-LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAN DIEGO 
 
 presented to the 
 
 LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO 
 
 by 
 FRIENDS OF THE LIBRARY 
 
 MR. JOHN C...JIQSE. 
 
 donor
 
 THE GREEN BAY TREE 
 
 A TALE OF TO-DAY 
 
 W. H. WILKINS 
 
 (W. H. DsWINTON) 
 
 AUTHOR OF " ST. MICHAEL'S KVK," " THE FORBIDDEN SACRIFICE," ETC 
 
 SOMETIME EDITOR OF IHk " WMIUrWDUfc" 
 
 NEW YORK 
 J. SELWJN TAIT & SONS 
 
 65 FIFTH AVENUE.
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1894, BY 
 J. SELWIN TAIT & SONS.
 
 P REF A CE 
 
 " I my self have seen the ungodly in great power : and 
 flourishing like a green-bay tree." 
 
 PSALM XXXVII. v. 36. 
 
 Prayer-book version. 
 
 " They come in no misfortune like other folk : neither 
 are they plagued like other men." 
 
 " Lo, these are the ungodly , these prosper in the world, 
 and these have riches in possession." 
 
 PSALM LXXIII. v. 5 & v. 12. 
 
 Prayer-book version.
 
 PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 Chapters I, V, X, XI, XII, XIII ; pars : 18 and 1158 of 
 Chapter IV ; pars : 136 and 4550 of Chapter VIII, and 
 pars : 111 and 2130 of Chapter IX, and Chapters XV, 
 XVI, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XXIV, XXXI, XXXII, 
 XXXIII, XXXIV, XXXVIII, XXXIX, XL, and I/ENVOI, 
 are written by MR. W. H. WILKINS. 
 
 Chapters II, III, VI, VII, XIV ; pars : 910 and 59126 of 
 Chapter IV ; pars : 3744 of Chapter VIII, and pars : 1220 
 of Chapter IX, and Chapters XVII, XVIII, XIX, XXV, 
 XXVI, XXVII, XXVIII, XXIX, XXX, XXXV, XXXVI, 
 XXXVII, are written by MR. HERBERT VIVIAN.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. HIS BEST FRIEND 1 
 
 II. HARROW-ON-THE-HILL 9 
 
 III. THE SCAPEGOAT 20 
 
 IV. CAMBRIDGE 38 
 
 V. GWENDOLEN 52 
 
 VI. THE APOSTLES 65 
 
 VII. IN THE MAY WEEK 76 
 
 VIII. THE FIRST TRINITY BALL 86 
 
 IX. A UNION DEBATE 93 
 
 X. THE BOUNDER KING 98 
 
 XI. ELLE ET LUI 106 
 
 XII. COTTENHAM 112 
 
 XIII. AT HER FEET HE BOWED AND FELL 122 
 
 XIV. THE TRUMP CARD 127 
 
 XV. THE CITY OF LES DOULEURS 136 
 
 XVI. A CURE-HOUSE REVEL 149 
 
 XVII. A COUNTRY HOUSE UP-TO-DATE 163 
 
 XVIII. IN THE CONSERVATORY 171 
 
 XIX. THE MELTING OF THE ICE-MAIDEN 180 
 
 XX. A MINISTERIAL RECEPTION 189 
 
 XXI. AT THE LEVEE 201 
 
 XXII. MRS. MILES'S SEASON 206 
 
 XXIII. THE PLUCKING OF THE PROFESSOR 212 
 
 XXIV. HENLEY REGATTA 220 
 
 XXV. THE GRAFTING OF THE GREEN BAY TREE 232 
 
 XXVI. THE LORD WARDEN 244 
 
 XXVII. THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE 254 
 
 XXVIII. THE WANING HONEYMOON 262 
 
 XXIX. THE HOUSE OF RIMMON. . , . 269
 
 iv CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXX. THE PLUCKING OF THE PIGEON 278 
 
 XXXI. THE SERPENT IN THE EDEN 286 
 
 XXXII. FLIGHT 297 
 
 XXXIII. THE REWARD OF THE RIGHTEOUS 307 
 
 XXXIV. THE SPROUTING OF THE BAY TREE 318 
 
 XXXV. THE WEST-SOUTHWARK ELECTION 324 
 
 XXXVI. GRUB-STREET, W.C 331 
 
 XXXVII. THE CROWN OF BAY-LEAVES 346 
 
 XXXVIII. THE SORROWS OF SANCTITY 359 
 
 XXXIX. THE WOOD OF ST. JOHN 368 
 
 XL. THE LAST STAGE 380 
 
 L'ENVOI.. . 388
 
 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HIS BEST FRIEXD. 
 
 The two greatest stimulants in the world are youth and debt. 
 B. DISKAELI: Tancred. 
 
 WHEN" the Right Honorable Spencer Coryton lay 
 a-dying, he beckoned his son to his bedside and whis- 
 pered, 
 
 " Remember always that your best friend is yourself." 
 
 The next morning the city of Bristol had lost its 
 senior Parliamentary representative and the post of 
 Judge- Advocate-General was vacant. 
 
 Walpole Coryton pondered much over his father's 
 words, and the more he thought over them the more 
 did they commend themselves to him. The late Judge- 
 Advocate-General had certainly illustrated his theory 
 by his example. Taken as a whole his had been a fort- 
 unate life, and he had himself to thank that it had 
 been so. He was a self-made man, who owed most of 
 the good things which had come in his way to his own 
 cool head and his absolute indifference to the feelings 
 of others. A scholarship had carried him from a York- 
 shire grammar school to one of the smaller Oxford col- 
 leges and, when there, his wits had done the rest. He 
 took his degree, was called to the Bar and, with a little 
 money in hand, went on the Western Circuit. He 
 picked up a brief or two, now and then a good one, did 
 a little " devilling," and bided his time. 
 
 1
 
 2 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 He might have bided a very long time, had not great 
 good fortune thrown him in the way of the worthy 
 Miss Graves at a Clifton Subscription Ball. Miss 
 Graves was the orphan daughter and heiress of a 
 Bristol mustard-maker, who might have died a mill- 
 ionaire, the Bristol people said, if he had lived a little 
 longer. But he did not, and so his daughter was left 
 only comfortably off. Still, Miss Graves was rich 
 enough to live in a commodious villa overlooking the 
 breezy Clifton downs, to drive a gaudy yellow chariot 
 known in the neighborhood as " the mustard pot," to 
 subscribe liberally to the local charities, and to keep a 
 " sheep-dog," as Becky Sharp would say, for propriety's 
 sake in this case an elderly spinster cousin. 
 
 Miss Graves \vas not without aspirations, if short of 
 aspirates. She had a soul above mustard, and delib- 
 erately avoided the smelly old Redcliffe Street, where 
 all her money had been made ; she had a soul, too, 
 above the gilded youth of Bristol and Clifton " society " 
 who, it must be confessed, were for the most part de- 
 cidedly provincial in their manners and their bearing. 
 She was a woman of correct principles and correspond- 
 ingly stupid. She occupied sittings w r ell to the front 
 at the Evangelical Church of St. Jude's, and was 
 thought very highly of by the parochial clergy. Prob- 
 ably she would have ended by marrying one of them 
 fifty per cent, of the daughters of the well-to-do Bristol 
 merchants marry clergymen, it is so " genteel " had 
 not fate thrown her across the path of that good-look- 
 ing young barrister, Spencer Coryton. 
 
 Spencer Coryton saw his opportunity and made 
 the most of it. Things were going rather hardly 
 with him just then and time did not permit of a pro- 
 tracted wooing. The lover was arduous, the lady 
 was not coy. He ascertained her nett market value. 
 On the credit side, there was a little over two thou- 
 sand a year; to her debit were the facts that she 
 was plain and past her first bloom. She was, in 
 short, like home-made bread, heavy but wholesome. 
 But then he had nothing at all, except his good looks, 
 his glib tongue, and his bright brains. Brains were 
 not quite so much at a discount then as they are now.
 
 HIS BEST FRIEND. 3 
 
 The market was not so overstocked. Now all the 
 young men are so very clever that a stupid one is 
 quite at a premium. But this in parenthesis. 
 
 Spencer Coryton thought it over and the lady 
 thought it over ; that is to say he thought it over 
 for her, for her mind was receptive and not readily 
 given to new ideas. So Miss Graves very decorously 
 " fell in love." She was dazzled by the brilliancy of 
 this young barrister, his conversation opened a new 
 vista upon her limited horizon. She began to think 
 that to be a barrister's wife would be quite as " gen- 
 teel " as to be the wife of a clergyman, and to be 
 the wife of a Member of Parliament for he had 
 confided to her his ambitious dreams almost aristo- 
 cratic. Within a few months of their first meeting 
 at the Clifton Ball these two were wed. 
 
 Two thousand a year is only two thousand a year 
 after all, though it assumes different aspects from the 
 point of view one looks at it. It does not go far, 
 if one has large ideas. Spencer Coryton had large 
 ideas, though he had been taught by experience how 
 to make one sovereign do the work of two better 
 than most men, and his wife, with her inherited com- 
 mercial instinct, could almost make one do the work 
 of three. Her stupidity was only with regard to 
 abstract ideas ; such concrete matters as butchers' and 
 bakers' bills she grasped with remarkable quickness. 
 
 "Within a year or two of his marriage, through 
 his wife's local connection and influence her father 
 had been an Alderman and Mayor of his native city 
 Spencer Coryton entered Parliament as one of the 
 Conservative Members for Bristol and, when once he 
 was in, he was not turned out again. With the 
 magic letters M. P. added to his name, the Member 
 for Bristol contrived, by "guinea-pigging," floating 
 Companies and other means known to impecunious 
 Members of Parliament, to add materially to his 
 income. Still, appearances had to be kept up more 
 was required of public men in those days than now 
 and it required very careful management to make 
 both ends meet. 
 
 So long as Mrs. Coryton lived, they did meet
 
 4 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 somehow, but when she died, some ten years after 
 their marriage, leaving her husband with an only 
 son, he gave himself wider scope and, on the principle 
 that, as one can only live once, one may as well 
 enjoy oneself, he began to dip into his capital. 
 
 It was not all enjoyment, though, for, like many 
 other astute men, he speculated and, despite astuteness, 
 lost. He was far too much mixed up with bubble 
 companies not to be bitten with the gambling mania. 
 Still, taking his life as a whole and looking at it 
 from a purely selfish point of view, it cannot be 
 denied that he got a good deal of enjoyment out 
 of it. 
 
 He rented a well-appointed little house in St. James's 
 Place which in those days was not so much given 
 over to the lodging-house fiend as it is now one of 
 the little houses which cast a backward glance over 
 the Green Park; he belonged to all the best clubs, 
 he stayed at many of the best country houses, he 
 did a little racing in a gentlemanly way, and he 
 flattered and dined all the wealthy and leading men 
 of his party. 
 
