THE COMPLETE WORKS OF 
 
 F. MARION CRAWFORD 
 
 In Thirty-two Volumes ^ Authorized Edition 
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS 
 
 A Tale of Bar Harbor 
 
 MARION DARCHE 
 
 A Story Without Comment 
 
 F. MARION CRAWFORD 
 
 P. F. COLLIER 6- SON 
 
 NEW YORK
 
 THE 
 
 COMPLETE WORKS OF F. MARION CRAWFORD 
 
 I. 
 
 Mr. Isaacs 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The Witch of Prague 
 
 II. 
 
 Doctor Claudius 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The Three Fates 
 
 III. 
 
 To Leeward 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Taquisara 
 
 IV. 
 
 A Roman Singer 
 
 XX. 
 
 The Children of the King 
 
 V. 
 
 An American Politician 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Pietro Ghisleri 
 
 VI. 
 
 Marzio's Crucifix 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Katharine Lauderdale 
 
 
 Zoroaster 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The Ralstona 
 
 VII. 
 
 A Tale of a Lonely Parish 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Casa Braccio (Part I) 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Paul Patoff 
 
 
 
 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Casa Braccio (Part II) 
 
 IX. 
 
 Love in Idleness: A Tale of 
 Bar Harbor 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Adam Johnstone's Son 
 
 
 Marion Darctoe 
 
 
 A Rose of Yesterday 
 
 X. 
 
 Saracinesca 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Via Crucis 
 
 XI. 
 
 Sant' Ilario 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 In the Palace of the King 
 
 XII. 
 
 Don Orsino 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Marietta: A Maid of Ven- 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Corleone: A Sicilian Story 
 
 
 ice 
 
 XIV. 
 
 With the Immortals 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Cecilia: A Story of Mod 
 
 
 
 
 ern Rome 
 
 XV. 
 
 Greifenstein 
 
 
 
 XVI. 
 
 A Cigarette-Maker's Romance 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The Heart of Rome 
 
 
 Khaled 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Whosoever Shall Offend 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1894 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1893 
 
 BY F. MARION CRAWFORD 
 
 All Rights Reserved
 
 urn, : 
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 'M going to stay with the three Miss 
 Miners at the Trehearnes' place," 
 said Louis Lawrence, looking down 
 into the blue water as he leaned 
 over the rail of the Sappho, on the sunny side 
 of the steamer. " They're taking care of Miss 
 Trehearne while her mother is away at Karlsbad 
 with Mr. Trehearne," he added, in further ex- 
 planation. 
 
 " Yes," answered Professor Knowles, his com- 
 panion. " Yes," he repeated vaguely, a moment 
 later.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " It's fun for the three Miss Miners, having 
 such a place all to themselves for the summer," 
 continued young Lawrence. " It's less amusing 
 for Miss Trehearne, I daresay. I suppose I'm 
 
 asked to enliven things. It can't be exactly gay 
 in their establishment." 
 
 " I don't know any of them," observed the 
 Professor, who was a Boston man. " The proba-
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 3 
 
 bility is that I never shall. Who are the three 
 Miss Miners, and who is Miss Trehearne ? " 
 
 " Oh you don't know them ! " Lawrence's 
 voice expressed his surprise that there should 
 be any one who did not know the ladies in 
 question. " Well they're three old maids, you 
 know." 
 
 " Excuse me, I don't know. Old maid is such 
 a vague term. How old must a maid be, to be 
 an old maid ? " 
 
 " Oh it isn't age that makes old maids. 
 It's the absence of youth. They're born so." 
 
 " A pleasing paradox," remarked the Professor, 
 his exaggerated jaw seeming to check the uneasy 
 smile, as it attacked the gravity of his colourless 
 thin lips. 
 
 His head, in the full face view, was not too 
 large for his body, which, in the two dimensions 
 of length and breadth, was well proportioned. 
 The absence of the third dimension, that is, of 
 bodily thickness, was very apparent when he 
 was seen sideways, while the exaggeration of 
 the skull was also noticeable only in profile. 
 The forehead and the long delicate jaw were
 
 4 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 unnaturally prominent; the ear was set much 
 too far back, and there was no develop- 
 ment over the eyes, while the nose was small, 
 thin, and sharp, as though cut out of letter 
 paper. 
 
 " It's not a paradox," said Lawrence, whose 
 respect for professorial statements was small. 
 " The three Miss Miners were old maids before 
 they were born. They're not particularly old, 
 except Cordelia. She must be over forty. 
 Augusta is the youngest about thirty-two, I 
 should think. Then there's the middle one 
 she's Elizabeth, you know she's no particular 
 age. Cordelia must have been pretty in a 
 former state. Lots of brown hair and beautiful 
 teeth. But she has the religious smile what 
 they put on when they sing hymns, don't you 
 know ? It's chronic. Good teeth and resigna- 
 tion did it. She's good all through, but you 
 get all through her so soon ! Elizabeth's clever 
 comparatively. She's brown, and round, and 
 fat, and ugly. I'd like to paint her portrait. 
 She's really by far the most attractive. As for 
 Augusta "
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 5 
 
 " Well ? What about Augusta ? " enquired 
 the Professor, as Lawrence paused. 
 
 " Oh she's awful ! She's the accomplished 
 one." 
 
 " I thought you said that the middle one 
 what's her name ? was the cleverest." 
 
 " Yes, but cleverness never goes with what 
 they call accomplishments," answered the young 
 man. " I've heard of great men playing the 
 flute, but I never heard of anybody who was 
 ' musical ' and came to anything especially 
 women. Fancy Cleopatra playing the piano 
 or Catherine the Great painting a salad of wild 
 flowers on a fan ! Can you ? Or Semiramis 
 sketching a lap dog on a cushion ! " 
 
 " What very strange ideas you have ! " ob- 
 served the Professor, gravely. 
 
 Lawrence did not say anything in reply, but 
 looked out over the blue water at the dark green 
 islands or the deep bay as the Sappho paddled 
 along, beating up a wake of egg-white froth. He 
 was glad that Professor Knowles was going over 
 to the other side to dwell amongst the placid 
 inhabitants of North East Harbour, where the
 
 6 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 joke dieth not, even at an advanced age ; where 
 there are people who believe in Ruskin and 
 swear by Herbert Spencer, who coin words end- 
 ing in ' ism,' and intellectually subsist on the 
 ' ologies ' with the notable exception of the- 
 ology. Lawrence had once sat at the Professor's 
 feet, at Harvard, unwillingly, indeed, but not 
 without indirect profit. They had met to-day in 
 the train, and it was not probable that they 
 should meet again in the course of the summer, 
 unless they particularly sought one another's 
 society. 
 
 They had nothing in common. Lawrence was 
 an artist, or intended to be one, and had recently 
 returned from abroad, after spending three years 
 in Paris. By parentage he belonged to New 
 York. He had been christened Louis because 
 his mother was of French extraction and had an 
 uncle of that name, who might be expected to do 
 something handsome for her son. Louis Law- 
 rence was now about five and twenty years of 
 age, was possessed of considerable talent, and of 
 no particular worldly goods. His most impor- 
 tant and valuable possession, indeed, was his
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. - 7 
 
 character, which showed itself in all he said and 
 did. 
 
 There is something problematic about the 
 existence of a young artist who is in earnest, 
 which alone is an attraction in the eyes of 
 women. The odds are ten to one, of course, 
 that he will never accomplish anything above 
 the average, but that one-tenth chance is not to 
 be despised, for it is the possibility of a well- 
 earned celebrity, perhaps of greatness. The one 
 last step, out of obscurity into fame, is generally 
 the only one of which the public knows anything, 
 sees anything, or understands anything ; and no 
 one can tell when, if ever, that one step may be 
 taken. There is a constant interest in expecting 
 it, and in knowing of its possibility, which lends 
 the artist's life a real charm in his own eyes 
 and the eyes of others. And very often it turns 
 out that the charm is all the life has to recom- 
 mend it. 
 
 The young man who had just given Professor 
 Knowles an account of his hostesses was natu- 
 rally inclined to be communicative, which is a 
 weakness, though he was also frank, which is
 
 8 - LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 a virtue. He was a very slim young man, and 
 might have been thought to be in delicate health, 
 for he was pale and thin in the face. The feat- 
 ures were long and finely chiselled, and the 
 complexion was decidedly dark. He would have 
 looked well in a lace ruffle, with flowing curls. 
 But his hair was short, and he wore rough grey 
 clothes and an unobtrusive tie. The highly 
 arched black eyebrows gave his expression 
 strength, but the very minute, dark mustache 
 which shaded the upper lip was a little too 
 evidently twisted and trained. That was the 
 only outward sign of personal vanity, however, 
 and was not an offensive one, though it gave 
 him a foreign air which Professor Knowles 
 disliked, but which the three Miss Miners 
 thought charming. His manner pleased them, 
 too ; for he was always just as civil to them as 
 though they had been young and pretty and 
 amusing, which is more than can be said of the 
 majority of modern youths. His conversation 
 occasionally shocked them, it is true ; but the 
 shock was a mild one and agreeably applied, so 
 that they were willing to undergo it frequently.
 
 LOVE IX IDLENESS. 9 
 
 Lawrence was not thinking of the Miss Miners 
 as he watched the dark green islands. If he 
 had thought of them at all during the last half- 
 hour, it had been with a certain undefined grati- 
 tude to them for being the means of allowing 
 
 him to spend a fortnight in the society of Fanny 
 Trehearne. 
 
 Professor Knowles had not moved from his 
 side during the long silence. Lawrence looked 
 up and saw that he was still there, his extraordi- 
 nary profile* cut out against the cloudless sky.
 
 10 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " Will you smoke ? " enquired Lawrence, offer- 
 ing him a cigarette. 
 
 " No, thank you certainly not cigarettes," 
 answered the Professor, with a superior air. 
 " You were telling me all about the Miss 
 Miners," he continued; for though he knew 
 none of them, he was of a curious disposition. 
 " You spoke of a Miss Trehearne, I think." 
 
 " Yes," answered the young man. " Do you 
 know her ? " 
 
 " Oh, no. It's an unusual name, that's all. 
 Are they New York people ? " 
 
 Lawrence smiled at the idea that any one 
 should ask such a question. 
 
 " Yes, of course," he answered. " New York 
 since the Flood." 
 
 " And Miss Trehearne is the only daughter? " 
 enquired the Professor, inquisitively. 
 
 " She has a brother Randolph," replied 
 Lawrence, rather shortly; for he was suddenly 
 aware that there was no particular reason why he 
 should talk about the Trehearnes. 
 
 " Of course, they're relations of the Miners," 
 observed the Professor.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. H 
 
 " That's the reason why Miss Trehearne has 
 them to stay with her. Excuse me I can't 
 get a light in this wind." 
 
 Thereupon Lawrence turned away and got 
 under the lee of the deck saloon, leaving the 
 Professor to himself. Having lighted his ciga- 
 rette, the artist went forward and stood in the 
 sharp head-breeze that seemed to blow through 
 and through him, disinfecting his whole being 
 from the hot, close air of the train he had left 
 half an hour earlier. 
 
 Bar Harbour, in common speech, includes 
 Frenchman's Bay, the island of Mount Desert, 
 and the other small islands lying near it, an 
 extensive tract of land and sea. As a matter of 
 fact, the name belongs to the little harbour 
 between Bar Island and Mount Desert, together 
 with the village which has grown to be the 
 centre of civilization, since the whole place has 
 become fashionable. Earth, sky, and water are 
 of the north, hard, bright, and cold. In artists' 
 slang, there is no atmosphere. The dark green 
 islands, as one looks at them, seem to be almost 
 before the foreground. The picture is beautiful,
 
 12 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 and some people call it grand ; but it lacks 
 depth. There is something fiercely successful 
 about the colour of it, something brilliantly self- 
 reliant. It suggests a certain type of handsome 
 woman of the kind that need neither repent- 
 ance nor cosmetics, and are perfectly sure of the 
 fact, whose virtue is too cold to be kind, and 
 whose complexion is not shadowed by passion, 
 nor softened by suffering, nor even washed pale 
 with tears. Only the sea is eloquent. The 
 deep-breathing tide runs forward to the feet of 
 the over-perfect, heartless earth, to linger and 
 plead love's story while he may ; then sighing 
 sadly, sweeps back unsatisfied, baring his deso- 
 late bosom to her loveless scorn. 
 
 The village, the chief centre, lies by the 
 water's edge, facing the islands which enclose 
 the natural harbour. It was and is a fishing 
 village, like many another on the coast. In the 
 midst of it, vast wooden hotels, four times as high 
 as the houses nearest to them, have sprung up 
 to lodge fashion in six-stoned discomfort. The 
 effect is astonishing ; for the blatant architect, 
 gesticulating in soft wood and ranting in paint,
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 13 
 
 as it were, has sketched an evil dream of mediae- 
 valism, incoherent with itself and with the very 
 commonplace facts of the village street. There, 
 also, in Mr. Bee's shop window, are plainly 
 visible the more or less startling covers of the 
 newest books, while from on high, frowns down 
 the counterfeit presentment of battlements and 
 turrets, and of such terrors as lent like interest 
 when novels were not, neither was the slightest 
 idea of the short story yet conceived. 
 
 But behind all and above all rise the wooded 
 hills, which are neither modern nor ancient, but 
 eternal. And in them and through them there 
 is secret sweetness, and fragrance, and much 
 that is gentle and lovely in the heart of the 
 defiantly beautiful earth-woman with her cold 
 face, far beyond the reach of her tide-lover, and 
 altogether out of hearing of his sighs and com- 
 plaining speeches. There grow in endless green- 
 ness the white pines and the pitch pines, the 
 black spruce and the white ; there droops the 
 feathery larch by the creeping yew, and there 
 gleam the birches, yellow, white, and grey ; the 
 sturdy red oak spreads his arms to the scarlet
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 maple, and the witch hazel rustles softly in the 
 mysterious forest breeze. There, buried in the 
 wood's bosom, bloom and blossom the wild 
 
 flowers, and redden the blushing berries in 
 unseen succession, from middle June to late 
 September violets first, and wild iris, straw- 
 berries and raspberries, blueberries and black-
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 15 
 
 berries ; short-lived wild roses and tender little 
 blue-bells, red lilies, golden-rod, and clematis, in 
 the confusion of nature's loveliest order. 
 
 All this Lawrence knew, and remembered, 
 guessing at what he could neither remember nor 
 know, with an artist's facility for filling up the 
 unfinished sketch left on the mind by one im- 
 pression. He had been at Bar Harbour three 
 years earlier, and had wandered amongst the 
 woods and pottered along the shore in a skiff. 
 But he had been alone then and had stopped in 
 the mediaeval hotel, a rather solitary, thinking 
 unit amidst the horde of thoughtless summer 
 nomads, designated by the clerk at the desk as 
 ' Number a hundred and twenty-three,' and a 
 candidate for a daily portion of the questionable 
 dinner at the hotel table. It was to be different 
 this time, he thought, as he watched for the first 
 sight of the pier when the Sappho rounded Bar 
 Island. The Trehearnes had not been at their 
 house three years ago, and Fanny Trehearne 
 had been then not quite sixteen, just groping her 
 way from the schoolroom to the world, and quite 
 beneath his young importance even had she
 
 16 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 been at Bar Harbour to wander among the 
 woods with him. Things had changed, now. 
 He was not quite sure that in her girlish heart 
 she did not consider him beneath her- notice. 
 She was straight and tall almost as tall as he, 
 and she was proud, if she was not pretty, and she 
 carried her head as high as the handsomest. 
 Moreover, she was rich, and Louis Lawrence 
 was at present phenomenally poor, with a rather 
 distant chance of inheriting money. These were 
 some of the excellent reasons why fate had made 
 him fall in love with her, though none of them 
 accounted for the fact that she had encouraged 
 him, and had suggested to the Miss Miners that 
 it would be very pleasant to have him come and 
 stay a fortnight in July. 
 
 The Sappho slowed down, stopped, backed, 
 and made fast to the wooden pier, and as she 
 swung round, Lawrence saw Fanny Trehearne 
 standing a little apart from the group of people 
 who had come down to meet their own friends or 
 to watch other people meeting theirs. The young 
 girl was evidently looking for him, and he took 
 off his hat and waved it about erratically to
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 attract her attention. When she saw him, she 
 nodded with a faint smile and moved one step 
 nearer to the gangway, to wait until he should 
 come on shore with the crowd. 
 
 She had a quiet, business-like way of moving, 
 as though she never changed her position with- 
 out a purpose. As Lawrence came along, trying 
 to gain on the stream of passengers with whom 
 he was moving, he kept his eyes fixed on her 
 face, wondering whether the expression would
 
 18 
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 change when he reached her and took her hand. 
 When the moment came, the change was very 
 slight. 
 
 "I like you you're punctual," she said. 
 " Come along ! " 
 
 " I've got some traps, you know," he answered, 
 hesitating. 
 
 "Well there's the expressman. Give him 
 your checks."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HEY'VE all gone out in Mr. 
 Brown's cat-boat so I came 
 alone," observed Miss Trehearne, 
 when the expressman had been 
 interviewed. 
 
 " Who are ' all ' ? " asked Lawrence. " Just the 
 three Miss Miners?" 
 
 " Yes. Just the three Miss Miners." 
 " I thought you might have somebody stopping 
 with you." 
 
 " No. Nobody but you. Why do you say 
 
 'stopping' instead of 'staying'? I don't like it." 
 
 " Then I won't say it again," answered 
 
 Lawrence, meekly. " Why do you object to it, 
 
 though ? " 
 
 " You're not an Englishman, so there's no 
 
 19
 
 20 LOVE IN IDLENESS: 
 
 reason why you shouldn't speak English. Here's 
 the buckboard. Can you drive ? " 
 
 "Oh well yes," replied the young man, 
 rather doubtfully, and looking at the smart little 
 turn-out. 
 
 Fanny Trehearne fixed her cool grey eyes on 
 his face with a critical expression. 
 
 " Can you ride ? " she asked, pursuing her 
 examination. 
 
 " Oh, yes that is to some extent. I'm not 
 exactly a circus-rider, you know but I can get 
 on." 
 
 " Most people can do that. The important 
 thing is not to come off. What can you do 
 anyway? Are you a good man in a boat ? You 
 see I've only met you in society. I've never 
 seen you do anything." 
 
 " No," answered Lawrence. " I'm not a good 
 man in a boat, as you call it except that I'm 
 never sea-sick. I don't know anything about 
 boats, if you mean sail-boats. I can row a little 
 that's all." 
 
 " If you could ' row,' as you call it, you'd 
 say you could 'pull an oar' you wouldn't
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 21 
 
 talk about ' rowing.' Well, get in, and I'll 
 drive." 
 
 There was not the least scorn in her manner, 
 at his inability to do all those things which are 
 to be done at Bar Harbour if people do anything 
 at all. She had simply ascertained the fact as 
 a measure of safety. It was not easy to guess 
 whether she despised him for his lack of skill or 
 not, but he was inclined to think that she did, 
 and he made up his mind that he would get up 
 very early, and engage a sailor to go out with 
 him and teach him something about boats. The 
 resolution was half unconscious, for he was really ' 
 thinking more of her than of himself just then. 
 To tell the truth, he did not attach so much 
 importance to any of the things she had men- 
 tioned as to feel greatly humiliated by his own 
 ignorance. 
 
 " After all," said Miss Trehearne, as Lawrence 
 took his seat beside her, " it doesn't matter. 
 And it's far better to be frank, and say at once 
 that you don't know, than to pretend that you 
 do, and then try to steer and drown one, or to 
 drive and then break my neck. Only one rather
 
 22 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 wonders where you were brought up, you 
 know." 
 
 " Oh I was brought up somehow," answered 
 Lawrence, vaguely. " I don't exactly remember." 
 
 " It doesn't matter," returned his companion, 
 in a reassuring tone. 
 
 " No. If you don't mind, I don't." 
 
 Fanny Trehearne laughed a little, without 
 looking at him, for she was intent upon what 
 she was doing. It was a part of her nature to 
 fix her attention upon whatever she had in hand 
 a fact which must account for a certain indif- 
 ' ference in what she said. Just then, too, she 
 was crossing the main street of the village, and 
 there were other vehicles moving about hither 
 and thither. More than once she nodded to an 
 acquaintance, whom Lawrence also recognized. 
 
 " It's much more civilized than it was when 
 I was here last," observed Lawrence. " There 
 are lots of people one knows." 
 
 " Much too civilized," answered the young 
 girl. " I'm beginning to hate it." 
 
 " I thought you liked society " 
 
 " ! ? What made you think so ? "
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 23 
 
 This sort of question is often extremely embar- 
 rassing. Lawrence looked at her thoughtfully, 
 and wished that he had not made his innocent 
 remark, since he was called upon to explain it. 
 
 " I don't know," he replied at last. " Some- 
 how, I always associate you with society, and 
 dancing, and that sort of thing." 
 
 " Do you ? It's very unjust." 
 
 " Well it's not exactly a crime to like society, 
 is it ? Why are you so angry ? " 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't exaggerate ! It does 
 not follow that I'm angry because you're not fair 
 to me." 
 
 " I didn't mean to be unfair. How you take 
 one up ! " 
 
 " Really, Mr. Lawrence I think it's you who 
 are doing that ! " 
 
 Miss Trehearne, having a stretch of clear road 
 before her, gave her pair their heads for a 
 moment, and the light buckboard dashed briskly 
 up the gentle ascent. Lawrence was watching 
 her, though she did not look at him, and he 
 thought he saw the colour deepen in her sun- 
 burnt cheek, although her grey eyes were as 
 
 2_Vol. 9
 
 24 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 cool as ever. She was certainly not pretty, 
 according to the probable average judgment of 
 younger men. Lawrence, himself, who was an 
 artist, wondered what he saw in her face to 
 attract him, since he could not deny the attrac- 
 tion, and could not attribute it altogether to 
 expression nor to the indirect effect of her char- 
 acter acting upon his imagination. He did not 
 like to believe, either, that the charm was ficti- 
 tious, and lay in a certain air of superior smart- 
 ness, the result of good taste and plenty of 
 money. Anybody could wear serge, and a more 
 or less nautical hat and gloves, just in the fash- 
 ionable degree of loose-ness or tightness, as the 
 case might be. Anybody who chose had the 
 right to turn up a veil over the brim of the afore- 
 said hat, and anybody who did so stood a good 
 chance of being sunburnt. Moreover, as Law- 
 rence well knew, there is a quality of healthy 
 complexion which tans to a golden brown, very 
 becoming when the grey eyes have dark lashes, 
 but less so when, as in Fanny Trehearne's case, 
 the lashes and brows are much lighter than the 
 hair almost white, in fact. It is not certain
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 25 
 
 whether the majority of human noses turn up or 
 down. There was, however, no doubt but that 
 Fanny's turned up. It was also apparent that 
 she had decidedly high cheek bones, a square 
 jaw, and a large mouth, with lips much too even 
 and too little curved for beauty. After all, her 
 best points were perhaps her eyes, her golden- 
 brown complexion, and her crisp, reddish brown 
 hair, which twisted itself into sharp little curls 
 wherever it was not long enough to be smoothed. 
 With a little more regularity of feature, Fanny 
 Trehearne might have been called a milkmaid 
 beauty, so far as her face was concerned. Fortu- 
 nately for her, her looks were above or below 
 such faint praise. It was doubtful whether she 
 would be said to have charm, but she had indi- 
 viduality, since those terms are in common use 
 to express gifts which escape definition. 
 
 A short silence followed her somewhat indig- 
 nant speech. Then, the road being still clear 
 before her, she turned and looked at Lawrence. 
 It was not a mere glance of enquiry, it was cer- 
 tainly not a tender glance, but her eyes lingered 
 with his for a moment.
 
 26 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " Look here are we going to quarrel ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Is there any reason why we should ? " Law- 
 rence smiled. 
 
 " Not if we agree," answered the young girl, 
 gravely, as she turned her head from him again. 
 
 " That means that we shan't quarrel if I 
 agree with you, I suppose," observed the young 
 man. 
 
 " Well, why shouldn't you ? " asked Fanny, 
 frankly. " You may just as well, you know. You 
 will in the end." 
 
 " By Jove ! You seem pretty sure of that ! " 
 Lawrence laughed. 
 
 Fanny said nothing in reply, but shortened the 
 reins as the horses reached the top of the hill. 
 Lawrence looked down towards the sea. The 
 sun was very low, and the water was turning from 
 sapphire to amaranth, while the dark islands 
 gathered gold into their green depths. 
 
 " How beautiful it is ! " exclaimed the artist, 
 not exactly from impulse, though in real enjoy- 
 ment, while consciously hoping that his companion 
 would say something pleasant.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 27 
 
 " Of course it's beautiful," she answered. 
 "That's why I come here." 
 
 " I should put it in the opposite way," said 
 Lawrence. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Why it's beautiful because you come 
 here." 
 
 " Oh that's ingenious ! You think it's my 
 mission to beautify landscapes." 
 
 " I thought that if I said something pretty in 
 the way of a compliment, we shouldn't go on 
 quarrelling." 
 
 " Oh ! Were we quarrelling ? I hadn't no- 
 ticed it." 
 
 " You said something about it a moment ago," 
 observed Lawrence, mildly. 
 
 " Did I ? You're an awfully literal person. 
 By the bye, you know all the Miss Miners, 
 don't you? I've forgotten." 
 
 " I believe I do. There's Miss Miner the 
 elder to begin with " 
 
 " The oldest since there are three," said 
 Fanny, correcting him. " Yes she's the one 
 with the hair and teeth."
 
 28 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 "Yes, and Miss Elizabeth isn't that her 
 name ? The plainest " 
 
 "And the nicest. And Augusta she's the 
 third. Paints wild flowers and plays the piano. 
 She's about my age, I believe." 
 
 " Your age ! Why, she must be over thirty ! " 
 
 " No. She's nineteen, still. She's got an 
 anchor out to windward against the storm of 
 time, you know. She swings a little with the 
 tide, though." 
 
 " I don't understand," said Lawrence, to whom 
 nautical language was incomprehensible. 
 
 " Never mind. I only mean that she does 
 not want to grow old. It's always funny to see 
 a person of nineteen who's really over thirty." 
 
 Lawrence laughed a little. 
 
 " You're fond of them all, aren't you ? " he 
 asked, presently. 
 
 " Of course ! They're my relation how could 
 I help being fond of them ? " 
 
 " Oh yes," answered Lawrence, vaguely. 
 " But they really are very nice people." 
 
 "Why do you hesitate?" 
 
 " I don't know. I couldn't say ' very nice
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 29 . 
 
 ladies,' could I ? And I shouldn't exactly say 
 ' very nice women ' and ' very nice people ' 
 sounds queer, somehow, doesn't it ? " 
 
 " And you wouldn't say ' very nice old 
 maids' " 
 
 "Certainly not!" 
 
 " No. It wouldn't be civil to me, nor kind 
 to them. The truth is generally unkind and 
 usually rude. Besides, they love you." 
 
 "Me?" 
 
 "Yes. They rave about you, and your looks, 
 and your manners, and your conversation, and 
 your talents." 
 
 " The dickens ! I'm flattered ! But it's always 
 the wrong people who like one." 
 
 " Why the wrong people ? " asked Fanny 
 Trehearne, not looking at him. 
 
 " Because all the liking in the world from peo- 
 ple one doesn't care for can't make up for the 
 not liking of the one person one does care for." 
 
 " Oh in that way. It's rash to care for 
 only one person. It's putting all one's eggs 
 into one basket." 
 
 " What an extraordinary sentiment ! "
 
 30 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " I didn't mean it for sentiment." 
 
 " No I should think not ! Quite the con- 
 trary, I should say." 
 
 " Quite," affirmed Fanny, gravely. 
 
 "Quite?" 
 
 " Yes almost quite." 
 
 " Oh ' almost ' quite ? " 
 
 " It's the same thing." 
 
 " Not to me." 
 
 The young girl would not turn her atten- 
 tion from her horses, though in Lawrence's 
 inexpert opinion she could have done so 
 with perfect safety just then, and without im- 
 propriety. The most natural and innocent curi- 
 osity should have prompted her to look into his 
 eyes for a moment, if only to see whether he 
 were in earnest or not. He would certainly not 
 have thought her a flirt if she had glanced 
 kindly at him. But she looked resolutely at 
 the horses' heads. 
 
 " Here we are ! " she exclaimed suddenly. 
 
 With a sharp turn to the left the buckboard 
 swept through the open gate, the off horse break- 
 ing into a canter which Fanny instantly checked.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 31 
 
 The near wheels passed within a foot of the 
 gatepost. 
 
 " Wasn't that rather close ? " asked Lawrence. 
 
 " Why ? There was lots of room. Are you 
 nervous ? " 
 
 " I suppose I am, since you say so." 
 
 " I didn't say so. I asked." 
 
 " And I answered," said Lawrence, tartly. 
 
 " How sensitive you are ! You act as though 
 I had called you a coward." 
 
 " I thought you meant to. It sounded rather 
 like it." 
 
 " You have no right to think that I mean 
 things which I haven't said," answered the young 
 girl. 
 
 " Oh, very well. I apologize for thinking that 
 what you said meant anything." 
 
 " Don't lose your temper don't be a spoilt 
 baby ! " 
 
 Lawrence said nothing, and they reached the 
 house in silence. Fanny was not mistaken in 
 calling him sensitive, though he was by no means 
 so nervous, perhaps, as she seemed ready to be- 
 lieve. She had a harsh way of saying things
 
 32 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 which, spoken with a smile, could not have given 
 offence, and Lawrence was apt to attach real 
 importance to her careless speeches.. He felt 
 himself out of his element from the first, in a 
 place where he might be expected to do things 
 in which he could not but show an awkward in- 
 experience, and he was ready to resent anything 
 like the suggestion that timidity was at the root 
 of his ignorance, or was even its natural result. 
 
 His face was unnecessarily grave as he held 
 out his hand to help Fanny down from the buck- 
 board, and she neither touched it nor looked at 
 him as she sprang to the ground. 
 
 " Go into the library, and we'll have tea," she 
 said, without turning her head, as she entered the 
 house before him. " I'll be down in a moment." 
 
 She pointed carelessly to the open door and 
 went through the hall in the direction of the 
 staircase. Lawrence entered the room alone. 
 
 The house was very large ; for the Trehearnes 
 were rich people, and liked to have their friends 
 with them in considerable numbers. Moreover, 
 they had bought land in Bar Harbour in days 
 when it had been cheap, and had built their
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 33 
 
 dwelling commodiously, in the midst of a big lot 
 which ran down from the road to the sea. With 
 the instinct of a man who has been obliged to 
 live in New York, squeezed in, as it were, between 
 tall houses on each side, Mr. Trehearne had given 
 himself the luxury, in Bar Harbour, of a house as 
 wide and as deep as he could possibly desire, and 
 only two stories high. 
 
 The library was in the southwest corner of the 
 house, opening on the south side upon a deep 
 verandah from which wooden steps descended to 
 the shrubbery, and having windows to the west, 
 which overlooked the broad lawn. The latter 
 was enclosed by tall trees. The winding avenue 
 led in a northerly direction to the main road. 
 At the east end of the house, the offices ran out 
 towards the boundary of the Trehearnes' land, 
 and beyond them, among the trees, there was a 
 small yard enclosed by a lattice of wood eight or 
 ten feet high. 
 
 The library was the principal room on the 
 ground floor, and was really larger than the 
 drawing-room which followed it along the line 
 of the south verandah, though it seemed smaller
 
 34 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 from being more crowded with furniture. As 
 generally happens in the country, it had become 
 a sort of common room in which everybody 
 preferred to sit. The drawing-room had been 
 almost abandoned of late, the three Miss Miners 
 being sociable beings, unaccustomed to magnifi- 
 cence in their own homes, and averse to being 
 alone with it anywhere. They felt that the 
 drawing-room was too fine for them, and by tacit 
 consent they chose the library for their general 
 trysting-place and tea camp when they were 
 indoors. Mrs. Trehearne, who was, perhaps, a 
 little too fond of splendour, would have smiled 
 at the idea as she thought of her gorgeously 
 brocaded reception rooms in New York ; but 
 Fanny had simple tastes, like her father, and 
 agreed with her old-maid cousins in preferring 
 the plain, dark woodwork, the comfortable leath- 
 ern chairs, and the backs of the books, to the 
 dreary wilderness of expensive rugs and unneces- 
 sary gilding which lay beyond. For the sake of 
 coolness, the doors were usually opened between 
 the rooms.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HE weather was warm. By contrast 
 with the cool air of the bay he had 
 lately crossed, it seemed hot to Law- 
 rence when he entered the library. 
 Barely glancing at the room, he went straight 
 to one of the doors which opened upon the 
 verandah, and going out, sat down discontentedly 
 in a big cushioned straw chair. It was very 
 warm, and it seemed suddenly very still. In the 
 distance he could hear the wheels of the buck- 
 board in the avenue, as the groom took it round 
 to the stables, and out of the close shrubbery he 
 caught the sharp, dry sound of footsteps rapidly 
 retreating along a concealed cinder path. The 
 air scarcely stirred the creeper which climbed up 
 one of the pillars of the verandah and festooned 
 
 35
 
 36 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 its way, curtain-like, in both directions to the 
 opposite ends. On his right he could see the 
 broad, sloping lawn, all shadowed now by the tall 
 trees beyond. Without looking directly at it, he 
 felt that the vivid green of the grass was softened 
 and that there must be gold in the tops of the 
 trees. The sensation was restful, but his eyes 
 stared vacantly at the deep shrubbery which 
 began at the foot of the verandah steps and 
 stretched away under the spruces at his left. 
 
 He was exceedingly discontented, though he 
 had just arrived, or, perhaps, for that very reason 
 among many other minor ones. He had never 
 had any cause to expect from Fanny Trehearne 
 anything in the way of sentiment, but he was 
 none the less persuaded that he had a moral 
 right to look for something more than chaff and 
 good-natured hospitality, spiced with such vigor- 
 ous reproof as " don't be a spoilt baby." 
 
 The words rankled. He was asking himself 
 just then whether he was a ' spoilt baby ' or 
 not. It was of great importance to him to know 
 the truth. If he - was a spoilt baby, of course 
 Miss Trehearne had a right to say so if she liked,
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 37 
 
 though the expression was not complimentary. 
 But if not, she was monstrously unjust. He did 
 not deny that the accusation might be well 
 founded ; for he was modest as well as sensitive, 
 and did not think very highly of himself at 
 present, though he hoped great things for the 
 future, and believed that he was to be a famous 
 artist. 
 
 The more he told himself that he had no right 
 to expect anything of Fanny, the more thor- 
 oughly convinced he became that his right 
 existed, and that she was trampling upon it. 
 She had ordered him into the library in a very 
 peremptory and high-and-mighty fashion to wait 
 for her, regardless of the fact that he had 
 travelled twenty-four hours, and had acquired 
 the prerogative right of the traveller to soap and 
 water before all else. " No doubt he was quite 
 presentable, since the conditions of modern rail- 
 ways had made it possible to come in clean, or 
 comparatively so, from a longish run. But the 
 ancient traditions ought not to be swept out of 
 the way, Louis thought, and the right of scrub- 
 bing subsisted still. She might at least have
 
 38 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 given him a hint as to the whereabouts of his 
 room, since she had left him to himself for a 
 quarter of an hour. She had not been gone 
 four minutes yet, but Louis made it fifteen, and 
 fifteen it was to be, in his estimation. 
 
 Presently he heard a man's footstep in the 
 library behind him, and the subdued tinkling 
 of a superior tea-service, of which the sound 
 differs from the clatter of the hotel tea-tray, as 
 the voice, say, of Fanny Trehearne differed in 
 refinement from that of an Irish cook. But 
 it irritated Lawrence, nevertheless, and he did 
 not look round. He felt that when Fanny came 
 down again, he intended to refuse tea altogether 
 presumably, by way of proving that he was 
 not a spoilt baby after all. He crossed one leg 
 over the other impatiently, and hesitated as to 
 whether, if he lit a cigarette, it would seem rude 
 to be smoking when Fanny should come, even 
 though he was really in the open air on the 
 verandah. But in this, his manners had the 
 better of his impatience, and after touching his 
 cigarette case in his pocket, in a longing way, he 
 did not take it out.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 39 
 
 At last he heard Fanny enter the room. 
 There was no mistaking her tread, for he had 
 noticed that she wore tennis shoes. He knew 
 that she could not see him where he sat, and he 
 turned his head towards the door expectantly. 
 Again he heard the tinkle of the tea-things. 
 Then there was silence. Then the urn began 
 to hiss and sing softly, and there was another 
 sort of tinkling. It was clear that Fanny had 
 sat down. She could have no idea that he was 
 sitting outside, as he knew, but he thought she 
 might have taken the trouble to look for him. 
 He listened intently for the sound of her step 
 again, but it did not come, and, oddly enough, 
 his heart began to beat more quickly. But he 
 did not move. He felt a ridiculous determina- 
 tion to wait until she began to be impatient and 
 to move about and look for him. He could not 
 have told whether it were timidity, or nervous- 
 ness, or ill-temper which kept him nailed to his 
 chair, and just then he would have scorned the 
 idea that it could be love in any shape, though 
 his heart was beating so fast. 
 
 Suddenly his straining ear caught the soft
 
 40 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 rustle made by the pages of a book, turned 
 deliberately and smoothed afterwards. She was 
 calmly reading, indifferent to his coming or 
 staying away reading while the tea was draw- 
 ing. How stolid she was, he thought. She was 
 certainly not conscious of the action of her heart 
 as she sat there. For a few moments longer he 
 did not move. Then he felt he wished to see 
 her, to see how she was sitting, and how really 
 indifferent she was. But if he made a sound, she 
 would look up and lay down her book even before 
 he entered the room. The verandah had a floor 
 of painted boards, which are more noisy than 
 unpainted ones, for some occult reason, and he 
 could not stir a step without being heard. Besides, 
 his straw easy-chair would creak when he rose. 
 
 All at once he felt how very foolish he was, 
 and he got up noisily, an angry blush on his 
 young face. He reached the entrance in two 
 strides and stood in the open doorway, with his 
 back to the light. As he had guessed, Fanny 
 was reading. 
 
 " Oh ! " he ejaculated with affected surprise, 
 as he looked at her.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 41 
 
 She did not raise her eyes nor start, being 
 evidently intent upon finishing the sentence she 
 had begun. 
 
 " I thought you were never coming," she said, 
 absently. 
 
 He was more hurt than ever by her indiffer- 
 ence, and sat down at a little distance, without 
 moving- the light chair he had chosen. Fanny 
 reached the foot of the page, put a letter she 
 held into the place, closed the book upon it, and 
 then at last looked up. 
 
 " Do you like your tea strong or weak ? " she 
 enquired in a business-like tone. 
 
 " Just as it comes I don't care," answered 
 Lawrence, gloomily. 
 
 " Then I'll give it to you now. I like mine 
 strong." 
 
 " It's bad for the nerves." 
 
 " I haven't any nerves," said Fanny Trehearne, 
 with conviction. 
 
 " That's curious," observed Lawrence, with 
 fine sarcasm. 
 
 Fanny looked at him without smiling, since 
 there was nothing to smile at, and then poured
 
 42 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 out his tea. He took it in silence, but helped 
 himself to more sugar, with a reproachful air. 
 
 " Oh you like it sweet, do you ? " said Fanny, 
 interrogatively. 
 
 " Peculiarity of spoilt babies," answered Law- 
 rence, in bitter tones. 
 
 " Yes, I see it is." 
 
 And with this crushing retort Fanny Tre- 
 hearne relapsed into silence. Lawrence began 
 to drink his tea, burnt his mouth with courageous 
 indifference, stirred up the sugar gravely, and 
 said nothing. 
 
 " I wonder when they'll get home," said Fanny, 
 after a long interval. 
 
 "Are you anxious about them?" enquired the 
 young man, with affected politeness. 
 
 " Anxious ? No ! I was only wondering." 
 
 " I'm not very amusing, I know," said Law- 
 rence, grimly. 
 
 "No, you're not." 
 
 The blood rushed to his face again with his 
 sudden irritation, and he drank more hot tea to 
 keep himself in countenance. At that moment 
 he sincerely wished that he had not come to Bar 
 Harbour at all.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 43 
 
 "You're not particularly encouraging, Miss 
 Trehearne," he said presently. "I'm sure, I'm 
 doing my best to be agreeable." 
 
 "And you think that I'm doing my best to be 
 disagreeable? I'm not, you know. It's your 
 imagination." 
 
 " I don't know," answered Lawrence, his face 
 unbending a little. " You began by telling me 
 that you despised me because I'm such a duffer 
 at out-of-door things, then you told me I was a 
 spoilt baby, and now you're proving to me that 
 I'm a bore." 
 
 " Duffer, baby, and bore ! " Fanny laughed. 
 "What an appalling combination! " 
 
 " It is, indeed. But that's what you said " 
 
 "Oh, nonsense! I wasn't as rude as that, was 
 I ? But I never said anything of the sort, you 
 know." 
 
 "You really did say that I was a spoilt 
 baby" 
 
 "No. I told you not to be, by way of a gen- 
 eral warning " 
 
 "Well, it's the same thing " 
 
 " Is it ? If I tell you not to go out of the
 
 44 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 room, for instance, and if you sit still is it the 
 same thing as though you got up and went 
 out?" 
 
 " Why no of course not ! How absurd ! " 
 
 " Well, the other is absurd too." 
 
 " I'll never say again that women aren't logi- 
 cal," answered Lawrence, smiling in spite of 
 himself. 
 
 "No don't. Have some more tea." 
 
 "Thanks I've not finished. It's too hot to 
 drink." 
 
 Thereupon, his good temper returning, he 
 desisted from self-torture by scalding, and set 
 the cup down. Fanny watched him, but turned 
 her eyes away as he looked up and she met his 
 glance. 
 
 " I'm so glad you've come," she said quietly. 
 " I've looked forward to it." 
 
 Perhaps she was a little the more ready to say 
 so, because she was inwardly conscious of having 
 rather wilfully teased him, but she meant what 
 she said. Lawrence felt his heart beating again 
 in a moment. Resting his elbow on his knees, 
 he clasped his hands and looked down at the
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 45 
 
 pattern of the rug under his feet. She did not 
 realize how easily she could move him, not being 
 by any means a flirt. 
 
 " It's nothing to the way I've looked forward 
 to it," he answered. 
 
 She was silent, but he did not raise his head. 
 He could see her face in the carpet. 
 
 " You know that, don't you ? " he asked, in a 
 low voice, after a few moments. 
 
 Unfortunately for his information on the sub- 
 ject, the butler appeared just then, announcing 
 a visitor. 
 
 " Mr. Brinsley." 
 
 It was clear that the manservant had no option 
 in the matter of admitting the newcomer, who 
 was in the room almost before his name was pro- 
 nounced. 
 
 " How do you do, Miss Trehearne ? " he began 
 as he came swiftly forward. " I'm tremendously 
 glad to find you at home. You're generally out 
 at this hour." 
 
 " Is that why you chose it ? " asked Fanny, 
 with a little laugh and holding out her hand. 
 " Do you know Mr. Lawrence ? " she continued,
 
 46 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 by way of introducing the two men. " Mr. Brins- 
 ley," she added, for Louis's benefit. 
 
 Lawrence had risen, and he shook hands with 
 a good grace. But he hated Mr. Brinsley at 
 once, both because the latter had come inop- 
 portunely and because his own sensitive nature 
 was instantly and strongly repelled by the 
 man. 
 
 There was no mistaking Mr. Brinsley 's Cana- 
 dian accent, though he seemed anxious to make 
 it as English as possible, and Lawrence disliked 
 Canadians ; but that fact alone could not have 
 produced the strongly disagreeable sensation of 
 which the younger man was at once conscious, 
 and he looked at the visitor in something like 
 surprise at the strength of his instantaneous 
 aversion. Brinsley, though dressed quietly, and 
 with irreproachable correctness, was a showy 
 man, of medium height, but magnificently made. 
 His wrists were slender, nervous, and sinewy, his 
 ankles displayed to advantage by his low rus- 
 set shoes were beautifully modelled, whereas 
 his shoulders were almost abnormally broad, and 
 the cords and veins moved visibly in his athletic
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 47 
 
 neck when he spoke or moved. The powerful 
 muscles were apparent under his thin grey 
 clothes, and Lawrence had noticed the perfect 
 grace and strength of his quick step when he had 
 entered. In face he was very dark, and his wiry, 
 short black hair had rusty reflexions. His skin 
 was tanned to a deep brown, and mottled, espe- 
 cially about the eyes, with deep shadows, in which 
 were freckles even darker than the shadows them- 
 selves. His beard evidently grew as high as his 
 cheek bones, for the line from which it was 
 shaved was cleanly drawn and marked by the 
 dark fringe remaining above. His mustache was 
 black and heavy, and he wore very small, closely 
 cropped whiskers like those affected by naval 
 officers. He had one of those arrogant, vain, 
 astute noses which seem to point at whatever the 
 small and beady black eyes judge to be worth 
 having. 
 
 At a glance, Lawrence saw that Brinsley was 
 an athlete, and he guessed instantly that the man 
 must be good at all those things which Louis 
 himself was unable to do. He was a man to 
 ride, drive, run, pull an oar, and beat everybody 
 
 3 v'uL 9
 
 48 . LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 at tennis. But neither was that the reason why 
 Lawrence hated him from the first. It had been 
 the touch of his hard dry hand, perhaps, or the 
 flash of the light in his small black eyes, or his 
 self-satisfied and all-conquering expression. It 
 was not easy to say. Possibly, too, Louis 
 thought that Brinsley was his rival, and resented 
 the fact that Fanny had betrayed no annoyance 
 at the interruption. 
 
 But Brinsley barely vouchsafed Lawrence a 
 glance, as the latter thought, and immediately 
 sat himself down much nearer to Miss Tre- 
 hearne and the tea-table than Louis, in his 
 previous rage, had thought fit to do. 
 
 " Well, Miss Trehearne," said Brinsley, " how 
 is Tim ? Isn't he all right yet ? " 
 
 " He's better," answered Fanny. " He had a 
 bad time of it, but you can't kill a wire-haired 
 terrier, you know. He wouldn't take the phos- 
 phate. I believe it was sweetened, and he hates 
 sugar." 
 
 " So do I. Please don't give me any," he 
 added quickly, watching her as she prepared a 
 cup of tea for him.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 41) 
 
 Lawrence's resentment began to grow again. 
 It was doubtless because Mr. Brinsley never 
 took sugar that Fanny had seemed scornfully 
 surprised at the artist's weakness for it.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IOUIS LAWRENCE was exceed- 
 ingly uncomfortable during the next 
 few minutes, and to add to his misery, 
 he was quite conscious that he had 
 nothing to complain of. It was natural that 
 he should not know the people in Bar Harbour, 
 excepting those whom he had known before, 
 and that he should be in complete ignorance 
 of all projected gaieties. Of course no one 
 had suggested to the Reveres, for instance, to 
 ask him to their dance ; because they were 
 Boston people, they did not know him, and 
 nobody was aware that he was within reach. 
 Besides, Louis Lawrence was a very insignifi- 
 cant personage, though he was well-connected,
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 51 
 
 well-bred, and not ill-looking. He was just 
 now a mere struggling artist, with no money 
 except in the questionable future, and if he 
 had talent, it was problematical, since he 
 had not distinguished himself in any way as 
 yet. 
 
 He remembered all these things, but they 
 did not console him. In order not to seem 
 rude, he made vague remarks from time to time, 
 when something occurred to him to say, but 
 he inwardly wished Brinsley a speedy departure 
 and a fearful end. Fanny seemed amused and 
 interested by the man's conversation, and she 
 herself talked fluently. Now and then Brinsley 
 looked at Lawrence, really surprised by the 
 latter's ignorance of everything in the nature 
 of sport, and possibly with a passing contempt 
 which Lawrence noticed and proceeded to ex- 
 aggerate in importance. The artist was on the 
 point of asking Fanny's permission to go and 
 find the room allotted to him, when a sound 
 of women's voices, high and low, came through 
 the open windows. There was an audible little 
 confusion in the hall, and the three Miss Miners
 
 62 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 entered the library one after the other in quick 
 succession. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Brinsley ! " exclaimed Miss Cor- 
 delia, the eldest, coming forward with a pale 
 smile which showed many of her very beautiful 
 teeth. 
 
 " Mr. Brinsley is here," said Miss Elizabeth, the 
 ugly one, in an undertone to Miss Augusta, who 
 possessed the accomplishments. 
 
 Then they also advanced and shook hands 
 with much cordiality, the remains of which were 
 promptly offered to Lawrence. Mr. Brinsley 
 did not seem in the least overpowered by the 
 sudden entrance of the three old maids. He 
 smiled, moved up several chairs to the tea-table, 
 and laughed agreeably over each chair, though 
 Lawrence could not see that there was anything 
 to laugh at. Brinsley 's vitality was tremendous, 
 and his manners were certainly very good, so 
 that he was a useful person in a drawing-room. 
 His assurance, if put to the test, would have been 
 found equal to most emergencies. But on the 
 present occasion he had no need of it. It was 
 evidently his mission to be worshipped by the
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 53 
 
 three Miss Miners and to be liked by Miss Tre- 
 hearne, who did not like everybody. 
 
 " I'm sure we've missed the best part of your 
 visit," said Miss Cordelia. 
 
 " Oh, no," answered Brinsley, promptly. " I've 
 only just come at least it seems so to me," 
 he added, smiling at Fanny across the tea- 
 table. 
 
 Lawrence thought he must have been in the 
 room more than half an hour, but the sisters 
 were all delighted by the news that their idol 
 meant to stay some time longer. 
 
 " How nice it would be if everybody made such 
 speeches ! " sighed Miss Augusta to Lawrence, 
 who was next to her. " Such a charming way of 
 making Fanny feel that she talks well ! I'm sure 
 he's really been here some time." 
 
 " He has," answered Lawrence, absently and 
 without lowering his voice enough, for Brinsley 
 immediately glanced at him. 
 
 " We've been having such a pleasant talk about 
 the dogs and horses," said the Canadian, willing 
 to be disagreeable to the one other man present. 
 " I'm afraid we've bored Mr. Lawrence to death,
 
 54 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 Miss Trehearne he doesn't seem to care for 
 those things as much as we do." 
 
 " I don't know anything about them," answered 
 the young man. 
 
 " I'm afraid you'll bore yourself in Bar Harbour, 
 then," observed Mr. Brinsley. " What can you 
 find to do all day long ? " 
 
 " Nothing. I'm an artist." 
 
 " Ah ? That's very nice you'll be able to go 
 out sketching with Miss Augusta long ex- 
 cursions, don't you know ? All day " 
 
 " Oh, I shouldn't dare to suggest such a thing ! " 
 cried Miss Augusta. 
 
 "I'm sure I should be very happy, if you'd like 
 to go," said Lawrence, politely facing the dread- 
 ful possibility of a day with her in the woods, 
 while Brinsley would in all likelihood be riding 
 with Fanny or taking her out in a catboat. 
 
 But Miss Augusta paid little attention to him, 
 so long as Brinsley was talking, which was most 
 of the time. The man did not say anything 
 worth repeating, but Lawrence knew that he was 
 far from stupid in spite of his empty talk. At 
 last Lawrence merely looked on, controlling his
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 55 
 
 nervousness as well as he could and idly watching 
 the faces of the party. Brinsley talked on and 
 on, twisting to pieces the stem of a flower which 
 he had worn in his coat, but which had unaccount- 
 ably broken off. 
 
 Lawrence wondered whether Fanny, too, could 
 be under the charm, and he watched her with 
 some anxiety. There was something oddly in- 
 scrutable in the young girl's face and in her quiet 
 eyes that did not often smile, even when she 
 laughed. He had the strong impression, and he 
 had felt it before, that she was very well able to 
 conceal her real thoughts and intentions behind 
 a mask of genuine frankness and straightforward- 
 ness. There are certain men and women who 
 possess that gift. Without ever saying a word 
 which even faintly suggests prevarication, they 
 'have a masterly reticence about what they do not 
 wish to have known, whereby their acquaintances 
 are sometimes more completely deceived than 
 they could be by the most ingenious falsehood. 
 Lawrence was quite unable to judge from Fanny's 
 face whether she liked Brinsley or not, but he 
 was wounded by a certain deference, if that word
 
 56 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 be not too strong, which she showed for the man's 
 opinion, and which contrasted slightly with the 
 dictatorial superiority which she assumed towards 
 Lawrence himself. He consoled himself as well 
 as he could with the reflexion that he really knew 
 nothing about dogs, horses, or boats, and that 
 Brinsley was certainly his master in all such 
 knowledge. 
 
 As an artist, he could not but admire the per- 
 fect proportions of the visitor, the strength of 
 him, and the satisfactory equilibrium of forces 
 which showed itself in his whole physical being; 
 but as a gentleman he was repelled by something 
 not easily defined, and as a lover he suspected a 
 rival. He had not much right, indeed, to believe 
 that Fanny Trehearne cared especially for him, 
 any more than to predicate that she was in love 
 with Brinsley. But, being in love himself, he' 
 very naturally arrogated to himself such a right 
 without the slightest hesitation, and he boldly 
 asserted in his heart that Brinsley was nothing 
 but a very handsome ' cad,' and that Fanny Tre- 
 hearne was on the verge of marrying him. 
 
 The conversation, meanwhile, was lively to the
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 57 
 
 ear, if not to the intelligence. It was amazing to 
 see how the three spinsters flattered their dar- 
 ling at every turn. Miss Cordelia led the cho- 
 rus of praise, and her sisters, to speak musically, 
 took up the theme, and answer, and counter- 
 theme of the fugue, successively, in many keys. 
 There was nothing that Mr. Brinsley did not 
 know and could not do, according to the three 
 Miss Miners, or if there were anything, it could 
 not be worth knowing or doing. 
 
 " You'll flatter Mr. Brinsley to death," laughed 
 Fanny, "though I must say that he bears it well." 
 
 A faint shade of colour rose in Miss Cordelia's 
 pale cheeks, indicative of indignation. 
 
 " Fanny ! " she cried reprovingly. "How rude 
 you are ! I'm sure I wasn't saying anything at 
 all flattering." 
 
 " I only wish people would say such things to 
 me, then," retorted the young girl. 
 
 " We're all quite ready to, I'm sure, Miss Tre- 
 hearne," said Brinsley, smiling in a way that 
 seemed to make his heavy dark mustache retreat 
 outward, up his cheeks, like the whiskers of a cat 
 when it grins.
 
 58 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 Fanny looked round and met Lawrence's 
 eyes. 
 
 " You seem to be the only one who is ready," 
 she said, laughing again. " One isn't a crowd, as 
 the little boys say." 
 
 " Where do you get such expressions, my dear 
 child ? " asked Cordelia. " I really think you've 
 learned more slang since you've been here this 
 summer, though I shouldn't have believed it 
 possible ! " 
 
 " There ! " exclaimed Fanny, turning to Mr. 
 Brinsley again. " That's the kind of flattery 
 my relatives lavish on me from morning till 
 night ! As if you didn't all talk slang, the whole 
 time ! " 
 
 " Fanny!" protested Augusta, whose accom- 
 plishments made her sensitive and conscious. 
 " How can you say so ? " 
 
 " Well dialect, if you like the word better. 
 I'll prove it you. You all say ' won't ' and 
 ' shan't ' and most of you say ' I'd like ' for 
 instance and Mr. Brinsley says c ain't,' because 
 he's English " 
 
 " Well what ought we to say ? " asked
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 59 
 
 Augusta. " Nobody says ' I will not,' and all 
 that." 
 
 " You ought to. It's dialect not to and the 
 absurd thing is that people who go in for writing 
 books generally write out all the things you don't 
 say, and write them in the wrong order. We 
 say ' wouldn't you ' don't we ? Well, doesn't 
 that stand for * would not you ' ? And yet they 
 print ' would you not ' always. It's ridiculous. 
 I read a criticism the other day on a man who 
 had written a book and who wrote * will not you ' 
 for * won't you ' and ' would not you ' for ' wouldn't 
 you ' because he wanted to be accurate. You've 
 no idea what horrid things the critic said of him 
 he simply stood on his hind legs and pawed 
 the air ! It's so silly ! Either we should speak 
 as we write, or write as we speak. I don't mean 
 in philosophy and things the steam-engine 
 and the descent of man, and all that but in 
 writing out conversations. But then, of course, 
 nobody will agree with me so I talk as I 
 please." 
 
 " There's a great deal of truth in what you say, 
 Miss Trehearne," observed Brinsley, assuming a
 
 60 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 wise air. " Besides, I beg to differ from Miss 
 Miner, on one point I venture to say that I 
 don't dislike your slang, if it's slang at all. It's 
 expressive, of its kind." 
 
 " At last ! " cried Fanny, with a laugh. " I 
 get some praise faint, but perceptible." 
 
 " Faint praise isn't supposed to be complimen- 
 tary," observed Lawrence, laughing too. 
 
 " That's true," answered Fanny. " It's just the 
 opposite the thing with a d . I won't say 
 it on account of Cordelia. She'd all frizzle up 
 with horror if I said it wouldn't you, dear? 
 There 'd positively be nothing left of you noth- 
 ing but a dear little withered rose-leaf with a 
 dewdrop in the middle, representing your tears 
 for my sins ! " 
 
 "I'm afraid so," answered Cordelia, with a 
 little accentuation of her tired smile. 
 
 It was not a disagreeable smile in itself, 
 except that it was perpetual and was the expres- 
 sion of patiently and cheerfully borne adversity, 
 rather than of any satisfaction with things in 
 general. For the lives of the three Miss Miners 
 had not been happy. Sometimes Fanny felt a
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 61 
 
 sincere and loving pity for the three, and espe- 
 cially for the eldest. But there were also times 
 when Cordelia's smile exasperated her beyond 
 endurance. 
 
 Mr. Brinsley rose to go, rather suddenly, after 
 checking a movement of his hand in the direc- 
 tion of his watch. 
 
 " You're not going, surely ! " cried one or 
 two of the Miss Miners. "You're coming to 
 dinner." 
 
 "Stay as you are," suggested Fanny, greatly 
 to Lawrence's annoyance. 
 
 " You're awfully kind," answered the Canadian. 
 " But I can't, to-night. I wish I could. I've 
 asked several people to dine with me at the 
 Kebo Valley Club. I'd cut any other engage- 
 ment, to dine with you indeed I would. I'm 
 awfully sorry." 
 
 Many regrets were expressed that he could 
 not stay, and the leave-taking seemed sudden to 
 Lawrence, who stood looking on, still wondering 
 why he disliked the man so much. At last he 
 heard the front door closed behind him. 
 
 " Who is Mr. Brinsley ? " he asked of Fanny
 
 62 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 Trehearne, while the three Miss Miners were 
 settling themselves again. 
 
 " Oh I don't know. I believe he's a Cana- 
 dian Englishman. He's very agreeable don't 
 you think so ? " 
 
 " He's the most delightful man I ever met ! " 
 sighed Augusta Miner, before Lawrence had 
 time to say anything. 
 
 " Did you notice his eyes, Mr. Lawrence ? " 
 asked Miss Elizabeth. " Don't you think they're 
 beautiful ? " 
 
 " Beautiful ? Well it depends," Lawrence 
 answered with considerable hesitation, for he did 
 not in the least know what to say. 
 
 " Oh, but it isn't his eyes, nor his conversa- 
 tion ! " put in Cordelia, emphatically. " It is 
 that he's such a perfect gentleman ! You feel 
 that he wouldn't do anything that wasn't quite 
 quite don't you know?" 
 
 " I'm not sure that I do," replied Lawrence, in 
 some bewilderment. " But I understand what 
 you mean," he added confidently. 
 
 " My dear," said Augusta to her eldest sister, 
 " all that is perfectly true, as I always say. But
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 63 
 
 those are not the things that make him the most 
 charming man I ever met. Oh dear, no ! Ever 
 so many men one knows have good eyes, and 
 talk well, and are gentlemen in every way. I'm 
 sure you wouldn't have a man about if he wasn't 
 a gentleman. Would you ? " 
 
 "Oh no in a wider sense all the men we 
 have to do with are, of course " 
 
 "Well," argued Augusta, " that's just what I'm 
 telling you, my dear. It isn't those things. It 
 lies much deeper. It's a sort of refined appre- 
 ciation an appreciative refinement both, you 
 know. Now, the other day, do you remember ? 
 when I was playing that Mazurka of Chopin 
 did you notice his expression ? " 
 
 " But he always has that expression when any- 
 thing pleases him very much," said Miss Eliza- 
 beth. 
 
