Messrs. HUTCHINSON & Co.'s
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BY AUTHORS OF THE DAY.
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BY MRS. RID DELL.
Aus1
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The
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Mount Eden.
B\ FLORENCE MARRY AT—
continued.
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The Queen of Bohemia.
Bitter Sweets.
JViLTf Tuoxr.
BY
MRS. W. K. CLIFFORD,
AUTHOR OF  MRS. KEITH's CRIME,  AUNT ANNE, "THE LAST
TOUCHES, ETC., ETC.
We two stood there with never a third,
But each by each, as each knew well :
The sights we saw and the sounds we heard,
The lights and the shades made up a spell
Till the trouble grew and stirred.
Browning.
LONDON:
HUTCHINSON AND CO.,
34, PATERNOSTER ROW.
1S93.
Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.
PREFACE.
I HIS story was written a few months ago
for an illustrated paper. But lack of
space made it necessary to leave out some
portions : these now appear for the first time.
L. C.
London,
March, 1893.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER I.
MR. CHARLES LAMBERT, with whom
we are not much concerned here, was a
worthy middle-aged gentleman who had made
a sufficient income in the North of England to
enable him to settle down with his family for
the rest of his days in Hyde Park Gate. His
early life had been spent in Sunderland, where,
when he was twenty-two, he had married a
curate's only daughter. She had become an
invalid soon after the birth of her only child,
and sorely tried his patience, as well as his
then slender resources, by keeping her room,
and an expensive nurse in attendance on her
for five years.
When at last he was left alone he thought
the child distinctly in his way ; but he put her
out of it, as far as a nurse and a school would
enable him to do so, and went on his way
making money. After a time he married again,
3
4
A WILD PROXY.
a good strapping girl of six-and-twenty, one of
a healthy family addicted to long walks, out-
door exercise, and worldly wisdom. She bore
him four children, all of them girls, and, like
herself, healthy of limb, loud of voice, and
unfailing of appetite.
Luckily Helen, for so the child of his first
marriage was called, was healthy too, as well
as slim and undeniably pretty. Her step-
mother was by no means unkind to her. She
thought her an encumbrance, of course, but
she resolved to bring her up properly, then
to buy her becoming clothes, and to get her
married as soon as possible.
When Helen was eighteen the Lambert
family installed itself in Hyde Park Gate, pre-
pared to give dinners and evening parties, and
to make itself known to London society, in the
hope that London society would appreciate
the attention and return the compliment. In
these money-worshipping days some things are
easier than formerly ; therefore many of Mrs.
Lambert's social ambitions were gratified.
Moreover, the house in Hyde Park Gate was
a pleasant one, and it became the haunt of a
sufficient number of pleasant people to give
it a certain agreeable reputation ; for many
things happen in London for no particular
A WILD PROXY. 5
reason, save that Fashion and Chance seem
sometimes to go a-hunting together. There-
fore it mattered little that Mr. Lambert was
slow and not given to talk much ; he had a
knack of looking interested, and that sufficed ;
or that Mrs. Lambert was fussy and anxious,
and agreed with all the opinions of her guests
in turn: and they knew it. She kept an
excellent cook ; unblushingly invited any one
who prospered in the upper walks of life on
the shortest acquaintance ; and quite under-
stood that at her own entertainments she was
expected to merely hover in the background,
except when she was useful as a connecting
link.
When her step-daughter came out Mrs.
Lambert was agreeably surprised to find that
she was a distinct attraction to the outside
world, that invitations were much more cor-
dially given and received when it was under-
stood that Helen would be included in the first
and seen if the last were accepted. Still, Mrs.
Lambert was a wise woman, and never swerved
from her line of conduct. For one season it
was pleasant to have a pretty girl to take
about; even for two it would be possible, but
the period must not be prolonged indefinitely.
To that she made up her mind.
6
A WILD PROXY.
It seemed unlikely that it would be prolonged ;
for Helen was not only pretty but distinguished-
looking and intelligent, and she had the attrac-
tion that belongs to most girls who have been
thrown upon their own resources for companion-
ship and sympathy. She had read a good
deal and thought a little; imagined that she
understood Browning and appreciated Wagner.
She glowed over Swinburne, though she care-
fully avoided reading his love poems, according
to a promise made to a young man in a conser-
vatory at a ball, who assured her that they
were very improper, and would sully the purity
of her soul. It pleased her to think that she
had a soul, she wondered what sullying it would
feel like ; but she was resolved to keep it as
pure as the fair young man with the low voice
and large shirt front had seemed to think it.
She had, moreover, ambitions of a feminine
kind,—a great desire to travel, and a secret
conviction that if she had been all alone in the
wide, wide world it would have been glorious to
go on the stage. But meanwhile, she knew
that it was her business in life to get married,
and that it was her step-mother's intention that
she should do so before her half-sisters grew
up. It was to this end, as she was perfectly
aware, that Mrs. Lambert took her to balls and
A WILD PROXY.
7
parties and private views, bought her dainty
dresses, and was careful of her complexion ; and
as she was too good a girl not to wish to fulfil
her obligations, she regarded the other sex
with interest. Besides, she was very lonely.
No one had cared much for her in life as yet,
and she had a vague hope that before the
marriage there might come a falling in love
that would make the rest of the story bewilder-
ingly happy. Her father was engrossed by
many things, and troubled little about her ; her
step-mother naturally preserved her affections
intact for her own children. The children them-
selves were as yet given over to lessons and
games. She had no companions, and she was
not encouraged to make any ; but luckily she
was a lively girl with a happy temper, fond of
dancing and innocent dissipations, as well as
of the higher walks of literature and music ;
and there was a simplicity about her that was
beguiling. Still, in her first season she had
only one offer, and that from a young man
in the War Office, who would have been sorely
put to it if she had accepted him ; but this she
never for a moment dreamt of doing, for she
was not one whit fascinated, and she knew that
his income was not equal to the requirements
of her family.
8
A WILD PROXY.
In her second season there appeared on her
horizon Mr. Laurence Halstead. He was eight-
and-twenty, and well connected. He had dis-
tinguished himself at Oxford, and studied for
the Bar, though he had not yet been known
to obtain a brief. He had, however, written
a treatise on Jurisprudence, as well as several
very long letters to the Times on economic
questions, one of which had been printed in
large type. It was said that he intended
to try for Parliament at the next election.
Altogether, he was considered clever and
coming-on, and people expected a vast deal
from him in a quiet way, as they frequently
do from a young man who takes a good degree,
writes to the papers, and talks little. Mr.
Halstead was very silent, and nothing leaves
so wide a margin as silence for the conclusions
of others. He was fairly well off, that is,
he had a house in Eccleston Square and a
cottage in the country, which he had lent
for the last two years to an elderly maiden
cousin given to writing for the religious maga-
zines ; he rode in the Park every morning on
a sturdy cob, and he drove a phaeton and
excellent pair of horses occasionally in the
afternoon. He had also the advantage of being
distinctly good-looking. He was tall and grace-
A WILD PROXY.
9
ful, rather thin perhaps, and pale ; he had good
brown eyes that were very grave, and brown
hair which he did not wear cropped too close
to his head after the manner of a woman's hero
in a novel. He went to an irreproachable
tailor, though he did not by any means affect
very new clothes or dandyism, and his thin
overcoat in summer was always a trifle too large
for him. It is astonishing how much security
in a small emergency a woman will manage
to feel with a silent man who has a large
moustache and wears a thin and rather flopping
overcoat.
It was this sense of security that first attracted
Helen Lambert. Halstead was not a dancing
man, but he sometimes looked in at a ball, and
hung for half an hour round a doorway, just to
show that he was not above the diversion. This
was how she had met him, but as he never
asked her to waltz, or even to sit out with him,
his existence did not interest her. One night
it happened that he was going on, as she was,
from a party in Chesham Place to a little dance
in Halkin Street. The carriage had gone to
bring Mr. Lambert from somewhere else. It
was only a few steps from one house to the
other. Mrs. Lambert wrapped her chudder
round her, and went on in front with a niece
10
A WILD PROXY.
she was chaperoning. Helen followed with Mr.
Halstead, a soft lace wrap about her slender
shoulders. She leant on his arm a little to
avoid treading too heavily on her yellow silk
shoes: it felt strong and comfortable. He
was a little too tall for her, but, as that only
increased her sense of his manliness, she liked
it. He wore the thin flopping coat and a
crush hat, and looked picturesque and fashion-
able, and hardly spoke a word ; but he turned
his face towards her once or twice. In the
soft summer night, and by the flash of the
carriage lamps as they whirled past, his eyes
looked unutterable—by him very unutterable
indeed—things, and Helen felt her simple heart
thrill. A dreamy, puzzled feeling came over
him, which was perhaps his response to her
thrill. She was very sweet, he thought, in her
yellow dress and buttercups, with her dark
brown hair twisted round her head ; so girlish
and innocent and slender, that he could have
taken her up in his arms and kissed her had
he dared. But, though he would naturally
have liked it far less, he could more easily
have found daring to take up and kiss one of
the polar bears at the Zoo than the slender
girl who walked by his side.
 I wish I liked dancing, he said, with a
A WILD PROXY.
ii
gravity too great for the subject. She gave a
little sigh.
"It is heavenly! she answered. He felt
that she was qualified to speak with authority.
They went on for a moment in silence, then,
as if an idea had slowly dawned on him, he
asked,—
 Do you like the river ?
 Oh, yes ! 
He liked her voice ; it was full of eager life
and readiness to be happy.
 I wonder if you and your mother would
come down to Cookham one day. We might
make up a party ?
She gave a little cry of pleasure. She was
delightfully fresh, he thought, and he wished
he knew how to talk to her. He didn't show
a sign of it, but, as a matter of fact, he was
rather afraid of girls, and of women in general.
He often stood dumb and picturesque in their
presence, and frightened them a good deal,
while he wondered what on earth he ought to
do or say to them.
 A cousin of mine is coming from Egypt
shortly, he went on ;  he rather affects the
river. Perhaps you have heard of him—Frank
Merreday : he is by way of being clever. He
has some sort of official position in Cairo.
12
A WILD PROXY.
"I don't know him; but isn't Mrs. Percy
Ives a great friend of his ?
''That's it. She is very good to him.
Wanted her husband to go out to him last year
when he was down with fever. Here we are,
I am sorry to say.
In some odd way it came about that Helen
missed three dances in Halkin Street, and sat
them out with Laurence Halstead. He did
not talk much, of course, but he listened while
she chattered, and he looked too beautiful for
words. She felt almost reverent, and a little
afraid of him. But she was flattered by his
attention; and flattery is the beginning of
many things.
Her step-mother was well pleased. She
asked Mr. Halstead to dine the next night, and
to go to the Opera three nights later. After this
he appeared to divine that he could go to Hyde
Park Gate when he pleased and without waiting
for invitations.
Mrs. Lambert was'"at home on Saturdays.
On that day she wore a black satin gown, with
quantities of bugles across her expansive chest,
and talked to a crowd of women and a sprink-
ling of men who dropped in between four and
seven to sit in the much-furnished drawing-
room and drink tea. Mr. Halstead appeared
A WILD PROXY.
13
on the Saturday following the opera. He leant
against the mantelpiece and counted the number
of whole parakeets on the chintz-covered chairs
and sofas. Most of them, he noticed regret-
fully, had had their tails lopped by the up-
holsterer, or tucked in between the seams.
The effect was a little cruel, and would hardly
have been allowed by a person of imagination ;
but imagination was perhaps the last thing on
earth to which Mrs. Lambert made any pre-
tence. He looked at her a little wonderingly,
thinking that the Fates had been good to Helen
in making her the child of another mother.
Mrs. Lambert turned from the person to
whom she had been speaking.
 Helen looked for you in the Park this
morning, Mr. Halstead, she said beamingly,
and with a certain significance. For she was
a vulgar person ; and the taint of but recently
made position, of remembrance of Sunderland,
and of fear that her own girls would come out
before her step-daughter was married, betrayed
themselves frequently.  She rode immediately
after breakfast.
 My cousin, Frank Merreday, turned up
from Egypt last night, and borrowed my cob
this morning, Mr. Halstead answered. Cross-
ing over to the back room where Helen was
14
A WILD PROXY.
making tea, he sat down on a little lounge
beside the table, and as usual said nothing.
 Are you going to Mrs. Percy Ives's dance
to-night ?  she asked presently.
'• No. He saw with a satisfaction he did
not take the trouble to define that she looked
disappointed.
 I thought you were certain to be going
there, she said. He looked at her again;
evidently she had been thinking of him.
 I refused ; but I wish now that I hadn't.
The last words fell gratefully on her ears,
but he said nothing more : for a few minutes
they sat watching the group in the next
room. One or two more people arrived.
She gave a panting old lady some tea, and
thought that it was absurd to expect Mr.
Halstead to be so commonplace as to talk.
Nevertheless he did presently condescend to
speak.
 I hope you will enjoy your dance, he said.
 I am going with Benfield to the Royal
Society, and afterwards home to do a quiet
bit of work.
She clasped her hands, and her pretty eyes
filled with something that for the life of him he
could not help thinking was admiration. Was
it admiration of him ?
A WILD PROXY.
15
 Oh—but then, you are very clever. The
Royal Society always sounds like the seventh
heaven of intellect. What will you do there ? 
 I am not a Fellow, only an impostor who
is going in with Benfield, so I shall do no-
thing.
 I would give anything to go just once in
my life to an intellectual place like that.
 I'll take you some day—if you like. He
said the last words almost in a whisper.  There
is a ladies' night once a year, and they are kind
enough to send me an invitation.
 Will you ? and she blushed. She could not
help it, for she knew that her step-mother was
dying to get her married, and every day for the
last week the merits of the man before her had
been set forth. She liked him, too ; he was so
silent and kind, so learned and gentle. She
was inclined to think that to marry him would
be a beautiful and dignified fate with which she
could be very content indeed. Perhaps she
was in love with him. She had had no ex-
perience, and could not be sure ; but she was
sophisticated enough to feel that there might
be a certain significance in his remark.
He saw the blush, and wondered. He liked
her : he had thought of her constantly since
the night of the Halkin Street dance. He had
16 A WILD PROXY.
also thought of matrimony, but there was a
certain hesitation in his nature. Moreover,
though it was ridiculous, he was horribly afraid
of her. Nineteen and a half, a sweet flushed
face, blue eyes and brown hair, a little grey
dress and gold bangles, a slim waist and a
bunch of honeysuckle tucked into her belt, and
he was more disconcerted than he would hava
been by a whole court full of British public,
judge and jury ; or by an election mob, and the
fact that he himself was on the hustings.
It was no good, he could not get on with
women. Let it be said at once that he had
never tried. He had once made love in a
highly platonic manner to a married woman ;
or, rather, he had submitted while she made love
to him. It had bored him. He had, a little
later, entered upon a rather animated corres-
pondence with the charming widow of a certain
eloquent advocate for Woman's Suffrage, and
he had been struck with the cleverness of her
letters. On one occasion he made up a party
for her, and a dinner at Richmond. There
was a drive home by moonlight, and he had sat
looking extremely poetic and satisfied, while he
thought that he would never do anything so
tiresome again, and that as soon as he was
safe in his study he would have a whisky-and-
A WILD PROXY.
17
soda, and read a Maupassant story to pick
himself up. But he was not in the right frame
of mind for the story, it would not lay hold of
him : he put it down to try a graver book that
suggested hard work and made the intellectual
world appear the only one worth living for ;
\nd so he found compensation. All of us need
Dccasional compensations.
But this girl before him was vastly different
from either the wife or widow of his limited
sentimental experiences, and he looked at
the blush, half puzzled, till it had vanished
and left her drooping a little, like a flower in
the sunshine. Then, almost without knowing
it, he put his hand on hers as she arranged her
honeysuckle.
 I was thinking yesterday, he said, "that I
saw you first at the Academy view a year ago.
 I don't remember, she answered.
This was not encouraging, and he turned
away. But he thought of her all the time
as he walked home across the Park. He felt
that she was lonely. She appeared to have
no friends of her own age ; he fancied that
her step-mother objected to them. She was a
clever girl, too, and not a bit strong-minded.
He had been struck by her reading and her
longings. She had told him that she wanted
2
i8
A WILD PROXY.
to travel—longed for it more than for any-
thing else in the world; but she had never
been out of England. It would be excellent
fun, he thought, to take her everywhere, and
to show her places for the first time. By
Jove! what wonderful things first times were ;
there was nothing in the world like them;
the worst of them was that they never came
twice.
He stopped at his own door. There was a
hansom before it, and while he was fumbling
for his latchkey a young man appeared.
 You've just turned up in the nick of time,
he said to Mr. Halstead.  I have not a silver
coin in my pocket. Lend me ten shillings, old
man.
 There you are, Mr. Halstead said, leisurely
pulling out some change.
 Thank you. I am going to dine early at
the Ives's. They have a dance afterwards ; by
the way, are you going ? 
 No.
 Lucky for you.
"Why lucky? Merreday wrinkled up his
forehead, yet laughed as he answered,—
 The luck is always in the thing undone or
out of reach—-at least to me. By the way,
he went on in a boisterous voice, as if a
A WILD PROXY.
19
spell of happiness had suddenly flashed upon
him,  I have borrowed your latchkey. It will
be a glorious dance. She is a wonderful
woman. See you in the morning, and he
drove off.
CHAPTER II.
21
CHAPTER II.
MRS. PERCY IVES lived in Hans Place,
and was well known to that section of
society that likes enjoying itself, and shakes
its head at too much seriousness in any form.
She was bright and clever in a social sense,
and not in the least intellectual, for which her
husband was devoutly thankful. The world
was a pleasant place to her, and she tried to
make other people think it one. She especially
took an interest in their sentimental affairs,
which she knew more about than they did
themselves, probably because she generally
managed to take a fairer view of them. Women
trusted her, which was remarkable, and men
liked her. As a rule, the latter fell in love
with her when they first knew her ; but when
they realised that—though she listened to them
with a charming expression on her well-bred
face, sighed at precisely the right moment, and
had even gone so far as to allow her hand
23
24
A WILD PROXY.
to be held for five consecutive minutes—she
never went any farther, and, moreover, treasured
up everything they said to regale her husband
on afterwards, they drew back. They thought
her most sensible and charming, but they did
not care to provide amusement a trois. Very
young men were often quite desperate about
her for a fortnight, and when, on her own
advice, she was replaced by somebody else,
they invariably told her all about it, and before
they married asked leave to bring their future
wives to see her. Her husband adored her,
and as she had not the least objection to his
flirting with other women, why, he only did it
occasionally, and found that it helped to
strengthen his conviction that his own wife was
nicer than any other man's. He was not
handsome, but he was impressive in his way,
big, tall, and fat, slow of movement, and, like
Mr. Halstead, rather scanty of speech. His
wife called him a dear, sweet, beloved boy
when she was pleased with him. The dear
sweet beloved boy was three-and-thirty, but
that was a detail. He was secretly troubled
at his increasing fatness, but she adroitly
assured him that she liked it, "for you are a
good old darling, she explained,  and the
more room good things take up in the world
A WILD PROXY.
25
the better. I hope you will grow big, and big,
and bigger, till the other people are afraid of
falling over the edge. He hoped he wouldn't
himself, but he didn't say so, for he made a
point of never disturbing her ambitions if he
could help it.
 How is Merreday ? he asked, as they
waited for dinner on the evening of their dance.
 I am sorry I missed him this morning.
 He's as charming as ever, and as great a
demon.
 How do you know that ? 
"It's evident the moment he speaks ; it is
in his eyes. He is a strange boy. No human
being knows what he will do next, least of all
does he know himself.
 Is he devoted to you still ? 
 Deeply, of course.
"Sensible man, sighed Mr. Ives. "And
as envious as ever of Laurence Halstead?
 Quite. It's odd, but he seems to want
everything that is his. He is still indignant
with the uncle who left him five thousand
pounds some time ago, and Mr. Halstead
twenty.
 There's a difference, of course. When are
we going to have dinner ? 
 Directly. We are only waiting for him.
26
A WILD PROXY.
 I wish he'd come, then. Oh, here he is.
How do you do, Merreday ? Glad to see you
back again. The wife has been pining for you,
as usual. Is that magnificent bouquet for
me ?
 I hoped Mrs. Ives would accept it,
Merreday said, offering it to her.
"You are an angel, she laughed, "though
no one would suspect it.
"You are really a looking-glass, and she
mistakes her own reflection for you, Mr. Ives
said slowly, enormously pleased with his own
elaborate joke.
Mrs. Ives took a moment to consider it.
 I understand. I see it. Frank, isn't he
adorable ?
 Do you still like compliments from your
own husband ? Merreday asked incredulously.
 Love- them. They are unique ; so few
women get them. By the way, I have found
an heiress for you, with ten thousand a year
—an Australian, and not at all bad-looking.
Merreday shook his head.
 No, thank you, freedom is better. He
looked at his hostess, and thought how much
and for how short a time he had once been in
love with her.
They dined in the library. The dinner was
A WILD PROXY.
27
hurried, and they were almost silent, for they
felt the responsibility of the coming dance.
When it was over Mr. Ives went out to see to
the illuminations. The house stood in a corner,
and the drawing-room, on the ground-floor,
opened on to a garden shaped like an open
fan, an excellent place to saunter out to on a
summer night. The demon, as she called him,
walked up and down the white floor with Mrs.
Ives. The candles had not burnt up, the windows
were open, the soft twilight swept in, the flowers
gave out their sweetest breath. Mrs. Ives and
Merreday looked at themselves now and then
as they passed a leaf-framed looking-glass. She
was a little taller than he, a pretty, happy-
looking woman, somewhere between twenty-
seven and thirty. Her features were well cut,
her head well poised, her arms perfect.
He was dark, pale, slim, and compact-
looking, keen of expression and quick in his
movements ; his eyes were dark, his hair black,
his smile did not come often, but when it did,
though it was small in circumference, and left
his eyes grave, it lighted up the whole of his
face. His mouth was firm andwell cut, and
not hidden by the short black moustache above
it; his teeth were a little irregular, and he had
a trick of grinding them if he were angry or
28
A WILD PROXY.
impatient. But, as a whole, the face was a
good one, and into his eyes there could come,
now and again, compassion and tenderness,
and into his voice tones that women loved, and
that made men, often against their will, his
friends. He had a happy laugh, and inex-
haustible spirits. Mrs. Ives always declared
that when she wanted to enjoy herself there
was no one like him ; he had the power of
abandoning himself absolutely to the humour
of the moment. Some one once asked her
whether, if she had a grown-up daughter, she
would let her marry Merreday. She laughed,
and said,  Oh no ; for though for a twelve-
month perhaps he would be the most devoted
and delightful lover on earth, afterwards—why,
afterwards he might simply forget that she even
existed, he is so strange. But then he is a
demon. Perhaps he was, or perhaps he
occasionally gave up the reins, with which he
drove himself, to one, and enjoyed the whirl
that followed, till he stopped to look round with
a face grown grave and a voice that had a
world of remembrance in it—God knew of
what—and eyes that seemed to comprehend
the sorrow and loneliness and pain of every
human being.
His face looked tired to-night; there was
A WILD PROXY.
29
a half-rueful expression upon it, a little surprise,
as if he had expected something better of life
than it had given him yet. He looked out
absently at the lamps beginning to twinkle in
the garden : he listened to the musicians
settling themselves in the alcove, hidden by
palms: they were beginning to tune up.
There was a great white cockle-shell hanging
low, by blue strings, from one of the palms.
It was filled with programmes, and the little
pencils and narrow ribbons made a tangle
like froth on the top. He put his fingers
among them for a moment. Then he spoke,
in a thankful, restful tone.
 It is good to be here, he said.  Oh, it
is good.
 But you are worried, she said gently;
 is anything the matter ? 
"No, dear. He called her "dear some-
times, and she did not mind it. She always
gave her admirers a certain amount of rope :
it kept them at once so near and yet so far.
 Do you still care for that girl ? 
"Not I, he answered scornfully. "She
was selfish to the core. Ah !  The last word
was like a cry of pain.
 You do, she said gently, "or you would
not be so bitter.
30
A WILD PROXY.
He shook his head.
"You feel strongly about her, and 
 I know what you mean, he said quickly.
"If one feels strongly at all about a woman
it's a mere toss up which comes down, heads
or tails. But she is in little pieces, as far as
I am concerned. I am tired of all women,
except you. They are all alike. I hate
them!
 That's a dangerous state of mind. Love
and hate are 
"Just the toss up ; I know, dear, he said
tenderly, but with a tenderness in which there
was no offence.  I am not sure that as yet
I have really loved any woman, except you,
and that had to be nipped in the bud. You
nipped it, and you were quite right; but as
for the others 
 You have been in love a dozen times.
"No. Women have hurt me; but I have
not loved them. I should have been better
if I had. As for but don't let us talk of
her, she is in little bits.
 What about the girl at Charlton ? 
 Poor little Jean ! I must go and see her.
His voice was almost affectionate. He stopped
for a moment, then looked up savagely.  I
should like to hang Jean's father. He bullied
A WILD PROXY. 31
her when she was little—By Jove! look at
those lamps ; what an excellent perspective
they make : the garden might be stretching
out to the desert. Here comes Percy. Did
you design those lamps, old man ? If so you
are a genius. Oh, it is good to be here!  he
repeated.  I shall dance every blessed thing
on the programme. Why isn't Halstead
coming ? 
 He refused, Mrs. Ives said. "The other
night I thought he looked as if he repented,
but I did not ask him again.
 Serve him right, he answered absently.