 In the party he was known as a useful man, and 
 a " useful man " in politics is generally the one who 
 does the dirty work. He was great in the party Caucus 
 and well known as a popular platform speaker, an 
 astute wire-puller, and one who could trim his sails to 
 the passing wind. His was not the highest form of 
 statesmanship perhaps, but it was very useful to those 
 who worship at the shrine of the Jumping Cat. The 
 conservative leaders were well disposed towards him, 
 and the Dukes and the moneyed men regarded him 
 with patronizing friendship. When his party at last 
 emerged from the cold shades of Opposition to the sun- 
 shine of Office, he was rewarded with the minor post 
 of Judge- Advocate-General so called, say some, because 
 the man who holds it is neither a Judge nor an Advo- 
 cate nor a General and there was a Privy Councillor- 
 ship along with it. 
 
 Spencer Coryton swore not loud but deep, for, like 
 all men of his type, he thought himself worthy of 
 Cabinet-office at least. But half a loaf is better than
 
 HIS BEST FRIEND. 5 
 
 no bread, and he took what was offered in the spirit 
 with which it was given and comforted himself with 
 the thought that this added dignity would stave off his 
 creditors for a while. "To him that hath shall be 
 given " is the rule in political life and in everything 
 else as well, for the matter of that. The new Judge- 
 Advocate-General knew this no one better and he 
 was far too shrewd a man to flaunt his poverty. 
 
 " To be poor is a misfortune, to look poor is a crime," 
 he would say to himself, as he sat down to breakfast 
 in the dining-room of his cosy little house in St. 
 James's Place, after throwing a heap of unopened bills 
 upon the fire. Half an hour later he would whirl away 
 in his spick-and-span brougham to attend to his official 
 duties or a board-meeting of some Company of which 
 he was Chairman or a Committee-Meeting at the House, 
 faultlessly dressed, alert, smiling, as though there were 
 no such things as bills or creditors in the world. 
 
 Acting consistently on these lines, he managed to 
 live in luxury and comfort, honored and envied among 
 men, until the day of his death. What the future 
 might bring, what would happen if any of his many 
 wires became tangled, what might become, after his 
 death, of his only son, then a boy at Harrow, he neither 
 knew nor cared. 
 
 " He has his wits as I have mine. Why should I 
 trouble about him, he has never troubled about me," 
 he would probably have said, if any one had ventured 
 to remonstrate with him about his son. 
 
 But no one remonstrated, for none troubled and none 
 cared. 
 
 A chill contracted at a political meeting carried off 
 Spencer Coryton rather suddenly and, when the morn- 
 ing papers announced his death and the Times dis- 
 missed the late Judge-Advocate-General with a brief 
 obituary notice, his friends and acquaintances, who 
 read it at their breakfast-tables, said, " Poor fellow, I 
 wonder who will get his place," and went on with their 
 breakfasts. 
 
 That was his requiem the tribute of his friends. 
 He had not many of them, for a man who goes on the 
 principle that he is himself his best friend, is not likely
 
 6 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 to be over-blessed with others. And when, a few days 
 later, it ran round the Clubs that he had left his affairs 
 in an embarrassed state, the men who had eaten his 
 dinners shook their heads and remarked sententiously 
 that it was very wrong for a man to live beyond his 
 means and that they for their part always feared there 
 was something not quite straight about him : he was 
 far too much mixed up with doubtful Companies, etc., 
 etc., and so on through all the other variations of that 
 " I told you so," with which wise nieii of the world are 
 so prone to be wise after the event. 
 
 " There is a son' isn't there?" said one or two, "I 
 wonder what will become of him?" 
 
 But very few gave more than a passin'g thought to 
 the youth, who, in the darkened house in St. James's 
 Place, was making personal acquaintance with the 
 world's hardness and meanness. 
 
 The " friends " who had known the dead man best 
 shunned the house, as though it had been plague- 
 stricken, and most of them now forgot all about him 
 and his son too. But Walpole Coryton and the law- 
 yers unravelled everything between them, and when 
 that was done, the son found that the father had left 
 him nothing but his debts. 
 
 It was not exactly a promising state of affairs, but 
 the younger Coryton was not one to indulge hi useless 
 lamentations and vain regrets. An instinct of self- 
 preservation taught him to put a bold face on it and 
 to try to hide as much as possible of the true state 
 of affairs from the world. Things might have been 
 worse, for he discovered that he had 4,000, a legacy 
 left him by a cousin of his mother's, the principal of 
 which his father had been unable to touch. 
 
 The ideal son would, of course, have sacrificed this 
 to pay his father's debts and gone forth penniless 
 into the world. But Walpole was not an ideal son, he 
 was simply the son of his father and, mindful of his 
 dying advice, he kept the 4,000 in his own pocket. He 
 had, in fact, some little debts of his own, but he didn't 
 mean to settle them either, at least if he could help it. 
 The events of the past few weeks had taught him 
 more than ever the value of that touchstone of modern 
 life ready money.
 
 HIS BEST FRIEND. 7 
 
 So the late Judge- Advocate-General's affairs settled 
 themselves, and both they and he were soon forgotten. 
 
 When all was over, Walpole Coryton sat down to 
 survey the situation and to sketch out his plan of 
 campaign. 
 
 Matters stood thus : He was to all intents and pur- 
 poses his own master. The fifteen months or so, which 
 had elapsed since he left Harrow, had been spent 
 abroad. His father had sent him to Heidelberg, osten- 
 sibly to learn languages, in reality to get him out of 
 the way. He made an excuse for not. sending him to 
 Cambridge or Oxford, the true reasoc being that he 
 did not feel inclined to give him the money to go. 
 
 Walpole Coryton knew this and, when his father's 
 death left him free to choose what to do with his 
 4,000, he resolved to spend part of it on a University 
 education. He would carry out his original intention 
 and go up to Cambridge. He chose Cambridge, like 
 everything else, for a reason. Upon calculation he 
 found that most of his Harrow friends certainly those 
 who were most likely to be useful were there now. 
 Arguing to himself that it is no use having friends 
 unless one can make use of them, he resolved to go up 
 to Cambridge and do so. 
 
 Walpole Coryton smelt his destiny, as dogs smell a 
 wolf, and that destiny was political life. He knew all 
 about it or thought he did its difficulties, its discour- 
 agements, its meanness, its ingratitude, but with him 
 politics were a passion, and he resolved to brave all. 
 His father's career, so far from discouraging him, was 
 to be to him as a beacon light, warning him of the 
 pit-falls to avoid an experience by which he might 
 benefit and in the light of which he meant to succeed 
 where the other had failed. That which had not been 
 possible in the one generation should be accomplished 
 in the next. He had his father's name not much it 
 was true but still it would serve as an introduction 
 to public life. He could not afford to waste any of his 
 little advantages. 
 
 His father's last words still rang in his ears : his 
 best friend must be himself. With the son as with 
 the sire self came first, self second and, if there was
 
 8 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 anything left, self again. He was in fact all self : the 
 God he worshipped was Self. " Nothing," said Mira- 
 beau, " is impossible to the man who believes in him- 
 self." If that were true, then young Coryton had 
 already won half his battle, for himself was about all 
 that he did believe in. 
 
 Walpole Coryton was just what his inherited instincts 
 and the circumstances of his life had made him, noth- 
 ing more and nothing less. There is an amiable idea 
 prevalent among some people that we come into the 
 world like a sheet of white paper and that all the ugly 
 blots and smudges and smears which appear upon the 
 surface thereafter are of our own making. But is it 
 so ? Is not the paper often so smeared and warped in 
 the making that it takes a life's work to clean and 
 smooth it if indeed the marks be not rather accent- 
 uated and deepened ? We partake of the texture of 
 the clay in which we are moulded, and we have to 
 fight if we fight at all not only against ourselves, 
 but against the inherited vices and predilections of 
 those who gave us life. Just as the cripple, the con- 
 sumptive, the idiot, the diseased of all kinds are handi- 
 capped in body from their birth by circumstances over 
 which they have no control, so are many weighed down 
 in mind and hampered in soul by hereditary tendencies, 
 against which they often struggle in vain. 
 
 Walpole Coryton was his father's son, with his 
 father's clear head and long sight and with all his 
 father's selfishness and unscrupulousness intensified 
 by the training he had received. " As the twig is bent, 
 the tree's inclined" and in this case it had been bent 
 and bent designedly into crooked and tortuous lines. 
 The child was the father of the boy, the boy of the man. 
 The childhood need not be described. Childhood at 
 best is always tedious. What the boyhood was, we 
 must look back a little to see.
 
 UAliHO\y-ON-THE'HILL. 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 HAREOW-ON-THE-HIT/T, 
 
 Au commencement de la vie toutes les coupes sont pleines : 
 buvez lentement, si vous voulez qu'il vous rente quelquecnose sur 
 le tard. Ne buvez pan trop tot les vins capiteux, car alors vous 
 ne sauriezplus sentir les saveurs douces et saines. PIEKBE LOTI. 
 
 " SELL for you, Shepheard, you clown. Can't come 
 in. Saw you coming." 
 
 " What, at it already ! Look sharp and open. I'll 
 take a hand till lock-up." 
 
 Three youths were playing Nap in a room of Mr. 
 Wellesley's house at Harrow on the first day of term. 
 The air was thick with smoke. Each boy had a 
 cigarette in his mouth and a tumbler of claret and 
 soda by his side. The door had been secured by the 
 simple expedient of thrusting a poker into a hole in 
 the floor just inside the room. The hole had been 
 there beyond the memory of boy and had done duty 
 for many generations of rule-breakers. 
 
 "That game of pretending to bar out Shepheard 
 is getting played out," remarked Harold Gaverigan, 
 the new-comer, as he shook hands all rpund, " we 
 really must think of something just a little less chest- 
 nutty. Last term old Weller came in at least half 
 a dozen times, when the door was barred, and each 
 time we sang out, ' Go away, Shepheard,' in a 
 way that wasn't even plausible, and each time he 
 found us four sitting in the most unnatural attitudes 
 on hard chairs round a table with absolutely nothing 
 on it but a titty-bowl. We're sure to be cobbed at 
 this rate. And just now I heard Coryton's voice 
 screaming, ' Propose,' before I was half-way upstairs."- 
 
 " That was before Pirn came in," remarked the boy 
 named suavely, " the Pigeon and I were just having a 
 irontle flutter at eatrle"
 
 10 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 " In which you began with king and vol each game, 
 I wager," Gaverigan replied with a smile. " You 
 should play with me, Pigeon, you know I never do 
 such things. Come on, I'll take a hand." 
 
 The poker was replaced, Gaverigan poured himself 
 a glass of cherry-brandy on the sideboard, and the four 
 were soon immersed in their game. 
 
 Meanwhile let us take the opportunity of casting a 
 look around the room and its inmates. A single row 
 of pictures ran all round the walls, in weird frames 
 like those at the Chat N~oir. Some fencing-foils and 
 boxing-gloves suggested active tastes different from 
 those in fashion at Harrow, and an array of hunting- 
 trophies served to suggest on the principle that " he 
 may safely lie who comes from far " a possible cultus 
 of the country gentleman's fetish in place of the cricket- 
 and-footballolatry, which are exacted at public schools. 
 The only solid emblem of physical prowess was an 
 absurd pewter pot, with the words " House Sack-race " 
 writ large upon it and a collection of quill pens stuck 
 contemptuously inside. 
 
