 
 not to run away without answering him ; then, with a 
 smile, he realized the true nature of his mistake. It's 
 so strange to hear another man called by the name 
 that was once your own. But the voice was Canon 
 Valentine's, fresh back from Italy, and the 'Axminster' 
 he was addressing was not Arnold Willoughby, but the 
 new-made peer, his cousin Algy. Nevertheless, the 
 incident made Arnold feel at once it was time to go. 
 He was mere afraid of Canon Valentine's recognising 
 him than of any other acquaintance ; for the Canon 
 
2o6 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 had known him so intimately as a boy, and used to 
 speak to him so often about that instinctive trick of 
 his — why, there ! as Arnold thought of it, he removed 
 his hand quickly from the lock in which it was twined, 
 and dodged behind a little group of gossiping peers in 
 the neighbourhood just in time to escape the Canon's 
 scrutiny. But the Canon didn't see him ; he was too 
 busily engaged in shaking Algy's hand — too full of his 
 salutations to the rising sun to remember the setting 
 one. 
 
 Arnold strolled out somewhat saddened. If ever in 
 his life he felt inclined to be cynical, it must at least 
 be admitted he had much just then to make him so. 
 It was all a sad picture of human fickleness. And then, 
 the bitter thought that Kathleen had been doing just 
 like all of these was enough to sour any man. Arnold 
 turned to leave the House by the strangers' entrance. 
 In order to do so, he had to pass the door of the peers' 
 robing-room. As he went by it, a fat little old gentle- 
 man emerged from the portal. It was Lord Helvellyn, 
 who had passed him to the Strangers' Gallery. But 
 now the little man looked at him with a queer gleam 
 of recollection. Then a puzzled expression came over 
 his sallow face. 
 
 * Look here,' he said, turning suddenly to Arnold ; 
 * I want one word with you. What was that you told 
 
THE AXMINSTER PEERAGE 207 
 
 me about having sailed with Lord Axminster in the 
 
 Smicy Sally V 
 Arnold scented the danger at once, but answered in 
 
 haste : 
 
 ' It was true— quite true. I went out on her last 
 
 voyage.' 
 
 ' Nonsense, man,' the little fat law lord replied, 
 scanning his witness hard, as is the wont of barristers, 
 ' How dare you have the impudence to tell me so to 
 my face, after hearing the evidence we summarized in 
 our report ? It's pure imposture. Douglas Overton 
 or Lord Axminster made only one voyage on the Saucy 
 Sally; and in the course of that voyage she was lost 
 with all hands. It was that that we went upon. If 
 anybody had survived, we must have heard of him, of 
 course, and have given judgment differently. How do 
 you get out of that, eh ? You're an impostor, sir— an 
 
 impostor !' 
 
 ' But I left the ship,' Arnold began hurriedly ; he 
 ^yas going to say ' at Cape Town,' when it was borne 
 in upon him all at once that if he confessed that fact, 
 he would be practically reopening the whole field of 
 inquiry ; and with a crimson face he held his peace, 
 most unwillmgly. That was hard indeed, for nothing 
 roused Arnold Willoughby's indignation more than an 
 imputation of untruthfulness. 
 
2o8 AT MARKET VALUE 
 
 Lord Helvellyn smiled grimly. 
 
 ' Go away, sir,' he cried with a gesture of honest 
 contempt. * You lied to me, and you know it. You're 
 an impudent scoundrel, that's what you are — a most 
 impudent scoundrel ; and if ever I see you loitering 
 about this house again, I'll give orders to the door- 
 keeper to take you by the scruff of your neck and 
 eject you forcibly.' 
 
 Arnold's blood boiled hot. For a second he felt 
 himself once more an aristocrat. Was he to be 
 jostled and hustled like this, with insult and con- 
 tumely, from his own hereditary chamber, by a new- 
 fangled law lord? Next moment his wrath cooled, 
 and he saw for himself the utter illogicality, the two- 
 sided absurdity, of his own position. It was clearly 
 untenable. The old law lord was right. He was not 
 the Earl of Axminster. These precincts of Parliament 
 were no place for him in future. He slunk down the 
 steps like a whipped cur. 'Twas for the very last time. 
 As he went, he shook off the dust from his feet meta- 
 phorically. "Whatever came now, he must never more 
 be a Redburn or an Axminster. He was quit of it 
 once for all. He emerged into Parliament Street, 
 more fixedly than ever, a plain Arnold Willoughby. 
 
 If Kathleen Hesslegrave wished to make herself a 
 Countess, she must fix her hopes somewhere else, he 
 
THE AXMINSTER PEERAGE 209 
 
 felt sure, than on Membury Castle. For him, the sea, 
 and no more of this fooling ! Life is real life is 
 earnest, and Arnold Willoughby meant to take it 
 earnestly. 
 
 f«.» 
 
 END OF VOL. 
 
 HI 
 
 LLINO AND SONH, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD. 
 
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 By R. AMIIB KINU. 
 
 A Drawn Game. 
 
 ,' The Wearing of the Or«eu." 
 