There was the sound of a first arrival.  Look
here, he added hurriedly,  I want to go out
and send a telegram from Sloane Street. I'll
be back in twenty minutes.
 I wonder if he'll come back at all, Mrs.
Ives said to her husband.  I know his con-
trariness of old, and if I had said ! do ' he would
have gone the other way till sunrise. Mind
you look after the chaperons, darling. I don't
suppose I shall get another word with you now
till it's over.
Once outside, Merreday jumped into a
hansom, and drove to a second-rate theatre in
the Strand, where a drama by an unknown
32
A WILD PROXY.
author was being played by a fifth-rate company
to a paper house. He walked round to the
stage door.
"Is Miss Rose Volney here? he asked
the man.  She is out after the second
act, I believe. A woman dressed in black,
wearing a small hat with a grey feather and
steel clasp, came forward. She was not very
young, she looked a little tawdry.
 How do you do ? she said, with a laugh.
 I was astonished when I got your telegram
this afternoon. They walked up the Strand
together.
 Same as ever ?  he asked.
 Same as ever. When did you arrive ?
 Yesterday. I'm going off again soon. I
say, let's go into Rule's and have some oysters.
It will be cool in the room above.
They turned up Maiden Lane, entered the
shop, went upstairs, and sat down at one of
the tables. He sent for some champagne, and
looked at her in a dogged manner while she
ate and drank.
"This is like old times again, she said, with
an evident desire to be agreeable.
 Are you getting on all right ?
"Splendidly. I've a stupid part in London,
but we go on tour next week ; then I play lead.
A WILD PROXY.
33
"That's good, he answered. He looked at
her steadfastly, and lifted up his eyebrows till
there were deep lines across his forehead.
"You look very well, she said, as if for the
sake of saying something.  How do I look ? 
 Just the same.
 I've had a life of it these two years.
 Left off drinking ? he asked brutally.
 Sober as a judge.
"You'll get on, then. Want any money ?
"No, thank you. But I wish you'd persuade
some one to give me a theatre. I believe I
could make people sit up if I had a real chance.
It's time I had it—fifteen years since I first
played Juliet.
 Plenty of time. He seized his glass and
gulped down some more champagne. "You
don't look it.
 I don't care if I do, she laughed dis-
cordantly. "In these days only foolish men
like new wine and young women.
"Yes, he answered with the tongue of a
ready liar.
She hesitated a moment before she spoke.
"Have you seen anything of Ted lately?
she asked.
 Not lately. Come, let's go. Where do you
live now ? 
D
34
A WILD PROXY.
 Chelsea Gardens.
 I'll drive you. I'm going in that direction.
He hailed a hansom. They went some way in
silence.
 Is anything worrying you? she asked.
"No. He looked at her with almost a
shudder. She was haggard and drawn without
her theatrical make-up ; he could see it even
by that light. He put his arm round her
waist.
 Don't. She drew back, but was evidently
not angry.
 Beg pardon, he said quickly, and took his
arm away with an air of relief.  Have you
seen Ben Galton lately ?
 No, not to speak to. He is getting on, I
think. I saw him in the stalls one night with
some one. It's odd how they like you to see
them when they are up if you have known
them when they were down; but they take
care to hold off. You should begin with a
man when he's up. Merreday shuddered, and
she saw it. "Not that it's anything to me.
I'm waiting for Ted to come back.
"You'd better wait, he said, between his
teeth.  Do you hear? Better wait. This is
Chelsea Gardens. Good-night. I'll write when
I can come again.
A WILD PROXY.
35
She jumped down, and waved her hand to
him.
"Embankment! he shouted to the driver.
His face looked older by five years than it had
done an hour ago. He dismissed the cab,
leant over the Embankment, and shivered. A
barge was being tugged down the river ; he
followed it with his eyes. Its lights reflected
themselves in the water. It looked like a
living thing. Suddenly some one touched his
shoulder, and with' an exclamation he turned
round. A tall man in evening dress grasped
his hand.
 Thought it was you, Merreday. Where
did you come from, and when ?
"The devil, and yesterday. This is luck.
I was feeling as if I could cut my throat, he
answered. They walked on.
"What for?
"Just been having supper with an actress.
I hate them !  he said savagely.  My grand-
father was a Quaker, and I suppose it's in my
blood to hate them. Supper with an actress,
he repeated, with a shudder, "and oysters out
of season. I am glad you turned up to take
the taste away.
 Why did you do it ? 
 She married a chap I knew long ago.
36
A WILD PROXY.
They both drank, and she drove him mad.
I got him a post out in Egypt, and saw him
die of smallpox in hospital. She doesn't know
it, though. I wanted to see she was all right ;
that was why I went.
 Doesn't know he's dead ! Why don't you
tell her ? 
"Not I. She might marry again, and tor-
ment some other poor devil. Besides, he
added, with a weary and kinder tone in his
voice,  she has had a hard enough struggle,
and she liked him once. To hear that he was
dead might hurt her, and that would do him no
good. Or she might be callous, and that would
send her down a little. Let's talk of some-
thing else.
 Where are you staying ? 
 With Halstead for a few days.
 He's a lucky beggar. They were talking of
him the other night at the Eighty Club. He
hardly cares to put out his hand, yet everything
is within his reach, like ripe fruit hanging low.
 That's a good expression, said Merreday
reflectively. "I'll put it into a play. I'm going
to write one some day, and shall want dialogue.
 What are you going to write a play for ? 
 Because I have had experiences. One
must put them somewhere.
A WILD PROXY.
37
 Queer chap you are ; you said just now you
hated actresses.
 So I do, and everything connected with
the theatre ; that's why I want to write a play.
I shall shoot into it the things I want to get rid
of.
 You won't get rid of them that way.
 Yes, I shall. I shall see them before me,
instead of carrying them about. Other people
will dance to them : I shall go on and leave
them behind.
 You were always as mad as a hatter, Merre-
day.
 No, not mad, he answered, "only a little
staggered at the cussedness of life. I have not
yet found the game worth the candle, have
you ?
 I have only burnt the candle at one end ;
you 
"H ave burnt it at both, and tried to break
it in half in order to burn it at two more.
 It's murder.
 No, Merreday said eagerly, as they turned
up Sloane Street.  It's wisdom, old chap ; it's
the only way to understand life. For one sees
farther by a single lightning flash than by the
little steady lamp that burns the whole night
long.
38
A WILD PROXY.
"And does more by the lamp—if we are
to talk in metaphor. Well, good-night. I'm
in Cadogan Place, and here we are. We shall
meet again 
"When the gods or the devil will it,
Merreday laughed. He grasped his friend's
hand for a moment, and went on his way
humming.
The carriages were still setting down guests
at Hans Place ; the house was ablaze with
light; the sound of a waltz came faintly
towards him. He thought for a minute of
Ted Bennett down with smallpox in the
hospital at Cairo. "If I could know that
Emma would keep straight I should be all
right, the dying man had said to Merreday.
It was a summer night like this ; a band in
the distance played a waltz while he died.
 Perhaps he danced to it out of this life into
the next. Luck for him, the demon said to
himself, and sang softly a bar or two of the
waltz that came floating on the air from the
alcove behind the palms. The next moment
he was watching the crowded dancers as
eagerly as if he had never had a serious
thought in his life.
 Oh, you horrible boy, Mrs. Ives said,
delighted to see him back again. "Will you
A WILD PROXY,;
39
ever reform ?  He was looking as happy and
unconcerned as a schoolboy : the eagerness of
one was in his eyes.
 Reform ? I hope not. I never rounded on
myself yet. I want to dance.
"You shall, dear angel; for a dancing man
at a ball is nothing less in the eyes of his
hostess. Here is Miss Miller. She intro-
duced him to a tall, thin girl in a black dress,
decorated with a crimson ribbon that wandered
over her skirt in an aimless sort of manner.
He stepped back for a moment to speak to
Percy.
 Let's get into the country to-morrow, he
said.  I'm sick of London already.
 All right, old man ; go and dance. I only
wish I could :  his host answered.
"I'm going to dance—with that, Merreday
nodded merrily at his partner.  Pity you and
she can't collaborate, isn't it ? Dulness and
patience in every bone, he thought, as he
went back to her.  Respectable monotony,
with a little tartness, her doom. Come, he
said aloud, and put his arm down to her waist.
She went round like a broomstick. He stopped
in dismay after a couple of turns.
 We are out of step, she said meekly.
 Out of step ! Don't you know what time
4°
A WILD PROXY.
is? he asked, looking at her scornfully.
"Call this dancing. Great Scott!
Some women like insolent men, poor idiots :
but she was merely bewildered.
 You are so eager, she said helplessly.
"Eager? so would you be if you realised
that life is quick but death is quicker. That's
better, as they went round again.  The
whole secret of life is in movement, if the
fools did but know it. Stillness is death.
 Why do you talk of life and death at a
dance ? she asked, convinced that he was a
maniac.
 They are so intimate. Who is that girl in
white and buttercups ? 
 Helen Lambert : she always wears butter-
cups.
 I shall dance with her after this.
 Perhaps her card is full.
-"That's nothing to me; I shall dance with
her. What do you think a woman is for but
to do as a man likes ? he asked with laughing
savageness. She felt more than ever convinced
that he was mad or improper, for she was five
and twenty, and full of the serpent's wisdom.
When the dance was over she drew back to
her chaperon, for whom she had little need,
and waited, hoping that the gods would vouch-
A WILD PROXY.
4i
safe her a more agreeable partner later on.
Ten minutes later she saw him going round
with Helen Lambert. His face looked alto-
gether different.
 It was my dance, a man said next to her.
 She has gone off with Merreday.
 Frank is merely a demon, laughed Mrs.
Ives.  He respects nothing.
 Helen, Mrs. Lambert whispered to her
step-daughter,  remember that Mr. Merreday
is Mr. Halstead's cousin. Treat him with
cordiality but reserve.
 I know, I know, the girl answered, as
though she were under a spell.  He dances
beautifully, and with a little smile she swam
round with him again.
 Oh, it is exquisite. She sighed. This
was three dances ahead.
 It is divine, he answered,  as if we were
going through into heaven together—if they
would only close the gates before we have
time to get out again. He was like a whirl-
wind; there was something fascinating and
frightening about him, and like a whirlwind
he drew her on against her will. Besides, he
was Mr. Halstead's cousin.
 Come into the garden again, he said,
when the dance was over. There was a little
42
A WILD PROXY.
summer house in an out-of-the-way corner, too
shabby to illuminate. He knew it well; he had
spent hours there in the days when he had
sworn to Mrs. Ives that by every star in heaven
he loved her, and she had laughed and called
him a foolish boy, and told Percy that he was
really too ridiculous. He knew she had. What
did it matter? He sat there now with Helen.
They had been there once before to-night
already.
 So Lai is a friend of yours ? What do you
think of him ? he asked. They had grown
very intimate in the last hour.
 Lai ? 
 Laurence Halstead. We call him Lai in
the family.
It rested her even to hear his name spoken ;
but she did not answer immediately. She
didn't know what she thought of him, only
that he had been a great deal in her life
lately. He had not been a moment out of her
thoughts since his little speech at tea time that
day. But what was she to say to the whirl-
wind ?
 He is very handsome, she half faltered.
 The other day he looked quite beautiful, and
she remembered the flopping overcoat and the
silences.  I think sometimes when he comes,'
A WILD PROXY.
43
she went on almost reverently,  that it is like
being in a temple.
 I'll tell him you think he looks like
Buddha, and there was a pause.  By heaven,
what eyes you have!  he said to himself rather
than to her.  I can see them even in this
light. He was leaning over the little table,
looking at her as if he had made a discovery
that frightened him.
 Don't, and she drew back.
He shuddered, for the movement reminded
him of the woman in the cab.
 What is the matter ?  she asked in surprise.
 Nothing, nothing that you know anything
about—good for you. I wonder if I have come
all this way to find you, he went on absently,
still as if he were speaking to himself.  Tell
me what you do with your life, how you spend
it? he asked impetuously. "You look like a
woman who is going to live ; but you have
not begun yet, poor baby.
 I am not a baby: this is my second
season.
 How old are you ?
 Nineteen—nearly twenty.
 A woman should be born at four-and-
twenty, he said scornfully, "and die at thirty.
She only plays the devil if she lives longer.
44
A WILD PROXY.
"You mustn't talk so: and she drew back
half offended.
 Don't be angry. It is only that you don't
understand. You are outside the doors as yet.
By-and-by you will beat your little fists at them,
and break your heart if they open.
 I don't understand you a bit.
"You will later on. Tell me more, tell me
what you think about.
She laughed a little, and wondered what to
say. She wanted to be nice to him, for was
he not Mr. Halstead's cousin ? And everything
that belonged to Laurence Halstead was begin-
ning to have a keen interest for her. In half
an hour it seemed as if they had poured out
their whole lives to each other, while the
lights in the garden flickered, and the dancers
sauntered past them.
 And does Lai come often ? he asked almost
savagely. "What do you talk to him about?
 I don't know—books and pictures, any-
thing. He is going to give a river party while
you are in town,—next week, I think. The
light shed itself over Merreday's face.
 Good, he said ;  we'll make him give it
at Cookham. I used to camp out on the
point ten years ago when I was a boy. We'll
get the smallest boat we can find, and go
A WILD FROXY.
45
about by ourselves, or dawdle in the Cliveden
woods.
"Yes, she answered reluctantly, for she
was thinking of Laurence Halstead. It was
with him she wanted to boat and walk about;
there was nothing in the world like hanging on
to his arm, and hearing him say even the least
little word. It was better than hours of talk
with any one else.  Mr. Merreday, she asked,
 when should a man be born, and die ? I was
thinking of what you said about a woman just
now.
"It does not matter when he's born—when
he gets the chance, some men never get it—
but he should clear out when he's forty. He
becomes dull, as well as selfish, if he lives longer.
He's always selfish, you know, or haven't you
found that out yet ? 
 And what should he do with his life ?
You asked me what I did with mine just now.
 Do !  he said quickly.  Get every mortal
experience as fast as he can, and chuck it away
still faster.
 Are all men selfish—are you ?  she asked
wonderingly.
 All. I am so selfish that I should like to
kill you. Come, I know that waltz is the last
on the programme. It would be a pity to miss
46
A WILD PROXY.
it. What a night this has been. His voice
had its best tone of all in it, his manner was
almost tender. He drew her hand through his
arm as they went back across the garden, "And
she thinks she understands Browning ?  he said
in a low voice.
 Why should not I ? 
"You must be a woman before you do that: 
he stopped, and added, as if against his will,
 don't rush it.
 Frank, Mrs. Ives said. They stood in
the empty drawing-room again ; the lights were
guttering into darkness, the leaves hanging
limp and dead, the rose-petals on the floor.  I
think the party was a success.
 It was a brilliant success. A night of
nights, to be remembered in the days to come.
 It was hard work, Percy said, pulling out
his cigarette-case.
 Pleasure always is, dearest, his wife
answered, patting his arm : "that's where the
virtue of it comes in. You never looked at
my heiress, Frank.
 Not I. Worldly wisdom was never the
demon's portion ; let that good be said of him.
 Would you believe it ? John Bassett pro-
posed to her ; she refused him, of course. He
came and told me all about it, and vowed he
A WILD PROXY.
47
loved her. He says she is the eleventh woman
he has cared for, and he told her so, but it did
not move her a bit.
 His heart must be like an hotel. Many
come and stay in it for a little while—and pro-
bably pay in some coin,"—he added cynically :
"go and are forgotten.
 I think he was unwise to tell her that
he had been in love eleven times, Percy said
ponderously. "No woman cares for a fag end,
or for a man 
 Quite true, old darling, Mrs. Ives laughed,
 quite true ; no woman cares for a man at all.
Do go, like a dear, and see that the garden is
quite safe.
 Well, well, I understand; you and Merreday
want to talk 
"Of course we do. He wants to tell me
a thousand things. Frank, she said, as her
husband disappeared,  you had a wild flirtation
with Miss Lambert. You were together all
the evening.
"Yes. He put out his hand as if he were
blinded.
 What did you think of her ? 
He looked at Mrs. Ives for a moment before
he spoke.
 I love her, he said.
CHAPTER III.
-1r>
4
CHAPTER III.
BY George! Frank Merreday said, as
he sat at breakfast with his cousin two
mornings later,  there was a perfectly lovely
girl at the Iveses' dance on Saturday. She
knew you, too.
Laurence Halstead looked up.  Who was
she ?
 Miss Lambert. A tall, slim girl, with eyes
and hair and a step fit for a queen. Doesn't
know what to say for herself yet. Like all
girls, lovely to look at but a bore to talk to.
She said being with you was like being in a
temple. Told her I should tell you that she
had said you looked like Buddha, and she
hadn't the courage to ask me not.
 I don't think that I care particularly for
courage of that sort in a woman, Halstead
said slowly. "She's rather a nice girl. I like
her.
 Poor baby, she thinks herself intelligent.
Talks about Wagner and Browning. Another
51
52
A WILD PROXY.
year, and she will think that she understands
Herbert Spencer.
 They have all three become food for babes
and sucklings of late years, Halstead said,
with his quiet smile.  Time has hurried on
while you were in Egypt. People are clever
now, or want to be.
 Like a belated literary woman I met at
Shephard's Hotel a month ago, who insisted on
talking about what she was pleased to call the
Leibnitz theory of a future existence. I told
her it was all in the Koran, and that Leibnitz
had merely prigged it.
 What did she say ? 
 Swallowed it whole. She'll hand it on to
the next man who takes her down—women
always hand things on—and he'll think her a
bigger fool than she looks.
"Iknow some rather pleasant literary women,
Halstead said.
 Sorry for you. But you are rather by way
of being a literary swell yourself. How is the
Law book getting on ? 
 Pretty well. I am working at other things.
I expect, he said, after a moment's hesitation,
 that I shall be asked to stand for Byehurst
next year.
"Lucky beggar! The lines came across
A WILD PROXY.
53
Merreday's forehead again, a little weariness
into his voice.  It will be better than writing
books, he went on, recovering himself.  They
are only so much rust : we could do just as
well without them.
 I don't see that.
 Don't you ? Why, what does the man get
who writes them ? Only the knowledge that he
has wasted the best years of life. And the
men who read them would be better employed in
getting experience for themselves at first hand.
"You had better write a book yourself, and
say all this by way of running in the face of
your own theory.
 Can't you see, Merreday went on again,
not noticing the interruption,  that there are
only three things in the world—love, life, and
work ? The rest is merely their effects. Love
for the women, life for the men, and work for
us all. The world is full of possibilities wait-
i'ng for people to turn them into experiences.
But it takes men to do it, not spineless imita-
tions who push pens along paper. He said
the last words scornfully.
 It's evident that you will have to write
a book, Halstead answered, getting up, and
looking for a cigarette-holder among the letters
and cards on the mantelshelf.
54
A WILD PROXY.
 We are each one of us a book in ourselves ;
but we only see the binding of each other. At
least most of us have sense enough to keep the
rest closed. I shall never write a book, Lai,
but I shall write a play.
 That's nearly as bad.
"It's better. People only read the one, but
men and women act and feel the other; it's
an imitation of life, anyhow. A book—we take
down a book from a shelf as we might pull
a corpse out of a catacomb. By the way,
Miss Lambert said you were going to give a
water-party.
 I thought she might like it, and that perhaps
it would amuse you, too ; that sort of thing is
rather in your line. Halstead spoke affec-
tionately, for he liked Merreday, and looked
upon him, more or less, as a crank to be
humoured. He went into the hall, and was
getting ready to go out.
 Stop a minute, said Merreday.  I will
go too. Which way are you going ? 
"Along Sloane Street.
 So am I. When is this river business to
come off ? he asked, as they went towards
Piccadilly.
 I'll see the Lamberts to-day, and arrange
it.
A WILD PROXY.
55
"Good for you, Lai, that you have only to
think of a thing, and set about arranging it.
"Well, you are not much to be pitied, old
man—an easy post and good pay.
 Yes, with fever, for instance, thrown in, like
last year : and sweating away out there, with all
the possibilities of life a thousand miles off 
He stopped suddenly.
 Come in here, and he almost pulled Hal-
stead into a florist's.  There is one humour-
ing that a woman always likes—the number
of them I have humoured from this same shop
—I want some flowers, he said to the girl at
the counter. He darted down on the different
vases, pulling out a handful here and there.
 And these—and these—and these, he put
the best he could find in the shop together.
 Send them in a box to Mrs. Percy Ives,
Hans Place. He turned to Halstead,  The
little woman will be pleased, and there's nothing
like having them packed in a box. She thinks
you are used to the business if you send a
bouquet with a paper pinned over it. He
went back to the girl at the counter.  Now
another box, he said.  These yellow roses,
and these iris—all yellow. Stay—are there any
buttercups? Put them at one end. No, nothing
but yellow. These marguerites, and a forest
A WILD PROXY.
of maidenhair over them all. Three pounds ?
There you are.
His face was wreathed in smiles. There was
fascination, a vitality about him, that carried
even Laurence Halstead away.
"What a pace you go at! he said, with a
laugh, and put his hand in kindly fashion on
Merreday's shoulder.
 Never as fast as I want to go, laughed
back the demon.  Do you think she will be
pleased with her flowers ? What's her address ?
 Whose ?
 Miss Lambert's.
 57B, Hyde Park Gate. She always rides
in the morning. Halstead did not look too
pleased.
 By Jove, so she does. I told her I would
look for her, and meant to borrow your cob
again this morning. But I forgot all about it.
Never mind, I will leave the flowers at her
door. That hansom looks all right.
 Frank, said Halstead quickly, while the
man turned his horse round,  have you broken
off with the Galtons ? Merreday settled his
flowers on the seat, sprang into the cab, leaning
forward as he drove off, and answered,—
 Going there to-day.
 I am glad he forgot about the cob,
A WILD PROXY.
57
Halstead thought. "He can't be very badly
hit. What a chap he is! I never thought of
sending the little girl any flowers. I wonder
if she cares about them. He walked on slowly :
a little fear came into his heart, a little undefined
jealousy that he could not help ; but a jealousy
altogether different from that which sometimes
possessed the demon.  He is so full of life.
I feel old and grave compared to him, he
thought,  but it will be better to have it settled
one way or the other : it will be fairer to him.
If I have been an ass in thinking she cared
about me I must take the consequence. After
all, he is more calculated to take her fancy
perhaps, and yet she has only seen him once.
Well, for good or ill, I'll face it.
Merreday left the flowers at the Lamberts',
dismissed the cab, and wandered into the Park,
looking curiously at the men and women he
passed.  What a place, he said to himself,
 and what a people. They have each a little
ropewalk to themselves ; they go up and down
it and call it life—a little circle, which they
run round and round, like a tin train. The
indescribable thirst was on him, a longing for
everything, a satisfaction at nothing, the inex-
haustible spirits to enjoy, the keenest capacity
for disappointment, the determination to taste
58
A WILD PROXY.
everything, and an eagerness that allowed him
to stop at nothing; and, mixed up with it all,
a weary wondering at life as it had so far set
itself out to him. But there were many things
to taste yet ; he was not halfway through the
feast. For once he felt frightened at a sense
of the strange irresponsibility that was in him,
a dread of his own wild impulses ; they might
'' carry him to the devil in such haste that he
had no time to get a return ticket before he
started, a man had told him once. He had
been on the alert to keep them in hand ever
since ; but he longed to give them rein and
to whirl on. The worst of it was that the
reaction always came ; the black depression,
useless to struggle against, that seemed to
pinion him down while life and death alike
held aloof and the dull iron entered his soul,
and everything before his eyes grew grey and
hopeless. He sat down and thought of Helen
Lambert for a minute or two, then he shook
his head. He was keen enough about every-
thing and every one, but he realised that at the
present moment he really cared for no one, for
nothing. The meeting on Saturday had been
too short to make it anything more than an
infatuation, and that was already passing off.
He had sent her the flowers on an impulse, he
A WILD PROXY.
59
had, in reality, only entered the shop to buy
some for Mrs. Ives.
 I'll go and see Jean, he said wearily ;  it
can't make me any worse. He strolled back
to Piccadilly, loitering by the way, for he was
not in a hurry. The errand on which he was
bound he felt to be only the performance of a
duty, a kindness, the fulfilling of an obligation.
 I ought to take her something, he said ;
 next time I'll bring home a cartload of bangles
and distribute them round. It will save a world
of trouble. I wonder if she would like flowers
too. He stopped again before the florist's,
but there was something almost grotesque in
the idea of taking flowers to the little drawing-
room at Charlton. He remembered it well.
The furniture was covered with green rep,
there was a plaster-of-Paris figure of a Swiss
boy on the piano, a looking-glass in a worn
gilt frame over the fireplace, a walnut wood
cabinet in one corner ; it had a glass door with
sham old china behind it; a round table that
had formerly been in the middle of the room
was now pushed up near the window. His
steps went slower still as he saw it all in
imagination. He thought of the dinner to
which he would probably sit down that evening.
It would be at seven o'clock. He remembered
6o
A WILD PROXY.
a parvenu woman at Cairo, who had told him
that the dinner-hour in England was significant.
The simple people dined in the middle of the
day, the dull nobodies at seven, people who
were struggling to get up higher at seven-
thirty, society at eight, the "smarts at a
quarter-past or later, the Queen at nine. He
ground his teeth, and hated the woman. He
wished he could lift one of the pyramids on to
the top of her. He would go over the sand
afterwards towards the Sphinx, singing for joy
at having flattened one fool, at any rate, out of
the world. He thought of Miss Lambert for
a moment. She was vastly different from the
girl he was going to see. He passed a book-
shop and turned back.