 The books were unusually numerous for a boy's 
 room and were arranged with an evident eye to effect. 
 The battered school-books, with the regulation stamp 
 on the edges of the leaves, were in a curtained shelf 
 behind a screen ; in a prominent case, opposite the 
 windows, where the light showed up their gilded calf, 
 was a set of school prize-books, the Bourchier History 
 prize, the Ebrington French prize, and a prize won for 
 an Englisn essay on Cardinal Richelieu ; underneath 
 them were scattered, in studied confusion, the books 
 meant to be paraded : Montaigne's Essays, Mill on 
 Liberty, Shelley's works, Disraeli's novels and Chester- 
 field's letters ; underneath again, in a locked cupboard, 
 was a naughty collection of yellow-covered novels in 
 two languages. 
 
 There was a long box of flowers in the window, 
 chiefly geraniums and heliotrope and some sweet peas, 
 that had been trained to climb the thick wire netting, 
 which cages in Harrow boys as securely as if they 
 were lunatics or linnets. In the panels of what looked 
 like a wardrobe-door were pasted cartoons of political
 
 HAEEO W-ON- THE-HILL. 1 1 
 
 celebrities from Britain, a paper which describes itself 
 as the organ of Conservative working-men and appar- 
 ently attributes to those rare birds vulgar and rudi- 
 mentary ideas both of art and wit. 
 
 Inside this door was the famous Harrow fold-up bed, 
 which is let down on to the floor when required for 
 use and put back in its musty cupboard during the 
 day. These are the beds in which new boys are pop- 
 ularly supposed to be shut up, head-downwards, every 
 Guy Fawkes' day and perhaps were before this desper- 
 ately mollycoddle age, when bullying has gone out of 
 fashion and boys are allowed to grow up into flabby 
 editions of Mr. Oscar Wilde. The object of this kind 
 of bed is to keep up appearances and conceal the fact 
 that the costly privilege of education at a crack public 
 school does not exempt boys from the poor man's 
 hardship of having to use his bedroom not only to 
 sleep in, but to live in, work in, play in, even take his 
 meals in. 
 
 The latter is pressed upon the boys as a privilege, 
 only those in the sixth-form being allowed to have 
 breakfast and tea in their bedrooms, and three or four 
 clubbing together in what is called a " find," for the or- 
 ganization of those indigestible feasts. The lower boys 
 take all their food downstairs, but, in revenge, they are 
 packed away two, three, and even four together, in 
 little dens scarcely bigger than a saddle-room. 
 
 Another rough device served to conceal the washing 
 arrangements in a similar spirit of pretence and pru- 
 dery. It was now made to do duty as a sideboard and 
 supported a heavy home-made cake, a syphon, a bottle 
 of claret and a smaller one of cherry-brandy. 
 
 On each side of the fireplace was a long, deep wicker 
 chair with soft chintz cushions, which combined great 
 cheapness and undoubted comfort. One was the prop- 
 erty of the master of the room, Walpole Coryton, the 
 other that of his bosom friend, Lord Pimlico, who, 
 being only in the upper-fifth, had not a room to him- 
 self and, while nominally sharing one on the same 
 landing with Shepheard, had taken to making Cory- 
 ton's room for all practical purposes his headquarters. 
 
 Walpole Coryton, who was now dealing, had never
 
 12 THE GREEN SAY THEE. 
 
 been known to put himself out one hair's-breadth for 
 anybody and yet somehow every one was devoted to 
 him. He hadn't such a thing as a scruple about him, 
 but he possessed the cardinal knack or virtue of never 
 being found out. There were few more popular fel- 
 lows in the school, and this though he habitually 
 offended all the most deeply rooted prejudices of the 
 place, from shirking football to taking an interest in 
 his work. 
 
 The charm about him was that he never resented 
 anything. That was his philosophy. He might have 
 been bullied and tricked and disappointed and he 
 would have turned a smiling face to the smiter, even 
 though ho bore malice. But he never was bullied or 
 tricked or disappointed; everything always turned 
 out to him for the best in this best of possible worlds. 
 
 There was an element of mischief in his character. 
 He was not precisely cruel, but he would announce, 
 with cynical half-truth, that to see other people suffer 
 added a zest to any enjoyment of his own at the time. 
 He said he never enjoyed a blow-out at Paul's or 
 Hance's so much as on a very cold day, with a crowd 
 of very ragged street-boys flattening their noses envi- 
 ously at the window. But then again he would find a 
 pleasure in making those same ragamuffins scramble 
 for pennies as soon as his feast was done. 
 
 If he had any antipathy at all, it was for violent ex- 
 ercise. He was a sportsman in a sort of negative way. 
 lie liked going to a meet, but would never join IP a 
 run ; he would get boys to bowl to him on a summer 
 afternoon, but would never join in a game where he 
 might have to field out; he took a somewhat platonic 
 interest in racing and had the reputation of being a 
 gambler, but he only betted or played to win, and was 
 never known to lose his head at cards. 
 
 The marvel about him was that he would do the 
 rashest things imaginable and never seem to run the 
 faintest risk. For instance, he would smoke a cigar- 
 ette openly in his room after the midday dinner, play 
 cards there in the afternoon and dispense cherry- 
 brandy to all his friends at tea-time, though the dis- 
 covery of any one of those habits would have entailed
 
 HARROW-ON-THE-HILL. 13 
 
 a flogging and perhaps degradation from the sixth 
 form ; he prepared all his construes with a crib, he got 
 all his mathematics and tedious exercises done for him 
 by other boys, shirked impositions and had even been 
 known to shirk a school or chapel, and yet remained 
 as far above suspicion as a new-laid egg. 
 
 He possessed considerable physical beauty with a 
 dash of devilry in it, an arched nose terminating in a 
 point, large dark liquid eyes, a short upper lip, tiny 
 fawn's ears and black wavy hair. He was nearly 
 eighteen, and already slight traces of dissipation had 
 formed themselves upon his face, blue-black pencil- 
 lings under the eyes and a faint line at the corner of 
 the mouth. It was a face which physiognomists would 
 fancy they could read offhand, but which really served 
 to cloak many unexpected touches of character. 
 
 Playing nap there that evening, he looked quite in 
 his element and might have stepped straight out of 
 one of Caravaggio's pictures. 
 
 On the right was Lord Pimlico ; beyond him was 
 the Honorable Wilfrid Tyrconnel, commonly called 
 " the Pigeon " and on the left was Harold Gaverigan. 
 The first two and Coryton. were somewhat profanely 
 known to the House as "the Trinity" from their 
 inseparable intimacy. Coryton had struck up a friend- 
 ship with Pimlico, partly because he might be useful 
 and partly because he was amusing, and the two had 
 adopted Tyrconnel simply and solely in order to make 
 him useful. Pimlico was only in the upper-fifth and 
 nominally had breakfast and tea in hall, though prac- 
 tically he made one of the " find," or mess, in Coryton's 
 room, which comprised Coryton, Tyrconnel, and Gave- 
 rigan. 
 
 Lord Pimlico was the son and heir of the Marquis 
 of Southwark a Cabinet Minister who owned race- 
 horses and he would some day be a magnate in 
 his county, if not in the kingdom. He was a wild, 
 dare-devil sort of youth and a great contrast to Cory- 
 ton, not only from the unlicked, semi-barbarity of his 
 manners, but from the animalism of his emotions. 
 He was muscular and erect, Avith a bull-dog neck, 
 wolfish teeth that showed when he laughed, projecting
 
 14 THE GREEN BAY TEEE. 
 
 eyeballs, short hair, and a pimply face. His voice was 
 harsh, even when he sought to be agreeable, and he 
 had an unpleasant habit of panting in people's faces 
 when he spoke to them. 
 
 The Pigeon was also an only son. His father was 
 a richissime soap-boiler, who had married the only 
 daughter of the House of Tyrconnel, adopted her 
 name in addition to his own of Simpson, then dropped 
 the Simpson altogether, and finally blossomed out, a 
 year before the events of this chapter, as the brand- 
 new Baron Baltinglass of Blarney. The Pigeon was 
 not altogether a fool the soap-boiler's blood in his 
 veins took care of that ; it was his singular gentleness 
 of manner and his exaggerated conscientiousness which 
 had earned him his nickname. He had an unusual re- 
 gard for truth and had surprised masters by refusing 
 to accept the credit of successes, to which he was not 
 strictly entitled, and boys by the perversity with 
 which he offered himself up as a sacrifice to accept 
 blame and punishment, which a discreet silence would 
 have staved off. 
 
 There was one strange vein of character in his 
 composition, probably a stray touch of atavism from 
 the gay roysterers among his mother's Cavalier ances- 
 tors, from whom came also the heroism and chivalry 
 of his disposition. Even in his most conscientious 
 moments he had an irresistible craving for excitement. 
 If it led him to break rules, he made no mystery about 
 it and was ready to take the consequences, but excite- 
 ment he must have at all costs. Coryton and Pimlico 
 provided him with a certain measure of it with cards, 
 and at the same time provided themselves with a wel- 
 come addition to their stores of pocket-money. In 
 any exciting piece of mischief that was on foot he was 
 sure to have a hand. 
 
 He was often at issue with authority and that 
 without the scapegrace's best defence a diplomatic 
 dissimulation. His honesty was in such cases the 
 worst policy and availed nothing to protect him. He 
 was not long in making the discovery that the eccle- 
 siastical theories about virtue and happiness going 
 ever hand in hand are a delusion and a snare. In-
 
 HA BRO n '-ON- TIIE-HILL. 1 5 
 
 deed the wise men of old were the first to admit it. 
 Throughout the Old Testament there runs a chronic 
 and morose resentment at the very good time indeed 
 enjoyed in this world by the wicked. " They flourish 
 like a green bay-tree," " their eyes swell with fatness, 
 they do even as they list," it is petulantly exclaimed ; 
 and much hot breath is expended in foretelling ca- 
 lamity concerning them. But somehow or other the 
 day of retribution seems strangely slow to dawn and, 
 while the saints are fasting, giving tithes of all they 
 possess, and generally making themselves miserable, 
 the sinners go on getting all the cakes and ale, waxing 
 fat and kicking, and gobbling up the fatted calves. Hil- 
 debrand summed up the situation, when he exclaimed 
 cynically upon his death-bed, " I have loved righteous- 
 ness and hated iniquity ; therefore I die in exile." 
 
 The remaining player was Harold Gaverigan a youth 
 by no means accustomed to be kept waiting. He was 
 the only son of a Cornish country gentleman of ancient 
 lineage, a tall fair boy with childish face and twink- 
 ling eyes, but a certain determination of manner that 
 generally got him his own way. 
 
 After the game had proceeded for about an hour, the 
 lock-up bell rang. The boys hastily put away their 
 contraband goods, rinsed their mouths with eau-de- 
 cologne and water to remove the tell-tale smell of 
 smoke, and exchanged their tweed coats for the regu- 
 lation swallow-tails, before going down to answer their 
 names in hall. 
 
 Mr. Wellesley went the round, shaking hands with 
 every one according to the custom of first day of term ; 
 the head of 'the house read through the roll-call ; and 
 Mr. Wellesley retired to his study. Before doing so 
 he said in bell-like tones : 
 
 " Coryton, Mr. Tyrconnel,* and Gaverigan, I want 
 to speak to you after supper." 
 