 The Piccadilly 1%I6) Novrls— co«<i»Mfrf. 
 Ry B. liVIVN lillVTON. 
 
 Patricia Kemball. 
 
 Ui^der which Lord f 
 
 ■ My Love I " 
 
 lone. 
 
 Paston Carew. 
 
 Sowing the Wind. 
 The Atonement of Learn 
 
 Dundas. 
 The World WeU Lott. 
 The One Too Many. 
 
 By II. W. liUCV. 
 
 Gideon Flevce. 
 
 By JUSTIN 
 
 A Fair Saxon. 
 Mnley Roi;h(ord. 
 Miss Mlsaiithrope. 
 Donna Quixote. 
 Maid of Athens. 
 Camiola. 
 
 IflcCARTIIY. 
 
 Waterdale Neighbonn. 
 My Enemy's Danghter. 
 Red Diamonds. 
 Dear Lady Disdain. 
 The Dictator. 
 The Comet of a Season. 
 
 By OBOROB IflACDONAl^D. 
 
 Heather and Snow. 
 
 By AfJNBS MAC'DONEIili. 
 
 Quaker Cousins. 
 
 By li. T. iVIEARE. 
 A Soldier of Fortune. 
 Ky BKRTRAWI IVIITFORO. 
 
 The King's Assegai. 
 Benshaw Fanning'! 
 Quest. 
 
 The Ouu Runner. 
 TJie Luck of Gerard 
 Bidgeley. 
 
 By J. B. inUDDOCK. 
 
 Maid Marian and Bobin Hood. 
 
 By D. niRISTIB ITIITRRAV. 
 
 A Life's Atonement. 
 Joseph's Coat. 
 CoaU of Fire. 
 Old Blazer's Hero. 
 Val Strange. 
 Hearts. 
 
 A Model Father. 
 Time's Revenges. 
 
 Ry IVIIJRRAV 
 
 The Bishops' Bible. I 
 One Traveller Returns. | 
 
 By IIUITIB 
 
 " Ball Vp I " 
 
 Ry W. B 
 
 Saint Ann's. 
 
 Ry a. OIINET. 
 
 A Weird GUt. 
 
 Rr OUIOA. 
 
 Held In Bondage. 
 
 Btrathmore. 
 
 Chandos. 
 
 Under Two Flags. 
 
 Idalia. 
 
 Cecil Castlemalne'i 
 
 Oage. 
 Trlcotrln. 
 Puck. 
 
 FoUe Farine. 
 A Dog of Fianders. 
 Pascarel. 
 HiRna. 
 
 Princess Napraxlne. 
 Ariadne. 
 
 By the Gate of the Sea. 
 A Bit of Hnman Mature, 
 First Person Slagnlar. 
 Cynic Fortune. 
 The Way of the World. 
 BobMartin's LitUe GirL 
 A Wasted Crime. 
 In Direst PerU. 
 
 ds HERMAN. 
 
 Paul Jones's AUm. 
 
 NISRET. 
 NORRI8. 
 
 Woodea 
 
 Two Little 
 
 Shoos. 
 In a Winter City. . 
 Friendship. 
 Moths. 
 Rnfflno. 
 Plpistrello. 
 A Village Commnnt. 
 Blmbi. 
 Wanda. 
 Frescoes. 
 Othmar. 
 In Maremma. 
 Syrlm. I Gnilderoy. 
 Santa Barbara. 
 
 Ry IVIARGABET A. PAUli. 
 
 Gentle and Simple. 
 
 Ry JAITIES PAVN. 
 
 Lost Sir Massingberd. 
 Less Black than We're 
 
 Painted. 
 A Confidential Agent 
 A Or 'pe from a Thorn. 
 In Peril and Privation. 
 The Mystery of Mir- 
 
 bridge. 
 The Canon's Ward. 
 Walters Word. 
 
 By Prcjo'. 
 
 High Spirits. 
 Vnder One Roof. 
 From Exile. 
 Glowworm Tales. 
 The Talk of the Town. 
 Holiday Tasks. 
 For Cash Only. 
 The Burnt Hllllon. 
 The Word and the Will. 
 Sunny Stories. 
 A Tryittg Patte^^ 
 
CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. 
 
 «9 
 
 The Piccadilly (3/6) Hovels— continued, 
 
 Rr inrM. €AlTIPRI<:iiIi PRAED. 
 
 Outlaw and Lawmaker. | Ohrlttlna Chard. 
 
 By IE. C. PBICJK. 
 
 Valentlna. 
 The Foreigner*. 
 
 Rr KICIIAKO PttVCE. 
 
 Mlu Maxwell's Affections. 
 
 I Urs. Lancaster's Rival. 
 
 Br CIIARIu 
 
 It Is Never Too Late to 
 
 Mend. 
 The Double MArrla(;e. 
 Love Me Little, Love 
 
 Me Long. 
 The Cloister anA the 
 
 Hearth. 
 The Course of True 
 
 Love. 
 The Autobiography of 
 
 a Thief. 
 Put Yourself in His 
 
 Place. 
 A Terrible Temptation. 
 The Jilt. 
 
 Ry ITIri*. J. II. RIDDELIj. 
 