 " Yes, I know. But just then, it was quite 
 extraordinary there's something almost child- 
 like " 
 
 " If you go on about Mr. Brinsley in this way 
 much longer, you'll all have a fit," observed 
 Fanny Trehearne.
 
 64 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " My dear," answered Cordelia, gravely, " do 
 you know what a 'fit 'means? Really, sometimes, 
 you do exaggerate " 
 
 " A fit means convulsions what babies have, 
 you know. They used to say it was brought on 
 by looking at the moon." 
 
 Lawrence felt a strong inclination to laugh 
 at this moment, but he controlled it, and only 
 smiled. Then, to his considerable embarrass- 
 ment, they all appealed to him, probably in the 
 hope of more praise for Brinsley. 
 
 " Do tell us how he strikes you, Mr. Law- 
 rence," said Cordelia. 
 
 " Yes, do ! " echoed Elizabeth. 
 
 " Oh, please do!" cried Augusta, at the same 
 moment. 
 
 " I should be curious to know what you think 
 of him," said Fanny Trehearne. 
 
 " Well, really," stammered the unfortunate 
 young man, " I've hardly seen him I've not 
 had time to form an opinion you must know 
 him, and you all like him, and it seems to me 
 that settles it. Doesn't it?" 
 
 While Lawrence was speaking, Miss Cordelia
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 65 
 
 stooped and picked something up from the floor. 
 He noticed that it was the leafless stem of the 
 flower which Brinsley had been twisting in his 
 fingers. She did not throw it away, but her 
 hand closed over it, and Lawrence did not see 
 it again.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 1OUIS LAWRENCE had not been 
 at Bar Harbour a week before he 
 became fully aware if indeed there 
 had previously been any doubt on 
 the subject in his mind that he was very much 
 in love with Fanny Trehearne. It became clear 
 to him that, although he had believed himself to 
 be in love once or twice before then, he had been 
 mistaken, and that he had never known until 
 the present time exactly what love meant. He 
 was not even sure that he was pleased with the 
 passion, or, at least, with the form in which it 
 attacked him. Sensitive as he was, it ' took him 
 hard,' as the saying is, and he felt that it had 
 the better of him at every turn, and disposed of 
 him in spite of himself at every hour of the day. 
 
 66
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 67 
 
 When he was alone he wondered why he 
 had been asked to the house, and whether Mr. 
 and Mrs. Trehearne, who were abroad, knew 
 anything about it. He was a modest man, and 
 was inclined to underestimate himself, so that 
 it could never have occurred to him that Fanny 
 Trehearne might have been strongly attracted 
 by him during their acquaintance in town, and 
 might have insisted that he should be asked to 
 come and pass a fortnight. Moreover, Fanny 
 lost no opportunity of impressing upon him that 
 he was a great favourite with the three Miss 
 Miners, and she managed to convey the impres- 
 sion that he had been asked chiefly to please 
 them, though she never said so. 
 
 Meanwhile, however, it was evident that the 
 three sisters were absorbed in Mr. Brinsley, and 
 that when the latter was present they took very 
 little notice of Lawrence. He laughed at the 
 thought that the three old maids should all be 
 equally in love with the showy Canadian, and he 
 told himself that the thing was ridiculous; that 
 they were merely enthusiastic women, ' gush- 
 ing' women, he called them in his thoughts,
 
 68 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 who were flattered by the diplomatic and unfail- 
 ing civilities of a man who was evidently in 
 pursuit of Fanny Trehearne. 
 
 For by this tima he was convinced that Brins- 
 ley had made up his mind to marry Fanny if 
 he could ; and he hated him all the more for it, 
 even to formulating wicked prayers for the 
 suitor's immediate destruction. The worst of 
 it was, that the man might possibly succeed. 
 A girl who will and can ride anything, who 
 beats everybody at tennis, and who is as good 
 as most men in a sail-boat, may naturally be 
 supposed to admire a man who does those things, 
 and many others, in a style bordering upon per- 
 fection. This same man, too, though not exactly 
 clever in an intellectual way, possessed at least 
 the gifts of fluency and tact, combined with 
 great coolness under all circumstances, so far 
 as Lawrence had observed him. It was hardly 
 fair to assert that he was dishonest because he 
 flattered the three Miss Miners, and occupied 
 himself largely in trying to anticipate their small- 
 est wishes. He did it so well as to make even 
 Fanny Trehearne believe that he liked them
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 69 
 
 for their own sakes, and that his intentions were 
 disinterested and not directed wholly to herself. 
 Of course she knew that he wished to marry 
 her; but she was used to that. Two, at least, 
 of several men who had already informed her 
 that their happiness depended upon winning her, 
 were even now in Bar Harbour, presumably 
 repeating that or a similar statement to more 
 or less willing ears. As for Lawrence, he could 
 not fairly blame Brinsley for his behaviour 
 he confessed in secret that he flattered the three 
 Miss Miners himself, with small regard for un- 
 prejudiced truth. Besides, they were very kind 
 to him. But he found it hard to speak fairly 
 of Brinsley when alone with Fanny Trehearne. 
 
 " I don't like the man," he said, on inadequate 
 provocation, for the twentieth time. 
 
 " I know you don't," answered Fanny, calmly, 
 " but that's no reason for letting go of the tiller. 
 Mind the boom ! she's going about no it's 
 of no use to put the helm up now. We've no 
 way on let her go ! No I don't mean that 
 oh, do give it to me ! " 
 
 And thereupon Fanny, who was sitting for-
 
 7 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 ward of him on the weather side, stretched her 
 long arm across him, pushing him back into his 
 corner, and put the helm hard down with her left 
 hand, while she hauled in the sheet as much as 
 she could with her right, bending her head low 
 to avoid the boom as it came swinging over. 
 
 Lawrence could not help looking down at her, 
 and he forgot all about the boom, being far too 
 little familiar with boating to avoid it instinc- 
 tively, when he felt the boat going about. It 
 came slowly, for there was little wind ; and the 
 catboat, having no way on to speak of, was in no 
 hurry to right herself and go over on the other 
 tack, but just as the shadow of the sail warned 
 him that something was coming, he looked up, 
 and at the same instant received the blow full 
 on his forehead, just above his eyes. He wore 
 a soft, knitted woollen cap, which did not even 
 afford the protection of a visor. 
 
 Fanny turned her head at once, for the blow 
 had been audible, and she saw what had hap- 
 pened. Lawrence had raised his hand to his 
 forehead instinctively. 
 
 " Are you hurt ? " asked Fanny, quickly, keep-
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 71 
 
 ing her eyes upon him, and still holding the helm 
 hard over so as to give the boat way. 
 
 Lawrence did not answer at once. He was 
 half stunned, and still covered his forehead with 
 his hand. The young girl looked at him in- 
 tently, and there was an expression in her eyes 
 which he, at least, had never seen there a sud- 
 den, scared light which had nothing to do with 
 fear. 
 
 " Are you hurt ? " she asked again, gently. 
 
 His delicate face grew suddenly pale, as the 
 blood, which had rushed up at first under the 
 shock of the blow, subsided as suddenly. Fanny 
 turned her eyes from him and looked ahead and 
 under the sail to leeward. She let out a little 
 more sheet, so that the boat could run very free ; 
 for the craft, like most catboats, had a weather 
 helm when the sheet was well aft, and Fanny 
 wanted her hands. Moreover, Lawrence was 
 now on the lee side with her, and the boat would 
 have heeled too far over with the wind abeam. 
 As soon as the sail drew properly, Fanny sat up 
 beside Lawrence, steering across him with her 
 left hand. With her right she could reach the 
 
 4 Vol. 9
 
 72 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 water, and she scooped up what she could in her 
 hollow palm, wetting her sleeve to the shoulder 
 as she did so, for the boat was gaining speed. 
 She dashed the drops in his face. 
 
 " Are you hurt ? " she asked a third time, 
 drawing away his hand and laying her own wet 
 one upon his forehead. 
 
 "Oh no," he answered faintly. " I'm not hurt 
 at all." 
 
 She could tell by his voice that he was not 
 speaking the truth, and a moment later, as he 
 leaned against the side of the boat, his head fell 
 back, and his lips parted in a dead faint. 
 
 There was no scorn in the young girl's face 
 for a man who could faint so easily, as it seemed ; 
 but the scared look came into her eyes again, 
 and without hesitation, still steering with her 
 left hand, she passed her right arm round his 
 neck and supported him. The breeze was 
 almost in her face now, for she was looking 
 astern, and she knew by the way it fanned her 
 whether she was keeping the boat fairly before it. 
 
 Lawrence did not revive immediately, and it 
 was fortunate that there was so little wind, or
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 73 
 
 Fanny might have got into trouble. She looked 
 at him a moment longer and hesitated, for the 
 position was a difficult one, as will be admitted. 
 But she was equal to it and knew what to do. 
 Letting his head fall back as it would, she with- 
 drew her arm, let go the helm, and hauled in the 
 sheet as the boat's head came up. As the boom 
 came over toward Lawrence's head, she caught 
 it and lifted it over him, hauled in the slack and 
 made the sheet fast, springing forward instantly 
 to let go the halliards. The gaff came rattling 
 down, and she gathered in the bellying sail 
 hastily and took a turn round everything with 
 the end of the throat halliard, which chanced to 
 be long enough the gaskets were out of her 
 reach, in the bottom of the boat. 
 
 There was little or no sea on, as the tide was 
 near the turning, and the catboat was rocking 
 softly to the little waves when Fanny came aft 
 again. Lawrence's head was still hanging back, 
 his lips were parted, and his eyes were half open, 
 showing the whites in a rather ghastly way. 
 With strong arms the young girl half lifted him, 
 and let him gently down upon the cushions in
 
 74 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 the stern-sheets. Then she leaned over the side 
 and wetted her handkerchief and laid it upon 
 his bruised forehead. The cold water and the 
 change of position brought him to himself. 
 
 He opened his eyes and looked up into her 
 face as she bent over him. Then, all at once, 
 he seemed to realize what had happened, and 
 with an exclamation he tried to sit up. But 
 she would not let him. 
 
 " Lie still a minute longer ! " she said authori- 
 tatively. " You'll be all right in a little while." 
 
 " But it isn't anything, I assure you," he pro- 
 tested, looking about him in a dazed way. 
 " Please let me sit up ! I won't make a fool 
 of myself again it's only my heart, you know. 
 It stops sometimes it wasn't the knock." 
 
 " Your heart ? " repeated Fanny, with greater 
 anxiety than Lawrence might have expected. 
 " You haven't got heart disease, have you ? " 
 
 " Oh no not so bad as that. It's all right 
 now. It will begin to beat very hard presently 
 there I can feel it and then it will go on 
 regularly again. It isn't anything. I fancy I 
 smoke too much or it's coffee or something.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 75 
 
 Please don't look as though you thought it were 
 anything serious, Miss Trehearne. I assure you, 
 it's nothing. Lots of people have it." 
 
 " It is serious. Anything that has to do with 
 the heart is serious." 
 
 Lawrence smiled faintly. 
 
 " Is that a joke ? " he asked. " If it is, please 
 let me sit up." 
 
 "No that isn't a reason," answered Fanny, 
 laughing a little, though her eyes were still grave. 
 " You must lie still a little longer. You might 
 faint again, you know. It must be dangerous to 
 have one's heart Behaving so strangely." 
 
 " Oh I don't believe so." 
 
 " You don't believe so ? You mean that it's 
 possible, but that you hope it won't stop ? Is 
 that it ? " 
 
 " Oh well perhaps. But I don't think 
 there's any real danger. Besides if it did, it's 
 easy, you know." 
 
 " What's easy ? " 
 
 " It's an easy death over at once, in a flash. 
 No lingering and last words and all that." He 
 laughed.
 
 76 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 Fanny Trehearne's sunburned cheeks grew 
 pale under their tan, and her cool grey eyes 
 turned slowly away from his face, and rested on 
 the blue water. 
 
 " Please don't talk about such things ! " she 
 said in a tone that seemed hard to Lawrence. 
 
 "Are you afraid of death ? " he asked, still 
 smiling. 
 
 " I ? " She turned upon him indignantly. 
 "No I don't believe that I'm much afraid of 
 anything for myself." 
 
 " You turned pale," observed the young man, 
 raising himself on his elbow as he lay on the 
 cushions, and looking at her. Her colour came 
 back more quickly than it had gone. 
 
 " Did I ? " she asked indifferently enough. 
 " It's probably the sun. It's hot, lying here and 
 drifting." 
 
 " No. It wasn't the sun," said Lawrence, with 
 conviction. " You were thinking that somebody 
 you are fond of might die suddenly. We were 
 talking about death." 
 
 " What difference does it make whom I was 
 thinking of ? " She spoke impatiently now, still 
 watching the water.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 77 
 
 " It makes all the difference there is, that's 
 all," answered Lawrence. " Won't you tell me ? " 
 
 " No. Certainly not ! Why should I ? Look 
 here if you're well enough to talk, you're well 
 enough to help me to get the sail up again." 
 
 " Of course I am but " Lawrence showed 
 no inclination to move. 
 
 " But what ? You're too lazy, I suppose." 
 Fanny laughed. "Let me see your forehead 
 take your cap off," she added, with a change of 
 tone. 
 
 Lawrence thrust the cap back, which did not 
 
 , help matters much, as his hair grew low and 
 
 partially hid the bruise. The skin was not 
 
 broken, but it was almost purple, and a large 
 
 swelling had already appeared'. 
 
 " It's too bad ! " exclaimed Fanny, looking at 
 it, as he bent down his head, and softly touching 
 it with her ungloved hand. "Tell me do you 
 feel very weak and dizzy still ? I was only 
 laughing when I spoke of your helping me with 
 the sail." 
 
 " Oh no ! " answered Lawrence, cheerfully. " It 
 aches a little, of course, but it will soon go off."
 
 78 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " And your heart ? " asked Fanny, anxiously. 
 " Is it all right now ? You don't think you'll 
 faint again, do you ? " 
 
 " Not a bit." 
 
 " I'm not sure. You're very pale." 
 
 " I'm always pale, you know. It's my nature 
 It doesn't mean anything. Some people are 
 naturally pale." 
 
 " But you're not. You're dark, or brown, and 
 not red, but you're not usually pale. I wish I 
 had some whiskey, or something, to give you." 
 
 She looked round the boat rather helplessly, 
 as though expecting to discover a remedy for. 
 his weakness. 
 
 " Please don't make so much of it," said Law- 
 rence, in a tone which showed that he was 
 almost annoyed by her persistence. " I assure 
 you that I won't have such bad taste as to die 
 on your hands before we get to land ! " 
 
 Fanny rose to her feet and turned away from 
 him with an impatient exclamation. 
 
 " Just keep the helm amidships while I get 
 the sail up," she said, without looking at him, 
 and stepping upon the seat which ran along the
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 79 
 
 side, she was on the little deck in a moment, 
 with both halliards in her hands. 
 
 Lawrence sprang forward to help her, forget- 
 ting what she had just told him to do. 
 
 " Do as I told you ! " she exclaimed quickly 
 and impatiently. " Do you know what the tiller 
 is ? Well, keep it right in the middle till I tell 
 you to do something else." 
 
 " Don't be fierce about it," laughed Lawrence, 
 obeying her. 
 
 But when she was not looking, he pressed one 
 hand to his forehead with all his might, as though 
 to drive out the pain, which increased with every 
 minute. 
 
 Meanwhile, Fanny laid her weight to the 
 halliards, and the sail went flapping up, throat 
 and peak. The girl was very strong, and had 
 been taught to handle a catboat when she had 
 been a mere child, so that there was nothing 
 extraordinary in her accomplishing unaided a 
 little feat which would have puzzled many a 
 smart young gentleman who fancies himself half 
 a sailor.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 T chanced that on that evening Roger 
 Brinsley was to dine with the Miss 
 Miners. He was often asked, and he 
 accepted as often as he could. As 
 a matter of fact, he was not so much sought after 
 elsewhere, as he was willing to let the four ladies 
 believe, for there were people in Bar Harbour 
 who shared Lawrence's distrust of him, while 
 admitting that, so far as they could tell, it was 
 quite unfounded. There was nothing against 
 him. The men said that he played a good deal 
 at the club, and remarked that he was a good 
 type of the professional gambler, but no one ever 
 said that he won too much. On the contrary, 
 it was believed that he had lost altogether rather 
 
 So
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 81 
 
 heavily during the six weeks since he had first 
 appeared. He paid cheerfully, however, and was 
 thought to be rich. Nevertheless, the men 
 whose opinion was worth having did not like 
 him. They wondered why the Miss Miners had 
 him so often to the house, and whether there 
 were not some danger that Fanny Trehearne 
 might take a fancy to him. 
 
 It was very late when Fanny and Lawrence 
 got home, for the catboat had been carried far 
 up Frenchman's Bay during the time after the 
 little accident, and it had been necessary to beat 
 to windward for two hours against the rising tide 
 in order to fetch the channel between Bar Island 
 and Sheep Porcupine. The consequence was 
 that the pair had scarcely time to dress for 
 dinner after they reached the house. 
 
 Lawrence felt ill and tired, and was conscious 
 that the swelling on his forehead was not beauti- 
 ful to see. He was still dazed, and by no means 
 himself, when he looked into the glass and 
 knotted his tie. But though he might well have 
 given an excuse and stayed in his room instead 
 of going down to dinner, he refused to consider
 
 82 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 the possibility of such a thing even for a moment. 
 He felt something just then which more than 
 compensated him for his bruises and his wretched 
 sensation of weakness. 
 
 The conversation, after the boat had got under 
 way again, had languished, and had been so con- 
 stantly interrupted by the often repeated opera- 
 tion of going about, that Lawrence had not 
 succeeded in bringing it back to the point at 
 which Fanny had broken it off when she had 
 gone forward to hoist the sail. But he had more 
 than half guessed what might have followed, and 
 the reasonable belief that he might be right had 
 changed the face of his world. He believed that 
 Fanny had turned pale at the idea that his life 
 was in danger. 
 
 One smiles at the simplicity of the thought, in 
 black and white, by itself, just itself, and nothing 
 more. Yet it was a great matter to Louis Law- 
 rence, and as he looked at his bruised face in the 
 glass he felt that he was too happy to shut him- 
 self up in his room for the evening, out of sight 
 of the cool grey eyes he loved. 
 
 He had assuredly not meant to frighten Fanny
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 83 
 
 when he had spoken, and he had been very far 
 from inventing an imaginary ailment with which 
 to excite her sympathy. The whole thing had 
 come up unexpectedly as the result of the acci- 
 dent. Hence its value. 
 
 As often happens, the two people in the house 
 who had been most hurried in dressing were the 
 first down, and as Lawrence entered the library he 
 heard Fanny's footstep behind him. He bowed as 
 they came forward together to the empty fireplace. 
 She looked at him critically before she spoke. 
 
 " You're badly knocked about. How do you 
 feel ? " There was a man-like directness in her 
 way of asking questions, which was softened by 
 the beauty of her voice. 
 
 " I feel as I never felt before," answered 
 Lawrence, conscious that his eyes grew dark as 
 they met hers. " You told me something to-day 
 though you did not say it." 
 
 Fanny did not avoid his gaze. 
 
 " Did I ? " she asked very gravely. 
 
 " Yes. Plainly." 
 
 " I am very sorry," she answered, with a little 
 sigh, and turning from him at last.
 
 84 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " Are you taking it back ? " Louis's voice 
 trembled as he asked the question. 
 
 " Hush ! " 
 
 Just then the voices of the three Miss Miners 
 were heard in the hall, and at the same instant 
 the distant tinkle of the front-door bell an- 
 nounced the arrival of Roger Brinsley. 
 
 The conversation turned upon Lawrence's 
 accident, from the first, as was natural, consider- 
 ing his appearance. He dwelt laughingly on his 
 utter helplessness in a boat, while Fanny was 
 inclined to consider the whole affair as rather 
 serious. For some reason or other Brinsley was 
 displeased at it, and ventured to say a disagree- 
 able thing. He had lost at cards in the after- 
 noon, and was in bad humour. He spoke to 
 Fanny with affected apprehension. 
 
 " You really ought to take somebody with you 
 who knows enough to lend a hand at a pinch, 
 Miss Trehearne," he said. " Suppose that you 
 got into a squall and had to take a reef you'd 
 be in a bad way, you know." 
 
 " If I couldn't manage a catboat alone, I'd 
 walk," answered Fanny, with contempt.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 85 
 
 " Yes no doubt. But if a squall really came 
 up, what would you do ? Mr. Lawrence con- 
 fesses that he couldn't help you." 
 
 " Are you chaffing, Mr. Brinsley ? " asked 
 Fanny, severely. " Or do you think I really 
 shouldn't know what to do ? " 
 
 " I doubt whether you would." 
 
 "Oh I'd let go the halliards and lash the 
 helm amidships, and take my reef with the sail 
 down ' hoist 'em up and off again,' after that, 
 as the fishermen say." 
 
 " I think you could stand an examination," 
 said Brinsley. 
 
 " I daresay. Could you ? If you were going 
 about off a lee shore in a storm and missed 
 stays, could you club-haul your ship, Mr. 
 Brinsley ? " 
 
 The three Miss Miners stared at the two in 
 surprise and wonder, not understanding a word 
 of what they were saying. It was apparent to 
 Lawrence, however, that Fanny was bent on 
 putting Brinsley in the position of confessing his 
 ignorance at last ; but where the young girl had 
 learned even the language of seamanship, which
 
 36 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 she used with such apparent precision, was more 
 than Lawrence could guess. Brinsley did not 
 answer at once, and Fanny pressed him. 
 
 " Do you even know what club-hauling 
 means ? " she asked, mercilessly. 
 
 " Well no really, I think the term must 
 be obsolete." 
 
 " Not at sea," retorted Fanny. 
 
 This was crushing, and Brinsley, who was 
 really a very good hand at ordinary sailing, grew 
 angry. 
 
 " Of course you've had some experience in 
 catboats," Fanny continued. " That isn't serious 
 sailing, you know. It's about equivalent, in horse- 
 manship, to riding a donkey a degree less dig- 
 nified than walking, and a little less trouble." 
 
 " I won't say anything about myself, Miss 
 Trehearne," said Brinsley, " but you might treat 
 the catboat a little less roughly. I didn't know 
 you'd ever sailed anything else." 
 
 Here the Miss Miners interposed, one after 
 the other, protesting that it was not fair to use 
 up the opportunities of conversation in such 
 nautical jargon.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 87 
 
 " I only wished to prove to Mr. Brinsley that 
 I'm to be trusted at sea," Fanny answered. 
 
 " My dear child," said Miss Cordelia, " Mr. 
 Brinsley knows that, and he must be a good 
 judge, having been in the navy." 
 
 " Oh, I didn't know you'd been in the navy, 
 Mr. Brinsley," said the pitiless young girl, fixing 
 her eyes on his with an expression which he, per- 
 haps, understood, though no one else noticed it. 
 " The English navy, of course ? " 
 
 " The English navy," repeated Mr. Brinsley, 
 sharply. 
 
 " Oh, well that accounts for your not know- 
 ing how to club-haul a ship. Your own people 
 are always saying that your service is going to 
 the dogs." 
 
 Even Lawrence was surprised, and Brinsley 
 looked angrily across the table at his tormentor, 
 but found nothing to say on the spur of the 
 moment. 
 
 " However," Fanny continued with some con- 
 descension, " I'm rather glad to know you're a 
 navy man. I'll get you to come out with me 
 some day and verify some of the bearings on our
 
 88 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 local chart. I believe there are one or two mis- 
 takes. We'll take the sextant and my chronom- 
 eter with us, and the tables, and take the sun 
 each of us, you know, and work it out separately, 
 and see how near we get. That will be great 
 fun. You must all come and see Mr. Brinsley 
 and me take the sun," she added, looking round 
 at the others. " Let's go to-morrow. We'll take 
 our luncheon with us and picnic on board. Can 
 you come to-morrow, Mr. Brinsley ? We must 
 start at eleven so as to get far enough out to 
 have a horizon by noon. I hope you're not en- 
 gaged ? Are you ? " 
 
 " I'm sorry to say I am," answered the unfor- 
 tunate man. " I'm going to ride with some peo- 
 ple just at that hour." 
 
 " How unlucky ! " exclaimed Fanny, who had 
 expected the refusal. " I'll take Mr. Lawrence, 
 anyhow, and give him a lesson in navigation." 
 
 " I've had one to-day," said Lawrence, affecting 
 to laugh, for it was his instinct to try and turn 
 off any conversation from a disagreeable subject. 
 
 " You'll be all the better for another to-mor- 
 row," answered Fanny.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 89 
 
 As she spoke to the artist, her tone changed 
 so perceptibly that even the Miss Miners noticed 
 it. Brinsley took the first opportunity of talking 
 to Miss Cordelia, of whose admiration he was 
 sure, and the rest of the dinner passed off in 
 peace, Brinsley avoiding a renewal of hostilities 
 with something almost like fear, for he felt that 
 the extraordinary young girl who knew so much 
 about navigation was watching for another op- 
 portunity of humiliating him, and would not be 
 merciful in using it. 
 
 The change in .her manner to him had been 
 very sudden, as though she had on that partic- 
 ular day made up her mind about something 
 concerning him. Hitherto she had treated him 
 almost cordially, certainly with every appearance 
 of liking him. He had even of late begun to 
 fancy that her colour heightened when he entered 
 the room, a phenomenon which, if real, was 
 attributable rather to another cause, and con- 
 nected with Lawrence's presence in the house. 
 
 After dinner the whole party went out upon the 
 verandah, a favourite manoeuvre of Miss Cor- 
 delia's, whereby the society of Mr. Brinsley was
 
 90 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 not wasted upon smoke and men's talk in the 
 dining-room. This evening, however, instead of 
 sitting down at once in her usual place, Cordelia 
 slipped her arm through Fanny's, and led her off 
 to the other side and down the steps into the 
 garden. 
 
 " The moonlight is so lovely," said Miss Cor- 
 delia, " and I want to talk to you. Let us walk 
 a little do you mind ? " 
 
 The two went along the path in silence, in and 
 out among the trees. The moon was full. From 
 the sea came up the sound of the tide, washing 
 the smooth rocks at high water. The breeze 
 had died away at sunset and the deep sky was 
 cloudless. Here and there the greater stars 
 twinkled softly, but the little ones were all lost in 
 the moonlight, like diamonds in a pure fountain. 
 Everything was asleep except the watchful, wake- 
 ful sea. The two women stood still and looked 
 across the lawn. At last Miss Miner spoke. 
 
 "Why were you so unkind to Mr. Brinsley 
 to-night ? " she asked in a low voice. 
 
 Fanny glanced at her before she answered. 
 The eldest Miss Miner's face had once been
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 91 
 
 almost beautiful. In the moonlight, the delicate, 
 clearly chiselled features were lovely still, but a 
 little ghostly, and the young girl saw that the 
 fixed smile had disappeared for once, leaving a 
 look of pain in its place. 
 
 " I didn't mean to be unkind," Fanny began. 
 
 " That is," she added quickly, correcting herself, 
 " I'm not quite sure of what I meant. I think 
 I did mean to hurt him. He's so strong, and 
 he's always showing that he despises Mr. Law- 
 rence, because he isn't an athlete. As though a 
 man must be a prize-fighter to be nice ! " 
 
 " Well but Mr. Lawrence doesn't mind.
 
 92 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 You see how he takes it all. Why should you 
 fight battles for him ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I shouldn't. But why should you 
 take up the cudgels for Mr. Brinsley? He's 
 quite able to take care of himself, if he will only 
 tell the truth." 
 
 " If ! " exclaimed Miss Cordelia, in ready resent- 
 ment. " He's the most truthful man alive." 
 
 " Oh ! And he told you he had been in the 
 English navy." 
 
 " What has that to do with it? Of course he 
 has, if he says so." 
 
 " He's unwise to say so, because he hasn't," 
 answered Fanny, in her usual direct way. 
 
 " How in the world can you say that a man like 
 Mr. Brinsley an honourable man, I'm sure 
 is telling a deliberate falsehood ? I'm surprised 
 at you, Fanny indeed I am ! It isn't like you." 
 
 " Did you ever know me to tell you anything 
 that wasn't exactly true ? " asked the young girl, 
 looking down into her elderly cousin's sweet, sad 
 face, fpr she was much the taller. 
 
 " No of course not but " 
 
 " Well, Cousin Cordelia, I tell you that your
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 93 
 
 Mr. Brinsley has never been in the English navy. 
 I don't say that I think so. I say that I know it. 
 Will you believe me, or him ? " 
 
 " Oh, Fanny ! " Miss Cordelia raised her eyes 
 with a frightened glance. 
 
 " Not that it matters," added Fanny, looking 
 away across the moonlit lawn again. " Who 
 cares ? Only, it's one of those lies that go against 
 a man," she continued after a short pause. " A 
 man may pretend that he has shot ten million 
 grisly bears in his back yard, or hooked a salmon 
 that weighed a hundred- weight people will 
 laugh and say that he's a story-teller. It's all 
 right, you know and nobody minds. But when 
 a man says he's been in the army or in the navy, 
 and hasn't people call him a liar and cut him. 
 I don't know why it's so, I'm sure, but it is and 
 we all know it." 
 
 "Yes," answered Cordelia, almost tremulously; 
 " but you haven't proved that Mr. Brinsley isn't 
 telling the truth " 
 
 " Oh yes, I have ! There never was a deep- 
 sea sailor yet who had never heard of club-haul- 
 ing a ship to save her. I know about those
 
 94 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 things. I always make navy officers talk to me 
 about those things whenever I get a chance. 
 Besides, I can prove it to you. Ask the first 
 captain of a fishing-schooner you meet down at 
 the landing what it means. But don't tell me 
 I don't know it's too absurd." 
 
 Miss Cordelia looked down. Her hand still 
 rested on Fanny's arm, and it trembled now so 
 that the young girl felt it. 
 
 " What does it mean, then ? " asked Cordelia, 
 faintly. 
 
 "Oh, it's a long operation to tell about. It's 
 when you've got a lee-shore in a gale, and you 
 want to go about and can't, because you miss 
 stays every time, and you let go an anchor, and 
 the ship swings to it, and just as ^she begins to 
 get way on, you slip your chain, and she pays 
 off on the other tack. Of course you lose your 
 anchor." 
 
 "Oh you lose the anchor? To save the 
 ship? I see." 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 " You lose the anchor to save the ship," re- 
 peated Cordelia, softly, as though she were try-
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 95 
 
 ing to remember the words for future use. Shall 
 we go back ? " she suggested, rather abruptly. 
 
 " I wish you'd answer me one question first," 
 said Fanny. 
 
 "Yes. What is it?" 
 
 " Why are you so awfully anxious to stand up 
 for Mr. Brinsley ? You're not in love with him, 
 are you ? " 
 
 Cordelia started very perceptibly, and turned 
 her face away. Then, all at once, she laughed 
 a little hysterically. 
 
 * In love ? At my age ? " 
 
 And she laughed again, and laughed, strange 
 to say, till she cried, clinging all the time to the 
 young girl's strong arm. Fanny did not ask 
 any more questions as they walked slowly back 
 to the house. 
 
 5 Vol. 9
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IOME with me into the village, and 
 help me to do errands," said Fanny 
 on the following morning, just as 
 Lawrence was feeling for his pipe in 
 his pocket after breakfast. " You can smoke 
 till we get there. It wouldn't hurt you to smoke 
 less, anyway." 
 
 They went down through the garden, fresh 
 and dewy still from the short, cool night, towards 
 the sea. The path to the village lies along a 
 low sea-wall, just high enough and strong enough 
 to keep the tide from the lawns. But the tide 
 was beginning to run out at that hour, and was 
 singing and rocking itself away from the shore, 
 
 9 6
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. <)/ 
 
 leaving the big loose stones and the chocolate- 
 coloured rocks all wet and shining in the morn- 
 ing sun. The breeze was springing up in the 
 offing and would reach the land before long, kiss- 
 ing each island as it passed softly by, and gently 
 
 breaking with dark blue the smoothly undulating 
 water. 
 
 The sun was almost behind the pair as they 
 walked along the sands, and hone full upon 
 the harbour as it came into view, lighting up 
 the deep green of the islands between which 
 passes the channel, and bringing up the warm 
 brown of the soil through thick weaving spruces.
 
 98 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 The graceful yachts caught the sunshine, too, 
 their hulls gleaming darkly, or dazzlingly white, 
 their slender masts pencilled in light, against 
 the trees, and standing out like threaded needles 
 when they showed against the pale, clear sky. 
 In the bright northern air, the artist would have 
 complained that there was no atmosphere no 
 ' depth,' nor ' distance,' but only the distinct far- 
 ness of the objects a long way off nothing at 
 all like ' atmospheric perspective.' 
 
 " Isn't it a glorious day ! " exclaimed Fanny, 
 looking seaward at a white-sailed fishing-schooner, 
 which scarcely moved in the morning air. 
 
 " It's a little bit too swept and garnished," an- 
 swered Lawrence. "That is for a picture, 
 you know. It's better to feel than to look at, 
 if you understand what I mean. It feels so 
 northern, that when you look at it, it seems bare 
 and unfinished without a little snow." 
 
 " But you lil^e it, don't you ? " asked the young 
 girl, in prompt protest. 
 
 " Of course I do. What a question ! I thought 
 I'd been showing how much I liked it, ever since 
 I got here."
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " I'm not sure that you show what you like 
 and don't like," said Fanny, in a tone of reflexion. 
 " Perhaps it's better not to." 
 
 "You don't, at all events. At least aren't 
 
 you rather an inscrutable person? Of course 
 I don't know," he added rather foolishly, pulling 
 his woollen cap over his eyes and glancing at 
 her sideways. 
 
 " Inscrutable ! What a big word ! ' The in-
 
 100 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 scrutable ways of Providence ' that's what they 
 always say, don't they? Still if you mean 
 that I don't ' tell,' you're quite right. I don't 
 when I can keep my countenance. Do you ? It's 
 always far better not to tell. Besides, if you 
 commit yourself to an opinion, you're committing 
 yourself to gaol." 
 
 " What a way of putting it ! But it's really 
 true. I should so much like to ask you a ques- 
 tion about one of your opinions." 
 
 " Why don't you ? " asked Fanny, turning her 
 eyes to his. 
 
 " Oh lots of reasons : I'm afraid, in the first 
 place; and then, I'm not sure you have one, 
 and then " 
 
 " Say it all I hate people who hesitate ! " 
 
 " Well no. There's a great deal more to 
 say than I want to say. Let's talk about the 
 landscape." 
 
 " No. I want to know what the question is 
 which you wished you might ask," insisted 
 Fanny. 
 
 " It's about Mr. Brinsley," said Lawrence, 
 plunging.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " Well, what about him ? " Fanny's tone 
 changed perceptibly, and her expression grew 
 cold and forbidding. 
 
 "Nothing particular unless it's impertinent 
 so I won't ask it." 
 
 "You won't ? " asked Fanny, slackening her pace 
 and looking hard at him. " Not if I ask you to ?" 
 
 " No," answered Lawrence. " I'd oblige you 
 by asking a different question, but not that one. 
 You wouldn't know the difference." 
 
 " That's ingenuous, at all events." She looked 
 away again and laughed. 
 
 " I never fight when I can help it, and you 
 looked dangerous just now. You always are, 
 in one way or another." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Only that when you don't happen to be 
 frightening me out of my wits, you are charming 
 me into a perfect idiot." 
 
 "Something between an express train and the 
 Lorelei," laughed Fanny. 
 
 But the quick, girlish blood had sprung to her 
 sunny cheeks and lingered a moment, as though 
 it loved the light. They were now in the village
 
 102 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 in the broad street where the shops are. At 
 that hour there were many people moving about 
 on foot and in every sort of vehicle, short of 
 brougham and landaus. There was the smart 
 couple in a high buckboard, just out for a morn- 
 ing drive ; there was the elderly farmer with his 
 buggy or his hooded cart his wife seated be- 
 side him, with her queer, sad, winter-blighted 
 face, and her decent, but dusty black frock ; 
 there was the young farmer 'sport' driving his 
 favourite trotting horse in a sulky. And of 
 pedestrians there was no end. A smart party 
 bent on a day's excursion by sea came down the 
 board walk, brilliant in perfectly new blue and 
 white serge, with bits of splendid orange and 
 red here and there, fresh faces, light hearts, great 
 appetites, and the most trifling of cares the 
 care for trifles themselves. Fanny nodded and 
 smiled, and was smiled at, while Lawrence at- 
 tempted to lift his soft woollen cap from his 
 head with some sort of grace a thing impossi- 
 ble, as men who wear soft woollen caps well 
 know. But the air seemed lighter and brighter 
 for so much youth laughing in it.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 103 
 
 Fanny dived into one shop after another, 
 Lawrence following her, rather awkwardly, as 
 a man always does under the circumstances, 
 until he is old enough to find out that there is 
 a time for watching as well as a time for talk- 
 ing, and that more may be learned of a woman's 
 character from the way she treats shopkeepers 
 than is generally supposed. Fanny showed sur- 
 prising alternations of firmness and condescen- 
 sion, for she had the gift of managing people 
 and of getting what she wanted, which is a 
 rare gift and one not to be despised. She 
 asked very kindly after the fishmonger's baby, 
 but she did not hesitate to tell the grocer the 
 hardest of truths about the butter. 
 
 " I always do my own marketing," she said 
 to Lawrence, in answer to his look of surprise. 
 " It amuses me, and I get much better things. 
 My poor dear cousins don't understand market- 
 ing a bit though they ought to. That's the 
 reason why they never get on, somehow. I 
 believe marketing is the best school in the world 
 for learning what's worth having and what isn't. 
 Don't you?"
 
 104 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " I never had a chance to learn," laughed 
 Lawrence. " I wish you'd teach me how to get 
 on, as you call it." 
 
 "Oh it's very easy! You only need know 
 exactly what you want, and then try to get it 
 as hard as you can. Most people don't know, 
 and don't try." 
 
 " For that matter I know perfectly well what 
 I want." 
 
 " Then why don't you try and get it ? " asked 
 Fanny, pausing at the door of another shop as 
 though interested in his answer. 
 
 " I'm not sure that it's in the market," 
 answered the young man, his eyes in hers. 
 
 " Have you enquired ? " Fanny's mouth 
 twitched with the coming smile. 
 
 " No not exactly. I'm trying to find out by 
 inspection." 
 
 " If you don't think it's likely to be too dear, 
 you'd better ask whatever it is." 
 
 " Money couldn't buy it. Besides, I've got 
 none," added Lawrence. 
 
 " You might get it on credit," said Fanny. 
 " But I think it's very doubtful."
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 105 
 
 Thereupon she entered the shop, and Law- 
 rence followed her, meditating deeply upon his 
 chances, and asking himself whether he should 
 run the great risk at once, or wait and watch 
 Brinsley. To tell the truth, he thought his own 
 chances very small ; for he underestimated all 
 his advantages by looking at them in the light of 
 his present poverty, not seeing that in so doing 
 he might be underestimating Fanny Trehearne 
 as well. A somewhat excessive caution, which 
 sometimes goes with timidity, though not at all 
 of the sort which produces cowardice, is often 
 the result of an education which has not brought 
 a man closely into competition with other men. 
 No one in common sense, save the Miss Miners 
 and Lawrence himself, could have imagined that 
 Brinsley had a chance against him. For any- 
 thing that people knew, Brinsley might turn out 
 to be an adventurer of the worst kind, whereas 
 Lawrence was of good birth, a man of whom 
 many knew who he was, and whence he came, 
 and that he had as good a right to ask for 
 Fanny's hand as any man. He was poor just 
 now, but no one believed that his rich uncle,
 
 106 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 a childless widower of fifty-five, would marry 
 again, and Lawrence was sure to have money 
 in the end, though he might wait thirty years 
 for it. 
 
 As for Brinsley, Fanny Trehearne either could 
 not or would not pretend that she liked him, 
 even in the most moderate degree of distant 
 liking, after she had satisfied herself that he was 
 not a truthful person in those matters in which 
 truth decides the right of a man to be considered 
 honourable. Being, on the whole, more careful 
 than most people about the accuracy of what she 
 said, she was less inclined to make allowances for 
 others than a great many of her contemporaries. 
 Besides, Brinsley had not only told a lie, which 
 was mean in itself, but he had allowed himself 
 to be found out, which Fanny considered con- 
 temptible. 
 
 Up to this time she had seemed to think him 
 very pleasant company and not a bad addition to 
 the society of the place. 
 
 " He's so good-looking ! " she had often said to 
 the approving Miss Miners. " And he has good 
 manners, and knows how to come into a room,
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 107 
 
 and how to sit- down and get up and do lots of 
 things," she added vaguely. 
 
 In this opinion her three old-maid cousins 
 fully concurred, and they were quite ready to 
 say as much in his favour as Fanny could 
 have heard without laughing. They were there- 
 fore greatly distressed when she changed her 
 mind. 
 
 " He's handsome," Fanny now admitted. " But 
 he's a little too showy. I've seen men like him 
 at races, but they were not the men who were 
 introduced to me. I don't think they knew any- 
 body I knew that sort of man, don't you 
 know? And his English accent isn't quite 
 English, and I don't like his little flat whiskers, 
 and his hands irritate me. Besides, he said he 
 had been in the navy, and now he admits that 
 he never was. That's enough." 
 
 " My dear Fanny," Cordelia answered, on such 
 occasions, " there was a misunderstanding about 
 that, you know. He was in the navy, since he 
 was an officer of Marines, but of course he wasn't 
 expected to know " - 
 
 " The Marines ! " exclaimed Fanny, contempt-
 
 108 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 uously. " It's only a way of getting out of it, 
 I'm sure!" 
 
 Thereupon the three Miss Miners told her 
 that she was very unjust and prejudiced, as they 
 retired together to praise Mr. Brinsley, out of 
 hearing of their young cousin's tart comment. 
 Miss Cordelia had made it all right by giving the 
 man an opportunity of justifying himself after he 
 had privately explained to her that the Marines 
 were an integral part of the navy, but that they 
 were not called upon to know anything about 
 navigation, a fact which must account for his 
 ignorance. 
 
 He had very firm friends, to say the least of it, 
 in the three spinsters, who might have been said 
 to worship the ground on which he walked, and 
 who thought it a sin and a shame that Fanny 
 should treat him as she did. As for young Law- 
 rence, he looked on, with his observant artist's 
 eyes, and never mentioned Brinsley, except to 
 Fanny herself. For he was not at all lacking in 
 tact, however- deficient he might be in the manly 
 accomplishments. 
 
 " Do you know," Fanny began, one day when
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 109 
 
 they were walking in the woods, " I don't half 
 mind your being such a bad hand at things. 
 It's funny. I thought I should, at first but I 
 don't." 
 
 " I'm awfully glad," answered Lawrence, not 
 finding anything else to say to express his 
 gratitude. 
 
 " Oh, you may well be ! " laughed Fanny. " I 
 don't forgive everybody for being a duffer. And 
 that's what you are, you know. You don't mind 
 my saying so ? " 
 
 " Oh no, not at all." The tone in which he 
 spoke did not express much conviction, how- 
 ever. 
 
 " I believe you do," said Fanny, thoughtfully. 
 
 They were following a narrow path which led 
 upwards along the bank of a brook under over- 
 arching trees. Here and there the bank had 
 fallen away, and the woodmen had laid down 
 * slabs ' of the rippings first taken off by the saw- 
 mill in squaring timber. It was damp under 
 foot, for it had lately rained, and the wet, choco- 
 late-coloured dead leaves of the previous year 
 filled the chinks between the bits of wood, and
 
 HO LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 sometimes lay all over them, a slippery mass. It 
 was still and hot and damp all through the thick 
 growth on the midsummer's afternoon. The 
 whispered mystery of countless living things 
 filled the quiet air with a vibration more felt 
 than heard, which overcame the silence, but did 
 not break the stillness. 
 
 The path was very narrow, and Fanny had 
 to walk before her companion. Their voices 
 seemed to echo back to them from very near, as 
 they talked, for amongst the trees the rich under- 
 growth grew man-high. On their right, below 
 them, the brook laughed softly to itself as a faun 
 might laugh, drowsily, half asleep in a hollow of 
 the deep woods. 
 
 And then, through the warm-breathing secret 
 places, where all that was living was growing 
 fiercely in the sudden summer, stole the heart- 
 thrilling fragrance of all that lived, than which 
 nothing more surely stirs young blood in the 
 glory of the year. 
 
 For some minutes the pair walked on in silence, 
 Fanny leading. The young man watched the 
 strong, lithe figure of the girl as she moved
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. HI 
 
 swiftly and sure-footed before him. Suddenly she 
 stopped, without turning round, and she seemed 
 to be listening. A low ray of sunlight ran quiv- 
 ering through the trees and played with a crisp 
 ringlet of her hair, too full of life and strength 
 to be smoothed to dull order with the rest. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Lawrence, in a low voice, 
 watching her. 
 
 " I thought I heard some one in the woods," 
 she answered quickly, and then listened again. 
 
 Not a sound broke the dream-like stillness. 
 
 " I'm sure I heard something," said Fanny. 
 Then she laughed a little. " Besides," she added, 
 "it's very likely. It's awfully hot. " Here's a 
 good place to sit down." 
 
 It was not a particularly good place, being damp 
 and sloping, and Lawrence planted his heels firmly 
 amongst the wet, dead leaves to keep himself from 
 slipping down into the path as he sat beside her. 
 
 " There's always something going on in the 
 woods," she said softly and dreamily. " The 
 trees talk to each other all day long, and the 
 squirrels sit and crack nuts while they listen to 
 the conversation. I like the woods. Somehow
 
 H2 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 one never feels alone when one gets where things 
 grow does one ? " 
 
 " I don't mind being alone when I can't be I 
 mean " Lawrence did not finish his sentence, 
 but bent down and picked up a twig from the 
 ground. " Isn't it funny ! " he exclaimed, twist- 
 ing it in his hands. " All the bark's loose, and 
 turns round." 
 
 " Of course it's an old twig, and it's wet. 
 When don't you mind being alone ? You were 
 saying something ' when you couldn't be with ' 
 -something, or somebody." 
 
 " Oh you know ! What's the use of my 
 saying it ? " Lawrence kept his eye on the 
 twig. 
 
 " I don't know, and if I want you to say any- 
 thing, that's the use," answered Fanny, whose 
 prose style, so to say, was direct if it was anything. 
 
 " Yes but you see I didn't mean anything 
 in particular." He broke the twig in two and 
 tossed it over the path into the brook below. 
 
 Fanny changed her position a little, leaning 
 forward and clasping her gloved hands round 
 her knees.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. H3 
 
 " You're very nice, you know," she said medita- 
 tively. " I like you." 
 
 " Because I don't answer your questions ? " 
 asked Lawrence, looking at her face, which was 
 half turned from him. 
 
 " Yes. That's one of the reasons." 
 
 " It's a very funny one. I don't see much reason 
 in it, I confess." 
 
 "Don't you? Don't you know that a woman 
 sometimes likes a man for what he doesn't 
 say ? " 
 
 " I never thought of it in that way. I daresay 
 you're right. You ought to know much better 
 than I do. Especially if you really like me, as 
 you say you do." 
 
 "Oh I'm honest. I never said I'd been in 
 the navy ! " Fanny laughed. " Besides, if I 
 didn't like you, why should I say so ? Just to 
 say something civil? The way Mr. Brinsley 
 does ? " 
 
 " Brinsley's a horror ! Don't talk about him 
 especially here." 
 
 " I don't mean to. I hate him. But if we 
 were going to talk about him, this would be a
 
 114 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 good place one's sure that he's not just round 
 the corner of the verandah making one of my 
 three cousins miserable." 
 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
 "Why they all love him. Can't you see 
 it ? I don't mean figuratively. Not a bit. 
 They're in love with him, poor dears ! " 
 
 " Nonsense ! not really ? " Lawrence laughed 
 incredulously. 
 
 "Yes really. It's a rather dismal sort of 
 love they've kept their hearts in pickle for 
 such an age, you know old pickles aren't good, 
 either. I've no patience with old maids who 
 fall in love and make fools of themselves ! " 
 
 " Perhaps they can't help it," suggested the 
 young man. " Nobody can help falling in love, 
 you know." 
 
 "No," answered Fanny, rather doubtfully. 
 " Perhaps not. I don't know. It depends." 
 
 " People don't generally try to keep them- 
 selves from falling in love," remarked Lawrence, 
 with the air of a philosopher. " It's more apt 
 to be the other way. They are generally trying 
 to make some one else fall in love with them. 
 That's the hard thing."
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " Is it?* Fanny smiled. " Perhaps it is," she 
 added, after a pause. " I'd like to tell you some- 
 thing " 
 
 She hesitated and stopped. Lawrence looked 
 at her, but did not speak, expecting her to go on. 
 The silence continued for some time. Once or 
 twice Fanny turned and met his eyes, and her 
 lips moved as though she were just going to say 
 something. She seemed to be in doubt. 
 
 " I don't believe in friendship, and I don't 
 believe in promises, and I don't believe much 
 in anything," she said, at last, in magnificent 
 generalization. " But I'd like to tell you, all the 
 same. Do you mind ? " 
 
 " I won't repeat it if you do," said Lawrence, 
 simply. 
 
 " No I don't believe you will. You see I 
 haven't any friends, so I never tell things, at 
 least, not much. I don't believe much in telling, 
 anyway. Do you ? " 
 
 " Not if you mean to keep a secret." 
 
 " Oh well this isn't exactly a secret only 
 I don't want any one to know it. Yes, I know ! 
 You laugh because I'm going to tell you. But 
 you're different, somehow "
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 "Am I?" 
 
 " Oh yes, you don't count ! " 
 
 Lawrence's face fell a little at this last remark, 
 and there was silence again for a few moments. 
 
 " I'm not sure that I'll tell you, after all," said 
 Fanny, at last. 
 
 The quiet lids were half closed over the grey 
 eyes, and she seemed to be thinking out some- 
 thing. Lawrence was unconsciously wondering 
 why he did not think the white lashes ugly, 
 especially when she had just told him that he 
 did not 'count.' 
 
 " Are you sure you won't tell ? " asked the 
 young girl, after another long pause. 
 
 " If you don't want me to, of course I won't," 
 answered Lawrence, mechanically. 
 
 " It's a sort of confession," said Fanny. " That's 
 the reason why I don't like to tell you. It's 
 cowardly to be afraid of confessing that one's 
 been an idiot, so I am going to do it at once and 
 get it over." 
 
 " It's a startling confession ! " laughed Law- 
 rence, softly. " I don't believe it. Is that 
 all ? "
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 117 
 
 " If you laugh at me, I won't tell you anything 
 more. Then you'll be sorry." 
 
 " Shall I ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " All right ! I'm serious now," said Lawrence. 
 
 " Don't you want to smoke ? " asked Fanny, 
 suddenly. " I wish you would. I should be 
 less less nervous, you know." 
 
 " What a curious idea ! But I'll smoke if 
 you like." 
 
 He proceeded to fill and light a big brier-root 
 pipe. 
 
 " I like the smell of a pipe," said Fanny, watch- 
 ing the operation. " I'm so tired of the ever- 
 lasting cigarette." 
 
 " I'm ready," Lawrence said, puffing slowly 
 into the still, hot air. 
 
 " Are you sure you won't laugh at me ? Well, 
 I'll tell you. I liked Mr. Brinsley awfully at 
 first." 
 
 Lawrence looked at her quickly and took his 
 pipe from his mouth. 
 
 " Not really ? " he exclaimed, only half-inter- 
 rogatively, but with a change of colour. " But
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 then well I don't suppose you mean any- 
 thing particular by that," he added, to comfort 
 himself. " You don't mean that you " He 
 stopped. 
 
 Fanny nodded slowly, and the blush that rose 
 in her face reddened her sunny complexion. 
 
 " Yes. That's what I mean. I cared for him, 
 you know, that sort of thing." 
 
 " It hasn't taken you long to get over it, at 
 all events," answered Lawrence, gravely, and 
 wondering inwardly why she made the extraordi- 
 nary confession, seeing that it hurt him and 
 could do her no good. 
 
 "No it hasn't taken long, has it? That's 
 what frightens me. If I weren't frightened, I 
 shouldn't talk to you about it." 
 
 " I don't understand why are you frightened ? 
 Especially since you've got over it. I don't 
 see " 
 
 " I thought you might," said Fanny, enigmati- 
 cally. 
 
 A long silence followed, this time. Lawrence 
 crossed his hands on his knees as Fanny was 
 doing, holding his pipe, which was going out.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. H9 
 
 They both sat staring at the opposite bank of 
 the brook. 
 
 The vital loveliness of the still woods was all 
 around them, whispering in their young ears, 
 breathing into their young nostrils the breath 
 of nature's life, caressing them with bountiful 
 warmth. They sat side by side, very near, 
 staring at the opposite bank, and for a long 
 time no words passed their lips. At last the 
 young girl spoke in a low and almost monoto- 
 nous tone. 
 
 " He has an influence over people who come 
 near him," she said. " Besides, that kind of man 
 appeals to me. It's natural, isn't it ? I'm so 
 fond of all sorts of things out-of-doors, that I 
 can't help admiring a man who can do everything 
 so well. And he's a splendid creature. You've 
 never seen him ride. You don't know it's 
 wonderful ! I wish you could see him on that 
 thoroughbred Teddy Van De Water has brought 
 up this summer Teddy's a good rider, but he 
 can't do anything with the mare. You ought to 
 see Brinsley Mr. Brinsley you'd understand 
 better." 
 
 6 Vol. 9
 
 120 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " But I understand perfectly, as it is," said 
 Lawrence, rather gloomily. 
 
 " Do you ? I wonder whether you really do. 
 Do you think there's any any excuse for 
 me ? " 
 
 The words were spoken in a faltering shame- 
 faced way very unlike Fanny's usual manner. 
 
 " As though you needed any excuse for taking 
 a fancy to any one who pleases you ! " answered 
 Lawrence, rather coldly. " Aren't you perfectly 
 free to like anybody who turns up ? " 
 
 During the pause which followed, he slowly 
 relighted his pipe, which had quite gone out by 
 this time. 
 
 " I was afraid you wouldn't understand," said 
 Fanny, in a disappointed tone. 
 
 " But I do - 
 
 " No not what I mean. I hate explaining 
 things, but I shall have to." 
 
 Louis Lawrence wondered vaguely what there 
 could be to explain, and, if there were anything, 
 why she should be so anxious to explain to him 
 in particular.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 T was in this way," said Fanny. " Mr. 
 Brinsley brought a letter of introduc- 
 tion from Cousin Frank. You know 
 who Frank is, don't you ? He's the 
 brother of the three Miss Miners." 
 
 " Of course," nodded Lawrence. " Everybody 
 knows Frank Miner." 
 
 " And he knows everybody. But he didn't say 
 much in his note, and Cordelia has written to 
 him since, because she wants to know all about 
 Mr. Brinsley, and it appears that Frank has only 
 met him once or twice at a club, and doesn't 
 know anything about him. However, it doesn't 
 matter! The main point is that he called the 
 
 121
 
 122 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 day after we got here, and in twenty-four hours 
 we were all in love with him." 
 
 " Please don't include yourself," said Lawrence, 
 his delicate face betraying that he winced. 
 
 " I will include myself, because it's true," 
 answered Fanny, very much in earnest. " I 
 shouldn't put it just in that way about myself, 
 perhaps, but I took a fancy to him, and I took 
 him to drive, and I found that he could drive 
 quite as well as I, and we went out riding 
 with a party, and he rides like an angel he 
 really does it's divine. And then I tried him 
 in the boat, and he was good at that. So I be- 
 gan to like him very much." 
 
 " They're all excellent reasons for liking a 
 man," observed Lawrence, with a little contempt. 
 
 " Don't scoff at things you can't do yourself," 
 said Fanny, severely. " It's not in good taste. 
 Besides, I don't care. All women admire men 
 who are stronger, and quicker, and better with 
 their hands than other men. One always thinks 
 they must be braver, too." 
 
 " Yes, that's true," assented Lawrence, seeking 
 to retrieve himself by meekness.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 123 
 
 " And they generally are. It takes courage to 
 ride well, and it needs nerve to handle a boat in 
 a squall. I don't mean to say that you can't be 
 brave if you don't know how to do those things. 
 That would be nonsense. You for instance 
 you could learn. Only nobody has ever taught 
 you anything, and you're getting old." 
 
 Lawrence laughed outright, and forgot his ill- 
 humour in a moment. 
 
 " Oh I don't mean really old," said Fanny, 
 immediately. " I only mean that one ought to 
 learn when one is a child, as I did. Then it's no 
 trouble, you see and one never forgets. Now, 
 Mr. Brinsley began young " 
 
 " Yes," interrupted 'the young man, " I should 
 say so. I'm sorry I didn't." 
 
 " So am I. It would have been so nice to do 
 things " 
 
 She stopped abruptly, and pulled up a blade of 
 rank grass, which she proceeded to twist thought- 
 fully round her finger. 
 
 " I shouldn't like you to think I was a flirt," 
 she said, suddenly turning her grey eyes upon 
 him.
 
 124 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 He met her glance curiously, being consider- 
 ably surprised by her remark. 
 
 " Because I sometimes think I am, myself," she 
 added, still looking at him. " Do you think so ? " 
 she asked earnestly. " What is a flirt, anyway ? " 
 
 " A woman who draws a man on for the pleas- 
 ure of breaking his heart, I suppose," answered 
 Lawrence, keeping his eyes fixed intently on 
 hers. 
 
 " Then I'm only half a flirt," said Fanny, 
 " because I only draw a man on, without mean- 
 ing to break anybody's heart." 
 
 " Don't," said Lawrence. " It hurts, you 
 know." 
 
 " I wonder " The young girl laughed a 
 little, and turned away from his eyes. 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " Whether it really hurts." She bit the end of 
 the grass blade, and slowly tore it with her teeth, 
 looking dreamily across the brook. 
 
 " Don't try it, at all events." 
 
 " Mr. Brinsley doesn't seem to mind." 
 
 " Brinsley isn't a human being," said Law- 
 rence, savagely.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 125 
 
 " What is he, then ? " 
 
 " A fraud of some sort. I don't care. I 
 hate him ! " 
 
 " You're hard on Mr. Brinsley," observed 
 Fanny, slowly, and watching her companion 
 sideways. 
 
 " Considering what you've been saying about 
 him- 
 
 " I said nothing about him except that I began 
 by liking him awfully." 
 
 " Well you left the rest to my imagination. 
 I did as well as I could. If you didn't hate him 
 yourself, you'd hardly have been telling me all 
 this, would you ? " 
 
 " Oh I don't know. I might be going to 
 ask your advice about about him." 
 
 " Take him out in your boat and drown him," 
 suggested Lawrence. " That's my advice about 
 him." 
 
 " What has he done to you, Mr. Lawrence ? " 
 enquired Fanny, gravely. " Why do you hate 
 him so?" 
 
 " Why ? It's plain enough, it seems to me 
 plain as a what do you call the thing ? "
 
 " Plain as a marlinespike, you mean. Only it 
 isn't. I want to know two things. Do you 
 think I'm a flirt ? And why do you want me to 
 murder poor, innocent Mr. Brinsley ? Do you 
 mind answering?" 
 
 Lawrence's dark eyes began to gleam angrily. 
 He bit his pipe and pulled at it, though it had 
 gone out; then he took it from his lips and 
 answered deliberately. 
 
 " If you are a flirt, Miss Trehearne, I don't 
 wish Brinsley any further damage. He'll do 
 very well in your hands, I'm sure. I have no 
 anxiety." 
 
 " I wouldn't hurt a fly," said Fanny. " If I 
 liked the fly," she added. 
 
 " I believe the spider said something to the 
 same effect, when he invited the fly into his 
 parlour." 
 
 At this a dark flush rose in the girl's cheeks. 
 
 " You're rude, Mr. Lawrence," she said. 
 
 " I'm sorry, Miss Trehearne but you're un- 
 kind, so you'll please to excuse me." 
 
 Instead of flushing, as she did, Lawrence 
 turned slowly pale, as was his nature.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 127 
 
 " Even if I were, but I'm not, that's no 
 reason why you should be rude." 
 
 " I didn't mean to be rude," answered Law- 
 rence. " I don't see what I said that was so 
 very dreadful." 
 
 " It was much worse than anything I said," 
 retorted Fanny, biting her blade of grass again. 
 " Because I didn't say anything at all, you know. 
 Oh, well if you'll say you're sorry, we'll bury 
 it." 
 