 The usual supper, consisting of cold meat, cheese 
 and swipes, was laid out on the hall-table, but the 
 
 * It is scarcely necessary to explain, for the benefit of the ig- 
 iiorami, that boys with the title of " Honorable " are called " Mr. 
 officially at Harrow.
 
 16 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 boys, fresh from better fare at home, showed little in- 
 clination to sit down to school-food so soon. 
 
 Shepheard and two others alone did so. Shepheard 
 was a heavy good-natured fellow, accustomed to be 
 laughed at all round. Coryton slapped him on the 
 back, as he passed through the hall with his two 
 friends on the way to the house-master's study. 
 
 "It was a sell for you, old boy, to-day, wasn't it?" 
 he said playfully. 
 
 " What was ? " retorted Shepheard, with his mouth 
 full of bread and cheese. 
 
 " Why, not being able to get into my room this 
 evening, when we barred you out." 
 
 Shepheard gave a grunt of disgust and was about to 
 expostulate, but the three had passed on laughing. 
 
 Mr. Wellesley received them with an unusually 
 grave face. It was a face not unlike that of the Duke 
 of Wellington and he w r as inordinately vain of the re- 
 semblance. When he liked, he could look alarmingly 
 severe, but those who knew him well were never afraid 
 of him, for he had the kindest of hearts and rarely 
 punished if he could avoid it. 
 
 " Sit down," he said austerely, scarcely looking up 
 from the Quarterly Review he was reading. 
 
 Coryton with easy indifference ensconced himself 
 at once in a big leather arm-chair near the window and 
 sat dangling his legs. Tyrconnel, in a rather con- 
 strained manner, took a hard chair, folded his arms 
 and wondered anxiously what was coming. Gaverigan 
 leaned carelessly against a revolving bookcase, resting 
 his forehead on his forefinger and trying to look un- 
 concerned. He always studied his attitudes, and he 
 had seen one something like this in an engraving of 
 Disraeli the younger. 
 
 Mr. Wellesley went on reading for nearly five min- 
 utes, as if no one were in the room. Presently 
 Gaverigan gave a long cough, obviously intended to 
 express the fact that he was waiting. Mr. Wellesley's 
 eyes lighted up with a grim smile, but otherwise he 
 made not the faintest sign of having heard. Then 
 Coryton, in the most natural voice in the world, asked 
 Tyrconnel from the other side of the room at what
 
 HARROW-ON-THE-H1LL. 17 . 
 
 time speechroom was next morning. Mr. Wellesley 
 said " Hush," but still did not look up from his book. 
 The boys gave a suppressed titter and relapsed into 
 silence. 
 
 At last Mr. Wellesley looked up. 
 
 "I am going to speak to you, boys, on a serious 
 matter," he said, in clear deliberate tones, " you must 
 look on what I have to say in the light of a warning. 
 It has come to my knowledge during the holidays 
 no matter how that card-playing has been going on 
 in the house. I ask no questions. I do not wish 
 to be told anything " he added, as Tyrconnel impul- 
 sively tried to say something ; " do not interrupt me, 
 Mr. Tyrconnel. It is possible that some of you may 
 know who the culprits are. If so, you will be doing 
 them and me a service by informing them that it 
 must be stopped at once at once, do you hear? I 
 shall be on the look-out and, if I catch any one, I 
 shall not have the least hesitation about sending him 
 up to the head-master. I appeal to you, boys, for 
 the good name of the House, I mean, you can remind 
 your friends that a scandal of this sort would be very 
 unpleasant for us all. Other things have been men- 
 tioned to me also. A number of wine-bottles were 
 found in the orchard. But one warning must cover 
 all delinquencies. If any one's conscience prick him, let 
 it be a lesson to him for the future. Now you may go." 
 
 "I would like to say first, sir," said Coryton in 
 his usual cheerful tones, "that I am quite innocent 
 both of cards and bottles. I suppose you sent for us 
 because you thought we had something to do with it, 
 but I assure you that you are mistaken at least so 
 far as I am concerned," he added hastily, perceiving 
 that Tyrconnel was about to correct him. 
 
 "I believe you, my boy," the master replied, looking 
 into Coryton's frank eyes, which always stood him 
 in good stead even in the worst predicaments; "I am 
 sorry if my suspicions fell on the wrong heads. Too 
 bad, is it not?" he added with a twinkle, " dat veniam 
 corvis, vexat censura columbas? 
 
 " That's one for you, Pigeon," said Gaverigan in 
 a stage whisper, nudging his friend. 
 2
 
 18 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 " Now run along," said Mr. Wellesley, " and, Gave- 
 rigan," he added with emphasis, " I advise you to give 
 up those incessant romps and barrings-out with Shep- 
 heard. Now you are in the sixth, you must put away 
 childish things. Good-night. Do not forget what I 
 have said to you." 
 
 "You are an amazing chap, Pigeon," sa^d Cory ton 
 at breakfast next morning, recurring to this interview 
 for about the twentieth time, " I really thought at one 
 time you were going to say to old Weller, ' Yes, sir, 
 it's quite true, I have a card-party every afternoon 
 between fourth school and lock-up, and those were all 
 my bottles in the orchard ' ! " 
 
 " Of course I was going to tell him. You said we 
 none of us had anything to do with it. I can't help 
 your lying to save your own skin, but I am not going 
 to give a tacit assent to any lies you may tell about me 
 in my presence." 
 
 " Good old Pigeon ! " they all laughed. 
 
 "But what were the bottles?" asked Gaverigan, 
 " you surely hadn't drunk all that brandy, Pigeon ?" 
 
 " It wasn't brandy," he replied, " it was that wretched 
 Coryton's claret-bottles. Before starting for his exeat, 
 he came to me with a travelling-bag full of bottles and 
 asked me to keep them in my bag till he came back, 
 as I wasn't going for an exeat" 
 
 " Poor Pigeon ! Did you ever escape having your 
 'ex' stopped, I wonder?" 
 
 " So I kept them in my bag till he came back, and 
 then he pretended he knew nothing about them, and I 
 was saddled with the beastly things." 
 
 A roar of laughter greeted this admission. 
 
 " Well, I had to throw them out over the orchard 
 'vail from my window at dead of night and there was 
 a light in Weller's study at the time and I heard 
 him open his window to see what was up. So perhaps 
 he had his suspicions about me." 
 
 " Not improbable, I should say," put in Coryton 
 judicially. " What puzzles me is how he heard about 
 the cards. I wonder whether William can have told 
 his father." 
 
 " No, William Wellesley isn't a sneak, and, besides, 
 he doesn't know,"
 
 HAEEO W-ON- THE-HILL. \ 9 
 
 " I should smile ! They all know. And the old man 
 knows more than you imagine," said Gaverigan, " didn't 
 you hear what he said about barring out Shepheard? 
 But he seemed to believe you, Cqryton, when you said 
 you had nothing to do with it." 
 
 "Of course. I am accustomed to be believed," 
 said Coryton proudly. 
 
 ^ I suppose we shall all have to turn saints now," 
 put in Tyrconnel tentatively. 
 
 " On the contrary," replied Coryton, " we're going to 
 have a big card-party to-morrow afternoon. After 
 giving us that warning he won't dream of suspecting 
 that we aren't going to take it. I'm glad it's hap- 
 pened. Xow we shall be as safe as houses. The 
 beginning of the term mustn't be neglected. It's the 
 best time, because everybody has got plenty of cash. 
 I've asked Williams and Wilmot from Skipper's house, 
 and we can have in Shepheard, if you like." 
 
 " But you've no right to bring in boys from other 
 houses. You haven't been five years in the House 
 yet." 
 
 " My good Pigeon, rights are made for slaves. You 
 know I always do just what pleases me." 
 
 " Did you get any cards in the holidays, Coryton ? " 
 asked Gaverigan, helping himself to jam and Cornish 
 cream. 
 
 " Rather ! didn't we, Pigeon ? By Jove ! I wish we 
 could get Vixie down one afternoon. She plays Nap 
 better than any of you. Stunning girl, isn't she, 
 Pigeon?" 
 
 " Who is she ? " inquired Gaverigan. 
 
 " A girl who was staying at Blarney. Miss Violet 
 Tresillian, commonly called the Vixen. No end of a 
 sport. Keen as mustard. Brave as a lioness." 
 
 " ' Innocent as a lord,' to quote some poor devil who 
 was accused of sheep-stealing the other day." 
 
 "Yes, just about. She promised to make Sir 
 Edward bring her down for a cricket-match one day 
 this term. I'll get 'em to come on a whole holiday 
 and then we can all lunch together at the King's 
 Head. You must write and remind them, Pigeon," 
 
 What, already ? "
 
 20 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 " Don't be a fool, Pigeon. You know you're just as 
 devoted to her as the rest of us. As for Pirn, he was 
 ready to lick her boots." 
 
 " Surprising I didn't get my remove this term," 
 growled Pimlico, to change the subject. 
 
 " Much more surprising their making you a monitor, 
 Coryton," said Gaverigan, " I never was more aston- 
 ished than when Butler called you up to give you the 
 key in Speecher this morning." 
 
 "It's only the natural reward of wisdom and piety, 
 my dear chap," he replied gaily. 
 
 CHAPTER ITT. 
 
 THE S<; APE GO A T. 
 
 Rien rfest bete de ce qui ri'iissit. Papa. GUY DE MAUPAS- 
 SANT, Notre Ctrur. 
 
 THE first few weeks of the term passed off unevent- 
 fully. The card-party was a great success and was 
 followed by several others without arousing the least 
 suspicion. Tyrconnel got sent to extra-school for 
 failure in his holiday-task. It was very hard lines, 
 for he had known it perfectly, but Shepheard had 
 spoken to him during the examination and the master 
 in charge had torn up their papers as a punishment. 
 Shepheard growled about it for days, but the Pigeon 
 took it more philosophically. Poor fellow, he was 
 getting pretty well accustomed to hard lines by this 
 .time. 
 
 To crown his disappointment, the extra-school was 
 fixed for the afternoon of the whole holiday, on which 
 Sir Edward Tresillian and his niece were to visit Har- 
 row. At first the Pigeon was for asking them to put 
 off coming, but it seemed more than doubtful whether 
 their engagements would permit another visit, so the 
 Pigeon consoled himself with the prospect of seeing 
 them in the- morning and at luncheon.
 
 THE SCAPEGOAT. 21 
 
 The day dawned bright and clear, and the boys 
 were in the highest spirits, as they dallied over their 
 breakfast till long past ten. Pimlico was going to 
 spend the morning at a wicket ; Gaverigan had ar- 
 ranged to go down to " Ducker," for a bathe after the 
 eleven o'clock "bill;" Tyrconnel and Coryton hurried 
 down to meet the 10.30 train by the Metropolitan 
 Railway. 
 
 " Poor old Pigeon," said Coryton, as they ran down 
 the hill, " having to go to ' extra ' this fine day. 
 Vixie will be disappointed, when she hears. Never 
 mind, I'll wait outside for you afterwards, with a bag 
 of buns, if you're a good boy, and you shall be taken 
 down to Ducker straight away." 
 
 On their way down, they passed a number of people 
 also on their way to the station, including several 
 masters, who proposed to take advantage of the holi- 
 day for a run up to town. 
 