 The Frlnce of Wales's I Weird Stories. 
 Garden Party. I 
 
 Ry AMEIilB BIVE8. 
 
 Barbara Derlng. 
 
 Ry F. W. ROBIIVSOIV. 
 
 The Hands of Justice. 
 
 Ry ^V. €JLAKK RUHMKIil.. 
 
 ES REARE. 
 
 Slngleheart andDonble- 
 
 face. 
 Good Stories of Hen 
 
 and other Animals. 
 Hard Cash. 
 Peg WofBngton. 
 Christie Jonnstone. 
 Orlfflth Gaunt. 
 Feul Play. 
 
 The Wandering Heir, 
 A Woman-Hater. 
 A Simpleton. 
 A Perilous Secret. 
 Readlana. 
 
 Ocean Tragedy. 
 My Shipmate Louise. 
 
 Ry JOllIV 
 
 Ony Waterman. 
 Bound to the Wheel. 
 
 Alone on a Wide Wide 
 I Sea. 
 
 HAV1VDER8. 
 I The Two Dreamers. 
 The Lion in the Path. 
 
 Ry KATHARINE MAUNDERS. 
 
 Margaret and Elizabeth I Heart Salvage. 
 Gideon's Rock. Sebastian. 
 
 The High Mills. | 
 
 Thb Piccadilly (3/6) Hovels— continued. 
 
 Ry IIAWIiEV SMART. 
 
 Without Love or Licence. 
 
 Ry T. W. SPEIQOET. 
 
 A Secret of the Sea. 
 
 Ry R. A. STERNDAIjB. 
 
 The Afghan Knife. 
 
 Ry RERTIIA TIIOITIA8. 
 
 Proud Malsle. | The Violin-Player. 
 
 Ry ANTHONV TROIiLOPE. 
 
 Frau Frohmann. I The Way we Live Now. 
 
 The Land Leaguers. I Mr. Scarborough's Fa- 
 Marlon Fay. I mily. 
 
 Ry FRANCES E. TROIiliOPE. 
 
 Like Ships upon the I Anne Fnmess. 
 Sea. I Mabel's Progress. 
 
 Ry IVAN TIJROENIEFF, &c. 
 
 Stories from Foreign Novelists. 
 
 Ry HI ARK TWAIN. 
 
 The American Claimant. I Tom Sawyer A1)road 
 The£1.000,00uBank-note, | Pndd'nhead Wilson. 
 
 Ry C. C. FRASER-TYTIiEB. 
 Mistress Judith. 
 
 Ry SARAH TVTIiEB. 
 
 The Bride's Pass. I Lady Bell. 
 
 Burled Diamonds. | BlackhaU Ghosts. 
 
 Ry AliliEN UPWARD. 
 
 The Quees against Owen. 
 
 Ry E. A. VIZETEIiliV. 
 
 The Scorpion. 
 
 By .¥. S. WINTER. 
 
 A Soldier's Children. 
 
 RylTIAROARET W^YNJIIAN. 
 
 My Flirtations. 
 
 By E. ZOIiA. 
 
 The Downfall. I Dr. Pascal. 
 
 The Dream. j Money. | Lourdes. 
 
 CHEAP EDITIONS OF POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 Post 8vo, illustrated boards, i£i«. each. 
 
 Ry ARTEITIUS WARD. 
 
 Artemus Ward Complete. 
 
 Ry EDMOND AROUT. 
 
 The Fellah, 
 
 Ry HAITIIIiTON AIRE. 
 
 Carr of Carrlyon. | Contldences. 
 
 Ry ITIARV AL.RERT. 
 
 Brooke Flnchley s Daughter. 
 
 Ry ITIiM. AliEXANOER. 
 
 Maid, Wife or Widow 7 | Valerie's Fate. 
 
 Ry ORANT AIiL.EN. 
 
 Strange Stories. 
 
 PhlUrtia. 
 
 Babylon. 
 
 The Devil's Die. 
 
 This Mortal CoU. 
 
 In all Shades. 
 
 The Beckoning Hand. 
 
 Blood Royal. 
 For Malmie's Sake. 
 The Tents of Shem, 
 The Great Taboo. 
 Dumare»i's Daughter. 
 The Dttchjss of Powys- 
 land. 
 
 By E. liESTEB ARNOIiD. 
 
 Pbra the Phoenician. 
 
 Ry ALAN ST.AURVN. 
 
 A Fellow of Trinity. I The Master of St. Bene- 
 The Junior Dean. | diet's. 
 
 By Rev. S. BABINO OOfJI^P. 
 
 |94§pl49r. 1 5v9. 
 
 Ry FRANK 
 
 Fettered for Life. 
 Little Lady Linton. 
 Between Life dc Death. 
 The Sin of Olga Zassou- 
 
 llch. 
 Folly Morrison. 
 Lieut. Barnabas. 
 
 SHETSIiEV 
 
 Grantley Grange. 
 
 Ry WA liTE 
 
 Dorothy Forster. 
 
 Children of Gibeon. 
 
 TTncle Jack. 
 