 I wonder if Jean would care for Browning.
I don't suppose she would understand him.
The other girl only pretended she did. Any
way, he'll do.
Everything was mere weariness to-day. He
bought a set of Browning's poems, carried six
volumes away under his arm, and ordered the
rest to be sent by post. Then his courage
failed for a moment, and he determined to lunch
before he went to Charlton.
Charlton is not a beautiful locality, but it still
has a countrified prettiness and unsuspected
A WILD PROXY.
61
corners of peace and charm. Frank Merreday,
wandering on absently from the station, came
upon green spots and vistas of quiet road, with
trees and trim little houses on either side that
looked so restful they made him draw a long
breath and wonder why people hurried so much
towards the noise and whirl of cities. He had
nearly a mile to go to the house he was seeking.
It was one of a row that had been unlucky in
its tenants, and, as though it knew and felt it,
had taken on to itself an aspect of dreariness
and neglect. There were only six houses
altogether, and no others immediately near
them. They looked as if they had been set
down by accident and forgotten. In front,
beyond the unflagged footway, were three syca-
more trees, planted so close that their boughs
interlaced. On the other side of the dusty
road were a clump of beeches, and some broken-
down brewery buildings tarred black. To right
and left stretched the roadway, in the distance
was the signpost of a public-house, a little
country inn it should be called perhaps, since
it still preserved that character in spite of the
invasion of city men in the neighbourhood,
and the near approach of the jerry builder.
Merreday remembered getting a long drink of
shandy-gaff there one sultry day five years ago,
62
A WILD PROXY.
when it had first occurred to him to make love
to Janetta Galton. For nearly two months he
had been an ardent lover. They had known
each other since he was a boy at school at
Clifton, and her father was a solicitor in a small
way there, and had not yet come to town,
hoping to make the way a bigger one. She
used to work laboriously at her lessons, and
had a character for being more painstaking than
clever. Her father tyrannised over her and
her brothers; it made Merreday furious now
as he remembered that Janetta used to be
beaten for her shortcomings. That was. how
he had first come to know her. His master's
wife had told him about the blows, and he had
burnt with desire to fight her battles. He had
since been on friendly terms, of a sort, with
Mr. Galton, but in his heart he had never
ceased to hate him, and had only been civil
for the sake of the girl.
He ran up the steps of the third house, and
knocked in a masterful manner as though he
felt certain of his welcome. The door was
opened instantly by Janetta herself. She was
spare and thin, her face was white and bony,
her scanty hair was done up into a badly shaped
knot behind. She had grey eyes, with a
kindly and unselfish expression in them, a
A WILD PROXY.
63
little pointed chin, a weak uninviting mouth,
and serviceable-looking teeth. Her figure was
angular and flat. The sleeves of her dress
were loose, and suggested that her arms were
skinny. She wore a brown serge dress badly
made and untidily arranged at the throat; over
her shoulders was a little grey Shetland shawl,
which she held to her throat with one hand,
a white delicate-looking hand, while with the
other she held open the door. About the
whole woman—she was probably some three-
or four-and-twenty — there was a look of
determination and sweetness that was con-
vincing but not charming. It was evident,
even from the mere tone of her voice, that
she possessed useful every-day virtues: she
did not add to their attraction. But she looked
quiet and gentle and intelligent, a comfortable
little soul enough to have for a sister or to look
after home interests.
 Did you expect me ?  he asked. He
entered the house with a quick footstep, and
without any other greeting.
 I knew you would come when you could,
she said cheerfully, and drew him into the
drawing-room he had pictured to himself an
hour or two ago. She shut the door, and for
a moment they stood looking at each other.
64
A WILD PROXY.
A happy look on her face, a half-questioning
one on his—then she put her arms round his
neck and kissed him lovingly, but without
passion or excitement of any sort.
"Come and sit here, she said. He put the
books on the table, and went over to the green
couch beside the fireplace with the dead leaves
and straw fans in it. She knelt down in front
of him, and looked at his face, took it between
her hands, held it a little way off, looked at it
again, and kissed it. Then she subsided on to
the floor at his feet, her arm thrown across his
knee, while she prepared to hear what he had
to say.
 Well, he said.
"Well, she echoed.
 How are they all ?
 Charlie isn't well; we are afraid he is going
to be consumptive.
 That's bad : what are you going to do with
him, and where is he now ? 
 He has gone to Greenwich and back by
the boat, just for the air. The doctor says it
would be the saving of him if he went to San
Diego in California, only we can't find the
money. He wants to go and start a fruit farm
out there.
 What is Ben doing ? 
A WILD PROXY.
65
 Stockbrokering. He frightens us some-
times, but he thinks he is going to make a
fortune.
 And behaves accordingly, no doubt?
 He was always fond of life, you know,
Frank, she said, with a little sisterly admira-
tion.
"Fond of life—oh yes. How's the father?
 Father's very well, but he looks older.
Now tell me about yourself and about Egypt.
 I am quite well, thank you, and so is
Egypt.
 Have you been long in London ? You
didn't say in your telegram.
 Arrived on Friday ; so I've not lost much
time in coming to see you, eh, little woman ?
This is only Monday. I have been nowhere
else except to Mrs. Ives's.
 Do you remember when we met her at the
Academy? It was the day we went to see
Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. Ben went to see Mrs.
Bennet act the other day.
 I saw her husband die, Merreday said,
with a gnawing pain at his heart, "out in
Egypt, while the band played at sunset. He
got through pretty well. Mrs. Ives spoke of
him on Saturday. He wrenched his thoughts
away from the hospital ward at Cairo and went
5
66
A WILD PROXY.
on gaily.  She had a dance on Saturday—such
a dance! He laughed, and grew grave again ;
for he thought of a box of yellow flowers, and
wondered if a girl's two hands had been busy
arranging them, and whether she had looked
at them with the smile on her lips and the
questioning look in her eyes that came back
to him keenly while he sat and talked to
J anette Galton.
The latter waited a minute or two, and then,
as if it were part of a programme, she looked
up, and asked, in her cheerful and wholly un-
sentimental voice,—
 Are you glad to see me again ? 
"Yes, dear, very, he answered gently.
She rested her head contentedly on his knee,
and drew up her feet a little closer under
her.
 Why didn't you write to me ?
 I didn't want to.
 I wrote to you every week and never
missed once. I did so long for a letter: a
telegram now and then is so little.
 I told you last time, he said wearily, "that
you must not expect it. A man can't write
long letters unless he is in love; it is one of
the tests.
"And you don't loye me? She raised
A WILD PROXY.
6 7
herself to her knees, and put her hands on his
shoulder, and looked at him fearlessly, as though
he would only state a fact of which she had
been long aware.
 I have told you, he repeated more wearily
still,  what you are to me—my retreat, my
shelter, my unsuspected haven in the world.
I come here to rest, knowing that I shall find
you always—and always the same to me; but
I am not in love with you.
 You used to be.
"For a little while. I always feel affection-
ately towards you, though I forget you too a
good deal while I am away, unless I'm ill or
tired, then I think of you; but I am glad to
come back for a little while, it is such a rest, such
a blessed rest. He pulled her head down on
to his shoulder, and looked at her dull hair with
something between gratitude and pity at his
heart. "You had much better give me up, Jean,
and make up your mind never to see me again.
I shall only cost you pain, he said remorsefully.
 You always tell me that.
 I know, and to give me up would be
wisdom, little woman.
 I can't. I will bear the pain.
"And you would rather that I came to see
you like this than not at all ?
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A WILD PROXY.
A little desperation spread itself over her
calm face as she answered,—
 I couldn't live without you. If you can't
give me more than you do now I must be
content, and thankful to have that.
 I believe you would do anything on earth
for me, he said with wondering conviction.
"Yes, anything on earth, she repeated in
her clear voice, full of unflinching affection.
 I would work like a slave for you day and
night. I would be a beggar in the street if it
would do you any good. I would let you kill
me if you liked. I don't know anything that I
would not do for you, no matter how badly you
treated me in return.
He looked down into her eyes while she
spoke. He saw her deficiency in charm, her
homeliness; he noticed curiously the eager,
bird-like expression on her face. He felt
compassion for her, and grateful to her, but
above all he felt the hopelessness of its ever
being possible that he could give her more
than he gave her now. It had been per-
haps a strange element in their intimacy that
he had never lied or disguised his feelings
towards her. He had tried to state them
gently, but he had not deceived her one whit.
Other women might win his love, his devotion,
A WILD PROXY.
69
might wring his life out in the days to come,
or perhaps had done so already; but she at
least had his truth, his anxious better side, and
his soul .(or that portion of it that he vouch-
safed to let her see) was laid out bare and
unflinchingly before her. He smoothed back
her hair, and looked at her forehead. It was
thin and white, with lines across it like his
own. He stooped and kissed it softly.
 That's not the way, you dear idiot, he
said sadly.  Don't you ■ know that a man
never loves the woman who makes herself into
a doormat for him ? 
 I would rather be that than nothing.
He set his teeth together.
 He goes out across it into the world.
 I should be glad if his feet went over me
on the way, she answered calmly.
He shook his head.
"You dear fool, he said in a whisper, and
the last word was like a tired caress, "how you
dig the ground from under you. You should
never say things like that to a man, Jean ; it's
not the way to win him. He wants something
more difficult.
"You used to care for me once, she
said.  Do you remember how you came
every day ? Will you never—never be like
;o
A WILD PROXY.
that again—never love me as you did that
summer ?
He was silent for a moment, then drew her
closer to him, and wearily rested his face down
on her again.
 I believe I shall come home to you to die,
he answered, with a little break in his voice.
They were silent for a little space, she resting
contentedly enough in his arms till he pushed
her back quickly as if the current of his thoughts
had suddenly changed. His face grew young
and eager again.  When does Charlie want to
go to California ?  he asked briskly.
 He wants to go at any time, but father
can't afford it.
 How much does he want ?
 He says he can't do it under four hundred.
Merreday was silent for a moment, then
answered firmly,—
 All right, he shall have it. I had five
thousand left me last year : he shall have the
four hundred to-morrow.
 Oh no.
 Why not ? 
 He couldn't take it; we wouldn't let him.
Listen to me, dear idiot, he said, putting
her face between his hands, and watching the
course of a little hair he blew away as it
A WILD PROXY.
7i
wandered across her forehead.  I don't want
the money. I should only invest it in cotton
factories on the banks of the Nile, or experi-
ments in colour printing on stuffs, or any other
idiotcy with which it occurred to some romantic
speculator to bait his hook. This four hundred
pounds would save Charlie's life. You've no
business to prevent a man from having his life
saved. Besides, it will make you happier, dear,
and do me good ; it may be counted for me
—and he wrinkled up his forehead— when
everything else is counted against me. Don't
stand in my way and his.
She crouched down on the floor and reflected.
Presently she pulled his hand under her cheek.
"You shall do as you like; it would save
Charlie, she said in a low voice.
 Then it's settled; we'll talk it over and
arrange the details when he comes in. Now!
Have you got Browning's poems? He
jumped up, and went towards the table, singing
from sheer light-heartedness.
 No, she answered. The bird-like look
came across her face again ; it suggested that
she was struggling after an intelligent mood.
 I have often wanted to read them. I have
heard they are so clever.
 Here, then, he said triumphantly,  I
72
A WILD PROXY.
brought them for you; take them away, and
he lumped the volumes into her arms.  Some
more will come by post.
"Oh, thank you, Frank, I shall value them
so. She looked at first one volume and then
another.  I shall put them in my own room;
there's a little shelf up there with nothing on
it yet. 'James Lee's Wife,"' she said, turning
over the pages ;  it looks interesting, and she
began reading. It was so strange to hear
the passionate words said without the least
little tremor or inflection in her clear, cheerful
voice,—
 ' Oh, love, love, no, love ! not so, indeed !
You were just weak earth, I knew :
With much in you waste, with many a weed,
And plenty of passions run to seed,
But a little good grain too.'
He stared at her for a moment.  That's
me, he said.  Shut it up; here comes
Charlie.
Merreday looked in at Hans Place on his
way back ; he was in wild spirits, relieved at
having got his visit to Charlton over, and
delighted at what he had done there. He had
satisfied his own conscience, and made the
A WILD PROXY.
73
little woman easy. Perhaps, take him alto-
gether, he was at his best with Jean; but he
was glad when he had got his best over for a
while. Dinner was going on. Mrs. Ives had
waited for her husband till nine, and at last sat
down alone.
 Please, may I have some ? the demon
asked merrily.  I have dined once, but that
doesn't matter. I have been to Charlton to
see the Gal tons, and am glad to get back.
The table was covered with flowers, Mrs.
Ives was looking her best, the food was dainty.
It was all so different from the surroundings of
a couple of hours ago—the uninviting table, the
roast beef; no one should eat beef in the
summer, he thought ; Jean, in her morning
dress, her hair more tightly screwed than ever;
Ben, looking like a smirking city clerk ; Charlie,
who had knocked out a front tooth, and seemed
bent on letting people know it, evidently ill,
but excited at his prospects ; Mr. Galton, with
a little shaky movement of the head which he
had only latterly acquired. And yet—and yet,
in some odd way, with that spare little woman
at Charlton whom he did not even love, Frank
Merreday, of the twenty different lives, and all
of them taken at a pace, felt a sense of home
that existed nowhere else for him in the world.
74
A WILD PROXY.
But it was of a home in which he did not want
to stay long; a restlessness and impatience
depressed him when he was there ; the know-
ledge that the joys and sorrows and ambitions
of life were all beyond it made him impatient
to get away while something undefinable bound
him to the house. He looked up at Mrs. Ives.
 What a comfort it is to come here again, he
sighed.
"Yes, isn't it-? she answered soothingly,
and fiddled with the saltspoon at the corner
of the table.
 I love you, he said, and stooped and
kissed her fingers.
 So does Percy ; he adores me.
 Damn Percy.
 Indeed I won't, you shocking boy. There
he comes. She looked up with easy affection
at Mr. Ives, and leisurely withdrew her hand
from the corner. "Sweet old darling, Frank
is here, and making love to me disgracefully.
Come and protect your only wife.
 I think you can manage to take care of
yourself, my dear. If you had been the
original Eve you would have worsted the
serpent, her husband said, not in the least
disturbed by her request. "How d'ye do,
Merreday ? I met Halstead just now. He
A WILD PROXY.
75
sat down very slowly.  No, thank you, no
soup or fish. Is the entree cold ? It's the
first duty of an entree or a sweet at this time
of year to get itself iced. What was I saying ?
Oh, I met Halstead, looking radiant, an hour
ago. Upon my life, I believe he's been up
to something. I heard the other day that he
was after that handsome Lambert girl. By
the way, old Lambert, by all accounts, is very
shaky ; had a queer attack at his club two or
three weeks ago.
Something sent Merreday back very quickly
to Eccleston Square. He let himself in with
the latchkey : Halstead opened the smoking-
room door.
 Come in here, he said.  I want to tell
you something.
Merreday followed him curiously. Halstead
went up to the fireplace, looked for a match-
box, struck a light, and put it to his pipe before
he spoke.
 I—I'm engaged to Helen Lambert. I've
grown fond of her lately. He stopped, but
Merreday was silent, as if he did not quite take
it in. "I didn't want to tell you before. I
didn't know if she would have me.
Merreday looked blankly at his cousin for a
moment. Something tightened round his heart;
76
A WILD PROXY.
a little cold wind seemed to sweep over his face.
Then, with a violent effort, he recovered him-
self, and burst out, with genuine rejoicing,—
 You are in luck ; shake hands, old man ;
she's splendid. You are in luck.
"Yes, I think I am. Have some whiskey
and soda ? 
 Splendid luck ! 
 Thank you, said Halstead, with a little
smile.
"You are a cool beggar, though, upon my
soul ; as cool as the morning. I should be
chanting on the housetop if I were going to
marry a girl like that. I believe you'd take
the day of judgment without turning a hair.
An amused smile came into Halstead's eyes.
 Perhaps, he said. Merreday looked at him
critically for a moment.
"By J ove, though, he exclaimed,  you'll
make a splendid couple. It will be like the
marriage of the sun and moon—and the little
stars shall be your children. When is it to
be?
 As soon as possible, Halstead answered
calmly.  In a month, probably. There's
nothing to wait for.
 I'll be your best man. The number of
weddings I've seen through in Cairo!
A WILD PROXY.
77
"You shall see mine through, Halstead
said, with a dreamy look on his handsome
face.
 1 wonder, said Merreday, as he walked
up and down his own room an hour later, "if
he knows how to make love to that girl. I
wouldn't mind betting that he barely kissed
her, if he did at all. "Well, he's won, he's
won. And I don't care—not I. He hummed
the refrain of a marching song and pulled out
his cigarette-case.
CHAPTER
70
CHAPTER IV.
MRS. LAMBERT was well content. Her
step-daughter's marriage was to take
place on the ist of July, and the day had nearly
arrived. There were no exciting incidents in
the engagement. Laurence Halstead was
thoroughly in love with his pretty fiancee, and
though he didn't talk to her much, he did
everything else that was generous and lover-
like. Perhaps as the day drew near his silence,
which was that of an interested and thoughtful
man rather than of a reserved one, gave way a
little, and he always listened to her with an
expression on his face that satisfied her. Love-
making was a little out of his line ; he never
knew what to say to women, still less how to
make tender speeches ; and to this girl, for
whom he cared with all his heart, it seemed
unnecessary to protest over much, as though his
affection were a doubtful quantity that needed
81 6
82
A WILD PROXY.
constant assurance to strengthen her confidence
in it. He thought of most things that could
give her happiness. Travel ? She should go
everywhere. He pictured to himself the delight
of showing her all the places that as yet were
but dreams to her. Music? They would have
a couple of stalls twice a week when there was
opera ; he had a little day-dream of treating her
to a box for the season later on, so that she
might have the pleasure of inviting her friends.
Books ? Oh yes. He fitted up a tiny room
to be dedicated wholly to her in Eccleston
Square, and was quite elated when he saw the
compact shelves designed for it by a Girton
girl who had turned lady decorator. He put
on them all that he thought would please her
best, and a little smile came over his face as he
took up the volumes of Herbert Spencer, and
remembered Merreday's remark that she would
read him in another year.
 Very well done, said the demon, as he
looked over the shelves.  Poetry and fiction,
a dash of the classics, a little biography, a spice
of travel, a few mere reference-books ingeniously
put into a corner, some philosophy, and a little
unadulterated unbelief to leaven everything.
Now, if I were making a library for myself or
the woman of my heart, I should say the Bible
A WILD PROXY.
83
and Shakespeare, Continental Bradshaw, Army
and Navy Store list, and Whitaker's Almanac
—quite enough for any sensible man or woman
who lives.
 But then you are a scoffer at books, re-
member. I added the speculative philosophers
to the library, Halstead went on apologetically,
"because a woman likes to affect a little un-
belief at some time or other. It never goes
very deep, and it gives her an intellectual
margin.
 An intellectual excuse for going to the
devil, and thinking it praiseworthy, Merreday
answered in his dogmatic manner.
 And then, said Halstead, with a certain
hesitation,  I hope we shall discuss all manner
of things.
 Discuss all manner of things !  groaned
Merreday to himself.  Oh, you consolidated
idiot. A woman would rather that the man
she loved kissed her and told her she was a
darling—which I expect you never do—than
discuss heaven and earth and the debatable
land called purgatory with the greatest sage on
earth.
But Halstead knew his fiancee better than
Merreday imagined. There had been signs—
unknown to herself, but clear enough to him—
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A WILD PROXY.
that she would not be satisfied without an
intellectual side to her life, just as there had
been signs—a flash in her eye, or a quick,
eager word—that showed she would wake
up, by-and-by, into a woman of whom the
girl, with her indefinite longings, was only
a germ.
Meanwhile, life was a very desirable thing
to her. She was a little subdued perhaps, and
her happiness had an element of reverence in
it. She felt sometimes as if she were going
to marry an archangel, and live in a cathedral
to the sound of church music. She knew this
was absurd, but she rather liked the feeling, and
encouraged it. It had seemed quite presump-
tuous at first to call him Laurence, but she
grew used to it, even ventured on Lai some-
times, and once, when he brought her some
moonstones set with brilliants, she was so
carried away with excitement that she put her
arms up round his neck of her own accord and
kissed his coat collar. Altogether she was
thoroughly content; moreover, she knew that
she was pleasing her stepmother and satisfying
her father by marrying Lai; but had they
suddenly turned against him, and had he been
transformed to a crossing-sweeper, she would
have taken him all the same.
A WILD PROXY.
85
 Oh, I am very happy, she said to him one
day.  It is such a wonderful thing that you
should want to marry me.
He looked down at her with his quiet
smile.
 Now, I think it is remarkable that you
should want to marry me.
She rubbed her cheek against the back of his
hand by way of answer, and he thought it a
very good one. Suddenly he asked, with an
amused expression in his eyes,  Have you
made up your mind yet where you will go for
your honeymoon ?
 Oh, I don't care in the least if I only go
with you.
"You are not likely to go with anybody
else. And then they both laughed, and Lai
grew quite talkative, and told her that he had
been thinking of Paris and Lucerne or of the
Mediterranean. They might rush down to
Marseille ; it would be very hot there, but they
could get a boat on to Genoa, and so to the
lakes, or up to Monte Generoso.
"It would be lovely, she sighed,  but
it is all new to me, so you must decide
about it.
 We'll leave that to Frank ; he prides him
self on fulfilling every possible duty of a best
86
A WILD PROXY.
man, and he appears to take as much interest
in our wedding as if it were his own.
"Yes, doesn't he? she answered. "Last
night he was miserable because they had not
carried out his designs for the bridesmaids'
bangles properly ; and he has arranged every-
thing for mother. It seems rather a pity that
he should throw away so much energy, and
not be married himself as well.
 Of course, said Merreday when he was
consulted the next morning. "Train from
Victoria to Dover: stay there. Can't sweep
your bride along as if she were a locust cloud.
Next morning cross to Calais, lunch at the
buffet on cold chicken and overcharge; go on to
Paris : a little quiet hotel in the Rue St. Roch,
affected by the retiring and intellectual. Three
days there, drive her to the Bois, and tire her
out at the Louvre ; but she won't show it,
being newly married and anxious to live up
to you. Then on to Lucerne—scenery and
solitude, if you can get the latter in Switzerland ;
or over the St. Gothard, if you want to go to
the Italian lakes. Marseille, of course, if you
like; but you will find it grilling. In that case
take train at Paris, go through France, lunch at
Fontainebleau ; sentiment in the forest; on to
Dijon, and stay. Dijon will give an historical
A WILD PROXY.
87
interest to your honeymoon, for there they
have a monument to the one trophy taken by
the French in the German war. It was taken
by Garibaldi's son in a fog, but that is no
matter. On to Avignon ; palace of the Popes,
and the river; then to Marseille, old port,
Cannebiere, and high falutin. Crawl along
the edge of the Mediterranean to Genoa.
Let's look up the trains at once.
"We can do that later at Paris.
 I mean the train on the day. Now, then,
here's Bradshaw. Victoria, that's the best
way to Dover—4.30 ; that's about the right
time for you—fast train. Dover 6.42, loads
of time for dinner.
 Yes, that'll do very well; let me look,
said Halstead. He made a note of the
time.
 Good Lord !  thought Merreday,  he can't
even remember the time of the train by which
he is to start on his honeymoon. I wonder if
he has made a note of the day itself for fear of
forgetting it. Oh Lord!  Then he went on
aloud : "I'll arrange you comfortably, old man,
get your tickets, register your luggage half
an hour before, drop a line to the Lord Warden
and to the Paris hotel for rooms. It makes
things more leisurely as you go along, and I
88
A WILD PROXY.
pride myself on turning my man off neatly. I
have ordered a bouquet for Nell. I thought
you would let me give it her, old man. I
should be delighted to give her the ring, too,
but perhaps you would prefer doing that
yourself ? 
 I think I should.
 And under the circumstances of course I
can't say any more. Still, if I had arrived in
England a month sooner 
 I should hope it would not have made any
difference, Lai laughed, but not too easily.
He had a great belief in Merreday's fascination
for women, and did not feel too sure that Nell,
against her own innocent will, might not have
succumbed to it had she come under its
influence before he had bound her to himself.
But he shook off the idea quickly. It seemed
a little disloyal to her to have entertained it at
all.  I am glad you thought of calling her
Nell, he said, in order to change the subject;
"it suits her better than Helen.
 Of course it does, Merreday answered.
 Besides, you don't want to feel as if you were
an ancient Greek going about with a future
statue. I put her up to calling you Lai, too,
and lots of other things ; told her to treat you
with a little less reverence. I believe she
A WILD PROXY.
89
thinks matrimony is a new religion, she takes
you so respectfully. Now, if she were engaged
to me 
 But you see she's not, said Halstead a
little distantly.
 Rather a pity for her, thought Merreday;
"she would find it a little more lively if she
were. Then he asked,  What are you going
to give her for a wedding present ? Made up
your mind ? 
 No, I've not thought of it yet.
 By George ! talk of being engaged ; you
behave as if you hadn't even been christened ;
how you are going to get married I don't know.
Rather wish you hadn't been in such a hurry.
I believe I should have proposed to her
myself.
 Perhaps she wouldn't have had you, said
Halstead, who didn't like this sort of joke, and
thought that Merreday was too persistent with
it.  I thought you were rather inclined that
way when you sent those flowers.
 So they hurried you on. Well, you ought
to be proud of her.
 I am.