 " I only hope none of those beaks will take it into 
 their heads to ask me if I had leave to come to the sta- 
 tion," said Tyrconnel plaintively, as they entered the 
 gravel- walk leading up to it, " 'twould be just my luck 
 if they did. But they'd hardly be so mean just as 
 they're going to enjoy themselves." 
 
 "Oh! you don't know the beasts. That's the very 
 moment when they're often most vicious. I luckily 
 thought of asking Weller last night, when he was cor- 
 recting my prose. I'd wait outside if I were you. It's 
 no use running useless risks." 
 
 " No, here we are. The train's just coming in. 
 They wouldn't have the cheek to stop me when I was 
 with people." 
 
 The train steamed in and the boys were soon shak- 
 ing hands with Sir Edward and Violet, who were 
 accompanied by a tall lady and a stout military-looking 
 gentleman. 
 
 " How are you, boys ? " exclaimed Sir Edward heart- 
 ily. " Let me introduce you to my cousin, Lady Giddy. 
 You know Colonel Lockhart already, I think. Shall 
 we walk or drive up ? What is your programme for 
 us?" . 
 
 " We must go up to eleven-bill first," replied Tyr-
 
 22 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 connel, " then we can order lunch and go and pretend 
 to look at the cricket, if you like." 
 
 He had hardly done speaking when one of the mas- 
 ters, Mr. Brooks, an ill-favored old clergyman with 
 shabby clothes and round shoulders, came up to him 
 and said, " One moment, Mr. Tyrconnel, please ; I want 
 to speak to you." 
 
 " Poor Pigeon ! " said Coryton regretfully, as he 
 watched the incident, " he's the most unlucky beggar 
 alive. Brooker has a special spite against him and 
 would send him up as soon as look at him." 
 
 "Why, what's he done?" asked Sir Edward, in 
 astonishment. 
 
 " The station's out of bounds, and, if we're caught 
 there without leave, there's no end of a fuss. I hap- 
 pened to get leave from Wellesley last night, so I'm 
 all right. But the poor Pigeon will get dropped on." 
 
 " Surely it isn't such a dreadful crime to come and 
 meet your friends at the station." 
 
 "One of the seven deadily sins, I assure you, Sir 
 Edward. Well, Pigeon, what's the verdict ? " 
 
 " Five hundred lines by lock-up to-morrow. And 
 he wants to speak to you, old chap." 
 
 " This is too bad ! " exclaimed Sir Edward hotly, 
 " I'll go and speak to the man myself. lie was at 
 Harrow with me and, if I take all the blame on 
 myself, he may listen to reason. It's a shame, 
 pouncing on boys when they're with ladies, in this way." 
 
 The others made their way slowly up the hill, 
 Tyrconnel and Violet leading the way. 
 
 "You see what we have to put up with, Yixie," 
 said the former, " it's worse than Poland under the 
 Russians." 
 
 " Very provoking," said the girl with a soft light 
 in her eyes. " I shall never forgive myself for being 
 the innocent cause of it all, for I feel that you ran this 
 risk solely on my account." 
 
 " Nonsense, Vixie, you know I would submit to any 
 punishment for you sake." 
 
 Violet Tresillian was a universal favorite, and yet 
 no one knew exactly why they liked her. She was 
 one pf those girls who really haven't a feature, if you
 
 THE SCAPEGOAT. 23 
 
 try to dissect their appearance, but, taken as a 
 whole, she was decidedly attractive and even pretty. 
 Her face was round and smooth and childlike, her 
 slightly turned-up nose and mischievous eyes gave a 
 suggestion of devilry, and when her cherry-red lips 
 parted, as they constantly did in sunny smiles, they 
 revealed a dazzling set of pearly teeth. Great waves 
 of golden hair were hemmed in under a sailor-hat, 
 trimmed with dark-blue ribbon, chosen out of com- 
 pliment to Harrow. She wore a well-fitting tailor- 
 made dress of thin blue cloth, which gave a hint of 
 horsiness and served to show off her compact figure, 
 which was already well developed, though she was 
 now only just sixteen. 
 
 The great charm about her was the fresh, innocent 
 way in which she said the most startling things 
 imaginable. Everybody treated her as an utter child, 
 but in reality she had a much longer head than any 
 one gave her credit for, and had already a scheme of 
 life well thought out, as well as a reason for nearly 
 everything she said or did. It was commonly sup- 
 posed that her uncle would leave most of his money 
 to her, but she felt by no means sure on the point 
 and was determined to secure the kind of husband 
 she had in her mind as soon as possible. He was to 
 be agreeable and ready to let her have her own way, 
 that went without saying, but the chief requisites, to 
 her mind, were money and ambition, especially 
 ambition. 
 
 She had thought of the Pigeon whenever any one 
 thought of the Pigeon it was always to see what 
 could be got out of him but, though the Pigeon was 
 a nice boy and had any amount of money, she was 
 not sure about him on the question of ambition. Now 
 Coryton had ambition ; he did not tell everybody so, 
 but she had ascertained the fact for herself ; he was 
 also a nice boy, and of course the only son of so suc- 
 cessful a personage as Her Majesty's Judge- Advocate- 
 General would be well off. 
 
 But it was too soon to do more than lay the foun- 
 dations of a flirtation with either of them, she reflected 
 as she walked up the hill, making pretty speeches to
 
 24 THE GEEEN BAY THEE. 
 
 Wilfrid Tyrconnel. Boys' characters were hopelessly 
 unformed before five-and-twenty and even after, for 
 the matter of that. A girl of sixteen knew infinitely 
 more of the world than any of them. Plowever, boys 
 were always fun to play with. 
 
 Coryton was pointing out the various school-build- 
 ings to Lady (Jiddy, as boys seem to think visitors 
 expect them to do. That pretentious erection of 
 startling red brick and hideous design was the "new 
 schools," chiefly devoted to the futile study of Natural 
 Science, known in schoolboy parlance as " Stinks ; " 
 trie little house over the way, from which proceeded 
 hideous discords, was devoted to instruction in the 
 " sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer and all kinds of music," 
 chiefly for the benefit of the School Volunteers' Band ; 
 the precipitous road between this and the new Schools 
 led to the ill-drained football-field, where, after the 
 autumnal rains, the athletes of compulsion wallowed 
 almost up to their necks in foetid mud; beyond the 
 "footer-field" was the school bathing-place " Ducker" 
 (originally called "Duck-puddle," but the Harrow dia- 
 lect gives the er termination to every possible word), 
 and " Ducker " was really the least unpleasant in- 
 stitution in the school ; here was the school chapel, dis- 
 agreeably modern for a school that prided itself on age, 
 but it might not look bad in a hundred years or so ; 
 the building in the enclosure beyond it was the 
 Vaughan Library, built in honor of the late Head 
 Master, for the benefit of the boys, but as a matter 
 of fact almost exclusively used by the masters ; the 
 big house beyond it was the Head Master's the 
 largest in the School, with accommodation for sixty 
 boys ; the Head Master must make a prodigious 
 income out of them all ; here they must turn up a 
 small flight of steps, past the French Master's house, 
 and join the stream of boys, all hurrying in the same 
 direction. 
 
 By this time Sir Edward and Coryton had caught 
 up the others and they all went on towards the school- 
 yard, to witness the ceremony of " bill." 
 
 " Cross-grained chap, Brooks," said Sir Edward, " I 
 had quite a hard job with him, though I laid it on
 
 THE SCAPEGOAT. 25 
 
 very thick about the memory of old times and all 
 that. But I think I've got you off, Wilfrid, old man. 
 He says he's bound to mention it to Wellesley, but 
 that he won't be harder on you than he can help." 
 
 " That's awfully good of you, Sir Edward. I am 
 only sorry you've had so much trouble on my 
 account." 
 
 When they reached the iron gates of the school- 
 yard, the boys parted company from their friends to 
 take their places in the procession and answer their 
 names. On the lowest step of the flight, leading up 
 to the old schools, stood a master in cap and gown 
 with the " bill-book," or roll-call, in his hand. Sir 
 Edward led his party up a few steps above him, 
 where a few friends of other boys were already con- 
 gregated. 
 
 Violet was struck by the freshness and pictur- 
 esqueness of the scene : the crowd of eager youngsters 
 in their neat jackets and swallow-tail coats and 
 their odd saucer-like straw hats with big brims ; the 
 Elizabethan building behind, reminiscent of gener- 
 ations of floggings ; and the bird's-eye background 
 with the smoke of London just imaginable on the 
 horizon. 
 
 The boys were thickest at the western corner of 
 the school-house, beside the den of " Gustos," commonly 
 called Sam, dispenser of school paper and racquet-balls, 
 bulbous-nosed, traditional. The crowd condensed 
 itself into a single file of boys, in the order of their 
 forms, ever walking towards the Master. 
 
 As each boy's name was read, he touched his hat, 
 murmured "Here, sir," and slouched off with his 
 hands in his pockets. The file was like a long wrig- 
 gling snake, ever being decapitated and yet never grow- 
 ing shorter. 
 
 Usually the boys were only too glad to hurry off to 
 their various avocations as soon as their names were 
 called, but to-day the first hundred or so were seen to 
 hang about the iron bars beside the entrance of the 
 yard, waiting for some event to take place. At last 
 it came to the turn of a broad-shouldered boy in flan- 
 nela to answer his name.
 
 26 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 Directly the name was called, the whole yardful of 
 boys began to clap hands, and the hero of the hour, 
 first deliberately undoing the elastic at the back of his 
 head and then removing his hat, ran the few yards 
 which separated him from the crowd at the gates, 
 where he was received with a chorus of congratulations 
 and many slappings on the back. It was the usual 
 ovation to a freshly-nominated member of the school 
 cricket eleven. 
 
 " That fellow," observed Sir Edward, as he explained 
 the custom to Lady Giddy, " is tasting the sweetness 
 of triumph in a way that few men ever do. With 
 these boys, cricket is a fetish and there is an idolatrous 
 reverence shown to the members of the cricket eleven, 
 which is certainly never shown by the House of Com- 
 mons to the Cabinet, perhaps not even by the College 
 of Cardinals to the Pope. This boy's sole insignia are 
 the right to wear white flannels instead of gray and 
 blue and a speckled straw hat instead of a white one, 
 but in this microcosm he is as absolute as a Csesar 
 and as infallible as a Sovereign Pontiff in their larger 
 spheres." 
 
 " Pom-pom ! " whispered Coryton in Violet's ear, at 
 the end of this tirade. 
 
 " It is a pretty scene," she said, taking his elbow 
 in her little hand affectionately. "Where are you 
 taking me ? " she added, as he led her up the school 
 steps. 
 
 "Into the fourth-form 'room, to show you Byron's 
 name. It is the only sight worth seeing here. After 
 lunch I want you to send the others on to see the 
 Chapel and the Vaughan Library and all the rest of 
 it, while you come with me and pretend to watch 
 cricket." 
 
 " That's all settled, is it, Poley ? " she asked mis- 
 chievously. 
 
 " Yes, Vixie." 
 
 They entered the old school-room, with its battered 
 oak panels, and peered about among the historic carv- 
 ings. They were both of the age which makes for 
 Byron- worship, and they peered with the respect of 
 pilgrims at the rough marks of the poet's jack-knife.
 