 Herr Paulus. 
 
 All Sorts and Oondl- 
 
 tioDS of Men. 
 The Captains' Room. 
 All In a Garden Fair. 
 The World Went Very 
 
 Well Then. 
 
 RARRETT. 
 
 Honest Davie. 
 A Prodigal's Progress. 
 Found Guilty. 
 A Recoiling Venjceanca 
 For Love and Honour. 
 John Ford ; and His 
 Helpmate. 
 
 RE A UCH AMP. 
 
 R RES ANT. 
 For Faith and Freedom. 
 To Call Her Mine. 
 The Bell of St. Paul's. 
 Am Orel of Lyonesse. 
 The Holy Rose. 
 The Ivory Gate. 
 St. Katherlne's by ths 
 
 Tower. 
 Verbena Camellia Bts- 
 
 phanotis. 
 
 Ry W. RESANT & J. RICE. 
 
 This Son of Vulcan. 
 My Little Girl. 
 The Case of Mr. Lucraft. 
 The Golden Butterfly. 
 By Celia's Arbour. 
 The Monks of Thelema. 
 Tbe 8«amy Side. 
 
 The Ten Tears' Tenant. 
 Ready- Money Mortlboy 
 With Harp and Crown. 
 'Twas in Trafalgar'* 
 
 Bay. 
 The Ohapl^ Qf tbf 
 
 Fleet 
 
30 
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Two-Shilling Novels — continued. 
 
 uy A.nnnofiK bieuc^je:. 
 
 In the Mldtt of Life. 
 
 By FREBERTCK BOYT^E. 
 
 Camp Notes. I Cbronlclei of No-man'i 
 
 Savage Life. | Iiand. 
 
 By BRET IIARTR. 
 
 rnUfomlan Btorlei. 
 fiabrlel Conroy. 
 The Luck of RotfHng 
 Camp, 
 
 By IIAROIiD BBYJDCililM. 
 Uncle Bam at Home. 
 
 By ROBERT BVCHANAIV. 
 
 Aa Helreu of Bed Dog. 
 
 Flip. 
 
 Harnja. 
 
 A PhyllU of the Sierras. 
 
 The Martyrdom of Ua- 
 
 dellne. 
 Annan Water. 
 The Kew Abelard. 
 Matt. 
 The Heir of Llnne. 
 
 CAINB. 
 The Deenuter. 
 
 Rnadow of the Bword. 
 A Child of Nature, 
 r.od and the Man. 
 Love Me tot Ever. 
 Foxglove Manor. 
 The Master of the Mine 
 
 By 1IAL.1. 
 
 The Shadow of a Crime. 
 A Son of Bagar. | 
 
 By Coniinnnd<>r CAITIEROIV. 
 The Cruise of the "Black Prince." 
 By ITlra. liOVETT CArWEROIV. 
 Deceivers Ever. | Juliet's Guardian. 
 
 By AVSTIIV CliARE. 
 
 For the Love of a Lass. 
 
 . By IMrM. ARCHER CE.IVE. 
 
 Paul Ferrpll. 
 
 Whjr Paul FerroH Killed his Wife. 
 
 By ]tIAC£.AREIV COBBAN. 
 
 The Cure of Souls. 
 
 By C. AI^EiSTON COffililNS. 
 The Bar Sinister. 
 lUORT. & FRANCES COIjL.IN». 
 
 Sweet Anne J'age, 
 Transmigration. 
 From' Midnight to Mid- 
 night. 
 A Fight with Fortune. 
 
 Br ^VIIiKlE COIililNS. 
 
 Sweet and Twenty. 
 The Village Comedy. 
 Yon Play me False. 
 Blacksmith and Scholar 
 Frances. 
 
 My Miscellanies. 
 The Woman In White. 
 The Moonstone. 
 Man and Wife. 
 Poor Miss Finch. 
 The Fallen Leaves. 
 Jezebel's Oanehter. 
 The Black BoBe. 
 Heart and Science. 
 "ISayNoi" 
 The EvU Genius. 
 Little Novels. 
 Legacy of Cain. 
 Blind Love. 
 
 Armadale. 
 
 After Dark. 
 
 No Name. 
 
 Antonlna. 
 
 Basil. 
 
 Hide and Seek. 
 
 The Dead Secret. 
 
 Queen of Hearts. 
 
 Tlisa or Mrs. 7 
 
 The New Magdalen. 
 
 The Frozen Deep. 
 
 The Law and the Lady. 
 
 The Two Destinies. 
 
 The Haunted Hotel. 
 
 A Bogne's Life. 
 
 By in. .r. COIiQUHOUN. 
 Ever; Inch a Soldier. 
 
 By I>1JTTOIV COOK. 
 Leo. I Paul Foster's Daughter. 
 
 By C. E»BERT CRADDO«.'U. 
 The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains. 
 
 By MATT CRIiU. 
 
 Adventures of a Fair Rebel. 
 
 By B. M. CBOKER. 
 Pretty Miss Nevlll. Bird of Passage. 
 
 Plana Harrington. Proper Pride. 
 
 "To Let." A Family Likeness. 
 