 May the Lord reward you for it, said
Merreday solemnly. Then he continued : "I'm
going down to my banker now. By the way,
90
A WILD PROXY.
you'll want some circular notes for Thursday for
this precious honeymoon of yours. He walked
down Grosvenor Place thinking,  It's lucky
for him that he's marrying a girl of not quite
twenty ; she would have found him pretty slow
if she'd been five years older, I can tell him.
Women expect a good deal when they get to
that age, if they have any power in them at
all. He hailed a hansom, and drove on, not
that he was in any hurry, but simply because
it went faster than he could walk, and a strange
hunger to get on quickly, for ever to be moving
forward as swiftly as possible into the future,
was one of the strongest feelings with which
the demon was possessed.  I believe he is
inclined to be jealous of my liking Nell. Wish
I could frighten him a bit, and wake him up.
What a lark it would be, and do him a world of
good. Nell—Nell, he repeated as he whirled
along,  I wonder,—I wonder how it will be
with you in five years' time. A little bitter-
ness came into his heart. He was arranging
everything, he was in uproarious spirits, and
enjoying himself immensely, but all the time he
knew that had the chance been given him he
could have loved his cousin's fiancee better than
he would ever love any other woman on earth,
and to have married her—the very thought
A WILD PROXY.
91
made his heart leap. Well, it didn't matter, he
would laugh it out to the end.  But, my God,
if she'd been mine!  and he ground his teeth.
 She will find life a little more cut and dried
with him than she would have found it with
me.
CHAPTER V.
93
CHAPTER V.
MR. LAMBERT was not very well on
the wedding-day. He managed to give
the bride away, and to sit by her at the
ddjeuner', but afterwards he crept away to lie
down, telling her to come and see him before
she started on her wedding journey. For the
rest, it was a glorious day ; the sun blazed, the
air was still, and all Queen's Gate was plea-
santly excited. The bridegroom looked tall
and picturesque as he stood by the altar rails.
Now and then, glancing down the aisle, he gave
a little dreamy nod to some one he knew in
a manner that made half a churchful of hearts
beat quicker. Merreday was wilder than ever,
though he managed to look discreetly grave
as he stood by Halstead's side whispering
ridiculous directions.  When the bride
comes, he said, "you advance a step to meet
her. Some bridegrooms kiss their brides'
hand, but this is often embarrassing, for she
95
96
A WILD PROXY.
may be holding her veil as well as carrying
her bouquet. But he always whispers some-
thing appropriate when she arrives. It must
only be one word—' darling,' for instance, or
' sweetest—' by which time the bridesmaids will
have advanced. If you can't speak because
you feel like an idiot, just keep your eyes
turned down on her; that rounds off the
moment before the parson begins. The seven-
teenth man I saw through at this business said
' Golly!' when his bride appeared, but it
wasn't a success.
 I shall say something to you soon that will
amaze you  began Halstead.
 She is coming, and she looks splendid,
Merreday whispered excitedly;  walks like
an empress. If you'd only drop down dead,
Lai, I'd cover up your corpse, and marry
her in a moment, before she found out the
difference.
 Oh, if your gabble would cease !  Halstead
exclaimed in a whisper. Luckily circumstances
obliged it to do so.
Lai looked at his bride half in wonder as
they drove back to the house, and kissed the
edge of her veil.
 I can't believe it yet, he said; "it seems
too good to be true.
A WILD PROXY.
97
"And I cannot, she whispered, and her
eyes filled with tears, Lai remembered them
later on in many different moods,  but it
is true.
Weddings are much alike: and this one
showed no difference.
 You must leave here at four, Merreday
said—he had sobered down a little— and
you'll be in heaps of time. I shall get to
the station half an hour before to register the
luggage and secure you a compartment to
yourselves, and then my offices as best man
come to an end.
 Thank God. Halstead thought.
Merreday was at Victoria by a quarter to
four. He registered the luggage, took the
tickets, and secured the carriage. The train
was drawn up to the platform.
"The time is altered to-day, sir, said the
porter. "July ist, it goes now at 4.20.
"By Jove, thought Merreday, "it will be
a pretty business if they don't come in time.
They would have to dangle round for an hour,
and that idiot Lai would look bored, as he did
just now. I wonder if he'll fall asleep in the
train. I'll bet he buys a couple of evening
papers.
98
A WILD PROXY.
He went outside the station, but there was
not a sign of them. Back to the platform, and
up and down by the bookstall.
"Oh, Nell, Nell, he muttered, "to think
you are going off with that lukewarm dreamer,
who will never love you as he should.
It was a quarter past four.
 My stars ! they are late. His wild spirits
flashed back, and a sudden desire to do some-
thing startling took possession of him.  I
wish I could bolt with her, and leave him
gasping. Lord ! how he would stand stock-
still with astonishment.
He laughed aloud even at the thought of it,
and his eyes danced with mischief.
Eighteen minutes past four ; he was getting
excited.
Suddenly he saw them appear through one
of the entrances. They were talking excitedly
together, they looked flustered and hurried, as if
something had happened. He rushed forward.
 Here, Frank, said Halstead, "take charge
of Nell for a moment; there has been a col-
lision outside. We were nearly smashed up.
I fear the coachman is badly hurt; I must see
to him, but I'll be back directly.
In a moment he had gone.
Nell crossed to Merreday. There was a soft
A WILD PROXY.
99
grey wrap over her arm, a little bunch of roses
was in her hand. She looked enchanting : a
mad idea flashed through him, but he fought it.
 Stay, he said, putting his hand on her arm.
 Stay where you are for a moment, I must go
after him. You'll lose your train. There's
hardly a moment.
He left her standing on the platform, and
rushed after Lai. There was a crowd outside.
Halstead was there, calmly giving directions.
Merreday seized his arm.
 Never mind these people ; come away, he
said.  Let every coachman on earth die 
 I can't do that, Lai said, shaking him off.
 I must wait a minute. Go to Nell. I don't
like her standing about alone.
"Come away, laughed Merreday, "and
don't worry about anything that has hap-
pened here. You mustn't be too late for your
honeymoon, man.
Halstead pulled out his watch. It was a last
straw.
"Time enough, he said with the little smile
that always provoked Merreday. "This poor
chap must be seen to, he said.  I'll be there
directly. Go and take care of Nell.
"Nonsense, come now, Merreday said,
brimful of mad merriment, and feeling as
100
A WILD PROXY.
though a fiend were daring him.  Come,
now—leave all the fools round to look after
this business, and come.
Halstead shook him off impatiently.
"Come, Merreday said once more. It was
almost an entreaty.
 In two minutes ; go to Nell.
 I will, the other answered between his
teeth,  the gods have decreed it. Without
another word he turned and ran back to the
platform. She was waiting. He seized her
hand, and as he did so the scent of the roses
she carried swept across his face ; that remem-
brance stayed with him for ever afterwards.
 Come, he said excitedly ;  it's all right.
I'll explain, and, still holding her hand, he ran
with her along the platform, and almost pushed
her into the carriage he had secured.
"Oh, but Lai? she cried in astonishment.
 It's all right. He's coming. I'll explain, and
he jumped in. As he did so, the train started.
 Frank! I can't go without Lai!  she ex-
claimed in dismay.  I can't indeed, and she
tried to get to the door.
He pushed her aside, leant out of window,
and beckoned a porter.
"Here! Tell Mr. Halstead—you'll find
him in the carriage accident outside—that I'll
A WILD PROXY.
101
wire to him, care of bookstall, from the first
stoppage.
He threw the man a sovereign in his excite-
ment, thinking quickly, as he did so, that it
was a good thing he had filled his pockets that
morning, with the idea that Lai would want
some loose cash.
 But what does it mean ?  asked Helen,
astonished and bewildered, as she almost fell
back on to a seat. He turned and looked at
her, and for a moment was speechless at his
own audacity.  My God, I have done it, he
thought. Then he pulled himself together.
 It's all right, he said,  the man's a good
deal hurt. Lai wants to see he is taken care of,
and will follow by the next train. He put his
head against the side of the carriage and laughed
out with sheer impish mischief. "Oh, to think
that I have come—to think that I have been
sent off with the bride, it's too droll, Nell!
He laughed till there were tears in his eyes.
She stood up again in the middle of the
carriage and looked at him, wondering if he
were mad, and what he meant.
 Frank 
 It's all right, he said soothingly ;  he'll
come on ; don't be unhappy. You see he had
to go with the man, and he didn't want to keep
102
A WILD PROXY.
you dangling on the platform, so he thought
I had better take you on, and wait for him
at the other end. He'll follow in a couple of
hours, and I'll take care of you.
She swallowed down her disappointment as
best she could. It was no use making a fuss,
she thought ; it was very kind of Lai to see
to the man who was hurt, and it was horrid
of her to mind. She wished he had let her
wait, even on the platform. She had thought
that it would be so lovely to have the quiet
railway journey with him after the excitement
of the wedding, that it would rest her, and that
he would hold her hands, and look down at her
face, and say just the little short things he
always said, while now and again they looked
out together at the green country side. It was
such a strange thing to start on her honeymoon
with somebody else. Frank subsided a little,
he grew thoughtful, and stared keenly out of
window, but evidently he did not see an inch
of ground they passed. For a moment or two
he looked pale and eager.
 Frank, she asked,  how long will it be
before Lai follows us ? 
 About an hour, I suppose. It's all right;
he'll come fast enough, don't you fear. By
George, won't he ! 
A WILD PROXY.
103
She noticed that there was something
different in Merreday's manner, something
that made him almost hold his breath when
he spoke to her. Perhaps he was tired. He
had been very good all these past weeks,
she thought, and she ought to be grateful to
him, not only for all the trouble he had taken
then, but for taking care of her now. Of
course, since Lai had thought it better that she
should go on she would try not to be disap-
pointed ; she felt that she ought to say some-
thing, but she was too much surprised yet to
put any words together.
The train was slackening to get into Heme
Hill. Merreday jumped out almost before it
stopped, made inquiries of the porter, and
rushing to the telegraph office, asked for a
couple of forms. "Oh, what madness! he
thought; "oh, ye gods, that I should even
have thought of it. He stopped a minute to
pull himself together, then filled up a form for
Halstead :—
 Safe at Heme Hill, look for us in hotel
beyond the station, thought it better to come
on.
 It'll take him a considerable time to pitch
on the hotel, especially the way he does things.
104
A WILD PROXY.
He won't be able anyhow now to get on to
Dover till 9.30, that will be 7.15 from here;
and, as we shall be there half an hour before
he starts, he shall have a wire from there sent
here to cheer him up.
He wrote another telegram, and gave it in ;
but though he was shaking with laughter his
hand trembled.  I wonder what she thinks of
it, he thought, as he rushed back to the rail-
way carriage.  But it's better to do a thing
tremendously than to half do it,—it's the tre-
mendously that carries one through.
He burst into a torrent of merry talk about
the wedding as the train moved off again,
and told her a dozen little incidents that she
naturally had not noticed. He broke out
into the refrain of a song once, from sheer
exuberance of spirits. She could not help
being amused; besides, she could not well
sit in a corner and cry for her bridegroom.
The journey was not dull in spite of the dis-
appointment. Frank was so ridiculous, it was
impossible to help laughing ; and so she
managed to talk to him a little, and tried to
forget the disappointment in her heart, and the
strangeness of her company.
 I say, I should not wonder if he has
beguiled the time away by sending you a
A WILD PROXY.
telegram, Merreday said as they entered the
Lord Warden Hotel.  Any telegrams for
Halstead ? he asked, and Nell almost
betrayed herself as she heard the sound of
her new name. The manager handed her
a buff envelope ; it had come an hour ago. A
smile came to her eyes as she saw the address.
She opened it, and a little cry escaped her. It
said :
 Go on to Paris by night boat with Merre-
day ; will follow in the 7norning. Plave a good
time.
 I don't want to go on, she flashed.
 That's awkward. I think we had better.
T *a. ' >
1 won t.
 Well, of course, you'll do as you like, but
I believe you were married this morning; it's
rather soon to begin fighting your husband.
 Why can't I wait here ? she asked
indignantly.
 I expect Lai thinks we might be spotted,
and it would look rather odd. He is a chap
who doesn't like to be laughed at, you
know.
She considered for a moment.
 Very well, she said in a low voice.  We'll
go on.
io6
A WILD PROXY,;
"Sensible woman. To be called a woman
made her feel quite married.  We'll have
a comfortable little dinner, a walk after it, and
then enjoy the voyage across—if we can.
Go into the dining-room, and take possession
of a table at once.
There was an authoritative air about Merre-
day when he chose. She found some comfort
in it, and obeyed helplessly.
Merreday went into the hall, and wrote a
telegram to Halstead, who, of course, was
kicking his heels at Heme Hill :—
 Thought it better to bring Nell on; en-
joying it immensely. Ordered an excellent
dinner.
 I think that is calculated to astonish him
considerably. By the time he overtakes us
he will have some notions about looking after
his own. I must be mad—a stark, staring
lunatic. Never mind, it's the most brilliant
entertainment I ever had in my life, and he
entered the dining-room where Nell was wait-
ing. He prided himself on being able to order
an appropriate meal for any occasion, and he
determined that, considering the means at his
disposal, he would do himself justice.
She looked better after her glass of iced
A WILD PROXY.
107
Heidsieck. By the time she was peeling a
peach she was almost in good spirits. After
all, she was young and unsophisticated, and
the excitement of travel was round her; and
it felt very married-womanlike to be there
dining with Frank without a chaperon. She
enjoyed the feeling of importance it gave
her.
"Nell, he said, "this is the first tete-a-tete
meal we have ever had together. It is strictly
proper, you know, and highly orthodox. You
are a married woman, and we are relations
now—cousins : rather cut-and-dried, of course,
but excellent, considering the proprieties.
Wouldn't matter if we went to the North Pole
together; though I trust, if we go so far, that
it will be in another direction, and to a warmer
climate. He thought— I should say it will
be very warm indeed, as far as I am con-
cerned 
He got up, for his quick eye had seen a
telegram in the hand of the waiter, who was
bringing two cups of coffee. He opened it
without Nell seeing what he was about.
 You meant well, but I wish you had left it
alone. Bring Nell to meet me at the station.
This was Halstead's telegram. Merreday
io8
A WILD PROXY.
scrunched it up in his hand, went into the hall
and wrote a note.
 Dear Lai,—I have taken Nell for a little
expedition. If yon, dont find us when you
arrive, have a smoke till we coined
He addressed it, and gave directions that it
should be given to Mr. Halstead on his arrival
at half-past nine. He thought, "If you have
a smoke till we come, it will be a good long
one. This game is very exhilarating, but I
wish I knew how it was going to end. It
strikes me that the only thing to do now is to
flee before the wrath to come.
He went back to the table, and finished his
coffee.
 It's a lovely night, he said.  Let's go
for a stroll. We needn't come back here again ;
we will go straight on board. The luggage,
of course, had been registered through.
They walked towards the cliff. He talked
about all sorts of things. He could be agree-
able and calm enough when he chose. There
was something charming about him. Mrs. Ives
had found that out long since, and a score of
women after her. Nell tried, since she was
married, to be a woman of the world, and to
take things philosophically. By the time they
A WILD PROXY.
109
went on board she could hardly believe that it
was only that morning that Lai had kissed the
edge of her veil, as they drove together to
Queen's Gate; but her lip quivered when she
remembered it. She had lived through a good
deal since that sacred moment, and had seen
the world stretch itself out already into a
strange humour.
CHAPTER VI.
111
CHAPTER VI.
THE next morning they were in Paris.
The last thing before leaving Dover the
night before Merreday had sent on a telegram,
so that it might be given to Nell on her arrival.
It was written while the mad laughter and dare-
devil recklessness that possessed him were still
urging him from mischief to mischief.  By
Jove! he had thought, "it is magnificent—if
she only takes it in, and, bless her innocent
nineteen years, I daresay she will—it's the
finest lark that was ever invented.
A telegram was despatched to Halstead the
moment they reached Paris. It was sent to
Dover, of course, and the demon calculated
that it would be delivered about half an hour
before the first boat started for Calais, and while
Halstead was still fuming at the hotel.
1' Excellent passage across. Nell admires
Pans immensely. Dont hurry.
"3 8
"4
A WILD PROXY.
"He must be considerably surprised by this
time, Merreday thought.  I try to make my
messages cheerful to keep up his spirits, poor
old chap. This experience ought to teach him
to keep his wits alive to the end of his days.
 Oh, Frank. Nell exclaimed, as they drove
from the station,  Paris looks quite lovely,
with all the green trees. I never came abroad
at all before, and did not realise what a boulevard
was like. If only Lai were here, she added,
with a sigh.
"He'll be here soon enough, he thought;
 a good deal too soon from my point of view.
And then he added aloud,  But, meanwhile,
it's a glorious morning, sweet coz. Remember
that when you look back on it,—and enjoy it
now ; only a didactic idiot or a corpse at its own
funeral misses a first impression. Let's take
ours of Paris together, here in the sunshine,
and be merry.
There was a schoolboy abandon in his man-
ner, an infectious gaiety in his laughter as
they whirled along. After all, too, there was a
measure of comfort in remembering that Frank
was Lai's cousin, it gave her a sense of security,
a sort of voucher that she belonged to her
husband, and that he was hurrying on to her.
Even, if he had treated her somewhat like a
A WILD PROXY.
ii5
good and chattel yesterday, and sent her off
rather coolly, it was a proof of his ownership.
And in that thought she found a sweetness that
was at once a compensation and a reason to
laugh and be merry with Frank as she drove
down the Rue de Rivoli, and looked at the rail-
ings that bordered the garden of the Tuileries.
 It is like the inside of a story, she said.
"So it is—but with the wrong hero, eh,
Nell?
 Yes—you see "—she hesitated a little. He
had come so far, and had taken so much trouble,
that she did not like to seem unkind to him. But
it was only natural she should long for Lai ;.she
couldn't help doing that. "You are very kind,
Frank. And those last words smote him.
 We must stop here, he said, as they drove
up to the little hotel in the Rue St. Roch. He
left her in the carriage and went in, nearly
stumbling over the big dog lying in the door-
way. In a moment he came out followed by
the landlord, who bowed and smiled, and talked
very quickly in French to Nell, calling her
Madame, and telling her of a telegram that
had come for her last night, and awaited her
signature now at the office. They drove off
in search of it, and Nell signed her new name
for the first time, but was too impatient to take
116
A WILD PROXY.
account of it. Then she tore open the telegram.
It ran :—
 Go on to Marseille with Frank ; will follow
as soon as possible.
He watched her while she read it.
 I shall go back. Her eyes flashed, and
her cheeks grew crimson. He thought it would
be very awkward if she insisted on going back.
"You would only pass him on the road.
 Why couldn't he let me wait for him yester-
day, and why should I be hurried on like this ?
He can't understand a bit. She said it almost
bitterly.
The laughter was deserting this wild joke
of Merreday's. His face grew pale as he
answered,—
 Probably he knows crowds of people in
Paris, and doesn't want us to be seen here.
You see, it would look so odd.
He might have remembered that before he
sent her on, she thought; but she kept her
lips closed. After all, she was very young, and
knew so little of men's ways. Some men were
very matter-of-fact with their wives, and cared
little for them once they were married. She
knew that; she had not been out two seasons
for nothing ; but she had thought Lai would
A WILD PROXY.
117
be so different. Of course he could not help
staying behind himself, but why should not
she have stayed with him ? She was not
a criminal to be hurried out of sight. She
might at least have been allowed to remain
in Paris.
 Why does he send me away farther and
farther with you ? I could easily have shut
myself up in the hotel till he came. Pride
and anger were rising in her throat.  I shall
not go on, she repeated firmly.
"Well, of course, you'll do as you like.
You see, he probably thinks we had this
telegram in time to go on by the morning's
train. He may be going through to Marseille
by it himself, and looking for us. He may be
there before we are.
 Then let us go on, she said doggedly.
He gave a sigh of relief; to go back, or to
stay in Paris till Lai found them, would have
had a tameness in it little enough to the
demon's taste. To retreat or to stand still,
to him was maddening. The great charm of
the world he had once said was that it never
stopped going round ; and of time that it never
turned back.
 Let us go on, he echoed, as they drove
away ; and his face lighted up with merriment.
118 A WILD PROXY.
 Let us go on by the next train, but meanwhile
we will give ourselves away to the morning.
Have you learnt that art yet? Teaches you to
enjoy the moment,—always seize it, for, as the
moralist says, it never comes again. His spirits
were uproarious ; he peered at the faces of the
passers-by, he could have lifted up his voice
and sang as they drove down the boulevard.
 Depend upon it Lai's all right, he said, and
she was comforted by his confidence.
 Oh yes, she said bitterly again.  I am
very ungenerous to him, she added gently,
 for of course he knows what is best.
"Well, whether he does or not, it is always
admirable in a woman to think that the man
she has had the misfortune to marry is right,
at which she laughed a little. She didn't like
to tell Merreday that it was so strange to be
travelling with him alone, for it did not seem
to occur to him for a moment. After all, he
was not an ordinary man ; he was much more
like a great schoolboy than anything else.
He was so very innocent, too, she thought,
naively. She didn't believe that he had ever
flirted with anybody, and she felt sure that
making love would bore him enormously ; it
was not at all the sort of thing that he would
do. Then, of course, too, he was Lai's relation
A WILD PROXY.
119
—that made a difference. It was a great
comfort to her to remember this.
"You see, he went on, a brilliant idea
dawning upon him,  that man who was hurt
may be dead or dying, and Lai wanted as a
witness at the inquest.
 Of course, she said, with an air of relief.
 I ought to have thought of that; or it may
be a thousand other things.
(  Of course, it may be a thousand things,
he repeated.  They may think that Lai
killed the man on purpose, for instance ; in
which case he will be taken up and hanged.
People have no business to massacre a coach-
man as a decorative deed for a honeymoon.
 Oh, Frank ! 
 Or they may think he did it by accident
when he was having a first domestic quarrel
with you, in which case they will only bring it
in manslaughter. Any way, here we are at the
Grand Hotel; there was some mistake about
the rooms at the other place. You shall rest
for a few hours, while I look round and see
to things. You must want it, poor baby.
He was very thoughtful, she told herself.
He remembered all manner of little comforts
for her ; and a simple-hearted tenderness came
into his voice, and now and then a look of
120
A WILD PROXY.
something that was like compassion into his
eyes. He had wonderful tact, too ; it would
not have been possible to have travelled with
any other young man in the world and not
have felt very awkward indeed, but with him it
was rather like being out with a harum-scarum
playfellow. When Lai came she would tell
him everything Frank had said that was
ridiculous : it would amuse him.
Merreday walked along the Boulevard sorely
puzzled.  This lark is growing too big, he
said to himself.  How it's to end I can't
conceive. Of course, if Lai isn't a fool he'll
batter my head in for me the moment he gets
the chance, and send me on my way rejoicing.
I shall despise him if he doesn't. However,
I've given him an excellent lesson in looking
sharp after his wife.
The worst of it was that his spirits were
beginning to flag, for, try as he would to help it,
he was falling more and more desperately in
love with Nell every moment, and with this
knowledge he knew that it would be a very
difficult matter to treat the whole thing as
a joke to Lai. "Besides, he went on, "the
moment they get together again, of course,
she'll hate me, and mean to hate me to the end
of her days. I shall have to keep out of her
^4 WILD PROXY.
121
sight for at least five years. By that time it
will have occurred to her, perhaps, that, after
all, I was only a maniac. She'll think me a fool
for my pains, of course, and make me her
guide, philosopher, and friend, on the strength
of it. The only thing I can do at present is to
get the most I can out of it, the ' tremendously '
carries one through. His spirits came back.
Paris was looking delightful, and there was
always something exhilarating in the air; it
would be folly not to be happy. The
Boulevards were animated, the trees thick
and green, the sky was blue enough for
Italy.
 Oh, but it's splendid! it's the finest time I
shall ever have in my life ; it's a pity not to pro-
long it now that we are in the thick of it, and,
after all, Nell is coming to no harm. I wouldn't
hurt a hair of her head for worlds. I love her,
poor baby, and I shall never get her again to
myself. She shall have a royal day for her
only one in Paris, we'll lunch and drive to the
Bois, and talk everything but sentiment under
the trees, and dine and drive to the station. I
must get some money to make things straight,
and send another telegram. Nell must have
one at Marseille. After all, he laughed,
 there is a singular joy and delight in keeping
122
A WILD PROXY
a woman dancing at the end of one wire and
a man at the end of another. I may as well
continue the exercise as long as possible. It'll
be grilling hot at Marseille ; we ought to get
on to some cool place before he arrives.
Happy thought! He wanted to go to the
Italian Lakes; I'll personally conduct Nell
there. We might go by boat from Marseille,
that was one of his own little suggestions, and
it is only polite to pay attention to them;
besides, a voyage would give our journey a
pleasant variety, and the Mediterranean is
never really too hot.
He wandered down the Avenue de 1'Opera
looking for a banker who knew him a little.
He arranged his money affairs, then sent a
telegram on to Marseille addressed to Mrs.
Halstead, to await her arrival.  I know it
gives her joy to see her new title, he said,
 and it's really kind to indulge her.
 Go on to Genoa by boat; will join you there
in a week.
 That will give us breathing time, he
thought,  and if Lai doesn't give up the chase
he will probably by that time be looking for
us at Fontainebleau, or the Lord knows
where else.