 TUE SCAPEGOAT. 27 
 
 " How disgustingly modern ! " she exclaimed pres- 
 ently, pointing to the top panels all round the room, 
 where serried rows of names had been precisely carved, 
 one underneath the other, by the village carpenter at 
 half-a-crown a name. " I hope you won't have yours 
 put up in that way. What possible interest can those 
 have to any one on earth, except perhaps the man paid 
 for measuring them out. Fancy the generation after 
 next coming here to look for Walpole Coryton's name 
 and finding it lost in that mechanical array." 
 
 " I promise you it shan't," he laughed, as they went 
 out. 
 
 Tyrconnel greeted them enthusiastically outside. 
 " Now, Vixie," he exclaimed, " you are mine from now 
 until the clock strikes half-past two. I am like a poor 
 ghost, who is only allowed to walk about for a certain 
 period of time. When the fatal hour tolls, I shall be 
 mewed up in yon prison house and Coryton will resume 
 his sway." 
 
 "That's alarming," she laughed, starting full pelt 
 down the hill towards the cricket-ground. 
 
 Coryton and Tyrconnel made off in hot pursuit, while 
 Pimlico and Gaverigan piloted the rest of the party to 
 the King's Head to order lunch. 
 
 That meal proved a great success, everybody having 
 a regular schoolboy appetite and being in the best of 
 humors. Violet sat between her two " best boys," as 
 she called Coryton and Tyrconnel, and carried on a 
 desperate flirtation with Pimlico across the table ; Sir 
 Edward and Colonel Lockhart grew reminiscent of 
 their Harrow school days, while Lady Giddy discussed 
 French novels confidentially with Gaverigan. 
 
 When it was time for Tyrconnel to go through 
 his penance of spending two hours and a half in a stuffy 
 school-room copying out the Latin Grammar, Violet 
 showed herself unusually sympathetic, walking part 
 of the way with him and talking eagerly of future 
 meetings. She would try to persuade her uncle to come 
 down again for another cricket match, but at any rate 
 they would meet at Lord's for the Eton and Harrow, 
 and Lord Baltinglass had asked her to Blarney later 
 on.
 
 28 THE GREEN BAT TREE. 
 
 " You won't forget me, Wilfrid ? " she said, with a 
 very plausible affectation of tearfulness, as they parted 
 outside Wilbee's bookshop. 
 
 " The stars may fall and the angels be weeping " he 
 began, but she knew the quotation and was running off 
 with a friendly wave of her parasol. 
 
 " Now for the other little fish," she laughed to her- 
 self, as she espied Coryton standing moodily outside 
 the little circle of her friends near Mr. Wellesley's 
 house. Sir Edward was proposing the usual round of 
 sight-seeing, beginning with the Vaughan Library and 
 ending with the reputed scene of Byron's meditations 
 in the churchyard on the hill- top. 
 
 " I am much too tired for all that in this hot weather," 
 Violet exclaimed as she came up. " You can all go and 
 trot yourselves off your legs if you like. Poley and I 
 are going down to watch cricket and eat cherries in the 
 shade. I suppose we'll meet you at four-bill." 
 
 What's that ? " asked Lady Giddy. 
 
 " The roll-call," explained Sir Edward : " these poor 
 boys have to go through that ceremony five times on a 
 whole holiday. It doesn't give them much time to get 
 into mischief, does it ? Vi is getting to talk the lan- 
 guage of the country quite nicely, isn't she ? " 
 
 "Poley is such a capital teacher," she murmured, 
 looking the boy full in the eyes. 
 
 " Where are you taking me to ? " she asked him 
 presently, as her programme was being carried out and 
 the others had started off for the library. 
 
 " I want you to come and see my room, will you ? " 
 he said, leading the way into Mr. Wellesley's house as 
 if it were the most natural thing in the world. 
 
 " Well you are a cheeky boy ! " she exclaimed with 
 a slight flush and dancing eyes, following him all the 
 same. 
 
 " You have had your name cut by the village car- 
 penter after all,' r she remarked, pausing before one of 
 the boards covered with rows of names that lined the 
 staircase- wall ; " I thought you disapproved of the 
 practice this morning ? " 
 
 " That was in order to have the pleasure of agreeing 
 with you," he replied ; " besides I had no choice, every
 
 THE SCAPEGOAT. 29 
 
 new boy finds that the house does it at his expense, 
 the half-crown being deducted from his allowance." 
 
 " You are a cool boy, you know," she said, as they 
 entered his room. " I think that's one of the reasons 
 why I like you so much, Poley. I have a fellow-feeling 
 for you, because I am accustomed to do pretty impu- 
 dent things myself sometimes. The way you took it 
 for granted that I would come up here was simply 
 magnificent. I don't think I'd have come if you'd asked 
 me any other way, and I certainly should not have come 
 for anybody else." 
 
 " It is sweet of you to say that. I didn't at all take 
 it for granted, though. I thought that was the best 
 chance of getting you, and I am awfully glad it has 
 succeeded." 
 
 " Well, I'm glad too. What a pretty room you've 
 got ! " she went on, walking round and peering at every- 
 thing, taking down books, examining the marks of 
 china and smiling at the extravagance of an Impres- 
 sionist caricature of art. " I had no idea boys were so 
 comfortable." 
 
 " They aren't," he replied. " I'll show you some 
 other rooms presently more like bear-gardens than 
 human habitations." 
 
 She sat on the window-seat, surveying the room 
 critically. " It is very well arranged," she commented ; 
 "you have too many things in it, for the size, but one 
 would scarcely notice it. That is the highest possible 
 tribute to your taste. One should aim at getting the 
 whole of Wardour Street into a garret and yet making 
 it look as bare as a billiard-table. Even shabbiness is 
 preferable to overcrowding. After all, I think it is 
 more like a boudoir than a study. All those flowers 
 suggest effeminacy. I have never quite made up my 
 mind whether you are effeminate, or only lazy." 
 
 " Oh, effeminate, by all means. I have a theory that, 
 to be really charming, no man can be too effeminate 
 and no woman too masculine." 
 
 " I'm not masculine, please remember." 
 
 " I wondered whether you'd say that. You have a 
 masculine mind, certainly. You are naturally rash, 
 but you are the sort of person who doesn't make mis-
 
 30 THE GREEN BAT TREE. 
 
 takes. You are at the same time utterly unscrupulous. 
 Now, if I know anything of life " 
 
 " Which you don't." 
 
 " If I know anything of life, that is a very powerful 
 combination. Calculated recklessness is the philos- 
 opher's stone in the nineteenth century." 
 
 " You are very young to be such a philosopher," she 
 said, smiling. 
 
 " Sijeune et dejtijils de ministre ! " he quoted. 
 
 She watched him curiously for nearly a minute. 
 
 " Do you know ? I think our characters are very 
 much alike," she said at length. ... "I see the others 
 down there," she added presently ; " after you have 
 given me a glass of that cherry-brandy, you can go and 
 fetch them up. It might seem odd, if we were seen 
 coming out of the house alone together." 
 
 " In that oddness lies our safety," he replied, holding 
 the door open for her. 
 
 Meanwhile the hours had been going very slowly to 
 Tyrconnel over his unproductive labors in the hot, 
 sulky schoolroom. His face lit up with pleasure when 
 at last the two and a half hours were over and he found 
 Coryton playing at yard-cricket while waiting for him. 
 
 It is a capital game for spare moments and merits 
 mention as a Harrow institution. The batsman is 
 solely occupied in defending his wicket, he has no time 
 to think of- 'making runs. The bowlers are legion; 
 anybody who happens to be about takes his turn ; as 
 soon as one ball has been parried another follows, and 
 then another in breathless succession. Whoever bowls 
 the batsman out is privileged to take his place. The 
 beauty of the game is the quickness with which it goes 
 along. In rapidity and variety of emotion it bears the 
 same relation to real cricket that roulette or baccarat 
 do to whist or betting on the tape. 
 
 When Tyrconnel came out, the yard was very full, 
 and, seeing that Coryton was batting, he stood for 
 some moments admiring the skill and alertness with 
 which he defended his wicket, never trying to hit far, 
 but never allowing any ball to take him unawares. 
 
 When Coryton saw Tyrconnel, he threw down his 
 bat and cried out to a friend, " There you are, Williams,
 
 THE SCAPEGOAT. 31 
 
 you can have my innings. Pigeon, I'm your man. 
 Poor old fellow ! " he went on as he caught him up, 
 " you do look pulled down after this inhuman torture, 
 I couldn't neglect you for another instant. Let's start 
 at once for Ducker. A bathe will do you all the good 
 in the world." 
 
 The boys set off down the steep path to the football 
 field. Tyrconnel wanted to hear everything that Violet 
 had said and done, but Cory ton preferred to talk about 
 the Derby. 
 
 " I'm not quite satisfied about my book," he said, 
 in answer to a tirade about Violet's laugh, " if Gone- 
 away wins I shall lose a pot. Of course it's got no 
 chance on the Two Thousand running, but horses are 
 almost as ticklish as young ladies, though in a different 
 sense. However, I feel more cocksure every day 
 about Jumping Cat. I've a great mind to give the 
 Basket-man a fiver to put on. It's a nuisance there 
 not being any book-maker here one can trust, and if I 
 sent to one of the Boulogne men, the answer might get 
 intercepted." 
 
 "The Basket-man welshed Williams and Wilmot 
 over the Cesarewitch," replied Tyrconnel, as they 
 crossed the stile into the football field. 
 
 It was looking its best, with the sun lighting up 
 the hay cocks, and along the broad path in the centre 
 were endless boys, generally in twos and threes, going 
 to and from the bathing-place, some with towels and 
 others with bags of buns for consumption after the 
 bath. 
 
 Coryton mentally compared them to ants. Tyrcon- 
 nel thought of Jacob's ladder. 
 
 " How do you stand on the race ? " the former asked 
 presently as they sauntered on, drawing deep breaths 
 of the hay-scented air. 
 
 " I've put my shirt on Sir Galahad. I'll back him 
 against Jumping Cat, even money, if you like." 
 
 "All right, even tenner, one to win." 
 
 Tyrconnel took out a neat small morocco pocket- 
 book and was proceeding to enter the bet in pencil, 
 when a cheery voice sounded in his ear. 
 
 " Well, Tyrconnel, what have you got there ? " and
 
 32 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 Mr. Wellesley, who was hurrying down to the bathing- 
 place to preside at a swimming-pass, snatched the 
 pocket-book playfully out of his hand. 
 
 " Please give me that back, sir," the boy pleaded, 
 "there are private matters in it." 
 
 Mr. Wellesley was about to do so, when an entry 
 caught his eye : " Derby, G. 2 to 10 Gladiator." His 
 face suddenly grew grave. "Here is your book, Mr. 
 Tyrconnel, I have seen quite enough." 
 
 He was about to stride on, when a thought struck 
 him. 
 
 "Were you betting with him then, Coryton?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " No, sir, certainly not. I was giving Tyrconnel the 
 address of a racket-shop he asked me for." 
 
 The statement was made so simply and straightfor- 
 wardly that it was impossible to doubt it. 
 