 By W. C\Pt.ES. 
 Hearts of Gold. 
 
 By Al..l>IIOIV.*i«E BAUBET. 
 The Evangelist ; or, Port ijalvation. 
 
 By ERASiniJS DA'WHOrv. 
 The fountain of Touth. 
 
 Two-Shilling Novfl.s — continued. 
 
 By JAITIEM BE lYllIilie. 
 
 A Castle In Spain. 
 
 By J. I.EITII BERWENT. 
 
 Our Lady of Tears. | Circe s Lovers. 
 
 By CIlARIiEM DII^KENS. 
 
 Bketches by Boz. I Oliver Twist. 
 
 Pickwick Papers. | Nicholas NlcUeby. 
 
 By OICK BONOVAN. 
 
 The Man-Hunter. 
 Tracked and Taken, 
 Caught at Last I 
 Wanted r 
 Who Poisoned Hetty 
 
 Duncan 7 
 Man from Manchester. 
 
 A Detective's Triumph! 
 In the Grip of the Law. 
 From Information He- 
 
 celved. 
 Tracked to Doom. 
 Link by Link 
 Suspicion Aroused. 
 
 By ITIrs. ANNIE EBWAROE9. 
 
 A Point of Honour. | Archfe LoveU. 
 
 By III. BETIIAITI-EOWARDS. 
 
 FoUcia. I Kitty. 
 
 By EBW. EGOE.ESTON. 
 
 Roxy. 
 
 By «. ITIANVII4L.E FENN. 
 The New Mistress. ^ 
 
 By PERCY FITZOERAIiB. 
 
 Bella Donna. I Second Mrs. Tlllotson. 
 
 Never Forgotten. Seventy • five Brooks 
 
 Polly. Street. 
 
 Fatal Zero. | The Lady of Brantome. 
 
 ISy 1>. FITZaEBAIiB and others. 
 Strange Secrets. 
 
 AI.BANY BE FONBI.ANaiI£* 
 
 Filthy Lucre. 
 
 By R. E. FRANCIIiljON. 
 
 Olympla. Queen Cophetua. 
 
 Ono by One. King or Knave? 
 
 A Real Queen. Romances of the Law. 
 
 ISy IlAROIiB FREBERICK. 
 
 Hoih'B Brother's Wife. | The Lawton Girl. 
 a>iei. by Hiv BARTI^E FREBE. 
 
 Pandurang Hari. 
 
 By IIAIN FRIi^WEIiL.. 
 
 Ono of Two. 
 
 By EOWARB OARRETT. 
 
 The Capel Girls. 
 
 By CilliBERT OAUI^. 
 
 A Strange Manuscript. 
 
 By ClIARIiES C^IBBON. 
 
 In Ho>nour Bound. 
 Flower of the Forest. 
 The Braes of Yarrow. ' 
 The Golden Shaft. 
 Of High uegree. 
 By Mead and Stream. 
 Loving a Dream. 
 A Hard Knot. 
 Heart's Delight. 
 Blood-Money. 
 
 Robin Gray. 
 
 Fancy Free. 
 
 For Lack of Gold. 
 
 What will the World 
 
 Say 7 
 In Love and War. 
 For the King. 
 )n Pastures Green. 
 Queen of the Meadow. 
 A Heart's Problem. 
 The Dead Heart. 
 
 By ^VIIililAJlfl GILBERT. 
 
 Dr. Austin's Guests. I The Wizard of ths 
 Jamea Duke. | Mountain. 
 
 Ky ERNEST OliAIVVf LiffiE. 
 
 The Lost Heiress. ] The FoBSicker. 
 
 By HENRY OREVIf^JLE. 
 A Noble Woman. | Nikanor. 
 
 By CECITi GRIFFITH. 
 
 Corlnthia Marazion. 
 
 Ky JOHN HABBERTON. 
 
 Brueton's Bayou. | Country Luck. 
 
 By ANDREW HALiIilDAlT. 
 
 Every-iay Papers. 
 
 By l,n«ly BIJFFUS HARDY.. 
 
 Paul Wynter's Sacrifice, 
 
CHATTO ic WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. 
 
 3» 
 
 Two-Shillino Novels— co«/i««*(/, 
 
 Br TiiorriAM hakdv. 
 
 tinder tJi« Oreenwood Tree. 
 
 By .r. BKKWICK IIAUWOOU. 
 
 The Tenth Earl. 
 
 By JUL.IAN IIAWTIIORIVX:. 
 
 Oarth. 
 
 EUlce Qnentln. 
 
 Fortnne'i Fool. 
 
 KlM Cadofrna. 
 
 BebaatUn Stromi. 
 
 Dttit. 
 
 Beatrix Randolph. 
 Love — or a Name. 
 Savid Folndextef '« Dll- 
 
 appearance. 
 The Spectre of the 
 
 Camera. 
 
 By Hlr ABTIIVR I1EL.P«. 
 
 Ivan da Blron. 
 
 By IIENRV llERiUAIV. 
 
 ■A Leading l4idy. 
 
 By IIKABOIV HlIiL. 
 