A WILD PROXY,;
123
Nell was sitting by the window in the long
reading-room at the Grand Hotel, looking out
at the fountain in the forecourt. He laughed
as he caught sight of her. What a glorious
girl she was ! and no matter if Lai did batter
in his head for him hereafter, this good time
was cheap at the price ; besides, when he came
to think of it, he was really educating her for
him. She would have so much to recount, and
life was only worth its experiences. She came
to meet him with a smile ; as she did so the
sunshine touched the bangles on her wrist and
glorified them, and he loved her; and she
looked so slim and girlish that he felt it would
be absurd for any one to argue that, even though
his years were very few more than hers, he was
not venerable enough to travel with her to the
moon.
 I'm so much happier, she said ;  for I've
been thinking it over, and am certain that it
is some difficulty about the carriage accident
that has kept him. Of course, he wouldn't tell
us what it is in the telegram. You know he
never talks much, so that it is only natural he
shouldn't write much, and 
 It's a mere miracle that he even tele-
graphed, all things considered; and really it
must be a fearful exertion to him, he laughed.
124
A WILD PROXY.
"Come, let us go and see Paris. We'll have
simply a glorious day. We'll lunch at the Lion
d'Or (best place in Paris, to my mind), and do
everything that is miraculous.
They went gaily down the Boulevard.
After all, they were so young, it was difficult
to take things seriously. They lunched, and
loitered about the thoroughfares. He bought
her some chocolates, and they drove about in a
little fiacre, which he half filled with flowers, in
the reckless, lavish way that characterised him.
 The Parisians will think that though you
look like a queen or a baby you are really a
prima donna, and being taken round by a small
section of your devoted audience. Flowers are
made for prima donnas, from the French point
of view. That's why they put them in baskets
and hang satin bows on to them.
He pointed out the direction of Notre Dame,
and took her into the Madeleine. Then,
with a sudden, happy thought, he insisted on
driving her to Napoleon's tomb,  because, he
said,  the English are a perfect nuisance
till they have seen it; but when they have
once done so they never want to go near it
again. They would as soon go twice up the
Monument. By the time they were driving
across the Place de la Concorde she was almost
A WILD PROXY;
125
happy, and he was thankful not to hear Lai's
name every five minutes ; for he felt that,
though it was a most excellent sound in its
way, he had already been treated to too much
of it.
 By way of a climax, he thought,  she
shall go into the Magasin du Louvre and buy
some rubbish. Nothing pleases a woman so
much as to run up a bill and see some one else
pay it.
CHAPTER VII.
127
CHAPTER VII
HE Fraissinet et Cie. boat had only two
English passengers—a man and his in-
valid wife—when Merreday and Helen went
on board her at Marseille, but there were
plenty of French and Italian. By this time
Merreday could not blink the fact to himself
that he was madly and blindly in love with
Helen, but to his credit, at least, be it said, that
he did not show it. All the fun of his escapade
had deserted him. He was grave and silent:
his one idea was to keep her as long as pos-
sible with him. Once they parted it would be
all over. He shuddered at the thought.
The worst of it was he could not believe that
she was very much in love with her husband.
He did not think that Lai was the man to pro-
voke a grand passion, or that any woman under
five-and-twenty was capable of entertaining one.
He also felt certain that Lai was not violently in
love, not because he did not appreciate the girl
9
13°
A WILD PROXY.
he had married, but simply because it was not in
him to care very much for anything. Merreday
did not understand still waters running deep in
a man. He thought that women liked demon-
strative lovers, no matter what they might say
to the contrary, and he considered that it was a
man's nature to be demonstrative if he went in
for being a lover at all. He had always been
impatient with Lai for taking Nell so calmly,
and half the fun of this joke had been the
pleasantly savage conviction that he was giving
him a lesson, and teaching him to be a little
more eager over the great affairs of life. Merre-
day himself was eager over the little ones too.
He had the special gift, not so much of violent
emotion, as of being alive; he could have
shaken the men who were not like him in this,
for he did not believe in their being alive
without ample evidence of it. Hence his view
of Lawrence Halstead.
Nevertheless, he was beginning to fear that
what he had, after all, done only as a lark
might be taken very seriously indeed, and there
was a certain desperate comfort in this idea,
since it would throw Nell on him. Perhaps
Lai would get a divorce; but he hated the
thought of that—for, even though it set Nell
free, it would be disgrace. One of the odd
A WILD PROXY.
131
things about this affair was that, though he
dreaded losing her more than he dreaded any-
thing else on earth, he hated and despised
Lai, whether he was desperately in love or
not, for not turning up at every street corner,
and thrashing the life out of him.
The boat stopped a couple of hours at Nice,
on its way to Genoa, but they had no heart
to land. Moreover, Merreday complained that
his head was bad. They stayed together on
deck, and did not talk. She sat thinking
how strange it was to be at these foreign places
that she had so much longed to see, and only to
feel a weariness—a desire to shut her eyes upon
them, to sleep and forget. She was tired and
drooping and indignant in turn, and by fits and
starts. Sometimes she almost hated Lai. She
had done so when she read the telegram at Mar-
seille, with its curt orders. He could surely
have put one word of endearment, even into
a telegram. After all, as Merreday had said
to Mrs. Ives, love and hate are just a toss up ;
sometimes one comes down, and sometimes
the other, and the distance between them can
hardly be measured. One thing was certain—
she was growing more and more grateful to her
companion. She felt quite affectionate towards
him by this time, and hardly liked him to go
132
A WILD PROXY.
out of her sight. He was so full of tact and
understanding—so thoughtful and careful of
every little comfort for her. His voice went
through her sometimes, and brought the tears
to her eyes. He did so many little things, too,
that catch a woman's fancy. He could place a
cushion behind her head when she was tired,
and find the eau-de-Cologne in her travelling-
bag ; and, though he affected to despise books,
he could quote poetry, putting a new meaning
into it altogether. She thought that the girl
he married would be very happy.
 Do you know, dear Frank, she said (for
once or twice in the last day or two she had
called him that in a grateful mood),  sometimes
I think I shall never see Lai any more; that it
is all over for ever. This was on board the
boat too, as they sat and watched the people
coming back from a stroll on the Nice shore.  I
wonder what I shall do. I have such a home-
less feeling ; I couldn't go back to London, for
I think of it as the starting-point of a tragedy.
Oh, but it's all nonsense. Of course he is
staying behind for some good reason, and,
because he is a man, he doesn't know how just
one little letter would make me so very patient.
It is his not sending me even a word that I
resent.
A WILD PROXY.
133
Merreday looked at her dumbly. Suppose
her husband did refuse to believe in her, and
to take her, where was she to go, and what
would she do ? His heart answered swiftly
that she should be with him, and go to Cairo
and be gloriously happy; and the British
matrons should be as shocked as they pleased.
He hated the British matrons with virtue for
their one possession; they needn't take so
much trouble to guard it, he thought, no mortal
man would snatch it from them for the world.
Yet, in spite of his sarcasm, he knew that he
was as narrow as any one of them ; for he felt
that though if Nell came to him, no matter in
what guise, he should be faithful to her, yet,
odd being that he was, virtue in a woman, even
its outward seeming, was more to him than
anything else. Yes, even on virtue in its most
narrow and restricted sense, he put an unlimited
value. He had not been very lenient to women
who had stepped over the traces, and he knew
perfectly that it would be a bitterness to him
to remember that the woman he loved best on
earth had done it even for him. All the same
they were there together, in that sweet summer
time, on board ship, on the other side of Europe,
with not a single soul they knew within speak-
ing range. They were mortal man and
134
A WILD PROXY.
woman. The woman was—only a woman.
The man was aching with a mad and passionate
love, that grew wilder and deeper every moment
he was with her.
 And if you never went back, and if he
never found you? He spoke almost in a
whisper. Her lip went down like a baby's.
"I only say 'if,' dear Nell; what would you
do ? 
 I think I should break my heart, she said.
 But, of course, I shouldn't; for I know that
hearts don't break.
She was beginning to be cynical, he thought.
Oh, poor Nell!
"I should read and study, and try to make
myself clever, she went on,  so that he might
think some day that, after all, I had been
worth loving though he had deserted me. I
should like to think, too, that the love I gave
him—and I shall always love him even if
I never see him again—was after all worth
having. I will try and be very, very good and
—everything all my life, she said, with a little
catch in her breath,  in order to make it so, for
there is no one in the world like him. I have
thought, and she looked up at him with her
innocent eyes full of tears,  I have thought
of him so cruelly once or twice lately, but that
A WILD PROXY.
135
has never lasted long, and it has made me love
him more afterwards ; for of course I know,
really, that all this is not his fault, and will be
explained away.
 And if it never is, he said, and there crept
a terrible eagerness into every word as it was
spoken, "and if it never is,—why then you
intend to turn yourself into a paragon of learn-
ing and cleverness in order to make him fall
down and worship the intellect of the woman
to whom he did not give enough human love
to satisfy her ? You won't get much out of
that, dear. The arms she loves holding her
prisoner are better than a dozen intellectual
triumphs to any woman that ever lived.
 I don't want intellectual triumphs 
"Or any nonsense of that sort, eh? he
laughed.  I understand ; you don't want learn-
ing or fame for its own sake, but only to
deck your soul, and to make him think how fine
a thing it is, just as you would deck your little
body with finery to make him see how pretty
you are. I know, Nell, and every man has
known—who is not a fool—since the days of
Eden. But don't talk like a third-rate poet,
or a disciple of one of those beggars who try to
turn every human being who has suffered into a
human furnace, in which he burns his own most
136
A WILD PROXY.
natural feelings in order to come out beautified
into something between a sham saint and a
second-rate cynic, for you'll get more pain,
and, in the end, less self-respect out of it than
out of anything else that is going.
 How do you know ?
 I have tried it. Most men try it once, and
then stride on wise with the knowledge of things
left behind; at least, that is my experience.
Oh, my sweet coz, how you would hate and
curse me if you knew It was nearly said.
 Well, and when you had made yourself clever,
and all the rest of it, what would you do
next, write a novel ? That's a woman's usual
resource.
"No, I think I should go on the stage. I
have sometimes thought I should like it.
 I hope, rather, that you'll go on a pair of
trestles after you have been arranged, white
and still, in your coffin. The stage is not the
place for you, poor baby.
 Why not ? 
 Never mind. It's a bad place, though lots
of the right sort of people take to it now.
She looked up at him wonderingly.
 I never did anything very wrong, she said
simply, "so I suppose I belong to the right
sort, and the more of those who go on the
A WILD PROXY.
J3 7
stage the better, because it will help to make
the theatre a good place instead of a bad one,
as you think it now. It ought to be good,—
it ought to be splendid,' she went on, with a
little glow in her voice,  for Shakespeare wrote
his plays for it, and they are full of beautiful
things : only the best people should act them.
He laughed out, but his laughter had lost its
ring of merriment.
 Oh, good Lord! to think that women are
all idiots, and the world is more than half full
of them. Come to dinner; eating is a loath-
some amusement to me just now, but the bell
rang five minutes ago.
 This girl will think by-and-by, and live,
he said to himself, as he drank his coffee in the
smoking place on deck.  She will do better
than read books that are merely speaking tubes
from the first men of all. I knew the first
night I met her that she would not tamely
sit down to rock babies and devise clothes.
Oh, fool and idiot that I was to see a woman
I could love and not get her, though I killed
every man within a mile of her.
She had been very grave at dinner. He felt
that, for the first time, she had been facing an
awful possibility; but a blind jealousy was taking
hold of him. He could not bear that she
A WILD PROXY.
should even think of Lai now, though he knew
that he was never for a moment entirely out
of her thoughts. He finished his smoke, and
went to look for her. It was nearly dark, the
air was soft and still, the lower deck deserted.
He found her near the bows.
"Come and walk about, he said.
 I can't, she whispered.
 Come!
She rose helplessly. They went up and
down for a few turns in silence. Then he
looked round at her.
 Poor baby. He said gently.  Is she
fretting for her mate ? 
The answer was a little sob.
 I know, I know, he said, and his heart
smote him. Oh! brute, wretch, pig that he
was, why had he done this thing, and now how
could he bear to tell her; still less, how could
he let her go ?  He'll be here in a week,
he said hopelessly.
 A week! she cried, under her breath.
"He will never come. I know it. It will
break my heart. She tottered, and nearly fell.
He longed to tell her all he had done, and then
to die for love of her.
 Come and sit up here, away from every
one, he said.
A WILD PROXY.
139
They went to the upper deck.
 There. Is she comfortable, my sweet little
coz ? She found the last word more and
more soothing since she had taken an interest in
his eyes : it sounded safe and relationlike.
 Now, let us talk it over again. Do you
care for him so much—so much still, dear
Nell?
"Yes; oh yes! she cried passionately,
twisting her wedding-ring round on her finger.
He hated the sight of it.  There was no one
like him in the world. He seemed so grand,
so different from other men ; they were—oh,
just men. It has been rather difficult to dis-
tinguish one from another. But Lai I have
looked up to and 
 Suppose you found out that a man who
loved you was a brute, a scoundrel, and only
fit to be kicked. He was white with rage
against himself.
"Frank, what do you mean? Lai is
. >>
not
 I mean if you did, he said quickly, wonder-
ing what his own chance would be if he con-
fessed everything, and pleaded his love as an
excuse.
 It would be dreadful: much worse than
seeing him die.
t40
A WILD PROXY.
 That is what a woman says who has never
looked on death.
 And as for loving him—I couldn't ; and I
should hate myself if I did. But why do you
ask me ? Lai is a thousand times better 
 Oh yes, he said bitterly,  but I think if
you had been mine I should have found you by
this time, or pulled the sky down.
She sobbed in her little berth half through
the night, in spite of the Italian woman who
snored unreservedly above her, for she felt
there was truth in Merreday's words. Her
head ached in the morning, and her eyes were
red when she - appeared on deck. He was
divided between the desire to kneel at her feet,
implore her pardon, and then jump overboard,
or to hold her in his arms closer and closer,
and kiss her till she died.
CHAPTER VIII.
I4I
CHAPTER VIII.
THEIR ship was moored at Genoa, and
it wanted three days to the time when
N ell supposed her husband would arrive.
As they neared the shore she looked up
ruefully at the white villas against the green
background, and grudged herself the sight
of everything that she was to have seen for
the first time with him. Still it was a wonder-
ful thing to be in Italy, and she walked up and
down the gold and silver street with Frank,
hardly believing it could be true that she was
there.
He bought her some filigree, and took her to
the Campo Santo,  Though why we who love
life should go among people who seem to love
death I don't know, he said.
"The people beneath these wonderful monu-
ments must have led beautiful lives, Nell said,
fascinated by the marble. But Merreday
walked past them half scofifingly.
143
144
A WTLD PROXY.
 I hate them!  he said,  stuck all round as
if they belonged to an aristocracy that had
drawn itself back into ghostly country seats,
while the populace struggled in the town. I
would rather be one of the people in the centre,
Nell, under a little black cross. Let's go back
to Genoa and see the cathedral. I've looked
it up in the guide-book—black and white stone
from Almeria, brought by the Moors. Don't
suppose you know anything about the Moors ;
but they were men who lived.
 Lived ?
"You don't understand what I mean by that
yet, but if you ever do you will feel that the
world has altered for the worse since their days.
It has been turned into a cage with bars for
the like of you then, and me now, to beat our
heads against. I shall beat mine against them
till I'm stunned. After all, the only good thing
to do in the world is to laugh.
 I don't understand 
"Of course not—happily, he answered, "so
let us drive back. Nearly opposite the red
palace there is the most meritorious cafe in
Genoa: they give you a divine breakfast, and
let you eat it in a garden.
So they rumbled away from the cemetery ;
but, instead of driving as near to the cafe as
A WILD PROXY.
possible, they got out at the flower-seller's, close
to the Doria Palace, and he bought her a little
bunch of starry-white blossoms for the front of
her dress. Afterwards, in looking back, she
remembered that there had never been a day
on which he had not bought her flowers. They
went into the church of St. Matteo, and looked
at the Doria hero's sword. "The man it be-
longed to is dust, but its power to kill remains,
when any idiot, with a passing spell of life, who
can get at it, chooses to use it, he said bitterly
as he walked away.  A hero is the finest
thing fashioned by God, yet he is more impotent
after all than the bit of steel that is called a
sword. The power in the one remains, in the
other it vanishes.
 But the man's power goes into the thing
he does, whether it is a sword or a deed, and
a deed once done is done to all eternity : that
is how he gets his immortality, and is proved
to have been good or bad.
 Nell, Nell, what do you mean ?
 It is not mine, she said, colouring,  some
one said it to me once.
 I'm glad of that. And he thought, "Oh,
my sweet, my sweet, it would be sad indeed
if you had taken to philosophy already.
They walked to the Cafe Concordia. It has
10
146
A WILD PROXY.
a garden; they Went down the steps to it, and
sat under some orange trees, and ordered break-
fast to be brought out to them there. Behind
was the restaurant and some rather gorgeous
rooms belonging to it. They could hear the
voices of the unseen people through the open
windows.
A dreamy meal in a sweet-scented garden
with the palms and the orange trees, the
laburnums and the pepper trees, making a
tangle overhead.
"You have been so silent lately, she said.
 Are you unhappy ?  She was beginning to
consider his looks, and to hang upon his words.
It was a sign of many things.
 I never talk in a church, or insult good
lood by trivial remarks, he answered, looking
at her with an expression she was learning to
understand only too well.  Let us eat and
be thankful, sweet coz, for we are in Italy
together, and the time may be short, and the
chance never with us again.
Some people in the room behind settled
themselves by the window, a little above the
garden, but having looked down for a moment
drew back, and probably began their breakfast.
Merreday and Helen could hear nearly all they
said.
A WILD PROXY.
*47
 Are you well ? she asked. In the last few
hours his face had grown whiter than usual.
 Not very, my head is like a windmill; but
it's only the heat. I am glad to be here with
you, only I wish those chattering idiots up there
were on the other- side of the Sahara; they jar
on my nerves.
 I am sure you are ill, she said, looking at
him anxiously.
 Oh no; only a few shreds of fever—the
old fever of last year. I was thinking just
before they came that no matter what yesterday
contained or to-morrow may bring, we are very
happy here to-day. It is good to sit in this
garden, and to listen to the hum of insects and
stirring of leaves ; probably the first man and
woman heard the same sounds and none other
in Eden. I don't see why all the millions after
them have lived ; they have only been a feeble
imitation of the first two at best. No one since
has had anything unadulterated. This is our
Eden for the moment, dear Nell. Those
people up above are the serpent, but more
noisy, and probably less agreeable.
Suddenly one of the unseen spoke.  Yes ;
on the whole Halstead's wedding is a warning
to my sex. Don't you think so? It was a
plan's voice,
148
A WILD PROXY.
 I hear he is such a handsome man, too ;
but he couldn't have cared much about her,
or he would have looked after her better, a
woman answered.
 He's going to get a divorce as fast as
possible. Lucky for him to get rid of her so
soon.
 Awfully clever, I should call it, said a
third and languid speaker. Then a silence
fell above and below, and the two in the
garden felt as if the serpent had trailed by
very near indeed to them.
Merreday's face went whiter, and a shudder
passed through him. He was suddenly wholly
awake, as he had not been before, to the
iniquity of that which he had begun in sheer
impish mischief, though he was continuing it
now from a passion that every moment was
getting a stronger mastery over him. A mad-
dening helplessness was taking possession of
him. What could he do ? Remorse would do
no good to him or her; a deed once done is
done to all eternity, she had said to-day. There
was no chance of going back and for ever un-
doing, and perhaps no explanations could set
things wholly right. He wished the strange
fever of last year that seemed to be rushing
through his veins again, till his head whirled,
A WILD PROXY.
149
and his eyes grew dim, would kill him as he
trembled with hatred of himself.  Halstead's
wedding is a warning to his sex, he repeated to
himself, and his bitterness came back as he
thought of Lai. "Yes, it is a warning to a
man not to be a fool when he has married a
woman worth loving. It was his lukewarmness
that roused the devil in me. I believe he'd
take either Heaven or Hell as if it were his
natural inheritance.
He looked across at her face—dear face, with
the dark hair drooping low over the forehead,
and the soft eyes that he loved better than his
life. Her pretty hands were trembling, but
she kept her self-control, and looked up at him
as though he were the only help she had in
the world.
 Nell— he said hoarsely, with a gesture of
desperate entreaty, and he could not say another
word. She put her hand down on his ; he was
shaking as if with ague, but with a violent
effort he controlled himself, though he was
wishing that the flames of hell could wrap
him round with their long tongues, and burn
him for ever as his just punishment. She was
the first to recover a little.
 Our ship is going to stay here all day
before it goes to Leghorn, she said gently.
A WILD PROXY.
 Could we go on board her again ? It would
give us time to think.
She felt as if she could not bear to tread the
earth, and only the sea would soothe her
sufficiently to let her think calmly over what
she had heard.
 Yes, dear, he whispered. The last word
sank into her heart, and was very sweet.
They walked away from the cafe in silence
and went down to the port.
The ship was deserted, and the purser agreed
to let them dine and sleep on board, provided
there were not many new passengers. As it
happened there were none, so that virtually
they had it to themselves. Nell stayed in her
cabin till dinner time, then she crept out, and
sat on the captain's right hand at the table
which was laid on deck. Merreday hardly
said a word. He looked ill, and he seemed to
be lost in thought; but once or twice his eyes,
when they met hers, were full of unutterable
love and compassion.
She went to her old seat near the bows in
the twilight, and when Merreday found her
there she was sobbing softly to herself. He
sat down, but his movements had grown
slow, and the look of physical pain was on
his face.
A WILD PROXY.
"Are you no better? she asked, trying to
hide her tears.
"No. He stopped, and asked, in a low
voice : "Is she crying ? 
 I can't help it!  she said.  I know at last
—I know that he never cared for me at all, and
he wants to keep away from me. He is going
to divorce me. If he had cared at all, as you
said, ' he would have come to me before this,
or pulled the sky down.'
She was silent, and, do what he could, he
could not help feeling an ungovernable con-
tempt for the man he had wronged.  After
all, unless a man is a fool, he gets at the
woman he loves somehow, he thought.
 Poor little soul! he said, with a shiver.
He took her hands, and held them up to his
face, but she hardly knew it, in her excitement.
 He can't love me at all, she repeated.
"But I love you, Nell"—for he could keep
it in no longer.  My darling, my life, I idolise
you.
 You !  She looked up, dazed.
 Yes—I, he said sadly, with a world of
tenderness in his voice ;  but don't let it
alarm you, dear one. I did not mean to say
it, or that you should know it. If it had only
been different! Do you remember that first
152
A WILD PROXY.
night at the Iveses ? I told her, when you had
gone, that I loved you. I have loved you ever
since.
 You, Frank !  she repeated, still half in-
credulous ; and yet, though she did not know
its meaning, for just one moment his words
brought a snatch of wild comfort to her heart.
"Yes, Nell, I love you, and worship you, and
would die for you—a thousand deaths if you
liked. It was said between his teeth, and more
to himself than to her, as if one self that would
not be restrained said it to another that would
have strangled each word as it came. But she
came quickly back to the reality of things, and
sent her thoughts towards her husband with a
desperation that was almost a prayer to him to
save her from that which was overtaking her.
 Oh, but I never thought of this! she
said, and would not let herself know that she
was drinking in every word he said.
 You shall never hear it again, my darling,
and she knew that there was desperation at
his heart too, "though I love you, and all the
sweetness in you, better than my own soul. I
have not said or done the least thing to vex
or harm you, all these days that we have been
together, have I ?
 No.
A WILD PROXY.
r53
"And I never will : but it has growp apace.
He said the last words under his breath, but
she heard them and understood. She got up
slowly and passed by him.
 Let me go, she entreated; her voice
trembled, and she was afraid to look up.
They did not meet again till the next evening,
but he wrote her a little note in the morning.
 Shall we go as far as Leghorn by this boat ?
It will be there to-morrow, and we should get
a quiet talk to-night. Send word ' Yes,' or
' No.'
She sent word, "Yes.
He looked no better when she appeared ; but
it was nothing, he told her, though he could
hardly trust himself to speak.
 Perhaps the ' tremendously ' will carry us
through yet, he said to himself. "If only this
confounded fever would not master me. He
went to the upper deck, and sat on a long cane
chair alone, through the sunset and past the
dinner hour, He did not want her with him ;
he wanted to be alone and to think. But
presently she came; he heard her step, and
turned to look at her coming towards him
through the twilight. Oh ! had he dared but
love her—dared but take her life in his hands,
i54
A WILD PROXY.
and hide her for ever from that other man.
She was beginning to love him ; but it was he
and not she who knew it. This last day or
two she had been different, and to-night she
was not able to meet his eyes. Since that
mad avowal she knew all that was in his
heart. He felt that she had changed. She sat
down beside him, but he managed to keep his
face turned seaward, as if he were watching
the night coming softly from the distance.
It seemed to have some strange knowledge
wrapped in its folds. He wondered what it
might be.
A long silence. She was not even sure that
he knew she was beside him ; but she was
thankful to be there. She felt that no harm,
from the outside world, at any rate, could come
near her while he was within reach ; and she
did not feel wholly adrift in the world any
longer. It was so strange to think that Frank
cared for her. She had taken him for a mere
harum-scarum who cared seriously for nothing.
But now she held her breath as she remembered
his voice yesterday, and the look of passionate
pain on his face, the struggle he had evidently
had to hide his love, till, in that one minute,
he betrayed himself.
She was afraid to speak. She sat quite still,
A WILD PROXY.
155
with her face, too, turned seawards, and listened
to the rush of the water as the ship cut through
it. The ship's officers below were playing
dominoes in the deserted saloon ; she heard
the clinking of the glasses. from which they
drank their syrup-and-water. It grew quite
dark, and eight bells sounded from amidships.