 " Very well," the master assented, passing on ; " Mr. 
 Tyrconnel, I will see you in my study after lock-up." 
 
 " You are an unlucky beggar," Coryton began. 
 
 "You are an astounding liar," Tyrconnel replied, 
 rather testily. " I can't stand untruthfulness. I don't 
 know how it is I have liked you so much." 
 
 " Pshaw, when a man asks you indiscreet question's, 
 you have a perfect right to lie. It is an acknowledged 
 principle of ethics. Walter Scott denied the author- 
 ship of the Waverley novels point-blank, when the 
 Wellesley of his day had the impudence to ask. And 
 Walter Scott was an honorable man." 
 
 They entered the bathing-place, Tyrconnel a little 
 disturbed by the incident, Coryton utterly unmoved. 
 
 " Ducker " was pretty full. Mr. Wellesley was mar- 
 shalling his swimmers for the pass and a big boy was 
 just entering the water with a sounding plash ; but on 
 the whole it was an atmosphere of laziness, most of the 
 boys seemed to be lying about on the seats, on the 
 pavement even, wrapped up in great rough bath-sheets, 
 munching buns and basking in the sun. Even the 
 boys in the water seemed very drowsy in their move- 
 ments, for it was an exceedingly hot day. 
 
 After the bath our two friends got separated, 
 Coryton walking up with Williams and Wilmot, two
 
 THE SCAPEGOAT. 33 
 
 boys in another house, from whom he wanted the 
 odds against Jumping Cat for the Derby and a promise 
 to join a card-party in Tyrconnel's room on the day of 
 the race. 
 
 In the evening Tyrconnel had an unpleasant inter- 
 view with Mr. Wellesley, who was at first inclined to 
 send him up to the head-master on the charge of bet- 
 ting, but at length consented, in view of the way in 
 which he had made the discovery, to commute the 
 punishment to 500 Latin lines. 
 
 He had also to communicate the fact that Mr. Brooks 
 had informed him of Tyrconnel's presence at the sta- 
 tion, and that he declined to reduce the penalty he had 
 imposed by a single line. 
 
 " I cannot say I am sorry for you, Mr. Tyrconnel," 
 he said in severe tones, as he dismissed him, "you 
 know you only had to ask my leave and I would have 
 allowed you to meet Sir Edward at the station with 
 pleasure." 
 
 " It's very hard lines, sir." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I dare say, but you must learn that you 
 cannot break rules with impunity." 
 
 The next few days were days of toil for the unfort- 
 unate boy, for he was very anxious to get his lines 
 done by Wednesday, when an extra-special card-party 
 had been convened to his room in honor of Derby day. 
 
 The proverb about more haste and worse speed was 
 exemplified in his case by the further calamity of a 
 surprise visit from Mr. Wellesley while he was engaged 
 in the process known as " tollying-up," or working by 
 candle-light after the legal hours. Mr. Wellesley had 
 seen the light in his room from the road when return- 
 ing from a master's meeting, and punished him by tear- 
 ing up his whole evening's work. 
 
 A light had also been burning in Coryton's room, but 
 when Mr. Wellesley arrived he was already in bed, 
 with his exercise for next morning carefully stowed 
 away in his tall hat. 
 
 " You had a candle, Coryton," said Mr. Wellesley 
 abruptly, as he entered. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Coryton simply, knowing instinct- 
 ively that denial was useless. 
 3
 
 34 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 " Well, it will not help you much, for I shall tear up 
 the work you have been doing." 
 
 He went up to the table and destroyed several sheets 
 of exercise paper which he found there, covered with 
 Coryton's handwriting. 
 
 " You will have to get up early to-morrow morning 
 and do it all over again," he added maliciously as he 
 left the room. 
 
 Coryton waited until Mr. Wellesley's step was heard 
 far down the creaking stair. Then he burst into a peal 
 of hearty laughter, which lasted so long that Shepheard 
 presently came in from next door to see what was the 
 matter. 
 
 " He has torn up my rough copy," said Coryton with 
 another wild burst of merriment. 
 
 When Derby day came, Tyrconnel had finished his 
 punishment and was in excellent spirits again, as he 
 welcomed his friends after fourth school. Cards and 
 drinks were produced and the poker, as usual, was 
 placed in the door. 
 
 "Nobody's heard the result yet of course?" said 
 Coryton interrogatively, as they all sat down. " Grey 
 is to have a telegram and will hang about with it out- 
 side the house as soon as it comes." 
 
 The game went on for some time with varying 
 fortunes. Williams and Wilmot were evidently nerv- 
 ous about the result of the race and played badly. 
 Coryton, as usual, was utterly unpreoccupied and 
 laughed gaily all the while, though his interest in the 
 race was considerably larger than theirs. 
 
 After about an hour's play, Wilmot, who had been 
 looking furtively out of the windows between each 
 deal, suddenly exclaimed, " Isn't that Weller's coach- 
 man down there by the railings ? Run and see what it 
 is, Coryton, there's a good fellow." 
 
 Coryton needed no second bidding. 
 
 " That's Grey right enough," he said, after a glance 
 out of the window, " I'll be back in two jiffs." 
 
 He had scarcely been absent longer than is implied 
 by half that mysterious measure of time, when an 
 authoritative knock came at the door. Williams and 
 Wilmot had wished to wait for Coryton's return, but
 
 THE SCAPEGOAT. 35 
 
 Pimlico, who was losing, would not hear of it, so the 
 poker had been replaced in the door. 
 
 " How quick he's been," growled Pimlico, who had 
 only one bet on the race and disliked being disturbed. 
 
 Gaverigan, who was nearest the door, pulled out 
 the poker, and a chorus of eager voices exclaimed, 
 "Well, what's won?" 
 
 Then there was a moment of silence that could be 
 felt, the sort of silence which immediately precedes the 
 crash in some great cataclysm. 
 
 Mr. Wellesley stood before them, his upper lip 
 trembling with auger and excitement. 
 
 "Williams and Wilmot," he cried in a choking 
 voice, "what are you doing here? Leave the house 
 instantly." 
 
 The boys obeyed sheepishly, looking very much 
 ashamed of themselves. Mr. Wellesley watched them 
 sternly, with his arm outstretched and pointing to the 
 door. 
 
 When they were gone, he took up the cards two or 
 three at a time, gravely tearing them in two and fling- 
 ing them into the grate as he did so. 
 
 The boys had risen and stood about the room in un- 
 comfortable attitudes. Tyrconnel looked annoyed but 
 not frightened; Pimlico's face was inscrutable and, 
 but for occasional sniffs through the nose, showed no 
 signs of emotion ; Gaverigan was whistling under his 
 breath to conceal his feelings ; Shepheard was red in 
 the face and inclined to be tearful. 
 
 After destroying the cards, Mr. Wellesley espied a 
 bottle of claret and a bottle of cherry-brandy on a side- 
 table. 
 
 An ominous silence reigned. Mr. Wellesley was too 
 much agitated to speak. 
 
 He took the bottles and poured out their contents 
 into a foot-bath, his hand shaking nervously all the 
 while. 
 
 When he had done, he said in a low voice, " You will 
 all be sent up to the head-master," and left the room 
 hastily, shutting the door after him. 
 
 The boys remained silent for some time, sitting look- 
 ing at each other.
 
 36 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 " What extraordinary luck that fellow Cory ton has," 
 said Tyrconnel at last. " What a nose to choose that 
 very moment to go down and talk to Grey." 
 
 The others laughed nervously. 
 
 There was a cheery knock at the door and that en- 
 vied mortal burst in, with a grim smile on his usually 
 unmoved face. 
 
 "Jumping Cat, Garibaldi, The Butcher," he cried 
 gleefully, before he had time to realize the situation. 
 
 " Why, what's up ? " he added, after a short, sur- 
 prised pause. 
 
 " We are betrayed," replied Gaverigan, in tragi-com- 
 ical tones. 
 
 " Who's been drinking all my cherry-brandy ? " pur- 
 sued Cory ton, pointing to the empty bottle ; " won't 
 anybody tell me what has happened? Have you been 
 raided by the police, or what ? " 
 
 It was a long time before he would quite believe in 
 what had taken place. When he did take it in, his 
 first impulse was to raise a Te Deum to his lucky star. 
 
 " It is better to be born lucky, than rich or wise or 
 good, my Pigeon," he remarked sententiously, after it 
 had all been described to him at least a dozen times. 
 
 Then came a feeling of annoyance that there could 
 be no more cards that term, but the joy over his 
 miraculous escape kept predominant and, when he 
 thought it over afterwards, he really felt more glad 
 than sorry that the discovery had taken place. The 
 victory of Jumping Cat in the Derby had put his 
 finances more than straight and his absence from 
 the fatal game would remove from the mind of Mr. 
 Wellesley the germs of suspicion about him, which 
 he knew existed there to some extent. Indeed the 
 more he thought of it all, the more he liked it. Never 
 for an instant did any feeling of sympathy for the 
 sufferers cross his mind. He chaffed them about 
 their probable fate until they got as nearly angry 
 with him as anybody ever could. 
 
 " You'll get it hottest of all, Pigeon," he was say- 
 ing when the lock-up bell rag, " I really never heard 
 of such a scapegrace in my life as you are turning 
 out. Extra-schools, betting-books, out of bounds,
 
 THE SCAPEGOAT. 37 
 
 tollying-up, and now this disgraceful orgy> this attempt 
 to turn a respectable master's house into a low drink- 
 ing saloon and dicing-den." 
 
 Coryton's jesting prognostications came true. Tyr- 
 connel was subjected to long and anxious interroga- 
 tion by his house-master and the head-master, and a 
 public expulsion was seriously discussed. In the end 
 milder counsels prevailed and he was "requested to 
 leave," that is to say, sent away without the publicity 
 and disgrace of a regular expulsion. 
 
 The other boys were degraded from their forms. 
 The ceremony took place publicly at "bill." As it 
 came to the turn of one of them to answer his name, 
 the master motioned him to come up and stand on 
 the school steps and wait until his form had passed. 
 Then the boy took his place again at the head of the 
 next form, answered his name, touched his hat and 
 walked away. The ordeal would have been far more 
 severe if the sufferers had not known that they pos- 
 sessed the entire sympathy of their audience, who 
 viewed the proceedings with chill silence. 
 
 Coryton perhaps alone looked on with satisfaction, 
 and many were the congratulations he received from 
 those who had heard the story. 
 
 " I really think I must furbish up a votive offering 
 for the altar of Saint Blaise, or whoever it is that 
 patronizes poor gamblers," he said at last. 
 
 The term passed on uneventfully after the catas- 
 trophe. Coryton had an opportunity of renewing his 
 flirtation with Violet at the Eton and Harrow match 
 and, as no one else of his set had been allowed an 
 exeat, he had all the running to himself. 
 
 The term came quickly enough to an end and, as 
 he sat in the train leaving Harrow for the last time, 
 he could not help marvelling at the singular good 
 luck that had attended every incident of his life. 
 
 Even during the next fifteen months at Heidelberg 
 it did not seem to fail him. It failed him perhaps 
 for a moment at the thjfe of his father's death, but 
 that, he told himself a little later, was really a lucky 
 stroke after all, for it left him his own master, free 
 to put to the proof the paternal advice that his best 
 friend was himself.
 