 Zamhra the Detective. 
 
 By JOHN Illl^fi. 
 
 Treaion Felony. 
 
 By ITIra. CAd^IIGIi IIOCV. 
 
 The Lover'i Creed. 
 
 By Mra. ftEORCiX: IIOOPKR. 
 
 The Home of Raby. 
 
 By TICillE IIOPKIiV!^. 
 
 Twlzt Love and Duty. 
 
 By Mrs. IlUNOFlRFORn. 
 
 A Maiden all Forlorn. I A Mental Struggle. 
 In Durance VUe. A Modern Circe. 
 
 Marvel. I 
 
 By irira. AliFREB IIIJIVT. 
 
 Thomlcroft'i Model. I Self-Condemned. 
 That Other Person. | The Leaden Casket. 
 
 By JEAN IIV«EI..OW. 
 
 Fated to be Free. 
 
 By WHn. JAITIESOIV. 
 
 My Dead Self. 
 
 By iiarrix:tt .tav. 
 
 The Dark Colleen. | Qneen of Connaught. 
 
 By ITIARK. KERSHAW. 
 
 Colonial Facts and Fictions. 
 
 By R. ASHE KIIVK. 
 
 A Drawn Qame. Passion's Slave, 
 
 " The Wearing of the Bell Barry. 
 Oreen." 
 
 By JOHIV 1.x: VS. 
 
 The Lindsays. 
 
 By E. lilTNIV lillVTOIV. 
 
 Patricia Kemball. 
 The World Well Lost, 
 Vnder which Lord 7 
 Fastott Carew, 
 " My Love I " 
 lone. 
 
 By HENRY 
 
 Gideon Fleyce. 
 
 By JUSTIN 
 A Fair Saxon. 
 Unley Rochford. 
 Miss Misanthrope. 
 Donna Quixote. 
 Blaid of Athens. 
 
 By HUnn MA€COL,l4. 
 
 Mr. Stranger's Sealed Packet. 
 
 By AONES MACBONEIili. 
 
 Qnaker Cousins, 
 
 KATHARINE S. ITIACQUOIB. 
 
 The Evil Eye, | Lost Rose, 
 
 By IV. H. MAIil.OCK. 
 
 A Romance of the Nine- 1 The New Republic, 
 teenth Century, ' 
 
 The Atonement of Learn 
 
 Dundas. 
 With a Silken Thread. 
 X'le Rebel of the 
 
 Family. 
 Sowing the Wind, 
 
 W. liUOV. 
 
 McCABTIIV. 
 
 Camiola. 
 
 Dear Lady Disdain. 
 Waterdale Neighbours. 
 My Enemy's Daughter. 
 The Comet of a. Season. 
 
 e-M 
 
 Two-Shilling Huvkls— continued. 
 
 Ky Ff.ORENlVE ITIARRVAT. 
 
 Open I Sesame I { A Harvest of Wild OaU, 
 
 Fighting the Air, | Written In Fire. 
 
 By J. ITIASTER.UAN. 
 
 Half-a-dozen Daughters. 
 
 By BRANDER ITIATTIIEWS. 
 
 A Secret of the Sea. 
 
 By liRONARD MERRICK. 
 
 The Man who was Qood. 
 
 By JEAN I?IlDDTiEITIAS!!l. 
 
 Touch and Oo. | Mr. Dorilllon. 
 
 By aim. ITIOI^ESWORTIi. 
 
 Hathercourt Rectory. 
 
 By J. E. ITIIinOOCK. 
 
 From the Bosom of tht 
 Deep. 
 
 Stories Weird and Won- 
 derful. 
 The Dead Man's Secret 
 
 Ky ITIVRKAV nnil HERTIAN. 
 
 One Traveller Returns. I The Bishops' Bible. 
 Paul Jones's Alias. | 
 
 By B. C'lIRISTIE ITIURRAV. 
 
 Cynic Fortune. 
 A Life's Atonement. 
 By the Gate of the Sea, 
 A Bit of Human Nature. 
 First Person Uingular. 
 Bob Martin's Little 
 Oirl. 
 
 nilTBRAV. 
 
 A Model Father. 
 
 Joseph's Coat. 
 
 Coals of Fire. 
 
 Val Strange. 
 
 Old Blazer 1 Hero, 
 
 Hearts. 
 
 The Way of the World. 
 
 By HENRV 
 
 A Game of Blnff. { A Song of Sixpence. 
 
 By UUITIE NISBET. 
 
 " Bail Up I " I Dr.BernardSt. Vincent. 
 
 By ALICE 0'IIANI.ON. 
 
 The Unforeseen. | Chance 7 or Fate 7 
 
 By OEOROES OIINET. 
 
 Dr. Ramean. I A Weird Sift. *. 
 
 A Last Love, j 
 
 By Mm. OlilPHANT. 
 
 Whlteladies. I The Greatest Heiress In 
 
 The Primrose Path. | England. 
 
 By ITIrs. ROBERT 0'REIL.I.V. 
 
 Phoebe's Fortunes. 
 
 By OVIDA. 
 