She thought of England, and felt as if it were
at the far end of the world. Perhaps she would
never see it again. She thought of her husband.
It seemed as if he had lived in the ages long
ago, and had only left her a legacy that was
half shame. She was going to inherit it soon :
it would be called divorce.
Frank turned his face towards her. She
saw his eyes in the dim light.
 Nell, he said.
She held out her hands and felt her heart go
with them ; the darkness seemed to gather a
little closer, as if the daylight would be sorry.
He caught the hands, and held them in a hard,
strong grasp, though he was shaking with ague.
"Nell"—he said.  My life—Nell! and
drew her face nearer.
A dry sob came into her throat. She stooped
and kissed him, and felt as if she had signed
away her soul.
CHAPTER IX.
157
CHAPTER IX.
FOR a moment there was silence ; then she
got up, and slowly went to a seat a little
distance off, and rested her face down in her
hands, while a feeling that was half shame and
half joy filled her heart and made her head
whirl. How could she help loving him ? The
other man had deserted her, and a wild scorn
took possession of her as she remembered it;
but this man had been infinitely tender. The
long days had seemed like weeks, but they
had been blessed ones, in which, happy and
miserable by turns, she had seen the places that
had been but dreams to her till she walked
beside him through their streets, and first be-
held their people. She thought of the dinner
at Dover by the open window at the Hotel,
and the merry day in Paris, and the drive to
the Bois. There had been two or three days
at Marseille too, long and sad she had thought
them at the time, but looking back now they
159
i6o
A WILD PROXY.
were very wonderful to think over. She
remembered every word he had said there,
the walk in the flower market, and the ices
under the trees on the Prado at night. The
frogs in the fountains had croaked aloud as
never frogs had croaked before, and he had
invented ridiculous legends about them, and
sworn they had come from the Egyptians.
Then there had been the walk down to the
old port, and up to Notre Dame de la Garde,
and along the Cannebiere ; and later, the sailing
away in the ship.
She lifted her face : the white flowers of
yesterday were still in her dress, but she had
crushed them till they had made a stain on its
delicate colour—in one mad moment, a month
later, she put her cheek against it. Then she
heard him get up from the long deck chair and
come slowly towards her. He put his hand on
her shoulder—it sent a throb through her.
Right or wrong, she loved him and could not
help it.
 Nell, he said. There was a tone in his
voice that made her look up quickly ; love and
passion were in it, but something else that
sounded like dogged determination. His face
was set and white, his head put back as if he
were afraid. He shook with pain.  Nell, he
A WILD PROXY.
161
said again, and shivered,  I can't go on with it.
I have been a beast and a brute. I wish Lai
would come and stick knives into me and kill
me ten times over. She stared at him with
astonishment.  I wish I could be burnt, and
hanged, and drowned, for I did it all myself.
 What ? she asked.  Did what ?
 I brought you away. I did it for a lark,
and I loved you. I think I did that from the
first moment I saw you.
"Yes, but—but"—she stood up and faced
him.  I don't understand.
 I have led Lai a fool's dance, and led our-
selves one in front of him. He didn't send us
on; he didn't know that I brought you away
from Victoria. I did it.
 You did it ? She was getting dazed.
"Yes, I thought it would be fun to give him
a wild dance, and I tickled his nose with a
straw in the shape of a telegram from every
place.
 But he sent us telegrams ? 
 I invented them.
 Invented them ? 
"Yes, and sent them all.
 Frank, you are mad.
 Yes, I am mad, Nell. I didn't realise
somehow that he would take it seriously at
11
A WILD PROXY.
first—nor how serious the whole thing was—
not till I heard those belated idiots yesterday
say that he was going to divorce you. It
didn't even occur to me that he'd put the
blame on you, as well as on me, and think 
 What does he think ?  she asked breath-
lessly.
"He thinks that we have run away with
each other.
 He thinks that! And you let him think it
all this time, and cost him all that pain? You
let him think that I was so wicked and cruel ?
 Yes : all that.
 Oh, but I can't believe it! And he is going
to divorce me because he thinks I have—done
this? He, staring at her through the dark-
ness, could see that her face was as white as
his own.  And you could do it for a lark—•
you could ruin our lives, and let me be made
shameful ? She put her hands for a moment
over her beating heart.
 Yes. And because I loved you too, though
I didn't mean to let you know that—on my
honour.
"Your honour! she answered, with a wild
burst of tears.  Oh, you don't know what
honour means. He ground his teeth, and
controlled himself with an effort.
A WILD PROXY.
"You are giving it me hot, he said, "but
I deserve it, and must submit, I thought you
loved me half an hour ago. That is why 1
found courage to speak. I love you, Nell 
—his face grew almost contorted while he
spoke ; but his voice was the same voice
that had gone to her heart the last few days,
and she could not get away from it— but I
am wiser than you, and know that we are not
stronger than the men and women who have
gone before us. While I only loved you we
were safe, but when I knew you loved me
back 
 Oh, I didn't, she cried,  I didn't. I
love my husband "—it was the first time she
had called Lai that, but it seemed to give her
strength— and no one else in the world.
 All right. But if you had cared, we mightn't
—it's all a question of what one cares for most,
Nell ; whether it's virtue or money, or a man
or a woman, he said cynically. "No; per-
haps that's wrong. You said to-day that the
man was the thing he made, and the deed he
did.
 A wicked, cruel deed "—she cried.
 All right, he said; "I am what I have
done,—but I expect I have made Lai think
himself a fool.
164
A WILD PROXY.
He laughed a weird, wicked laugh, that
enraged her. Mrs. Ives was right, he was a
demon.
 Oh, you are cruel, Frank, and I hate you.
She cried altogether bewildered.
"Yes, dear, you hate me; and you shall
hate me all your days if you like ; it will make
up for that one hour in which you loved me. I
shall remember it, Nell, all the years that you
are living your very respectable life with Lai.
Through the dusky night he could see that
her face was white and scornful. Her eyes
filled with hot angry tears. She seemed to be
trampling under her feet the remembrance of
her own tenderness to him ; its remembrance
filled her with shame, that he should remind
her of it was an outrage. He looked at her
curiously.
 Oh, I could kill you, for being so cruel
and so wicked, she cried as the tears fell
down her face.
 Rage suits you very well, baby, he said.
 A nice vixen you'll be in five years' time,
and I don't believe that Lai will know either
how to hold you in or to give you rein. She
threw her head back ; her cheeks burnt. It
was too much to bear.
 I shall go home the moment we get to
A WILD PROXY.
land. She said and moved back a step farther
from him as if even to be near him were an
outrage.  And I shall tell Lai how you ended
by insulting me, and laughing at him.
 You flare very well, dear, and you shall tell
him all—every word we have said and moment
that we have spent together. The sadness
and weariness he so often put into his voice
were there, and he seemed to be half tottering.
 I'll take you back to-morrow—rather a tame
ending, to return meekly, hand in hand, and
say we are very sorry. I'll explain it all very
neatly, and you shall hate me for the rest of
your days with a pure heart fervently.
 I shall go alone. I couldn't bear the
insult of your presence any longer. I will
never speak to you again.
 And a quarter of an hour ago you loved
me—you did, Nell—and you kissed me, he
said, in a low voice.
 I don't love you now. I hate to think
that I did, even for those few minutes. It was
wickedness ; and I would rather have been
burnt alive than kiss you.
"Or than do it again'? he broke out in his
odd devil-may-care manner.  You had better
tell Lai ; that'll take the sweetness and the sin
alike out of it.
i66
A WILD PROXY.
 I shall.
 I don't doubt it, and he'll forgive you, and
tell you not to do it again, and you'll live
happy ever after, strictly virtuous and deadly
dull.
 Frank, she exclaimed in despair,  I never
understand you.
 May you never do so, baby, for the things
and the people we understand lose half their
fascination. My dear, he went on, gently
and almost sweetly,  I have behaved, as I
said just now, like a beast and a brute. I
have made Lai look like a fool in the eyes
of all London, and cost him pain and mortifi-
cation ; but I'll set it right—though it can't
be undone. Trust me. The days we have
spent together have not been so bad after all,
and they'll never come again. Her cheeks
were burning still, and the tears were in her
eyes. She wanted to hate and scorn him
more, to flout him again, but her strength to
do it was failing, and every word he said
seemed to go right into her heart.
 Let me go, she pleaded chokingly.  I
want to be alone. He made way for her.
 Sweet, he whispered as she went by,
 you said just now you would rather have
been burnt alive than kiss me. I would be
A WILD PROXY.
167
burnt alive every day and night for- a year if
at the end of it I might kiss you again and
have you for my own. If I had loved you less,
perhaps, it might have come about. Without
a word she passed on.  And a mean beast I
was, he .thought when she had gone; "but
there are limits to all things, even to one's best
intentions. My God in heaven! how I love
her.
Nell was sobbing in her berth downstairs,
with her heart full of consternation and bewil-
derment.  Oh, my dear Lai! she cried,
presently—"what you must have thought me!
and what can I do ? I love you, darling—I
know I do. I love you with all my heart—
with all my heart, yes—yes—but, oh! I'd give
the world if I hated Frank a little more—if I did
not feel that I'd been-—— She put her hand
up to her throat, and held her head back with
something that was half terror and half shame.
 Oh, is it possible ?  she thought.  I cannot
be in love with two men at once. Am I bad
and wicked and cruel too ? 
The ship reached Leghorn in the grey of the
morning. Merreday, waking some hours later
from a miserable, fitful sleep, asked how long
it stayed.
A WILD PROXY.
"Eight hours, monsieur, the Italian steward
answered.  Madame went on shore early.
What the relations of the two were, with the
indulgence of his nation the man had considered
to be no business of his.  But she has left a
little letter, which I will bring. It was the only
scrap he ever had from her :—
1' I have gone home. We cotild not have seen
each other again after last night. I shall find
my way.
 Great Heaven ! I must get up and go after
her at once. But when he tried to do so he
found that he could not raise his head from the
pillow.
CHAPTER
[ Of)
CHAPTER X.
HELEN HALSTEAD felt, as she made
that strange journey back to England,
that she was a very wicked woman. If she
had thought about it at all she would probably
have called herself good till lately. She had
always intended to lead a really meritorious
life, fulfilling all her obligations to the best of
her ability, to enjoy herself as much as possible,
and to die, if she ever contemplated dying at
all, as gracefully as possible ; and to be buried
as befitted the social position in which it had
pleased death to find her.
She had, especially during the last week or
two of her engagement, been thoroughly in
love with Laurence Halstead, in a charming
and very young-womanly manner. She had
contemplated being devoted to him, and making
him an excellent wife. Now all her dreams
and intentions were simply a chaos. She loved
him, that was certain, and she was longing to
171
I72
A WILD PROXY.
get back to him, though she could not help her
thoughts occasionally straying in another direc-
tion. She felt that the one thing on earth that
would really comfort her and set things right
would be an unmitigated cry on his shoulder.
She had a distinct vision of it. She rather
hoped that it would come off under circum-
stances that would admit of his wearing the
flopping overcoat; then she could pull up the
collar against her face, it would have a soothing
effect, unless, of course, he stooped his dear
head, and—but no, she was not a woman of the
period, in spite of her intellectual excursions,
and she could not indulge in mental caresses,
even from her own husband. But she felt quite
sure that he would console her beautifully, and
she was content to leave the manner of it vague.
She could not bear to think of the way in
which he had been treated. All the same, deep
down in her heart, she was angry and disap-
pointed. She felt that he had not lived up to
the traditions of ill-treated heroes. He ought
to have followed her up on a flash of lightning,
have found her at last, and then there should
have been a terrible interview. He had taken it
all a little too calmly. He had not, as yet, man-
aged to hurl even a reproach at her, or to kill
Frank, or to blow his own brains out, but only
A WILD PROXY.
J73
to allow a rumour of divorce to be talked about
in an Italian cafe.
Frank would have acted differently. He
had behaved shamefully, but she could not help
feeling that he would have been a glorious
lover. She had a vision of what life might
have been with him—on board ship, for
instance, and in perpetual sunshine, with a
tempest-shaken perspective of maddening joy
and laughter. The days they had spent to-
gether were burnt on her brain. She could
feel the touch of his hand still, and hear the
sound of his voice in her ears. She turned
her thoughts desperately towards Lai. Oh
yes, she certainly loved him with all her heart,
and only lived to hear him say that he forgave
her, and to feel that for all the rest of her years
she would be safe by his side. She would do
everything in the world to make him love her
again, if he would only not divorce her. He
was strength, and home, and comfort—the
background and surrounding of her life ; but
in the foreground, and in the centre, do what
she would, there stood Frank Merreday ; and
she was not strong to turn aside, and put him
wholly away from her. She hated herself, but
that helped her on no farther.
She arrived in Paris quite early in the
174
A WILD PROXY.
morning on her backward journey, and drove
to the Grand Hotel. It did not feel like a
strange place, for she had been there already
with Merreday ; but when she had gone up in
the lift to her room on the seventh floor, she
felt very much alone indeed, as she remembered
that she was in a big hotel and a foreign land.
She threw herself down on the bed, and
determined to think things over. She had not
been able to do so very clearly in the train.
And then she would write to Lai. Heaven
only knew where he was, but a letter would
surely find him, even if it were delayed a
little. A telegram would be no good, for she
could not explain much in it, and she felt that
the sight of one must be maddening to him.
But in a letter she would tell him everything,
and beg him to come. She would tell him—
oh! if she had not cared for Frank ; or if she
could only get him out of her thoughts! But
she would tell Lai all that was in her heart.
She felt that if she concealed the least little
thing she would never be able to go to church
and hear the seventh commandment read out
again, or remember calmly that it was printed
in excellent type in the middle of her Prayer
Book. He should know everything, even
though he divorced her for it, or killed her, and
A WILD PROXY.
l7 5
married a black woman afterwards. Yes, she
would tell him that fearful story of guilty love
—but not in a letter. And then she fell asleep,
like the worn-out little soul she was, and had a
few hours' blessed forgetfulness.
She awoke with a start, stared at the blue-
and-drab curtains of the bed with astonishment,
and, suddenly remembering where she was,
sprang up, rang the bell, and ordered some
coffee. She had not courage enough to walk
into an eating-room by herself. Then she sat
down to count her money, and found that she
had forty pounds left of the sum her father had
given her, in a neat leather pocket-book, on her
wedding day. These little preliminaries over,
she ventured down to the reading-room, in
which she had awaited Frank a fortnight ago,
and, retiring to the screened-off portion at the
far end, sat down to pour out her heart and
soul to her husband.
She explained it all as well as she could, but
she felt as if she had done it tamely, though as
she wrote she loved him more and more, and
felt that if he would only send her, as she
begged, one little word by telegraph to say
that he was coming, it would be greater joy
than she could bear. At last the letter was
dropped into the box, and she returned to the
176
A WILD PROXY.
deserted writing corner again, but only to sit
down on the sofa between the two big palms
where so many people go for semi-secluded
and distinctly platonic flirtation. She wished
she could turn the world round a little faster till
Lai and her letter met, and he hurried to the
telegraph office to set her fears at rest. And
while she was thinking this, some one said, in a
tone of astonishment, "Mrs. Halstead! She
looked up with a cry of fear. There stood
Mrs. Percy Ives.
 My dear Mrs. Halstead, I should as soon
have thought of seeing my own ghost. Mrs.
Ives's attitude was doubtful. Helen felt it, and
said in a distant but rather shamefaced manner,
 How do you do ? 
 Mr. Merreday is here, I suppose ?  Mrs.
Ives saw that Helen's eyes were swollen with
crying.  Let us go away and talk, dear, she
said, taking her hand; "and don't be afraid of me.
I have not gone through life picking up stones
to throw at other women. Where is Frank ? 
 I don't know, Helen said chokingly.
"The young demon can't have left her al-
ready, Mrs. Ives thought.  Come to my
room, she said gently.  Percy won't be
back for an hour. You look as though you
wanted a woman's comforting.
A WILD PROXY.
177
Almost without knowing it, Helen found
herself sitting on the sofa at the foot of Mrs.
Ives's bed, relating her story. Her listener
was breathless. She heard it to the end, and
then suddenly rushed to the dressing-table
and looked for her eau-de-Cologne ;  for if I
hadn't, she told her husband afterwards,  I
should have laughed out.
"You poor little thing! she said aloud.
Helen was a good five foot six inches ; but
adjectives and their meaning so often go
separate ways on a woman's tongue.  That
boy is a demon ; but what a goose you were.
How could you think your husband such an
idiot ? Why, my dear, a man who could treat
his wife in that cool fashion would deserve to
live at the North Pole, with only a bear to
keep him company. I can't think how you
could go on.
 But I didn't know  Helen said.  I'd
never been on a honeymoon before, and Frank
was his cousin.
"Bless you! she laughed. "If Mr. Halstead
isn't an idiot, he'll love you all the more for
your innocence. But a man doesn't usually
send his cousin to do his honeymooning for
him. In fact, this is the only case in which
I ever heard of its being done by proxy.
I 2
i78
A WILD PROXY.
 Oh, don't laugh.
 I won't; but it is absurd, dear; though,
like many ridiculous things, it's not so funny
as it sounds. It set every one in London talk-
ing, and made Mr. Halstead look such a fool;
it was a joke at every club in town when we
came away. I don't wonder he bolted.
 Bolted! Has he bolted ? 
"Yes, indeed. First of all, he searched all
round Paris for you, put the police on, I believe ;
which would account for your not being found,
and for the whole thing being in the papers.
He came back, I hear—we have been away
from the day after your wedding, so I only
speak from hearsay—shut up his house, sold
his horses, and went abroad for a couple of
years.
 A couple of years ? Then he won't get
my letter! Helen exclaimed, in despair and
consternation. "Where has he gone?
"To the Rocky Mountains, I should say.
They appear to be the sentimental cemetery to
which men hurry to bury their various woes.
Depend upon it he will return in excellent
spirits to inherit the benefit of his experiences.
He will be quite surprised to find you awaiting
him.
 Mrs. Ives, said Helen, standing up and
A WILD PROXY.
179
walking across the room with her head erect,
 if Lai lives two years thinking I have run
away with another man I'll never speak to him
again. I'm angry with him now sometimes.
 Quite right, dear, and you look splendid
when you blaze. Helen thought of Frank's
remark two nights before.  Remember, he is
in a trying position ; imagine a bride bolting
on her wedding day.
 I'll never see him again ; that is the kindest
thing I can do for him.
 Nonsense. It must simply be set right.
I shall make a point of going everywhere, and
saying it is all a mistake and a wicked story
invented to prevent him from being returned
at the next election. That will assure one
half of London backing up the story. Of
course, we must telegraph all over the earth for
him now ; and when he contemplates another
honeymoon, I should say, he will take a police-
man at his own elbow, and another at his
wife's.
 I am beginning to feel that I can never
see him again. There was something in the
voice that betrayed a good deal.
Mrs. Ives looked at her curiously. Then
she put her arms round Helen's neck and
kissed her.
i8o
A WILD PROXY.
"Tell me something quite truly, dear, she
said gently ;  have you grown fond of Frank ? 
The hot blood rushed to Helen's face.
 No, she said, and her heart sank. Some
lies are surely rejected by hell in return for the
good resolutions it filches to make into paving-
stones.  But I don't think I can go back to
Lai.
 Then you'll have to go on the stage, it's
the feminine equivalent for the Rocky Moun-
tains ; but the return journey takes longer, and
is more difficult. What are you going to do—
immediately I mean ? 
 I shall go home to my father, she said
doubtfully.  I shall go to-day.
 That is wise. Percy shall take you as far
as Calais, and directly I am back—we are only
going to stay here a week—I will go and see
you.
The next evening Helen found herself at
Charing Cross. It was half-past seven when
she arrived, and broad daylight. She was
afraid to drive up to her father's house. She
determined to sit quietly in the waiting-room
for an hour, till the twilight came—men and
women are under so many obligations to the
twilight—then to take a cab to the corner of
Hyde Park Gate, and from there to walk
A WILD PROXY.
181
quietly on to the house. She was afraid to
arrive too ostentatiously, for she was uncertain
of her reception. Her stepmother had always
been kind, but she knew that she had strong
opinions about many things, especially of
morality, and the attitude that those in authority
of any sort should take up concerning it.
The servant who opened the door was dis-
mayed.  I mustn't let you in, ma'am, he said
firmly but respectfully. She looked up aghast.
 They are Mrs. Lambert's orders, he said,
coming forward and speaking in a low con-
fidential voice.  She came down and give
them directly after Mr. Lambert's death.
A little cry escaped Helen's lips.
 After Mr. Lambert's death ! Is my dear
father dead, Williams ? 
"Yes, ma'am; didn't you know? He died
three days after you went off with—Mr.
Merreday.
She was too miserable, and too proud, to
contradict anything.
 Which he never heard of, Williams went
on, as if divining her thoughts.  Mr. Halstead
kept it dark. For the first week none of us
knew, not till it was in the papers, he added.
 He didn't hear ? You are sure my father
didn't hear ? 
l8 2
A WILD PROXY.
 No, ma'am. Not a word.
 Thank God !  she said, holding on to the
railings for support.
 He was taken ill the night of the wedding,
and went off quite quiet on the Saturday, the
man went on.  You was telegraphed for, but
no answer was had, and then Mrs. Lambert
came down when it was in the papers, and told
us all if you come we was not to let you in, and
to say that the door was closed against you on
account of what—you had done, ma'am. He
said the last words as if they were a painful
duty.
 It's all a mistake, Williams.
 I'm glad to hear that, ma'am, he said
rather incredulously;  but I couldn't let you
in without orders ; and Mrs. Lambert is away-
now; they all went out of town directly after
the funeral. Shall I call a cab or anything for
you, ma'am? he asked civilly.
 No, thank you, she answered, and slowly
walked away. She went a few yards along the
main road; then, fearing lest she should be
seen by any one who knew her, and with a
desperate longing to be still, she slipped
through the as yet open gate of Kensington
Gardens. She hurried towards the trees, and
found a seat beneath them ; then she crouched
A WILD PROXY.
down, stunned by the news she had just heard.
It occurred to her in a dreamy way that perhaps
by an accident she might be shut in, and if so
she would stay there all night. That was what
she would best like to do—four walls and a
ceiling would suffocate her. She wanted to
cry her life out. She wanted to grieve for
her father, to realise that she would never,
never see him more ; and to think of her hus-
band, though her heart was growing cold towards
him, and, right or wrong, Frank Merreday
would come into her thoughts, with his tender
voice and compassionate eyes. She knew that
if Frank could only see her now he would go on
his knees and entreat her forgiveness again and
again, and be thoroughly miserable all his life,
and love her. She felt too that no one in all the
world could love so well, though his love could
never be given to her, and she must deliberately
chase him out of her thoughts.
CHAPTER
CHAPTER XI.
IVE weeks later and Frank Merreday
was once more in London. He had
been desperately ill since Helen left him, and
there had been a terrible conflict in his heart.
"Who would have thought, he said to himself,
 that a slip of a girl of nineteen, with dark eyes
and a walk like an empress, should have been
able to give me five weeks' torture not
unworthy of an ancient Christian gridiron when
a usurious Jew was handy, and that on top of
a raging fever ? Some things are ingeniously
arranged in this world. He also arrived
at Charing Cross Station, and stood blankly
wondering what to do.
 I know, he said.  Go to the club and
see if there are any letters. There must be
a cursing awaiting me from Lai. Wonder
what he thought of my letter. By George,
he must hate me, poor chap, but if everything
isn't right I'll see him and explain—if there is
A WILD PROXY.
anything more that it is possible to explain.
They are probably together, and as happy—
and as tame as two doves by this time. He
said it with a little shudder.  Then I'll go to
Hans Place, perhaps I shall find out where they
are ; the latest news about everybody is always
there. But at the club he heard for the first
time of Halstead's departure, and Mr. Lambert's
death, and an ungovernable desire took hold
of him to see Helen again. He looked
hurriedly through his letters without opening
them.
 Not a line from Lai!  he exclaimed.  If
he didn't get my letter before he started it
must have overtaken him long before this,
unless he has gone to some uninhabited spot
where there's no poste-restante,—sort of thing
he would do. He sat down dumfounded, and
looked at the men who dawdled in and out.
Not a soul he knew.  I suppose the beggars
are all away, he said absently. His face had
grown thin and pinched during his illness ; it
looked old and careworn as he turned to the
club window and stared vacantly out into space.
A look of pain came over it, and the lines on
his forehead declared themselves.  I wonder
if he did get the letter and she is away with
him, he thought.  It takes it out of me to
A WILD PROXY.
189
think it—though I try to wish it. I was a fool
not to keep her for ever when the chance came ;
but no, it was better 
The evening papers were brought in. He
got up and opened one mechanically. The
first words that met his eye were—
"We understand that Mrs. Laurence
Halstead is studying for the stage. His face
turned white with rage.
"It shan't be done. I must find out where
she is, and put a stop to it at once. Why
doesn't that belated idiot Lai wake up and
behave like a man ? She can't be with him.
Yet he must have had my letter, and I wrote
him every conceivable thing it was possible to
say. The stage, and he ground his teeth.
 My God ! I have ruined her. His face grew
whiter and more haggard still ; and then the
thought forced itself on him,  She had better
come to me than that. She should have a life
such as no woman ever dreamt of yet.