 " I'm sorry," said Lawrence, without the least 
 show of contrition. 
 
 " I was going to tell you such lots of things 
 about myself," said the young girl. " You've 
 made me forget them all. What was I talking 
 about when we began to fight? I began by 
 saying that I liked you, and you've been hor- 
 rid ever since. I won't say that again, at all 
 events." 
 
 " Excuse me you began by saying that you'd 
 liked Brinsley liked him awfully, you said. It 
 must have been, awful anything connected 
 with Brinsley is necessarily awful." 
 
 " There you go again. Don't bolt so it
 
 128 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 makes bad running. I told you why I liked 
 him so much at first, and you admitted that it 
 was natural. Do you remember that ? Well 
 that isn't all. After I liked him, I began to care 
 for him. I told you that, too. Horrid of me, 
 wasn't it?" 
 
 " Horrid ! " 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't agree with me all the 
 time ! " exclaimed Fanny, impatiently. " You 
 know I really did care a little. And then one 
 day in the catboat, he asked me " She 
 stopped and looked at Lawrence. 
 
 " To marry you ? Why don't you say it ? It 
 wouldn't surprise me a bit." 
 
 "No," said Fanny, slowly, "he didn't ask me 
 to marry him." 
 
 " In Heaven's name, what did he ask you ? " 
 enquired Lawrence, exasperated to impatience. 
 
 " Oh I don't know. It was something 
 about the channel between Bar and Sheep, I 
 believe. Nothing very important, anyway. I'm 
 not sure that I could remember, if I tried." 
 
 " Then, excuse me, but what's the point ? " 
 
 " Oh I know ! " exclaimed Fanny, as though
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 129 
 
 suddenly recollecting something. " Not that it 
 matters much, but I like to be accurate. It was 
 about the bell buoy off Sheep Porcupine. You 
 know, I showed it to you the other day. Well 
 I told him how it had been carried away in a 
 storm some time ago, and that this was a new 
 one. And the next day I heard him telling 
 Augusta all about it, as though he had known 
 before, you see." 
 
 "Well that wasn't exactly a crime," ob- 
 served Lawrence, who could not understand at 
 all. "You'd told him " 
 
 " Yes, but he said he remembered the old one. 
 That was impossible, as he hadn't known any- 
 thing about it. It was a little slip, but it made 
 me open my eyes and watch him. I used to 
 think he was perfection until then." 
 
 " Oh, I see ! That was when you first began 
 to find out that he wasn't quite straight." 
 
 " Exactly. It made all the difference. I've 
 caught him out more than once since then. 
 The other night, it was too much for me 
 when he talked about the navy so I promptly 
 smashed him. He knows that I know, now."
 
 130 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 "I should think so. All the same I don't 
 mean to be rude this time, Miss Trehearne " 
 
 " Be careful ! " 
 
 "No I'll risk it. Just now when you said 
 he had ' asked you ' you stopped short. You 
 knew I should believe that you had been going 
 to say that he had asked you to marry him, 
 didn't you?" 
 
 "Oh, I know! I couldn't help it I believe 
 I really am a flirt, after all." 
 
 " I shouldn't like to believe it," said Lawrence, 
 gravely. 
 
 "Nor I either. I only wanted to see how 
 you'd look if you thought he'd offered himself 
 just then." 
 
 " Just then ! Do you mean to say that he has 
 offered himself at any other time ? " 
 
 "Now you're rude again only, I forgive you, 
 because you don't know that you are. It's rude 
 to ask such questions so I'll be polite and 
 refuse to answer. Not that there's any good 
 reason why he shouldn't have asked me to marry 
 him, you know. The fact that you hate him 
 isn't a reason."
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 131 
 
 " But you do, yourself " 
 
 " Not at all. At least, I haven't said so. I 
 wish you'd listen to me, Mr. Lawrence, instead 
 of interrupting me with questions every other 
 moment. How in the world am I to make 
 a confession, if you won't let me say two 
 words ? " 
 
 " Are you going to make a confession ? " asked 
 Lawrence, incredulously. " It's all chaff, you 
 know!" 
 
 Fanny turned her cool eyes upon him instantly. 
 
 " There's a lot besides chaff," she said, in a 
 very different tone. " I can be in earnest, too 
 when I care." 
 
 She certainly emphasized the last three words 
 in a way which might have meant much, accom- 
 panied as they were by her steady look. Law- 
 rence felt himself growing a little pale again. 
 
 " Do you care ? " he asked, and his voice 
 shook perceptibly. 
 
 " For Mr. Brinsley ? " enquired Fanny, in- 
 stantly changing her tone again and beginning 
 to laugh. 
 
 "No for me."
 
 132 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " For you ! Oh dear, what a question ! " She 
 laughed outright. 
 
 Lawrence leaned down and knocked the ashes 
 out of his pipe against the toe of his heavy 
 walking-shoe without saying a word. Then he 
 put the pipe into his pocket. She watched him. 
 
 " You've no right to be angry this time," she 
 said. " But you are." 
 
 The young man faced her quietly and waited 
 a moment before he spoke. 
 
 " You're playing with me," he said, calmly and 
 without emphasis, as stating a fact. 
 
 " Of course I am ! " laughed Fanny Trehearne. 
 "What did you expect? But I'm sorry that 
 you've found it out," she added, with appalling 
 cynicism. " It won't be fun any more." 
 
 " Unless we both play," suggested Lawrence, 
 who had either recovered his temper very quickly, 
 or possessed a better control over it than Fanny 
 had supposed. 
 
 " All right ! " she exclaimed cheerfully. " Let's 
 play let us play. That sounds solemn, some- 
 how I wonder why? Oh of course it's 
 like ' Let us pray ' in church."
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 133 
 
 Lawrence laughed drily. 
 
 " Let us pray beforehand, for the one who gets 
 the worst of it," he said. " He or she will need 
 it. But I shall win at the game, you know. 
 That's a foregone conclusion." 
 
 Fanny was surprised and amused at the con- 
 fidence he suddenly affected very unlike his 
 habitual modesty and self-effacement. 
 
 " You seem pretty sure of yourself," she an- 
 swered. " What shall the forfeit be, as they say 
 in the children's games ? " 
 
 " To marry or not to marry, at the discretion 
 of the winner. I think that's fair, don't you ? 
 I shouldn't like to propose anything serious 
 the head of Roger Brinsley in a charger, for 
 instance." 
 
 Fanny laughed again. 
 
 "Yes, it's all very well ! " she protested. " But 
 of course the one who loses will be in earnest, 
 and the one who wins will not." 
 
 "He may be, by that time," suggested Law- 
 rence. 
 
 " Don't say ' he,' so confidently I mean to 
 win. Besides, are we starting fair? Of course
 
 134 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 I don't care an atom for you, but don't you care 
 for me just a little? " 
 
 " I ! " exclaimed Lawrence. " What an idea ! " 
 He laughed quite as naturally as Fanny herself. 
 " Do you think that a man in love would propose 
 such a game as we are talking about ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know what to think," an- 
 swered the young girl. " Perhaps I shall know 
 in a day or two." 
 
 She looked down, quite grave again, and 
 pulled a bit of fern from the bank, and crushed 
 it in her hand, and then smelled it. 
 
 " Don't you like sweet fern ? " she asked, hold- 
 ing it out to him. " I love it ! " 
 
 " That's why you crush it, I suppose," said 
 Lawrence. 
 
 " It doesn't smell sweet unless you do. Oh 
 I see ! You were beginning to play the game. 
 Very well. Why should we lose time about it ? 
 But I wish it were a little better defined. What 
 is it we're going to do? Won't you explain? 
 I'm so stupid about these things. Are we going 
 to flirt for a bet ? "
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 135 
 
 " What a speech ! " 
 
 " Because it's a plain one ? Is that why 
 you object to it ? After all, that's what we 
 said." 
 
 " We only said we'd play," answered Lawrence. 
 " Whichever ends by caring must agree to marry 
 the winner, if required. But I'm afraid the time 
 is too short," he added, more gravely. "I've 
 only a week more." 
 
 " Only a week ! " exclaimed Fanny, in a tone 
 of disappointment. " Why, I thought there was 
 ever so much more. That isn't nearly time 
 enough." 
 
 " We must play faster and hope for * situa- 
 tions,' as they call them on the stage." 
 
 " Oh the situation is bad enough, as it is," 
 answered the young girl, with a change of man- 
 ner that surprised her companion. " If you only 
 knew ! " 
 
 "Was that what you were going to tell me 
 about ? " asked Lawrence, quickly, and with re- 
 newed interest. " I thought you were making 
 game of me." 
 
 " That's the trouble ! You'll never believe
 
 136 
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 that I'm in earnest, now. That's the worst of 
 practical jokes. Come along ! We must be 
 going home. The sun's behind the hill and ever 
 so low, I'm sure. We shan't get home before 
 
 dusk. How sweet that fern smells ! Give it 
 back to me, won't you ? " 
 
 They rose and began to walk homeward in the 
 warm shadow of the woods. As before, Fanny 
 went first along the narrow path, and Lawrence, 
 following close behind her, .and watching the
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 187 
 
 supple grace of her as she moved, breathed 
 in also the intoxicating perfume of the aro- 
 matic sweet fern which she still carried in her 
 hand.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 N the following afternoon Fanny Tre- 
 hearne announced her intention of 
 riding with Mr. Brinsley. 
 
 " I'd take you, too," she said to 
 Lawrence, with a singularly cold stare. " Only 
 as you can't ride much, you wouldn't enjoy it, 
 you know." 
 
 " Certainly not," answered Lawrence, returning 
 her glance with all coolness. " I shouldn't enjoy 
 it at all." 
 
 " You might take my cousins out in the boat, 
 instead." 
 
 " Are they tired of life ? " "enquired the young 
 man, smiling. " No. I want to make a sketch 
 in the woods. I'll go out by myself, thank you." 
 
 138
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 139 
 
 " Do you mean to sketch the place where we 
 stopped yesterday ? " 
 
 "Oh no I'm going in quite another direc- 
 tion. I can't exactly explain where it is, because 
 I've such a bad memory for names of roads, and 
 all that. But I can find it." 
 
 Miss Cordelia Miner looked up from the 
 magazine she was reading. 
 
 " You're not going to ride alone with Mr. 
 Brinsley, are you ? " she asked suddenly. 
 
 " Why not ? " asked Fanny. " I don't see any 
 reason why I shouldn't. It's safer than riding 
 alone, isn't it ? " 
 
 " I confess, I don't like the idea," said Miss 
 Cordelia. " It looks as though there were some- 
 thing." 
 
 " Something of what kind ? " Fanny watched 
 Lawrence's face. 
 
 " Something well not really an engage- 
 ment but " 
 
 "Well why shouldn't I be engaged to Mr. 
 Brinsley, if I like ? " enquired the young girl, 
 arching her brows. 
 
 " Why, Fanny ! I'm surprised ! " And, indeed,
 
 14<) LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 Miss Miner seemed so, for she almost sprang 
 out of her chair. 
 
 " I don't know why you need be horrified, 
 though," returned Fanny, calmly. " Should you 
 be shocked if any one said that you were engaged 
 to Mr. Brinsley? What's the matter with him, 
 anyway ? " she demanded, dropping into her 
 favourite slang. " You'd be proud to be en- 
 gaged to him so would Elizabeth so would 
 Augusta ! Then why shouldn't I be proud if 
 I can get him ? I'm sure, he's awfully good- 
 looking, and he rides like an angel." 
 
 " An angel jockey," suggested Lawrence, with- 
 out a smile. 
 
 " Not at all ! " exclaimed Fanny. " He rides 
 like a gentleman and not in the least like a 
 jockey." 
 
 Miss Cordelia had risen from her chair, and 
 turned her back on the young people. 
 
 " You've no right to say such things to me, 
 Fanny," she said, going slowly towards the 
 window. Her voice shook. 
 
 The young girl saw that she was deeply hurt, 
 and followed her quickly.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 141 
 
 " I didn't mean to be horrid ! " said Fanny, 
 penitently. " I was only laughing, you know, 
 and of course I shall take Stebbins. And I'm 
 not engaged to Mr. Brinsley at all." 
 
 " Why didn't you say so at once ? " asked 
 Cordelia, half choking, and turning away her 
 face. 
 
 Fanny, unseen by her cousin, glanced at Law- 
 rence, and then at the door, and the young man 
 departed immediately, leaving the two cousins 
 to make peace. 
 
 He did not remain long in the house. Thrust- 
 ing a sketch-book and a pencil into his pocket, 
 with his pipe and pouch, he went out without 
 seeing Fanny again, taking her at her word with 
 regard to her plans for the afternoon. An hour 
 later, he was seated under a tree high upon 
 the side of the hill and almost out of sight of 
 the Otter Cliff road. There was nothing par- 
 ticular in the way of a view from that point, 
 but there were endless trees, and Lawrence 
 amused himself in making a rough study of a 
 mixed group of white pines, firs, and hackma- 
 tacks.
 
 142 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 He did not draw very carefully, nor even in- 
 dustriously, and more than once he stopped 
 working altogether for a quarter of an hour at 
 a time. His principal object in coming had 
 been to get out of the way just a little more 
 promptly and completely than Fanny could have 
 expected. His thoughts were much more con- 
 cerned with her than with what he was doing. 
 
 Naturally enough, he was trying to under- 
 stand the real bent of the girl's feelings. Set- 
 ting aside the absurd chaff which had formed 
 a good deal of the conversation on the previous 
 afternoon, he tried to extract from it enough 
 of truth to guide him, aiding himself by recall- 
 ing little circumstances as well as words, for 
 the one had often belied the other. 
 
 He saw clearly that Fanny Trehearne might 
 have said to him, ' I like you, but I do not 
 love you win me if you can ! ' But it was like 
 her to propose to 'flirt for a bet' being at 
 heart perhaps less of a flirt than she laugh- 
 ingly admitted herself to be. But that was not 
 the point which chiefly interested him. What 
 he wished to know was, just how far that un-
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 143 
 
 defined liking for him extended. To speak in 
 the common phrase, he did not ' know where 
 he was ' with her, and it seemed that he had 
 no means of finding out. On the other hand, 
 he knew very well indeed that he himself was 
 badly in love. The symptoms were not to be 
 mistaken, nor had he been in love so often 
 already as to make him sceptical as to what 
 he felt. He was more distrustful of the result 
 than of the impulse. 
 
 In his opinion Fanny was much too frank to 
 be a flirt. Her directness was one of her princi- 
 pal charms, though he could not help suspecting 
 that it must be one of her chief weapons. A 
 little hesitation is often less deceptive than clear- 
 eyed, outspoken truth. But Lawrence was no 
 more able than most men of Jii? age or, indeed, 
 of any age to follow out a continuous train 
 of thought where a woman was concerned. It 
 is more often the woman's personality that con- 
 cerns us, unreasoning men, than the probable 
 direction of her own reasoning about us. We 
 do not make love to an argument, so to speak, 
 nor to a set of ideas, nor to a preconceived 
 
 1 Vol. 9
 
 144 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 opinion of our merits or demerits. We make 
 love to our own idea of what the woman is 
 and the depth of our disillusionment is the 
 measure of our sincerity, when love is gasping 
 between the death-blow and the death. 
 
 Moreover, what is called nowadays analysis 
 of human nature, belongs in reality to transcen- 
 dental thought. ' Transcendent ' is defined as 
 designating that which lies beyond the bounds of 
 all possible experience. So far as we know, it is 
 beyond those bounds to enter into the intelli- 
 gence of our neighbour, subjectively, to identify 
 ourselves with him and to see and understand 
 the world with his eyes and mind. It follows 
 that we are never sure of what we are doing 
 when we attempt to set down exactly another 
 man's train of thought, and it follows also that 
 few are willing to recognize the result as at all 
 resembling the process of which they are con- 
 scious within themselves.- On certain bases, all 
 men can appeal subjectively to all men, and all 
 women to all women. But, as between the sexes, 
 all observation is objective and tentative, whether 
 it be that of the author, condemned to analyze
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 145 
 
 a woman's character, or that of the man in love 
 and attempting to understand the woman he 
 loves. 
 
 And further, if we could see as it is pre- 
 tended by some that we can see on paper 
 precisely what is taking place in the intelligence 
 of those we meet in the world, our friends would 
 be as unrecognizable to us as a dissected man is 
 unrecognizable for a human being except in the 
 eyes of a doctor. The soul, laid bare, dissected, 
 and turned inside out, with real success, would 
 not be recognized by its dearest friend, were it 
 ever so truthful a soul. We are all fundamen- 
 tally and totally incapable of expressing exactly 
 what we feel, and as we have no means of con- 
 veying truth without some sort of expression, we 
 are helpless and are all more or less hopelessly 
 misunderstood. a fact to which, if we please, 
 we may ascribe that variety which is proverbially 
 said to b the charm of life. Doubtless, this is 
 a literary heresy; but it is a human truth a. little 
 above literature. 
 
 Lawrence had never attempted to write a 
 book, but as he sat on the slope above the Otter
 
 146 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 Cliff road, drawing trees, it did not occur to him 
 to draw a picture of what he thought about the 
 inside of each tree, instead of a representation 
 of what he saw. But he made the usual fruitless 
 attempt to understand the woman he loved, and 
 to reason about her, and failed to do either, 
 which is also usual. The conclusion he reached 
 was that he loved her, of which he had been 
 aware before he had set himself to think it 
 out. 
 
 What he saw was a strong girl's face with cool, 
 inscrutable grey eyes that "never took fire and 
 gleamed, nor ever turned dull and vacant. Their 
 unchanging steadiness contradicted the wayward 
 speech, the sudden capricious confidence, even 
 the gay laugh, sometimes. Lawrence had a lively 
 impression that whatever Fanny said or did, she 
 never meant but one thing, whatever that might 
 be. And with this impression he was obliged to 
 content himself. 
 
 From the place where he sat, he had a glimpse 
 between the trees of the road below. On the side 
 towards him there was a little open bit of meadow, 
 where the gorge widened, and a low fence with a
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 147 
 
 little ditch separated it from the highway. On the 
 hillside, above this stretch of grass, the trees grew 
 here and there, wide apart at first, and then by 
 degrees more close together. He himself was 
 seated just within the thick wood, at the edge of 
 the first underbrush. 
 
 Now and then, people passed along the road: 
 a light buckboard drawn by a pair of bays and 
 containing a smart-looking couple, with no groom 
 behind ; a farmer's wagon, long, hooded, and 
 dusty, dragged at a disjointed trot by a broken- 
 down grey horse ; a solitary rider, whose varnished 
 shoes reflected the sunlight even to where Law- 
 rence was sitting ; a couple of pedestrians ; a lad 
 driving a cow ; and then another buckboard ; and 
 so on. 
 
 Lawrence was thinking of shutting up his book 
 and climbing higher up the steep side of New- 
 port Mountain as the hill is called in search 
 of another study, when, glancing down through 
 the trees, he saw three riders coming slowly along 
 the road two in front, and one at some distance 
 behind a lady and gentleman and then a groom. 
 His eyes were good, and he would have known
 
 148 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 Fanny Trehearne's figure and bearing even at a 
 greater distance. She sat so straight hands 
 down, elbows in, head high, square in her saddle 
 yet flexible, and all moving with every movement 
 of her Kentucky thoroughbred. They came 
 nearer, and Lawrence saw them distinctly now. 
 Brinsley was beside her. Lawrence laughed to 
 himself at the idea that the man could ever have 
 been in the Marines. He sat the horse he rode 
 much more like a Mexican or an Indian than like 
 a sailor or a marine. Even at that distance Law- 
 rence could not help admiring his really magnifi- 
 cent figure, for Brinsley 's perfections were showy 
 and massed well afar off. 
 
 The riders reached the point where the little 
 meadow spread out on their left, and to Law- 
 rence's surprise, they halted and seemed to be 
 consulting about something. They had turned 
 towards him, and as they talked, he could see 
 that Fanny looked across the meadow and up at 
 the woods where he was sitting. It was of course 
 utterly impossible that she should have known 
 where he was, and it was almost incredible that 
 she should see him, seated low upon the ground
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 140 
 
 in the deep shade, when she was only visible to 
 him between the stems of the trees. Neverthe- 
 less, not caring to be discovered, he crouched 
 down amongst the ferns and grasses, still keeping 
 his eye on the couple in the road far below. 
 
 Presently he saw Fanny turn her horse's head, 
 walk her to the other side of the road, and turn 
 again, facing the meadow. She looked up and 
 down the road once, saw that no one was com- 
 ing, and put her mare at the fence. It was a low 
 one, and the ditch on the outer side was neither 
 broad nor deep. The thoroughbred cleared it 
 with a contemptuously insignificant effort, and 
 cantered a few strides forward into the grass, 
 shaking her bony head almost between her knees 
 as Fanny brought her to a stand and turned 
 again. Brinsley followed her on the big Hun- 
 garian horse he rode, Mr. Trehearne's horse, 
 jumping the fence and ditch, and taking them 
 again almost immediately, to wait for Fanny on 
 the other side in the road. She followed again, 
 and pulled up by his side. But they did not ride 
 on at once. They seemed to be discussing some 
 point connected with the place, for they pointed
 
 150 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 here and there with their hands as they spoke. 
 Fanny reined in her mare and backed a little, as 
 though she were going to jump again. The ani- 
 mal seemed nervous, stamping and pawing, and 
 laying back her small ears. 
 
 A hundred yards or more in the direction from 
 which they had come the road made a short bend 
 round the foot of the spur of the hill, known as 
 Pickett's. Just as Fanny put the mare at the 
 fence a third time, a coach and four turned the 
 corner of the road at a smart pace, leaders canter- 
 ing and wheelers at a long trot. 
 
 Seeing three horses apparently halting in the 
 way, some one in the coach sent a terrific and 
 discordant blast from a post-horn ringing along 
 the road as a warning. At that moment Fanny's 
 mare was rising at the bars. She cleared them 
 as easily as ever, but on reaching the ground in- 
 stantly bolted across the grass, head down, ears' 
 back, heels flying. It all happened in a moment. 
 The two men, Brinsley and groom, knew too 
 much to scare the thoroughbred by a pursuit, and 
 confident in Fanny's good riding, sat motionless 
 on their horses in the road, after drawing away 
 enough to let the coach pass.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 151 
 
 The idiot with the horn continued to blow 
 fiercely, and the big vehicle came swinging along 
 at a great rate, with clattering of hoofs, for the 
 road was hard and dry-baked after a recent rain 
 and with jingling of harness and sound of 
 voices. The mare grew more and more fright- 
 ened, and tore up the hillside like a flash, directly 
 away from the noise. The young girl was a 
 first-rate rider and knew the fearful danger, if she 
 should be carried at such a pace amongst the 
 trees. But her strength, great as it was, for 
 a woman, was not able to produce the slight- 
 est impression upon the terrified creature she 
 rode. 
 
 Lawrence knew nothing of riding, but the 
 imminent peril of the woman he loved was clear 
 to him in a moment. He had a horrible vision 
 of the wild-eyed mare tearing straight towards 
 him through the trees wide apart at first, and 
 then dangerously near together. 
 
 On they came, the thoroughbred swerving 
 violently at one stem after another the young 
 girl's strong figure swaying to her balance at 
 each headlong movement. He could see her set
 
 152 
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 face, pale under the tan, and he could see the 
 desperate exertion of her strength. He sprang 
 forward and ran down between the trees at the 
 top of his speed.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 HERE is nothing equal to the abso- 
 lute fearlessness of a naturally brave 
 man who has no experience of the 
 risk he runs and is bent on saving 
 the life of the woman he loves. Louis Lawrence 
 remembered afterwards what he had done and 
 how he had done it, but he was unconscious of 
 what he wa3 doing at the time. 
 
 He rushed down the hill between the closer 
 trees, and with utter recklessness sprang at the 
 bridle as the infuriated mare dashed past him. 
 Grasping snaffle and curb tight drawn as they 
 were in both hands, he threw all his light 
 weight upon them and allowed himself to be 
 
 153
 
 154 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 dragged along the ground between the trees at 
 the imminent risk of his life a risk so terrible 
 that Fanny Trehearne turned paler for him than 
 for her own danger. In half a dozen more 
 strides they might both have been killed. But 
 the mare stopped, quivering, tried to rear, but 
 could not lift Lawrence far from the ground nor 
 shake off his desperate hold, plunged once and 
 again, and then stood quite still, trembling vio- 
 lently. Lawrence scrambled to his feet, still 
 holding the bridle, and promptly placed himself 
 in front of the mare. 
 
 For one breathless instant, Lawrence looked 
 into Fanny's face, and neither spoke nor moved. 
 Both were still very pale. Then the young girl 
 slipped off, the reins in her hand. 
 
 " That was uncommonly well done," she said, 
 with great calm. " You've saved my life." 
 
 She no longer looked at him while she spoke, 
 but patted and stroked the thoroughbred, looking 
 her over with a critical eye. 
 
 " Oh that's all right," answered Lawrence. 
 " Don't mention it ! " 
 
 He laughed nervously, still panting from his
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 155 
 
 violent exertion. Fanny herself was not out of 
 breath, but the colour did not come back to her 
 sunburnt cheeks at once, and her hand was 
 hardly steady yet. She did not laugh with 
 Lawrence, nor even smile, but she looked long 
 into his eyes. 
 
 " I may not mention it, but I shan't forget it," 
 she said slowly. 
 
 "It's one to me, isn't it ? " asked Lawrence, 
 who, in reality, was by far the cooler and more 
 collected of the two. 
 
 " How do you mean ? " enquired Fanny, knit- 
 ting her brows half angrily. 
 
 " One to me in our game, you know," said 
 the young fellow. " The game we agreed to 
 play, yesterday." 
 
 " Yes it's one to you. By the bye you're 
 not hurt anywhere, are you ? " 
 
 She looked him over, as she had looked over 
 her mare, with the same critical glance. His 
 clothes were a little torn, here and there, being 
 but light summer things, and his hat had disap- 
 peared, but it was tolerably clear that he was in 
 no way injured.
 
 156 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " Oh, I'm all right," he answered cheerfully. 
 " I should think you'd feel badly shaken, though," 
 he added, with sudden anxiety. 
 
 " Not at all," said Fanny, determined to show 
 no more emotion or excitement than he. " It 
 was a case of sitting still neck or nothing. 
 It's nothing, as it happens." 
 
 At that moment Brinsley appeared, riding 
 slowly through the trees, for fear of frightening 
 the mare again. 
 
 " Are you hurt ? " he shouted. 
 
 Fanny looked round, saw him, and shook her- 
 head, with a smile. Brinsley trotted up and 
 sprang from his horse. 
 
 " Are you sure you're not hurt ? " he asked 
 again. 
 
 " Not in the least ! " 
 
 " Thank God ! " ejaculated Brinsley, with em- 
 phasis. 
 
 " You'd better thank Mr. Lawrence, too," ob- 
 served Fanny, quietly. " He caught her going 
 at a gallop, and hung on and was dragged. I 
 don't remember ever seeing anything quite so 
 plucky."
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 157 
 
 Brinsley' looked coldly at his rival, and his 
 beady eyes seemed nearer together than usual 
 when he spoke to him. 
 
 " I think you're quite as much to be congratu- 
 lated as Miss Trehearne," he said. 
 
 " Thanks." 
 
 " We'd better be getting down to the road 
 again," said Fanny. " You can lead the mare 
 and your own horse, too, Mr. Brinsley. She's 
 quiet enough now, and I've all I can do to walk 
 in these things." 
 
 Brinsley took the mare's bridle over her head 
 and led the way with the two horses. 
 
 " Aren't you coming ? " asked Fanny, seeing 
 that Lawrence did not follow. 
 
 " Thanks no," he answered. " I must find 
 my hat, in the first place." 
 
 Brinsley looked over his shoulder, and saw 
 the two hanging back. He stopped a moment, 
 turning, and laying one hand on the mare's nose. 
 
 " You must be shaken, Mr. Lawrence," he 
 said. " Why don't you take the groom's horse 
 and ride home with us ? " 
 
 " I can't ride," answered the younger man,
 
 158 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 loud enough for Brinsley to hear him. " And 
 you know it perfectly well," he added under his 
 breath. 
 
 Fanny frowned, but took no further notice 
 of the remark. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said, holding out her hand 
 to Lawrence. " Come home as soon as you can, 
 won't you ? " 
 
 "Oh yes that is, I think I'll just see you 
 take that fence again, and then I want to get 
 a little higher up the hill and do another bit of 
 a sketch. Then I'll come home. There's no 
 hurry, is there ? " 
 
 "Don't show off," said Fanny, severely. "It 
 isn't pretty. Good-bye." 
 
 She walked fast and overtook Brinsley in a 
 few moments. At the foot of the hilt he pre- 
 pared to mount her, leaving his own horse to 
 the groom. Then a thing happened which he 
 was never able to explain, though he was an 
 expert in the field and no one could mount a 
 lady better than he, of all Fanny's acquaintances. 
 He bent his knee and held out his hand and 
 stiffened his back and made the necessary effort
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 159 
 
 just at the right moment, as he very well knew. 
 But for some inexplicable reason Fanny did not 
 reach the saddle, nor anywhere near it, and she 
 slipped and would certainly have fallen if he had 
 not caught her with his other hand and held her 
 on her feet. 
 
 " How awkward you are ! " she exclaimed 
 viciously, with a little stamp. " Let me get on 
 alone!" 
 
 And thereupon, to his astonishment and mor- 
 tification, she pushed him aside, set her foot in 
 the stirrup, for she was very tall and could do 
 it easily, and was up in a flash. Lawrence, 
 looking down at them from the edge of the 
 woods, saw what had happened, and so did 
 Stebbins, the groom, who grinned in silence. 
 He hated Brinsley, and it is a bad sign when 
 a good servant hates his master's guest. Law- 
 rence felt that in addition to scoring one in the 
 game, he was avenged on his enemy for the 
 latter's taunting invitation to ride. 
 
 " I think I may count that, and mark two. 
 I'm sure she did it on purpose," he said audibly 
 to himself.
 
 160 
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 Before Brinsley was mounted, Fanny was over 
 the fence with her mare, and waiting for him in 
 the road. 
 
 " Oh, come along ! " she cried. " Don't be all 
 day getting on ! " 
 
 " You needn't be so tremendously rough on a 
 fellow," said Brinsley, as his horse landed in the 
 road. " It wasn't my fault that I wasn't waiting 
 for a runaway under the trees up there."
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 161 
 
 
 
 " Yes it was ! Everything's your fault," 
 answered Fanny, emphatically. " No you 
 needn't play Orlando Furioso and make papa's 
 old rocking-horse waltz like that. My mare's 
 got to walk a mile, at least, for her nerves." 
 
 It didn't require Brinsley's great natural pene- 
 tration to tell him that Miss Fanny Trehearne 
 was in the very worst of tempers even to the 
 point of unfairly calling her papa's sturdy Hun- 
 garian bad names. But he could not at all see 
 why she should be so angry. It had certainly 
 been her fault if he had failed to put her neatly in 
 the saddle. But her ill-humour did not frighten 
 him in the least, though he was very quiet for 
 several minutes after she had last spoken. 
 
 " It's not wildly gay to ride with people who 
 don't talk," observed Fanny. 
 
 " I was trying to think of something appro- 
 priate to say," answered Brinsley. " But you're 
 in such an awful rage " 
 
 " Am I ? I didn't know it. What makes you 
 think so ? " 
 
 " What nerves you've got ! " exclaimed Brins- 
 ley, in a tone of admiration.
 
 162 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " I haven't any nerves at all." 
 
 " I mean good nerves." 
 
 " I tell you I haven't any nerves. Why do 
 you talk about nerves ? They're not amusing 
 things to have, are they ? " 
 
 "Well in point of humour I didn't say 
 they were." 
 
 " I asked you to say something amusing, and 
 you began talking about nerves," said Fanny, 
 in explanation. 
 
 " I'm not in luck to-day," said Brinsley, after 
 a pause. 
 
 " No you're not," was the answer ; but she 
 did not vouchsafe him a glance. 
 
 " I wish you'd like me," he said boldly. 
 
 " I do at a certain distance. You look well 
 in the landscape and you know it." 
 
 " Upon my word ! " Brinsley laughed roughly, 
 and looked between his horse's ears. 
 
 " Upon your word what ? " 
 
 " I never had anything said to me quite equal 
 to that, Miss Trehearne." 
 
 " No ? I'm surprised. Perhaps you haven't 
 known the right sort of people. You must find 
 the truth refreshing."
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 163 
 
 Brinsley waited a few moments before speak- 
 ing, and then, turning his head, looked at her 
 with great earnestness. 
 
 " I wish you'd tell me why you've taken such 
 a sudden dislike to me," he said in a low voice. 
 
 " Why are you so anxious to know, Mr. Brins- 
 ley ? " asked Fanny, meeting his eyes quietly. 
 
 " Because I believe that somebody has been 
 saying disagreeable things about me to you," -he 
 answered. " If that's the case, it would be fair 
 to give me a chance, you know." 
 
 " Nobody's been talking against you. You've 
 talked against yourself. Besides,", she added, 
 her face suddenly clearing, " it's quite absurd 
 to make such a fuss about nothing! I'm only 
 angry about nothing at all. It's my way, you 
 know. You mustn't mind. I'll get over it 
 before we're at home, and then I'll go off, and 
 my cousins will give you lots of weak tea and 
 flattery." 
 
 Brinsley, who was clever at most things, was 
 not good at talking nor at understanding a 
 woman's moods, and he felt himself at so great 
 a disadvantage that he slipped into an inane
 
 164 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 conversation about people and parties without 
 succeeding in finding out what he wished to 
 know. If he had ever conceived any mad hope 
 of winning Fanny's affections, he abandoned .it 
 then and there. He was still further handi- 
 capped, had Fanny known it, by the desperate 
 state of his own affairs at that moment ; and if 
 she had known something of his reflexions, she 
 might have pitied him a little what she might 
 have thought, if she had guessed the remainder, 
 is hard to guess, for he had a very curious 
 scheme in his mind for improving his finances. 
 He had been playing high for some time, had 
 lost steadily, and was at the end of his present 
 resources, which, with him, meant that he was 
 at the end of all he had in the world. 
 
 He was not by any means inclined to give up 
 the pleasant intimacy he had formed and fostered 
 with the three Miss Miners, nor the attendant 
 luxuries which he had gained with it, and the 
 introduction to Bar Harbour society, which 
 meant good society elsewhere. But he felt that 
 he had no choice, since the cards went against 
 him. He was not a sharper. He played fair, for
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 165 
 
 the sake of the enjoyment of the thing. It was 
 his one great passion. When he was in luck he 
 won enough for his extravagant needs, for he al- 
 ways played high, on principle. But when fortune 
 foiled him, he had other talents of a more curious 
 description, by the exercise of which to replenish 
 his purse talents, too, which he had exercised 
 in America for a long time. His happy hunting- 
 ground was really London, which accounted for 
 his evident and almost extraordinary familiarity 
 with its ways. There are indeed few places in 
 the world where a man may follow a doubtful 
 occupation more freely and more successfully. 
 
 Before they reached the Trehearnes' house, 
 Brinsley had made up his mind that he must 
 drink his last cup of tea with the three Miss 
 Miners on that day or very soon afterwards, 
 unless he were to be even more fortunate in his 
 undertaking than he dared to expect. The im- 
 mediate consequence was an affectation of a sad 
 and stately manner towards Fanny as he helped 
 her off her mare at the door. 
 
 " I'm afraid this has been our last ride," he 
 said, in a subdued voice.
 
 166 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " What ? Oh ' The Last Ride ' Browning 
 I remember," answered Fanny. 
 
 "No I wasn't alluding to Browning. I'm 
 going away very soon." 
 
 Fanny stared at him in some surprise. 
 
 "Oh! Are you? I am very sorry." She 
 spoke cheerfully, and led the way into the house, 
 Brinsley following her, with a dejected air. 
 " You'll probably find my cousins in the library," 
 she added. " I'm going to take off my hat it's 
 so hot." 
 
 The three Miss Miners were assembled, as 
 usual at that hour, and greeted Brinsley effu- 
 sively. Not wishing to be anticipated by Fanny 
 in telling a story altogether to Lawrence's credit, 
 he began to tell the three ladies of what had 
 happened during the ride. He was very careful 
 to explain that he had of course not dared to 
 follow the runaway, lest he should have made 
 matters much worse. 
 
 " It's quite dreadful," cried Miss Cordelia, on 
 hearing of Fanny's narrow escape. " You should 
 never have let her jump the fence at all. What 
 do people do such mad things- for ! "
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 167 
 
 " If anything happened to the child, we might 
 as well kill ourselves," said Elizabeth. " It's too 
 dreadful to think of ! " 
 
 " Well," answered Brinsley, " nothing has hap- 
 pened, you see. I've brought Miss Trehearne 
 safe home, though I hadn't the good fortune to 
 be the man who stopped her horse. You see," 
 he added, smiling, "I want all the credit you can 
 spare from Mr. Lawrence. I'm afraid there's not 
 much to be got, though. He's had the lion's 
 share." 
 
 " And where is he ? " asked Augusta, who 
 felt more sympathy for the artist than the 
 others. 
 
 "Oh he'll come back. He can't ride, you 
 know, so he had to walk, poor fellow! He'd 
 been pretty badly shaken, too, and he's not 
 strong, I'm sure." 
 
 "You wouldn't have called him weak if you'd 
 seen him hanging on while the mare dragged 
 him," said Fanny, who had entered unnoticed. 
 
 " Oh, that's only strength in the hands ! " said 
 Brinsley, in a depreciative tone, and conscious 
 of his own splendid proportions. 
 
 8 Vol. 9
 
 168 
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " Well, then, he's strong in the hands, that's 
 all," retorted Fanny. " Please, some tea, Eliza- 
 beth dear-- I'm half dead." 
 
 The three Miss Miners did their best to con- 
 sole Brinsley for Fanny's continued ill-treatment 
 of him, but they did not succeed in lifting the 
 cloud from his brow. At last he confessed that 
 he was expecting to leave Bar Harbour at any 
 moment.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 HERE were to be fireworks that even- 
 ing at the Canoe Club on the farther 
 side of Bar Island magnificent fire- 
 works, it was said, which it would be 
 well worth while to see. The night was calm and 
 clear, and the moon, being near the last quarter, 
 would not rise until everything was over. 
 
 "We'll go in skiffs," said Fanny. "When 
 we're tired of each other, we can change about, 
 you know. Mr. Lawrence can take one of us 
 and Mr. Brinsley another, and the other two 
 must take one of the men from the landing. 
 I ordered the boats this morning when I was 
 out." 
 
 The three Miss Miners looked consciously at 
 
 169
 
 170 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 
 
 one another, mutely wondering how they were to 
 divide Mr. Brinsley amongst them, and wishing 
 that they had consulted together in private be- 
 fore the moment for decision had come. But no 
 one suggested that, as there were only four ladies, 
 each of the men could very easily take two in a 
 boat. 
 
 " We might toss up to see who shall take 
 whom," suggested Brinsley, who had been un- 
 usually silent during the greater part of dinner. 
 
 " In how many ways can you arrange six peo- 
 ple in couples ? " asked Fanny. 
 
 Nobody succeeded in solving the question, of 
 course. Even Elizabeth Miner, who was consid- 
 ered the clever member, gave it up in despair. 
 
 " Never mind ! " said Fanny. " We'll see how 
 it turns out when we get down to the landing- 
 stage. These things always arrange them- 
 selves." 
 
 To the surprise of every one except Fanny her- 
 self, the arrangement turned out to be such that 
 she and Miss Cordelia went together in the skiff 
 pulled by the sailor, while Brinsley and Lawrence 
 each took one of the other Miss Miners.
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 17 1 
 
 " We'll change by and by," said Fanny, as her 
 boat shoved off first to show the way. " Keep 
 close to us in the crowd when we get over." 
 
 The distance from the landing, across the har- 
 bour, through the channel between Bar Island 
 and Sheep Porcupine to the Canoe Club, is little 
 over half a mile ; but at night, amidst a crowd of 
 steamers, large and small, row-boats, canoes, and 
 sail-boats, the latter all outside the channel, 
 it took twenty minutes to reach the place where 
 the fireworks were to be. 
 
 Fanny leaned back beside her cousin, and 
 watched the lights in silence. Yellow, green, and 
 red, they streamed across the brilliant black water 
 in every direction, the yellow rays fixed or mov- 
 ing but slowly, the others gliding along swiftly 
 above their own reflection, as the paddle steamers 
 thrashed their way through the still sea. To left 
 and right the shadowy islands loomed darkly 
 against the black sky, outlined by the stars. The 
 warm damp air lifted the coolness from the water 
 in little puffs, as the skiff slipped along. Now 
 and then, in the gloom, a boat showed dimly 
 alongside, and the laughing voices of girls and
 
 172 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 boys told how near it passed, a mere floating 
 dimness upon blackness. The stroke of light 
 sculls swished and tinkled with the laughter. 
 The soft mysterious charm of the summer dark 
 was breathed upon land and water the distant 
 lights were love-dreaming eyes, and each time, as 
 the oars dipped, swept and rose, the gentle sound 
 was like a stolen kiss. 
 
 Then, suddenly, with a wild screaming rush, 
 a rocket shot up into the night, splitting the sky 
 with a scar of fire. The burning point of it 
 lingered a moment overhead, then cracked into 
 little stars that shed a soft glow through the 
 gloom, and fell in a swift shower of sparks. 
 Then all was hushed again, and the red and 
 green lights moved quickly over the water, 
 hither and thither. 
 
 Close to the shore of the island the skiff ran 
 round the point into the shallow water along the 
 beach, and all at once in the distance the fes- 
 tooned lanterns of the Canoe Club came into 
 view, so bright that one could distinguish the 
 branches of the spruces in the red and yellow 
 glare, and the moving crowd of people on the
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 173 
 
 little landing-stage and below, before the club- 
 house. And some two hundred yards out, the 
 lights began again, gleaming from hundreds of 
 boats and little vessels of all rigs and builds. 
 Between these seaward lights and those on land 
 a deep black void stretched away up French- 
 man's Bay. 
 
 Miss Cordelia started nervously at the rockets, 
 but said nothing. Fanny sat beside her in 
 silence. The sailor, only visible distinctly when 
 the lights were behind him, pulled softly and 
 steadily, glancing over his shoulder every now 
 and then to see that the way was clear. The 
 other skiffs kept near, both Brinsley and Law- 
 rence being keenly on the lookout for a change. 
 Now and then Fanny could hear them talking. 
 
 " I wonder why one voice should attract one 
 and another should be disagreeable," she said at 
 last, in a meditative tone. 
 
 " I was thinking of the same thing," answered 
 Cordelia, thoughtfully. 
 
 "Yes," said Fanny, absently. "Of course you 
 were," she added, a moment later. " I mean " 
 She paused. " Poor dear ! " she exclaimed at
 
 174 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 last, stroking her cousin's elderly hand in the 
 dark. " I'm so sorry ! " 
 
 " Thank you, dear," answered Miss Miner, sim- 
 ply and gratefully. 
 
 It was little enough, but little as it was it made 
 them both more silent than ever. With the boat- 
 man close before them, it was impossible to talk 
 of what was in their thoughts. Fanny, for her 
 part, was glad of it. She had understood her 
 old-maid cousin since the night when Cordelia 
 had broken down and laughed and cried in the 
 garden, and she knew how little there could be 
 to say. But Cordelia did not understand Fanny 
 in the least. It was a marvel to her that any one 
 should prefer Lawrence to Brinsley almost as 
 great a marvel as that she herself, in her sober 
 middle age, should have felt what she knew was 
 love and believed to be passion. 
 
 And now, Brinsley was going, and it was over. 
 He would never come back, and she should never 
 see him again she was sure of that, she was 
 only an old maid ; a middle-aged gentlewoman 
 who had never possessed any great attraction for 
 anybody ; who had always been more or less poor
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 175 
 
 and unhappy, though of the best and living 
 amongst the best ; whose few pleasures had come 
 to her unexpectedly, like rare gleams of pale sun- 
 shine on a very long rainy day ; who had looked 
 for little and had got next to nothing out of life, 
 save the crumbs of enjoyment from the feast of 
 rich relations, like the Trehearnes a woman 
 who had known something more grievous than 
 sorrow and worse than violent grief, trudging 
 through life in the leaden cowl of many limita- 
 tions the leaden cowl of that most innocent of 
 all hypocrites, of her, or of him, who knows the 
 daily burden of keeping up appearances on next 
 to nothing, and of doctoring poor little illusions 
 through a feeble existence, worth having because 
 they represent all that there is to have. 
 
 She had been wounded by one of those arrows 
 shot in the dark which hit hearts unawares and 
 unaimed ; and now that the shaft was suddenly 
 drawn out, the heart's blood followed it and the 
 nerves quivered where it had been. It was only 
 one of the little tragedies which no one sees, few 
 guess at, and nothing can hinder. But Fanny 
 Trehearne felt that it was beside her, there in the
 
 176 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 little boat, while she watched the pretty fireworks, 
 and she was sorry and did what she could to soothe 
 the pain. 
 
 " Let's change, now," she said at last, just as 
 the glow of a multitude of coloured fires died 
 away on the water. " You take Mr. Brinsley, and 
 I'll take Mr. Lawrence." 
 
 As she spoke, she gave her cousin's hand a lit- 
 tle squeeze of sympathy, and heard the small sigh 
 of satisfaction that answered the proposal. The re- 
 arrangement was effected in a few moments, the 
 men holding the boats together by the gunwales 
 while the ladies stepped from one into the other. 
 
 " Pull away," said Fanny, authoritatively, as 
 soon as Lawrence had shoved off. " Let's get 
 out of this ! I'll steer, so you needn't bother 
 about running into things." 
 
 Fairly seated in a boat, with the sculls shipped, 
 and some one at the tiller lines, Lawrence could 
 get along tolerably well, for he knew just enough 
 not to catch a crab in smooth water, so long as 
 he was not obliged to turn his head. But if he 
 had to look over his shoulder, something was 
 certain to happen, which was natural, consider-
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 177 
 
 ing that when he attempted to feather at all, he 
 did it the wrong way. 
 
 " You're stronger than anybody would think," 
 observed Fanny, as she saw how quickly the skiff 
 moved. " You might do things quite decently, 
 if you'd only take the trouble to learn." 
 
 " Oh no ! I'm a born duffer," laughed Law- 
 rence. " Besides, I couldn't row long like this. 
 I couldn't keep it up." 
 
 They were just in front of the club-house now ; 
 and a score of rockets went up together, with a 
 rushing and a crackling and a gleaming, as they 
 soared and burst, and at last fell sputtering in 
 the water all around the skiff. Lawrence had 
 rested on his sculls to watch the sight. 
 
 "Pull away!" said Fanny. "We'll get under 
 the foot-bridge by the landing. There's water 
 enough there, and we can see everything." 
 
 Lawrence obeyed, and pulled as hard as he 
 could. 
 
 " So your friend Mr. Brinsley is going away," 
 observed the young girl, suddenly. 
 
 " My friend ! I like that ! As though I had 
 brought him in my pocket."
 
 178 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 "I'm very glad that he's going, at all events," 
 said Fanny, without heeding his remark. " I'm 
 not fond of him any more." 
 
 "I hope you never were fond of him." 
 
 " Oh yes, I was but I'm thankful to say that 
 it's over. Of all the ineffable- cads! I could 
 have killed him to-day ! " 
 
 " By the bye," said Lawrence, " when he was 
 mounting you didn't you do that on pur- 
 pose ? " 
 
 " Of course. And then I called him awkward. 
 It was so nice ! It did me good." 
 
 " Pure spite, I suppose. You couldn't have had 
 any particular reason for doing it, could you ? " 
 
 " Oh dear, no ! What reason could I have ? 
 It wasn't his fault that the mare ran away, 
 though I told him it was." 
 
 " That's interesting," observed Lawrence. " Do 
 you often do things out of pure spite ? " 
 
 " Constantly without any reason at all ! " 
 Fanny laughed. 
 
 " Perhaps you'll marry out of spite, some day," 
 said Lawrence, calmly. " Women often do, they 
 say, though I never could understand why."
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 179 
 
 " I daresay I shall. I'm quite capable of it. 
 And shouldn't I be just horrid afterwards ! " 
 
 " I like you when you're horrid, as you call it. 
 I didn't at first. You've given my sense of 
 humour a chance to grow since I've been here. 
 I say, Miss Trehearne " He stopped. 
 
 " What do you say ? It isn't particularly 
 polite to begin in that way, is it? I suppose 
 it's English." 
 
 " Oh, bother the English ! And I apologize for 
 being slangy. It's so dark that I can't see you 
 frown. I meant to say, if you ever marry out 
 of spite, and want to be particularly horrid after- 
 wards, it wouldn't be a bad idea to marry me, for 
 I don't mind that sort of .thing a bit, you know." 
 
 " That's a singular offer ! " laughed Fanny, 
 leaning far back, and playing with the tiller lines 
 in the glow of the Bengal lights. 
 
 " It's genuine of its kind," answered the young 
 man. " Of course it isn't a sure thing, exactly," 
 he added reflectively, " because it depends on 
 your happening to be in the spiteful humour. 
 But, as you say that often happens " 
 
 " Well, go on ! "
 
 180 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " I thought you might feel spiteful enough to 
 accept this evening," concluded Lawrence. 
 
 " Take care I might, you know you're in 
 danger ! " She was still laughing. 
 
 " Don't mind me, you know ! I could stand 
 it, I believe." 
 
 "You're awfully amusing sometimes, Mr. 
 Lawrence." 
 
 " Meaning now ? " enquired the artist, resting 
 on his sculls, for they were under the shadow of 
 the bridge. 
 
 " I can't see your face distinctly," answered 
 Fanny. " So much depends on the expression. 
 But I think " 
 
 " What do you think ?- That it's awfully amus- 
 ing of me to offer to be married as a sacrifice to 
 your spite ? " 
 
 " It's amusing anyway." 
 
 " A formal proposal would be, you mean ? " 
 asked Lawrence. Then he laughed oddly. 
 
 " I hate formality," answered Fanny. " That 
 is, in earnest, you know. It's so disgusting 
 when a man comes with his gloves buttoned and 
 sits on the edge of a chair and says "
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 " And say what ? " 
 
 "Oh you know the sort of thing, 
 must have done it scores of times." 
 
 181 
 
 You 
 
 " What ? Proposed and been refused ? You're 
 complimentary, at all events. I've a great mind 
 to let you be the first, just well how shall
 
 182 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 I say ? Just to associate you with a novel sen- 
 sation." 
 
 " I might disappoint you," said Fanny, de- 
 murely. " I told you so before. Just think, if 
 I were to say ' yes,' you'd be most dreadfully 
 caught. You'd have to eat humble pie and beg 
 off, and say that you hadn't meant it." 
 
 " Oh no ! " laughed the young man. " You'd 
 break it off in a week, and then it would be 
 all right." 
 
 " Are you going to be rude ? Or are you, 
 already ? I'm not quite sure." 
 
 " Neither. Of course you'd break it off, if 
 we had an agreement to that effect." 
 
 " You don't make any allowance for my spite- 
 fulness. It would be just like me to hold you 
 to your engagement. Of course you wouldn't 
 live long. We should be sure to fight." 
 
 "Oh sure," assented Lawrence. "That is, 
 if you call this fighting." 
 
 " It would be worse than this. But why don't 
 you try ? I'm dying to refuse you. I'm just in 
 the humour." 
 
 " Why ! I thought you said there was danger !
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 183 
 
 If I'd known there wasn't by the bye, this 
 counts in the game, doesn't it?" 
 
 " There isn't anything to count, yet," said 
 Fanny. " Look at those fiery fish aren't they 
 pretty ? See how they squirm about, and fizzle, 
 and behave like mad things ! Oh, I never saw 
 anything so pretty as that ! " 
 
 " Yes. If one must have an interruption, they 
 do as well as anything." 
 
 " You weren't talking very coherently, I be- 
 lieve," said the young girl, turning her head 
 to watch the fireworks. " And you've made 
 me miss lots of pretty things, I'm sure. Oh 
 - they've gone out already ! How dark it 
 seems, all at once ! What were you asking ? 
 Whether this counted in the game ? Of course 
 it counts. Everything does. But I don't ex- 
 actly see how " 
 
 She stopped and looked towards him in the 
 dim gloom of the shadow under the bridge. 
 But Lawrence did not speak. He looked over 
 the side of the boat, softly slapping the black 
 water with the blade of his scull. 
 
 " Why don't you go on ? " asked Fanny, tap-
 
 184 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 ping the boards under her foot to attract his 
 attention. 
 
 " I was thinking over the proper words," 
 answered Lawrence. " How does one make a 
 formal proposal of marriage ? I never did such 
 a thing in my life." 
 
 " An informal one would do for fun." 
 
 " I never did^ that, either." 
 
 " Never ? " 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Really ? Swear it, as they say on the stage." 
 Fanny laughed softly. 
 
 " Oh, by Jove, yes ! " answered Lawrence, 
 promptly. " I'll swear to that by anything you 
 please." 
 
 " Well you'll have to do it some day, so 
 you'd better practise at once," suggested Fanny. 
 
 Lawrence did not notice that there was a 
 sort of little relief in her tone. 
 
 " I suppose one says, ' My angel, will you 
 be mine ? ' " he said. " That sounds like some 
 book or other." 
 
 " It might do," answered Fanny, meditatively. 
 "You ought to throw a little more expression
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 185 
 
 into the tone. Besides, I'm not an angel, what- 
 ever the girl in the book may have been. On 
 the whole no it's a little too effusive. Angel 
 - you know. It's such nonsense ! Try some- 
 thing else; but put lots of expression into it." 
 
 " Does one get down on one's knees ? " enquired 
 Lawrence. 
 
 " Oh no ; I don't believe it's necessary. Be- 
 sides, you'd upset the boat." 
 
 " All right here goes! My dear Miss Tre- 
 hearne, will you " 
 
 " Yes. That's it. Go on. The quaver in 
 the voice is rather well done. * Will you ' 
 What ? " 
 
 " Will you marry me ? " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Lawrence, I will." 
 
 There was a short pause, during which a num- 
 ber of fiery fish were sent off again, and squirmed 
 and wriggled and fizzled their burning little lives 
 away in the water. But neither of the young 
 people looked at them. 
 
 " You rather took my breath away," said Law- 
 rence, with a change of tone. " Did I do it all 
 right?"
 
 186 
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 
 
 "Oh quite right," answered Fanny, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 Immediately after the words Lawrence heard 
 a little sigh. Then Fanny heard one, too. 
 
 " You didn't happen to be in earnest, did 
 you ? " she asked suddenly, in a low, soft voice. 
 
 " Well I didn't mean that I meant you 
 know we agreed to play a game " 
 
 " I know we did but were you in earnest ? " 
 
 "Yes but, of course- Oh, this isn't fair, 
 Miss Trehearne ! " 
 
 " Yes, it is. I said ' yes,' didn't I ? " 
 
 " Certainly, but - 
 
 " There's no ' but.' I happened to be in 
 earnest, too that's all. I've lost the game."
 
 MARION DARCHE
 
 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I 
 
 AMONG the many peculiarities which contribute 
 to make New York unlike other cities is the con- 
 struction of what may be called its social map. As 
 in the puzzles used in teaching children geography, 
 all the pieces are of different shapes, different sizes 
 and different colours ; but they fit neatly together in 
 the compact whole though the lines which define 
 each bit are distinctly visible, especially when the 
 map has been long used by the industrious child. 
 What calls itself society everywhere else calls itself 
 society in New York also, but whereas in European 
 cities one instinctively speaks of the social scale, 
 one familiar with New York people will be much 
 more inclined to speak of the social map. I do 
 not mean to hint that society here exists on a 
 dead level, but the absence of tradition, of all 
 acknowledged precedents and of all outward and 
 perceptible distinctions makes it quite impossible 
 
 9 Vol. 9
 
 2 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 to define the position of any one set in regard 
 to another by the ordinary scale of superiority 
 or inferiority. In London or Paris, for instance, 
 ambitious persons are spoken of as climbing, in 
 New York it would be more correct to speak of 
 them as migrating or attempting to migrate from 
 one social field to the next. It is impossible to 
 imagine fields real or metaphorical yielding more 
 different growths under the same sky. 
 
 The people in all these different sets are very 
 far from being unconscious of one another's exis- 
 tence. Sometimes they would like to change from 
 one set to another and cannot, sometimes other 
 people wish them to change and they will not, 
 sometimes they exchange places, and sometimes by 
 a considerable effort, or at considerable expense, 
 they change themselves. The man whose occupa- 
 tions, or tastes, or necessities, lead him far be- 
 yond the bounds of the one particular field to 
 which he belongs, may see a vast deal that is 
 interesting and of which his own particular friends 
 and companions know nothing whatever. There 
 are a certain number of such men in every great 
 city, and there are a certain number of women
 
 MARION DAECHB. 8 
 
 also, who, by accident or choice, know a little 
 more of humanity in general than their associates. 
 They recognise each other wherever they meet. 
 They speak the same language. Without secret 
 signs or outward badges they understand instinc- 
 tively that they belong to the small and exceptional 
 class of human beings. If they meet for the first 
 time, no matter where, the conversation of each 
 is interesting to the other; they go their opposite 
 ways never to meet again, perhaps, but feeling 
 that for a few minutes, or a few hours, they have 
 lived in an atmosphere far more familiar to them 
 than that of their common everyday life. They 
 are generally the people who can accomplish 
 things, not hard to do in themselves but quite 
 out of the reach of those whose life runs in a 
 single groove. They very often have odd expe- 
 riences to relate and sometimes are not averse 
 to relating them. They are a little mysterious in 
 their ways and they do not care to be asked 
 whither they are going nor whence they come. 
 They are not easily surprised by anything, but 
 they sometimes do not remember to which par- 
 ticular social set an idea, a story, or a prejudice
 
 4 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 belongs, especially if they are somewhat preoccu- 
 pied at the time. This occasionally makes their 
 conversation a little startling, if not incomprehen- 
 sible, but they are generally considered to be agree- 
 able people and if they have good manners and 
 dress like human beings they are much sought 
 after in society for the simple reason that they 
 are very hard to find. 
 
 In New York walking is essentially the luxury 
 of the rich. The hard-working poor man has no 
 time to lose in such old-fashioned sport and he 
 gets from place to place by means of horse cars 
 and elevated roads, by cabs or in his own car- 
 riage, according to the scale of his poverty. The 
 man who has nothing to do keeps half-a-dozen 
 horses and enjoys the privilege of walking, which 
 he shares with women and four-footed animals. 
 
 The foregoing assertions all bear more or less 
 directly upon the lives of the people concerned in 
 the following story. They all lived in New York, 
 they all belonged to the same little oddly-shaped 
 piece in the social puzzle map, some of them 
 were rich enough to walk, and one of them at 
 least was tolerably well acquainted with a great
 
 MAKION DABCHE. 5 
 
 many people in a great many other sets. On a cer- 
 tain winter's morning this latter individual was 
 walking slowly down Lexington Avenue in the 
 direction of Gramercy Park. He was walking, not 
 ,because he was enormously rich, not because he 
 had nothing to do, and not because he was ill. He 
 was suffering momentarily from an acute attack of 
 idleness, very rare in him, but intensely delightful 
 while it lasted. 
 