 Wooden 
 
 Held in Bondage. 
 Strathmore, 
 Chandos. 
 Idalia. 
 
 Under Two Flags. 
 Cecil Castlemaine'sGage 
 Tricotrin. 
 Fuck. 
 
 Folle Farine. 
 A Dog of Flanders, 
 Pascarel. 
 Signa. 
 
 Princess Napraxlne. 
 In a Winter City. 
 Ariadne. 
 Friendship. 
 l?fAR«ARET 
 Gentle and Simple. 
 
 By C. li. 
 Lady Lovelace. 
 
 By EBGAR A. POE. 
 The Mystery of Marie Roget. ■" 
 
 By Mri. CAITIPBEI.I. PRAED. 
 
 The Romance of a Station. 
 The Soul of Countess Adrian. 
 
 By £. C. PRICE. 
 
 'Valentina. I Mrs. Lancaster's Rival. 
 
 The Foreigner*. | Gerald. 
 
 By RICHARD PR¥CIC. 
 
 Miss Maxwell's AlTdctlonj, - - 
 
 Two Little 
 
 Shoes. 
 Moths, 
 Bimbi. 
 Pipistrello. 
 A Village Commune. 
 Wanda. 
 Othmar, 
 Frescoes. 
 In Maremma. 
 omideroy. 
 RufBno. >- ' '■■ 
 
 Syrlin. 
 
 Santa Barbara. 
 Ouida's Wisdom, Wit, 
 
 and Pathos. 
 
 AGNES PAUIi. 
 PIRKIS. 
 
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO 8c WINDUS 
 
 Two-Shillino Novels — continued. 
 Br JAITIEIi PAVIV. 
 
 BMtlnek'i Tator. 
 Mnrphy'i MMUr. 
 
 A Ooaatjr Ttmilj, 
 
 At H*r Meroy. 
 
 OmU'i Tryst. 
 
 Th* Olyffardi of Cly ff«. 
 
 Til* FMtcr Brotheri. 
 
 roimdDsad. 
 
 The Bast of Hnibandi. 
 
 Walttr'i Word. 
 
 HtfVM. 
 
 FkUtn Fortnnei. 
 
 Haqioroai Btorlti. 
 
 £iM Raward. 
 
 A Marina Baildanca. 
 
 Mirk Abbey. 
 
 By Proxy. 
 
 under One Roof. 
 
 Hlgli BptrlU. 
 
 Owlyon'e Year, 
 
 From Exile. 
 
 For Oaah Only. 
 
 Kit. 
 
 The Oanon'i Ward. 
 
 Talk of the Town, 
 Holiday Taiki. 
 A Perfect Treaiura. 
 What He Coit Her. 
 A Oonfldentlal Agent. 
 Olow-worm Tales. 
 The Burnt Million. 
 Bunny Btorlea. 
 Lost air MaaiiDgberd. 
 A Woman'i Vengeance, 
 The Family Scapegrace. 
 Owendollne'i Harveit. 
 Like Father, Like Bon. 
 Married Beneath Him. 
 Hot Wooed, but Won. 
 Leii Black than We're 
 
 Fainted. 
 Borne Private Vlewi, 
 A Orape from a Thorn. 
 The Hyitery of Mir- 
 
 bridge. 
 The Word and the Will. 
 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 By CIlARrEii READE. 
 
 It li Never Too Late to 
 
 Mend. 
 Ohriitle Johnitone. 
 The DoQble Marriage. 
 Fnt Tonnelf In HI* 
 
 Place. 
 Love Me Llttla, Love 
 
 Me Long. 
 The Ololiter and the 
 
 Hearth. 
 The OooTM of True 
 
 Love. 
 The JUt. 
 The Autobiography of 
 
 a Thief. 
 
 Br nira. J. II. RIBDEIili. 
 
 A TerrlbleTemptatlon. 
 
 Foul Play. 
 
 The Wandering Heir. 
 
 Hard Oaih. 
 
 Btngleheart and Double- 
 face. 
 
 Good Btorlei of Men and 
 other Anlmoli. 
 
 Peg Wofllngton. 
 
 Orffflth Gaunt. 
 
 A Perlloui Secret, 
 
 A Simpleton. 
 
 Readlana. 
 
 A Woman-Hater, 
 
 Weird Storlei. 
 Fairy Water. 
 Her Mother I Darling. 
 The Prince of Walee'i 
 Garden Party. 
 
 The Uninhabited Houie 
 The Myitery in Palace 
 
 Gardens. 
 The Nun's Curse. 
 Idle Tales. 
 
 Br AMEIilE KIVEM. 
 
 Barbara Dering. 
 
 r y F. W. ROBIIVMOIV. 
 
 Women are Strange. | The Hands of Justice. 
 
 Br JAiraES RunrciiTiAiv. 
 
 Skippers and Shellbacks. 
 
 Grace Balmaign's Sweetheart. > 
 
 Bchools and Scholars. 
 
 Br W. €liARK RVHMEt.l 
 
 The Romance of Jenny 
 
 Harlowe. 
 An Ocean Tragedy. 
 My Shipmate Louise. 
 Alone on a Wide Wide 
 
 Sea. 
 