A man he had known entered, and passed
him with a distant nod. Merreday looked up
quickly. Was he being cut, and was it for
what he had done to Nell ? He shuddered
with quick loathing of himself.  I will find
her, he muttered,  and if she is not with
him  but he pulled himself up. No, he
igo A WILD PROXY.
would not, not even if she loved him, and that
fool Lai had gone to the other end of the
earth. Her name should not be righteously
dragged into the mud.  My dear one, I would
rather be crucified, he thought.  I will force
every lying word that is said of you down the
throat that utters it. If I only knew where you
were, and that this stage folly were not true—
and he took up the paper again. Suddenly a
thought struck him ; if it were true, Rose Volney
might know where and with whom she was
studying. In another moment he was driving
to Chelsea Gardens.
Yes, Miss Volney was in town, but going
away to-morrow, and too busy to see any-
body.
 She'll see me, he said, and walked in.
Miss Volney was drinking tea, and eating tinned
lobster and lettuce. Her sitting-room was dis-
arrayed, but the mantelpiece was still covered
with portraits of actors and actresses. Merreday
longed to sweep them on to the floor and stamp
on them.
 I didn't expect to see you, she said, with-
out any further greeting. "Why didn't you
tell me of Ted's death ? 
 Why should I? he asked. "You forced
him to keep his life a secret from you, the
A WILD PROXY. 191
least you could do was to let him keep his
death one. Who told you of it ?
 Ben Galton.
"Seen him again, have you? he said
angrily.
 You needn't be so disagreeable about it.
He's been in trouble, and came in and out for
a bit. He talks of going abroad. Merreday
looked at her with a long vacant expression,
then he remembered that among his letters at
the club he had noticed one addressed in
Jean's hand. He had not opened it yet.
There would be time enough to find out about
Ben presently.  You might have told me
about Ted's death, she went on again sullenly.
 I don't pretend that I cared so much, but it
isn't nice to remember that one went laughing
round while one's husband was lying in his
open coffin. He looked at her again for a
moment in silence.
"You're right there, he said.  I only kept
it from you for fear you should play the devil
with a man's whole life again. I came to see
you last time because he asked me. Keep
straight, if you can, for his sake. Look here,
he said with a sudden change of voice,  you
have heard about Mrs. Halstead, I suppose ? 
"Every one has heard about her, said the
ig2
A WILD PROXY.
woman scornfully.  She could not have cared
much for her husband, or she wouldn't have
gone off.
 Now, understand this for once and for all.
Mrs. Halstead is the purest woman on earth,
and my going off with her was all a mistake,
a trick ; I was a madman, and she was ■
 I know, every one knows, it was your doing
now. I suppose her husband will come back
to her in time. She's living with an old
governess of hers up on the next flat in this
very house, and studying for the stage.
 For the stage !  he said aghast. Then it
was true.
 It'll never come to anything. She only
does it to pretend to herself that her husband's
not coming back, and because she likes a little
misery. Lots of people do. They should taste
the real thing ; that would cure them of pre-
tending.
 Yes, it would cure them, he repeated.
 And you mean to say that she is in this very
building? What a little world it is. It ought
to get joined on to another planet : it isn't
large enough as it is even to hide its people.
He was talking to himself, not to her, and
seemed to be considering something that had
nothing to do with Mrs. Halstead. Suddenly,
A WILD PROXY.
193
with a start, he looked up.  Look here, he
said, "you wanted to get some one to start
you with a theatre. I'll give you a couple of
hundred pounds towards it, and I'll write and
tell Sampson, my lawyer, that when you can
satisfy him that it's not going into the gutter
or to materially assist the devil, he is to hand
it over—one doesn't remember seeing a man
die for nothing. Keep straight ; I am off.
He stood for a moment outside the door,
looking at the stairs that led upward.  Have
you seen her ? he asked.
 Once I passed her. Are you going up ?
I think she is in,—and I saw the old lady she
is with go out an hour ago, so you'd have
her to yourself. Merreday turned round
savagely, with a look of hatred on his face
that made Miss Volney apologise.
 I didn't mean any harm, she said doggedly;
 I thought you'd got over looking at one like
that, I used to get enough of it in old days.
If it hadn't been that you had been fond of
Ted  some one came up with heavy boots.
Miss Volney stopped for a moment.  It's the
man about the hasps on my trunks, she said.
"Well, good-bye; I didn't mean anything 
 All right, Merreday said, with the old smile
that had always covered his sins, and wrung
i94
A WILD PROXY.
her hand.  I'm tired, but I'll write to Sampson;
that shall be all right. Good-bye. He went
slowly down towards the street. He heard
Miss Volney close the door with a little slam
before she retreated with the man to examine
her boxes.
 It's true, he thought as he stood outside,
"it's true. And she's there, in that house
behind. My Nell,"—he said the last words in a
whisper,— my Nell who loved me, and scorned
and scouted me. I wonder which she does
now, and what she would say. He walked on,
a few lagging, tired steps, and stopped, and held
on for a moment to the iron rails round the area
of the houses beside him. His breath came
quick and hard, his face went white, and he
was cold : at his heart there was the sickening
feeling of helplessness that had so often stag-
gered him in Italy latterly. A minute or two
and he was better ; but the weakness left him
a longing that was desperation to see Nell
again. He felt as if before him lay the choice
—to see her or to die, that life itself was giving
out with sheer longing to behold her. He
turned slowly back towards the flat. Miss
Volney was probably still busy with her boxes ;
and she had said that the old lady with whom
Nell was staying had gone out. Nell was
A WILD PROXY.
J95
alone; he might see her and hear how things
had gone with her, if Lai were coming back,
and whether he had had the letter. If she
scorned him again, why, it would be her voice
that did it, and the sound of it would be
compensation for the bitterest things she could
utter ; besides, in some odd way he felt and
knew that deep in her heart, struggle with it as
she would, there was something that belied all
her bitterness and anger. She might love Lai
as much as she pleased, but to the last hour of
her life she would remember a twilight out at
sea, and the moment when she had stooped her
head.  Long years of jog-trot matrimony will
not take the madness out of that memory, he
thought;  she will sit and think of it, and come
into my arms again a thousand times before
she dies, though I am never once there to know
it. Yet I shall know it, and he clenched his
fist, "whether I am with her, or at the other
end of the world—whether I am being exer-
cised on the hottest coals in hell, or treading
the staircase of the stars that goes up towards
the sun, I shall know it. He had entered the
doorway again. He went up softly, past Miss
Volney's flat, to the landing above. Life flashed
back and grew eager at the thought that with
every step he drew nearer to her. He stopped
196
A WILD PROXY.
before the front door of the flat. On the other
side of it was the woman he loved; it had swung
back to let her go in and out : in a moment it
would swing back for him. He was going to
see her, to hear the rustle of her dress as she
came forward to meet him, to listen to her
voice. He could have shouted for joy to the
accompaniment of his double knock. An old-
fashioned middle-aged servant appeared.
 Mrs. Halstead is out, sir, she said, and the
light died away from his face.  She's been
out all day. He looked at her blankly ; she
saw it, and went on quickly,  She'll be home
'most directly; she said she would be in by tea-
time, and it's five o'clock now. He had not
the courage to go away.
 I think I should like to come in and wait
a few minutes, if you are sure she will be back,
he said slowly.
"Yes, sir, the woman answered with a
pleasant Scotch accent ; and he was shown into
a little drawing-room. "If you'll just wait ten
minutes you'll see her, and she left him.  It'll
hardly be her husband, she thought,  for I
have heard that he was a tall man ; but I think
I did right to keep him, any way.
Merreday looked round the room. It was
simply furnished; there was a sofa covered by
A WILD PROXY.
197
an Indian rug beside the fireplace : there was
a brass guard before the grate, which was
empty, save for the screwed-up envelope of a
telegram, which had evidently been thrown
there hastily. The envelope brought back a
whole train of memories. On either side the
window was a basket reclining-chair. He
stood for a moment looking out, and wondering
if Nell were coming. Beside the chair to the
left was a low folding screen made of white
wood and fluted silk. Half-way down the
screen a little shelf projected, large enough to
stand a cup on, and on it was a little glass filled
with half-dead flowers. They had drooped,
he thought, like tired folk beneath the heat of
the actual summer, which for once had come
upon chilly England and given the whole land
a drowsy, silent air, as though it were a dream
of some great country of perpetual sunshine.
Some day, when that country awoke, then this
one would go back to its gloom and chilliness
again, and people would walk about doubtfully
wondering what next would be their portion.
A little book lay beside the flowers. He took
it up—it was a volume of Shakespeare, one
of a set evidently, and containing Romeo and
Juliet. He gnashed his teeth with rage. "Pro-
bably she thinks she is going to play it. Oh,
i98
A WILD PROXY.
that cursed fool Lai! where is he? A half
sheet of notepaper marked a place ; he turned
to it quickly : it was the balcony scene. He
read the lines on the top of the right-hand
page,—
 If that thy bent of love be honourable,
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,
By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite.
He threw the book away from him in disgust.
 That young woman had an eye to business,
he said savagely,  and knew uncommonly well
how to settle her own affairs. Great Heaven !
and people talk of the advantage of what they
are pleased to call literature. I expect the for-
bidden fruit was printer's paper in its first stage—
a sort of protoplasm, as these learned fools now-
adays would say. But for books, vice wouldn't
have a chance, except by direct transmission,
or spontaneous generation. He turned quickly,
for a little carriage clock on a writing-table at
the other end of the room chimed the half-
hour. He recognised the clock ; it was one
a maiden cousin of his and Lai's, the cousin
who lived in the riverside cottage, and wrote
religious stories, had given Helen for a wedding
present: he had helped to choose it, and had
^4 WILD PROXY.
199
insisted on its being one that struck the hours
and half-hours. She had left it behind at her
father's when she started on her honeymoon.
That she had it now showed that there had
been some communication. Yet, evidently she
was going on the stage. The paper had said it,
Rose Volney had known that she was studying
for it, and there was Romeo and Juliet on
the floor bearing witness.  She had better
come to me than that, he said again, and again
he quailed at the thought, even though he
loved her better than all the world. It was he
who had brought her to this choice—the stage,
or life with him, — a life that would stamp her
for ever. He shivered, and as he did so the
dull helpless feeling of weakness and illness
came back, and the ashen hue spread over his
face again.  I had better go, he said ;  it
will be better for her, come what will, and no
matter how blind an idiot Lai is, never to see
me again. But I must see him somehow.
He looked round the room as if to take
leave of it, and stooped and kissed the head
of the sofa : perhaps her dear face had rested
on it. He went towards the writing-table, for
he had noticed beside the clock a cluster
of roses, drooping, like those on the screen,
but arranged more carefully, half covering
200
A WILD PROXY.
a photograph in a frame. He wanted to
see whose portrait they hid : he pushed the
flowers gently aside—it was Lai's.  I'd better
go, he said grimly, and turned slowly towards
the door. He stepped over the volume of
Shakespeare, lying open and face downwards
on the rug; he wanted her to find it so;
perhaps she would understand.  She knows
how I hate theatres and books and all things
that are not done out in the open without a
roof between one's head and the sky. • God's
vengeance on Adam has surely been civilisa-
tion, and men will go on piling it up till they
all lie flattened out beneath it.
"Tell Mrs. Halstead I could not wait—I
am her cousin—I can't come again, I am going
abroad, he said to the servant, feeling as if
every word were a stone put on his heart.
Then he went slowly down towards the street
again, staring vacantly at Rose Volney's door
as he passed. Probably she was busy with
her own affairs, and would not hear him ;
besides, she did not know that he had returned,
though if she did what did it matter, or what did
anything matter now that he had put behind
him the chance of seeing Nell? He looked
up and down the street for a moment. She
might be coming. But no, there was not a
A WILD PROXY.
201
sign. "It is better, and I am not such an
utter scoundrel as not to feel it, he thought.
He drove swiftly to Hans Place. He felt
better as he went along, and glad to be going
to Mrs. Ives. He would feel rested with her,
for she was restful ; the whole house was that,
and scoff at civilisation as he pleased he liked
it as it was practised in Hans Place. The
dinner-gong was being sounded as he stood out-
side the door. It assured him that some one
was at home, and he walked in as a matter of
course. Mrs. Ives was in the hall, and gave
a little cry of astonishment.
 Oh, Frank!!' she exclaimed, "is it actually
you? I thought it was Percy.
 Percy is never as punctual as this, he
laughed; for at the sight of her his spirits
rose. He looked at her with a boyish, affec-
tionate expression on his face, grateful to her
for being there—cool and graceful as ever in
her thin black dinner dress. He drew a long
breath, and felt rested already. "You knew
I should turn up soon, didn't you ? He took
her arm, and they entered the dining-room
together. She was a little distant in her
manner, though she did not shake him off; he
noticed it, and felt as if the Fates were com-
bining to push him outside the world,
202
A WILD PROXY.
"Yes, I thought you would, she answered
slowly.  But I'm not sure that I ought to
speak to you after what you did.
 You mustn't turn against me, he said
simply, in the voice so many women had
listened to helplessly. "You can't do it, dear.
 I don't think Percy will let me 
 Oh yes, he will, he answered, settling
down into his own place at table.  Don't
treat me as if I were a serious ruffian ; that
would be ridiculous.
"Yes, of course it would, she said, half
appeased ;  but I wonder you had the courage
to come.
 I had not the courage to stay away.
 You look very ill, she said gently.
 I am ; but I've been worse. Do you know
anything about Halstead ? 
She noticed that he ate no dinner, though he
tried to make believe.
"Yes, a telegram has come at last—only
yesterday. He had just got ours at Sydney,
but the mail had left, and he can't be back for
seven weeks at soonest. I took it to Mrs.
Halstead.
"Mrs. Halstead! Have you seen her, too?
The world has evidently no hiding-place.
Then she told him the history of the Paris
A WILD PROXY.
203
meeting. He gave a long sigh of relief; but
he said not a word of his visit to the flat.
 Thank God you stumbled upon her, he said.
 You were always my good angel ; and you did
me the best turn of all in being kind to her.
 I hope her husband will be kind to her.
You have put them both in a horrible position.
 Probably it will do them a world of good.
Some people never wake up without a violent
shaking. They wanted it, or he did. What
did she say when she heard he was coming
back ?
 She put her pretty head down and cried
for joy. She is devoted to him. You really
were a demon, Frank!
"Ye-es, he said, slowly, between his teeth.
 So she cried for joy. The way you English
women love your husbands, if you only get
the chance, is perfectly appalling. That's the
worst—and perhaps the best—of you.
 I don't wonder at her loving him. He is
such a good fellow.
 Ye-es, he said again, still more slowly.
 He's awfully good, that's why there is so little
to say about him.
 You were never generous to him. I think
you might try to be so now. She put her
hand on his arm to soften her words.
204
A WILD PROXY.
He was silent for a moment. He said
once, in one of his cynical humours, that there
was a living woman to match every mood of a
man, which perhaps accounted for the feminine
surplus, and that Mrs. Ives soothed him better
than any one else when he was in a restless
mood. But to-night nothing had an effect
upon him.
"Why more now than formerly ?  he asked.
 He has taken the one thing that might
have been mine ? Because I didn't snatch it
when the chance came, I take a little daily
exercise in hell as a reward. He is probably
taking his in the other place.
His answer told Mrs. Ives how things stood,
but she was too wise a woman to betray it.
"You mustn't use bad language, Frank dear,
was all she said.
 Tell me, does she look well ?  he asked.
Mrs. Ives nodded.
 She mustn't go on the stage, he said.
 It's madness—rampant, raving madness.
"She never dreamt of it. She is staying
with an old governess at Chelsea. I can't
think how so ridiculous a story got into print.
 What could a poor lie do with itself if it
didn't get into a newspaper ?  Then he went on
abruptly:—"And so she cried for joy? He
A WILD PROXY.
205
pushed his plate away, and jumped up suddenly.
 I must go. Don't think too badly of me,
and he held out his hand. It was almost an
appeal.
 I won't, she answered affectionately.  I
know you are a demon, Frank, but I believe
you have a stray feather from an angel's wing
in your pocket.
 From your wing, he laughed.
There was a weary sound in his laughter.
Mrs. Ives heard it, and held his hand in
hers.
 Frank, she asked gently,  is there nothing
I can do for you? You always trusted me.
He looked at her dumbly, and nervously
stroked her fingers. With a quick movement
he stooped and kissed them, then with a jerk,
as though he wanted to bring the words out
before his own will stopped them, he said,
"You know—you know how it is. I needn't
tell you. A slip of a girl of twenty this time.
Last time it was a woman of five-and-thirty :
I trampled her into the dust, brute that I am,
and left her there. Now this girl is returning
the compliment. I don't believe that I ever
really cared a jot for any other woman in the
world unless it was you. I shall always love
you, dear—but that is different.
2o6
A WILD PROXY.
"Yes, that is quite different, Mrs. Ives said
softly.
 I wanted to see her, he said, bending for-
ward, and looking into Mrs. Ives's eyes in a
curious absent manner while he spoke.  I
discovered where she was, and I went.
"Well? She listened breathlessly.
 She was out, but I waited ten minutes in
her drawing-room. I chucked Romeo and
Juliet—I found it by her chair, and thought she
was reading it—on to the ground and came
away. I wonder if she'll know who did it.
 Frank, dear, leave her alone, and Mrs. Ives
put her hand on his shoulder.  What good
will you do by seeing her ? Leave her alone.
She is thoroughly fond of Lai; let her live the
one happy life possible for her. You will only
spoil three lives 
 I know—three blots on the sun, and all
that, he said cynically.  She is not made for
the big passionate business either, sending con-
ventionalities to the devil, brazening things out,
and all that. Lucky for her. There's too
much emotion in the world, especially among
women.
 I thought men liked it.
 So they do, when they can't get it, or while
it's fresh—it bothers them afterwards, a heap of
A WILD PROXY.
207
worry to live up to, or to shake off. Lucky for
Nell to settle down with Lai, a man who walks
evenly along the pavement, and looks carefully
to the right and left before he crosses the way.
God ! what a deadly dull and amiable life they'll
lead.
 A very good life.
 Excellent. Let them lead it. Good-bye
once more, and he turned away along Hans
Place into Sloane Street.
He walked slowly.  Sick, and dull, and
sad—it feels like the end, he said to himself.
 I suppose I have sown for it, and must not
stand dismayed because it is reaping-time.
After all, I have only played with the chances,
and have had the excitement of the game:
but my heavens! if I had won. And
straightway before his eyes he saw a blue sea,
a ship ploughing on in the sunshine, and Nell
laughing as they stood together beneath the
awning.  She might have been happier if it
had been that, he thought,  instead of a dull
house, floor above floor, with three rooms on
each of them, in Eccleston Square. Cried for
joy, he repeated to himself, as with an effort
he dragged on to his hotel.  After all, what
does it matter ? I know, dear, I know : you
are only a woman, and must train your affec-
208
A WILD PROXY.
tions properly into place with the little flannel
loops of duty, or they would trail in the dust,
and be trampled underfoot at some time. I
have proved it for other women. Life is not
a primaeval forest any more.
CHAPTER XII.
2Cg
CHAPTER XII.
NEXT morning. The late August sun-
shine poured into Merreday's room in
Dover Street, Piccadilly. He sat by the
window, with the little breakfast-table beside
him, looking up at the blue sky, and down at
the people slowly passing in the street.  Poor
idiots, he thought.  England is a country
accommodated with a back seat in the universe,
and they don't know what to make of the
sunshine. They'll be happier when the sky
is grey, and they can shiver and grumble
again.
He was glad that he had seen Mrs Ives ;
for now he knew how things were. When he
had seen Lai, for he did not want to slink away
like a coward without doing that, he would take
ship, and go home. He could not face the
certain greyness here. He wanted to be nearer
to the sun and the sea, and the sand and the
great spaces, to feel that he was within
211
212
A WILD PROXY.
measurable distance of the source whence all
things came, and the gate by which they
all departed. The longing to get onward was
strong in him this morning, the sense that
made everything he did feel like a post touched
on the way, every day he lived a step nearer
towards—he did not know what, the secret was
not yet vouchsafed to him ; but he wanted to
tread the stars underfoot, he told himself some-
times to express his own impatience. He felt
as if the universe itself were but a drop scene,
and life a little first piece played foolishly,
that would be over soon ; he wanted to hurry
on—if only it could have been with Nell. His
heart beat high at the very thought. If only
he and she could have stood together, well to
the front, when the curtain rose and all things
were declared. The land he had come from
was nearer to the front than this, and the people
there grave with a wisdom of which they were
not conscious. They knew more, because they
had forgotten less, for those who remember,
even dimly, the starting-point of a circle, or do
by chance stand near it, can guess better than
others what the finish may be, no matter by
what dim distances it rounds.
 Grey and cold and deliberate, he said,
looking down again on the passers-by  calcu-
A WILD PROXY.
213
lating much on that which is near, and caring
little for the rest. That is what the life of
these people here is. I want to go. Why
should a girl hold me back ?
He thought of the flat in Chelsea Gardens,
of the empty room, of Romeo and Juliet,—he
wished he had stamped on it,—and Lai's
portrait half hidden by drooping roses. In
imagination he came downstairs, past Rose
Volney's door, and into the street again.
He wondered what the latter would do with
the two hundred pounds :— Have a share, in
a tour company, probably ; and go round cor-
rupting the provinces. At any rate, it will
take her out of Ben Galton's way. Then
suddenly he remembered that among the
letters he had brought away from the club
yesterday there had been one directed in
Jean's handwriting. He got up, and hunted
for it, and looked at the envelope hopelessly
while he opened it. He knew so well what
poor little Jean would say:—
"Dearest Frank,—
 I do not know if you will get this. I
saw about you in the papers. I suppose she
is very fond of you, or she would not have
done it. I write because I am very ill, and
214
A WILD PROXY.
they think I am going to die. It is a good
thing, because I could not live and never see
you any more, dear Frank. I love you just as
much as ever. Nothing makes any difference ;
for best or worst, or kind or unkind, it is all
you—except that when it is worst and unkind
I think I love you a little more, because I am
sorry. You will call me a fool ; but I shall
probably be gone when you get this, and it will
not matter. We have been in a great deal ol
trouble lately, for Ben's affairs went wrong on
the Stock Exchange, and now I'm afraid the
furniture is going to be sold. He talks of
going off to father, who went out with
Charlie. They thought they might make
money together. It is very still and quiet, and
perhaps I shall never see you again ; but if you
are in London will you come just once more ?
"Your loving fool,
 Jean.
He looked round and shivered. Jean dying!
Little Jean—and alone, perhaps with no roof
to cover her, no bed to lie on. Jean, who had
made love of him her daily bread, and if he had
starved her given out no moan. He stopped,
and wondered if all the ugly furniture were
sold, or whether there was yet time to save it.
A WILD PROXY.
2I5
 I'll telegraph to Sampson, he thought,
 and tell him to set it right—to come to me
there, for I must go to her at once. My little
Jean !
He sat down and wrote to the lawyer,
then started for Charlton ; but when he was
outside the door he discovered that the excite-
ment of yesterday had told upon him. He had
barely strength to make the journey.
 My blessed heart is giving out, he said to
himself;  had enough of it, I suppose. He
could not walk the mile from the station, but
had to take a fly, though fifty yards from the
house he dismissed it, as Helen had dismissed
her cab on the evening she went back to her
father's house to be refused admittance. He
dragged his unwilling feet slowly up the steps,
his hand trembled as he knocked : he dreaded
lest he should hear that Jean was dead or
dying. But the door was opened, just as it
had been last time, by Jean herself.
"You wicked impostor! He laughed out
for joy at seeing her. "Thank God, you are
better. But why did you drop a line to say
you were dying ?  And he walked in feebly,
but with what Jean's glad heart felt to be the
footstep of the master.
 They said I should die, she answered ;
2l6
A WILD PROXY.
"but I am better. It's more than a fortnight
since I wrote. I am so glad to see you, dear
Frank. She put her arms round his neck, and
kissed him in the old calm manner: he thought
to himself, for a moment, that it was with the
manner of the woman who had seen into the
future, and knew that the end would be hers.
"But you look very ill, she said.  Come
and sit down. She led him to the sofa again,
and crouched at his feet with a sigh of con-
tentment, while he said bitterly to himself,
 The other woman cried for joy because the
other man was coming back. Then he turned
to Jean. She looked a little older since her
illness. Her hair was scantier, her face whiter
and more bony, her chin was more pointed.
She wore a larger shawl than before over her
shoulders, though the day was a sultry August
one. He looked at her, and shook his head.
No, a man could not be in love with her,
and he could not realise that she was in love
with him, or that she was capable of more than
loyalty and affection—affection that might wince,
but would never change, no matter what time
or chance should do to it. It made him a little
merciless to her in a fashion, for he could not
comprehend her power to suffer. Life's keenest
feelings, surely, were not the portion of the
A WILD PROXY.
217
woman who looked up at him so placidly, who
welcomed him, and saw him depart, with the
same even affection? "Poor little Jean, he
said aloud, "how you must have wanted me.
 Yes, she said, and put his hand under her
cheek.  But I did not think that I should
ever see you again, though I knew she had
come back, and how it was you had gone away
together. At first, you know, Frank dear, I
thought  She stopped, composedly enough,
to look for words that would not vex him.
But he had no thought of being vexed with
jean ; she never stirred enough emotion in him
to brew anger.
 I understand, he said. "And has nothing
that you thought made a difference ?
"No, she said firmly, "nothing; but I
was very glad when they said I was going
to die.
 And do you mean to say, dear idiot,"—he
drew her a little closer and looked at her
wonderingly,—"that you cared for me the
same, no matter what you thought I had done?
She looked up and answered,—
 ' What did the failure prove ?
The man was my whole world, all the same,
With his flowers to praise or his weeds to blame;
And either, or both, to love.'
2l8
A WILD PROXY.