 In all probability Russell Vanbrugh had been 
 doing more work than was good for him, but as he 
 was a man of extremely well-balanced and healthy 
 nervous organisation the one ill effect he experienced 
 from having worked harder than usual was a sudden 
 and irresistible determination to do absolutely noth- 
 ing for twenty-four hours. He was a lawyer by pro- 
 fession, a Dutchman by descent, a New Yorker by 
 birth, a gentleman by his character and education, 
 if the latter expression means anything, which is 
 doubtful, and so far as his circumstances were 
 concerned he was neither rich nor poor as compared 
 with most of his associates, though some of his 
 acquaintances looked up to him as little short of a 
 millionaire, while others could not have conceived
 
 6 MARION DAECHE. 
 
 it possible to exist at all with his income. In 
 appearance he was of middle height, strongly built 
 but not stout, and light on his feet. On the whole 
 he would have been called a dark man, for his eyes 
 were brown and his complexion was certainly not 
 fair. His features were regular and straight but 
 not large, of a type which is developing rapidly in 
 America and which expresses clearly enough the 
 principal national characteristics energy, firmness, 
 self-esteem, absence of tradition, and, to some extent, 
 of individuality in so far as the faculties are so 
 evenly balanced as to adapt themselves readily to 
 anything required of them. Russell Vanbrugh was 
 decidedly good-looking and many people would have 
 called him handsome. He was thirty-five years of 
 age, and his black hair was turning a little gray at 
 the temples, a fact which was especially apparent 
 as he faced the sun in his walk. He was in no 
 hurry as he strolled leisurely down the pavement, 
 his hands in the pockets of his fur coat, glancing 
 idly at the quiet houses as he passed. The usual 
 number of small boys were skating about on rollers 
 at the corners of the streets, an occasional trio of 
 nurse, perambulator and baby came into view for a
 
 MARION DARCHE. 7 
 
 moment across the sunlit square ahead of him, and 
 a single express-waggon was halting before a house 
 on the other side of the street, with one of its wheels 
 buried to the hub in a heap of mud-dyed snow. 
 That was all. Few streets in the world can be as 
 quiet as Lexington Avenue at mid-day. It looks 
 almost like Boston. Russell Vanbrugh loved New 
 York in all its aspects and in all its particulars, 
 singly and wholly, in winter and summer, with the 
 undivided affection which natives of great capitals 
 often feel for their own city. He liked to walk 
 in Lexington Avenue, and to think of the roaring, 
 screaming rush in Broadway. He liked to escape 
 from sudden death on the Broadway crossing and 
 to think of the perambulator and the boys on 
 roller skates in Lexington Avenue ; and again, 
 he was fond of allowing his thoughts to wander 
 down town to the strange regions which are 
 bounded by the Bowery, Houston Street, the East 
 River and Park Row. It amused him to watch 
 his intensely American surroundings and to remem- 
 ber at the same time that New York is the third 
 German city in the world. He loved contrasts 
 and it was this taste, together with his daily occu-
 
 8 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 pation as a criminal lawyer, which had led him 
 to extend his acquaintance beyond the circle in 
 which his father and mother had dined and 
 danced and had their being. 
 
 He was thinking for people can think while 
 receiving and enjoying momentary impressions 
 which have nothing to do with their thoughts 
 he was thinking of a particularly complicated 
 murder case in which the murderer had made 
 use of atropine to restore the pupils of his vie' 
 tim's eyes to their natural size lest their contraction 
 should betray the use of morphia. He was watch- 
 ing the boys, the house, the express-cart, and the 
 distant perambulator, and at the same time he 
 was hesitating as to whether he should light a 
 cigarette or not. He was certainly suffering 
 from the national disease, which is said by 
 medical authorities to consist in thinking of 
 three things at once. He was just wondering 
 whether, if the expressman murdered the nurse 
 and used atropine the boy would find it out, 
 when the door of a house he was passing was 
 opened and a young girl came out upon the 
 brown stone steps and closed it behind her. Her
 
 MARION DARCHE. 9 
 
 gray eyes met his brown ones and they both 
 started slightly and smiled. The girl's bright 
 colour grew a little more bright, and Vanbrugh's 
 eyelids contracted a little as he stopped and 
 bowed. 
 
 " Oh is that you ? " asked Miss Dolly May- 
 lands, pausing an instant. 
 
 "Good morning," answered Vanbrugh, smiling 
 again as she tripped over the brown steps and 
 met him on the pavement. 
 
 "I suppose your logical mind saw the absurd- 
 ity of answering my question," said Dolly, holding 
 out a slender gloved hand. 
 
 "I see you have been at your charities again," 
 answered Vanbrugh, watching her fresh face 
 closely. 
 
 " You say that as you would say, * You have 
 been at your tricks again.' Why do you tease 
 me ? But it is quite true. How did you guess 
 it?" 
 
 " Because you began by chaffing me. That 
 shows that you are frivolous to-day. When you 
 have been doing something serious you are always 
 frivolous. When you have been dancing you are
 
 10 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 always funereal. It is very easy to tell what 
 you have been doing." 
 
 " You ought to be ashamed of yourself." 
 
 Miss Maylands frequently made use of this 
 expression a strong one in its way. 
 
 "I know I ought," answered Vanbrugh with 
 humility. 
 
 "But you are not. You are a hypocrite, like 
 all the rest of them." Dolly's face was grave, 
 but she glanced at her companion as she spoke. 
 
 "Of course I am a hypocrite. Life is too 
 short. A man cannot waste his time in hacking 
 his way through the ice mountain of truth when 
 he may trot round to the other side by the path 
 of tact." 
 
 "I hate metaphors." 
 
 "So do I." 
 
 "Why do you use them, then?" 
 
 "It is righteous to do the things one does not 
 like to do, is it not?" 
 
 "Not if they are bad." 
 
 "Oh! then I am good, am I?" 
 
 "Perhaps. I never make rash assertions." 
 
 "No? You called me a hypocrite just now,
 
 MARION DARCHE. 11 
 
 and said I was like the rest of them. Was not 
 that a rash assertion?" 
 
 "Oh dear! You are too logical! I give it 
 up." 
 
 "I am so glad." 
 
 For a few moments they walked along in 
 silence, side by side, in the sunshine. They 
 were a couple pleasant to look at, yet not very 
 remarkable in any way. Dolly Maylands was tall 
 almost as tall as Vanbrugh, but much fairer. 
 She had about her the singular freshness which 
 clings to some people through life. It is hard to 
 say wherein the quality lies, but it is generally 
 connected with the idea of great natural vitality. 
 There are two kinds of youth. There is the 
 youth of young years, which fades and disappears 
 altogether, and there is the youth of nature 
 which is abiding, or which, at most, shrivels and 
 dies as rose leaves wither, touched with faint 
 colour, still and fragrant to the last. Dolly's 
 freshness was in her large gray eyes, her bright 
 chestnut hair, her smooth, clear skin, her perfect 
 teeth, her graceful figure, her easy motion. But 
 it was deeper than all these, and one looking at
 
 12 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 her felt that it would outlast them all, and that 
 they would all try hard to outlast one another. 
 For the rest, the broad brow showed thought, if 
 not intellect, and the mouth, rather large for the 
 proportion of the lower face, but not at all heavy, 
 told of strength and courage, if not of real firm- 
 ness. Dolly Maylands was large, well grown, 
 thin, fresh and thoughtful, with a dash of the 
 devil, but of a perfectly innocent devil, only a 
 little inclined to. laugh at his own good works 
 and to prefer play to prayers, as even angels may 
 when they are very young and healthy, and have 
 never done anything to be sorry for. 
 
 "You seem to be walking with me," observed 
 Dolly presently. 
 
 "Well yes I suppose that is the impression 
 we are giving the expressman over there." 
 
 " And in court, in one of your cases, if he were 
 a witness, he would probably give the idea that we 
 met in Lexington Avenue by appointment. By 
 the bye, one does not walk in Lexington Avenue 
 in the morning." 
 
 "That is what we are doing," answered Van- 
 brugh imperturbably.
 
 MAKION DAKCHB. 13 
 
 " You know that it is compromising, I suppose." 
 
 "So do you." 
 
 "Then why do you do it?" 
 
 " Why do we do it ? Is that what you meant to 
 ask?" 
 
 "I did not mean anything." 
 
 " So I supposed, from what you said." Vanbrugh 
 smiled and Dolly laughed as their eyes met. 
 
 " I was here first," said Vanbrugh after a moment. 
 
 "Not at all. I have been at least an hour at 
 old Mrs. Trehearne's." 
 
 "I may have seen you go in, and I may have 
 waited all that time to catch you on the door- 
 step." 
 
 " So like you ! Why are you not defending the 
 chemist who cremated his fifth wife alive in a re- 
 tort, or the cashier who hypnotised the head of his 
 firm and made him sign cheques with his eyes shut, 
 or the typhus-germ murderer, or something nice 
 and interesting of that sort ? Are you growing 
 lazy in your old age, Mr. Vanbrugh?" 
 
 "Awfully!" 
 
 "How well you talk. When I have made a 
 beautiful long speech and have beaten my memory
 
 14 MARION DABCHB. 
 
 black and blue for words I cannot remember, just 
 to be agreeable you say ' awfully,' and think 
 you are making conversation." 
 
 " I am not good at conversation." 
 
 " Apparently not. However, you will not have 
 much chance of showing off your weakness this 
 morning." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " You might say you are sorry ! Why not ? 
 Because I am not going far." 
 
 "How far?" 
 
 " That is a rude question. It is like asking me 
 where I am going. But I will be nice and tell 
 you just to make you feel your inferiority. I 
 am going to see Marion Darche." 
 
 "Mrs. Darche lunches about this time." 
 
 "Exactly. It is within the bounds of possibility 
 that I may be going to lunch with her." 
 
 "Oh, quite!" 
 
 Again there was a short pause as the two 
 walked on together. Dolly took rather short, 
 quick steps. Vanbrugh did not change his gait. 
 There are men who naturally fall into the step of 
 persons with whom they are walking. It shows
 
 MAEION DARCHB. 15 
 
 an imitative disposition and one which readily 
 accepts the habits of others. Neither Dolly nor 
 her companion were people of that sort. 
 
 " I was thinking of Mrs. Darche," said Dolly at 
 last. 
 
 "So was I. Extremes meet." 
 
 "They have met in that case, at all events," 
 answered Dolly, growing serious. "It would not 
 be easy to imagine a more perfectly ill-matched 
 couple than Marion and her husband." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " asked Vanbrugh, who was 
 never inclined to commit himself. 
 
 " Think so ? I know it ! And you ought to 
 know it, too. You are always there. Nobody is 
 more intimate there than you are." 
 
 " Yes, I often see them." 
 
 " Yes," said Dolly looking keenly at him, " and I 
 believe you know much more about them than 
 you admit. You might as well tell me." 
 
 "I have nothing especial to tell," answered 
 Vanbrugh quietly. 
 
 " There is something wrong. Well if you will 
 not tell me, Harry Brett will, some day. He is 
 not half so secretive as you are."
 
 16 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 " That does not mean anything. The word 
 secretive is not to be found in any respectable 
 dictionary, nor in any disreputable one either, so 
 far as I know." 
 
 " How horrid you are ! But it is quite true. 
 Harry Brett is not in the least like you. He says 
 just what he thinks." 
 
 " Does he ? Lucky man ! That is just what I 
 am always trying to do. And he tells you all 
 about the Darches, does he?" 
 
 " Oh no ! He has never told me anything. 
 But then, he would." 
 
 "That is just the same, you know." 
 
 "What makes you think there is anything 
 wrong ? " asked Vanbrugh, changing his tone and 
 growing serious in his turn. 
 
 " So many things it is dreadful ! What 
 o'clock is it?" 
 
 "Ten minutes to one." 
 
 "Have you time for another turn before I go 
 in?" 
 
 "Of course all the time. We can walk round 
 Gramercy Park and down Irving Place." 
 
 Instinctively both were silent as they passed
 
 MAEION DARCHB. 17 
 
 the door of Marion Darche's house and did not 
 resume their conversation till they were twenty 
 paces further down the street. Then Vanbrugh 
 was the first to speak. 
 
 "If it is possible for you and me to talk 
 seriously about anything, Miss Maylands, I should 
 like to speak to you about the Darches." 
 
 "I will make a supreme effort and try to be 
 serious. As for you " 
 
 Dolly glanced at Vanbrugh, smiled and shook 
 her head, as though to signify that his case was 
 perfectly hopeless. 
 
 " I shall do well enough," he answered, " I am 
 used to gravity. It does not upset my nerves 
 as it does yours." 
 
 "You shall not say that gravity upsets my 
 nerves ! " 
 
 "Shall not? Why not?" inquired Vanbrugh. 
 
 Dolly walked more slowly, putting down her 
 feet with a little emphasis, so to say. 
 
 "Because I say you shall not. That ought to 
 be enough." 
 
 " Considering that you can stand idiot asylums, 
 kindergartens, school children, the rector and the
 
 18 MARION D ARC HE. 
 
 hope of the life to come, and are still alive 
 enough to dance every night, your nerves ought 
 to be good. But I did not mean to be offensive 
 only a little wholesome glass of truth as an 
 appetiser before Mrs. Darche's luncheon." 
 
 " Puns make me positively ill at this hour ! " 
 " I will never do it again never, never." 
 "You are not making much progress in talking 
 seriously about the Darches. I believe it was for 
 that purpose that you proposed to drag me round 
 and round this hideous place, amongst the babies 
 and the nurses and the small yellow dogs there 
 goes one ! " 
 
 " Yes as you say there he goes, doomed to 
 destruction in the pound. Be sorry for him. 
 Show a little sympathy poor beast ! Drowning 
 is not pleasant in this weather." 
 
 " Oh you do not really think he will be 
 drowned ? " 
 
 " No. I think not. If you look, you will see 
 that he is a private dog, so to say, though he is 
 small and yellow. He is also tied to the back of 
 the perambulator look the fact is proved by 
 his having got through the railings and almost
 
 MAKION DARCHE. 19 
 
 upset the baby and the nurse by stopping them 
 short. Keep your sympathy for the next dog, 
 and let us talk about the Darches, if you and I 
 can stop chaffing." 
 
 "Speak for yourself, Mr. Vanbrugh. You 
 frightened me by telling me the creature was to 
 be drowned." 
 
 " Very well. I apologise. Since he is to live, 
 what do you think is the matter with the Darche 
 establishment? Let me put the questions. Is 
 old Simon Darche in his right mind, so as to 
 understand what is going on ? Is John Darche 
 acting honestly by the Company and by other 
 people ? Is Mrs. Darche happy ? " 
 
 Miss Maylands paused at the corner of the 
 park, looked through the railings and smoothed 
 her muff of black Persian sheep with one hand 
 before she made any reply. Russell Vanbrugh 
 watched her face and glanced at the muff from 
 time to time. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I cannot answer your questions," Dolly 
 answered at last, looking into his eyes. "I do 
 not know the answers to any of them, and yet I
 
 20 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 have asked them all of myself. As to the first 
 two, you ought to know the truth better than I. 
 You understand those things better than I do. 
 And the last whether Marion is happy or not 
 have you any particular reason for asking it ? " 
 
 "No." Vanbrugh answered without the slight- 
 est hesitation, but an instant later his eyes fell 
 before hers. She sighed almost inaudibly, laid her 
 hand upon the railing and with the other raised 
 the big muff to her face so that it hid her mouth 
 and chin. To her, the lowering of his glance 
 meant something something, perhaps, which she 
 had not expected to find. 
 
 " You ask on general general principles ? " she 
 inquired presently, with a rather nervous smile. 
 
 But Vanbrugh did not smile. The expression 
 of his face did not change. 
 
 " Yes, on general principles," he answered. 
 " It is the main question, after all. If Mrs. Darche 
 is not happy, there must be some very good 
 reason for her unhappiness, and the reason can- 
 not be far to seek. If the old gentleman is 
 really losing his mind or is going to have softening 
 of the brain which is the same thing after all
 
 MARION DAKCHE. 21 
 
 well, that might be it. But I do not believe she 
 cares so much for him as all that. If he were 
 her own father it would be different. But he is 
 John's father, and John I do not know what to 
 say. It would depend upon the answers to the 
 other questions." 
 
 "Which I cannot give you," answered Dolly. 
 "I wish I could." 
 
 Dolly gave the railings a little parting kick 
 to knock the snow from the point of her over- 
 shoe, lowered her muff and began to walk again. 
 Vanbrugh walked beside her in silence. 
 
 "It is a very serious question," she began 
 again, when they had gone a few steps. " Of 
 course you think I spend all my time in frivo- 
 lous charities and serious flirtations, and dances, 
 and that sort of thing. But I have my likes 
 and dislikes, and Marion is my friend. She is 
 older than I, and when we were girls I had 
 a little girl's admiration for a big one. That 
 lasted until she got married and I grew up. 
 Of course it is not the same thing now, but 
 we are very fond of each other. You see I 
 have never had a sister nor any relations to
 
 22 MAEION DABCHB. 
 
 speak of, and in a certain way she has taken 
 the place of them all. At first I thought she 
 was happy, though- I could not see how that 
 could be, because " 
 
 Dolly broke off .suddenly, as though she 
 expected Vanbrugh to understand what was 
 passing in her mind. He said nothing, how- 
 ever, and did not even look at her as he 
 walked silently by her side. Then she glanced 
 at him once or twice before she spoke again. 
 
 "Of course you know what I am thinking 
 of," she said at last. "You must have thought 
 it all too, then and now, and very often. Of 
 course you had reason to." 
 
 "What reason?" Vanbrugh looked up quickly, 
 as he asked the question. 
 
 "Oh, I cannot go into all that! You under- 
 stand as well as I do. Besides, it is not a 
 pleasant subject. John Darche was successful, 
 young, rich, everything you like except just 
 what one does like. I always felt that she had 
 married him by mistake." 
 
 " By mistake ? What a strange idea. And who 
 should the right man have been, pray ? "
 
 MARION DARCHE. 23 
 
 " Oh, no ! She thought he was the right man, 
 no doubt. It was the mistake of fate, or provi- 
 dence, or whatever you call the thing, if it was 
 a mistake at all." 
 
 "After all," said Vanbrugh, "*what reason have 
 we, you or I, for saying that they are not per- 
 fectly happy? Perhaps they are. People are 
 happy in so many different ways. After all, 
 John Darche and his wife do not seem to quar- 
 rel. They only seem to disagree or rather " 
 
 "Yes," answered Dolly, "that is exactly it. It 
 is not everything one sees or hears in the house. 
 It is the suspicion that there are unpleasant 
 things which are neither seen or heard by any 
 of us. And then, the rest your questions about 
 the business, which I cannot answer and which I 
 hardly understand. There are so many people 
 concerned in an enormous business like that, that 
 I cannot imagine how anything could be done 
 without being found out." 
 
 " However such things are done," answered 
 Vanbrugh, gravely, " and sometimes they are 
 found out, and sometimes they are not. Let 
 us hope for the best in this case."
 
 24 MARION DAECHE. 
 
 " What would be the best if there were any- 
 thing to find out ? " asked Dolly, lowering her 
 voice as they paused before Simon Darche's house. 
 " "Would it be better that John Darche should 
 be caught for the sake of the people who would 
 lose by him, or would it be better for his wife's 
 sake that he should escape ? " 
 
 " That is a question altogether beyond my 
 judgment, especially on such short notice. Shall 
 we go in?" 
 
 " We ? Are you coming too ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am going to lunch with the Darches 
 too." 
 
 " And you never told me so ? That is just like 
 you ! You get all you can out of me and you 
 tell me nothing." 
 
 " I have nothing to tell," answered Vanbrugh 
 calmly, "but I apologise all the same. Shall I 
 ring the bell?" 
 
 " Unless you mean to take me round Gramercy 
 Park again and show me more nurses and per- 
 ambulators and dirty dogs. Yes, ring the bell 
 please. It is past one o'clock."
 
 MAKION DAKCHE. 25 
 
 A moment later Miss Dolly Maylands and 
 Mr. Russell Vanbrugh disappeared behind the 
 extremely well-kept door of Simon Darche's house 
 in Lexington Avenue. 
 
 10 Vol. 9
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SIMON DARCHE stood at the window of his 
 study, as Dolly and Vanbrugh entered the house. 
 He was, at that time, about seventy-five years 
 of age, and the life he had led had told upon 
 him, as an existence of over excitement ultimately 
 tells upon all but the very strong. Physically, 
 he was a fine specimen of the American old gen- 
 tleman. He was short, well knit, and still fairly 
 erect; his thick creamy-white hair was smoothly 
 brushed and parted behind, as his well-trimmed 
 white beard was carefully combed and parted 
 before. He had bushy eyebrows in which there 
 were still some black threads. His face was 
 riiddy and polished, like fine old pink silk that 
 has been much worn. But his blue eyes had 
 a vacant look in them, and the redness of the 
 lids made them look weak ; the neck was 
 shrunken at the back and just behind the ears, 
 and though the head was well poised on the 
 
 26
 
 MARION DARCHE. 27 
 
 shoulders, it occasionally shook a little, or 
 dropped suddenly out of the perpendicular, for- 
 wards or to one side, not as though nodding, 
 but as though the sinews were gone, so that 
 it depended altogether upon equilibrium and not 
 at ' all upon muscular tension for its stability. 
 This, however, was almost the only outward 
 sign of physical weakness. Simon Darche still 
 walked with a firm step, and signed his name 
 in a firm round hand at the foot of the docu- 
 ments brought to him by his son for signature. 
 
 He had perfect confidence in John's judgment, 
 discretion and capacity, for he and his son had 
 worked together for nearly twenty years, and John 
 had never during that time contradicted him. 
 Since the business had continued to prosper 
 through fair and foul financial weather, this was, 
 in Simon Darche's mind, a sufficient proof of 
 John's great superiority of intelligence. The Com- 
 pany's bonds and stock had a steady value on the 
 market, the interest on the bonds was paid regu- 
 larly and the Company's dividends were uniformly 
 large. Simon Darche continued to be President, 
 and John Darche had now been Treasurer during
 
 28 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 more than five years. Altogether, the Company 
 had proved itself to be a solid concern, capable of 
 surviving stormy days and of navigating serenely 
 in the erratic flood and ebb of the down-town tide. 
 It was, indeed, apparent that before long a new 
 President must be chosen, and the choice was 
 likely to fall upon John. In the ordinary course 
 of things a man of Simon Darche's age could not 
 be expected to bear the weight of such responsi- 
 bility much longer; but so far as any one knew, 
 his faculties were still unimpaired and his strength 
 was still quite equal to any demands which should 
 be made upon it, in the ordinary course of events. 
 Of the business done by the Company, it is suffi- 
 cient to say that it was an important branch of 
 manufacture, that the controlling interest was gen- 
 erally in the hands of the Darches themselves and 
 that its value largely depended upon the posses- 
 sion of certain patents which, of course, would 
 ultimately expire. 
 
 Simon Darche stood at the window of his study 
 and looked out, smoking a large, mild cigar which 
 he occasionally withdrew from his lips and con- 
 templated thoughtfully before knocking off the ash,
 
 MARION DABCHE. 29 
 
 and returning it to his mouth. It was a very fine 
 cigar indeed, equal in quality to everything which 
 Simon Darche had consumed during the greater 
 part of his life, and he intended to enjoy it to the 
 end, as he had enjoyed most things ever since he 
 had been young. John, he often said, did not 
 know how to enjoy anything; not that John was 
 in a hurry, or exhibited flagrantly bad taste, or 
 professed not to care on the contrary, the younger 
 man was deliberate, thoughtful and fastidious in 
 his requirements but there was an odd strain of 
 asceticism in him, which his father had never 
 understood. It certainly was not of a religious 
 nature, but it would have gone well together with 
 a saintly disposition such as John did not possess. 
 Perhaps indeed, John had the saintly temperament 
 without the sanctity, and that, after all, may be 
 better than nothing. He was thinner than his 
 father and of a paler complexion ; his hair was 
 almost red, if not quite, and his eyes were blue 
 a well-built man, not ungraceful but a little 
 angular, careful of his appearance and possessed 
 of perfect taste in regard to dress, if in nothing 
 else. He bestowed great attention upon his hands,
 
 30 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 which were small with slender fingers pointed at 
 the tips, and did not seem to belong to the same 
 epoch as the rest of him ; they were almost unnat- 
 urally white, but to his constant annoyance they 
 had an unlucky propensity to catch the dust, as 
 one says of some sorts of cloth. If it be written 
 down that a man has characteristically clean hands, 
 some critic will be sure to remark that gentlemen 
 are always supposed to have clean hands, especially 
 gentlemen of the Anglo-Saxon race. It is a fact, 
 nevertheless, that however purely Anglo-Saxon the 
 possessor may be, there are hands which are natu- 
 rally not clean and which neither ordinary scrub- 
 bing nor the care of the manicure can ever keep 
 clean for more than an hour. People who are in 
 the habit of noticing hands are well aware of the 
 fact, which depends upon the quality of the skin, 
 as the reputation for cleanliness itself generally 
 does. John Darche's hands did not satisfy him as 
 the rest of himself did. 
 
 So far as people knew, he had no vices, nor 
 even the small tastes and preferences which most 
 men have. He did not drink wine, he did not 
 smoke, and he rarely played cards. He was a
 
 MARION DARCHB. 31 
 
 fairly good rider and rode for exercise, but did 
 not know a pastern from a fetlock and trusted to 
 others to buy his horses for him. He cared noth- 
 ing for sport of any kind; he had once owned a 
 yacht for a short time, but he had never been any 
 further than Newport in her and had sold her 
 before the year was out. He read a good deal in 
 a desultory way and criticised everything he read, 
 when he talked, but on the whole he despised 
 literature as a trifle unworthy of a serious man's 
 attention. His religious convictions were problem- 
 atic, to say the least of it, and his outward prac- 
 tice took the somewhat negative form of never 
 swearing, even when he was alone. He did no 
 raise his voice in argument, if he ever argued, nor 
 in anger, though he had a very bad temper. John 
 Darche could probably say as disagreeable things 
 as any man living, without exhibiting the slightest 
 apparent emotion. He was not a popular man. 
 His acquaintances disliked him ; his friends feared 
 him; his intimates and the members of his house- 
 hold felt that he held them at a distance and that 
 they never really understood him. His father be- 
 stowed an almost childish admiration upon him, for
 
 32 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 which he received a partial compensation in John's 
 uniformly respectful manner and unvarying out- 
 ward deference. In the last appeal, all matters of 
 real importance were left to the decision of Simon 
 Darche, who always found it easy to decide, be- 
 cause the question, as it reached him, was never 
 capable of more than one solution. 
 
 It is clear from what has been said that John 
 Darche was not an amiable character. But he 
 had one small virtue, or good trait, or good point, 
 be it called as it may. He loved his wife, if not 
 as a woman and a companion, at least as a 
 possession. The fact was not apparent to the 
 majority of people, least of all, perhaps, to Mrs. 
 Darche herself, who was much younger than her 
 husband and whose whole and loyal soul was 
 filled with his cast-off beliefs, so to say, or, at 
 least, with beliefs which he would have cast off 
 if he had ever possessed them. Nevertheless, he 
 was accustomed to consider her as one of his most 
 valuable belongings, and he might have been very 
 langerous, had his enormous dormant jealousy 
 been roused by .the slightest show on her part of 
 preference for any one of the half-dozen men who
 
 MARION DARCHE. 33 
 
 were intimate in the house. He, on his side, gave 
 her no cause for doubting his fidelity. He was 
 not loving, his manner was not affectionate, he 
 often lost his temper and said cruel things to her 
 in his cruel way; but so far as she knew he did 
 not exchange ten words daily with any other 
 woman, excepting Mrs. Willoughby, her aunt, and 
 Dolly Maylands, her intimate friend. He was 
 systematic in his daily comings and goings, and 
 he regularly finished his evenings at one of the 
 clubs. He slept little, but soundly, ate sparingly 
 and without noticing what was offered him, drank 
 four cups of tea and a pint of Apollinaris every 
 day and had never been ill in his life, which 
 promised to be long, active, uneventful and not 
 overflowing with blessings for any one else. 
 
 At first it might seem that there was not much 
 ground for the few words exchanged by Russell 
 Vanbrugh and Dolly Maylands about the Darches' 
 trouble before they entered the house. To all 
 appearances, Simon Darche was in his normal 
 frame of mind and had changed little during the 
 last five years. So far as any one could judge, the 
 Company was as solid as ever. In her outward
 
 34 MARION DAECHB. 
 
 manner and conversation Marion Darche seemed 
 as well satisfied with her lot as she had been on 
 the day of her marriage, when John had repre- 
 sented to her all that a man should be, much 
 that another man, whom she had loved, or liked 
 almost to loving, in her early girlhood, had not 
 been. The surface of her life was calm and un- 
 emotional, reflecting only the sunshine and storm 
 of the social weather under which she lived in 
 the more or less close companionship of half a 
 hundred other individuals in more or less similar 
 circumstances. 
 
 There is just enough truth in most proverbs to 
 make them thoroughly disagreeable. Take, for 
 instance, the saying that wealth is not happiness. 
 Of course it is not, any more than food and 
 lodging, shoes and clothing, which are the 
 ultimate forms of wealth, can be called happiness. 
 But surely, wealth and all that wealth gives con- 
 stitute a barrier against annoyance, mental and 
 physical, which has almost as much to do with 
 the maintenance of happiness in the end, as 
 "climate and the affections." The demonstration 
 is a simple one. Poverty can of itself under
 
 MARION DARCHE. 3 
 
 certain circumstances be a source of unhappiness. 
 The possession of riches therefore is a barrier 
 against the possibility of at least one sort of 
 misery and relatively increases the chances of 
 being happy on the whole. It is tolerably 
 certain, that, without money, John Darche would 
 have been little short of insufferable, and that his 
 wife would have been chief among the sufferers. 
 The presence of a great fortune preserved the 
 equilibrium and produced upon outsiders the im- 
 pression of real felicity. 
 
 Nevertheless, both Vanbrugh and Dolly May- 
 lands, as has been seen, considered the fortune 
 unsafe and the apparent peace problematic. They 
 were among the most intimate friends of the 
 Darche household and were certainly better able 
 to judge of the state of affairs than the majority. 
 They had doubtless perceived in the domestic 
 atmosphere something of that sultriness which 
 foreruns a storm and sometimes precedes an 
 earthquake, and being very much in sympathy 
 with each other, in spite of the continual chaffing 
 which formed the basis of their conversation, 
 they had both begun to notice the signs of bad 
 weather very nea v fly at the same time.
 
 36 MARION DAECHB. 
 
 It must not be supposed that Mrs. Darche con 
 fided her woes to her friend, to use the current 
 expression by which reticent people characterise 
 the follies of others. It was not even certain at 
 this time that she had any woes at all, but Dolly 
 undoubtedly noticed something in her conduct 
 which betrayed anxiety if not actual unhappiness, 
 and Russell Vanbrugh, who, as has been observed, 
 was intimately acquainted with many aspects of 
 New York life, had some doubts as to the state of 
 the Company's affairs. No one is really reticent. 
 It would perhaps be more just to the human race 
 as a whole to say that no two persons are capable 
 of keeping the same secret at the same time. That 
 is probably the reason why there is always some 
 rumour of an approaching financial crisis, even 
 while it is very much to the interest of all con- 
 cerned to preserve a calm exterior. When a great 
 house is about to have trouble, and even in some 
 cases as much as two or three years before the 
 disaster, there is a dull far-off rumble from under- 
 ground, as though the foundations were trembling. 
 There is a creaking of the timbers, an occasional 
 and as yet unaccountable rattling of the panes,
 
 MARION DABCHE. 37 
 
 and sometimes a very slight distortion .of the lines 
 of the edifice, all proving clearly enough that a 
 crash is at hand. As no one believes in presenti- 
 ments, divinations or the gift of prophecy in these 
 days, it is safe to assume that some one who knows 
 the history of the thing lias betrayed the secret, 
 or has told his wife that there is a secret to be 
 kept. In the matter of secrets there is but one 
 general rule. If you do not wish a fact to be 
 known, tell no one of its existence. 
 
 Concerning the particular reasons which led 
 Dolly Maylands and Russell Vanbrugh to exchange 
 opinions on the subject of the Darches, it is hardly 
 necessary to speak here. The two were very 
 intimate and had known each other for a long 
 time, and, possibly, there was a tendency in their 
 acquaintance to something more like affection than 
 friendship. The fact that Dolly did not flirt with 
 Vanbrugh in the ordinary acceptation of that word, 
 showed that she might possibly be in love with 
 him. As for Vanbrugh himself, no one knew 
 what he thought and he did not intend that any 
 one should. He had never shown any inclination 
 to be married, though it was said that he, like
 
 38 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 many others, had been deeply attached to Mrs. 
 Darche in former days ; and Dolly, at least, believed 
 that he still loved her friend in his heart, though 
 she had neither the courage nor the bad taste to 
 ask a question to which he might reasonably have 
 refused an answer. 
 
 The only person in the household who seemed 
 to have neither doubts nor uneasiness was old Simon 
 Darche, and as it was more than likely that his 
 intelligence had begun to fail, his own sense of 
 security was not especially reassuring to others. 
 
 While Simon Darche was smoking his large 
 mild cigar at the window, and while Dolly and 
 Russell Vanbrugh were strolling by the railings of 
 Gramercy Park, Mrs. Darche was seated before the 
 fire in the library, and another friend of hers, who 
 has a part to play in this little story and who, 
 like Vanbrugh, was a lawyer, was trying to interest 
 her in the details of a celebrated case concerning 
 a will, and was somewhat surprised to find that 
 he could not succeed. Harry Brett stood towards 
 Marion Darche in very much the same friendly 
 relation held by Vanbrugh in Dolly's existence. 
 There was this difference, however, that Brett was
 
 MARION DARCHE. 39 
 
 well known to have offered himself to Mrs. Darche, 
 who had refused him upon grounds which were 
 not clear to the social public. Brett was certainly 
 not so rich as John, but in all other respects he 
 seemed vastly more desirable as a husband. He was 
 young, fresh, good-looking, good-tempered. He 
 belonged to a good New York family, whereas the 
 Darches were of Canadian origin. He had been 
 quite evidently and apparently very much in love 
 with Marion, whereas John never seemed to have 
 looked upon her as anything but a valuable pos- 
 session, to be guarded for its intrinsic worth, and 
 to be kept in good order and condition rather 
 than loved and cherished. Every one had said 
 that she should have married Brett, and when she 
 chose John eveiy one said that she had married his 
 money. But then it is impossible to please every 
 one. Brett was certainly not pleased. He had gone 
 abroad and had been absent a long time, just when 
 he should have been working at his profession. 
 It was supposed, not without reason, that he was 
 profoundly disappointed, but nevertheless, when 
 he returned he looked as fresh and cheerful as ever, 
 was kindly received by Mrs. Darche, civilly treated
 
 40 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 by her husband and forthwith fell into the position 
 of especial friend to the whole family. He had 
 made up his mind to forget all about the past, to 
 see as much of Mrs. Darche as he could without 
 falling in love with her a second time, as he would 
 have called it, and he -was doing his best to be 
 happy in his own way. Within the bounds of 
 possibility he had hitherto succeeded, and no one 
 who wished well to him or Mrs. Darche would 
 have desired to doubt the durability of his success. 
 He had created an artificial happiness and spent 
 his life in fostering the idea that it was real. 
 Many a better man has done the same before him 
 and many a worse may try hereafter. But the 
 result always has been the same and in all likeli- 
 hood always will be. The most refined and perfect 
 artificiality is not nature even to him who most 
 earnestly wishes to believe it is, and the time must 
 inevitably come in all such lives when nature, 
 being confronted with her image, finds it but 
 a caricature and dashes it to pieces in wrath. 
 
 Brett's existence was indeed much more arti- 
 ficial than that of his old love. He had at- 
 tempted to create the semblance of a new relation
 
 MARION DARCHE. 41 
 
 on the dangerous ground whereon an older and 
 a truer one had subsisted. She, on her part, 
 had accepted circumstances as they had formed 
 themselves, and did her best to get what she 
 could out of them without any attempt to 
 deceive herself or others. Fortunately for both 
 she was eminently a good woman, and Brett 
 was a gentleman in heart, as well as in deed. 
 
 And now before this tale is told, there only 
 remains the thankless task of introducing these 
 last two principal figures in their pen-and-ink 
 effigies. 
 
 Of Harry Brett almost enough has been said 
 already. His happy vitality would have lent 
 him something of beauty even if he had possessed 
 none at all. But he had a considerable share 
 of good looks, in addition to his height and well- 
 proportioned frame, his bright blue eyes, his fresh 
 complexion, and short, curly brown hair. He too, 
 like Vanbrugh, belonged to the American type, 
 which has regular features, arched eyebrows, and 
 rather deep-set eyes. The lower part of his face 
 was strong, though the whole outline was oval 
 rather than round or square.
 
 42 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 Rather a conventional hero, perhaps, if he is 
 to be a hero at all, but then, many heroes have 
 been thought to be quite average, ordinary per- 
 sons, until the knot which heroism cuts was pre- 
 sented to them by fate. Then people discover in 
 them all sorts of outward signs of the inward 
 grace that can hit so very hard. Then the phre- 
 nologists descend upon their devoted skulls and 
 discover there the cranial localities of the vast 
 energy, the dauntless courage, the boundless devo- 
 tion to a cause, the profound logic, by which 
 great events are brought about and directed to 
 the end. Julius Caesar at the age of thirty was 
 a frivolous dandy, an amateur lawyer, and a 
 dilettante politician, in the eyes of good society 
 in Rome. 
 
 Harry Brett, however, is not a great hero, even 
 in this fiction a manly fellow with no faults 
 of any importance and no virtues of any great 
 magnitude, young, healthy, good-looking, coura- 
 geous, troubled a little with the canker of the 
 untrue ideal which is apt to eat the common 
 sense out of the core of life's tree, mistaken 
 in his attempt to create in himself an artificial
 
 MARION D ARC HE. 43 
 
 satisfaction in . the friendship of the woman he 
 had loved and was in danger of loving still, 
 gifted with the clear sight which must sooner 
 or later see through his self-made illusion, and 
 possessed of more than the average share of readi- 
 ness in speech and action a contrast, in this 
 respect, to Vanbrugh. The latter, from having 
 too comprehensive a view of things, was often 
 slow in reaching a decision. Brett was more 
 like Mrs. Darche herself in respect of quick 
 judgment and self-reliance at first sight, if such 
 a novel expression is permissible. 
 
 As Marion sat before the fire apparently study- 
 ing its condition and meditating a descent upon 
 it, after the manner of her kind, she was not 
 paying much attention to Brett's interesting story 
 about the great lawyer who had drawn up his 
 own will so that hardly a clause of it had 
 turned out to be legal, and Brett himself was 
 more absorbed in watching her than in telling 
 the complicated tale. She was generally admitted 
 to be handsome. Her enemies said that she had 
 green eyes and yellow hair, which was apparently 
 true, but they also said that she dyed the one
 
 44 MAEION DARCHB. 
 
 and improved the other with painting, which was 
 false. Her hair was naturally as fair as yellow 
 gold, of an even colour throughout, and the 
 shadows beneath her eyes and the dark eyebrows, 
 which were sources of so much envy and malice, 
 were natural and not done with little coloured 
 sticks of greasy crayon kept in tubes made to 
 look like silver pencil-cases, and generally con- 
 cealed beneath the lace of the toilet table or in 
 the toe of a satin slipper. 
 
 Marion Darche was handsome and looked 
 strong, though there was rarely much colour in 
 her face. She did not flush easily. Women who 
 do, often have an irritable heart, as the doctors 
 call the thing, and though their affections may 
 be stable their circulation is erratic. They suffer 
 agonies of shyness in youth and considerable 
 annoyance in maturer years from the conscious- 
 ness that the blood is forever surging in their 
 cheeks at the most inopportune moment; and 
 the more they think of it, the more they blush, 
 which does not mend matters and often betrays 
 secrets. Three-fourths of the shyness one sees in 
 the world is the result of an irritable heart.
 
 MARION DARCHB. 45 
 
 Marion Darche's circulation was normal, and she 
 was not shy. 
 
 Like many strong persons, she was gentle, 
 naturally cheerful and generally ready to help 
 any one who needed assistance. She had an 
 admirably even temper a matter, like physical 
 courage, which depends largely upon the action 
 of the heart and the natural quality of the 
 nerves and under all ordinary circumstances she 
 ate and slept like other people. She did not 
 look at all like Helen or Clyternnestra, and her 
 disposition was not in the least revengeful a 
 quiet, tall, fair young woman, whose clear eyes 
 looked every one calmly in the face and whose 
 strong white hands touched things delicately but 
 could hold firmly when she chose ; carrying 
 herself straight through a crowd, as she bore 
 herself upright through life. Those who knew 
 her face best admired especially her mouth and 
 the small, well-cut, advancing chin, which seemed 
 made to meet difficulties as a swimmer's divides 
 the water. In figure, as in face, too, she was strong, 
 the undulating curves were those of elasticity and 
 energy, rather than of indolence and repose.
 
 46 MABION DABCHE. 
 
 As Harry Brett talked and watched her he 
 honestly tried not to wish that she might have 
 been his wife, and when his resolution broke 
 down he conscientiously talked on and did his 
 best to interest himself in his own conversation. 
 The effort was familiar to him of old, and had 
 so often ended in failure that he was glad when 
 the distant tinkle of the door bell announced the 
 coming of a third person. John rarely lunched 
 at home and old Mr* Darche was never sum- 
 moned until the meal was served. Brett broke 
 off in the middle of his story and laughed a 
 little. 
 
 " I believe you have not understood a word 
 of what I have been telling you," he said. 
 
 Mrs. Darche looked up suddenly, abandoned 
 the study of the burning logs and leaned back 
 in her chair before she answered. Then she 
 looked at him quietly and smiled, not even 
 attempting to deny the imputation. 
 
 "It is very rude of me, is it not? You must 
 forgive me, to-day. I am very much preoccupied." 
 
 "You often are, nowadays," answered Brett,
 
 MARION DARCHE. 47 
 
 with a short, manlike sigh, which might have 
 passed for a sniff of dissatisfaction. 
 
 " I know I am. I am sorry." 
 
 The door opened and Dolly Maylands entered 
 the room, followed closely by Russell Vaubrugh.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SIMON DARCHE was undoubtedly a bore. Since 
 bores exist and there is no other name for them, 
 the strong word has some right to pass into the 
 English language. The old gentleman belonged 
 to the unconscious and self-complacent variety 
 of the species, which is, on the whole, less un- 
 bearable than certain others. Generally speaking, 
 it is true that people who are easily bored are 
 bores themselves, but there are many very genuine 
 and intolerable bores who go through life rejoic- 
 ing and convinced that their conversation is a 
 blessing and their advice a treasure to those who 
 get it. 
 
 Bores always have one or two friends. Simon 
 Darche had found one in his daughter-in-law and 
 he availed himself of her friendship to the utmost, 
 so that it was amazing to see how much she 
 could bear, for she was as constantly bored by 
 him as other people, and appeared, indeed, to 
 
 48
 
 MARION DARCHE. 49 
 
 be his favourite victim. But no one had ever 
 heard her complain. Day after day she listened 
 to his talk, smiled at his old stories, read to him, 
 and seemed rather to seek his society than to 
 avoid it. She was never apparently tired of hear- 
 ing about John's childhood and youth and she 
 received the old man's often repeated confidences 
 concerning his own life with an ever-renewed 
 expression of sympathy. 
 
 " I simply could not stand it for a day ! " ex- 
 claimed Dolly occasionally. "Why, he is worse 
 than my school children ! " 
 
 Miss Maylands could not put the case more 
 strongly. Perhaps no one else could. 
 
 "I like him," answered Mrs. Darche. "I know he 
 is a bore. But then, I suppose I am a bore myself." 
 
 "Oh, Marion!" And Dolly laughed. 
 
 That was generally the end of the conversation. 
 But Dolly, who was by no means altogether 
 frivolous and had a soul, and bestowed now and 
 then considerable attention upon its religious toi- 
 let, so to say Dolly fancied that Papa Darche, 
 as she called him, took the place of a baby in her 
 friend's heart. Rather a permanent and antique 
 
 11 Vol. 9
 
 50 MARION DAECHB. 
 
 baby, Dolly thought, but better than nothing for 
 a woman who felt that she must love and take 
 care of something helpless. She herself did not 
 care for that sort of thing. The maternal instinct 
 developed itself in another direction and she 
 taught children in a kindergarten. The stupid 
 ones tired her, as she expressed it, but then her 
 soul came to the rescue and did its best, which 
 was not bad. Dolly was a good girl, though she 
 had too many "purposes" in life. 
 
 Not many minutes after she and Vanbrugh had 
 entered the room on the morning described in the 
 previous chapters, luncheon was announced. 
 
 " Tell Mr. Darche that luncheon is ready, 
 Stubbs," said Marion, and Stubbs, gray-haired, 
 portly, rosy-cheeked and respectful, disappeared 
 to summon the old gentleman. 
 
 Vanbrugh looked at Brett and both smiled, 
 hardly knowing why. Neither of them had ever 
 lunched at the house without hearing the same 
 order given by the hostess. People often smile 
 foolishly at familiar things, merely because they 
 are familiar. Dolly and Mrs. Darche had sat 
 down together and the two men stood side by
 
 MARION DAKCHE. 51 
 
 side near a table on which a number of reviews 
 and periodicals were neatly arranged in order. 
 Brett idly took up one of them and held it in 
 his hand. 
 
 " By the bye," he said, " to-day is not Sunday. 
 You are not ill, I hope." 
 
 " Only lazy," answered Vanbrugh. 
 
 " So am I," answered Brett after a moment's 
 pause. 
 
 There they stood in silence, apathetically glanc- 
 ing at the two ladies, at the fire and at the win- 
 dow, as two men who know each other very 
 well are apt to do when they are waiting for 
 luncheon. Brett chanced to look down at the 
 magazine he held in his hand. It was bound 
 in white paper and the back of the cover was 
 .occupied by a huge advertisement in large letters. 
 The white margin around it was filled with cal- 
 culations made in blue and red pencil, with 
 occasional marks in green. Mechanically Brett's 
 eyes followed the calculations. The same figure, 
 a high one, recurred in many places, and any one 
 with a child's knowledge of arithmetic could have 
 seen that there was a constant attempt to make
 
 52 MAKION DARCHE. 
 
 up another sum corresponding to it, an attempt 
 which seemed always to have failed. Brett re- 
 membered that Darche carried a pencil-case with 
 leads of three colours in it, and he tossed the 
 magazine upon the table as though he realised 
 that he had been prying into another person's 
 business. He glanced at Mrs. Darche who was 
 still talking with Dolly, and a moment later he 
 took up the magazine again and cautiously tore 
 off the back of the cover, crumpled it in his 
 hands, approached the fire and tossed it into the 
 flames. Mrs. Darche looked up quickly. 
 
 "What is that?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh, nothing," answered Brett, "only a bit of 
 paper." 
 
 Just then Simon Darche entered the room and 
 all rose to go in to luncheon together. 
 
 The old gentleman shook hands with Dolly 
 and with both the men, looking keenly into 
 their faces, but mentioning no names. He was 
 cheerful and ruddy, and a stranger might have 
 expected his conversation to be enlivening. 
 In this however he would have been egregiously 
 disappointed.
 
 MAEION DABCHB. 53 
 
 "What have you been doing this morning?" 
 asked Mrs. Darche turning to him. 
 
 She had asked the question every day for 
 years, whenever she had lunched at home. 
 
 " Very busy, very busy," answered Mr. Darche. 
 
 His hands did not tremble as he unfolded 
 his napkin, but he seemed to bestow an extraor- 
 dinary amount of attention on the exact posi- 
 tion of the glasses before him, pushing them a 
 little forwards and backwards and glancing at 
 them critically until he was quite satisfied. 
 
 " Busy, of course," he said and looked cheer- 
 fully round the table. " There is no real happi- 
 ness except in hard work. If I could only make 
 you understand that, Marion, you would be much 
 happier. Early to bed and early to rise." 
 
 "Makes a man stupid and closes his eyes," 
 observed Brett, finishing the proverb in its 
 modern form. 
 
 "What, what? What doggerel is that?" 
 
 "Did you never hear that?" asked Dolly, 
 laughing. "It is from an unwritten and un- 
 published book modern proverbs." 
 
 Simon Darche shook his head and smiled feebly.
 
 54 MAKION DARCHB. 
 
 "Dear me, dear me, I thought you were in 
 earnest," he said. 
 
 "So he is," said Dolly. "We may have to 
 get up at dawn sometimes, but we are far too 
 much in earnest to go to bed early." 
 
 This was evidently beyond Simon Darche's 
 comprehension and he relapsed into silence and 
 the consumption of oysters. Mrs. Darche 
 glanced reproachfully at Dolly as though to 
 tell her that she should not chaff the old 
 gentleman, and Vanbrugh came to the rescue. 
 
 " Do you often get up at dawn, Miss Maylands ? " 
 he inquired. 
 
 "Do I look as if I did?" .retorted the young 
 lady. 
 
 "How in the world should I know," asked 
 Vanbrugh. "Do I look as though I associated 
 with people who got up at dawn?" 
 
 Brett laughed. 
 
 " It always amuses me to hear you and 
 Vanbrugh talk, Miss Maylands." 
 
 " Does it, I am so glad," said Dolly. 
 
 "Yes, you seem perfectly incapable of saying 
 one word to each other without chaffing."
 
 MARION DABCHE. 55 
 
 Old Mr. Darche had finished his oysters. 
 
 "Yes yes," he observed. "A pair of chaf- 
 finches." 
 
 A moment of silence followed this appalling 
 pun. Then Mrs. Darche laughed a little ner- 
 vously, and Brett, who wished to help her, 
 followed her example. The old gentleman him- 
 self seemed delighted with his own wit. 
 
 "We are beginning well," said Dolly. "Puns 
 and proverbs with the oysters. What shall we 
 get with the fruit?" 
 
 Vanbrugh was inclined to suggest that the des- 
 sert would probably find them in an idiot asylum, 
 but he wisely abstained from words and tried to 
 turn the conversation into a definite channel. 
 
 "Did you read that book I sent you, Mrs. 
 Darche ? " he asked. 
 
 "Yes," answered the latter, "I began to read 
 it to my father-in-law but he did not care for 
 it, so I am going on with it alone." 
 
 "What book was that, my dear?" inquired the 
 old gentleman. 
 
 Mrs. Darche named a recent foreign novel 
 which had been translated.
 
 56 MARION DABCHE. 
 
 " Oh, that thing ! " exclaimed her father-in-law. 
 "Why, it is all about Frenchmen and tea parties! 
 Very dull. Very dull. But then a busy man 
 like myself has very little time for such nonsense. 
 Mr. Trehearne, I suppose I could not give you 
 any idea of the amount of work I have to do." 
 
 He looked at Vanbrugh as he spoke. 
 
 " Trehearne ? " Brett repeated the name in a 
 low voice, looking at Mrs. Darche. 
 
 "I know you are one of the busiest men alive," 
 said Vanbrugh quietly and without betraying 
 the slightest astonishment. 
 
 "I should think so," said Simon Darche, "and 
 I am very glad I am. Nothing keeps a man busy 
 like being successful. And I may fairly say that 
 I have been very successful thanks to John, 
 well I suppose I may take a little credit to 
 myself." 
 
 "Indeed you may," said Mrs. Darche readily. 
 
 Every one thought it wise and proper to join 
 in a little murmur of approval, but Dolly was 
 curious to see what the old gentleman would say 
 next. She wondered whether his taking Van- 
 brugh for old Mr. Trehearne, who had been a
 
 MAEION DAKCHE. 57 
 
 friend of his youth and who had been dead some 
 years, was the first sign of mental decay. From 
 Mrs. Darche's calm manner she inferred that this 
 was not the first time he had done something of 
 the kind, and her mind went back quickly to 
 her conversation with Vanbrugh that morning in 
 Gramercy Park. Simon Darche was still talking. 
 
 "The interests of the Company are becoming 
 positively gigantic, and there seems to be no end 
 to the fresh issues that are possible, though none 
 of them have been brought to me to sign yet." 
 
 Brett looked quickly at Vanbrugh, but the 
 latter was imperturbable. 
 
 At that moment the door opened and John 
 Darche entered the dining-room. His face was a 
 little paler than usual and he seemed tired. Mrs. 
 Darche looked at him in surprise and her father- 
 in-law smiled as he always did when he saw his 
 son. Every one present said something more or 
 less incomprehensible by way of greeting. The 
 new-comer shook hands with Dolly Maylands, 
 nodded to the rest and sat down in the place 
 which was always reserved for him opposite his 
 wife.
 
 58 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "I had nothing particular to do, so I came 
 home to luncheon," he said, by way of explain- 
 ing his unexpected appearance. 
 
 "I am so glad." 
 
 " Nothing particular to do ! " exclaimed the 
 old gentleman momentarily surprised into his 
 senses. 
 
 "Nothing requiring my presence," answered 
 John Darche gravely. "I was down town early 
 this morning and cleared off everything. I shall 
 ride this afternoon." 
 
 "Quite right, quite right, my boy!" put in 
 Simon Darche. " You should take care of your 
 health. You have been doing too much of late. 
 I suppose," he added, looking about at the others, 
 "that there is not a man alive who has my son's 
 power of work." 
 
 " You do work dreadfully hard, John," said Mrs. 
 Darche. 
 
 "But then," said her father-in-law with evident 
 pride, "John leads such a regular life. He does 
 not drink, he does not smoke, he does not sit up 
 late at night altogether, I must say that he takes 
 better care of himself than I ever did. And that
 
 MARION DARCHE. 59 
 
 is the reason," continued the old gentleman with 
 increasing animation, " that he has accomplished 
 so much. If some of you young men would 
 follow his example you would do a great deal 
 more in the world. Regular hours, regular meals, 
 no cocktails oh I daresay if I had never smoked 
 a cigar in my life I should be good for another 
 fifty years. John will live to be a hundred." 
 
 "Let us hope so," said Vanbrugh blandly. 
 
 "What is this particular disagreeable thing 
 you have given me to eat?" inquired John look- 
 ing at his wife. 
 
 Mrs. Darche looked up in surprise. The re- 
 mark was quite in keeping with his usual manner, 
 but it was very unlike him to notice anything 
 that was put before him. 
 
 " I believe it is a shad," she said. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose it is," answered John. " The 
 thing has bones in it. Give me something else, 
 Stubbs." 
 
 He got something else to eat and relapsed into 
 silence. The remainder of the luncheon was not 
 gay, for his coming had chilled even Dolly's good 
 spirits. Brett and Vanbrugh did their best to
 
 60 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 sustain the conversation, but the latter felt more 
 certain than ever that something serious was the 
 matter. Old Simon Darche meandered on, inter- 
 spersing his praise of his son and his boasts of 
 the prosperity of the Company with stale proverbs 
 and atrocious puns. Almost as soon as the meal 
 was over the few guests departed with that un- 
 pleasant sense of unsatisfied moral appetite which 
 people have when they have expected to enjoy 
 being together and have been disappointed. 
 
 When every one was gone John Darche re- 
 mained in the drawing-room with his wife. He 
 sat down in his chair like a man over-tired with 
 hard work, and something like a sigh escaped him. 
 Mrs. Darche pushed a small table to his side, laid 
 his papers upon it and sat down opposite him. 
 A long silence followed. From time to time she 
 looked up at her husband as though she expected 
 him to say something, but he did not open his 
 lips, though he often stared at her for several 
 minutes together. His unwinking blue eyes faced 
 the light as he looked at her, and their expression 
 was disagreeable to her, so that she lowered her 
 own rather than encounter it.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 61 
 
 "Are things growing worse, John?" at last she 
 asked him. 
 
 "Worse? What do you mean?" 
 
 "You told me some time ago that you were 
 anxious. I thought that perhaps you might be 
 in some trouble." 
 
 John did not answer at once but looked at her 
 as though he did not see her, took up a paper and 
 glanced absently over the columns of advertise- 
 ments. 
 
 " Oh no," he said at last, as though her question 
 had annoyed him. "There is nothing wrong, 
 nothing whatever." Again a silence followed. 
 Mrs. Darche went to her writing-table and began 
 to write a note. John did not move. 
 
 "Marion," said he at last, "has any one been 
 talking to you about my affairs?" 
 
 "No indeed," answered Mrs. Darche in evident 
 surprise at the question, but with such ready 
 frankness that he could not doubt her. 
 
 "No," he repeated. "I see that no one has. I 
 only asked because people are always so ready to 
 talk about what they cannot understand, and are 
 generally so perfectly certain about what they do
 
 62 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 not know. I thought Dolly Maylands might have 
 been chattering." 
 
 "Dolly does not talk about you, John." 
 
 "Oh! I wonder why not. Does she dislike me 
 especially I mean more than most people more 
 than you do, for instance?" 
 
 " John ! " 
 
 " My dear, do not imagine that it grieves me, 
 though it certainly does not make life more 
 agreeable to be disliked. On the whole, I hardly 
 know which I prefer my father's perpetual out- 
 spoken praise, or your dutiful and wifely hatred." 
 
 "Why do you talk like that?" 
 
 Mrs. Darche did not leave her writing-table, but 
 turned in her chair and faced him, still holding 
 her pen. 
 
 "I fancy there is some truth in what I say," 
 he answered calmly. "Of course you know that 
 you made a mistake when you married me. You 
 were never in love with me and you did not 
 marry me for my money." 
 
 He laughed rather harshly. 
 
 "No, I did not marry you for your money."
 
 MARION DARCHE. 63 
 
 " Of course not. You have some of your own 
 
 
 enough " 
 
 "And to spare, if you needed it, John." 
 
 " You are very kind, my dear," replied Darche 
 with a scarcely perceptible touch of contempt in 
 his tone. "I shall survive without borrowing 
 money of my wife." 
 
 " I hope you may never need to borrow of any 
 one," said Marion. 
 
 She turned to the table again and began arranging 
 a few scattered notes and papers to conceal her 
 annoyance at his tone, hoping that her inoffensive 
 answer might soon have the effect of sending him 
 away, as was usually the case. But Darche was 
 not quite in his ordinary state. He was tired, 
 irritable, and greedy for opposition, as men are 
 whose nerves are overwrought and who do not 
 realise the fact, because they are not used to it, 
 and it is altogether new to them. 
 
 "I am tired of 'yea, yea.' Change the con- 
 versation, please, and say 'nay, nay.' It would 
 make a little variety." 
 
 " Do you object to my agreeing with you ? I 
 am sorry. It is not always easy to guess what
 
 64 MAKION D ARC HE. 
 
 you would like. I am quite ready to give up 
 trying,, if you say so. We can easily arrange our 
 lives differently, if you prefer it." 
 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
 " We might separate, for instance," suggested 
 Mrs. Darche. 
 
 John was surprised. He had sometimes wondered 
 whether it were not altogether impossible to irritate 
 his wife's calm temper to some open expression 
 of anger. He had almost succeeded, but he by 
 no means liked the form of retort she had chosen. 
 A separation would not have suited him at all, 
 for in his character the love of his possessions was 
 strong, and he looked upon his wife as an important 
 item in the inventory of his personal property. 
 He hesitated a moment before he answered. 
 
 " Of course we might separate, but I do not 
 intend that we should if I can help it," he 
 added, as though an afterthought had occurred to 
 him. 
 
 " You are not doing your best to prevent it," 
 answered Mrs. Darche. 
 
 " Oh ! what are my sins ? Are you jealous ? 
 This begins to interest me."
 
 MARION DARCHE. 65 
 
 "No, 1 am not jealous, you have never given 
 me any cause to be." 
 
 " You think that incompatibility of temper 
 would be sufficient ground, then?" 
 
 " For a temporary separation yes." 
 
 " Ah it is to be only temporary ? How good 
 you are I" 
 
 "It can be permanent, if you like." 
 
 "I have already told you that I have no idea 
 of separating. I cannot imagine why you go back 
 to it as you do." 
 
 " You drive me back to it.' 
 
 " You are suddenly developing a temper. This 
 is delightful." 
 
 Mrs. Darche made no answer, but occupied 
 herself with her papers in silence. She could 
 hardly account for the humour in which she was 
 answering her husband, seeing that for years she 
 had listened to his disagreeable and brutal sayings 
 without retort. It is impossible to foresee the 
 precise moment at which the worm will turn, 
 the beast refuse its load, and the human heart 
 revolt. Sometimes it never comes at all, and then 
 we call the sufferer a coward. After a pause
 
 66 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 which lasted several minutes, John renewed the 
 attack. 
 
 "I am sorry you will not quarrel any more, it 
 was so refreshing," he said. 
 
 "I do not like quarrelling," answered Marion, 
 without looking up. "What good can it do?" 
 
 " You are always wanting to do good ! Life 
 without contrasts is very insipid." 
 
 Mrs. Darche rose from her seat and came and 
 stood by the fireplace. 
 
 " John," she said, " something has happened. 
 You are not like yourself. If I can be of any use 
 to you, tell me the truth and I will do all I can. 
 If not, go and ride as you said you would. The 
 fresh air will rest you." 
 
 "You are a good creature, my dear," said 
 Darche looking at her curiously. 
 
 "I do not know whether you mean to be flat- 
 tering, or whether you wish to go on with this 
 idle bickering over words you know that I do 
 not like to be called a good creature, like the 
 washerwoman or the cook. Yes I know I am 
 angry just now. Never mind, my advice is good. 
 Either go out at once, or tell me just what is the
 
 MARION DARCHE. 67 
 
 matter and let me do the best I can to help 
 you." 
 
 "There is nothing to tell, my dear." 
 
 "Then go out, or go and talk to your father 
 or stay here, and I will go away." 
 
 " Anything rather than stay together," suggested 
 Darche. 
 