 Bound the Galley Fir«. 
 On the Fo'k'sle Head. 
 In the Middle Watch. 
 A Voyage to the Cape. 
 A Book for the Ham- 
 mock. 
 The Mystery of the 
 "Ocean Star." 
 OEOBIwE AIJ«S[J$!lTi;8 !4AliA. 
 Qasllgbt and Daylight. 
 
 Br JOIIIV HAIJIVl>ER»i. 
 Ony Waterman. I The Lion In the Path. 
 
 The Two Dreamers. | 
 
 BtKATIIARIIVE saundekm. 
 
 Josn 'Merryweather. 
 Tla High Mills. 
 Heart Salvage. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Margai-et 
 beth. 
 
 and Eliza- 
 
 Br ftEORGE R. i^IITIM. 
 
 Rogues and Vagabonds. 
 The Ring o' Bells. 
 MMry Jane's Memoirs. 
 M«ry Jane Married. 
 Tales of To-day. 
 Dramas of Life. 
 
 Tinkletop's Crime, 
 
 Zeph. 
 
 My Two Wives. 
 
 Memoirs of a Landlady. 
 
 Scenes from the Show. 
 
 Two-Shillino Novels — continued. 
 
 Br ARTHUR MKETCIIIiEV. 
 
 A Match In the Dark. 
 
 Br iiAtviiEV nniART. 
 
 without Lnve or Licence. 
 
 Br T. \V. MPEIOIIT. 
 
 The Mysteries of Heron 
 
 Dyke. 
 The Golden Hoop, 
 Hoodwinked. 
 
 By Devious Wayr. 
 Back to Lite. 
 The lAiudwatarTragedy, 
 Burgos Romance. 
 
 Br R. A. HTERNDAIiE. 
 
 The Afghan Knife. 
 
 Br R. liOriM HTETEIVMOIV. 
 
 New Arabian Nights. | Prince Otto. 
 
 By BERTHA TII01TIA!«. 
 
 Cressida. I The Violin- Player. 
 
 Proud Molsle. | 
 
 Br WALTER TIIORNBITRV. 
 
 Tales for the Marines. | Old Stories Retold. 
 
 T. ADOIiPHIJfi TROMiOPE. 
 
 Diamond Cut Diamond. 
 
 Br F. EliEAIVOR TROTiliOPE. 
 
 Like Ships upon the I Anne Furness 
 Sea. 
 
 Mabel's ProgreM 
 
 TROIil.Oi «. 
 
 The American Senator, 
 Mr. Scarborough's 
 
 Family. 
 The Golden Lion of 
 
 Granpera. 
 
 Br AIVTIIOIVV 
 
 Frau Frohmann. 
 Marlon Fay. 
 Kept In the Dark. 
 John Oaldlgate. 
 The Way We Live Now. 
 The Land-Leaguers. 
 
 By .r. T. TROWBRIDGE. 
 
 Famell's Folly. 
 
 Br IVAIV TVRGEIVIEFF, See, 
 
 Stories from Foreign Novelists. 
 
 Br JTIARK TWAIN. 
 
 A Pleasure Trip on the Stolen White Elephant, 
 
 (..-'• 
 
 Life on the Mlssiaalppl. 
 The Prince and the 
 
 Pauper. 
 A Yankee at the Court 
 
 of King Arthur. 
 
 Continent. 
 The Gilded Age. 
 Huckleberry Finn. 
 MarkTwain's Sketches. 
 Tom Sawyer. 
 A Tramp Abroad. 
 
 By €. <!. FRANER-TVTIiBR. 
 
 Mistress Judith. 
 
 Br MARAII TVTIiER. 
 
 The Huguenot FArolly. 
 The Blackball Ohosta. 
 What BheCameThrough 
 Beauty and the Beast. 
 Oitoyeune Jaquellne. 
 
 The Bride's Pass. 
 Buried Diamonds. 
 Be. Mungo'a City. 
 Lady Bell. 
 Noblesse Oblige. 
 Disappeared. 
 
 By AAROIV W^ATMOIV Rnd 
 
 I.IMilAM WAM.XERIVaANIV. 
 
 The Marquis o( Cirabas. 
 
 By Wll^lilAITl WEHTAl^Ii. 
 
 Trust- Money. 
 
 By Mm. F. II. WIIifilAITIIiiOIV. 
 
 A Child Widow. 
 
 By J. (9. WIIVTER. 
 
 Cavalry Life. | Regimental Legend*. 
 
 By II. F. WOOD. 
 
 The Passenger from Scotland Yard. " , ,^ 
 
 The Englishman of the Rue Cain. 
 
 By liUdy WOOD. 
 
 Sablna. 
 
 CEIilA PARKER WOOMiEV. 
 
 Rachel Armstrong; or, Love and Tlieoloyy. 
 
 By KDITIUND YATEM. 
 
 The Forlorn Hope. I Castaway. 
 Land at Last. | 
 
 CODEN, 8MALB AND CO. LIMITED, PRINTERS, GREAT SAFFRON HILL, B.0« 
 
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