 That is from 'James Lee's Wife.' Do you
remember ? 
 Remember what, dear fool ? he asked
tenderly.
 You gave me Browning's poems last time
you came. They are very interesting, though
they take a long time to understand. I think I
like 'James Lee ' best of all; I understand it.
 I wish Mrs. James Lee had remained a
spinster, he said fervently.  I have had
enough of that lady's reflections. I remember
you treated me to some of them before.
She drew up a little closer, and gave another
sigh of contentment.
 I think you are in good spirits, she said,
 because you are revengeful. I wish you
looked better; but it is something to see you
happy.
 And do you always think I am in good
spirits if I make a bad joke, or happy if I am
in good spirits? He thought as he spoke
that though little Jean was so good to him his
soul felt very lonely when he was with her.
 I hope so.
 Poor little idiot. Probably she thinks the
black earth is green all through where the grass
grows on the surface, he said, smoothing her
scanty hair absently.  If I had died a month
A WILD PROXY.
219
ago, Jean, I should have been in good spirits.
I should have sung a chorus underground that
would have made the dead around me heave
up their coffin lids and all come out to dance.
 Oh, Frank !  She stopped, and they were
both silent. Then some evil genius prompted
her to ask, just as calmly as she asked all other
things, "Was she very pretty, Frank ? 
 Lovely, he answered shortly. The tone
made her look up. She had not heard it in his
voice since the days of five years ago.
 Did you love her ? He nodded his
head.
 Do you now ? she whispered.
He nodded again, and then he stooped over
her, and said gently,—
 For good or evil, bitter or sweet, I have
always told you the truth, Jean.
 I know. Did she love you back ?
A little sound escaped his lips.  The line
should be drawn at some questions, he said.
He waited for a moment, and added, in a hard
voice,  She is waiting for the other man.
She cried for joy when she heard that he was
coming back.
Then Jean, too, understood, and was silent.
He looked at her with a long, strange expres-
sion in his eyes. He took her face between
22 O
A WILD PROXY.
his hands, and scanned it curiously : then he
spoke, and his words seemed like a dream to
her.
"Jean, he said, "something is going to
happen to you. He stopped, as if he were a
little incredulous. "Jean, you are going to be
married.
She looked up with the bird-like expression
of inquiry on her face. She would wear it
while the Recording Angel read out her eternal
sentence, he thought.
"We may as well be married, he said sadly
enough ;  then I can put things straight for
you. I know Ben has been at his old tricks.
I didn't expect to find you with a stick left.
 There's a man downstairs now.
 Is there ? he laughed.  By George ! then
I am just in time. We'll pay him, and turn
him out. Didn't you say Ben was going to
New Zealand ? 
 He talks of it.
 It'll be better than marrying Rose Volney,'
and the determined manner that Jean knew
well came back.  He told her that her husband
was dead, the idiot. What time does he come
home ?
 At seven or eight.
 Then let me stay. I am ill, and want you.
A WILD PROXY.
221
You shall take care of me for just a little while,
Jean. I should not like to die without a woman
to smooth my pillow.
 But you are not going to die, Frank.
There was affectionate concern in her voice,
but not a trace of passionate fear.
 That's as may be, dear, he said desper-
ately.  But we'll get a ring, and a licence,
and be married. It doesn't matter  He
wrinkled up his forehead, and stopped. He
was thinking of Helen.
 Do you love me, Frank ?  she asked gently,
almost politely, and still with the look of inquiry.
His face grew dark.
 Don't seek to know too much, dear, but
take the man you love now that you have the
chance. And then he kissed her, but it was
only with affection. Even Jean felt that, and
it did not satisfy her. It satisfies no woman ;
for while it is a man's only feeling towards
her she knows that there is room somewhere
in his heart for another dweller.  Are you
going to take me, little Jean ?
 Yes, of course I am, Frank. I always
loved you, she answered calmly.  I don't
think I even expect much back.
 We'll be married as fast as it can be
managed, and get away 
222
A WILD PROXY.
 We might go a voyage ? You like the
sea
 No, not a voyage, he said quickly.  I
have had enough of that. We will go over-
land as fast as we can tear, or we may arrive
too late 
 Too late, for your work, dear Frank ? 
"No, dear fool, he said again, and kissed her
forehead ;  I was thinking of other things. But
we can arrange them later, he added, as if
impatient to dismiss a subject that was not of
much interest.  Look here, he went on with
more animation,  I'll telegraph for my port-
manteau. I told Sampson to come over this
afternoon. He'll attend to the gentleman
downstairs.
 Yes, she said, getting up.  If you don't
mind, she went on uneasily,  I will leave you
to rest a little. I am sure you must be tired,
Frank.
Jean was anxious to go and arrange for
this sudden addition to the establishment.
 Yes, dear ;  and with a little sigh of relief he
lay back on the sofa. Poor little Jean. He
liked to think that he was going to make the
world an easier place for her. Sampson would
arrange all that ; and for the rest—well, she,
at any rate, would belong to the being she
A WILD PROXY.
223
loved best in the world. Fate had been more
cruel to him.
After his talk with Ben that evening he
wrote a wild, extravagant letter to Mrs. Ives,
telling her that he was going to marry Jean.
 Oh, he is mad, she said to Percy.  I saw
this girl once years ago. I remember meeting
them together at the Academy.
"What did she look like ? asked Mr. Ives,
who was secretly of opinion that if she was
pretty it would not matter.
 Neat, prim, and dowdy. She looked at
the pictures one by one as they were numbered
and asked intelligent questions.
 That was trying. Perhaps he likes her,
though. 1 don't see why he should marry
her if he doesn't.
 He's a dear boy, and this girl is fond of
*him. Probably he thinks it will be kind to
marry her, and he does not care what becomes
of himself. I could see that the other night.
I don't believe he'll be even faithful to her.
"Well, you see, said Mr. Ives, slowly as
usual,  for a time, and while it's new, he'll be
faithful to the position. If by a fluke it goes
on provoking him to virtue, why she'll get
the benefit of it. I expect that's what the
fidelity of many men amounts to.
224
A WILD PROXY.
 Percy, you are quite shocking, she laughed.
 Are you faithful to your position, or to me ? 
"To both ; but sorely against my will. I
have gone about in search of a temptation for
some years now, but I have never been able to
come across one that was up to the mark. It's
a great mistake, from an immoral point of view,
to marry a really adorable woman.
 You wicked dear, his wife said, stroking
his shoulder with her fan,  I vow you are
adorable too ; but I am very unhappy about my
poor demon. He can't live without being at
high pressure, and he may be in love with his
own deed, but he is not in love with this woman.
He couldn't be, after all that time with Helen.
"Well, but he can't marry Helen.
 Love is not bounded by the possibility of
marriage, though life together may be.
But Mr. Ives was too much absorbed in his
cigarette to enter upon abstract questions, even
though they had a sentimental interest; and
Mrs. Ives was left to her own conclusions.
She sat and thought of Merreday.  He'll do
it if he has taken it into his head, she told
herself,  and nothing in the world will prevent
him.
CHAPTER XIII.
225
CHAPTER XIII.
MRS. IVES was right. He was bent on
doing it.
 It is the 'tremendously' carries one through,
he said to himself once more.  She will stop
her crying for joy, perhaps, when she hears of it.
He felt as if he were going to outwit the
world, to make it bounce with surprise; and
even though it descended on his shoulders he
did not care.
The lawyer came again the next afternoon,
and many things were arranged while Jean
busied herself with the household duties to
which she always conscientiously applied herself.
She had sat with Frank all the morning, and
they had calmly arranged the details of their
marriage. She felt primly the responsibilities
of her future state already, and went about the
house with a pleasant sense that Fate had not
neglected her, or grudged her a share of the
important events of life.
227
228
A WILD PROXY.
Suddenly Mr. Sampson called her.
 Mr. Merreday has fainted, he said.  You
must send for a doctor. He knows perfectly
how ill he is himself: he has told me.
Quite silently and simply he took to his bed.
The specialist came from London, and Mrs.
Belch, the local nurse, was installed.
But Jean did not know what awaited her.
 Little woman, he said, two or three days
later, as she smoothed his pillow,  we are
outwitted. It is Fate's turn once more. But
I have done what I could.
 Oh, Frank, dear, you must not be alarmed,
she answered.  I hope I shall nurse you
through, as I did Charlie last winter.
 Do you remember saying that you would
be content to make yourself into a doormat for
me, and I told you that the man went across
the woman who did that into the world ? I am
going across you out of it.
 Out of it ?  She looked up unflinchingly.
"Yes, dear, out of it. That fever at Cairo
last year gave me a push towards the end, and
the illness in Italy the other day settled matters
up for me. That is why—that is why, little
Jean, I wanted to know that things would be
smooth for you, and I thought it better that
we should marry.
A WILD PROXY.
22 9
The words were said before he saw the sting
in them, but she did not seem to see it at all.
 But for her you might have lived, she
answered.
 No ; it was never possible for me to live
long, dear. My life burns quicker than the
world goes round. I have always been bound
to die pretty soon. It is the one way by which I
can get on fast enough. Life and the world must
agree as to pace if they want to keep together.
There was a broomstick of a girl I danced with
at the Iveses one night; but we didn't agree
as to time, so we couldn't go round together.
It's the same thing. I'm hurrying on in front.
She sat still, and did not say a word. Pre-
sently he saw the tears in her eyes. Very
gentle and homely she looked as she pulled out
a large, old-fashioned handkerchief.
"What nonsense, Jean, and he stroked
her hand.  We've had this little time to-
gether : be content. You are a rank impostor,
though. You wanted me because you were
dying, he went on with his old eagerness,—
 ' But soon a wonder came to light
That showed the rogues they lied,
The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died.'
That's how it is, dear Jean.
230
A WILD PROXY.
She grew very grave and silent as the days
went on ; but she did not believe him, for he
suffered no pain ; it was not like a serious ill-
ness clearing the way for death. The strange
spasms and struggles, and the keeping in bed
lest he should be taken by surprise, as he
himself expressed it, and the doctor's face
frightened her ; but she nursed him in good
orthodox fashion,—put the various bottles on
a little table by his bedside, sat herself down in
a wicker chair beside him, in turn with Mrs.
Belch, and hoped on, till almost imperceptibly
the truth was borne in upon her.
 Nearly finished, Jean, he said, one morn-
ing, with a look of sorry triumph.
 Don't you want to live, Frank ? 
He held out his hand tenderly, but answered
in the voice of one longing to escape,  No.
Then she turned her little white face round
and looked at him calmly.
 Frank, she asked in a whisper,  do you
love her still ? And he nodded his head.
 More than anything in the world ?  He
looked at her desperately.
 More than anything in the world. That's
why I want to go. That's it, Jean; you know?
"Yes, I know, of course; and she looked
back calm as ever.
A WILD PROXY.
231
 I think sometimes that if I could see her
just once more "—he stopped, and gave a little
cry of pain, for the longing was so terrible—
 I should be swept into heaven on that wave ;
it would reach to it.
 She is staying over Rose Volney's flat in
Chelsea. Ben told me, Jean said, as if she
were bound to tell him.
 I know, he said, in a voice that bewildered
her.  There is nothing I do not know about
her.
She did not understand. She could only
look on. In her calm, steadfast love there was
something too unselfish for jealousy. Besides,
what did she matter ? He mattered, and
nothing else in the world. She hesitated, and
then, as if an idea that might possibly give him
comfort had occurred to her, she asked,—
"Would you like me to write or telegraph
and ask her to come and see you ? 
"She wouldn't, he said bitterly; "she's
waiting for another man. Perhaps I shall clear
out before he arrives.
Jean sat very still for a bit, then she got
up, and looked at the clock. It was nearly
afternoon. She walked round the room,
making it tidy. She tied on a black straw
bonnet, and put on a black jacket, badly
232
A WILD PROXY.
made, and a white silk handkerchief round
her throat.
 Frank dear, she asked,  should you mind
if I went out for two or three hours ? I won't
be more. I think you are a little better. Do
you mind ? Mrs. Belch will come up and sit
by you.
He looked at her with a desperate question-
ing expression, but he did not dare ask where
she was going. Any way, he felt that he
should be glad to get the spell of time alone.
"No, dear, I don't mind ; and the change
will do you good.
She put his pillows straight, and doubled the
sheet under his chin ; and he thought to himself,
"My motherly little Jean,—in some former
existence you do not remember, you lived to
be old, and you have brought the manner of
age into this life with you. It sits very quaintly
on your four-and-twenty years.
She stooped and kissed his forehead, and
without looking back went out of the room.
Mrs. Belch came and sat by him.
He lay very still, thinking. Presently the
old spasm convulsed him—the struggle for
breath. After a little he was better again ; but
he could not keep his heart still, nor think
calmly, for something told him where she had
A WILD PROXY.
233
gone, and that, if he could hold life in a little
longer, he would see Nell once again. Jean
had gone to her : he knew it.
He tossed and turned wearily, and counted
the time as the hours went by.
At last she had been gone almost long
enough. The minutes put on a strange long-
ness, and lagged, and, do what he would, he
could not hold his soul in. It was breaking
away from all things, and would not be kept
back even till Nell came.
Then a great longing to be alone took hold
of him—to be alone till they came ; and he
asked the woman to make him a drink, and to
bring it presently, and as she hastened down-
stairs he gave a sigh of relief. The heat was
tremendous, yet it did not touch him, and he
shivered. The windows were wide open, he
saw the sky and the brightness, but he felt as
if he did not belong to them any more—as if
they did not take account of him.
With a great effort he raised himself, and
pulled the pillow up under his head. He had
a little strength then left, and the old sweet
expression came into his eyes. "Jean—Jean,
little woman—make haste, he whispered.
He managed to put the pillows up still a
little higher behind his head. They were old-
234
A WILD PROXY.
fashioned, long-shaped pillows, destitute of frills
or embroidery, for Jean was not equal to the
prettinesses of home-life—everything was of
a piece with her—but they were snowy white,
and had a faint scent of lavender. In some
odd way the lavender took his thoughts back
to the roses Nell had carried on her wedding-
day. When she arrived at the station their
perfume had gone across his face—Nell, in a
grey hat, with her shy face, and eyes that
were full of happiness when she raised them.
There had been roses in the room at Chelsea
by Lai's portrait, but they were drooping.
What did Lai matter ? N ell could not get
away from him in her thoughts, she would
never be able to do that; and she was coming
to him now, she was on her way with Jean.
He felt it and knew it.
He could see farther out of the window since
he had raised himself. The sycamores were
waving to and fro, the beeches across the road
looked dusty and thirsty. He caught sight of
the broken-down brewery buildings, black and
tarred; the daylight shone through the holes
in their roof and sides. As he stared out he
felt as if soon he would be able to touch them,
his soul was preparing to start on a journey.
Yes, he would touch them as he went by, and
A WILD PROXY.
235
he would look once more down the road, and
see the signpost of the little inn where he had
stopped once for that long drink of shandy-gaff
in the years gone by. Jean had not passed it
on her way to the station, she had gone in the
other direction. He wondered if she and Nell
had met, and how far they were on their way,
and what they said—the woman he loved, and
the woman who loved him. He set his teeth,
and tried to wait patiently, but he had hardly
strength to keep them together. He had nearly
started. What a different journey it would be
from the one he had gone with Nell—that mad
journey with the strange beginning and ending,
and the dream in its heart. Oh to see her
face once more, to hear her voice—to hear her
say that she forgave him, that she—but no—
no, she would not say that, she would never
say it in this world to him. The refrain of an
old ballad went hazily through his brain,—
 Once more before I journey to the south,
Lean down, dear love, and kiss me on the mouth.
Oh, God! no, and that would never be. He
knew she would not, though he lay dead.
Still he stared out at the sycamores and
the buildings beyond. The light and darkness
gathered round him, not together till they made
236
A WILD PROXY.
a twilight, but separately, in strange patches —
and the clock was striking. He did not know
what it struck, for it seemed to be far off, and
he could not turn his eyes towards it, they
were fastened on the trees—and the trees were
coming nearer. They had swept past him—far
behind—he had started—Oh, dear God—
CHAPTER XIV.
237
CHAPTER XIV.
LONG the white road from the station
two women walked ; they did not speak,
but now and then they looked at each other.
Jean's eyes were frightened and wondering,
and on Helen's face there was a shrinking fear
lest they should be too late. If she had only
not been so hard on him, so cruel, she thought.
She had forgotten all things now except that
he was dying.
"He wants to see me? she exclaimed in-
credulously, when Jean appeared, and asked her
to go back with her.  But I thought he was
married.
Mrs. Ives had told her of Merreday's engage-
ment, it had seemed a prudent thing to do, and
had shown her his letter—it read as if he were
full of wild spirits. She had tried to be thank-
ful, she had trampled him under her feet in her
thoughts, and prayed that she might love her
husband, just him only, and with her whole
240
A WILD PROXY.
heart, all her life long. But struggle as she
would she could not forget altogether.
 He cannot want me, she said;  I heard
that he was to be married immediately.
 He is not married ; he is going to die,
Jean said, "and he wants you. Helen did
not dream of the relationship in which the
quiet little woman before her stood to him.
She took her to be a nurse or some other
homely person. "He wants you, Jean re-
peated entreatingly. Then silently, as Jean
had done, Helen prepared to go.
They made the journey almost without a
word.
"Are we nearly there? Helen had asked,
when it seemed to her that they had walked
a long way from the station at which they had
arrived.
"It is by those sycamore trees.
 Is any one — is Miss Galton with him
now? she asked, and put her hand on
Jean's arm; but Jean moved a little further
away. There were some things that even she
could not bear.
 A woman is with him—a nurse; he is
waiting for you, was all the answer. She
looked wonderingly at Helen's face. It was
very beautiful, she thought. She could under-
A WILD PROXY.
241
stand that Frank had loved her; she resented
the fact that he had not been loved back.
Helen must be a strange, cold woman, not
able to love any one at all.  There is no one
to interfere, she said, as she went up the
steps and put the latchkey into the lock. The
house was very still as they entered. She
opened the drawing-room door.
 I will go and see how he is, and come
back. Will you wait here? Jean said.
Helen sat down on the green sofa. She
heard Jean go upstairs, and some one who had
been there descend, as if to meet her, and
there was a sound of women's whispering
voices. She looked round, and wondered if
this were his home, or if he were merely
staying here, and where the girl was to whom
he had engaged himself so strangely. That
question ceaselessly perplexed her, and she had
not been able to question the silent woman who
had brought her here. She walked about, and
stopped restlessly before the plaster figure of
the Swiss boy on the piano, and looked at
the antimacassars dotted about the room ; they
were tied with a big bow on the back of each
green chair. There were some books on the
table. She opened one ; it was an illustrated
edition of  Evangeline, and on its title page
16
242
A WILD PROXY.
was written "Jean, from Frank, and the date
four years before, and next to it was the first
volume of Browning with the same inscription,
but the date was that on which he had sent
her the yellow flowers two days after he had
seen her first, at Mrs. Ives's dance. A lump
came in her throat. He had never been true
—never, never—not to one woman more than
another. Oh, how strange it was. She resented
it even though he lay dying.
Then the door opened, and Jean entered.
She was very pale, her face looked drawn,
her eyelids were heavy, but she was quite calm
and composed. She went up to the window
without speaking, and drew the blind down.
Helen's heart stood still. The room grew
suddenly chilly, as if the knowledge of what
had happened swept in upon it. Then Jean
went up to her and said calmly, and her voice
was quite clear,—
 He is dead. He died a little while before
we came. Will you come up ? 
"Oh! a long-drawn sigh burst from her,
a little sob, but it was so low it hardly made
a sound. Half-dazed she turned and followed
Jean upstairs to the front room. The blinds
were down, but the windows were open, and
on the bed lay Frank Merreday just as he had
A WILD PROXI.
2 43
died, save that his eyes were closed, and his
head had been lowered on the pillow. She
stood a little way off, and cowered and shivered.
Then Jean went up to the bedside, and said,
in a low, hard voice,—-
 Would you like to kiss him ?
A little sound of misery came through Helen's
lips, and her head fell on her chest.
 Oh, I can't—I mustn't "—she said.  He
is not mine ; he belongs to another woman.
Merreday had known how it would be.
Jean waited a moment.  Perhaps you had
better go, she said, and covered his face.
Without a word Helen turned away. Jean
came outside with her. She looked very
homely, almost humble. She seemed to have
taken the death as one in which she had only
a passive interest.
 I ought to thank you for coming for me,
Helen said: an odd look went over Jean's
face as she answered,—
"It was a great deal to do.
A sudden thought occurred to Helen. Surely
this old-fashioned little person was a caretaker
or the woman who let the house. She hated the
thought of money while the dead man lay there
inside the door, but she wanted to do what was
expected of her. She did not want to be un-
A WILD PROXY.
grateful, or to remember that she had cost any-
thing that could be ill-afforded.
 Perhaps there is some remuneration 
she began awkwardly.
 No, said Jean calmly, and for one moment
they looked at each other. Then without
another word she turned away, went back into
the room, and locked the door.
CHAPTER XV.
245
CHAPTER XV.
THEY were long weeks that followed ; but
Helen was glad of the waiting. She felt
that she could not have borne to meet her
husband again immediately after that strange
journey to Charlton. She wanted to be alone,
and to think, and, disguise it as she would, to
have one last struggle with herself. But he
came at last, and her heart was glad enough,
even though it was rather a sober meeting.
 I shall never forgive myself for thinking
you had gone off willingly, Lai said, as he
looked at her with a thankfulness too great for
words.
 I thought you didn't care for me a bit,
when you did not overtake us instantly. And
then she broke down altogether.
 I was rushing all over the place after you,
he said, when he had consoled her and brought
the smiles back to her face.  You whirled on
at such a rate and left no tracks after Paris.—
247
248
A WILD PROXY.
I can't bear to think of it. His voice was
loverlike enough even to have satisfied Merre-
day.  I think you've grown twice as lovely,
if it were possible : and I can't believe that it's
all right, and we're together again.
 I can't think how you could imagine such
very wicked things of me, she said, with a
long sigh.  But I am glad to have something
to forgive you, she added gently,  for 1 dare-
say you will have to forgive me heaps of things.
I think it makes us more to each other.
 Do you know, Nell, I believe I was jealous
of him without knowing it, almost from the first.
He was very fascinating, you see ; I should
have understood if you had taken him instead
of me, only—well, I thought you might have
made up your mind before the ceremony. It
was a long explanation for him.
 Lai, she said, and moved away from him
quickly, and stood with her back against the
doorpost,  I want to tell you, I—I—have
not been quite true to you all the time. For
just a little while I did care for Frank—not
before, I never thought of him then, but after-
wards, when I thought that you had left me on
purpose. He was very kind, he never said a
word that could make me angry till the very
last, and then "—she stopped herself— and—
A WILD PROXY. 249
and then he saw the danger, but—oh, Lai, I
want you to know everything.
"Yes, said Halstead, "go on—it will be
better perhaps—though he told me everything
in his letter.
"There is one thing he could not tell you.
I felt so strange and hurt and adrift, and I
heard you were going to get a divorce, she
went on, clasping her hands,  and gradually
I did get to care for him; it came quite
suddenly. I didn't stop caring for you. I
never did that, not even when I was angry
because you didn't find us, and 
"Yes, he said again.
 And it wasn't possible not to like him, he
was wild and odd, and yet he could be so gentle
and thoughtful, and almost suddenly I loved
him,—and—I have cared for him since. She
stopped, but he did not speak.  I loved you
at the same time—it is a dreadful thing to say,
—but—but these last weeks I believe I have
been in love with two men at once. For I
always longed for you, and it was only because
I thought you didn't care, and that—•—
 Did you tell him, did he know ? 
 I didn't tell him in words, but he knew.
One night he was ill, and on deck, and I was
sitting by him, and I knew that he cared for
250
A WILD PROXY.
me, and—I—I kissed him. It was out now ;
but Lai said nothing. It was rather a puzzling
position for him.  He told me to tell you,
Nell went on desperately. "He said it would
take the sweetness and the sin alike out of it.
"He said that ?
"Yes, and now I have told you—oh, I can't
say any more about it. I'm so ashamed at
having thought that you did it on purpose.
 Poor little girl, he said gently. She gave
a long sigh of relief.  I thought you had gone
off on purpose, so we are even.
 I am glad you thought it on the
whole.
 Do you think we might try again—another
place, and an entirely different route ? he
asked presently.
 I don't know, she answered doubtfully.
 Mrs. Ives says if you ever go on another
honeymoon you will take one policeman at your
own elbow and another at your wife's.
 Don't you think they would be rather a
bore ? 
"Yes, I think they might, she said
demurely.^
 Perhaps a little collar round your neck and
a chain would answer the purpose.
 That would be lovely, and she measured
A WILD PROXY.
251
the circumference of her throat- with her two
hands.
 I'll get you one—with some diamonds in
* A. >>
It.
She was very satisfied.
 Lai, dear, she said presently.
"Yes. It was the defensive "yes of a
man who knows he is going to be asked to do
something that is difficult.
 I want you to forgive Frank—to forgive
him altogether.
 Oh.
 He was only a maniac, and it was one of
his mad jokes, she pleaded.
 He had such a knack of borrowing things,
Halstead said, remembering how his horse,
latchkey, small change, books, and everything
else available had always drifted to Merreday.
 But I think, when it comes to borrowing your
wife 
 Ah, but he is dead, she said, gently.
 Yes, poor chap, and Lai's voice grew
affectionate, for he had always liked Merreday.
 He is dead, and I shouldn't be surprised if
he has borrowed a soul, and gone- to heaven
with it.
THE END.
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