 "Yes anything rather than that. I daresay it 
 is my fault, and I am quite willing to bear all the 
 blame, but if we are together in the same room 
 much longer we shall do something which we 
 shall regret at least I shall. I am sure of it." 
 
 " That would be very unfortunate," said Darche, 
 rising, with a short laugh. " Our life has been so 
 exceptionally peaceful since we were married ! " 
 
 "I think it has," answered Marion, calmly, 
 "considering your character and mine. On the 
 whole we have kept the peace very well. It has 
 certainly not been what I expected and hoped 
 that it might be, but it has not been so unhappy 
 as that of many people I know. We both made 
 a mistake, perhaps, but others have made worse 
 ones. You ask why I married you. I believe 
 that I loved you. But I might ask you the same 
 question."
 
 68 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "You would get very much the same answer." 
 
 " Oh no you never loved me. I cannot even 
 say that you have changed much in five years, 
 since our honeymoon. You did not encourage 
 my illusions very long." 
 
 "No. Why should I?" 
 
 "I daresay you were right. I daresay that it 
 has been best so. The longer one has loved 
 a thing, the harder it is to part from it. I loved 
 my illusions. As for you " 
 
 " As for me, I loved you, as I understand love," 
 said Darche walking up and down the room with 
 his hands in his pockets. " And, what is more, 
 as I understand love, I love you still." 
 
 "Love cannot be a very serious matter with 
 you, then," answered Marion, turning from him 
 to the fire and pushing back a great log with 
 her foot. 
 
 " You are mistaken," returned Darche. " Love 
 is a serious matter, but not half so serious as 
 young girls are inclined to believe. Is it not 
 a matter of prime importance to select carefully 
 the woman who is to sit opposite to one at table 
 for a lifetime, and whose voice one must hear
 
 MARION DARCHE. 69 
 
 every day for forty years or so ? Of course it is 
 serious. It is like selecting the president of a 
 company only that you cannot turn him out 
 and choose another when you are not pleased 
 with him. Love is not a wild, insane longing 
 to be impossibly dramatic at every hour of the 
 day. Love is natural selection. Darwin says so. 
 Now a sensible man of business like me, naturally 
 selects a sensible woman like you to be the mis- 
 tress of his household. That is all it comes to, 
 in the end. There is no essential difference 
 between a man's feeling for the woman he loves 
 and his feeling for anything else he wants." 
 
 " And I fill the situation admirably. Is that 
 what you mean?" inquired Marion with some scorn. 
 " If you choose to put it in that way." 
 "And that is what you call being loved?" 
 " Yes being wanted. It comes to that. All 
 the rest is illusion dream-stuff, humbug, ' fake ' 
 if you do not object to Bowery slang." 
 
 "Are you going out?" asked Mrs. Darche, 
 losing patience altogether. 
 
 "No. But I am going upstairs to see the old 
 gentleman. It is almost the same."
 
 TO MARION DARCHE. 
 
 He went towards the door and his hand was 
 on the handle of the lock when she called him 
 back. 
 
 " John " there was hesitation in her voice. 
 
 " Well ? What is the matter ? " He came back 
 a few steps and stood near her. 
 
 "John, did you never care for me in any other 
 way in any better way from the heart ? You 
 used to say that you did." 
 
 " Did I ? I have forgotten. One always sup- 
 poses that young girls naturally expect one to 
 talk a lot of nonsense, and that one has no choice 
 unless one does so one makes the best of it. 
 I remember that it was a bore to make phrases 
 so I probably made them. Anything else you 
 would like to ask ? " 
 
 " No thanks. I would rather be alone." 
 
 John Darche left the room and Marion returned 
 to her writing-table as though nothing had been 
 said, intending to write her notes as usual. And 
 indeed, she began, and the pen ran easily across 
 the paper for a few moments. 
 
 Then on a sudden, her lip quivered, she wrote 
 one more word, the pen fell from her fingers, and
 
 MARION DARCHE. 71 
 
 bowing her head upon the edge of the table she 
 let the short, sharp sobs break out as they would. 
 She was a very lonely woman on that winter's 
 afternoon, and the tension she had kept on herself 
 had been too great to bear any longer.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN spite of her husband's denial, Marion Darche 
 was convinced that he was in difficulties, though 
 she could not understand how such a point could 
 have been reached in the affairs of the Company, 
 which had always been considered so solid, and 
 which had the reputation of being managed so 
 well. It was natural, when matters reached a 
 crisis, that none of her acquaintances should 
 speak to her of her husband's troubles, and many 
 said that Mrs. Darche was a brave woman to face 
 the world as she did when her husband was in 
 all likelihood already ruined and was openly 
 accused on all sides of something very like swin- 
 dling. But as a matter of fact she was in com- 
 plete ignorance of all this. John Darche laughed 
 scornfully when she repeated her question, and 
 she had never even thought of asking the old 
 gentleman any questions. She was too proud to 
 speak of her troubles to Vanbrugh or Brett; and 
 
 72
 
 MAEION DARCHE. 73 
 
 Dolly, foreseeing real trouble, thought it best to 
 hide from her friend the fears she entertained. 
 As sometimes happens in such cases, matters had 
 gone very far without Mrs. Darche's knowledge. 
 The Company was in hands of a receiver and 
 an inquiry into the conduct of Simon and John 
 Darche was being pushed forward with the utmost 
 energy by the frightened holders of the bonds 
 and shares, while Marion was dining and dancing 
 through tKe winter season as usual. The Darches 
 were accused of having issued an enormous 
 amount of stock without proper authority; but 
 there were many who said that Simon Darche 
 was innocent of the trick, and that John had 
 manufactured bogus certificates. Others again 
 maintained that Simon Darche was in his dotage 
 and signed whatever was put before him by his 
 son, without attempting to understand the obli- 
 gations to which he committed himself. 
 
 Meanwhile John's position became desperate, 
 though he himself did not believe it to be so 
 utterly hopeless as it really was. Since this is 
 the story of Marion Darche and not of her 
 husband, it is unnecessary to enter into the 
 
 12 Vol. 9
 
 74 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 financial details of the latter's ruin. It is enough 
 to say that for personal ends he had made use of 
 the Company's funds in order to get into his own 
 control a line of railroad by which a large part 
 of the Company's produce was transported, with 
 the intention of subsequently forcing the Company 
 to buy the road of him on his own terms, as 
 soon as he should have disposed by stealth of 
 his interest in the manufacture. Had the scheme 
 succeeded he should have realised a great fortune 
 by the transaction, and it is doubtful whether 
 anything could have been proved against him 
 after the event. Unfortunately for him, he had 
 come into collision with a powerful syndicate of 
 which he had not suspected the existence until 
 he had gone so far that either to go on or to 
 retire must be almost certain ruin and exposure. 
 The existence of this syndicate had dawned upon 
 him on the day described in the preceding 
 chapters, and the state of mind in which he 
 found himself was amply accounted for by the 
 discovery he had made. 
 
 As time went on during the following weeks, 
 and he became more and more hopelessly in-
 
 MARION DARCHE. 75 
 
 volved, his appearance and his manner changed 
 for the worse. He grew haggard and thin, and 
 his short speeches to his wife lacked even that 
 poor element of wit which is brutality's last hold 
 upon good manners. With his father, however, 
 he maintained his usual behaviour, by a desperate 
 effort. He could not afford to allow the whole 
 fabric of the old gentleman's illusions about him 
 to perish, so long as Simon Darche's hand and 
 name could still be useful. It is but just to 
 admit, too, that he felt a sort of cynical, pitying 
 attachment to his father the affection which a 
 spoiled child bestows upon an over-indulgent 
 parent, which is strongly tinged with the vanity 
 excited by a long course of unstinted and indis- 
 criminating praise. 
 
 If Marion Darche's own fortune had been 
 invested in the Company of which her husband 
 was treasurer, she must have been made aware 
 of the condition of things long before the final 
 day of reckoning came. But her property had 
 been left her in the form of real estate, and the 
 surplus had been invested in such bonds and 
 mortgages as had been considered absolutely safe
 
 76 MAKION DARCHE. 
 
 by Harry Brett's father, who had originally been 
 her guardian, and, after his death, by Harry Brett 
 himself, who was now her^ legal adviser, and 
 managed her business for her. The house in 
 Lexington Avenue was her property. After her 
 marriage she had persuaded her husband to live 
 in it rather than in the somewhat pretentious 
 and highly inconvenient mansion erected on Fifth 
 Avenue by Simon Darche in the early days of 
 his great success, which was decorated within, 
 and to some extent without, according to the 
 doubtful taste of the late Mrs. Simon Darche. 
 Vanbrugh compared it to an "inflamed Pullman 
 car." 
 
 Enough has been said to show how at the 
 time, the Darches were on the verge of utter 
 ruin, and how Marion Darche was financially in- 
 dependent. Meanwhile the old gentleman's mind 
 was failing fast, a fact which was so apparent 
 that Marion was not at all surprised when her 
 husband told her that there was to be a con- 
 sultation of doctors to inquire into the condi- 
 tion of Simon Darche, with a view to deciding 
 whether he was fit to remain, even nominally,
 
 MABION DABCHB. 77 
 
 at the head of the Company or not. As a 
 matter of fact, the consultation had become a 
 legal necessity, enforced by the committee that was 
 examining the Company's affairs. 
 
 John Darche was making a desperate fight 
 of it, sacrificing everything upon which he 
 could lay his hands in order to buy in the 
 fraudulent certificates of stock. He was con- 
 stantly in want of money, and seized every 
 opportunity of realising a few thousands which 
 presented itself, even descending to gambling 
 in the stock market in the hope of picking up 
 more cash. He was unlucky, of course, and 
 margin after margin disappeared and was swal- 
 lowed up. From time to time he made something 
 by his speculations just enough to revive his 
 shrinking hopes, and to whet his eagerness, 
 already sharpened by extremest anxiety. He did 
 not think of escaping from the country, however. 
 In the first place, if he disappeared at this 
 juncture, he must be a beggar or dependent on 
 his wife's charity. Secondly, he could not realise 
 that the end was so near and that the game 
 was played out to the last card. Still he
 
 78 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 struggled on frantically, hoping for a turn of 
 the market, for a windfall out of the unknown, 
 for a wave of luck, whereby a great sum being 
 suddenly thrown into his hands he should be 
 able to cover up the traces of his misdeeds and 
 begin life afresh. 
 
 Marion was as brave as ever, but she got even 
 more credit for her courage than she really 
 deserved. She knew at this time that the 
 trouble was great, but she had no idea that it 
 was altogether past mending, and she had not 
 renewed the offer of help she had made to her 
 husband when she had first noticed his distress. 
 In the meantime, she devoted herself to the care 
 of old Simon Darche. She read aloud to him in 
 the morning, though she was quite sure that he 
 rarely followed a single sentence to the end. 
 She drove with him in the afternoon and listened 
 patiently to his rambling comments on men and 
 things. His inability to recognise many of the 
 persons who had been most familiar to him in 
 the earlier part of his life was becoming very 
 apparent, and the constant mistakes he made 
 rendered it advisable to keep him out of inter-
 
 MARION DARCHB. 79 
 
 course with any but the members of his own 
 family. As has been said, Mrs. Darche had not 
 as yet made any change in her social existence, 
 but Dolly Maylands, who knew more of the true 
 state of affairs than her friend, .came to see her 
 every day and grew anxious in the anticipation 
 of the inevitable disaster. Her fresh face grew 
 a little paler and showed traces of nervousness. 
 She felt perhaps as men do who lead a life of 
 constant danger. She slept as well and became 
 almost abnormally active, seizing feverishly upon 
 everything and every subject which could help 
 to occupy her time. 
 
 "You work too hard, Dolly," said Mrs. Darche 
 one morning as they were seated together iji the 
 library. " You will wear yourself out. You have 
 danced all night, and now you mean to spend 
 your day in slaving at your charities." 
 
 Dolly laughed a little as she went on cutting 
 the pages of the magazine she held. This was a 
 thing Mrs. Darche especially disliked doing, and 
 Dolly had long ago taken upon herself the 
 responsibility of cutting all new books and 
 reviews which entered the house.
 
 80 MABION DAECHB. 
 
 "Oh I love to burn the candle at both ends,* 
 she answered. 
 
 "No doubt you do, my dear. We have all 
 liked to do that at one time or another. But at 
 this rate you will light your candle in the middle, 
 too." 
 
 " You cannot light a candle in the middle," said 
 Dolly with great decision. 
 
 " If anybody could, you could," said Marion, 
 watching her as she had often done of late and 
 wondering if any change had come into the young 
 girl's life. "Seriously, my dear, I am anxious 
 about you. I wish you would take care of 
 yourself, or get married, or something." 
 
 " If you will tell me what that ' something ' is 
 I will get it at once," said Dolly, with a smile that 
 had a tinge of sadness in it. "I ask nothing 
 better." 
 
 " Oh anything ! " exclaimed Mrs. Darche. " Get 
 nervous prostration or anything that is thoroughly 
 fashionable and gives no trouble, and then go 
 somewhere and rest for a month." 
 
 "My dear child," cried Dolly with a laugh, "I 
 cannot think of being so old-fashioned as to have
 
 MARION DARCHB. '81 
 
 nervous prostration. Let me see. I might be 
 astigmatic. That seems to be the proper thing 
 nowadays. Then I could wear glasses and look 
 the character of the school-ma'am. Then I could 
 say I could not dance because I could not see, 
 because of course I could not dance in spectacles. 
 But for the matter of that, my dear, you need 
 not lecture me. You are as bad as I am, and 
 much worse yours is a much harder life than 
 mine." 
 
 Just as Dolly was about to draw a comparison 
 between her own existence and her friend's, the 
 door opened and Stubbs entered the room bearing 
 a dozen enormous roses, of the kind known as 
 American beauties. Dolly, who had a passion 
 for flowers, sprang up, and seized upon them with 
 an exclamation of delight. 
 
 " What beauties ! What perfect beauties ! " she 
 said. " You lucky creature ! Who in the world 
 sends you such things ? " 
 
 Mrs. Darche had risen from her seat and had 
 buried her face in the thick blossoms while Dolly 
 held them. 
 
 "I am sure I do not know," she said.
 
 82 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 " Oh Marion ! " answered Dolly, smiling. " In- 
 nocence always was your strong point, and what 
 a strong point it is. I wish people would send 
 me flowers like these." 
 
 "I have no doubt they do, my dear. Do not 
 pretend they do not. Come and help me arrange 
 them instead of talking nonsense. Even if it 
 were true that my life is harder than yours I do 
 not know why you see there are alleviations." 
 
 Dolly did not answer at once. She was 
 wondering just how much her friend knew of 
 the actual state of things, and she was surprised 
 to feel a little touch of pain when she contrasted 
 the truth, so far as she knew it, with the neg- 
 atively blissful ignorance in which Mrs. Darche's 
 nearest and best friends were doing their best to 
 keep her. 
 
 " Of course there are alleviations in your life, 
 just as there are in mine," she said at last, 
 "changes, contrasts and all that sort of thing. 
 My kindergarten alleviates my dancing and my 
 cotillons vary the dulness of my school teaching." 
 
 She paused and continued to arrange the flowers 
 in silence, looking back now and then and glancing
 
 MARION DARCHE. 83 
 
 at them. Mrs. Darche did not speak, but watched 
 her idly, taking a certain artistic pleasure in the 
 fitness of the details which made up the little 
 picture before her. 
 
 "But I would not lead your life for anything in 
 the world," added Dolly at last with great decision. 
 
 " Oh, nonsense, Dolly ! " 
 
 "Are you happy, Marion?" asked Dolly, sud- 
 denly growing very grave. 
 
 "Happy?" repeated Mrs. Darche, a little sur- 
 prised by the sudden question. "Yes, why not? 
 What do you mean by happy?" 
 
 "What everybody means, I suppose." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " Why, wanting things and getting them, of 
 course wanting a ten cent thing a dollar's 
 worth, and having it." 
 
 " What a definition ! " exclaimed Mrs. Darche. 
 " But I really do believe you enjoy your life." 
 
 " Though it would bore you to extinction." 
 
 "Possibly. The alternate wild attacks of teach- 
 ing and flirting to which you are subject would 
 probably not agree with me." 
 
 "Perhaps you could do either, but not both at 
 the same time."
 
 84 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "I suppose I could teach if I knew anything,'* 
 said Mrs. Darche thoughtfully. "But I do not,'* 
 she added with conviction. 
 
 "And I have no doubt you could flirt if you 
 loved anybody. It is a pity you do not." 
 
 " Oh, my flirting days are over," answered 
 Marion laughing. "You seem to forget that I 
 am married." 
 
 " Do you not forget it sometimes ? " asked Dolly, 
 laughing, but with less genuine mirth. 
 
 " Do not be silly ! " exclaimed Marion with a 
 slight shade of annoyance-- She had been helping 
 Dolly with the roses, all of which, with the 
 exception of two, were now arranged in a vase. 
 
 " These will not go in," she said, holding up the 
 remaining flowers. "You might stick them into 
 that little silver cup." 
 
 "To represent you and the other man. A 
 red and a white rose. Is that it?" 
 
 " Or you and me," suggested Mrs. Darche in 
 perfect innocence. " Why not ? " 
 
 "Tell me," said Dolly, when they had finished, 
 "who is he?" 
 
 "Why, Russell Vanbrugh, of course."
 
 MARION DARCHE. 85 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Dolly, turning her head away. 
 "Why of course?" 
 
 "Oh, because " 
 
 "Why not Harry Brett?" asked Dolly, with 
 the merciless insistence peculiar to very young 
 people. 
 
 In all probability, if no interruption had occurred, 
 the conversation of that morning would have 
 taken a more confidential turn than usual, and 
 poor Dolly might then and there have satisfied 
 her curiosity in regard to the relations between 
 Marion and Russell Vanbrugh. 
 
 It would be more correct, perhaps, to use a 
 word of less definite meaning than relation. 
 Dolly suspected indeed that Vanbrugh loved 
 Mrs. Darche in his own quiet and undemonstra- 
 tive fashion, and that this was the secret of his 
 celibacy. She believed it possible, too, that her 
 friend might be more deeply attached to Van- 
 brugh than she was willing to acknowledge even 
 in her own heart. But she was absolutely con- 
 vinced that whatever the two might feel for 
 one another their feelings would remain for ever 
 a secret. She had gone further than usual
 
 86 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 in asking Marion whether she were happy, and 
 whether she had not at some time or another 
 almost forgotten that she was married at all. 
 And Marion had not resented the words. Dolly 
 felt that she was on the very point of getting 
 at the truth, and was hoping that she might 
 be left alone half-an-hour longer with her friend, 
 when the door opened and Simon Darche entered 
 the room. At the sight of the two young 
 women his pink silk face lighted up with 
 a bright smile. He rubbed his hands, and the 
 vague expression of his old blue eyes gave place 
 to a look of recognition, imaginary, it is true, 
 but evidently a source of pleasure to himself. 
 
 " Good morning, my dear," he said briskly, 
 taking Marion's hand in both of his and pressing 
 it affectionately. " Good morning, Mrs. Chilton," 
 he added, smiling at Dolly. 
 
 " Dolly Maylands," suggested Marion in an 
 undertone. 
 
 " Dolly ? Dolly ? " repeated the old man. 
 " Yes, yes what did you say ? What did you 
 say, Marion? Dolly Chilton? Silly child. Dolly 
 Chilton has been dead these twenty years."
 
 MARION DARCHB. 87 
 
 " What does he mean ? " asked Dolly in a 
 whisper. Simon Darche turned upon her rather 
 suddenly. 
 
 " Oh yes, I remember," he said. " You are the 
 little girl who used to talk about Darwin, and 
 the soul, 'and monkeys without tails, and steam 
 engines, when you were seven years old. Why, 
 my dear child, I know you very well indeed. 
 How long have you been married?" 
 
 "I am not married," answered the young girl, 
 suppressing a smile. 
 
 " Why not ? " inquired Mr. Darche with start- 
 ling directness. " But then oh, yes ! I am very 
 sorry, my dear. I did not mean to allude to it. 
 I went to poor Chilton's funeral." 
 
 Just then, Stubbs, the butler, entered again, 
 bearing this time a note for Mrs. Darche. While 
 she glanced at the contents he waited near the 
 door in obedience to a gesture from her. Old 
 Mr. Darche immediately went up to him, and 
 with hearty cordiality seized and shook his reluc- 
 tant hand. 
 
 " Happy to meet you, old fellow ! " he cried. 
 " That is all right. Now just sit down here and
 
 88 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 we will go through the question in five min- 
 utes." 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir," said the impassive butler. 
 It was not the first time that his master had 
 taken him for an old friend. 
 
 "Eh, what !" cried Simon Darche. "Calling me 
 'sir'? Did you come here to quarrel with me, old 
 man? Oh, I see! You are laughing. Well come 
 along. This business will not keep. The ladies 
 will not mind if we go to work, I daresay." 
 
 And forthwith he dragged Stubbs to a table 
 and forced him into a chair, talking to him all 
 the time. Dolly was startled and grasped Marion's 
 arm. 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked under her breath. 
 "Oh, Marion, what is it? Is he quite mad?" 
 
 Mrs. Darche - answered her only by a warning 
 look, and then, turning away, seemed to hesitate 
 a moment. Stubbs was suffering acutely, submit- 
 ting to sit on the edge of the chair to which 
 his master had pushed him, merely because no 
 means of escape suggested itself to his mechan- 
 ical intelligence. 
 
 "Why can you not sit down comfortably?"
 
 MARION DARCHB. 89 
 
 asked Mr. Darche, with a show of temper. 
 "You are not in a hurry, I know. Oh I see, 
 you are cold. Well, warm yourself. Cold morn- 
 ing. It will be warm enough in Wall Street 
 to-morrow, if we put this thing through. Now 
 just let me explain the position to you. I tell 
 you we are stronger than anybody thinks. 
 Yes sir. I do not see any limit to what we 
 may do." 
 
 Marion took a flower from one of the vases 
 and went up to the old gentleman. 
 
 " Just let me put this rose in your coat, 
 before you go to work." 
 
 Mr. Darche turned towards her as she spoke, 
 and his attention was diverted. With a serio- 
 comic expression of devout thankfulness, Stubbs 
 rose and noiselessly glided from the room. 
 
 "Thank you, thank you," said the old gentle- 
 man, and as he bent to smell the blossom, 
 his head dropped forward rather helplessly. " I 
 was always fond of flowers." 
 
 The note which Stubbs had brought conveyed 
 the information that the three doctors who were 
 to examine old Mr. Darche with a view of
 
 90 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 ascertaining whether he could properly be held 
 responsible for his actions, would come in half 
 an hour. It was now necessary to prepare him 
 for the visit, and Marion had not decided upon 
 any plan. 
 
 It was evidently out of the question to 
 startle him by letting him .suspect the truth, 
 or even by telling him that his visitors belonged 
 to the medical profession. Mrs. Darche wished 
 that she might have the chance of consulting 
 Dolly alone for a moment before the doctors 
 came, but this seemed equally impossible. She 
 silently handed the note to her friend to read 
 and began talking to the old gentleman again. 
 He answered at random almost everything she 
 said. It was clear that he was growing rapidly 
 worse and that his state was changing from 
 day to day. Marion, of course, did not know 
 that the medical examination was to be held 
 by .order of the committee conducting the 
 inquiry into the Company's affairs. Her husband 
 had simply told her what she already knew, 
 namely, that his father was no longer able 
 to attend to business and that the fact must
 
 MARION DABCHB. 91 
 
 be recognised and a new president elected. 
 It would be quite possible, he thought, to leave 
 the old gentleman in the illusion that he still 
 enjoyed his position and exercised his functions. 
 There could be no harm in that. To tell him 
 the truth might inflict such a shock upon his 
 faculties as would hasten their complete collapse, 
 and might even bring about a fatal result. He 
 had impressed upon her the necessity of using 
 the utmost tact on the occasion of the doctors' 
 visit, but had refused to be present himself, 
 arguing, perhaps rightly, that his appearance 
 could be of no use, but that it might, on the 
 contrary, tend to complicate a situation already 
 difficult enough. 
 
 The only course that suggested itself to Mrs. 
 Darche's imagination, was to represent the three 
 doctors as men of business who came to consult 
 her father-in-law upon an important matter. At 
 the first mention of business, the old gentleman's 
 expression changed and his manner became more 
 animated. 
 
 "Eh, business?" he cried. "Oh yes. Never 
 refuse to see a man on business. Where are they?
 
 92 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 Good morning, Mrs. Chilton. I am sorry I cannot 
 stay, but I have some important business to attend 
 to." 
 
 He insisted upon going to his study immediately 
 in order to be ready to receive his visitors. 
 
 " Wait for me, Dolly," said Marion, as she fol- 
 lowed him. 
 
 Dolly nodded and sat down in her own place 
 by the fireplace, taking up the magazine she had 
 begun to cut and thoughtfully resuming her occu- 
 pation. Under ordinary circumstances she would 
 perhaps have gone away to occupy herself during 
 the morning in some of the many matters which 
 made her life so full. But her instinct told her 
 that there was trouble in the air to-day, and that 
 the affairs of the Darches were rapidly coming to 
 a crisis. She liked difficulties, as she liked every- 
 thing which needed energy and quickness of de- 
 cision, and her attachment to her friend would 
 alone have kept her on the scene of danger. 
 
 Marion did not return immediately, and Dolly 
 supposed that she had determined to stay with 
 the old gentleman until the doctors came. It was 
 rather pleasant to sit by the fire and think, and
 
 MARION DABCHB. 93 
 
 wonder, and fill out the incidents of the drama 
 which seemed about to be enacted in the house. 
 Dolly realised that she was in the midst of excit- 
 ing events such as she had sometimes read of, but 
 in which she had never expected to play a part. 
 There were all the characters belonging to the 
 situation. There was the beautiful, neglected 
 young wife, the cruel and selfish husband, the 
 broken-down father, the two young men who had 
 formerly loved the heroine, and last, but not least, 
 there was Dolly herself. It was all very interest- 
 ing and very theatrical, she thought, and she 
 wished that she might watch it or watch the de- 
 velopments in the successive scenes, entirely as a 
 spectator, and without feeling what was really 
 uppermost in her heart a touch of sincere sym- 
 pathy for her friend's trouble. 
 
 Just as she was thinking of all that Marion had 
 to suffer, John Darche, the prime cause and pro- 
 moter of the trouble, entered the room, pale, ner- 
 vous, and evidently in the worst of humours. 
 
 " Oh, are you here, Miss Maylands? " he in- 
 quired, discontentedly. 
 
 Dolly looked up quietly.
 
 94 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "Yes. Am I in the way? Marion has just gone 
 with Mr. Darche to his study. This note came a 
 few moments ago and she gave it to me to read. 
 I think you ought to see it." 
 
 John Darche's brow contracted as he ran his eye 
 over the page. Then he slowly tore the note to 
 shreds and tossed them into the fire. 
 
 " I do not know why my wife thinks it necessary 
 to take all her friends into the confidences of the 
 family," he said, thrusting his hands into his pockets 
 and going to the window, thereby turning his back 
 upon Dolly. 
 
 Dolly made no answer to the rude speech, but 
 quietly continued to cut the pages of the magazine, 
 until, seeing that Darche did not move and being 
 herself rather nervous, she broke the silence again. 
 
 "Am I in the way, Mr. Darche?" 
 
 "Not at all, not at all," said John, waking, per- 
 haps, to a sense of his rudeness and returning to the 
 fireplace. "On the contrary," he continued, "it is 
 as well that you should be here. There will prob- 
 ably be hysterics during the course of the day, and 
 I have no doubt you know what is the right thing 
 to do under the circumstances. There seems to be
 
 MARION DARCHE. 95 
 
 4 
 
 a horticultural show here," he added, as he noticed 
 for the first time the vases of flowers on the 
 tables. 
 
 "They are beautiful roses," answered Dolly in a 
 conciliatory tone. 
 
 " Yes," said John, drawing in his thin lips. 
 " Beautiful, expensive and not particularly appro- 
 priate to-day. One of my wife's old friends, I 
 suppose. Do you know who sent them?" 
 
 "Stubbs brought them in, a little while ago," 
 Dolly replied. " I believe there was no note with 
 them." 
 
 "No note," repeated John, still in a tone of 
 discontent. "It is rude to send flowers without 
 even a card. It is assuming too much intimacy." 
 
 "Is it?" asked Dolly innocently. 
 
 " Of course it is," answered John. 
 
 " Half an hour," he said, after a moment's pause. 
 
 
 
 "Half an hour! How long is it since that note 
 
 came ? " 
 
 "About twenty minutes I should think." 
 "Doctors are generally punctual," observed 
 
 Darche. "They will be here in a few minutes." 
 " Shall you be present ? " asked Dolly.
 
 96 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "Certainly not," John answered with decision. 
 "It would give me very little satisfaction, to see 
 my father proved an idiot by three fools." 
 
 " Fools ! " repeated Dolly in surprise. 
 
 "Yes. All doctors are fools^ The old gentle- 
 man's head is as clear as mine. What difference 
 does it make if he does not recognise people he 
 only half knows ? He understands everything con- 
 nectgd with the business, and that is the principal 
 thing. After all, what has he to do? He signs 
 his name to the papers that are put before him. 
 That is all. He could do that if he really had 
 softening of the brain, as they pretend he has. 
 As for electing another president at the present 
 moment it is out of the question." 
 
 " Yes, so I should suppose," said Dolly. 
 
 John turned sharply upon her. 
 
 " So you should suppose ? Why should you 
 suppose any such thing?" 
 
 "I have heard that the Company is in trouble," 
 answered Dolly, calmly. 
 
 John opened his lips as though he were about 
 to make a sharp answer, but checked himself and 
 turned away.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 97 
 
 " Yes," he said more quietly, " I suppose that 
 news is public property by this time. There they 
 are," he added, as his ear caught the distant 
 tinkle of the door bell. 
 
 "Shall I go?" asked Dolly for the third time. 
 
 " No," answered Darche, " I will go out and 
 meet them. Stay here please. I will send my 
 wife to you presently." 
 
 13 Vol. 9
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE verdict of the doctors was a foregone con- 
 clusion. The family physician, who was one of 
 the three, the other two being specialists, stayed 
 behind and explained to John Darche the result 
 of the examination. There was no hope of re- 
 covery, he said, nor even of improvement. The 
 most that could be done was to give the old 
 gentleman the best of care so long as he remained 
 alive. Little by little his faculties would fail, 
 and in a few years, if he did not die, he would be 
 quite as helpless as a little child. 
 
 John Darche was not in a state to receive the 
 information with equanimity, though he had 
 expected nothing else and knew that every word 
 the doctor said was true and more also. He 
 protested, as he had protested to Dolly half an 
 hour earlier, that Mr. Darche was still a service- 
 able president for the Company, since he could 
 sign his name, no matter whether he understood 
 
 98
 
 MARION DARCHE. 99 
 
 the value of the signature or not. The doctor, 
 who, like most people, was aware of the investi- 
 gation then proceeding, shook his head, smiled 
 incredulously, asked after Mrs. Darche and went 
 away, pondering upon the vanity of human 
 affairs and consoling himself for the sins of the 
 world with the wages thereof, most of which 
 ultimately find their way to the doctor's bank- 
 book, be the event life or death. 
 
 Old Mr. Darche, supremely unconscious of 
 what had taken place, and believing that he had 
 been giving the benefit of his valuable advice to 
 the directors of a western railroad, had lighted 
 one of his very fine cigars and had fallen asleep 
 in his easy chair in his own study before it was 
 half finished. Marion had returned to Dolly in 
 the library and John had sent for his stenog- 
 rapher and had taken possession of the front 
 drawing-room for the morning, on pretence of 
 attending to the business which, in reality, had 
 already been withdrawn from his hands during 
 several weeks. 
 
 He was in great suspense and anxiety, for it 
 was expected that the work of the investigating
 
 100 MARION DA.RCHE. 
 
 committee would end on that afternoon. He 
 knew that in any event he was ruined, and even 
 he felt that it would be humiliating to live on his 
 wife's income. They would go abroad at once, he 
 thought, New York had become hateful to him. 
 He had as yet no apprehension of being deprived 
 of his liberty, even temporarily. Whatever 
 action was taken against him must be of a civil 
 nature, he thought. He did not believe that any 
 judge would issue a warrant for his arrest on 
 such evidence as could have been collected by 
 the committee. Simon Darche was incapable of 
 remembering what he had done even a week 
 previously, and since the doctors declared that 
 his mind was gone, almost anything might be 
 attributed to him anything, in fact, about which 
 the slightest trace of irregularity could be dis- 
 covered. John had been cautious enough in his 
 actions when he had been aware that he was 
 violating the law, though he had been utterly 
 reckless when he had appealed to chance in the 
 hope of retrieving his losses, and recovering 
 himself. He believed himself safe, and indulged 
 in speculations about the future as a relief to the 
 excessive anxiety of the moment.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 101 
 
 Mrs. Darche had some right to know the result 
 of the consultation which had taken place, but her 
 husband either intended to leave her in ignorance 
 or -forgot her existence after the doctors had left 
 the house. During some time she remained with 
 Dolly in the library, expecting that John would at 
 least send her some message, if he did not choose 
 to come himself. At last she determined to go to 
 him. 
 
 " I am very busy now," he said as she entered 
 the room and glanced at the secretary. 
 
 " Yes," answered Mrs. Darche, " I see, but I 
 must speak to you alone for a minute." 
 
 " Well but I wish you would choose some 
 other time." , He nodded to the secretary who 
 rose and quietly disappeared. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Darche, when they were 
 alone. 
 
 "What did the doctors say?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing at all. They talked as doctors 
 always do. Keep the patient in good health, 
 plenty of fresh air, food and sleep." He laughed 
 sourly at his own words. 
 
 "Is that all?" inquired Marion, rather incred-
 
 102 MARION DABCHB. 
 
 ulously. " They must have said something else. 
 Why, we can all see that he is not himself. There 
 is something very seriously wrong. I am quite 
 sure that he did not recognise me yesterday." 
 
 " Not recognise you ? " said John with the same 
 disagreeable laugh. "Not recognise you? Do not 
 be silly. He talks of nobody else. I tell you 
 there is nothing in the world the matter with 
 him, he is good for another twenty years." 
 
 " Thank heaven for that for the twenty years 
 of life, whether with all his faculties or not " 
 
 "Yes, by all means let us return thanks. At 
 the present rate of interest on his life that means 
 at least two millions." 
 
 "It hurts me to hear you talk like that about 
 your father," said Marion, sitting down and watch- 
 ing her husband as he walked slowly up and 
 down before her. 
 
 "Does it? That is interesting. I wonder why 
 you are hurt because he is likely to live twenty 
 years. You are not very likely to be hurt by his 
 death." 
 
 " Did I ever suggest such a thing ? " 
 
 " No, it suggested itself."
 
 MAKION DARCHE. 103 
 
 At this speech Mrs. Darche rose. Standing 
 quite still for a moment, she looked quietly into 
 his uncertain eyes. He was evidently in the 
 worst of humours, and quite unable to control 
 himself, even had he wished to do so. She felt 
 that it would be safer to leave him, for her 
 own temper was overwrought and ready to break 
 out. She turned towards the door. Then he 
 called her back. 
 
 " I say, Marion ! " 
 
 Well." 
 
 " What are you making such a fuss about ? " 
 
 " Have I said anything ? " 
 
 " No, not much, but you have a particularly 
 uncomfortable way of letting one see what you 
 would like to say." 
 
 " Is that why you called me back ? " asked 
 Mrs. Darche on the point of turning away again. 
 
 "I suppose so. It certainly was not for the 
 pleasure of prolonging this delightful interview." 
 
 Once more she moved in the direction of the 
 door. Then something seemed to tighten about 
 her heart, something long forgotten, and which, 
 if she tried to understand it at all, she thought
 
 104 MARION DAECHB. 
 
 was pity. It was nothing only a dead love 
 turning in its grave. But it hurt her, and she 
 stopped and looked back. John Darche was 
 leaning against the high mantlepiece, shading his 
 eyes from the fire with his small, pointed white 
 hand. She came and stood beside him. 
 
 " John," she said gently, " I want to speak to 
 you seriously. I am very sorry if I was hasty 
 just now. Please forget it." 
 
 Darche looked up, pulled out his watch and 
 glanced at it, and then looked at her again be- 
 fore he answered. His eyes were hard and dull. 
 
 " I think I said that I was rather busy this 
 morning," he answered slowly. 
 
 " Yes, I know," answered Marion, in her sweet, 
 low voice. " But I will not keep you long. I 
 must speak. John, is this state of things to go 
 on for ever?" 
 
 "I fancy not. The death of one of us is 
 likely to put a stop to it before eternity sets 
 in," he answered with some scorn. 
 
 " We can stop it now if we will but try," 
 said Marion, laying her hand entreatingly upon 
 his arm.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 105 
 
 " Oh yes, no doubt," observed John coldly. 
 
 "Let me speak, please, this once," said Mrs. 
 Darche. " I know that you are worried and 
 harassed about business, and you know that I 
 want to spare you all I can, and would help 
 you if I could." 
 
 "I doubt whether your help would be con- 
 ducive to the interests of the Company," ob- 
 served Darche. 
 
 "No I know that I cannot help you in that 
 way. But if you would only let me, in other 
 ways, I could make it so much easier for you." 
 
 " Could you ? " asked John, turning upon her 
 immediately. " Then just lend me a hundred 
 thousand dollars." 
 
 Mrs. Darche started a little at the words. As 
 has been said, she was really quite in ignorance 
 of what was taking place and had no idea that 
 her husband could be in need of what in com- 
 parison with the means of the Company seemed 
 but a small sum in cash. 
 
 " Do you need money, John ? " she asked, looking 
 at him anxiously. 
 
 "Oh no, I was only putting an imaginary case."
 
 106 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "I wish it were not merely imaginary ' 
 
 "Do you?" he asked, interrupting her quickly. 
 "That is kind." 
 
 Marion seemed about to lose her temper at last, 
 though she meant to control herself. 
 
 "John!" she exclaimed, in a tone of reproach, 
 "why will you so misunderstand me?" 
 
 "It. is you who misunderstand everything." 
 
 "I mean it quite seriously," she answered. 
 " You know if you were really in trouble for a sum 
 like that, I could help you. Not that you ever 
 could be. I was only thinking wishing that in 
 some way or other I might be of use. If I could 
 help you in anything, no matter how insignificant, 
 it would bring us together." 
 
 John smiled incredulously. 
 
 " Oh ! " he exclaimed, " is that what you are driv- 
 ing at? Do you not think life is very bearable as 
 we are?" 
 
 By this time Marion had completely regained 
 her self-possession. She was determined not to be 
 repulsed, but there was a little bitterness in her 
 voice as she spoke. 
 
 "No, frankly, John, as we are living now, life
 
 MARION DARCHE. 107 
 
 is not very bearable. I cannot exchange half a 
 dozen words with you without quarrelling, and it 
 is not my fault, John, it is not my fault! Could 
 you hot sometimes make it a little easier for me ? " 
 
 "By borrowing a hundred thousand dollars?" 
 
 A pause followed John's answer, and he walked 
 as far as the window, came back again and stopped. 
 
 " If you think it would be conducive to our con- 
 jugal happiness that I should owe you a hundred 
 thousand dollars, by all means lend it to me. I 
 will give you very good security and pay you the 
 current rate of interest." 
 
 Mrs. Darche hesitated a moment before she spoke 
 again. She was not quite sure that he was in 
 earnest, and being determined to make the utmost 
 use of the opportunity she had created, she dreaded 
 lest if she pressed her offer upon him he should 
 suddenly turn upon her with a brutal laugh. 
 
 "Do you really mean it, John?" she asked at 
 last. "Will it help you at all?" 
 
 "Oh, if you insist upon it and think it will 
 promote your happiness, I have no objection to 
 taking it," said Darche coolly. "As a matter of 
 fact it would be a convenience to-day, and it might
 
 108 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 help me to-morrow. It will certainly not be of any 
 importance next week." 
 
 " I do not know whether you are in earnest or 
 not, but I am." 
 
 Once more she paused. She realised that he was 
 in need of a great deal of money, and that his 
 scornful acceptance of her offer was really his way 
 of expressing real interest. 
 
 "You shall have it as soon as I can get it for 
 you. If you really need it I shall be very glad. 
 If you are only laughing at me well, I can bear 
 that too." 
 
 "No," answered John, speaking much more 
 seriously than hitherto. "It is a simple matter, 
 of course but it is quite true that it would be a 
 convenience to me to have a hundred thousand 
 dollars in cash during the next twenty-four hours, 
 and after all, it will not make any difference to you, 
 as so much of your property is in bonds. All you 
 need to do is to borrow the money on call and give 
 the bonds as collateral." 
 
 "I do not understand those things, of course," 
 said Marion in a tone of grief, " but I suppose 
 it can be managed easily enough, and I shall be
 
 MARION DABCHB. 109 
 
 BO proud if I am able to help you a little. Oh, 
 John," she added, after a little pause, " if we 
 could only be as we used to be, everything to 
 each other." 
 
 " I wish we could," John answered with real 
 or assumed gravity. " But in this existence, 
 there is everything to separate us and hardly 
 anything to bring us together. You see, I am 
 worried all day long, I never get any rest and 
 then I lose my temper about everything. I know 
 it is wrong but I cannot help it, and you must 
 try to be as patient as you can, my dear." 
 
 "I do try, John, I do try, do I not? Say that 
 you know that I do." For a moment she thought 
 she had produced an impression upon him, and 
 a vision of a happier and more peaceful life rose 
 suddenly before her ready imagination. But the 
 tone in which he spoke the next words dispelled 
 any such illusion. 
 
 " Oh yes," he said dryly, " I know you do, of 
 course. You are awfully good and I am awfully 
 bad. I will reform as soon as I have time. And 
 now, if you do not mind, I will go and attend 
 to my letters."
 
 110 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 "And I will see about getting the money at 
 once," she said, bravely hiding her disappointment 
 at his change of tone. " I may be able to have 
 it by this evening." 
 
 " Oh yes," he answered with some eagerness, 
 " if you are quick about it. Well good-bye, and 
 I am really much more grateful then I seem." 
 
 His dry unpleasant laugh was the last sound 
 she heard as she left the room. After all, it 
 seemed perfectly useless, though she did her 
 best all day and every day. 
 
 Marion Darche left her husband more than 
 ever convinced of the hopelessness of any attempt 
 at a happier and more united existence.. Faith- 
 ful, brave, loving, a woman of heart rather than 
 head, she encountered in every such effort the 
 blank wall of a windowless nature, so to say the 
 dull opposition of a heartless intelligence incapable 
 of understanding any natural impulse except that 
 of self-preservation, and responding to no touch of 
 sympathy or love. Against her will, she wondered 
 why she had married him, and tried to recall the 
 time when his obstinacy had seemed strength, 
 his dulness gravity, his brutality keenness. But
 
 MARION DARCHE. Ill 
 
 no inner conjuring with self could give an 
 instant's life to the dead illusion. The nearest 
 approach to any real resurrection which she had 
 felt for years had been the little pang that had 
 overtaken her when she had turned to leave him 
 and had thought for one moment that he might 
 be suffering, as she was apt to suffer this being, 
 whom she had once misunderstood and loved, 
 whom she loved not at all now, but to whom she 
 had been lovelessly faithful in word and thought 
 and deed for years past. 
 
 Yet she knew that others had loved her well, 
 most of all Harry Brett, and girl-like, groping for 
 her heart's half-grown truth she had once believed 
 that she loved him too, with his boyish, careless 
 ways, his thoughtless talk and his love of happi- 
 ness for its own sake. He had disappointed her 
 in some little way, being over-light of leaf and 
 flower, though the stem was good to the core; 
 she had looked for strength on the surface as 
 a child breaks a twig and laughs at the oak for 
 its weakness; she had expected, perhaps, to be 
 led and ruled by a hand that would be tender and 
 obedient only for her, and she had turned from 
 Harry Brett to John Darche as from a delusion
 
 112 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 to a fact, from a dream to the strong truth of 
 waking very bitter waking in the end. 
 
 But though she had wrecked heart and happi- 
 ness, and had suffered that cold and hunger of the 
 soul which the body can never feel, she would not 
 change her course nor give up the dream of hope. 
 Worse than what had been, could not be to come, 
 she said to herself, realising how little difference 
 financial ruin, even to herself, could make now. 
 
 As she took up her pen to write a word to 
 Brett, begging him to come to her without delay, 
 she paused a moment, thinking how strange it was 
 that in an extremity she should be obliged to send 
 for him, who had loved her, to help her to save 
 her husband, if salvation were possible. She even 
 felt a little warmth about her heart, knowing how 
 quickly Harry would come, and she was glad that 
 she had known how to turn a boy's romantic 
 attachment into a man's solid friendship. Brett 
 would not disappoint her. 
 
 She sent Dolly away, and Dolly, obedient, 
 docile and long-suffering for her friend's sake, 
 kissed her on both pale cheeks and left her, 
 tripping down the brown steps with a light gait 
 and a heavy heart.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MARION had sent a messenger down town after 
 Brett, and the latter did not lose a moment in 
 answering the note in person. He was a little 
 pale as he entered. 
 
 " What is it? " he asked, almost before he had 
 shaken hands. 
 
 " It is kind of you to come at once," answered 
 Marion. "I asked you to come about a matter of 
 business. Sit down. I will explain." 
 
 " Can I be of any use ? " 
 
 " Yes, I want some money, a great deal of 
 money, in fact, and I want it immediately." 
 
 " Are you going to buy a house ? " he inquired 
 in some surprise. "How much do you want?" 
 
 " A hundred thousand dollars." 
 
 Brett did not answer at once. He looked at her 
 rather anxiously, then stared at the fire, then looked 
 at her again. 
 
 "It is rather short notice for such an amount. 
 
 113
 
 114 MARION DAECHE. 
 
 But you have nearly as much as that in bonds and 
 mortgages." 
 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 "Well then, there need not be any difficulty. 
 What you have in bonds you have already, to all 
 intents and purposes. Do I understand that you 
 want this money in cash?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Mrs. Darche with decision, " in 
 cash." 
 
 " I suppose a cheque will do as well ? " suggested 
 Brett with a smile. 
 
 " A cheque ? " She repeated the word and seemed 
 to hesitate. " I should have to write niy name on 
 it, should I not?" 
 
 " Yes," 
 
 During the pause which followed, Marion seemed 
 to be reviewing the aspects of the transaction. 
 
 "The name of the person to whom I give it?" 
 she asked at last, and she seemed to avoid his 
 glance. 
 
 " Yes," answered Brett, surprised at the inexperi- 
 ence betrayed by the question, " unless you cashed 
 it yourself and took the money in notes." 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Darche, as firmly as before. "I
 
 MARION DARCHB. 115 
 
 want the notes here, please. What I want you to 
 do, is to take enough bonds and get the money for 
 me. I do not care to know anything else about 
 it, because I shall not understand." 
 
 " I suppose I ought not to be inquisitive, my dear 
 friend," replied Brett after a little hesitation, "but 
 I ought to tell you what you do not seem to realise, 
 that a hundred thousand dollars is a great deal of 
 money and that you ought not to keep such a sum 
 in the house." 
 
 *'I do not mean to keep it in the house. It is 
 to be taken away immediately." 
 
 "I see." 
 
 He concluded that the money was to be taken 
 from the house by John Darche, and he determined 
 to prevent such a result if possible. 
 
 " May I ask one question ? " he inquired. 
 
 "I will not promise to answer it." She still 
 looked away from him. 
 
 " I hope you will. Do you mean to lend this 
 money to some one? If it were an ordinary pay- 
 ment you would certainly not want it in notes in 
 the house." 
 
 "How do you know?" asked Marion with some 
 impatience^
 
 116 MARION DAJRCHB. 
 
 " Because no human man of business with whom 
 I have ever had anything to do likes to trot about 
 town with a hundred thousand dollars' worth of 
 notes in his pocket. And there is very little doubt 
 in my mind about what you mean to do with the 
 money. You mean to give it to your husband. 
 Am I right?" 
 
 Mrs. Darche blushed a little and a shade of 
 annoyance crossed her face. 
 
 " Why should I tell you what I am to do with 
 it?" she asked. 
 
 " Because I am your legal adviser," answered 
 Brett without hesitating, "and I may give you 
 some good advice." 
 
 "Thank you, I do not want any advice." 
 
 Another pause followed this declaration, which 
 only seemed to confirm the lawyer in his surmises. 
 
 " I will call it by another name," he said at 
 last in a conciliatory tone. " I" will call it 
 information. But it is information of a kind 
 that you do not expect. I should certainly not 
 have said anything about it if you had not sent 
 for me on this business. Is it of any use to beg 
 you to reconsider the question of lending this 
 money ? "
 
 MARION DARCHE. 117 
 
 "No, I have made up my mind." 
 
 " To lend it to your husband ? " 
 
 " Dear Mr. Brett," said Marion, beginning to 
 be impatient again, " I said that I would rather 
 not tell you." 
 
 " I fancy that I am not mistaken," Brett an- 
 swered. " Now my dear friend, you will be the 
 last to know what every one has known for some 
 time, but it is time that you should know it. 
 The affairs of the Company are in a very bad 
 state, so bad indeed, that an inquiry has been 
 going on into the management. I do not know 
 the result of it yet, but I am very much afraid 
 that it will be bad, and that it will have very 
 disagreeable consequences for you all." 
 
 " Consequences? " repeated Mrs. Darche. " What 
 consequences? Do you mean that we shall lose 
 money ? " 
 
 " I mean that and I mean something more. It 
 is very serious. Your husband is deeply involved, 
 and his father's name is so closely associated with 
 his in all the transactions that it seems almost 
 impossible to say which of the two is innocent." 
 
 " Innocent ! " cried Marion, laying her hand
 
 118 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 suddenly upon the arm of her chair and starting 
 forward, then rising quickly to her feet and 
 looking down at him. " What do you mean ? 
 Why do you use that word?" 
 
 The expression had hardly escaped Brett's lips 
 when he realised the extent of his carelessness. 
 He rose and stood beside her, feeling, as a man 
 does, that she had him at a disadvantage while he 
 was seated and she was standing. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said, " I should have 
 been more careful. I should have said which of 
 the two -is responsible for " 
 
 " Something disgraceful ? " interrupted Mrs. 
 Darche whose excitement was only increased by 
 his hesitation. " For heaven's sake, do not keep 
 me in this suspense. Speak ! Tell me ! Be 
 quick ! " 
 
 " I should not have spoken at all except as 
 your adviser," said Brett. " Nothing definite is 
 known yet, but something is wrong. As a purely 
 business transaction it is madness to lend money 
 to John Darche. Can you believe for a moment 
 that the treasurer of such a Company, that the 
 men who control such a Company, would ask you
 
 MARION DABCHB. 119 
 
 to lend them a hundred thousand dollars at a few 
 hours' notice, if they were not on the very verge 
 of ruin ? " 
 
 "No, but that is not what happened." 
 
 She stopped short and moved away from him 
 a little, hesitating as to what she should say next. 
 It was impossible to describe to him the scene 
 which had taken place between her and her hus- 
 band. 
 
 " I cannot tell you, and yet I want you to 
 know," she said, at last. 
 
 " Do you not trust me ? " said Brett, hoping to 
 encourage her. 
 
 " Certainly. Trust you ! Oh yes, I trust you 
 with all my heart." 
 
 She turned and faced him again. 
 
 " Then tell me," said he. " Tell me what hap- 
 pened in as few words as possible. Just the bare 
 facts." 
 
 " It is the bare facts that are so hard to tell." 
 
 She turned away from him again feeling that if 
 she allowed her eyes to meet his she could not 
 long withhold her confidence. 
 
 " I suppose your husband let you guess that
 
 120 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 there was trouble, so that you made the offer spon- 
 taneously, and then he accepted it." 
 
 " Well yes no almost." 
 
 Still she hesitated, standing by the writing-table, 
 and idly turning over the papers. 
 
 "I saw that he was worried and harassed and 
 that something was wearing upon him, and I did 
 so want to help him ! I thought it might no I 
 will not say that." 
 
 " But it will not help matters to throw good 
 money after bad," answered Brett thoughtfully. 
 " Believe me, there is no more chance of saving 
 this money you mean to give him, than all the 
 other millions that have gone through his hands 
 gone heaven knows where." 
 
 "Millions?" 
 
 There was surprise in her tone. 
 
 " I am afraid so," answered Brett, as though he 
 had no reason in making any correction in his 
 estimate. 
 
 " You must tell me all you can, all you know," 
 said Marion, turning to him again. 
 
 " That would be a long affair," said Brett, 
 " though I know a great deal about it. But I do
 
 MARION DABCHB. 121 
 
 not know all, though the situation is simple 
 enough and bad enough. In spite of the large 
 earnings of the Company, the finances are in a 
 rotten state and it is said that there are large 
 sums not accounted for. An inquiry has been 
 going on for some time, and was, I believe, closed 
 last night, but the result will not be known until 
 this afternoon." 
 
 " What sort of an inquiry ? " asked Mrs. Darche, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " The regular examination of the books and of 
 all the details which have gone through the hands 
 of your father-in-law and your husband." 
 
 " My father-in-law ! Do you mean to say that 
 they are trying to implicate the old gentleman 
 too?" 
 
 Marion's face expressed the utmost concern. 
 
 "As president of the Company, he cannot fail 
 to be implicated." 
 
 " But he is no more responsible for what he 
 does than a child ! " cried Mrs. Darche, in a tone 
 of protestation. 
 
 " I know that, but he is nominally at the head 
 of the administration. That is all you need know. 
 
 14 VoL 9
 
 122 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 The rest is merely a mass of figures with an ac- 
 count of tricks and manipulations which you could 
 not understand." 
 
 " And what would happen if if " 
 
 She leaned towards him unconsciously, watch- 
 ing his lips to catch the answer. 
 
 " I suppose that if the inquiry goes against 
 them, legal steps will be taken," said Brett. 
 
 "Legal steps? What legal steps?" 
 
 Brett hesitated, asking himself whether he 
 should be justified in telling her what he expected 
 as well as what he knew. 
 
 "Well "he continued at last, "you know in 
 such cases the injured parties appeal to the law. 
 But it is of no use to talk about that until you 
 know the result of the inquiry." 
 
 " Do you mean, do you really mean that John 
 may be arrested?" asked Mrs. Darche, turning 
 pale. 
 
 "At any moment." 
 
 Brett answered in a low voice. Almost as 
 soon as he had spoken he left her side and 
 crossed the room as though not wishing to be a 
 witness to the effect the news must have upon
 
 MARION DAKCHB. 123 
 
 her. Before his back was turned she sank into a 
 chair and covered her face with her hands. A 
 long pause followed. Marion was the first to speak. 
 
 " Mr. Brett " she said, and stopped. 
 
 "Yes." He came back to her side at once. 
 
 "Can you not help me?" she asked earnestly. 
 
 "How can I?" 
 
 "Is there nothing, nothing that can be done?" 
 
 " The whole matter is already beyond my 
 power, or yours, or any one's." 
 
 Marion looked steadily at him for several 
 seconds and then turned her face away, leaning 
 against the mantelpiece. 
 
 " I am sure something can be done." 
 . "No, nothing can be done." 
 
 He did not move, and spoke in a tone of the 
 utmost decision. 
 
 "That is not true," said Marion turning upon 
 him suddenly. "Money can help him, and we 
 are wasting time. Do not lose a moment! Take 
 all I have in the world and turn it into money 
 and take it to him. Go! Do not lose a moment! 
 Go ! Why do you wait ? Why- do you look at 
 me so?"
 
 124 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 "It would not be a drop in the bucket," 
 answered Brett, still not moving. 
 
 " All I have ! " 
 
 "All you have." 
 
 "That is impossible," cried Mrs. Darche, in- 
 credulously. " I am not enormously rich, but it 
 is something. It is between four and five hun- 
 dred thousand dollars. Is it not? I have heard 
 you say so." 
 
 "Something like that," assented Brett, as 
 though the statement did not alter the case. 
 
 Mrs. Darche came close to him, laid her hand 
 upon his arm and gently pushed him, as though 
 urging him to leave her. 
 
 "Go! I say," she cried. "Take it. Do as I 
 tell you. There may be time yet. It may save 
 them." 
 
 But Brett did not move. 
 
 "It is utterly useless," he said stolidly. "It is 
 merely throwing money out of the window. Mil- 
 lions cculd not stop the inquiry now, nor prevent 
 the law from taking its course if it is appealed to." 
 
 " You will not do it ? " asked Marion with some- 
 thing almost like a menace in her voice.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 125 
 
 "No, I will not," said Brett, more warmly. "I 
 will not let you ruin yourself for nothing." 
 
 "Are you really my friend?" 
 
 She drew back a little and looked at him 
 earnestly. 
 
 " Your friend ? Yes and more more than 
 that, far more than you can dream of." 
 
 " Will you refuse, do you refuse, to do this 
 for me ? " 
 
 "Yes, I refuse." 
 
 " Then I will do it for myself," she said with a 
 change of tone as though she had suddenly come 
 to a decision. "I will let my husband do it for 
 me. You cannot refuse to give me what is mine, 
 what you have in your keeping." 
 
 But Brett drew back and folded his arms. 
 
 " I can refuse and I do refuse," he said. 
 
 " But you cannot ! You have no right." 
 
 Her voice was almost 6reaking. 
 
 " That makes no difference," Brett answered 
 firmly. "I have the power. I refuse to give you 
 anything. You can bring an action against me 
 for robbing you, and you will win your case, but 
 by that time it will be too late. You may borrow
 
 126 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 money on your mere name, but your securities 
 and title-deeds are in my safe, and there they 
 shall stay." 
 
 Marion looked at him one moment longer and 
 then sank back into her seat. 
 
 " You are cruel and unkind," she said in broken 
 tones. "Oh, what shall I do?" 
 
 Brett hesitated, not knowing exactly what to 
 do, and not finding anything especial to say. It 
 is generally the privilege of man to be the bearer 
 of whatever bad news is in store for woman, but 
 as yet no hard and fast rule of conduct has been 
 laid down for the unfortunate messenger's action 
 under the circumstances. Being at a loss for 
 
 c 
 
 words with which to console the woman he loved 
 for the pain he had unwillingly given her, Brett 
 sat down opposite her and tried to take her hand. 
 She drew it away hastily. 
 
 " No, go away," she said almost under her breath. 
 " Leave me alone. I thought you were my friend." 
 
 " Indeed I am," protested Brett in a soothing tone. 
 
 "Indeed you are not." 
 
 Marion sat up suddenly and drew back to her 
 end of the sofa.
 
 MAKION DARCHE. 127 
 
 " Do you call this friendship ? " she asked 
 almost bitterly. "To refuse to help me at such a 
 moment. Do you not see how I am suffering? 
 Do you not see what is at stake? My husband's 
 reputation, his father's name, good name, life per- 
 haps the shock of a disgrace would kill him 
 and for me, everything ! And you sit there and 
 refuse to lift a finger to help me oh, it is too 
 
 much ! Indeed it is more than I can bear ! " 
 
 ^ 
 
 " Of course you cannot understand it all now," 
 said Brett, very much distressed. " You cannot see 
 that I am right, but you will see it soon, too 
 soon. You cannot save him. Why should you 
 ruin yourself ? " 
 
 "Why?" ' 
 
 " Is there some other reason," asked Brett, 
 quickly. "Something that I do not know?" 
 
 " All the reasons," she exclaimed passionately, 
 "all -the reasons there ever were." 
 
 "Do you love him still?" asked Brett, scarcely 
 knowing what he was saying. 
 
 Marion drew still further back from him and 
 spoke in an altered tone. 
 
 "Mr. Brett, you have no right to ask me such a 
 question."
 
 128 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 "No right? I? No, perhaps I have no right 
 But I take the right whether it is mine or not. 
 Because I love you still, as I have always loved 
 you, because there is nothing in heaven or earth I 
 would not do for you, because if you asked me for 
 all I possessed at this moment, you should have 
 it, to do what you like with it though you 
 shall have nothing of what is yours because, to 
 save you the least pain, I would take John 
 Darche's place and go to prison and be called 
 a rascal and a thief before all the world, for your 
 sake, for your dear sake, Marion. I love you. 
 You know that I love you. Right or wrong 
 but it is right and not wrong! There is not a 
 man in the world who would do for any woman 
 the least of the things I would do for you." 
 
 Again he tried to take her hand, though she 
 resisted and snatched it from him after a little 
 struggle. 
 
 " Leave me I leave me ! " she cried despairingly. 
 " Let me go ! " 
 
 "Not until you know, not until you understand 
 that every word I say means ten thousand times 
 more than it ever meant to any one, not until you
 
 MARION DARCHE. 129 
 
 know that I love you through and through with 
 every part of me, with every thought and action of 
 my life. Look at me ! Look into my eyes ! Do 
 you not see it there, the truth, the devotion? No? 
 Is it so long since I loved you and you said 
 you thought you believed for one little day that 
 you loved me ? Can you not remember it ? Can 
 you not remember even the sound of the words? 
 They were so sweet to hear ! They are so very 
 sweet as they come back now with all they 
 mean now but could not mean then!" 
 
 "Harry!" 
 
 She could not resist pronouncing his name that 
 once. 
 
 "I knew it! You loved me then. You love 
 me now. What is the use of righting against it, 
 when we love each other so ? Marion ! Love ! 
 Ah God! At last!" 
 
 "Go!" 
 
 With a quick movement she sprang to her feet 
 and stood back from him. 
 
 " Marion ! " 
 
 But in a moment it was past. With a gesture 
 she kept him at arm's length.
 
 130 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "Is that your friendship?" she asked reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 "No, it is love," he answered almost roughly. 
 "There is no friendship in it." 
 
 " And you talk of helping me ! " she cried. 
 "And at such a time as this, when I am weak, 
 unstrung, you force it all upon me, and drag out 
 what I have hidden so long. No, no ! You do 
 not love me. Go ! " 
 
 " Not love you ! " Again he tried to get near 
 her. ' " God in heaven ! Do not hurt me so ! " 
 
 "No," she answered, still thrusting him back. 
 "If you loved me you would help me, you would 
 respect me, you would honour me, you would not 
 try to drag me down." 
 
 " Drag you down ! Ah, Marion ! " 
 
 He spoke very unsteadily, then turning his face 
 from her he leaned upon the mantelpiece and 
 watched the fire. A long pause followed. After 
 awhile he looked up again and their eyes met. 
 
 "Harry!" said Mrs. Darche quietly. 
 
 "Yes," he answered. 
 
 "Come and sit beside me on that chair." 
 
 Brett obeyed.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 131 
 
 "We must forget this morning," said Marion 
 in her natural tone of voice. "We must say to 
 ourselves that all this has never happened and we 
 must believe it. Will you ? " 
 
 "You ask too much," answered Brett looking 
 away. "I cannot forget that I have said it at 
 last, after all these years." 
 
 "You must forget it. You must must for 
 my sake." 
 
 "For your sake?" Still he looked away from 
 her. 
 
 " Yes, for my sake," she repeated. " If you 
 cannot forget, I can never look any one in the 
 face again. "Look at me, please," she said, laying 
 her hand upon his arm. " Look into my eyes and 
 tell me that you will not remember." 
 
 "For your sake I will try not to remember," he 
 said slowly. " But I cannot promise yet," he added 
 with sudden passion. " Oh no ! " 
 
 "You will do your best. I know you will," said 
 Marion, in a tone that was meant to express con- 
 viction. " Now go. And remember that I have 
 forgotten." 
 
 " You are very kind," Brett answered with more
 
 132 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 humility than she had expected. "You are very 
 good to me. I was mad for a moment. Forgive 
 me. Try to forgive me." 
 
 "There is nothing to forgive, for I remember 
 nothing," said Marion with a faint smile. 
 
 " Good-bye, then." He turned to go. 
 
 "Good-bye," she answered quite naturally. 
 
 "Now come back, please," .she said, when he 
 had almost reached the door. " You are Mr. Brett 
 now, and I am Mrs. Darche. I am in great trouble 
 and you are my friend, and you must help me as 
 well as you can." 
 
 "In any way I can," he answered, coming back 
 to her. " But I will help only you, I will not help 
 any one else." 
 
 "Not even old Mr. Darche?" 
 
 "Yes, I do not mean to except him." 
 
 "That is right. And we must act quickly. 
 We must decide what is to be done. We have," 
 she hesitated, " we have lost time at any moment 
 it may be too late." 
 
 "It is too late now," Brett answered in a sudden 
 change of tone, as Stubbs the butler suddenly 
 entered the room.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 133 
 
 "Please madam," said Stubbs, who was pale 
 and evidently very much disturbed, "there are 
 some strange gentlemen to see Mr. John Darche, 
 and when I told them that he was out, they said 
 they would see old Mr. Darche, and I said that 
 old Mr. Darche was ill and could see no one, and 
 they said they must see him; and they are coming 
 upstairs without leave, and here they are, madam, 
 and I cannot keep them out ! "
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 BAIL was refused, and John Darche remained 
 in prison during the weeks that intervened be- 
 tween his arrest and his trial. He was charged 
 with making use of large sums, the property of 
 the Company, for which he was unable to ac- 
 count, with fraudulently tampering with the 
 books and with attempting to issue certificates of 
 stock to a very large amount, bearing forged 
 signatures. 
 
 The house in Lexington .Avenue was very 
 gloomy and silent. Simon Darche, who was of 
 course in ignorance of what had taken place, 
 had caught cold and was confined to his bed. 
 It was said that he was breaking down at last, 
 and that his heart was affected. Dolly Maylands 
 came daily and spent long hours with her friend, 
 but not even her bright face could bring light 
 into the house. Russell Vanbrugh and Harry 
 Brett also came almost every day. Vanbrugh 
 
 134
 
 MARION DARCHE. 135 
 
 had undertaken Darche's defence, out of friend- 
 ship for Marion, and it was natural that he 
 should come. As for Brett, he could not stay 
 away, and as Mrs. Darche seemed to have for- 
 given and forgotten his passionate outbreak and 
 did not bid him discontinue his visits, he saw 
 no reason for doing so on any other ground. 
 
 He was, on the whole, a very loyal-hearted 
 man, and was very much ashamed of having 
 seemed to take advantage of Marion's distress, 
 to speak as he had spoken. But he was neither 
 over-sensitive nor in any way morbid. Seeing 
 that she intended to forgive him, he did not 
 distress himself with self-accusations nor doubt 
 that her forgiveness was sincere and complete. 
 Besides, her present distress was so great that 
 he felt instinctively her total forgetfulness of 
 smaller matters, and even went so far as to be- 
 lieve himself forgotten. Meanwhile he watched 
 every opportunity of helping Marion, and would 
 have been ready at a moment's notice to do any- 
 thing whatever which could have alleviated her 
 suffering in the slightest degree. Nevertheless, he 
 congratulated himself that, he was not a criminal
 
 136 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 lawyer, like Vanbrugh, and that it had not 
 fallen to his share to defend John Darche, thief, 
 swindler, and forger. He would have done that, 
 and more also, as Vanbrugh was doing, for 
 Marion's sake, no doubt, but he was very glad 
 that it could not be asked of him. It was bad 
 enough that he should be put into the witness- 
 box to state on his oath such facts as he could 
 remember to Darche's advantage, and to be cross- 
 examined and re-examined, and forced through the 
 endless phases of torture to which witnesses are 
 usually subjected. He was able, at least, to es- 
 tablish the fact that not the smallest sum had 
 ever, so far as he knew, passed from the hands 
 of John Darche to his wife's credit. On being 
 asked why, as Mrs. Darche's man of business, 
 he had not invested any of her money in the 
 Company, he replied that his father had man- 
 aged the estate before him, and that his father's 
 prejudices and his own were wholly in favour 
 of investment in real estate, bonds of long- 
 established railways and first mortgages, and that 
 Mrs. Darche had left her affairs entirely in his 
 hands.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 137 
 
 Marion herself gave her evidence bravely 
 and truthfully, doing her best to speak to her 
 husband's advantage. Her appearance and manner 
 excited universal sympathy, to use the language 
 of the reports of the case, but what she said 
 did not tend in any way to exculpate John 
 Darche. On the contrary, society learned for 
 the first time from her lips that she had led 
 a most unhappy life. She suffered acutely 
 under the cross-examination. Being excessively 
 truthful, she gave " her answers without the 
 slightest distortion of fact, while doing her best 
 to pass over altogether any statement which 
 could injure her husband's defence. As often 
 happens, what she omitted to say told most 
 heavily against him, while the little she was forced 
 to admit concerning his father's condition amply 
 corroborated the medical opinion of the latter's 
 state, and proved beyond a doubt that he had 
 been during more than a year a mere instrument 
 in his son's hands. He, at least, was wholly 
 innocent, and would be suffered to spend his few 
 remaining years in the dreams of a peaceful dotage. 
 
 The court, to use the current phrase, showed
 
 138 MARION DAB.CHE. 
 
 Marion every consideration. That is, she was 
 tacitly admitted from the first to have had 
 no connection whatever with the crime of which 
 her husband was accused. To the last, she 
 intended to be present when the judge summed 
 up the case, in order to help John to the end 
 by seeming to believe in his innocence. On that 
 very day, however, Simon Darche was so far re- 
 covered as to be able to leave his room for the 
 first time, and her presence at his side seemed 
 absolutely necessary. It was most important 
 that all knowledge of what was happening should 
 be kept from him. He was quite capable of 
 leaving the house if left to himself, and he 
 would certainly not have submitted to any sug- 
 gestion to the contrary offered by Stubbs. 
 
 He might stroll into a club or into the house 
 of some old friend, and some one would be sure 
 to offer him the tactless sympathy which goes 
 about to betray secrets. Moreover, he had been 
 told, in explanation of John's protracted absence, 
 that the latter had been obliged to go away 
 on business, and he had enough memory and 
 power of reasoning left to be surprised at
 
 MARION DARCHE. 139 
 
 receiving no letters. He was sure to make 
 inquiries about John, if left to his own devices. 
 Marion could not leave him. In the midst 
 of her extreme anxiety she was obliged to pass 
 the greater part of the day in reading to him, 
 and in trying to divert his mind from the thought 
 of John and his absence. His love and mistaken 
 admiration for his son had been the strongest 
 feelings in his life and continued to the end. 
 
 Dolly Maylands would have been faithful 
 to Marion under any imaginable circumstances, 
 with that whole-souled belief and trust which 
 is girlhood's greatest charm. On the last day of 
 the trial she came in the morning and did not 
 leave the house again. Brett appeared at inter- 
 vals and told Dolly how matters were going. 
 
 He was not a man like Vanbrugh, of very 
 varied acquaintances and wide experience, but in 
 certain quarters he had great influence, and on 
 Marion's behalf he exerted it to the utmost on the 
 present occasion. Foreseeing that the verdict 
 must inevitably be unfavourable, and knowing 
 of Simon Darche's great anxiety about his son's 
 absence, Brett succeeded in obtaining an order
 
 140 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 to bring John Darche to see his father before 
 he should be taken back" to prison after the 
 conclusion of the trial. It was agreed that the 
 police officers should appear dressed as civilians, 
 and should be introduced with John to the old 
 man's presence as men of business accompanying 
 his son. John would then have the opportunity 
 of quieting his father's apprehensions in regard 
 to his future absence, and he could take leave- 
 of his wife if he wished to do so, though 
 of course he would not be allowed to be even 
 a moment out of his guardians' sight. The order 
 was ostensibly granted in consideration of Simon 
 Darche's mental infirmity, and of the danger 
 to his health which any shock must cause, 
 and which already existed in the shape of acute 
 anxiety. In reality, the favour was granted as 
 a personal one to Brett. When every tiling was 
 arranged, he returned to Lexington Avenue. He 
 found Dolly alone in the library and told her 
 what he had done. 
 
 It was very quiet in the room, and the dusk 
 was stealing away the last glow of the sunset that 
 hung over the trees and houses of Gramercy Park.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 141 
 
 Dolly sat near the window, looking out, her hands 
 clasped upon one knee, her fair young face very 
 grave and sad. Brett paced the floor nervously. 
 
 " How kind you are ! " Dolly exclaimed. 
 
 "Kind?" repeated the young man, almost in- 
 dignantly, and stopping in his walk as he spoke. 
 "Who would not do as much if he could?" 
 
 "Lots of people." 
 
 " Not of her friends not of those who know 
 her. It is little enough that I can do for any of 
 them. Yanbrugh has done more than I can do 
 much more." 
 
 " What a fight he has made ! " The ready en- 
 thusiasm rang in the girl's clear voice. Then her 
 tone changed as she continued. "Yes," she said 
 thoughtfully, "Marion is lucky to have such friends 
 as you and Russell Vanbrugh." 
 
 "And you yourself, Miss Maylands." 
 
 "I? Oh, I do not count. What can a woman 
 do on days like these? I can only stay here 
 and try to make her feel that I am a comfortable 
 pillow for her to lay her head upon, when she is 
 1 entirely worn out. Poor Marion ! She is the 
 bravest woman I ever knew. But then "
 
 142 MAlllON DAKCHE. 
 
 She stopped, hesitating, and Brett, who was 
 almost too much excited to follow all the words 
 she spoke, was suddenly aware that she had not 
 finished the sentence. 
 
 "What were you going to say?" he asked, 
 struggling desperately to remember what she had 
 said already. 
 
 "I hardly ought I suppose," objected Dolly. 
 "But then what can it matter? He is sure to 
 be found guilty, is he not?" 
 
 "Quite sure," Brett answered slowly. 
 
 "Well then Marion must feel that when this 
 last agony is over she will have much more peace 
 in her life than she has enjoyed for a long time. 
 I wonder whether it is very wrong to say such 
 things." 
 
 "Wrong? Why? We all think them, I am 
 sure. At least, you and Vanbrugh and I do. As 
 for society, I do not know what it thinks. I have 
 not had time to ask, nor time to care, for that 
 matter." 
 
 "I suppose everybody sympathises with Marion 
 as we do." 
 
 "Oh, of course. Do you know? I believe she
 
 MARION DARCHE. 143 
 
 will be more popular than before. Everything 
 that has come out in this abominable trial has 
 been in her favour. People realise what a life 
 she has been living during all these years with- 
 out a complaint. Wonderful woman ! That brute 
 Darche ! I wish he were to be hanged instead 
 of sent to the Penitentiary ! " 
 
 "He deserves it," answered Dolly with the 
 utmost conviction. " I suppose Marion will get 
 a divorce." 
 
 Again Brett stopped short in his walk and 
 looked at her keenly. The idea had doubtless 
 passed through his own mind, but he had not 
 heard any one else express it as yet. 
 
 "After all," he said slowly, "there is no reason 
 why she should not." 
 
 Then he suddenly relapsed into silence and 
 resumed his walk. 
 
 "And then I suppose," said Dolly thoughtfully, 
 "she would marry again." 
 
 Brett said nothing to this, but continued to 
 pace the floor, glancing at the young girl from 
 time to time, and meditating on the total de- 
 pravity of innocence.
 
 144 MARION DAKCHE. 
 
 "She might marry Russell Vanbrugh, for in- 
 stance," observed Dolly, as though talking to 
 herself. 
 
 This was too much for Brett. For the third 
 time he stopped and faced her. 
 
 " Why Vanbrugh, of all people ? " he asked. 
 
 " Of all people, Mr. Vanbrugh, I should think," 
 Dolly answered. "Think of what he has done, 
 how devoted he has been in all this trouble. 
 And then, the way she spoils him ! Any one can 
 see that she is ready to fall in love with him. If 
 she were not as good <as as anything can be 
 as spring water and snow drops and angels' 
 prayers, so to say, she would be in love with him 
 already. But then, she is, you know." 
 
 "I cannot imagine a woman being in love with 
 Vanbrugh," said Brett impatiently. 
 
 " Oh, can't you ? I can. I thought he was 
 your best friend." 
 
 "What has that to do with it? My best friend 
 might be deaf and lame and blind of one eye." 
 
 " Also, he might not," said Dolly with a 
 smile. 
 
 " Oh, well ! " exclaimed Brett, turning away, " if
 
 MARION DARCHE. 145 
 
 you have made up your mind that Mrs. Darche 
 is to marry Russell Vanbrugh, of course I have 
 nothing to say. I daresay people would think it 
 a very good match." 
 
 "With John Darche alive and in the Peniten- 
 tiary?" inquired the young girl, instantly taking 
 the opposite tack. 
 
 "As though any one could care or ask what 
 became of him ! " cried Brett, with something like 
 indignation. " Thank heaven we are just in this 
 country! We do not visit the sins of the black- 
 guard upon the innocent woman he leaves behind 
 him. Fortunately, there are no children. The 
 very name will be forgotten, and Mrs. Darche 
 can begin life over again." 
 
 "Whoever marries her will have to take old 
 Mr. Darche as an incumbrance," remarked Dolly. 
 
 "Of course! Do you suppose that such a 
 woman would leave the poor old gentleman to be 
 taken care of by strangers? Besides, he is a beg- 
 gar. He has not so much as pocket-money for his 
 cigars. Of course Mr. Darche will stay with them. 
 After all, it will not be so bad. He is very quiet 
 and cheerful, and never in the way." 
 
 ,15 Vol. 9
 
 146 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 Brett spoke thoughtfully, in a tone which con- 
 veyed to Dolly the certainty that he had already 
 revolved the situation of Marion's future husband 
 in his mind. 
 
 "Tell me, Mr. Brett," she said, after a short 
 pause, "will anybody say that she should have 
 sacrificed her own little fortune?" 
 
 "People may say it as much as they please," 
 answered the young man quickly. "No one will 
 ever make me believe it." 
 
 "I thought conscientious people often did that 
 sort of thing." 
 
 "Yes, they do. But this does not seem to me 
 to be a case for that. The bogus certificates of 
 stocks never really were on the market. The first 
 that were issued excited suspicion, and proceed- 
 ings began almost immediately. Whatever John 
 Darche actually stole was practically taken from 
 the funds of the Company. Now the Company is 
 rich, and it was its own fault if it did not look 
 after its affairs. In some failures, a lot of poor 
 people suffer. That is different. It has fortunately 
 not happened here. The stock will be depreciated 
 for a time, but the Company will continue to exist '
 
 MARION DARCHE. 147 
 
 and will ultimately hold up its head again. The 
 bonds are good enough. After all, what is stock ? 
 Lend me some money at your own risk and if I 
 have anything I will pay you interest. If I have 
 nothing, you get nothing. That is what stock 
 means." 
 
 "I know," answered Dolly, .whose clear little 
 brain had long been familiar with the meanings 
 of common business terms. "Yes, you are quite 
 right. There is no reason why Marion should 
 give anything of her own." 
 
 "None whatever," assented Brett. 
 
 If Dolly drew any conclusions from what Brett 
 had said, she kept them to herself, and a long 
 silence followed, which was broken at last by the 
 appearance of Russell Vanbrugh, looking pale and 
 tired. He shook hands in silence and sat down. 
 
 " I suppose it is all over ? " said Dolly softly, in 
 a tone of interrogation. 
 
 "Yes, just as we feared." 
 
 "What has he got?" inquired Brett, lowering 
 his voice as though he feared that Marion might 
 overhear him, though she was not in the room. 
 
 "Five years."
 
 148 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "Is that all?" asked the younger man almost 
 indignantly. 
 
 Vanbrugh smiled faintly at the question. 
 
 "I am rather proud of it," he answered, "con- 
 sidering that I defended the case." 
 
 "True, I forgot." Brett began to walk up and 
 down again. 
 
 Dolly looked at Vanbrugh and nodded to him 
 with a little smile as though in approval of what 
 
 s 
 
 he had done. He seemed pleased and grateful. 
 
 " You must be dreadfully tired," she said. " Do 
 let me give you some tea." 
 
 " Thanks I should like some but some one 
 ought to tell Mrs. Darche. Shall I? Where is 
 she?" 
 
 " I will tell her," said Brett stopping suddenly. 
 "I will send her a message and she will come 
 down to the drawing-room." 
 
 He went out, leaving Dolly to comfort Van- 
 brugh with tea, for he was far too much excited 
 to sit down or to listen to their conversation. 
 The whole matter might be more or less indif- 
 ferent to them, whose lives could not be affected 
 directly by Mrs. Darche's misfortunes, but he felt
 
 MARION DARCHE. 149 
 
 that his own happiness was in the balance. He 
 knew also that, by the arrangements he had made, 
 John Darche would be brought to the house in 
 the course of the next hour, before being taken 
 back to prison for the night, and it was necessary 
 to warn Marion and to see that the old gentle- 
 man was prepared to receive his son. 
 
 "How about old Mr. Darche?" inquired Dolly, 
 when she and Vanbrugh were left alone. 
 
 "Every one is sorry for him," said Vanbrugh, 
 "just as every one execrates John. I get very 
 little credit for the defence," he added, with a 
 dry laugh. 
 
 " How good you are ! " exclaimed Dolly. 
 
 "Am I? It seems to me it was the least I 
 could do." 
 
 "It will not seem so to every one," said Dolly. 
 
 "I would do a great deal for Mrs. Darche," 
 said Vanbrugh. 
 
 " Yes, I know you would. You you are 
 very fond of her, are you not?" She turned her 
 face away as she asked the question. 
 
 "I wish to be a good friend to her." 
 
 "And something more?" suggested Dolly, in a 
 tone of interrogation.
 
 150 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 " Something more ? " repeated Vanbrugh, " I do 
 not understand." 
 
 "Oh nothing! I thought you did." 
 " Perhaps I did. But I think you are mistaken." 
 "Am I?" Dolly asked, turning her face to him 
 again. " I wish I mean, I do not think I am." 
 "I am sure you are." 
 
 "This is a good deal like a puzzle game, is it not?" 
 "No, it is much more serious," said Vanbrugh, 
 speaking gravely. " This is certainly not the time 
 to talk of such things, Miss Maylands. John 
 Darche may come at any moment, and as far as 
 possible his father has been prepared for his 
 coming. But that isn't it. Perhaps I had better 
 say it at once. We have always been such good 
 friends, you know, and I think a great deal of 
 your good opinion, so that I do not wish you to 
 mistake my motives. You evidently think that 
 I am devoted to say the least of it to Mi's. 
 Darche. After all, what is the use of choosing 
 words and beating about the bush? You think I am 
 in love with her. I should be very soriy to leave 
 you with that impression very, very sorry. Do 
 you understand?"
 
 MARION DAECHE. 151 
 
 Dolly had glanced at him several times while 
 he had been speaking, but when he finished she 
 looked into the fire again. 
 
 "You were in love with her once?" she said 
 quietly. 
 
 " Perhaps ; how do you know that ? " 
 
 "She told me so, ever so long ago." 
 
 "She told you so?" Vanbrugh's tone betrayed 
 his annoyance. 
 
 " Yes. Why are you angry ? I am her best 
 friend. Was it not natural that she should tell 
 me?" 
 
 "I hardly know." 
 
 A pause followed, during which Stubbs entered 
 the room, bringing tea. When he was gone and 
 Dolly had filled Vanbrugh's cup she took up the 
 conversation again. 
 
 "Are you thinking about it?" she asked, with 
 a smile. 
 
 " About what ? " Vanbrugh looked up quickly 
 over his cup. 
 
 "Whether it was natural or not?" 
 
 "No, I was wondering whether you would still 
 believe it."
 
 152 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "Why should I?" asked Dolly. 
 
 "You might. In spite of what I tell you. You 
 know very little of my life." 
 
 " Oh, I know a great deal," said the young girl 
 with much conviction. "I know all about you. 
 You are successful, and rich and popular and 
 happy, and lots of things." 
 
 "Am I?" asked Vanbrugh rather sadly. 
 
 "Yes. Everybody knows you are." 
 
 "You are quite sure that I am happy?" 
 
 "Unless you tell me that you are not." 
 
 "How oddly people judge us," exclaimed Van- 
 brugh. "Because a man behaves like a human 
 being, and is not cross at every turn, and puts 
 his shoulder to the wheel, to talk and be agree- 
 able in society, everybody thinks he is happy." 
 
 " Of course." Dolly smiled. " If you were un- 
 happy you would go and sit in corners by yourself 
 and mope and be disagreeable. But you do not, 
 you see. You are always 'on hand' as they call 
 it, always ready to make things pleasant for every- 
 body." 
 
 "That is because I am so good-natured." 
 
 " What is good nature ? "
 
 MARION DARCHE. 153 
 
 "A combination of laziness and vulgarity," Van- 
 brugh answered promptly. 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "Yes," said Vanbrugh. "The vulgarity that 
 wishes to please everybody, and the laziness that 
 cannot say no." 
 
 "You are not a lawyer for nothing. But you 
 are not lazy and you are not vulgar. If you were 
 I should not like you." 
 
 "Do you like me?" asked Vanbrugh quickly. 
 
 "Very much," she answered with a little laugh. 
 
 "You just made me define good nature, Miss 
 Maylands. How do you define liking?" 
 
 "Oh, it is very vague," said Dolly in an airy 
 tone. "It is a sort of uncly, auntly thing." 
 
 "Oh. I see." 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 "Uncles and aunts sometimes marry, do they 
 not?" 
 
 "What an idea? They are always brothers and 
 sisters." 
 
 " Unless they are uncles and aunts of different 
 people," suggested Vanbrugh. 
 
 At this point they were interrupted by the
 
 154 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 entrance of Stubbs. That dignified functionary 
 had suffered intensely during the last few days, 
 but his tortures were not yet over. So far as lay 
 in his power he still maintained that absolute 
 correctness of appearance which distinguished him 
 from the common, or hirsute " head man " ; but he 
 could not control the colour of his face nor the 
 expression of his eyes. He had been a footman 
 in the house of Marion's father, in that very 
 house in fact, and had completely identified him- 
 self with the family. Had he considered that he 
 was in the employment of Simon and John 
 Darche, he would have long since given notice 
 and sought a place better suited to his eminent 
 respectability. But having always waited upon 
 Marion since she had been a little girl, he felt 
 bound by all the tenets of inherited butlerdom 
 and by a sort of devotion not by any means to 
 be laughed at to stand by his young mistress 
 through all her troubles. By this time his eyes 
 had a permanently unsettled look in them as 
 though he never knew what fearful sight he 
 might next gaze upon, and the ruddy colour was 
 slowly but certainly sinking to the collar line. It 
 
 V
 
 MARION DARCHE. 155 
 
 had already descended to the lower tips of his 
 ears. 
 
 "Beg pardon, Miss Maylands," he said in a 
 subdued tone, " beg pardon, sir. Mr. John has 
 come with those gentlemen." 
 
 Both Dolly and Vanbrugh started slightly and 
 looked up at him. Vanbrugh was the first to 
 speak. 
 
 "Do you not think you had better go away 
 to Mrs. Darche?"he asked. "She may want to 
 see you for a minute." 
 
 Dolly rose and left the room. 
 
 "I suppose they will come in here," said Van- 
 brugh, addressing Stubbs. 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered the butler nervously, "they 
 are coming." 
 
 "Well let us make the best of it." ' 
 
 A moment later John Darche catered the room, 
 followed closely by three men, evidently dressed 
 for the occasion, according to superior orders, in 
 what, at police head-quarters, was believed to be 
 the height of the fashion, for they all wore light 
 snuff-coloured overcoats, white ties, dark trousers 
 and heavily-varnished shoes, and each had a per-
 
 156 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 fectly new high hat in his hand. They looked 
 about the room with evident curiosity. 
 
 Darche himself was deathly pale and had grown 
 thinner. Otherwise he was little changed. As 
 soon as he caught sight of Vanbrugh, he came 
 forward, extending his hand. 
 
 "I have not had a chance to thank you for 
 your able defence," he said calmly. 
 
 "It is not necessary," answered Vanbrugh 
 coldly, and putting his hands behind him as he 
 leaned against the mantelpiece. "It was a matter 
 of duty." 
 
 "Very well," said John Darche stiffly, and 
 drawing back a step. " If you do not want to 
 shake hands we will treat it as a matter of busi- 
 ness." 
 
 " He is pretty fresh, ain't he ? " remarked one of 
 the officers in an undertone to his neighbour. 
 
 "You bet he is," answered the other. 
 
 " Now I have got to see the old gentleman," said 
 .Darche, speaking to Vanbrugh. "Before I go, I 
 would like to have a word with you. There is no 
 objection to my speaking privately to Mr. Vanbrugh, 
 I suppose ? " he inquired, turning to the officer.
 
 MARION DABCHE. 157 
 
 "Not if you stay in the room," answered the one 
 who took the lead. 
 
 Darche nodded to Vanbrugh, who somewhat 
 reluctantly followed him to the other end of the 
 room. 
 
 "I say," he began in a tone not to be overheard 
 by the detectives. "Can you not give me another 
 chance ? " 
 
 "What sort of chance?" replied Vanbrugh, 
 raising his eyebrows. 
 
 "If I could get through that door," said John 
 looking over Vanbrugh's shoulder, "I could get 
 away. I know the house and they do not. 
 Presently, when my father comes, if you could 
 create some sort of confusion for a moment, I 
 could slip out. They will never catch me. There 
 is an Italian sailing vessel just clearing. I have 
 had exact information. If I can get through that 
 door I can be in the Sixth Avenue Elevated in 
 three minutes and out of New York Harbour in 
 an hour." 
 
 Vanbrugh had no intention of being a party 
 to the escape. He met Darche's eyes coldly as he 
 answered.
 
 158 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 " No, I will not do it. I have defended you in 
 open court, but I am not going to help you evade 
 the law." 
 
 "Do not be too hard, Vanbrugh," said Darche, 
 in a tone of entreaty. "Things are not half so 
 bad as they are made out." 
 
 " If that is true, I am sorry. But you have 
 had a perfectly fair trial." 
 
 "Will you not help me get away?" Darche 
 urged knowing that this was his last chance. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Vanbrugh," said John in an insinuating tone, 
 "you used to be fond of my wife. You wanted 
 to marry her." 
 
 "What has that to do with it?" asked Van- 
 brugh turning sharply upon him. 
 
 "You may marry her and welcome, if you let 
 me get through that door. I shall never be heard 
 of again." 
 
 " You infernal scoundrel ! " Vanbrugh was 
 thoroughly disgusted. "Now gentlemen," he said, 
 turning to the officer in charge, "I will bring Mr. 
 Darche here to see his son. I am sure that for 
 the old gentleman's sake, out of mere humanity,
 
 MARION DARCHE. 159 
 
 you will do the best you can to keep up the 
 illusion we have arranged. He is old and his 
 mind wanders. He will scarcely notice your 
 presence." 
 
 "Yes, sir," the man answered. "You may trust 
 us to do that, sir. Now then, boys," he said, 
 addressing his two companions, "straighten up, 
 best company manners, stiff upper lip keep your 
 eye on the young man. He is rather too near 
 that door for my taste." 
 
 John Darche's face expressed humiliation and 
 something almost approaching to despair. He was 
 about to make another attempt, and had moved a 
 step towards Vanbrugh, when he suddenly started 
 a little and stood still. Marion stood in the open 
 door beyond three detectives. She touched one 
 of them on the shoulder as a sign that she wished 
 to pass. 
 
 "Pardon me, lady," said the man, drawing 
 back. " Anything that we can do for you ? " 
 
 " I am Mrs. Darche. I wish to speak to my 
 husband." 
 
 "Certainly, madam," and all three made way 
 for her.
 
 160 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 She went straight to her husband, and stood 
 before him at the other end of the room, speak- 
 ing in a low voice. 
 
 "Is there anything I can do for you, John?" 
 she asked so that he could barely hear her. 
 
 "You can help me to get away if you will." 
 John Darche's eyes fell before hers. 
 
 She gazed at him during several seconds, 
 hesitating, perhaps, between her sense of justice 
 and her desire to be faithful to her husband 
 to the very end. 
 
 " Yes, I will," she said briefly. 
 
 Before she spoke again she turned quite natu- 
 rally, as though in hesitation, and satisfied herself 
 that the three men were out of- hearing. Van- 
 brugh, perhaps suspecting what was taking place, 
 had engaged them in conversation near the door. 
 
 "How?" she asked, looking at John again. 
 "Tell me quickly." 
 
 "Presently, -when my father comes, get as 
 many people as you can. Let ine be alone for 
 a moment. Make some confusion, upset some- 
 thing, anything will do. Give me a chance to 
 get through the door into the library."
 
 MARION DAKCHB. 161 
 
 "I will try. Is that all?" 
 
 "Thank you," said John Darche, and for one 
 moment a look of something like genuine grati- 
 tude passed over his hard face. "Yes, that is all. 
 You will be glad to get rid of me." 
 
 Marion looked one moment longer, hesitated, 
 said nothing and turned away. 
 
 "If you have no objections," said Vanbrugh 
 addressing the officer in charge, "we will take 
 Mr. Darche to his father's room instead of asking 
 him to come here." 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered the detective. "We can 
 do that." 
 
 As they were about to leave the room, Brett 
 met them at the door. He paused a moment 
 and looked about. Then he went straight to 
 Vanbrugh. 
 
 "Has he seen him yet?" he asked. 
 
 "No, we are just going," answered Vanbrugh. 
 
 "Can I be of any use?" 
 
 "Stay with Mrs. Darche." 
 
 "Shall we go?" he asked, turning to John. 
 
 " How brave you are ! " exclaimed Brett when 
 they were alone.
 
 162 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 " Does it need much courage ? " asked Marion, 
 sinking into a chair. "I do not know. Perhaps." 
 
 "I know that there are not many men who 
 could bear all this as well as you do," Brett 
 answered, and there was a little emotion in his 
 face. 
 
 "Men are different. Mr. Brett " she began 
 after a short pause. 
 
 " Yes, do you want to ask me something ? " 
 
 "Yes, something that is very hard to ask. 
 Something that you will refuse." 
 
 " That would be hard indeed." 
 
 " Will you promise not to be angry ? " asked 
 Marion faintly. 
 
 " Of course I will," Brett answered. 
 
 " Do not be so sure. Men's honour is such a 
 strange thing. You may think what I am going 
 to ask touches it." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 He sat down beside her and prepared to listen. 
 
 " Will you help my husband to escape ? " asked 
 Marion in a whisper. "No do not say it. Wait 
 until I tell you first how it can be done. Pres- 
 ently I will get them all into this room. Old Mr.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 163 
 
 Darche is too ill to come, I am afraid. You have 
 not spoken alone to John yet. Take him aside 
 and bring him close to this door on pretence 
 of exchanging a few words. I will make a 
 diversion of some sort at the other end of the 
 room and as they all look round he can slip out. 
 If he has one minute's start they will never see 
 him again. Will you do it?" 
 
 " You were right," said Brett gravely. " It is 
 a hard thing to ask." 
 
 "Will you do it?" 
 
 " It is criminal," he answered. 
 
 "Will you do it?" 
 
 " For God's sake, give me time to think ! " 
 He passed his hand over his eyes. 
 
 " There is no time," said Marion anxiously. 
 " Will you do it for me ? " 
 ' "How can I? how can I?" 
 
 "You told me that you loved me the other 
 day will you do it for my sake?" 
 
 A change came over Brett's face. 
 
 " For your sake ? " he asked in an altered tone. 
 " Do you mean it ? " 
 
 " Yes. For my sake."
 
 164 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 " Very well. I will do it." He turned a little 
 pale and closed one hand over the other. 
 
 "Thank you thank you, Harry." Her voice 
 lingered a little, as she pronounced his name. 
 " Stay here. I will make them come. It is of 
 no use to leave them there. It is a mere for- 
 mality, at best." 
 
 "I am ready," said Brett, rising. 
 
 Marion left her seat, and crossing the room 
 again tried the door in question to satisfy herself 
 that it would open readily. She looked out into 
 the passage beyond and then came back, and 
 passing Brett without a word left the room. 
 
 She was not gone long, and during the minutes 
 of her absence Brett tried hard not to think of 
 what he was going to do. He could not but be 
 aware that it was a desperately serious matter to 
 help a convicted criminal to escape. He thought 
 of the expression he had seen on Marion's face 
 when he had promised to do it, and of the soft 
 intonation of her sweet voice, and he tried to 
 think of nothing else. 
 
 In a moment more she was in the room again 
 leading old Mr. Darche forward, his arm linked
 
 MARION DARCHE. 165 
 
 in hers. John came in on his father's other side, 
 while Vanbrugh and the three officers followed. 
 
 " I understand, I understand, my boy," cried 
 old Darche in his cheery voice. " It is a grand 
 thing." 
 
 John was very pale as he answered, and was 
 evidently making a great effort to speak lightly. 
 
 " Yes, of course. It has turned out much 
 simpler than we expected, however, thanks to 
 your immense reputation, father. Without your 
 name we could not have done it, could we, gen- 
 tlemen ?" he asked, turning to the detectives as 
 though appealing to them. 
 
 "No, guess not," answered the three together. 
 
 " Good God, what a scene ! " exclaimed Brett 
 under his breath. 
 
 "Mr. Brett," said Marion approaching him. 
 "You said you wanted to speak to my husband. 
 Now you must tell me all about it, father," she 
 continued, drawing the old gentleman towards the 
 fire. "I do not half understand in all this confu- 
 sion." 
 
 " Why it is as plain as day, child," said Simon 
 Darche, ever ready to explain a matter of business.
 
 166 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "The second mortgage of a million and a half to 
 square everything. Come here, come close to the 
 fire, my hands are cold. I think I must have been- 
 ill." 
 
 "You would never think Mr. Darche had been 
 ill, would you, gentlemen ? " asked Marion, appeal- 
 ing again to the detectives. 
 
 "No, guess not," they answered in chorus. 
 
 Meanwhile Brett led Darche across the room, 
 talking to him in a loud tone until they were near 
 the door. 
 
 " Your wife will make some diversion presently," 
 he whispered. "I do not know how. When she 
 does, make for that door and get out." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you," said John with genuine 
 fervour, and his face lighted up. " God bless you, 
 Brett!" 
 
 "Do not thank me," answered Brett roughly. 
 " I do not want to do it. Thank your wife." 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed John Darche, and his eyelids 
 contracted. " My wife ! Is it for her ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I will remember that. I will remember it as 
 long as I live."
 
 MARION DAKCHE. 167 
 
 Brett never forgot the look which accompanied 
 the words. 
 
 " Well, be grateful to her anyhow," he said. 
 
 At that moment a piercing scream rang through 
 the room. Marion Darche, while talking to her 
 father-in-law, had been standing quite close to the 
 fire. When Brett turned his head the front of her 
 dress was burning with a slow flame and she was 
 making desperate efforts to tear it from her. 
 
 " Good Heavens, you are really burning ! " cried 
 Brett as he crushed the flaming stuff with his bare 
 hands, regardless of the consequences to himself. 
 
 " Did you think that I cried out in fun ? " asked 
 Marion calmly. 
 
 On hearing his wife's cry John Darche had 
 bestowed but one glance upon her. It mattered 
 but little to him that she was really on fire. The 
 detectives had rushed to her assistance and for one 
 moment no one was looking. He was close to the 
 door. A moment later he had left the room and 
 turned the key behind him. 
 
 " My God ! " exclaimed the officer in charge, 
 suddenly. " He has gone ! Run, boys ! Stop ! 
 One of you take the old one. We will not lose 
 them both."
 
 168 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 Old Darche started as though he had suddenly 
 been waked out of a deep sleep, and his voice rang 
 out loud and clear. 
 
 "Hey, what is this?" he cried. "Hello! De- 
 tectives in my house ? Disguised too ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered one of the detectives, 
 seizing him by the wrist just as the other two 
 left the room in pursuit of John Darche. " And 
 one of them has got you." - 
 
 "Got me!" roared the old man. "Hands off, 
 there ! What do you mean ? Damn you, sir, let 
 me go ! " 
 
 "Oh, well," replied the officer calmly, "if you 
 are going to take on like that, you may just as 
 well know that your son was tried and convicted 
 for forgery to-day. Not that I believe that you 
 had anything to do with it, but he is a precious 
 rascal all the same, and has escaped from your 
 house " 
 
 " I ! Forgery The man is mad ! John, where 
 are you? Brett! Vanbrugh! Help me, gentle- 
 men!" 
 
 He appealed to Brett, and then to Vanbrugh 
 who, indeed, was doing his best to draw the officer 
 away.
 
 MARION DABCHE. 169 
 
 "No, no," answered the latter firmly. "I've 
 got one of them it's all in the family." 
 
 Though Marion's dress was still smouldering 
 and Brett was on his knees trying to extinguish 
 the last spark with his own hands, she forgot 
 her own danger, and almost tearing herself away 
 from Brett she clasped the policeman's hand try- 
 ing to drag it from Simon Darche's shoulder. 
 
 " Oh, sir," she cried in tearful entreaty, " pray 
 let him go ! He is innocent he is ill ! He will 
 not think of escaping. Don't- you see that we 
 have kept it all from him?" 
 
 "Kept it all from me?" asked the old gentle- 
 man fiercely turning upon her. " What do you 
 mean? Where is John? Where is John? I 
 say!" 
 
 "In handcuffs by this time I guess," said the 
 detective calmly. 
 
 " But I insist upon knowing what all this 
 means," continued old Darche, growing more and 
 more excited, while the veins of his temples 
 swelled to bursting. " Forgery ! Trial ! Convic- 
 tion ! John escaping ! Am I dreaming ? Are not 
 you three directors of the other road? Good God, 
 
 16 Vol. 9
 
 170 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 young man, speak ! " He seized Brett by the 
 collar in his excitement. 
 
 " Pray be calm, sir, pray be calm," answered 
 the young man, trying to loosen the policeman's 
 sturdy grasp. 
 
 By a tremendous effort, such as madmen make 
 in supreme moments, the old man broke loose, 
 and seizing Marion by the wrist dragged her half 
 across the room while he spoke. " Tell me this 
 thing is all a lie ! " he cried, again and again. 
 
 "The lady knows the truth well enough, sir," 
 said the policeman, coming up behind him. " She 
 caught fire just right." 
 
 For one moment Simon Darche stood upright 
 in the middle of the room, looking from one to 
 the other with wild frightened eyes. 
 
 " Oh, it is true ! " he cried in accents of 
 supreme agony. " John has disgraced himself ! 
 Oh, my son, my son ! " 
 
 One instant more, and the light in his eyes 
 broke, he threw out his arms and fell straight 
 backwards against the detective. Simon Darche 
 was dead.
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 THERE was no lack of sympathy for Marion 
 Darche, and it was shown in many ways during 
 the period of calm which succeeded her husband's 
 disappearance and the sudden death of his father. 
 Every one was anxious to be first in showing the 
 lonely woman that she was not alone, but that, 
 on the contrary, those who had been her friends 
 formerly were more ready than ever to proclaim 
 the fact now, and, so far as they were able, not 
 in words only, but in deeds also. 
 
 She was relieved, all at once, of the many 
 burdens which had oppressed her life during the 
 past years indeed, she sometimes caught herself 
 missing the constant sacrifice, the daily effort of 
 subduing her temper, the hourly care for the 
 doting old man who was gone. 
 
 But with all this, there was the consciousness 
 that she was not altogether free. Somewhere in 
 the world, John Darche was still alive, a fugitive, 
 
 171
 
 172 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 a man for whose escape a reward was offered. It 
 was worse than widowhood to be bound to a 
 husband who was socially dead. It would have 
 been easier to bear if he had never escaped, and 
 if he were simply confined in the Penitentiary. 
 There would not have been the danger of his 
 coming back stealthily by night, which Marion 
 felt was not imaginary so long as he was at 
 large. 
 
 Yet she made no effort to obtain a divorce 
 from the man whose name was a disgrace. On 
 the contrary, so far as outward appearances were 
 concerned, she made no change, or very little, in 
 her life. Public opinion had been with her from 
 the first, and society chose to treat her as a young 
 widow, deserving every sympathy, who when the 
 time of mourning should have expired, would 
 return to the world, and open her doors to it. 
 
 There was a great deal of speculation as to the 
 reasons which prevented her from taking steps to 
 free herself, but no one guessed what really passed 
 in her mind, any more than the majority of her 
 acquaintances understood that she had once loved 
 "John Darche. It had been commonly said for
 
 MARION DARCHE. 173 
 
 years that she had married him out of disappoint- 
 ment because something had prevented her from 
 marrying another man, usually supposed to have 
 been Russell Vanbrugh. People attributed to her 
 a greater complication oj: motives than she could 
 have believed possible. 
 
 In order not to be altogether alone, she took 
 a widowed cousin to live with her a Mrs. 
 Willoughby, who soon became known to her more 
 intimate friends as Cousin Annie. She was a 
 gray, colourless woman," much older than Marion, 
 kind of heart but not very "wise, insignificant but 
 refined, a moral satisfaction and an intellectual 
 disappointment, accustomed to the world, but not 
 understanding it, good by nature and charitable, 
 and educated in religious forms to which she 
 clung by habit and association rather than be- 
 cause they represented anything to her. Cousin 
 Annie was one of those fortunate beings whom 
 temptation overlooks, passing by on the other 
 side, who can suffer in a way for the loss of those 
 dear to them, but whose mourning does not reach 
 the dignity of sorrow, nor the selfish power of 
 grief.
 
 174 MARION D ARC HE. 
 
 Marion did not feel the need of a more com- 
 plicated and gifted individuality for companion- 
 ship. On the contrary, it was a relief to her to 
 have some one at her side for whom she was not 
 expected to think, but who, on the contrary, 
 thought for her in all the commonplace matters 
 of life, and never acted otherwise than as a 
 normal, natural, human unit. There had been 
 enough of the unusual in the house in Lexington 
 Avenue, and Marion was glad that it was gone. 
 
 Three months passed in this way and the 
 spring was far advanced. Then, suddenly and 
 without warning, came the news that John Darche 
 had been heard of, traced, seen at last and almost 
 captured. He had escaped once more and this 
 time he had escaped, for ever, by his own act. 
 He had jumped overboard in the English Channel 
 from the Calais boat, and his body had not been 
 found. 
 
 Mrs. Darche wore black for her husband, and 
 Cousin Annie said it was very becoming. Dolly 
 Maylands thought it absurd to put on even the 
 appearance of mourning for such a creature, and 
 said so.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 175 
 
 " My dear child," answered Marion gently, " he 
 was my husband." 
 
 "I never can realise it," said Dolly. "Do you 
 remember, I used to ask you if you did not some- 
 times forget it yourself? " 
 
 "I never forgot it." Mrs. Darche's voice had a 
 wonderful gravity in it, without the least sadness. 
 She was a woman without affectation. 
 
 "No," said Dolly thoughtfully, "I suppose you 
 never had a chance. It is of no use, Marion dear," 
 she added after a little pause, and in a different 
 tone, as though she were tired of pretending a 
 sort of subdued sympathy, " it is of no use at all ! 
 I can never be sorry, you know so that ends it. 
 Why, just think ! You are free to marry any one 
 you please, to begin life over again. How many 
 women in your position ever had such a chance? 
 Not but what you would have been just as free 
 if you had got a divorce. But somehow, this 
 is much more solidly satisfactory. Yes, I know 
 it is horrid and unchristian but there is just 
 that there is a solid satisfaction in " 
 
 She was going to say "in death," but thought 
 better of it and checked herself.
 
 176 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "It will not make very much difference to me 
 just yet," said Marion. "Meanwhile, as I said, he 
 was my husband. I shall wear mourning a short 
 time, and then then I do not know what I shall 
 do." 
 
 " It must be very strange," answered Dolly. 
 
 "What, child?" 
 
 "Your life. Now you need not call me child 
 in that auntly tone, as though you were five 
 hundred thousand years older and wiser and duller 
 than I am. There are not six years between our 
 ages, you know." - 
 
 " Do not resent being young, Dolly." 
 
 " Resent it ! No, indeed ! I resent your way of 
 making yourself out to be old. In the pages of 
 future history we shall be spoken of as contem- 
 poraries." 
 
 Mrs. Darche smiled, and Dolly laughed. 
 
 "School-book style," said the girl. "That is my 
 morning manner. In the evening I am quite 
 different, thank goodness ! But to go back 
 what I meant was that your own life must seem 
 very strange to you. To have loved really of 
 course you did why should you deny it ? And
 
 MARION DARCHB. 177 
 
 then to have made the great mistake and to have 
 married the wrong man, and to have been good 
 and to have put up the shutters of propriety 
 and virtue so to say, and to have kept up a 
 sort of Sunday-go-to-meeting myth for years, ex- 
 pecting to do it for the rest of your life, and 
 then to have the luck well, no, I did not 
 mean to put it that way but to begin life all 
 over again, and the man you loved not married 
 yet, and just as anxious to marry you as ever " 
 
 " Stop, Dolly ! How do you know ? " Marion 
 knit her brows in annoyance. 
 
 " Oh ! I know nothing, of course. I can only 
 guess. But then, it is easy to guess, sometimes." 
 
 "I am not so sure," answered Marion thought- 
 fully, and looking at Dolly with some curiosity. 
 
 As for Brett, he said nothing to any one, when 
 the news of John Darche's death reached New 
 York. He supposed that people would take it for 
 granted that in the course of time he would marry 
 Marion, because the world knew that he had 
 formerly loved her, and that she had made a 
 mistake in not accepting him and would proba- 
 bly be quite willing to rectify it now that she
 
 178 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 was free. There had always been a certain 
 amount of inoffensive chaff about his devotion 
 to her interests. But he himself was very far 
 from assuming that she would take him now. 
 He knew her better than the world did, and 
 understood the unexpected hesitations and revul- 
 sions of which she was capable, much better than 
 the world could. 
 
 He took a hopeful view, however, as was 
 natural. For the present he waited and said 
 nothing. If she chose to go through the form 
 of mourning, he would go through the form of 
 respecting it while it lasted. Society is the 
 better for most of its conventionalities, a fact of 
 which one may easily assure oneself by spending 
 a little time in circles that make bold to laugh 
 at appearances. A man may break the social 
 barriers for a great object's sake, or out of true 
 passion as sheer necessity may force a man to 
 sleep by the road side. But a man who habit- 
 ually makes his bed in the gutter by choice is 
 a madman, and one who thinks himself above 
 manners and conventionalities is generally a fool. 
 There is nothing more intolerable than eccen-
 
 MARION DARCHB. 179 
 
 tricity for its own sake, nor more pitiful than 
 the perpetual acting of it to a gallery that will 
 not applaud. 
 
 For some time Brett continued to come and 
 see Marion regularly, and she did not hesitate 
 to show him that he was as welcome as ever. 
 Then, without any apparent cause, his manner 
 changed. He became much more grave than he 
 had ever been before, and those who knew him 
 well were struck by an alteration in his appear- 
 ance, not easily denned at first, but soon visible 
 to any one. He was growing pale and thin. 
 
 Vanbrugh strolled into his office on a warm 
 day in early June and sat down for a chat. 
 Brett's inner sanctum was in the Equitable 
 Building, measured twelve feet by eight, and 
 was furnished so as to leave a space of about 
 six feet by four in the middle, just enough 
 for two chairs and the legs of the people who 
 sat in them. Vanbrugh looked at his friend and 
 came to the just conclusion that something was 
 materially wrong with him. 
 
 "Brett," he said, suddenly, "let us run over to 
 Paris."
 
 180 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 " I cannot leave New York at present," Brett 
 answered, without hesitation, as though he had 
 already considered the question of going abroad. 
 
 "Not being able to leave New York is a more 
 or less dangerous disease which kills a great many 
 people," observed Vanbrugh. "You must leave 
 New York, whether you can or not. I do not 
 know whether you are ill or not, but you look 
 like an imperfectly boiled owl." 
 
 "I know I do. I want a change." 
 
 " Then come along." 
 
 "No, I cannot leave New York. I am not 
 joking, my dear fellow." 
 
 "I see you are not. I suppose it is of no use 
 to ask what is the matter. If you wanted help 
 you would say so. You evidently have something 
 on your mind. Anything I can do ? " 
 
 "No, I wish there were. I will tell you some 
 day. It is something rather odd and unusual." 
 
 Brett was not an imaginative man, or Vanbrugh, 
 judging from his appearance and manner, would 
 almost have suspected that he was suffering from 
 some persecution not quite natural or earthly. 
 He had the uneasy glance of a man who fancies
 
 MAEION DAECHB. 181 
 
 himself haunted by a sight he fears to see. 
 Vanbrugh looked at him a long time in silence 
 and then rose to go. 
 
 "I am sorry, old man," he said, with something 
 almost like a sigh. " You live too much alone," 
 he added, turning as he was about to open the 
 door. "You ought to get married." 
 
 Brett smiled in rather a ghastly fashion which 
 did not escape his friend. 
 
 "I cannot leave New York," he repeated 
 mechanically. 
 
 "Perhaps you will before long," said Vanbrugh, 
 going out. "I would if I were you." 
 
 He went away in considerable perplexity. 
 Something in Brett's manner puzzled him and 
 almost frightened him. As a lawyer, and one 
 accustomed to dealing with the worst side of 
 human nature, he was inclined to play the 
 detective for a time ; as a friend, he resolved 
 not to inquire too closely into a matter which 
 did not concern him. In fact, he had already 
 gone further than he had intended. Only a 
 refined nature can understand the depth of deg- 
 radation to which curiosity can reduce friendship.
 
 182 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 A day or two later Vanbrugh met Dolly May- 
 lands at a house in Tuxedo Park where he had 
 come to dine and spend the night. There were 
 enough people at the dinner to insure a little 
 privacy to those who had anything to say to one 
 another. 
 
 " Brett is ill," said Vanbrugh. " Do you know 
 what is the matter with him?" 
 
 " I suppose Marion has refused him after all," 
 answered Dolly, looking at her plate. 
 
 Vanbrugh glanced at her face and thought she 
 was a little pale. He remembered the conversa- 
 tion when they had been left together in the 
 library after John Darche's trial, and was glad 
 that he had then spoken cautiously, for he con- 
 nected her change of colour with himself, by a 
 roundabout and complicated reasoning more easy 
 to be understood than to explain. 
 
 "Perhaps she has," he said coolly. "But I do 
 not think it is probable." 
 
 " Mv. Brett does not go to see her any more." 
 
 " Really? Are you sure of that, Miss Maylands?" 
 
 " Marion has noticed it. She spoke to me of it 
 yesterday. I wondered "
 
 MARION DARCHE. 183 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Whether there had been any misunderstand- 
 ing. I suppose that is what I was going to say." 
 She blushed quickly, as she had turned pale a 
 moment before. " You see," she continued' rather 
 hurriedly, " people who have once misunderstood 
 one another may do the same thing again. Say, 
 for instance, that he vaguely hinted at marriage 
 men have such vague ways of proposing " 
 
 "Have they?" 
 
 " Of course and that Marion did not quite 
 realise what he meant, and turned the conversa- 
 tion, and that Mr. Brett took that for a refusal 
 and went away, and lost his appetite, and all 
 that would it not account for it ? " 
 
 " Yes," assented Vanbrugh with a smile. " It 
 might account for it though Harry Brett is not 
 a school girl of sixteen." 
 
 " Meaning that I am, I suppose," retorted Dolly, 
 anxious to get away from the subject which she 
 had not chosen, and to lead Vanbrugh up to what 
 she would have called the chaffing point. But he 
 was not in the humour for that. 
 
 "No," he said quietly. "I did not mean that." 
 And he relapsed into silence for a time.
 
 184 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 He was thinking the matter over, and he was 
 also asking himself whether, after all, he should 
 not ask Dolly Maylands to marry him, though 
 he was so much older than she. That was a 
 possibility which had presented itself to his mind 
 very often of late, and from time to time he 
 determined to solve the question in one way or 
 the other, and be done with it. But when he 
 wished to decide it, he found it capable of only 
 two answers; either he must offer himself or not. 
 Sometimes he thought he would and then he 
 fancied that he ought to prepare Dolly for so 
 grave a matter by giving up chaff when they 
 were together. But the first attempt at putting 
 this resolution into practice was a failure when- 
 ever he tried it. Chaff was Dolly's element, 
 she pined when she was deprived of it. The 
 serious part of her nature lay deep, and there 
 were treasures there, hidden far below the bright 
 tide of rippling laughter. Such treasures are some- 
 times lost altogether because no one discovers 
 them, or because no one knows how to bring 
 them to the surface. 
 
 As he sat by her side in silence, Vanbrugh was
 
 MARION DARCHE. 185 
 
 impelled to turn suddenly upon Dolly and ask 
 her to marry him, without further, diplomacy. 
 But he reflected upon the proverbial uncertainty 
 of woman's temper and held his peace. He had 
 never made love to her, and there had never been 
 anything approaching to a show of sentiment be- 
 tween them until that memorable afternoon when 
 the trial was over. Moreover Russell Vanbrugh was 
 a very comfortable man. Nothing less grammati- 
 cally incorrect could express the combination of 
 pleasant things which made up his life. He was 
 not lonely, in his father's house indeed, he was 
 not lonely anywhere. He was contented, rich 
 enough to satisfy all his tastes, popular in a cer- 
 tain degree among those he liked, peaceful, never 
 bored, occupying, as, it were, a well upholstered 
 stall at the world's play, when he chose to be 
 idle, and busy with matters in which he took a 
 healthy, enduring interest when he chose to work. 
 To marry would be to step into an unknown 
 country. He meant to make the venture some 
 day, but he had just enough of indolence in his 
 character to render the first effort a little distaste- 
 ful. Nevertheless, he was conscious that he
 
 186 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 thought more and more of Dolly, and that he 
 was, in fact, falling seriously in love with her, 
 and foreseeing that there was to be a change in 
 their relations, there arose the doubt, natural in a 
 man not over-vain, as to the reception he might 
 expect at her hands. 
 
 When Dolly next saw Marion Darche she pro- 
 ceeded to attack the question in her own way. 
 Marion was still in town, hesitating as to what 
 she should do with her summer. She had no 
 house in the country. The place which had be- 
 longed to her husband had gone with such little 
 property as he had still owned at the time of his 
 conviction to repair some of the harm he had 
 done. 
 
 The windows of the library were open, and a 
 soft south-easterly breeze was blowing up from 
 the square bringing a breath of coming summer 
 from the park leaves. Those who love New 
 York, even to the smell of its mud, know the 
 strange charm of its days and evenings in late 
 spring. Like the charm of woman, the charm of 
 certain great cities can never be explained by 
 those who feel it to those who do not. There
 
 MARION DARCHE. 187 
 
 were flowers in the library, and Dolly sat down 
 near the windows and breathed the sweet quiet 
 air before she spoke. 
 
 "Harry Brett is ill," she said. 
 
 "111? Seriously?" Marion had started slightly 
 at the news. 
 
 "Not ill at home," explained Dolly. "Mr. 
 Vanbrugh spoke of it the other night." 
 
 "Oh " Marion seemed relieved. "Perhaps 
 that is the reason why he does not come to see 
 me," she added rather inconsequently, after a 
 moment's pause. * 
 
 Dolly turned in her seat and looked into her 
 friend's eyes. 
 
 "Marion," she said gravely. "You know that 
 is not the reason why he does not come." 
 
 "I know? What do you mean, Dolly?" 
 
 In spite of the genuine and innocent surprise 
 in the tone, Dolly was not satisfied. 
 
 "He has asked you to marry him and you 
 have refused him," she said with conviction. 
 
 "I?" 
 
 For a moment Marion Darche stared in amaze- 
 ment. Then her eyes filled with tears and she
 
 188 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 turned away suddenly. Her voice was unsteady 
 as she answered. 
 
 "No. He has not asked me to marry him." 
 
 "Are you quite sure, dear?" insisted Dolly. 
 "You know men have such odd ways of saying 
 it, and sometimes one does not quite understand 
 and then a word, or a glance if a man is 
 very sensitive you know " 
 
 "Do not talk like that," said Marion, a little 
 abruptly. 
 
 A short silence followed, during which she 
 moved uneasily about the room, touching the 
 objects on the table, though they needed no 
 arrangement. At last she spoke again, out of the 
 dusk from the corner she had reached in her 
 peregrination. 
 
 "If he asked me to marry him, I should accept 
 him," she said in a low voice. 
 
 Dolly was silent in her turn. She had not 
 expected a direct confidence so soon, and had not 
 at all foreseen its nature, when it came almost 
 unasked. 
 
 " It is very strange ! " she exclaimed at last. 
 
 "Yes," echoed Marion Darche, quite simply. 
 "It is very strange."
 
 MARION DAKCHB. 189 
 
 It was long before the mystery was solved, and 
 Dolly did not refer to it in the meantime. Brett 
 did not go abroad, nor did he leave New York 
 for more than a few days during the summer, 
 though it was almost inconceivable that his 
 business should require his constant presence 
 during the dull season, and he could certainly 
 have left matters to his partner, had he not had 
 some very good reason for refusing to take a 
 holiday. 
 
 Mrs. Darche took Cousin Annie with her and 
 wandered about during a couple of months, visit- 
 ing various places which did not interest her, fall- 
 ing in with acquaintances often, and sometimes 
 with friends, but rather avoiding those she met 
 than showing any wish to see much of them. 
 
 To tell the truth, the great majority showed no 
 inclination to intrude upon her privacy. People 
 understood well enough that she should desire to 
 be alone and undisturbed, considering the strange 
 circumstances through which she had passed 
 during the winter and spring. Moreover Brett's 
 conduct elicited approval on all sides. It was 
 said that he showed good taste in not following
 
 190 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 Mrs. Darche from place to place, as he might 
 easily have done, and as most men in his position 
 undoubtedly would have done, for it was quite 
 clear that he was seriousiy in love. All his 
 friends had noticed the change of appearance and 
 manner, and others besides Vanbrugh had advised 
 him to take a rest, to go abroad, to go and shoot 
 bears, in short, to do one of the many things 
 which are generally supposed to contribute to 
 health and peace of mind. Then it was rumoured 
 that he was working harder than usual, in view of 
 his approaching marriage, that he was not so well 
 off as had generally been supposed, and that he 
 wished to forestall any remarks to the effect that 
 he was going to marry Mrs. Darche for the sake 
 of her fortune, which was considerable. In short, 
 people said everything they could think of, and 
 all the things that are usually thought of in such 
 cases, and when they had reached the end of 
 their afflictions they talked of other friends whose 
 doings formed a subject of common interest. 
 
 Mrs. Darche did not find much companionship 
 in her cousin, but that was not exactly what she 
 required or expected .of Mrs. Willoughby. She
 
 MARION DARCHE. 191 
 
 wanted the gray, colourless atmosphere which the 
 widowed lady seemed to take about with her, and 
 she liked it merely because it was neutral, restful 
 and thoroughly unemotional. She did not think 
 of creating new diversions for herself, nor of taking 
 up new interests. Her life had been so full that 
 this temporary emptiness was restful to her. She 
 was surprised at rinding how little the present 
 resembled what she had expected it to be, so long 
 as it had been still a future. As yet, too, there 
 was an element of uncertainty in it which did 
 not preclude pleasant reflections. Though she had 
 said to Dolly that Brett's conduct was changed, 
 she could still explain it to herself well enough 
 to be satisfied with her own conclusions. Doubt- 
 less he felt that it was yet too soon to speak or 
 even to show by his actions that he had anything 
 to say. She could well believe and indeed it 
 was flattering that he abstained from seeing her 
 because he felt that in her presence he might not 
 be able to control his speech. She called up in 
 her memory what had taken place many months 
 previously when she had sent for him and had 
 told him that she needed a large sum of money at
 
 192 MARION DAKCHB. 
 
 short notice how he had lost his head on that 
 occasion, and allowed words to break out which 
 both of them had regretted. Since there was now 
 no obstacle in the way, it would of course be 
 harder for him than ever to act the part of a 
 disinterested friend, even for the short time the 
 shortest possible during which she went through 
 the form of wearing mourning for John Darche. 
 She could still say to herself that it was delicate 
 and tactful on Brett's part to act as he was acting, 
 although she sometimes thought, or wished, that 
 he might have allowed what was passing in his 
 mind to betray itself by a glance, a gesture or a 
 gentle intonation. It was certainly pushing the 
 proprieties to the utmost to keep away from her 
 altogether. Even when he wrote to her, as he 
 had occasion to do several times during the 
 summer, he confined himself almost entirely to 
 matters of business, and the little phrase with 
 which he concluded each of his communications 
 seemed to grow more and more formal. There 
 had always been something a little exaggerated in 
 Harry Brett's behaviour. It had been that per- 
 haps, which in old times had frightened her, had
 
 MAKION DARCHE. 193 
 
 prevented her from accepting him, and had made 
 her turn in mistaken confidence to the man of 
 grave moderation and apparently unchanging pur- 
 pose who had become her husband. 
 
 Dolly Maylands had no such illusions with 
 regard to Brett's conduct, though she did not 
 again discuss the matter with Russell Vanbrugh. 
 She was conscious that he felt as she did, that 
 something mysterious had taken place about which 
 neither of them knew anything, but which was 
 seriously and permanently influencing Harry Brett's 
 life. Dolly, however, was more discreet than was 
 commonly supposed, and. kept her surmises to 
 herself. When Mrs. Darche and Brett were 
 discussed before her, she said as little as she 
 could, and allowed people to believe that she 
 shared the common opinion, namely, that the two 
 people would be married before the year was out 
 and that, in the meanwhile, both were behaving 
 admirably. 
 
 Vanbrugh wandered about a good deal during 
 the summer, returning to New York from time 
 to time, more out of habit than necessity. He 
 
 made visits at various country houses among his 
 
 17 Vol. 9
 
 194 MAK1ON DAKCHE. 
 
 friends, spent several days on board of several 
 yachts, was seen more than once in Bar Harbour, 
 and once, at least, at Newport and on the whole 
 did all those things which are generally expected 
 of a successful man in the summer holidays. He 
 wrote to Brett several times, but they did not 
 meet often. The tone of his friend's letters 
 tended to confirm his suspicion of some secret 
 
 
 
 trouble. Brett wrote in a nervous and detached 
 way and often complained of the heat and dis- 
 comfort during July and August, though he never 
 gave a sufficient reason for staying where he was. 
 
 On the other hand, Vanbrugh found that where 
 he was invited Dolly Maylands was often invited 
 too, and that there seemed to be a general impres- 
 sion -that they liked one another's society and 
 should be placed together at dinner. 
 
 More than once, Vanbrugh felt again the strong 
 impulse to which he had almost yielded at 
 Tuxedo. More than once he made a serious at- 
 tempt to change the tone of his conversation with 
 Dolly. She did not fail to notice this, of course, 
 and being slightly embarrassed generally became 
 grave and silent on such occasions, thereby lead-
 
 MARION DARCHE. 195 
 
 ing Vanbrugh to suppose that she was bored, 
 which very much surprised the successful man 
 of the world at first and very much annoyed him 
 afterwards. 
 
 So the summer passed away, and all concerned 
 in this little story were several months older if 
 not proportionately wiser.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IN the autumn, Marion Darche returned to 
 town, feeling that since she was to begin life 
 over again, and since her friends had accepted the 
 fact, there was no reason for not taking the first 
 steps at once. She intended to live very quietly, 
 occupying herself as best she could, for she knew 
 that some occupation was necessary to her, now 
 that the whole busy existence of the last five years 
 was over. She did not know what to do. She 
 consulted Dolly, and would have liked to con- 
 sult Brett, but he rarely called, and then, by 
 design or coincidence, he always seemed to appear 
 just when some one else was with her. 
 
 More than once she had thought of writing 
 to him freely, asking him to explain the cause 
 of his conduct and to put an end to the estrange- 
 ment which was growing up between them. She 
 even went so far as to begin a letter, but it was 
 never finished and found its way to the fire 
 
 196
 
 MARION DAKCHB. 197 
 
 before it was half written. She could not, how- 
 ever, keep her thoughts from dwelling on him, 
 since there was no longer any reason for trying 
 to forget his existence. She was not lacking in 
 pride, and if she had believed that Harry Brett 
 no longer loved her, she would have still been 
 strong enough to bury the memory of him out 
 of sight and beyond danger of resurrection. But 
 he did not behave in such a way as to convince 
 her of that. A woman's instinct is rarely wrong 
 in telling her whether she is loved or not, unless 
 she is confronted with a man of superior wicked- 
 ness or goodness. The strength which breeds 
 great virtues and great vices lends that perfect 
 control of outward manner which is called, dia- 
 bolical or heroic according to circumstances. Harry 
 Brett was not such a man. He could keep away 
 from the house in Lexington Avenue, because 
 for some reason or other he believed it necessary 
 to avoid Mrs. Darche's society ; but he could 
 not simulate what he did not feel, nor conceal 
 his real feelings when he was with her. The 
 cold, nervous hand, the quick glance, the momen- 
 tary hesitation, the choice of a seat a little too
 
 198 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 far from her side all told Marion that he loved 
 her still, and that he believed himself obliged to 
 stay away, and was afraid to be alone with her. 
 
 At last she made up her mind to do some- 
 thing which should show him definitely that she 
 now regarded her mourning as a mere formality, 
 and intended before long to return to her former 
 way of living, as though nothing had happened. 
 She determined to ask Brett and Vanbrugh and 
 Dolly to luncheon. It certainly was not a very 
 wild dissipation which she proposed, but it was 
 the first time she had invited more than one of 
 them at the same time. And cousin Annie Wil- 
 loughby petitioned for a fourth guest by a -very 
 gentle and neutral hint. She had a certain el- 
 derly friend, one James Brown, who was the only 
 person living who seemed able to talk to her 
 for any length of time. 
 
 Mr. Brown had been a disappointment to his 
 friends in his youth. He was regarded as a 
 failure. Great things had been expected of him 
 when he left college and during several years 
 afterwards. But his so-called gifts had turned 
 out to be -only tastes, and he had never accom-
 
 MARION DARCHE. 199 
 
 plished anything. He had not the enthusiastic, 
 all-devouring, all-appreciative, omnivorous nature 
 which makes some amateurs delightful companions 
 and invaluable flatterers. Though he really 
 knew something about several subjects no one 
 ever had the slightest respect for his opinion 
 or judgment. He was an agreeable man, a good- 
 natured gossip, a harmless critic. He always 
 seemed to have read every word of books which 
 most people found tiresome and skimmed in 
 half an hour, and he never was acquainted with 
 the book of the hour until the hour was past. 
 No one ever understood why he liked Mrs. 
 Willoughby, nor why she liked him, but if 
 people thought of the matter at all they thought 
 the friendship very appropriate. Mr. Brown 
 knew everybody in society and was useful in 
 filling a place, because he was a bachelor, and 
 joined in the hum if not in the conversation. 
 In appearance he was a bald man with refined 
 features, a fair beard turning gray, gentle blue 
 eyes, an average figure, small feet and hands, 
 well-made clothes, a chronic watch-chain and a 
 ring with an intaglio. His strong point was his
 
 200 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 memory, his weak point was his absence of 
 tact. 
 
 Marion, who intended that the general conversa- 
 tion of the table should be followed by a general 
 pairing off after the coffee, reflected that Mr. 
 Brown would amuse Mrs. Willoughby while Van- 
 brugh talked to Dolly and she herself had an 
 opportunity of speaking with Brett. So she asked 
 Mr. Brown to join the party, and he accepted. 
 Dolly came first, but Mr. Brown, who was punctu- 
 ality itself, appeared a moment later. Vanbrugh 
 arrived next, and last of all Harry Brett, a little 
 late and apologising rather nervously. 
 
 " Did you get my note ? " he inquired of Van- 
 brugh, after the first greetings and as soon as he 
 could exchange a word with him, unnoticed in the 
 general conversation. 
 
 "No. Anything important? I went out early 
 before eleven o'clock, and have not been at home 
 since." 
 
 "There was an interesting story of a wreck in 
 the paper this morning," said Mr. Brown, address- 
 ing the three ladies. 
 
 "Stop him," said Brett to Vanbrugh in an
 
 MARION DARCHB. 201 
 
 energetic whisper. " Now Brown, my dear fellow/' 
 he continued aloud, sitting down beside Mrs. 
 Darche, " do not begin the day by giving us the 
 Sunday Herald entire, because we have all read 
 it and we know all about the wreck " 
 
 Mr. Brown, who was used to interruption and 
 to being checked when he was about to bore 
 people, looked up with mild eyes and protested 
 a little. 
 
 "I say, Brett, you know, you are rather abrupt 
 sometimes, in your way of shutting people up. 
 But as you say, they have probably all read the 
 story. I only thought " 
 
 " Only thought ! " cried Vanbrugh, taking his 
 cue from his friend. " Only ! As though think- 
 ing were not the most important function of the 
 human animal, next to luncheon " 
 
 "I have not read the story Mr. Brown alludes 
 to," observed Mrs. Willoughby rather primly. 
 
 "Oh it is all about natural history, and 
 cannibals and latitudes and people in a boat," 
 said Brett talking very fast. "All that kind* of 
 thing. As for the news I can give you lots of 
 it. Great fire, strike, a new bacillus in postage-
 
 202 MARION DAECHE. 
 
 stamp gum awfully dangerous, Mrs. Willoughby. 
 Always use a sponge for moistening your stamps 
 or you will get something some sort of new 
 disease what is it, Vanbrugh ? You always 
 know everything." 
 
 " Gum-boils," suggested Vanbrugh, without 
 hesitation. 
 
 Brett gave him a grateful look, as Mr. Brown's 
 laughter assured him that the danger was over 
 for the present. But Brett did not desist until 
 Stubbs opened the dining-room door and they all 
 went in to luncheon. Mrs. Darche watched him 
 curiously, wondering what was the matter. She 
 had never before heard him talk so nervously. 
 Vanbrugh had not the slightest idea of what had 
 happened, but blindly followed Brett's lead, and 
 helped him to annihilate Mr. Brown whenever 
 the latter showed the least inclination to tell a 
 story. 
 
 Mr. Brown, however, was an obstinate person. 
 He was not quick on his feet mentally, so to say, 
 and an insignificant idea had as strong a hold 
 upon his thoughts as an important one. Some- 
 how he managed to tell the tale of the wreck to
 
 MARION DARCHE. 203 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby and Dolly in the little shifting 
 of companionship which always takes place on 
 leaving table. To do him justice, he told it very 
 shortly, and Mrs. Darche did not chance to be 
 listening at the time. Stubbs was offering every- 
 body coffee, and Marion had a box of cigarettes 
 and was standing before the fireplace with Van- 
 brugh and Brett, exchanging a few words with 
 the latter. Suddenly Mr. Brown's voice rose 
 above the rest. 
 
 "Of course," he was saying, "nobody ever knew 
 positively that the man had really been drowned. 
 But he had never turned up " 
 
 "And probably never will," answered Dolly, 
 glancing nervously at Marion. But she had 
 caught the words and had turned a little pale. 
 
 Vanbrugh looked over to Brown. 
 
 "For heaven's sake, Jim," he said, in a low 
 voice. "Talk about something else, if you must, 
 you know!" 
 
 Mr. Brown's face fell as he realised his mistake. 
 
 " By Jove ! " he exclaimed. " Just like me ! I 
 forgot that poor Darche drowned himself." 
 
 Marion recovered herself quickly and came
 
 204 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 forward, offering her box of cigarettes to every- 
 body, while Brett carried the little silver spirit lamp. 
 
 "You must all smoke and make yourselves 
 happy," she said with a smile. " Cousin Annie 
 does not mind it in the least." 
 
 "Well, of course," began Mrs. Willoughby, 
 primly polite, "nowadays " 
 
 "There is nobody like you, Mrs. Darche," said 
 Vanbrugh, accepting the offer. "Thanks." 
 
 " They are your especial kind," answered Marion. 
 
 "I know they are that is what I mean. How 
 you spoil me!" 
 
 Marion went on. 
 
 "Mr. Brown?" 
 
 "Yes, thank you. I do smoke sometimes," 
 answered Mr. Brown, hesitating in the matter 
 between his allegiance to Mrs. Willoughby, who 
 disapproved of smoking in the drawing-room, and 
 his duty to his hostess, who encouraged it. 
 
 "I hope you always do," said Marion. "When 
 a man does not smoke Mr. Brett, take one." 
 
 She had stopped herself, remembering that her 
 husband had not been a smoker, but Mr. Brown 
 finished the sentence for her with his usual tact.
 
 MABION DARCHE. 
 
 " Yes," he said, lighting his cigarette, " men who 
 do not smoke always seem to me to be suspicious 
 characters." 
 
 "Dolly, try one," said Marion, trying not to 
 hear him. 
 
 " Oh, Marion ! " Dolly laughed. 
 
 " Try it," said Vanbrugh, sitting down beside her. 
 
 The party had paired off, and Marion found 
 herself near the window with Brett, beside a 
 table covered with photographs and etchings. 
 
 "I wonder why Miss Maylands should seem 
 shocked," began Brett, entering into conversation 
 rather awkwardly. "I have no doubt that she, 
 and you, and perhaps Mrs. Willoughby, have 
 all tried a cigarette in secret, and perhaps you 
 have liked it?" 
 
 " If I liked cigarettes I would smoke them," 
 said Mrs. Darche, with decision. 
 
 "Do you always do what you like?" 
 
 "In little things." 
 
 " And how about the big things ? " inquired 
 Brett. 
 
 "I like to have other people take care of them 
 for me."
 
 206 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "What people?" As he asked the question 
 he absently took a photograph from the table 
 and looked at it. 
 
 "People who know me," said Marion. 
 
 " Meaning me ? " 
 
 "If you like." 
 
 " If I like ! " exclaimed Brett. Then, having 
 broken the ice, as it were, his voice suddenly 
 changed. " There is nothing I like so much, 
 there is nothing I would rather do than take 
 care of you and what belongs to you." 
 
 "You have shown it," answered Mrs. Darche 
 gently. She took the photograph from Brett's 
 hand and looked at it, in her turn, without 
 seeing it. 
 
 "I have tried to, once or twice," said Brett, 
 "when you needed help." 
 
 "Indeed you have. And you know that I am 
 grateful too." 
 
 "I do not care to know that," he replied. "If 
 I ever did anything for you it was only what 
 any other man would have done in my place 
 it was not for the sake of ^earning your grati- 
 tude."
 
 MARION DABCHE. 207 
 
 "For what then?" 
 
 Brett hesitated a moment before he answered, 
 and then turned from her towards the window 
 as he spoke. 
 
 " It was not for the sake of anything." 
 
 " Mere caprice, then ? " asked Marion, watching 
 him closely. 
 
 "No, not that." 
 
 "I suppose your motives are a secret?" 
 Marion laughed a little, perhaps at her own 
 curiosity. 
 
 "Yes." Brett pronounced the single word with 
 great earnestness. 
 
 " Dear me ! " exclaimed Marion. 
 
 "Yes. And I shall be very sorry if you ever 
 find out what that secret is." 
 
 " How mysterious ! " 
 
 "Yes, is it not?" 
 
 Brett had suddenly assumed a tone of indiffer- 
 ence. As he spoke Vanbrugh and Dolly rose 
 and came forwards towards the table. 
 
 " If you have quite finished not looking at 
 those photographs, give them to me, Brett," said 
 Vanbrugh. " Miss Maylands wishes to see them."
 
 208 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 " Oh, take them by all means," answered Brett, 
 thrusting a dozen or more into his hands. "As 
 I was saying, Mrs. Darche, I am the worst judge 
 of architecture in the world especially from 
 photographs." 
 
 " Architecture, eh ? " observed Vanbrugh, as he 
 re-crossed the room with Dolly. "Rather hard 
 on photographs of etchings from portraits." 
 
 " Oh, no ! " exclaimed Dolly, laughing softly 
 and looking back at Brett and Mrs. Darche. 
 " They talk of love's temple, you know, and 
 building up one's happiness and lots of things 
 of that sort the architecture of the affections." 
 
 " You seem to care," said Vanbrugh, sitting 
 down and laying the photographs upon his knees. 
 
 "Do I? Do you not?" 
 
 "I oh, well, hi a sort of a fatherly way, I 
 suppose." ,He held up one of the photographs 
 upside down and looked at it. 
 
 "Yes. Now I care in a sort of a sisterly way, 
 you know. It is very much the same thing, I 
 fancy." 
 
 " Is that all ? " asked Vanbrugh with a short 
 laugh. "I thought you had made up your mind."
 
 MARION DAECHE. 209 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 "About Harry Brett." 
 
 Dolly looked at him in surprise and drew her- 
 self up a little stiffly. "What about him?" 
 
 " I do not mean to be rude, nor inquisitive, nor 
 anything of the sort so I think I had better 
 turn the conversation." 
 
 "But you do not. You are waiting for me to 
 say something. Do you think I am afraid? Do 
 you think I am like all the girls you meet and 
 dance with, and repeat your pretty speeches to ? " 
 
 "Repeat is graceful," said Vanbrugh, "consider- 
 ate so kind of you." 
 
 * C I do not feel kind," answered Dolly emphatically, 
 "and I am not at all afraid of telling the truth." 
 
 " Considering your interest in Sunday schools 
 that is what I should expect." 
 
 " I am just as fond of dancing and enjoying my- 
 self as any one else," said Dolly, relenting, 
 "though I do take an interest in Sunday schools." 
 
 " Fashionable charities and dissipations, as Brett 
 calls them I see." 
 
 "Do not see in that tone of voice, please if 
 what you see has anything to do with me."
 
 210 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "Which it has," said Vanbrugh. "Mrs. Darche 
 is one of your charities, I suppose and Harry 
 Brett is one of your dissipations." 
 
 " You are too complicated," answered Dolly, 
 really not understanding. " Say it in American, 
 will you not? " 
 
 "You love Brett, and you are nice to Mrs. 
 Darche, though you hate her," said Vanbrugh in 
 a tone which left Dolly in doubt as to whether 
 he was in earnest or only chaffing. She paused 
 a moment and stared at him before she answered, 
 and then to his great astonishment spoke with 
 more coldness than he was accustomed to. 
 
 " Precisely," she said. " I love Mrs. Darche 
 and I hate Brett because he does not ask her to 
 marry him as he should, now that Darche has 
 been dead so long. I am sorry, Marion," she 
 said, turning to Mrs. Darche, and going up to 
 her rather suddenly, " dear I really must be 
 going." 
 
 "Already?" exclaimed Marion in surprise, "it 
 is not three o'clock?" 
 
 "Almost," said Dolly, "and I have lots to do 
 ever so many people waiting for me at a Com-
 
 MARION DARCHE. 211 
 
 mittee, and then a visit I must make, and a frock 
 to try on and then if we are to dine at seven 
 so as to be dressed in time for the tableaux 
 there is no afternoon at all." - 
 
 " How busy you are ! Yet you always look so 
 fresh! How in the world do you do it?" 
 
 "A large appetite and a clear conscience " 
 suggested Brett, who seemed to be more than 
 usually absent-minded. 
 
 Dolly glanced at him rather angrily as she 
 shook hands with her friend. " Good-bye, dear 
 Marion. It has been ever so nice ! Good-bye." 
 
 She left the room. Vanbrugh was annoyed 
 and discomforted by her sudden departure, but he 
 made the best of the situation, and after closing the 
 door behind her, sat down beside Mrs. Willoughby, 
 who was listening to one of Brown's stories. 
 
 "I suppose she is angry with me," said Brett 
 to Marion. " What did I say ? I was thinking 
 of something else." 
 
 "Then why did you choose that moment for 
 speaking of her? " asked Mrs. Darche reproach- 
 fully. "You really must take care, you will 
 make enemies."
 
 212 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "Of course. What does it matter?" 
 
 "It matters to me, if you make enemies of my 
 friends." 
 
 "That is different," said Brett. "But seriously 
 do not people forgive a lack of tact some- 
 times being a little absent-minded? Look at 
 Jim Brown." 
 
 " That is quite another thing," Marion answered. 
 " Yes I heard" what he was telling as we came 
 into the room after the luncheon. Of course it 
 was tactless. Of course no man in his senses 
 should talk in a loud tone, before me, of a man 
 falling overboard at sea and being drowned, still 
 less " 
 
 "What?" asked Brett. 
 
 A short pause followed the question, and 
 when Marion answered it, it was evident that 
 she was making an effort. 
 
 " Still less of the possibility that such a man 
 might be heard of again some day." 
 
 "That at least is improbable," said Brett, 
 very gravely. 
 
 "I shivered when I heard what he said." 
 
 "I do not wonder."
 
 MARION DARCHE. 213 
 
 In the meantime, at the other end of the room, 
 Mr. Brown was enjoying at last the supreme 
 satisfaction of talking without reserve about the 
 story he had seen in the papers that morning. 
 
 " One never knows what to believe," said Mrs. 
 Willoughby. 
 
 "Believe nothing," said Vanbrugh with much 
 conviction. "In particular, my dear Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby, do not believe in Brown's tales. He is 
 a perfectly idle man, and he does nothing but 
 sleep and talk, because he has a liver and cannot 
 eat. A man who has nothing to do requires 
 a great deal of sleep and a great deal of con- 
 versation." 
 
 " I say, Russell, old man," protested Mr. Brown 
 with a good-humoured laugh, "this is rather un- 
 kind. Where would you get your conversation if 
 I did not supply you with the items? That is 
 what one's best friends come to, Mrs. Willoughby, 
 in this bustling world. And why should not 
 people eat, sleep, and talk, and do nothing else 
 if the}*- have time? But as for this story, I never 
 pretended that it was anything but newspaper 
 gossip not even that a sensation item, manu-
 
 214 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 factured down town, perhaps. 'Woman burned 
 alive in Jersey City, ' five lines ' Deny the 
 report,' five lines more that is the sort of 
 thing. But this is a strange coincidence, or a 
 strange story. It might almost be poor Darche's 
 case, with a sensational ending." 
 
 "Oh, well," answered Vanbrugh, who by this 
 time quite understood the meaning of Brett's 
 strange conduct before luncheon, " of course it is 
 only a sensational paragraph, and belongs to your 
 department, Brown. But as you say, the coinci- 
 dences are extraordinary. A man says he fell 
 overboard from a Channel boat, and was picked 
 up by an Italian bark, which took him to Val- 
 paraiso after all sorts of adventures. The weak 
 point in these stories generally is that the man 
 never seems to take the trouble to communicate 
 with his relations from the first port he reaches, 
 and takes an awful lot of trouble to get ship- 
 wrecked somewhere on the way. But in this case 
 that is the strong point. What did you say the 
 fellow's name was ? " 
 
 "Why, my dear man, that is three-quarters of 
 the coincidence. He calls himself John Drake.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 215 
 
 Transpose the 'r' and the 'a,' and that looks un- 
 commonly like John Darche." 
 
 "No doubt," said Vanbrugh; "but then there 
 is nothing peculiar about 'John.' If he had been 
 christened 'Eliphalet Xenophon' it would have 
 been considerably stranger. Besides if he really 
 were Darche he would not call himself either 
 Darche or John." 
 
 " How can you suggest anything so dreadful ! " 
 exclaimed Mrs. Willoughby. 
 
 "Why 'dreadful'?" asked Mr. Brown. 
 
 " Only think of it," said Mrs. Willoughby. 
 "An escaped suicide I mean, a convict who 
 escaped and killed himself." 
 
 "And you think that the disgrace of having 
 committed suicide will cling to him in after life, 
 so to say in Sing-Sing?" inquired Mr. Brown. 
 
 "Do not make me out more stupid than I 
 really am." Cousin Annie assumed a deprecatory 
 expression. " Do you not think that a man like 
 Darche convicted of a crime escaped if he 
 suddenly re re What is the word?" 
 
 "Imperfectly resurrected," suggested Vanbrugh. 
 
 " Oh yes ! Anything ! If he came back to
 
 216 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 life, and yet was supposed to be dead, and was 
 trying to begin all over again and to make a fresh 
 start, and that kind of thing under another 
 name " 
 
 "In" order to enjoy the satisfaction of seeing 
 his widow marry some one else ? " asked Van- 
 brugh, with less discretion than usual. 
 
 "I did not mean that," said Mrs. Willoughby 
 quickly. " Poor Marion ! Poor Marion ! What 
 time is it, Mr. Brown?" 
 
 " Three." 
 
 " Oh dear ! " exclaimed cousin Annie. 
 
 " Dear me ! " echoed Vanbrugh. 
 
 "Yes, it is later than I thought," said Mr. 
 Brown. 
 
 By a common impulse, all three rose at once 
 and crossed the room to take leave of their 
 hostess. 
 
 " What, are you all going ? " asked the latter. 
 
 " Do you know what time it is, Marion ? " And 
 not waiting for an answer, Mrs. Willoughby held 
 out her hand. 
 
 " It is awfully late," observed Vanbrugh, by way 
 of explanation.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 217 
 
 " Thank you so much," said Mr. Brown, shaking 
 hands warmly. 
 
 " Yes, it is later than I thought." Brett looked 
 at his watch, though by this time he had made 
 up his mind to outstay the others. 
 
 " Well if you must go " 
 
 Marion did not show any anxiety to detain her 
 guests as they filed out of the room. 
 
 " You did not mean me to go away with the 
 crowd, did you ? " asked Brett, as the door closed 
 behind Mr. Brown. 
 
 " Not if you wished to stay," answered Marion, 
 taking her favourite chair near the fire. " Take 
 another cigarette. Sit down." 
 
 " And make myself at home ? Thanks." 
 
 "If you can," said Mrs. Darche with a pleasant 
 laugh. 
 
 " Did you hear what they were saying to each 
 other over there while we were talking?" inquired 
 Brett, who by this time seemed to have recovered 
 from the unnatural embarrassment he had shown 
 at first. He had rather suddenly made up his 
 mind that Marion ought to know something about 
 the story in the papers. 
 
 J 18 Vol. 9
 
 218 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 " No. Did you ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I do not like that." Mrs. Darche did not 
 seem pleased. " It was not nice of you to be 
 able to talk as you were talking,- and to listen to 
 the conversation of other people at the same time." 
 
 "Do you know what they were saying?" asked 
 Brett. 
 
 " No, certainly not." 
 
 "It is not a pleasant subject. They were talk- 
 ing about that paragraph in the papers again. Of 
 course there is nothing in the story, and yet it 
 is very strange. May I speak of it?" 
 
 " Is it of any use ? " asked Mrs. Darche, begin- 
 ning to suspect what was coming. 
 
 "I hardly know," Brett answered, "and yet if 
 it should turn out there is even the smallest 
 grain of truth " 
 
 " There cannot be. I know there cannot be," 
 she repeated, after a moment's pause, as though 
 she had gone over the whole question in the 
 interval. " Oh, what is the use of suggesting 
 such things ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered , Brett. " You know there can-
 
 MARION DAKCHE. 219 
 
 not be any truth in it even if he were alive 
 he would not come back. I know it, and yet if 
 he should, it would be so horrible that I cannot 
 help thinking of it. You know what it would 
 mean if that man were to return." 
 
 "I know what it would mean to me. Do not 
 speak of it, please." 
 
 "I must, I cannot help it. I feel as if some- 
 thing were driving me to speak. You did not 
 hear the whole story. They said the man was 
 picked up in mid-channel by an Italian ship 
 more than seven months ago." 
 
 " Seven months ago ! " 
 
 "Even the time would fit the truth. But then 
 stop. Was he a swimmer? Yes of course 
 I remember him at Newport." Brett answered 
 his own question. " The ship a bark they called 
 it was outward bound, and could not put in 
 again. She was on her way to Valparaiso. You 
 know where that is, all the way round by the 
 Straits of Magellan. Something happened to her, 
 she got wrecked or something they say that a 
 lot of the crew were killed and eaten up by the 
 cannibals in Terra del Fuego. John Drake "
 
 220 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 " John Drake ! " Marion exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes, another coincidence. John Drake hor- 
 ribly like is it not? managed to escape with 
 the second mate, the carpenter, and the cabin boy, 
 got across to the Patagonian country there are 
 lots of details. They wandered about for ever 
 so long, and at last turned up somewhere. They 
 were all Italians, and Drake, who had no papers, 
 was shipped off again by the Consul on board 
 of another Italian ship. That accounts for six 
 months, with the bad weather they had. Then 
 there is a long blank. And now this John Drake 
 turns up here " 
 
 "Yes but after all, if he changed his name, 
 he would change it altogether." She stopped and 
 looked at him, for the argument seemed conclusive. 
 
 "That is not the only point that is not clear," 
 Brett answered. "But the names are so dread- 
 fully alike." 
 
 " But there is a very great difference ! " Marion 
 exclaimed. " There are a great many Drakes 
 but Darche is a very uncommon name." 
 
 "That is the reason why he changed it so 
 little."
 
 MARION DABCHB. 221 
 
 " Oh, why do you suggest such a possibility 
 of what use is it ? Why ? " She rose suddenly 
 and began to move about the room. 
 
 "Because I am a fool, I suppose," Brett an- 
 swered, not moving from his seat. "But I cannot 
 help it. The idea has taken hold of me and I 
 cannot get rid of it. I feel as though that man 
 had risen from the dead to wreck your life." 
 
 " It would be a wreck indeed ! " said Marion 
 in a low voice that had a sort of horror in it. 
 " You could not save me this time not even 
 
 y.ou." 
 
 "And yet " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "No I ought not to say it." 
 
 " Mysteries again ? " Marion stopped beside him 
 and looked down into his face. 
 
 "The same, if you choose to call it a mystery." 
 
 "I wish you would speak out, my dear friend," 
 said Marion gravely. "I feel all the time that 
 there is something in your mind which you wish 
 to say to me, but which you will not, or cannot, 
 or dare not say. Am I right?" 
 
 "To some extent."
 
 222 MARION DABCHE. 
 
 " I do not " think you understand what friend- 
 ship really means." 
 
 "Friendship?" Brett exclaimed. "For you? 
 No, perhaps I do not. I wish I did. I would 
 give a great deal if I could." 
 
 "I do not in the least understand," said Marion, 
 sitting down again. "You, my best friend, tell 
 me in the most serious, not to say mysterious way, 
 that you do not know what friendship means, 
 when you are proving every day that you do. I 
 hate secrets ! Very few friendships will bear them. 
 I wish there were none between us." 
 
 "Ah, so do I!" 
 
 " Then let there be none," said Marion in a tone 
 that was almost authoritative. " Why should there 
 be ? In the dear old times when I was so unhappy 
 and you were so good to me, we had no secrets, 
 at least none that I knew of. Why should we 
 have any now?" 
 
 "The very reason why there must be one at all 
 is the secret itself. Will you not believe me if I 
 tell you that it would hurt you very much to know 
 it?" 
 
 "It is hard to believe, and I" she laughed
 
 MARION DARCHE. 223 
 
 "I can confess to a reasonable amount of curiosity 
 on the subject." 
 
 "Do not be curious," said Brett, very gravely, 
 "please do not be curious. You might find it out 
 and I should never forgive myself." 
 
 " But if I forgave you " 
 
 "That would make no difference. That would 
 not make the smallest difference." 
 
 " What ! Not to you ? " Mrs. Darche glanced 
 at him in surprise. 
 
 "Not to me," answered Brett with decision. "The 
 harm would be done." 
 
 " Utterly incomprehensible ! " exclaimed Marion 
 as though speaking to herself. "I cannot help 
 asking you again," she said turning to Brett again. 
 "Tell me, has it anything to do with my husband?" 
 
 "Yes it has." 
 
 " Then tell me ! Tell me, for heaven's sake ! " 
 By this time she was growing anxious. 
 
 "Not for the world," said Brett firmly. 
 
 "You do not know how unkind you are. You 
 do not know you do not know how much your 
 friendship is to me, and how you are letting this 
 wretched mystery come between us."
 
 224 MARION DAB.CHE. 
 
 "I know better, better than you can guess." 
 
 "And you are keeping it to yourself because 
 you are afraid of hurting me hurting me!" she 
 repeated bitterly. "As though I were not past 
 hurting, these many months, as though I had not 
 been through most all that a woman can bear and 
 live, and yet I have borne it and have lived. No, 
 I am wrong. I can still be hurt. Two things 
 could hurt me. If by some horrible miracle John 
 came back to life, and if " She paused and 
 hesitated. 
 
 "What?" asked Brett, who hardly seemed to 
 be listening to her. 
 
 "If you allowed anything to break up this 
 friendship of ours. But the one is impossible. 
 John is dead, and I have lived down the shame 
 of his memory, and the other no, it would be 
 your fault." 
 
 "It would hurt you much more to know what 
 I am keeping from you than to lose my friendship, 
 or rather your friendship for me," said Brett, 
 shaking his head. "Mine you cannot lose, what- 
 ever you do. I am giving you the best proof of 
 it now."
 
 MARION DARCHE. 225 
 
 "And do you mean to say that after all that 
 came out in those dark days, that after the trial 
 and conviction, and my husband's escape and his 
 horrible end, that there is still worse behind? 
 that he left something which you know and I do 
 not know, but which, if I knew it, could still have 
 the power to wreck my life and break what is the 
 best part of me yes, I am not ashamed to say 
 so the best part of me our friendship. I am 
 not tired of the sound of that word yet, nor shall 
 be. Do you mean that? Do you really mean 
 what you say?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Brett, who had nodded at each 
 of her questions. " I mean that there is something 
 which I know, and of which the knowledge might 
 ruin the happiness you have found since you have 
 been alone. And yet you ask me to tell you what 
 it is, when no possible good could come from your 
 knowledge of it." 
 
 " Yes, I do," said Marion, emphatically. " And 
 as for my happiness, you are killing it with every 
 word you say. You have knocked from under 
 my feet the security of my position and you 
 have taken the good out of what was best
 
 226 MARION DABCHE. 
 
 by saying that a word from you would spoil 
 it. What is there left now but to tell me the 
 truth?" 
 
 "Your belief in me, if you ever had any and 
 I know that you had, as I hope that you still have." 
 
 "My belief in you?" Marion paused, looked 
 at him and then turned away. " Yes, but the 
 more I believe in you, the more I must believe 
 every word you say " 
 
 While she was speaking, Stubbs opened the 
 door, and entered the room, bringing a card. 
 
 "The person wishes to see you, madam," he 
 said, holding out the silver salver. 
 
 Mrs. Darche's face betrayed some annoyance at 
 the interruption as she took up the card and 
 read the name. " W. H. Wood, Associated Press. 
 What does this mean ? " she asked turning to Brett. 
 "Do you know the man?" 
 
 " Evidently a reporter," said Brett. 
 
 " Tiresome people," exclaimed Mrs. Darche. " I 
 wonder what in the world he wants. Perhaps he 
 has made a mistake. At all events there is no 
 reason why I should see him. Say that I am 
 engaged," she added, turning to Stubbs.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 227 
 
 " Wait a minute, Stubbs," said Brett, calling 
 after the man. "Do not send him away," he 
 added, turning to Marion. " Let me see him." 
 
 "Why?" she asked. 
 
 "I have an idea that he has come about that 
 story that has got into the papers," said Brett in 
 a low voice. 
 
 " Impossible ! " exclaimed Mrs. Darche with great 
 emphasis. 
 
 " No," objected Brett, " there is just a possibility, 
 and if it should be that, some one had better 
 see him. Something very disagreeable might be 
 written, and it is better to stop it at once." 
 
 " Very well," said Mrs. Darche, yielding. " If 
 you really think it is better, see him here. Ask 
 Mr. Wood to come in," she said to Stubbs, as she 
 passed him and went out.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 BRETT stood before the fireplace as the reporter 
 entered the room a quiet, pale young man 
 with a pinched face, smooth brown hair and thin 
 hands which somehow conveyed the impression 
 of sadness. 
 
 "I asked to see Mrs. Darche," he said apolo- 
 getically. 
 
 " Mrs. Darche is engaged," answered Brett. " I 
 am a friend of hers and will answer any questions 
 so far as I can." 
 
 ."Thank you. I have no doubt, sir, that you 
 are often troubled by us. You know the reporter 
 has to be everywhere. I will not take any more 
 of your time than I can help. I understand that 
 Mrs. Darche and her friends are to take part in 
 some tableaux for a charitable purpose at the end 
 of the week " 
 
 "I fancy there is some mistake about that," 
 said Brett. "Mrs. Darche is in mourning." 
 
 228
 
 MAKION DAKCHB. 229 
 
 "Precisely," said Mr. Wood. "I daresay Mrs. 
 Darche would be glad to have the report denied. 
 I understand, then, that there are not to be any 
 tableaux." 
 
 " I believe there is to be something of the 
 kind, but Mrs. Darche has nothing to do with the 
 affair beyond giving her advice, I think. She 
 would certainly not care very much to be talked 
 of in the papers just now." 
 
 "Just so," replied Mr. Wood readily. "I quite 
 understand that there is a prejudice against it, 
 and of course Mrs. Darche 's name shall not ap- 
 pear. But you do not know what a great inter- 
 est our readers take in social doings. Our paper 
 has a very large circulation in the West." 
 
 "I am very glad to know it. Would it not 
 be enough just to mention the fact that there are 
 to be some tableaux for a charity ? " 
 
 " If you would give me a hint about the sub- 
 jects. Historical? One or two names would be 
 very useful." 
 
 "Really I do not think that any of us care to 
 see our names in the paper," said Brett. 
 
 " I will be as discreet as you wish Mr. "
 
 230 MAKION DARCHE. 
 
 "My name is Brett." 
 
 "Mr. Brett," repeated the reporter, making a 
 note. " May I inquire, Mr. Brett, if you your- 
 self take a part in the entertainment?" 
 
 "Well yes I do." 
 
 "Any particular costume?" 
 
 "Yes " Brett hesitated slightly and smiled. 
 "Yes. Particular costumes are rather the rule in 
 tableaux." 
 
 "I do not wish to be indiscreet, of course." 
 
 " No, I daresay not. I believe I am to be 
 Darnley." 
 
 "Thank you." Here Mr. Wood made another 
 note. "Miss Maylands as Queen Mary Stuart? 
 Is the report correct?" 
 
 "I believe so," answered Brett, coldly. 
 
 "Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Brett. If you 
 could oblige me with one or two more names I 
 could fix it nicely." 
 
 "I suppose, Mr. Wood, that you mean to say 
 something about it whether I tell you or not?" 
 
 "Well, now, Mr. Brett," replied the reporter, 
 assuming a more confidential manner, "to be quite 
 frank, that is just what happens. We do not
 
 MARION DAKCHE. 281 
 
 like to tire people out with questions they do not 
 care to answer, but the social column has to be 
 filled somehow, and if we do not get the news for 
 it, it is sometimes made up in the office." 
 
 "So I have often been led to believe from 
 reading it," said Brett. "There are to be three 
 tableaux, from well-known pictures, in which Miss 
 Maylands, Mr. Russell Vanbrugh, myself, and a 
 few others are to take part. The affair is to 
 take place, I think, at Mrs. Trehearne's house." 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Brett. Dancing afterwards?" 
 
 "I do not know." 
 
 "Pardon me. Supper furnished by Delinonico, 
 I suppose?" 
 
 "Well I really have not asked. I daresay." .<. 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Brett. Delmonico." Mr. 
 Wood's pencil noted the fact. Brett began to 
 think that he had had enough of the interview, 
 and deliberately lighting a cigarette looked at the 
 reporter. "Anything else you would like to 
 know, Mr. Wood?" 
 
 "Well, since you ha.ve been so very obliging, 
 Mr. Brett, I would like to ask you a question." 
 
 " All right," said Brett, resignedly. " Go ahead."
 
 232 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "Mrs. Darche is a widow, I understand." 
 
 Yes." 
 
 "Mr. Darche was the unfortunate victim of an 
 accident several months ago, I believe?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then of course there can be no truth in the 
 story that he arrived in New York yesterday?" 
 
 "What story?" Brett asked, turning sharply 
 upon the young man. 
 
 "I thought perhaps you might have seen it in 
 this morning's paper," answered Wood quietly. 
 "But perhaps you would not have noticed it, as 
 there was a misprint in the name. A man came 
 to the office yesterday and told the editor in 
 charge that Mr. John Darche, who fell overboard 
 last spring from a steamer, and was supposed to 
 have been drowned, had turned up, and that he 
 had seen him. I guess he was a crank. There 
 are lots of them hanging around the office, and 
 sometimes they get a drink for a bit of sensation." 
 
 "Oh! is that the way news is manufactured?" 
 inquired Brett, with some contempt. 
 
 "Not in our office, Mr. Brett," replied the 
 reporter, drawing himself up. "You can see for
 
 MARION DARCHE. 233 
 
 yourself that we only get our information from 
 the most reliable sources. If that were not so, I 
 should not have disturbed you to-day. But as 
 there is no doubt in your mind that Mr. Darche 
 is positively dead, I daresay that Mrs. Darche 
 would be glad to have the report of her husband's 
 return contradicted?" 
 
 "I do not think it matters much, since the 
 name was printed Drake." 
 
 " Pardon me," said Wood. " Some of the papers 
 printed it correctly, and others are going to do so. 
 I just saw two gentlemen from an evening paper, 
 and they have got it straight for this after- 
 noon." 
 
 "You do not mean to say that the papers 
 believe the story?" asked Brett in real or affected 
 surprise. 
 
 , " Oh no, Mr. Brett, they give it for what it is 
 worth." 
 
 "With headlines a foot high, I suppose?" 
 
 "Well, perhaps some of the papers will do so," 
 answered the young man with a smile. 
 
 Brett's manner changed as he realised that he 
 could not afford to let the reporter take away a
 
 234 MAKION DABCHE. 
 
 wrong impression. He sat down and pointed to a 
 chair. "Take a cigarette, Mr. Wood." 
 
 "No, I thank you, I do not smoke. Thank 
 
 you." 
 
 Mr. Wood sat down upon the edge of the chair 
 beside Brett, who looked at him fixedly for a 
 moment before speaking. "I do not suppose that 
 it is necessary for me to repeat that this story is 
 an absurd fabrication, and that if there is a man 
 who is going about and calling himself John 
 Darche, he ought to be in jail." 
 
 " Certainly, Mr. Brett, I am quite of that 
 opinion." 
 
 " Then would you mind helping me to get 
 hold of him? Where is the man to be heard of?" 
 
 " That is another matter, Mr. Brett. I shall be 
 happy to see that the report is denied. But 
 whether the man is an impostor or not, it will be 
 hard to find him. That will not matter. We 
 will explain everything to-morrow morning, and it 
 will all be forgotten by the next day. You say 
 you are quite sure, Mr. Brett, that Mr. Darche 
 was not picked up when he fell overboard?" 
 
 " Sure ! " answered Brett, authoritatively.
 
 MARION DABOHB. 235 
 
 " I see," said Wood. " Thank you. I understand 
 that it was in winter, in rough weather, and that 
 the efforts made to save him were in vain." 
 
 " On the contrary, it was a calm, warm night 
 in May. It is certainly strange that they should 
 not have been able to save him. That ought to 
 prove beyond question that he sank at once." 
 
 " There is no doubt about that, I should think," 
 replied the reporter without much conviction. "I 
 won't detain you any longer, Mr. Brett. The 
 report shall be denied at once. Will you allow 
 me to oise your name as authority for these 
 details?" 
 
 "Everybody knows the story." 
 
 "Pardon me. Our paper has a very large cir- 
 culation in the West, and a well-known name like 
 yours lends great weight to any statement." 
 
 " I did not know that my name was so particu- 
 larly well known," observed Brett. 
 
 "Why, certainly, Mr. Brett. Your yacht won 
 a race last year. I remember it very well." 
 
 "That might be a claim to distinction, but I 
 never had a yacht." 
 
 "Not fond of the sea, Mr. Brett?"
 
 236 MARION DABCHB. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I like it well enough," said Brett, 
 rising, as though he wished it understood that the 
 interview was at an end. "You will distinctly 
 deny this report, will you not ? " 
 
 " You can rely upon me to say just what you 
 have said to me, Mr. Brett." 
 
 "Very well. Thank you. Then you will be 
 good enough to say that there is not a word of 
 truth in it, and warn people against the man who 
 calls himself Darche ? " 
 
 "Certainly, certainly. Thank you, Mr. Brett. 
 Good morning, Mr. Brett." 
 
 " Good morning." 
 
 Brett followed the reporter with his eyes till 
 the door closed behind him. He felt as though 
 he had distinctly got the worst of it in the en- 
 counter, and yet he could not see how he could 
 have said less. And that was how stories got 
 about, he thought. If he had not seen the re- 
 porter, if the latter had been turned away as 
 Mrs. Darche had intended, the story of Darche's 
 return would have been reported again and again. 
 That, at least, thought Brett, was prevented for 
 the present.
 
 MAKION DAECHE. 237 
 
 Nevertheless, as he stood alone during those 
 few moments before sending word to Marion that 
 the reporter was gone, Brett's face betrayed his 
 terrible anxiety. He hesitated. More than once 
 his hand went out towards the bell and dropped 
 again by his side. At last he made up his mind, 
 touched the button, and sent Stubbs with his 
 message to Mrs. Darclie. 
 
 " Well ? " she asked as she entered the room. 
 
 " It is all right," he answered. " It was about 
 the charity tableaux. I did not want to go away 
 without seeing you, so I sent Stubbs " 
 
 " You are not going this moment ? " Marion 
 looked at him in surprise. 
 
 She was further than ever from understanding 
 him. He seemed to act suddenly and irrationally. 
 A quarter of an hour earlier he had been almost 
 his old self, in spite of his strange references to a 
 mystery which he could not communicate to her, 
 and now he had changed again and resumed the 
 incomprehensible manner he had affected of late. 
 He seemed anxious to get away from her, even at 
 the cost of seeming rude. Then, as he held out 
 his hand to say good-bye, he surprised her more 
 than ever.
 
 238 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "If you will allow me," he said, "I will come 
 back in the course of the afternoon." 
 
 " Certainly," she answered, staring at him as she 
 shook hands. 
 
 A moment later he was gone, leaving Marion 
 in considerable perplexity and some anxiety of 
 mind. 
 
 When Brett left the house he went in search 
 of Vanbrugh, whom he ultimately found at a club. 
 The conversation which had taken place between 
 three men who were spending the long afternoon 
 between letter-writing, the papers, and gossip, is 
 worth recording. 
 
 It was about five o'clock. The names of the 
 men were Goss, Greene, and Bewlay, and they 
 were rather insignificant persons, but gentlemen, 
 and all acquainted with the actors of this story. 
 Goss was seated in a deep leathern easy-chair 
 with a paper. Greene was writing a letter, and 
 Bewlay was exceedingly busy with a cigar while 
 waiting for some one to say something. 
 
 "Well!" exclaimed Goss. " That beats the 
 record ! " 
 
 "I say," said Greene, looking up and speaking
 
 MARION DARCHE. 239 
 
 sharply, " I wish you would not startle a fellow 
 in that way. My nerves are not of the best any 
 way. What is the matter ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing in particular," said the first speaker. 
 " John Darche has come back to life agaim I 
 thought he was drowned last May." 
 
 "Stuff!" ejaculated Greene, testily. 
 
 "All right. I do not want to disturb your 
 correspondence." 
 
 "What is that about John Darche?" inquired 
 Bewlay, delighted at hearing a voice. 
 
 " Some rubbish or other," answered Goss. " It 
 is the fashion to resurrect people nowadays sort 
 of way the newspapers have of getting ahead of the 
 day of judgment. If this goes on, that entertain- 
 ment will not draw." 
 
 "What is it, any way?" 
 
 " Headlines to begin with. ' The return of the 
 prodigal John W. Darche, alive and asking 
 questions. Accident not suicide interview with 
 Mr. Henry C. Brett.'" 
 
 "What the dickens has Brett got to do with 
 it?" asked Greene, looking up from his letter 
 again.
 
 240 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 " They say he is engaged to marry Mrs. Darche," 
 said Bewlay, in explanation. 
 
 "That is another ridiculous story," answered 
 Greene. " I happen to know he is as good as 
 engaged to Miss Maylands." 
 
 "Let me see the paper, please," said Bewlay. 
 
 "No, I will read it," said Goss, shifting his 
 position so as to get a better light. "Then you 
 can all hear. ' Our reporter called this after- 
 noon at the house of Mrs. John W. Darche, the 
 beautiful and accomplished widow who so long 
 dispensed her hospitality in Lexington Avenue. 
 The beauteous lady was doubtless engaged in 
 the consideration of the costumes for certain 
 charity tableaux in which her mourning prevents 
 her from taking a part, but in which her artistic 
 taste and advice are invaluable to the performers, 
 and our reporter was received by Mr. Henry C. 
 Brett, the well-known lawyer, yachtsman, and 
 patron of the turf, who is to play the part of 
 Darnley to Miss Maylands' Queen Mary of 
 Scotland in the artistic treat which awaits the 
 favoured and charitable to whom invitations have 
 been tendered. Mr. Brett was kind enough to
 
 MARION DABCHE. 241 
 
 answer a few questions regarding the report of 
 Mr. John Darche's return to New York which 
 appeared in the mornjng papers. Mr. Brett af- 
 fected to treat the story with unconcern, but it 
 was evident from his anxious manner and from 
 his somewhat nervous bearing that he was deeply 
 moved, though he bravely "took arms against the 
 sea of troubles." Mr. Brett said repeatedly in the 
 course of the conversation that the story was an 
 absurd fabrication, and if there was a man going 
 around calling himself John Darche he ought to 
 be in jail. He professed to be quite sure that Mr. 
 Darche was dead, but was obliged to admit that 
 there was no evidence forthcoming to certify to the 
 tragedy. "The accident," said Mr. Brett, <." hap- 
 pened on board of a channel steamer more than 
 seven months ago. It was a calm, warm night 
 in May. Two ladies were lying in their chairs 
 on the quarter-deck engaged in conversation. Sud- 
 denly in the mysterious gloom they noticed the 
 muffled figure of a gentleman passenger leaning 
 over the rail hard by them. A moment later 
 the figure was gone. There was a dull splash 
 and all was over. They at once realised the 
 
 19_VoL 9
 
 242 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 horrid situation and cried aloud for help, but there 
 seems to have been no one else on deck in that 
 part of the boat. Many .minutes elapsed before 
 they could explain what they had seen, and the 
 necessary orders were given for stopping the 
 steamer. The Captain then retraced his course, 
 lowered a number of boats, and every effort was 
 made to prosecute the search until far into the 
 night when the steamer, which carried mails, was 
 reluctantly obliged to resume her way. His 
 body," said Mr. Brett in conclusion, "was never 
 found." Mr. Brett, as was very natural, was more 
 than anxious that the report should be denied, 
 but in the face of the facts he himself stated 
 with such pellucid clearness, it is impossible to 
 say conscientiously that the story of Mr. Darche's 
 return may not be true. The fact remains that 
 a gentleman whose name is undoubtedly Darche 
 is now in New York, and if he is really Mr. 
 John Darche of Lexington Avenue, steps will be 
 taken to set all doubts at rest before twenty- 
 four hours have expired.' I daresay you are not 
 surprised at my exclamation now, after reading 
 that," said Goss, looking round at his hearers. 
 " Pretty serious for Brett."
 
 MARION DAROHE. 243 
 
 " Pretty serious for Mrs. Darche," observed 
 Greene. 
 
 "Pretty serious for everybody," said Bewlay, 
 smoking thoughtfully. 
 
 "That is," suggested Greene, "if it is not all 
 a fake, which is probably the truth about it." 
 
 " Has anybody seen Brett here ? " inquired Goss. 
 
 At this point the conversation was interrupted 
 by the entry of Mr. Brown, who was also a 
 member of the club. 
 
 " Is Brett here ? " he asked, looking about. 
 
 "Just what I was asking," answered Goss. 
 " I suppose you have seen this ? " 
 
 " About Darche ? Yes. I am afraid it is true." 
 
 " What !. You do not believe it ? " Greene 
 was the most sceptical of the party. 
 
 " Have you seen him ? " asked Bewlay. 
 
 " No," answered Mr. Brown. " I have not seen 
 him, but I mean to before long. This is much 
 too serious to be flying about in the papers like 
 this. Imagine what would happen if it fell into 
 Mrs. Darche's hands. Why it is enough to kill 
 any ordinary woman on the spot ! To think that 
 that infernal blackguard may not be dead after 
 all."
 
 244 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 " You seem to feel rather strongly on the 
 subject," observed Greene. " Are you engaged 
 to marry Mrs. Darche too?" 
 
 " Nonsense ! " ejaculated Brown. " I am in ear- 
 nest. Just put yourself in her position." 
 
 " For my part I had rather not," replied Goss 
 with a smile. " But I agree with Brown. A 
 more unmitigated blackguard than John Darche 
 never breathed the unholy air of Wall Street. 
 The only decent thing about him was his suicide, 
 and- now virtue is to be cheated of that." 
 
 " Mrs. Darche never speaks of him, I believe ? " 
 The question came from Bewlay. 
 
 " He did not return the civility," said Goss. 
 "I have heard him talk about his wife in this 
 very room well I won't say how, but he was 
 a brute." 
 
 " Judging from j^our language you must be 
 talking about Darche," said a fifth speaker. Van- 
 brugh had entered the room. 
 
 "Yes," answered Brown, "we were. The damn- 
 ing was going on, but we had not got to the 
 faint praise. What do you think about all this, 
 Vanbrugh?"
 
 MARION DARCHE. 245 
 
 "The question must be settled one way or the 
 other before to-night," answered the last comer. 
 "If Darche is really alive the fact must be kept 
 quiet until to-morrow and then some one must tell 
 his wife. I propose that we elect a committee of 
 action, give up our dinner parties if we have any, 
 and go and find the fellow." 
 
 "That sounds like good advice," said Brown. 
 
 " We might as well look for a Chinaman in 
 Pekin," put in Greene, " as to try to hunt out any 
 particular tough in. the Bowery at this time of 
 day." 
 
 "We can try any way," said Mr. Brown, who 
 was of a hopeful temperament. " I am not engaged 
 to dine anywhere, are you, Vanbrugh ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Then come along." They turned towards the 
 door and were just going out when Brett met them, 
 looking very white. 
 
 " Hello, Brett ! " exclaimed Brown. " You are 
 the very man we have been looking for. Come 
 along with us and find John Darche." 
 
 " Wait a minute," said Vanbrugh, interposing. 
 "Have you seen this interview?" He took the
 
 246 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 paper from Greene and gave it to Brett, who read 
 rapidly while the others looked on, talking in 
 undertones. 
 
 "Damn!" he exclaimed, turning to the others. 
 " Have you all been reading this stuff ? I hope 
 you do not believe that is what I said? A man 
 came to the house after luncheon. You fellows 
 had just gone and I was going. Mrs. Darche did 
 not want to see him, but I advised her to let me 
 tell him what ought to be said about this affair. 
 He tried to pump me about the charity tableaux 
 and then asked me about Darche. I told him that 
 it was all an absurd fabrication, and he promised 
 to say so and to deny all reports. And this is 
 the result." 
 
 " Of course it is," said Greene. " The natural 
 result of putting yourself into any reporter's 
 hands." 
 
 " I would like to say a word for the reporter," 
 said Mr. Brown mildly. " The paper is not his. 
 He does not edit it. He does not get a share of 
 the profits, and when he interviews people he 
 merely is doing what he has undertaken to do. 
 He is earning his living."
 
 MARION DARCHE. 247 
 
 "Marriage and death and reporters make barren 
 our lives," observed Greene sourly, and some 
 of the men laughed. 
 
 "I say, Brett, how much of this did you 
 actually say ? " asked Vanbrugh. 
 
 "Not a word, it seems to me. And yet I see 
 some of my own phrases worked in." He picked 
 up the paper and looked at it again. "Yes, I 
 did say that it was a warm May night. I did say 
 that his body was never found. Yes, that is true 
 enough. How the deuce does the fellow manage 
 to twist it so ? " 
 
 "Does it not strike you that the reporter has 
 only shown you your own account in the light in 
 which other people will look at it ? " inquired 
 Mr. Brown, sententiously. 
 
 "Oh, confound it all, Brown, how can you say 
 such a thing?" exclaimed Brett. 
 
 " Well, I will explain," replied Mr. Brown. 
 " Here are the facts, by your own showing. On 
 a warm evening in spring, and in calm weather, 
 John Darche fell overboard. I do not say he 
 threw himself overboard, though it was said that 
 he did, to get away from the detective, possibly it
 
 248 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 may have been an accident after all. We do 
 not know. He was seen to go over by some one, 
 possibly by two ladies. It was very likely at 
 supper-time. We do not know that either. But 
 it is quite sure that there were not many people 
 about. The ladies screamed, as was natural, 
 called for help and all that sort of thing. But 
 on a calm May night those channel boats run 
 very fast. They did not cry out ' man over- 
 . board ! ' as a sailor would have done, and very 
 probably five minutes elapsed before the Captain 
 gave the order to stop. In that time the boat 
 would have run a mile and a half. It could not 
 stop inside of half a mile. Well, do you know 
 anything about the tides and currents in the 
 Channel? The steamer could not have gone back 
 to the point at which Darche was lost much 
 inside of twenty minutes. In that time the 
 current may have carried him a mile or more 
 in one direction or the other. Every one remem- 
 bers that Darche was a good swimmer. As it 
 happened in May, he was not burdened with 
 an overcoat, or thick boots, and there are always 
 vessels about in the Channel. Why is it so very
 
 MARION DARCHE. 249 
 
 improbable that he should have been picked up 
 by one, outward bound " 
 
 While he was speaking, Brett played nervously 
 with an unlighted cigar, which he held in his 
 hand. 
 
 "A sailing-vessel outward bound from England 
 to South America would not be in the Channel," 
 observed Vanbrugh. 
 
 "Nobody said she was from England," re- 
 torted Brown. "She may have been from 
 Amsterdam. A great many Italian vessels take 
 in cargo there." 
 
 "Surely she would have stopped and put 
 Darche ashore," said Greene with conviction. 
 But the others laughed. 
 
 " You are not much of a sailor," said Brown. 
 "You cannot stop a sailing-vessel, as you express 
 it, and run into any harbour you like as though 
 she were a steam-tug. To put back might mean 
 a loss of two or three weeks to the captain. 
 Upon .my soul, Vanbrugh, I cannot see why 
 it is so improbable." 
 
 ", You are not in earnest, Brown ? " asked Brett 
 anxiouslv.
 
 250 MARION DAECHE. 
 
 "I am, though. A case like that happened 
 not very long ago. Everybody knows about it. 
 It is a fact. A man came back and found his 
 wife married to somebody else." 
 
 " Enoch Arden ! " suggested Greene contemptu- 
 ously. 
 
 " Precisely the same thing. The man had been 
 living somewhere near San Francisco. After he 
 came back he found his wife had married an old 
 friend of his a very good fellow. He would not 
 break her heart, so he went off to live by himself 
 in the Rockies." 
 
 " I wish you would stop ! " exclaimed Brett, 
 almost livid. 
 
 "I wonder it does not strike you in the same 
 way," continued Mr. Brown, unmoved. "You 
 are a lawyer, Vanbrugh. Now just argue the 
 case, and meet my points." 
 
 " Well really, you do put the case pretty 
 strongly," answered Vanbrugh thoughtfully. "If 
 you look at it in that way, there certainly is a 
 bare shadow of a possibility that Darche may 
 have come back." 
 
 "Good God, Vanbrugh, don't!" cried Brett.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 251 
 
 " I cannot quite help it." Vanbrugh drew 
 Brown a little aside and spoke in a lower tone, 
 but Brett, who could scarcely control himself, 
 moved up behind them. "Look here, Brown," 
 said Vanbrugh, " we ought not to talk like this 
 before Brett. After all, it is a mere possibility, 
 one chance in a thousand." 
 
 " Considering the peculiarities of the name," 
 argued Mr. Brown, "there are more chances than 
 that." 
 
 " Possibly. But why should he go to the news- 
 paper office instead of hiding altogether, or get- 
 ting away from New York by the next steamer?" 
 
 " That is true," assented Mr. Brown. 
 
 " I say, you fellows," cried Brett, coming 
 between them. " Stop that, won't you ? You are 
 both infatuated. Why, you must be mad! Every- 
 body knows he is dead." 
 
 " It is certainly probable," said Mr. Brown 
 doubtfully, "but it is not sure." 
 
 "Do not get excited, Brett," said Vanbrugh. 
 "There are a lot of men looking on. Go home 
 and leave it to us. We will find the man and 
 see him before to-night."
 
 252 MARION D ARC HE. 
 
 " I am going with you," said Brett resolutely. 
 
 "No, you are not," said Vanbrugh, looking at 
 him curiously. " You are no good. You are 
 losing your head already. Go home and keep 
 quiet." 
 
 "Yes, it would be much better," urged Mr. 
 Brown. "Besides, two of us are quite enough." 
 
 "You do not really believe it," Brett said 
 suddenly, after a moment's hesitation. 
 
 " Oh no, 1 suppose not," answered Vanbrugh 
 with affected indifference. 
 
 " Cheer up, old man ! " said Mr. Brown. 
 " There may not be anything in it after all." 
 
 " May not I " exclaimed Brett. " I ought not to 
 be here, anyhow," he added, speaking to Van- 
 brugh. "He may ring at her door at any 
 moment." And without further words he dis- 
 appeared into the hall. 
 
 " Brett seems to be pretty badly rattled," 
 remarked Greene. 
 
 "Yes," answered Goss. "Strange, is it not? 
 Yet you are quite sure that he is to marry Miss 
 Maylands ? " 
 
 "It is not safe to be sure of anything," said
 
 MARION DARCHB. 253 
 
 Greene, going back to the writing-table and fold- 
 ing his letter. 
 
 "I believe it is true that he has come back," 
 mused Bewlay, relighting his cigar. 
 
 "There certainly is a possibility," said Van- 
 brugh. 
 
 " Of course there is," assented Mr. Brown. 
 
 " I almost believe it myself," said Greene, rising 
 and going out with his letter. 
 
 "It is a queer story, is it not?" observed Goss. 
 
 " Yes," answered Bewlay. " It has made me 
 quite thirsty." 
 
 "Well, this is a good stopping-place," replied 
 the other. " Ten minutes for refreshments."
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 VANBRTJGH and Mr. Brown lost no time, for the 
 former knew exactly what to do. Within three- 
 quarters of an hour they had been to headquarters 
 in Mulberry Street, had ascertained that there 
 was ground for the report that John Darche had 
 returned, that the police were making haste to 
 secure him and that he had passed the night 
 without much attempt at concealment, in a sailors' 
 lodging-house on the east side. They found the 
 place without difficulty, and were informed that 
 the man Darche had gone out in the morning, 
 leaving his few effects in charge of the lodging- 
 house keeper. The house was watched by detec- 
 tives. Vanbrugh asked Brown to stay at the 
 Mulberry Street Station until dinner-time and 
 then to bring him news at Mrs. Darche's in 
 Lexington Avenue, whither he at once returned, 
 fearing some trouble and anxious to give timely 
 warning. 
 
 254
 
 MAEION DARCHE. 255 
 
 
 
 He knew enough .of criminals to suspect that 
 Darche, finding himself in New York very much 
 against his will and doubtless without money, 
 would in all likelihood attempt to obtain money 
 from his wife to aid him in making his escape. 
 He would probably not waste time in writing, but 
 would appear in person at the house, just before 
 dinner when he would know that Marion must 
 be at home, and he would have little or no 
 difficulty in forcing his way into her presence. 
 
 This was what he foresaw in case the man 
 proved to be really John Darche. The police were 
 satisfied that there was no mistake, and that a 
 fortunate accident had thrown the escaped crimi- 
 nal into their hands. Nevertheless, Vanbrugh 
 had doubts on the subject. The coincidence of 
 name was possible, if not probable, and no one 
 had given him any description which would have 
 applied any more to John Darche than to any 
 other man of his age and approximately of his 
 complexion. The lodging-house keeper was 
 evidently under the impression that the man, who- 
 ever he was, must be a sailor ; but any one 
 familiar with sea-faring men knows that, apart
 
 256 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 from some peculiarity of dress there is often very 
 little to distinguish them from landsmen, beyond 
 the fact that no seaman ever wears spectacles, and 
 that most sailors have bronzed faces. But a lands- 
 man is easily imposed upon by a " guernsey," a 
 jack-knife, a plug of tobacco, and a peculiar taste 
 in swearing. 
 
 When Brett had left Marion Darche so abruptly, 
 she had gone to her morning-room and shut her- 
 self up to think, with no especial result, except 
 that she was very unhappy in the process. She 
 would not even see Dolly Maylands, who came in 
 soon afterwards, but sent her word to have tea in 
 the library with Cousin Annie. She herself, she 
 said, would come down later. She begged Dolly 
 to stay to dinner, just as she was. 
 
 Dolly was busy as usual, but she was anxious 
 about her friend and about Brett, and her own 
 life seemed very perplexing. Men were very odd 
 creatures, she thought. Why did Brett hesitate 
 to ask Marion to marry him, since he was in love 
 with her, unless he were sure that Marion loved 
 Vanbrugh, or at least liked him better? And if 
 Vanbrugh were not himself in love with Marion,
 
 MARION DARCHE. 257 
 
 an idea which Dolly scouted with wrath, why did 
 he not offer himself to her, Dolly Maylands? 
 Considering that the world was a spheroid, 
 thought Dolly, it was a very crooked stick of a 
 world, after all. 
 
 "All alone, Dolly?" asked Mrs. Willoughby, 
 entering the library. 
 
 " Yes," answered Dolly. " I am all alone, and 
 I am tired, and I want some tea, and Marion is 
 lying down, and everything is perfectly horrid. 
 Do sit down and let us have a cosy talk, all by 
 ourselves." 
 
 "Why will people scramble through life at such 
 a rate?" And Mrs. Willoughby installed her 
 gray self in an easy-chair. "I have told Marion 
 fifty times since last summer that she will break 
 down unless she gives herself a rest." 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Willoughby," said Dolly. 
 "Marion is a very sensible woman and manages 
 her existence on scientific principles. She really 
 gets much more rest than you or I, not to mention 
 the fact well, I suppose I ought not to say it." 
 
 "What? Why not?" 
 
 "Well, I was thinking that since poor Mr.
 
 258 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 Darche was drowned, life must have seemed like 
 one long rest to Marion." 
 
 " Oh Dolly, how unkind ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Willoughby, and then paused a moment before 
 she continued. "But I suppose there is some 
 truth in it. What is that proverb? 'De de 
 mort '" 
 
 "'De mortuis nil nisi something like bones,'" 
 answered Dolly with a laugh. 
 
 "What? What is that?" 
 
 " Oh nothing. It only means that everybody 
 should say the nicest possible things when people 
 are dead. That was what you meant. But I 
 should think the living would appreciate them 
 more." 
 
 "Yes, yes," assented Mrs. Willoughby vaguely. 
 "I daresay he would." 
 
 "He? Who is he?" asked Dolly with affected 
 surprise. 
 
 "Oh I do not mean anything, my dear. I 
 hardly think that Marion will marry again." 
 
 " I suppose they are admirably suited to each 
 other?" 
 
 "Who?"
 
 MAKION DARCHE. 259 
 
 " Who ? Why Marion and Mr. Vanbrugh. Who 
 else?" Dolly watched Mrs. Willoughby's face. 
 
 " Oh, I was not thinking of that. I meant Mr. 
 hm " She interrupted herself in fear of in- 
 discretion. "Your dress will be complete now 
 with the lace, will it not, Dolly?" 
 
 " Oh yes," answered Dolly in a careless tone. 
 " It was just like Mr. Vanbrugh, was it not, to take 
 all that trouble to find the very thing I wanted?" 
 
 "A man will take a great deal of trouble, my 
 dear, when he wants to please somebody he is 
 fond of." 
 
 "Yes but me," suggested Dolly, just to see 
 what Cousin Annie thought. 
 
 "Why not you? Should you like some tea, 
 Dolly?" 
 
 " Why not me ? I suppose because I am 
 Marion's friend," Dolly answered. 
 
 "Oh yes, if you like to put it in that way " 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby was interrupted by the appear- 
 ance of Stubbs bringing in the tea. 
 
 "Is Mrs. Darche at home if any one calls, 
 Stubbs?" she inquired. 
 
 "No, madam. Mrs. Darche is upstairs and not
 
 260 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 at home." He paused a moment to see whether 
 Mrs. Willoughby meant to say anything more, 
 and then left the room. 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Willoughby, I do so want to ask 
 you a question," said Dolly, beginning to pour 
 the tea. 
 
 "What is it, my dear?" 
 
 " One lump or two ? " inquired Dolly with 
 hesitation. 
 
 "Is that all?" asked Mrs. Willoughby with a 
 slight laugh. 
 
 "Not quite," answered Dolly. "Do you take 
 milk?" 
 
 "Please, and one lump. What is the question, 
 child?" 
 
 "No," said Dolly, laughing herself. "It was 
 foolish and inquisitive, and all sorts of horrid 
 things. I think I had better not ask it." 
 
 "About Marion and Mr. Brett?" 
 
 "Why?" Dolly asked, looking up quickly, and 
 then hesitating. "Is there anything? I mean 
 yes, that is what I meant to ask." 
 
 "Well, my dear," answered Mrs. Willoughby in 
 a confidential tone, "to tell the truth I am glad
 
 MARION DARCHE. 261 
 
 to talk to somebody about it, for it is on my mind, 
 and you know that Marion does not like to answer 
 questions." 
 
 '* Yes, I know. Well, so you think there is 
 something between them?" 
 
 "My dear, of course there is," said Mrs. 
 Willoughby without hesitation. "And I am quite 
 sure that something has happened lately. In 
 fact, I believe they are engaged to be married." 
 
 "Do you really? And and where does Mr. 
 Vanbrugh come in ? " 
 
 " Mr. Vanbrugh ? I am sure I do not know. 
 Perhaps he will be Harry Brett's best man." 
 
 "If they could see themselves as others see 
 them," reflected Dolly under her breath, before 
 she answered the remark. "They would make a 
 handsome couple, would they not? But you are 
 quite mistaken, dear Mrs. Willoughby oh, you 
 are quite quite mistaken." She looked down 
 and sipped her tea. 
 
 "How do you know that?" asked Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby. " How can you be so sure ? Do you 
 not see how they go on together, always sitting in 
 corners and talking in undertones?"
 
 262 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 " Do you not see how Marion spoils Mr. 
 Vanbrugh, and gets his special brand of cigarettes 
 for him, and always asks him to dinner to fill up 
 a place, and altogether behaves like an idiot about 
 him? You must be blind if you do not see that. 
 Let me give you another cup of tea?" 
 
 "Thanks, I have not finished," said Cousin 
 Annie. " Of course, my dear child, no two people 
 ever look at things from the same point of view, 
 but I was thinking " 
 
 Stubbs opened the door again. 
 
 "Mr. Vanbrugh," he announced. 
 
 " He knew you were here, my dear," said Mrs. 
 Willoughby in a whisper. "He has come to see 
 you." 
 
 " Will you be good-natured and forgive my 
 spoiling your tea ? " asked Vanbrugh, as he entered 
 the room. 
 
 "We will try," said Dolly. 
 
 " Sit down," said Mrs. Willoughby, " and have 
 some with us." 
 
 " Thanks," answered Vanbrugh. " I am even 
 ruder than I seem, for I am in a hurry. Do you 
 think I could see Mrs. Darche? For a minute?"
 
 MARION DARCHE. 263 
 
 "I daresay," replied Cousin Annie, doubtfully. 
 
 " Of course you can. She is upstairs and not 
 at home." Dolly laughed. 
 
 "So Stubbs told me," said Vanbrugh, "and I 
 came in to ask you to help me. I am very glad 
 I have seen you first. I know it is late and I 
 will not keep you a moment. There is something 
 that I must say. I have just been at the club 
 for a moment and Brown came in and four or 
 five others. There is certainly an impression that 
 John Darche has really come back again." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " cried Mrs. Willoughby, 
 thoroughly startled. 
 
 " Oh, how awful ! " exclaimed Dolly in real 
 distress. "But you were all saying after lunch- 
 eon that it was impossible." 
 
 " I know," said Vanbrugh. " I know we were. 
 But it looks otherwise now. There was so much 
 talk about it that I proposed to Brown to try and 
 find the man. We have been down town since 
 then, to Mulberry Street. There certainly is a 
 man knocking about under the name of John 
 Darche, who landed from an Italian vessel last 
 night."
 
 264 MAKION DAKCHB. 
 
 " Have you seen him ? " asked Dolly. " Oh, 
 poor Marion ! " 
 
 " Dreadful, dreadful ! " repeated Mrs. Willoughby, 
 staring at Vanbrugh. 
 
 " No," answered the latter in reply to Dolly's 
 question, " we have not seen him, but we shall 
 have him this evening." 
 
 " Here ? " exclaimed Mrs. Willoughby, looking 
 round nervously. 
 
 " Here in this house ? " 
 
 " Yes or at least, under our hand," said Van- 
 brugh. " Brown is waiting for information at the 
 Mulberry Street Station." 
 
 " To bring him here to-night ? " asked Cousin 
 Annie, with increasing anxiety. 
 
 " No, to keep him from coming." 
 
 " And you have come to warn Marion ? " in- 
 quired Dolly. 
 
 " Yes, in a way," answered Vanbrugh. " But 
 not to tell her, of course. I want her to give 
 strict orders about any odd-looking persons who 
 may present themselves. I mean to tell her that 
 I am afraid some reporter may try to get in, 
 and that the man at the door must be very 
 careful."
 
 MARION DARCHE. 265 
 
 "I will go to her," said Mrs. Willoughby, ris- 
 ing. " Mr. Vanbrugh if he comes, if it is really 
 he, he cannot be turned away from what was his 
 own house." 
 
 "No, but he shall be stopped at the door, and 
 I will go out and talk to him and persuade him 
 to escape, or to come and see me in the morning, 
 if he is mad enough to stay." 
 
 "Yes, that is sensible," answered Cousin Annie. 
 " Shall I speak to my niece myself, or shall I make 
 her come down?" 
 
 Vanbrugh hesitated a moment and looked at 
 Dolly, who answered by an almost imperceptible 
 nod. 
 
 "I think," said Vanbrugh, "that to put her to 
 any inconvenience would make the matter look 
 more serious than we wish her to think it is. 
 Do you think you could explain, Mrs. Willoughby ? 
 Give her the idea that the newspaper man Avho 
 was here to-day may come back or some other 
 person, or two or three. Anything of that sort." 
 
 "I will do my best," answered Mrs. Willoughby. 
 "You will wait until I come back, will you not?" 
 
 " Of course," replied Vanbrugh, as she left the 
 room. 20 Vol. 9
 
 266 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "Do you think it is really true?" asked 
 Dolly. 
 
 " I do not know what to think. Putting all 
 the facts we have together, there is certainly a 
 possibility." 
 
 "I am very, very sorry," said Dolly, after a 
 short pause. 
 
 "Poor Mrs. Darche!" exclaimed Vanbrugh. 
 "After all these months of freedom she has had, 
 it will break her heart." 
 
 " I was not thinking of Marion," answered Dolly. 
 
 "Of whom, then?" asked Vanbrugh. 
 
 "Of of some one else." 
 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 "Yes," repeated Dolly with marked sympathy. 
 " Will you not let me make you a nice cup of tea, 
 Mr. Vanbrugh?" 
 
 "No, thanks." 
 
 "Will you not light a cigarette?" asked Dolly. 
 "Here are some of your own." 
 
 "No, thanks," answered Vanbrugh absently. 
 "I have just smoked." 
 
 "Do sit down and warm yourself," said Dolly, 
 pushing a chair towards the fire.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 267 
 
 " Well thanks I suppose Mrs. Willoughby will 
 be gone some minutes. Have you thought of what 
 might happen if Darche were alive ? " he asked, 
 reverting to the subject uppermost in his mind. 
 
 "I do not like to think of it. But I cannot 
 help thinking of it," she answered almost inaudibly. 
 "I know that I cannot, and I hate myself and 
 everybody." 
 
 " We may have to think of it seriously in three 
 or four hours," said Vanbrugh. " Brown will bring 
 me word. He will dine with me, and I will be 
 within reach in case anything happens." 
 
 " What a head you have ! " exclaimed Dolly. 
 "You ought to be a general." 
 
 "It is simple enough, it seems to me, as simple 
 as going back to stop an express train when there 
 has been an accident on the line." 
 
 "Yes, but it is always the one particular man 
 who has more sense than the rest who thinks of 
 stopping the express train." 
 
 " I suppose so," answered Vanbrugh indifferently. 
 " The man who has his eyes open. It is odd, is it 
 not, that the happiness of so many people should 
 be at stake on one day?"
 
 268 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "So many?" 
 
 "Well, three at least." 
 
 " Three ? Are there not four ? " asked Dolly, 
 with -a smile. 
 
 "There is Stubbs, of course," said Vanbrugh 
 thoughtfully ; " not to mention a lot of people 
 who would not be particularly glad to see 
 Darche back, on general principles. Well, I am 
 sorry for them all, but I was not thinking of 
 them especially." 
 
 " Whom were you thinking of ? " 
 
 "Some one not concerned in the matter 
 some one, I cannot say nearest; think of some- 
 thing that rhymes with it. You are fond of 
 hymns and that sort of thing." 
 
 "Dearest?" suggested Dolly. 
 
 " Yes, ' dearest ' ; that rhymes, does it not ? " 
 
 "Yes, that rhymes," assented Dolly, with a 
 little sigh. "Whom were you thinking of?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "A person." 
 
 " What an answer I And what an expression ! 
 I suppose the name of the person is a profound 
 secret?"
 
 MARION DARCHB. 269 
 
 "It has been a secret for some time," said 
 Vanbrugh. 
 
 " Oh ! then you have a faithful disposition ? " 
 asked Dolly with a laugh. 
 
 " I hope so," answered Vanbrugh, smiling. 
 
 " Any other virtues ? " 
 
 "Lots," he laughed in his turn. 
 
 "I am so glad." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Virtue makes people so nice and safe," said 
 Dolly, "and helps them to bear misfortune, and 
 to do almost everything except enjoy themselves." 
 
 "What an appalling code for a Sunday school 
 teacher ! " 
 
 "Do not laugh. I have had an offer." 
 
 " Of marriage ? " asked Vanbrugh, looking at 
 her. 
 
 "No. If I had, I would not tell you. I have 
 been offered twenty-five dollars a month to teach 
 at a Sunday school- a visitor, who did not know 
 me, you see, and wished to engage me." 
 
 "And you refused?" 
 
 " Yes. Foolish of me, was it not ? Twenty 
 five dollars just think!"
 
 270 MARION DABCHB. 
 
 "It is a lot of money," laughed Vanbrugh. 
 
 "Several pairs of gloves," said Dolly gravely. 
 "But I refused. You know the proverb 'be 
 virtuous and you will be happy, but you will 
 not have a good time.'" 
 
 "And you mean to have a good time. I have 
 always been meaning to but it is rather dull, 
 all by myself. I am not young enough to be 
 gay alone nor old enough to enjoy being sour." 
 
 "There is a remedy get married!" Dolly 
 smiled, looked grave, and then smiled again. 
 
 "That is almost easier done than said, if one 
 does not mind whom one marries." 
 
 "And you do mind, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes I am foolish enough to care," answered 
 Vanbrugh, glancing at her. 
 
 "To care for some particular person is that 
 rude, or indiscreet, or horrid of me?" 
 
 " Very ! But I will forgive you on one condition." 
 
 "I never accept conditions." 
 
 "Unconditional surrender? Is that it?" 
 
 "Of course," Dolly answered without hesitation. 
 
 " I surrender unconditionally at discretion." 
 
 "Oh very well. Then I will be nice and ask
 
 MARION DARCHE. 271 
 
 what the condition was for the sake of which you 
 kindly proposed to forgive me for what I did not 
 do. Come what is it?" 
 
 " You asked if I cared for one particular person," 
 said Vanbrugh, gently. 
 
 "Yes. Do you?" He could hardly distinguish 
 the words. 
 
 "I will tell you, if you will answer the same 
 question." 
 
 " You answer first." 
 
 " Yes. That is the answer." His hand stole out 
 towards hers. 
 
 " Yes that is the other answer." 
 
 "Do two positives make a negative?" asked 
 Vanbrugh, as their hands met. 
 
 "No not in mathematics," laughed Dolly, a 
 little awkwardly, and withdrawing her fingers from 
 his. " Two negatives make" a positive, sometimes." 
 
 "A positive 'no'?" asked Vanbrugh, incredu- 
 lously. 
 
 " Sometimes." 
 
 " But we were both saying 4 yes.' " 
 
 " We are both saying ' yes,' " repeated Dolly 
 slowly.
 
 272 MARION DABCHE. 
 
 " Could we not go a step farther ? " 
 
 "How?" Dolly started a little and looked at 
 him. " I do not understand I thought " 
 
 "What did you think?" 
 
 "I do not know what to think." She hesitated. 
 
 "Will you not let me help you to decide?" 
 For the first time in their acquaintance, Vanbrugh's 
 voice grew tender. 
 
 "I I am almost afraid " 
 
 "Afraid of me?" 
 
 " Of you ? Oh no, you do not frighten me at all 
 but I am just a little " again Dolly hesitated, 
 then as though making a great effort she tried to 
 speak severely. " Mr. Vanbrugh, you must not 
 play with me ! " 
 
 " Miss Maylands, you have played with me a 
 long time," answered Vanbrugh softly. 
 
 " I? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Have I ? I I did not mean to," she added 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "Perhaps we have both played in earnest," 
 suggested Vanbrugh. 
 
 "But you play with so many people "
 
 MARION DAKCHE. 273 
 
 "With whom, for instance?" asked Vanbrugh. 
 
 "With Marion, for instance," said Dolly. 
 
 " With Mrs. Darche ? " Vanbrugh's voice ex- 
 pressed genuine astonishment. " What an extraor- 
 dinary idea ! As though Brett were not my best 
 friend!" 
 
 "What of that?" 
 
 " Oh, do not pretend you do not understand 
 especially to-day, when they are both so unhappy 
 you will do something that will hurt them if you 
 are not careful." 
 
 "I wonder " Dolly did not complete the 
 sentence, but turned away as though leaving it 
 to him.- 
 
 "I know. So you must not talk of my flirting 
 with Mrs. Darche. It is not just to her nor kind 
 to me and you do not mean to be unkind to me, 
 do you?" 
 
 " To you of all people ! '' Her voice was very 
 gentle. 
 
 "Of all people in the world, dear?" 
 
 " Yes I think so of all people." She nodded 
 slowly, and then looked up and let her eyes 
 meet his.
 
 274 MARION DABCHE. 
 
 "You think so you are not quite sure?" 
 asked Vanbrugh, although, there was no longer 
 any doubt. 
 
 "I am always sure of what I think." Dolly 
 smiled, still looking at him. 
 
 "And this is not play any more? This is quite 
 earnest ? " 
 
 " Quite quite " While she was speaking 
 his face was suddenly close to hers and his lips 
 touched her cheek. " Oh ! I did not mean " 
 
 "I did," said Vanbrugh emphatically. 
 
 "I see you did," answered Dolly, blushing 
 scarlet. 
 
 " Will you not see again " He leaned towards 
 her again. 
 
 " Oh, no ! Not on any account ! " she cried, 
 pushing him away and laughing. " Besides " 
 the handle of the door turned as she was speak- 
 ing " there are people coming. Oh I can 
 feel it ! " she whispered, rising precipitately with 
 her hands to her cheek. " But I am so happy ! " 
 she added, with one more look as she broke from 
 him. 
 
 Dolly whispered the last words as Mrs. Wil-
 
 MARION DARCHE. 275 
 
 loughby re-entered the room, and Vanbrugh rose 
 to his feet, hardly realising that the crisis of his 
 life had been reached with a laugh and a kiss, 
 but quite as happy as Dolly herself in his thor- 
 oughly undemonstrative way. Both were, perhaps, 
 a little ashamed of themselves when they remem- 
 bered Marion Darche's trouble, and contrasted 
 her anxiety with their own visions of a sunny 
 future ; and both felt all at once that they were 
 out of place ; if they could not be together with- 
 out a third person, they wished to be alone. 
 
 "I do not really believe that anything will 
 happen," said Vanbrugh, speaking to Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby. "I do not believe either, that this man 
 is Mrs. Darche's husband, for there is every 
 reason to be sure that John Darche was actually 
 drowned. But in case anything should happen, 
 pray send for me at once. I shall be at home 
 and shall not go out this evening. Good-night, 
 Miss Maylands." 
 
 "I am going, too," said Dolly, rather suddenly. 
 " Do you think," she added, turning to Mrs. 
 Willoughby, "that it would be very dreadful if 
 Mr. Vanbrugh took me as far as the corner?"
 
 276 MARION DAECHE. 
 
 " What is there dreadful in it ? " asked Mrs. 
 Willoughby, who was old-fashioned and remem- 
 bered the times when young men used to take 
 young girls to parties, and walked home with 
 them unchaperoned. 
 
 "Very well, then, will you take me, Mr. Van- 
 brugh? My maid has not come yet. I only want 
 to go to Mrs. Trehearne's and tell her it is all 
 right about 'that lace." 
 
 " I shall be delighted," answered Vanbrugh, his 
 handsome face lighting up in a way Dolly had 
 never seen. 
 
 They had not been gone more than five minutes 
 when Brett rang at the door again and asked for 
 Mrs. Darche. Stubbs looked at him for a moment, 
 and then said that he would inquire. Brett 
 waited in the library, by the deserted tea table, 
 for Cousin Annie had betaken herself to her own 
 room as soon as Dolly and Vanbrugh left, and he 
 wondered who had been there. It was some time 
 before Marion appeared. 
 
 " I am glad to see you again," she said, q.uietly, 
 and holding out her hand. " You went away so 
 suddenly as though you were anxious about 
 something."
 
 MARION DARCHE. 277 
 
 "I am." 
 
 " And you have made me anxious, too. You 
 were telling me that a great and final misfortune 
 is hanging over my head. You do not know me. 
 You do not understand me. You do not see that 
 I would much rather know what it is, and face 
 it, than live in terror of it and trust altogether 
 to you to keep it from me." 
 
 " But do you not know after all these years, 
 that you can trust me? Do you not trust me 
 now?" 
 
 " Yes," Marion answered after a pause. " As a 
 man, my dear friend, I trust you. You do all 
 that a man can do. I can even give you credit, 
 perhaps, for being able to do more than you or 
 any other man can do. But there is more. There 
 is something yet. Be as faithful as you may, as 
 honest as God has made you, and as brave and as 
 strong as you are you cannot control fate. You 
 do not believe in fate? I do. Well, call it what 
 you please. Circumstances arise which none of 
 us, not the strongest of us, can govern. Whatever 
 this secret is, it means a fact, it means that there 
 is something, somewhere, which might come to
 
 278 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 my knowledge, which might make me unutterably 
 miserable, which you some day may not be able 
 to keep from me. Does it not?" 
 
 " Yes, it does," said Brett, slowly. " I cannot 
 deny that. You might, you may, come to know 
 of it without my telling you." 
 
 " Then tell me now," said Marion earnestly. 
 "Is it not far better and far more natural that 
 this, whatever it may be, should come to me 
 directly from you, instead of through some stranger, 
 unawares, when I am least prepared for it, when 
 I may break down under the shock of it? Do 
 you not think that you, my best friend, could 
 make it easier for me to hear, if any one could?" 
 
 " If any one could, yes," answered Brett in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " And if no one can, then you at least can 
 make it less cruel. Let me know now when I 
 am prepared for it by all you have said prepared 
 to hear the most dreadful news I can possibly 
 imagine, something far more dreadful, I am sure, 
 than anything really could be. Let me hear of 
 it from you of all other men." 
 
 " No, no, do not ask me ! " He turned from
 
 MARION DARCHE. 279 
 
 her as though he had finally made up his mind. 
 " Of all men, I should be the last to hurt you. 
 And there is no certainty, perhaps not even a 
 probability, that you should ever know it if I do 
 not tell you." 
 
 " Ah, but there is ! " she cried, insisting. " You 
 have said so. You told me that a moment ago. 
 No you must tell me. I will not let you go 
 until you do. I will not leave anything unsaid 
 that I can say that a woman can say " 
 
 "No, no!" 
 
 "Harry, I must know. I will know." She laid 
 her hand upon his arm. 
 
 " For heaven's sake ! " exclaimed Brett in the 
 utmost distress. 
 
 "Harry! You loved me once " Her voice 
 vibrated audibly. 
 
 " Once ! " Brett started violently, and turned 
 if possible, paler. 
 
 "You made me think so." 
 
 " Marion, Marion, don't ! " 
 
 "I will. Do you remember, Harry, long, long 
 ago when we were almost boy and girl, how you 
 promised, faithfully, sacredly, that if ever I needed 
 you, that if ever I asked your help "
 
 280 MARION DAKCHE. 
 
 " And you married John Darche instead of me," 
 said Brett, interrupting her. 
 
 "Yes, and I married John Darche," answered 
 Marion, gravely. 
 
 " Because you loved him and not me." 
 
 " Because I thought, no, I will not go back 
 to that. There is a nearer time than that in the 
 past, a day we both remember, a day that I am 
 ashamed of, and yet well you have not forgotten 
 it either. That morning not so many months 
 ago. It was on that day that day when my 
 husband was arrested. It was in this very room. 
 You told me that you loved me, and I you know 
 what I did. It was bad. It was wrong. Call it 
 what you please, but it was the truth. I let you 
 know that I loved you as well as you loved me 
 and better, for I had more to lose. John was alive 
 then. -He is dead now long dead. If I was 
 ashamed then, I am not ashamed now for I have 
 nothing to be ashamed of. I am showing whether 
 I trust you or not, whether I believe in you, whether 
 I am willing to stake my woman's pride on your 
 man's faithfulness. I loved you then, and I 
 showed you that I did. Harry! I love you now 
 and I tell you so without a blush."
 
 MARION DARCHE. 281 
 
 Brett trembled as though in bodily fear, glanced 
 at her and turned away. 
 
 " Great God ! " he exclaimed under his breath. 
 
 " And you Harry you still Harry look 
 at me! What is it?" 
 
 With wide and loving eyes she looked at him, 
 expecting every instant that he would turn to her. 
 But he did not move. Then suddenly, with a 
 low cry, as though she were mortally hurt, she 
 fell back upon the sofa. 
 
 " Oh, my God ! you do not love me ! " 
 
 Her voice was broken and weak, but he heard 
 the words. He turned at last, looked at her, and 
 then knelt down at her side. 
 
 " Marion, Marion ! dear ! " he whispered lovingly, 
 again and again. But she pushed him away. 
 Then he rose to his feet and sat beside her, 
 looking down into her face. "Yes," he said 
 gravely, "you must know my secret now." 
 
 "Yes, I know your secret now, your miserable 
 secret." She turned her face from him against 
 the cushion. 
 
 " No, you do not know it," he said. " You do 
 not even guess it. But I must tell you now.
 
 282 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 Take care. Be strong, be brave. It will hurt 
 you." 
 
 While he was speaking Mrs. Darche rose from 
 the sofa and her expression slowly changed as she 
 realised that he had something grave to tell her. 
 She rose slowly, steadying herself, but not taking 
 her eyes from his face. 
 
 "Tell me, please. I am ready." 
 
 "John Darche is alive, and I have known it 
 almost from the first." 
 
 It seemed to Brett that nothing he had ever 
 done in his life had been half so hard. Marion 
 stared at him for a moment, and then once more 
 sank slowly into her seat and covered her face. 
 
 "Do you understand me now?" he asked after 
 a long pause. "Do you see now why I have 
 fought so hard against telling you this thing?" 
 
 "It is better so," she answered in a low and 
 indistinct tone. "It was better that I should 
 know it now." Then she was silent for a long 
 time. "And is that all you have to tell me after 
 all that I have told you?" she asked at last, as 
 though in a dream. 
 
 "All? All, dear?" Suddenly his resolution
 
 MARION DARCHE. 283 
 
 broke down. "You know it is not all. I love 
 you that is all, indeed and more than I have 
 the right to say or you to hear." 
 
 "A right! What is right? Where is right 
 now?" 
 
 "Where you are, dear." He was holding both 
 her hands in his. 
 
 Then all at once a light came into her face. 
 
 " And we can make the rest right, too ! Are 
 there no laws ? Is there no justice ? If this man 
 who has ruined both our lives is not dead ah ! 
 but he is ! I know he is. What proof have you ? 
 How can you stand there and tell me that I am 
 still bound and tied to a man whose very name is 
 a stain on me, whose mere memory is a disgrace." 
 
 "How do I know?" repeated Brett. "It is 
 simple enough. He has written to me. I have 
 his letters. Do you care to see them? Do you 
 know what he says? What he repeats when- 
 ever Jie writes? He began a few days after we 
 heard of his supposed death. I know the letter 
 by heart. ' My dear Brett I am not dead at 
 all. I know that you love my wife, but I do not 
 propose that you should be happy at my expense.
 
 284 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 If you try to marry her I shall be at the wedding 
 to forbid the banns.'" 
 
 "He wrote that? He wrote that in his own 
 hand?" The strange emotions that were chasing 
 each other in her heart found quick expression in 
 her face.. 
 
 "And he has written it often. Would it have 
 made you happier to know it during all these 
 months? Or could I have looked you in the face 
 as an honourable man and told you that I loved 
 you when I alone knew that your husband was 
 alive?" He had drawn back from her now and 
 stood leaning against the mantelpiece with folded 
 arms. 
 
 " Oh, I see it all ! I see it all now ! " she said. 
 " How brave you have been ! How good ! And 
 now he is coming back to find some new way of 
 hurting us ! Oh it is too much ! I thought I 
 had borne all. But you were right. There \v;is 
 more to bear." 
 
 " Do you know ? " Brett began after a moment's 
 pause. " In spite of this story that was in the 
 papers to-day I find it hard to believe that he has 
 really come back. He was quite capable of start-
 
 MAKION DARCHE. 285 
 
 ing the story himself from a distance for the sake 
 of giving you pain, but he knows as well as we 
 do that if he comes here he comes to serve his 
 time in prison." 
 
 Marion seemed to be trying to think over the 
 situation. 
 
 " Stop ! " she said at last. " You know that there 
 was a woman, too, though we never spoke of her, 
 you and I. But every one knew it. People used 
 to pity me for that before they knew the rest. 
 Do you not think it possible that she may have 
 written those letters to you?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! I know John Darche's handwriting. 
 I have good cause to know it." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose you are right," answered 
 Marion thoughtfully. " Did any one man ever 
 accumulate so much wickedness in a lifetime? He 
 was not satisfied with one crime. And yet he was 
 not the only bad man in the world. What does 
 a girl know of the man she is to marry ? She 
 sees him day after day, of course, but she only 
 sees the best side of him. She knows nothing 
 of what he does r nor of what he thinks when 
 he is not with her, but she imagines it all, in
 
 286 MARION DAKCHE. 
 
 her own way, with no facts to guide her. Then 
 comes marriage. How could I know?" 
 
 " Indeed, it would have been hard for any 
 girl to guess what sort of man John Darche 
 was." 
 
 "Please do not talk about that." 
 
 "And how do you know that I am any better 
 man than John Darche ? " asked Brett, suddenly. 
 "What do you know of my comings and goings 
 when I am not here, or how I spend my time? 
 How do you know that I am not bound by 
 some disgraceful tie, as he was ? I have been 
 in all sorts of places since we said good-bye 
 on that winter's evening. Do you remember? I 
 have wandered and worked, and done ever 
 so many things since then. How do you know 
 that there is not some woman in my life whom 
 I cannot get rid of ? " 
 
 He had not changed his position while speak- 
 ing. When he paused for her answer she went 
 up to him, laying her hands upon his shoulders 
 and looking into his face. 
 
 " Harry ! is there any other ? " 
 
 " No, dear." But his eyes answered before he 
 spoke.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 287 
 
 "I knew it. You have answered your own 
 question. That is all." 
 
 " Thank you." As she drew back he caught 
 her hand and held it, and his words came fast 
 and passionately. " No. That is not all. That 
 is not half. That is not one-thousandth part 
 of what I ought to say. I know it. Thank 
 you? My whole life is not enough to thank you 
 with. All the words I ever heard or know are 
 not enough the best of words mean so little. 
 And they never do come to me when I want 
 them. But those little words of yours are more 
 to me than all the world beside. I do thank 
 you with all my strength, with all my heart, 
 with all my soul, and I will live for you 
 with all three. Why should I say it? You 
 know it all, dear, much better than it can be 
 said, for you believe in me. But it is good 
 to say I wish it could have been half as good 
 to hear." 
 
 She had listened to each word and looked for 
 each passing expression while he spoke. She 
 looked one moment longer after he had finished, 
 and then turned quietly away.
 
 
 288 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 "It is good to hear if you only knew how 
 good ! " she said softly. " And words are not 
 always empty. When they come from the heart, 
 as ours do, they bring up gold with them and 
 things better than gold."
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A LONG silence followed. Neither of them, per- 
 haps, realised exactly what had passed, or if they 
 did, actual facts seemed very far away from their 
 dreamland. Marion was the first to feel again 
 the horror of the situation, tenfold worse than 
 before he had last spoken. 
 
 " Oh, I cannot bear it ! " she said suddenly. " I 
 cannot bear it now as I could. Really alive, 
 after all and this story to-day? Have you found 
 out nothing? Have you nothing more to tell me ? " 
 
 " Yes, there is something to tell you." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Bad news." 
 
 "Bad? Worse than " 
 
 "I am afraid so," answered Brett. 
 
 "You have told me that he is alive." She laid 
 her hand upon his arm. "Do not tell me that 
 he is here ! You said you could not believe it ! " 
 
 " If I do not, it is only because I have not seen 
 
 21 Vol. 9 289
 
 290 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 him with my own eyes. I did not mean to tell 
 you until " he stopped. 
 
 " Tell me ! " cried Marion. " Tell me everything 
 quickly ! If you tell me I can bear it, if you 
 tell me but not from any one else. Where is 
 he ? When did he come ? Is he arrested again ? 
 Is he in prison ? " 
 
 "No, not yet. He is in a sailors' lodging-house 
 if it is he." 
 
 " How do you know it? Oh, how can you be 
 so sure, if you have not seen him ? " 
 
 " None of us have seen him," answered Brett, 
 barely able to speak at all. " Vanbrugh and 
 Brown they went to find him I found Brown 
 in Mulberry Street, waiting for news you know 
 the Police Headquarters are there. Vanburgh had 
 left him then I came up town again to you." 
 
 " Russell Vanbrugh has been here," said Marion, 
 trying to collect her thoughts. "He told Cousin 
 Annie to give strict orders about reporters." 
 
 "He was afraid that Darche might come to try 
 and get money from you " 
 
 " Money ! I would give God knows what I 
 would give."
 
 MARION DARCHE. 291 
 
 " I do not believe he will come," said Brett, 
 assuming a confidence he did not feel. " He 
 must know that the house is watched already." 
 
 Marion's expression changed. Her face turned 
 paler. The lines deepened and her eyes grew 
 dark. She had made a desperate resolution. 
 She took Brett's hand and looked at him in 
 silence for a moment. 
 
 " Good-bye dear," she said. 
 
 She would have withdrawn her hand, but Brett 
 grasped it and pressed it almost roughly to his lips. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said again. 
 
 It was almost too much to ask of any man. 
 Brett held her hand fast. 
 
 " No not good-bye," he answered with rising 
 passion. " It is not possible. It cannot be, Marion 
 do not say it." 
 
 "I must you must." 
 
 "No no no!" he repeated. "It cannot be 
 good-bye. Remember what you said. Is this man 
 who was dead to you and to all the world, if 
 not to me, to ruin both our lives? Are we to 
 bow our heads and submit patiently to such a fate 
 as that? If I had told you long ago that he
 
 292 MAKION DARCHB. 
 
 was alive, as I alone knew he was, would you 
 not have done your best to free yourself from 
 such a tie, from a man you said it yourself - 
 whose very name is a stain, and whose mere 
 memory is a disgrace?" 
 
 "No," answered Marion resolutely, and with- 
 drawing her hands. "I mean it. This is our 
 good-bye, and this must be all, quite all. Do you 
 think I would ever accept such a position as that? 
 That I could ever feel as though the stain were 
 wiped out and the disgrace forgotten by such a 
 poor formality as a divorce ? No ! Let me speak ! 
 Do not interrupt me yet. If I had known six 
 months ago that John was still alive, I would 
 have done it, and I should have felt perhaps, that 
 it meant something, that I was really free, that 
 the world would forget the worst part of my 
 story, and that I could come to you as myself, not 
 as the wife of John Darche, forger and escaped 
 convict. But I cannot do it now. It is too late, 
 now that he has come back. ^No power on earth 
 can detach his past from my present, nor clear me 
 of his name. And do you think that I would 
 hang such a weight as that about your neck?"
 
 MARION DARCHE. 293 
 
 " But you are wrong," answered Brett, earnestly. 
 " Altogether wrong. The life you have lived dur- 
 ing these last months has proved that. Have 
 you ever heard that any one in all the world you 
 know has I will not say dared has even thought 
 of visiting on you the smallest particle of your 
 husband's guilt ? Oh, no ! They say the world 
 is unkind, but it is just in the long run." 
 
 "No. People have been kind to me " 
 
 "No. Just, not kind." 
 
 " Well, call it what you will," Marion answered, 
 speaking in a dull tone which had no resonance. 
 "People have overlooked my name and liked me 
 for myself. But it is different now. A few good 
 friends may still come, the nearest and dearest 
 may stand by me, but the world will not accept 
 without a murmur the man who has married the 
 divorced wife of a convict. The world will do 
 much, but it will not do that. And so I say 
 good-bye again," she continued after a little pause, 
 "once more this last time, for I will not hamper 
 you, I will not be a load upon you. I will not 
 live to give you children who may reproach you 
 for their mother's sake. We shall be what we 
 W ere friends. But,- for the rest good-bye ! "
 
 294 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 " Marion I Do not say such things ! " 
 
 " I will, and I must say them now, for I will 
 not give myself another chance," she answered 
 with unmoved determination. " What has been, 
 has been, and cannot be undone. I did wrong 
 months ago on that dreadful morning, when I let 
 you guess that I might love you. I did wrong 
 on that same day, when I prayed you for my 
 sake to help John to escape, when I made use 
 of your love for me, to make you do the one 
 dishonourable action of your life. I have suffered 
 for it. Better, far better, that my husband 
 should have gone then and submitted to his 
 sentence, than that I should have helped him 
 made you help me " 
 
 "At the risk of your own life," said Brett, 
 interrupting her. 
 
 " There was no risk at all, with you all there 
 to help me, and I knew it." 
 
 " There was," said Brett, insisting. " You 
 might have burned to death. And as for what 
 I did, I hardly knew that I was doing it. I saw 
 that you were really on fire and I ran to help 
 you. No one ever thought of holding me respon-
 
 MARION DARCHE. 295 
 
 sible for what happened when my back was 
 turned. But I would have done more, and you 
 know I would. And now you talk of injuring 
 me, if you divorce that man and let me take 
 your life into mine ! This is folly, Marion, 
 this is downright madness ! " 
 
 Marion looked at him in silence for a moment. 
 
 "Harry, would you do it in my place?" she 
 asked suddenly. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "If your wife had forged, had been convicted, 
 and sentenced, and you had the public disgrace 
 of it to bear, 'would you wish to give me your 
 name ? " 
 
 Brett opened his lips to speak, and then 
 checked himself and turned away. 
 
 " You see ! " she exclaimed, still watching him. 
 
 " No, that would be different," he said at last 
 in a low voice. 
 
 "Why different? I see no difference at all. 
 Of course you must say so, any man would in 
 your place. But that does not make it a fact. 
 You would rather cut off your right hand than 
 ask me to marry you with such a stain on your
 
 296 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 good name. You can have nothing to answer 
 to that, for it is hard logic and you know 
 it." 
 
 "Call it logic, if you will," he answered 
 coming up to her. "It does not convince me. 
 And I will tell you more. I will not yield. I 
 would not be persuaded if I knew that I could 
 be, for I will convince you, I will persuade 
 you that the real wrong and the only wrong is 
 whatever parts a man and a woman who love 
 as we love ; who are ready, as you know we 
 are ready, to give all that man and woman can, 
 each for the other, and who will give it, each to 
 the other, in spite of everything, as I will give 
 you my life and my name and everything I 
 have before I die, whether you will have it or 
 not ! " 
 
 " If I say that I will * not accept such a sacri- 
 fice, what then?" 
 
 "You will accept it," said Brett in a tone of 
 authority. 
 
 " Ah, but I will not ! Harry ! " cried Marion, 
 with a sudden change of voice, "I know that all 
 you say is true. I know how generous you are,
 
 MARION DARCHE. 297 
 
 that you would really do all you say you would. 
 I need not say that I thank you. That would 
 mean too little. But I will not take from you 
 one-thousandth part of what you offer. I will 
 not taint your life with mine. You could not 
 answer my question. You could not deny what I 
 said that if you were in my place, you would 
 suffer anything rather than ask me to marry 
 you. I know you say it is different but it is 
 not. Disgrace is just as real from woman to man 
 as from man to woman, and you shall not have it 
 from me nor through me. That is why I say 
 good-bye. That is why you must say it too 
 for my sake." 
 
 "For your sake?"' 
 
 " Yes," she answered. " Do you think . that I 
 could ever be happy again? Do you not see that 
 if I married you now, I should be haunted 
 through every minute of my life by the bitter 
 presence of the wrong done you? Do you not 
 know what I should feel if people looked askance 
 at you, and grew cold in their acquaintance, and 
 smiled to each other when you went by? Do 
 you think that would be easy to bear? Yes, it is
 
 298 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 good-bye for my sake, as well as yours. Not 
 lightly you know it. It means good-bye to love, 
 and hope, and if I live, it means the loss of 
 freedom, too, when John Darche is released from 
 prison." 
 
 " What ! " cried Brett. " Do you mean to say 
 that you would ever let him come back to 
 you?" 
 
 " I mean that I will not be divorced. And he 
 would come back to me he will come back for 
 help, and I must give it to him when he does." 
 
 " Receive that man . under your roof ! " He 
 could not believe that she was in earnest. 
 
 "Yes. Since he is alive he is still my 
 husband. When he comes back after undergoing 
 his sentence I shall have to receive him." 
 
 " When you know that you could have a 
 divorce for the asking?" 
 
 "Which I would refuse if it were thrust upon 
 me," she answered firmly. 
 
 " That would be mad indeed. What can that 
 possibly have to do with me ? " 
 
 " This," she said. " We are speaking this last 
 time. I will not be divorced from him; do you
 
 MARION DAKCHE. 299 
 
 know why? Because if I were if I were free 
 I should be weak, and marry you. Do you 
 understand now? Try and understand me, for I 
 shall not say it again it is too hard to say." 
 
 "Not so hard as it is to believe." 
 
 "But you will try, will you not?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 The monosyllable had scarcely escaped from 
 his lips, short, energetic and determined, when he 
 was interrupted by Stubbs, who seemed destined 
 to appear at inopportune moments on that day. 
 He was evidently much excited, and he stood 
 stock still by the door. At the same time there 
 was a noise outside, of many feet and of subdued 
 voices. Stubbs made desperate gestures. 
 
 "Mr. Brett, sir! Will you please come out- 
 side, sir ! " He was hardly able to make himself 
 understood. 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked Marion, severely. 
 
 " I cannot help it, sir ! Indeed I cannot, 
 Madam ! " protested the distressed butler. 
 
 Brett understood. 
 
 "There is trouble," he said quickly to Marion, 
 holding out his hands as though he wished to
 
 300 MARION DAECHE. 
 
 protect her, and touching her gently. "Please go 
 away. Leave me here." 
 
 "Trouble?" She was not inclined to yield. 
 
 " Yes. It must be he if you have to see him, 
 this is not the place." 
 
 "But " 
 
 With his hands, very tenderly, he pushed her 
 toward the door at the other end of the room, 
 the same through which John Darche had once 
 escaped. She resisted for a moment then with- 
 out a word she obeyed his word and touch and 
 went out, covering her eyes with her hand. 
 
 "Now then, what is it?" asked Brett, turning 
 sharply around as he closed the door. 
 
 " I could not help it, sir ! " Stubbs repeated. 
 " There is a man in the hall as says he is Mr. 
 John leastwise he says his name is John Darche, 
 though he has got a beard, sir, which Mr. John 
 never had, as you may remember, sir, and there 
 is a lot of , policemen in plain clothes and other- 
 wise, and Mr. Brown says they are pressmen, and 
 the driver of the cab, and Michael Curly, and the 
 expressman " 
 
 " What do all these people want? " inquired 
 Brett, sternly. "Turn them out."
 
 MARION DARCHE. 301 
 
 " It is a fact, sir, just as I tell you and so 
 help me the powers, sir, here they are coming in 
 and I cannot keep them out I cannot, not if I 
 was a dozen Stubbses ! " 
 
 Before he had finished speaking, a number of 
 men had pushed past him into the room, led 
 by Mr. Brown, very much out of breath and 
 trying his best to control the storm he had 
 raised. 
 
 "What is this disturbance, Brown?" asked 
 Brett angrily. "Who are^these people?" 
 
 " It is the man, Brett ! " cried Mr. Brown 
 triumphantly, and pushing forward a burly and 
 bearded individual in a shabby "guernsey" with 
 a black rag tied in a knot round his neck. "Now 
 just look at him, and tell me whether he has the 
 slightest resemblance to John Darche." 
 
 " He is no more John Darche than I am ! 
 Take him away ! " 
 
 " Out with you ! " cried Stubbs, only too anxious 
 to enforce the order. 
 
 " He said he was John Darche," said one of the 
 men from Mulberry Street. 
 
 The man refused to be turned out by Stubbs
 
 302 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 and stood his ground, evidently anxious to clear 
 himself. He was an honest-looking fellow enough, 
 and there was a twinkle in his bright blue eyes 
 as though he were by no means scared, but rather 
 enjoyed the hubbub his presence created. 
 
 "No, sir," he said in a healthy voice that 
 dominated the rest. "I am no more John Darche 
 than you are, sir, unless that happens to be your 
 name, which I ask your pardon if it is. But I 
 said I was, and so the bobbies brought me along. 
 But this gentleman here, he showed me the 
 papers, that there was trouble about John Darche, 
 so I just let them bring me, which I had no call 
 to do, barring I liked, being a sailor man and 
 quick on my feet." 
 
 " Well then, who are you ? " asked Brett. " And 
 where is John Darche?" 
 
 "John Darche is dead, sir, and I buried him 
 on the Patagonian shore." 
 
 '"Dead?" cried Brett. The colour rushed to 
 his face, and for a moment the room swam with 
 him. " Can you prove that, my man ? " 
 
 "Well, sir, I say he is deafl, because I saw him 
 die and buried him just so, as I was telling you."
 
 MARION DABCHE. 303 
 
 This was more than Stubbs could bear in his 
 present humour. 
 
 "Dead, is he? Mr. John's dead, is he? This 
 man says he is dead, and he conies here saying as 
 he is him." 
 
 "Be quiet, Stubbs," said Brett. "Tell your 
 story, my man, and be quick about it," he added. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the man, taking his hands from 
 his pockets, and standing squarely before Brett. 
 " That is what I came to do if these sons of guns 
 will let me talk. John Darche was working his 
 passage as cook, sir, and we was wrecked down 
 Magellan way, and some was drowned, poor 
 fellows, and some was taken off, worse luck for 
 us. But I said I would stick to the ship if 
 Darche would, and we should get salvage money. 
 We had not much of a name to lose, either of us, 
 so we tried it, but the cook was not much to boast 
 of for a sailor man, and we could not bring her 
 through, and she went to pieces on the Patagonian 
 shore. The cook, that was John Darche, he caught 
 his death, what with too much salt water, and 
 too little to eat, and died two days after we got 
 ashore. So I buried him. And seeing as my
 
 304 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 own name, wan't of much use to me, being well 
 known about those parts for a trifle of braining 
 a South American devil in Buenos Ayres, I took 
 his, which wan't no more use to him neither, and 
 somehow or other I got here, by the help of 
 Almighty God and an Eyetalian captain, and 
 working my passage and eating their blooming 
 boiled paste. And I soon found out what sort of 
 a name I had taken from my dead mate, for he 
 seems to have been pretty well known to these 
 here gentlemen. But I daresay as you can swear, 
 sir, that I ain't John Darche as you knew, and 
 maybe as I ain't wanted on my own account, these 
 gentlemen will come and have a drink with me 
 and call quits." 
 
 " Have you got anything to prove this story ? " 
 Brett asked, when the man had finished. 
 
 " Well, sir, there's myself to prove it," said the 
 sailor. "I don't know that I should care for 
 more proof. And there's my dead mate's watch, 
 too. He had a watch, he had. He was a regular 
 swell though he was working his passage as cook. 
 But I had to leave it with my uncle this morning." 
 
 Brett drew a long breath and clasped his hands 
 nervously together.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 305 
 
 "I suppose you can set this man at liberty, 
 upon my declaration that he . is not John Darche, 
 and after hearing his story," he said, turning to 
 the police officer who stood near the sailor. 
 
 " Oh yes, sir," answered the latter. " I guess 
 that will be all right. If not, we'll make it right 
 in five minutes." 
 
 "Well then, I must ask you to go away for 
 the present and as quickly as possible. Take 
 that with you, my man, and come and see me 
 to-morrow morning. My name is Brett. The 
 butler will write my address for you." 
 
 " I don't want your money, sir," said the sailor. 
 
 " Oh yes, you do," answered Brett, with a good- 
 humoured smile. "Go and get your watch out 
 of pawn and bring it with you." 
 
 "Very well, sir," said the sailor. 
 
 As they were going out, it struck Brett that 
 he perhaps owed something to Mr. Brown who, 
 after all, had taken a great deal of trouble in the 
 matter. 
 
 "Mrs. Darche will be very much obliged to 
 you, Brown," he said. " But I am not sure that 
 the matter is ended. It would be awfully good
 
 306 MARION DARCHE. 
 
 of you to put the thing through, while I break 
 the news to Mrs. Darche. Could you not go 
 along with them and see that the man is really 
 set at liberty ? " 
 
 Mr. Brown was a good-natured man, and was 
 quite ready to do all that was asked of him. 
 Brett thanked him once more, and he left the 
 house with the rest. 
 
 When they were all gone, Stubbs came back, 
 evidently very much relieved at the turn matters 
 had taken. 
 
 " Please go into the drawing-room," said Brett, 
 " and ask Mrs. Darche to come here one moment, 
 if she can speak to me alone, and keep every one 
 else out of the room. You understand, Stubbs." 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered the butler. " But it is 
 the Lord's own mercy, sir, especially the watch." 
 He left the room in search of Mrs. Darche. 
 
 Scarcely a moment elapsed before she entered 
 the room. 
 
 " Stubbs said you wanted to see me," she said 
 in a voice that shook with anxiety. 
 
 Brett came forward to meet her, and standing 
 quite close to her, looked into her eyes.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 307 
 
 " Something very strange has happened," he 
 said, with a little hesitation. " Something 
 something very, very good can you bear the 
 shock of a great happiness, dear ? " 
 
 " Happiness," she repeated.' " What is it ? Oh, 
 yes ! " she exclaimed, suddenly understanding. 
 " Oh ! thank God, I see it in your eyes ! It is 
 not true ? He is not here ? oh, Harry ! " 
 
 "Yes. That is it. The whole story was only a 
 fabrication. He is not here. You see I cannot let 
 you wait a moment for the good news. It is so 
 good. So much better even than I have told you." 
 
 " Better ! " she cried as the colour rose to her 
 pale cheeks. "What could be better? Oh, it is 
 life, it is freedom it is almost more than I can 
 bear after ,this dreadful day ! " 
 
 "But you must bear more," said Brett, smiling. 
 
 " More pain ? " she asked with a little start. 
 "Something else?" 
 
 "No. More happiness." 
 
 " Ah, no ! There is no more ! " 
 
 "Yes there is. Listen. There is a reason why 
 the story could not be true, why it is absolutely 
 impossible that it should be true."
 
 308 MARION DARCHB. 
 
 "Impossible?" She looked up suddenly. "You s 
 cannot say that." 
 
 " Yes I can," he answered. " We have seen 
 the last of John Darche. He will never come 
 back." 
 
 "Never?" cried Marion. "Never at all? What 
 do you mean?" 
 
 "Never, in this world," Brett answered gravely. 
 
 She seized his arm with sudden energy and 
 looked into his face. 
 
 "What? No it cannot be true! Oh, do not 
 deceive me, for the love of Heaven ! " 
 
 "John Darche is dead." 
 
 " Dead ! " In the pause that followed, she 
 pressed her hand to her side as though she 
 could not draw breath. 
 
 " Oh ! no ! no it cannot be true. It is another 
 story. Oh, why did you tell me?" 
 
 " It is true. The man who was with him 
 when he died was here a moment ago." 
 
 " Ah, you were right," she said faintly. " It is 
 almost too much." 
 
 Brett's arm went round her and drew her 
 towards him.
 
 MARION DARCHE. 309 
 
 "No," he answered, speaking gently in her 
 ear, "not too much for you and me to bear 
 together. Think of all that has died with him 
 
 think of all the horror and misery and danger 
 and fear that he has, taken out of the world 
 with him. Think that there is nothing now 
 between you and me. Nothing not the shadow 
 of a nothing. That our lives are our own now, 
 and each the other's, yours mine, mine yours, 
 forever and always. Ah, Marion, dear, is that 
 too much to bear?" 
 
 " Almost," she said as her head sank upon 
 his shoulder. " Ah, God ! that hell and heaven 
 should be so near." 
 
 " And such a heaven ! Love ! Darling ! Sweet- 
 heart ! Look at me ! " 
 
 " Harry ! " She opened her eyes. " Love ! No 
 
 find me other words for all you are to me." 
 She drew his face down to hers and their 
 
 lips met. 
 
 THE END.
 
 C/JLE* /
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
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