 38 THE GREEN BAT TREE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 " The best of all ways 
 To lengthen our days 
 Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear." 
 
 OLD SONG. 
 
 WALPOLE CORYTOX had quite settled down at Cam- 
 bridge. The bitter memories of the weeks which 
 followed his father's death, were safely locked in his 
 breast, stowed away like skeletons in a cupboard. 
 If ever he allowed himself to have a peep at them, 
 it was only as a reminder of what was and might be, 
 and to impress upon himself the necessity of keeping 
 guard. Not that he needed such a reminder. He had 
 laid his plans carefully, and they were developing 
 themselves in a manner which came up to his most 
 sanguine expectations. 
 
 His first year at Cambridge passed uneventfully 
 enough. It is with most freshmen a period of transi- 
 tion the half-way house between babyhood and B.A- 
 hood but with Walpole Coryton it had been rather a 
 period of taking stock and settling down. 
 
 As he had calculated, when he enrolled his name 
 upon the " ancient, royal, and religious foundation " of 
 Trinity, his old Harrow friends quickly rallied around 
 him. He was elected as a matter of course to all the 
 best*lubs and became part and parcel of the gilded 
 youth of the University, bone of their bone and flesh 
 of their flesh. 
 
 One of the " new humorists," whose newness, say 
 some, is more evident than their humor, has divided 
 undergraduate Cambridge into "bloods" and " smugs," 
 much as some one else once divided mankind into apes 
 and angels. Lord Beaconsfield on a memorable occa-
 
 CAMBRIDGE. 39 
 
 sion wisely expressed himself "on the side of the 
 angels." Coryton, wiser still, determined to make the 
 best of both. 
 
 Roughly speaking, there are not two but three great 
 classes, the aristocracy the plutocracy (if indeed there 
 be still any distinction between the two) and the democ- 
 racy. The first gives cachet, the second means cash, 
 the third is crachat, and all these three at least so 
 Walpole Coryton argued are necessary to a perfect life. 
 
 With the first two of them, he was already in touch ; 
 the problem was how to make use of the third. He 
 solved it in this way. There is in Cambridge an insti- 
 tution known as the Union Society. Its influence in 
 the University is altogether overrated by those outside. 
 But to a man who aspires to political life, the training 
 which it affords is invaluable. Coryton did aspire to 
 political life, and he was shrewd enough to see that the 
 Union might be utilized by him as a sort of field, in 
 which to take a preliminary canter before settling 
 down to the serious business of the race for name and 
 fame. 
 
 He conceived the idea of becoming President of the 
 Union and having conceived it, he proceeded to carry 
 it into effect. He became a frequent speaker at its 
 debates. He united with a fluent and lucid delivery 
 an engaging manner and a seriousness which he did 
 not feel. He had the knack of appearing in earnest 
 over everything. He was a Tory of course, as befitted 
 the son of the late Judge- Advocate-General, but his 
 Toryism was of a very elastic and progressive type, 
 and he was a devout worshipper at the shrine of the 
 Jumping Cat that patron saint of latter-day politi- 
 cians. 
 
 As a political speaker, he was very successful ; he 
 cultivated an extra-parliamentary manner, and affected 
 an intimate acquaintance with the Tory Leaders* His 
 Church speeches were excellent, and he was careful 
 always to avoid wounding the Nonconformist con- 
 science, as represented by the " pi" men from the Col- 
 leges over the border. They all had votes ! 
 
 Coryton " kept " in large rooms on the King's Parade, 
 the windows of which overlooked Henry VI.'s "hoary
 
 40 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 regal fane," and gave exquisite glimpses of the 
 blossoming college gardens and leafy backs. He had 
 brought his Lares and Penates from Harrow with him 
 to Cambridge and added to them. His shelves had 
 been enriched, if not adorned, by the addition of several 
 blue-books. On his walls were sundry flaring daubs 
 by French Impressionist painters, which certainly had 
 the merit of eccentricity: a crucifixion by Besnard, 
 depicted on the Hill of Montmartre, with a Magdalene 
 in cafe chantant costume ; a Cochin China landscape 
 by Louis Dumoulin with Cochin China hens in the 
 foreground ; and, for British art, a portrait of the late 
 Judge-Advocate-General in Whistler-and-treacle style, 
 by Mr. Walter Slick. There was also a group of the 
 Government, of which his father had been a minor 
 member. 
 
 Over the fireplace, by way of displaying hero- 
 worship, were prints of Napoleon, Disraeli, Marl- 
 borough, and Ignatius Loyola ; a bust in bronze of Zuma- 
 lacarregui and one in marble of Lord Byron ; a large 
 engraving from a picture of Charles II. ; and a rc-w of 
 medallions of the Caesars. All were in fairly close com- 
 munion with the owner's character, in which the frank 
 cynicism of the witty king, the self-conceit of the poet, 
 the dash of the guerrilla-leader and the simple subtlety 
 of the first Jesuit all found their part. It was not 
 merely worship at the shrine of success ; it was also a 
 confession of faith in calculated foolhardiness, sincere 
 insincerity and the vices as a means to an end. 
 
 If the elder Cory ton from his place above or below 
 could by some occult vision, have peered into his 
 son's room, he would doubtless have been much touched 
 by the post-mortem, filial devotion evidenced by the 
 prominence of his portrait. But then, as Walpole said 
 to himself, " He never was of any use to me when he 
 was alive, he may as well be of some little use to me 
 now that he is dead," and all these blue-books and min- 
 isterial groups helped to impress his supporters at the 
 Union. 
 
 He would ask some of them to breakfast now and 
 then very early breakfasts, so as to get them out of 
 the way before Pimlico or Tyrcoimel or any other of
 
 CAMBRIDGE. 41 
 
 that ilk dropped in and they would settle the affairs 
 of the nation to their own satisfaction, the host doing 
 most of the listening. And they always went away 
 impressed with the fact that Coryton of Trinity was 
 really a very clever fellow, though, of course, not quite 
 so clever as themselves. 
 
 " Whatever makes you keep on the K. P., Coryton ? " 
 indolently asked Sir Lauder Forbes, an impecunious 
 young Scottish baronet, whose almost girlish beauty 
 had earned for him at Eton the pet name of " Dolly." 
 " Why don't you come to Jesus Lane ? Everywhere 
 else is so far off." 
 
 Coryton laughed and parried the question. 
 
 " Oh ! I didn't know, you see. When I came up, 
 Joey Prior had taken the rooms for me, and it's too 
 much trouble to move. Next term I shall be in col- 
 lege." 
 
 Truth to tell, he'was rather glad to be a little " far 
 off " ; it gave him more time to himself and a freer 
 hand. The things which were to Forbes and his set 
 the summum bonum of Cambridge life Athenaeum 
 Teas, " True Blue " functions, Cottenham meetings and 
 so forth were to Coryton only phases, to be utilized as 
 means to the end he had in view the advancement of 
 himself. 
 
 The consciousness of this never left him ; it regulated 
 even the trifling incidents of his life for he knew the 
 value of trifles, and despised not the day of small 
 things. 
 
 It was with him this evening while he dressed him- 
 self leisurely and sallied forth to join the "Yellow- 
 hammers." 
 
 The Yellowhammers was a dining club at Magda- 
 lene, one of the many dining clubs of the little college 
 down by the riverside, whose tutelary deities are Bac- 
 chus and Diana. But the Yellowhammers was the 
 most select of all the Magdalene Clubs, so select in fact 
 that its numbers were once reduced to two and never 
 exceeded six. 
 
 It mustered about that number now, but there were 
 guests beside, who brought the total number on this 
 particular evening up to twelve. Although admission
 
 42 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 was so difficult, the rules were very simple and were 
 summed up in the obligation of each member to give a 
 dinner during term. These functions were attended 
 by all the other Yellowhammers, who solemnly arrayed 
 themselves for the occasion in velvet coats with 
 yellow satin facings and wore the club sash, garter- 
 wise across their dress shirts. 
 
 The dinner to-night was held in Lord Pimlico's 
 rooms on the left hand side of the Court. They were 
 large, handsome rooms, probably two sets knocked 
 into one for there is plenty of space in Magdalene 
 furnished absolutely without taste, but with a large 
 amount of comfort. 
 
 The walls were tapestried with some dull red cloth 
 and adorned with a few sporting pictures, Hogarth's 
 " Rake's Progress " in quaint black and gold frames, 
 a somewhat indecent old print of Venus and Adonis 
 (Shakespeare's rendering), a fox's mask or two, and 
 divers bloodthirsty-looking weapons, presumably im- 
 ported from the South Sea Islands. There were por- 
 tieres over all the doors, Smyrna carpets on the floor, 
 and a number of very comfortable chairs. 
 
 Pimlico received his guests with boisterous hilarity, 
 looking much the same as when we last saw him at 
 Harrow, only he had broadened somewhat, his jowl 
 was a little heavier, and his pimples had disappeared. 
 He was an important personage at Cambridge, Master 
 of the Drag Hunt, President of the " True Blues " and 
 many other things beside. 
 
 The dinner was admirably cooked and admirably 
 served. It would have passed muster at the Amphy- 
 trion. We mention this in passing, as certain lady 
 novelists and others, with the assurance born of igno- 
 rance, have given to the world what they conceive to be 
 orthodox pictures of undergraduate festivities " cold 
 suppers and cider cup," and heavy breakfasts, where 
 the heroes of Ouida's " flashing oar," for instance, de- 
 vour huge masses of semi-raw beef-steak. 
 
 There was nothing of this barbarism visible to-night. 
 The wines and dishes alike were excellent. The table 
 was graced with some fine old College silver and 
 elaborately decorated with flowers chrysanthemums,
 
 CAMBRIDGE. 43 
 
 gold and brown, fringed with dark leaves and sprays 
 of maidenhair fern, a blending of the club colors 
 which had taxed the resources of that fair florist Clara 
 Wren, who had come round from Rose Crescent to ar- 
 range them. The name-cards and menus from Redin's 
 were quite works of art in their way, with the device 
 of the club in gold relief, the whole being daintily tied 
 together with a knot of brown and gold ribbon. The 
 light of the wax candles was tempered by pale yellow 
 shades. 
 
 The guests, like the wines, were of the choicest 
 brand. They were all undergraduates- with the ex- 
 ception of a genial little sporting doctor well known 
 in Cambridge and the County as secretary of the Hunt, 
 and a young Squire, named Spofforth, who had gone 
 down a year of two before, and who had driven in 
 from Fulbourn for the occasion. 
 
 The dinner opened merrily and, as the wine went 
 round, the tongues wagged faster. 
 
 " What are you doing on Tuesday, Coryton ? " asked 
 " Dolly " Forbes. " Come and have a little dinner with 
 me some other fellows are coming, and then we'll go 
 and see Sally Popkins in My Sweetheart. I have taken 
 a row of stalls. She can't sing a bit of course, but she's 
 got a rippin' figure." 
 
 " Can't, old chap, I'm very sorry. I have to oppose 
 a resolution at the Union." 
 
 " The Union ! what is that ? Are you on the Board 
 of Guardians?" broke in Pimlico. 
 
 " It is a brick building somewhere between here and 
 Sidney," explained Forbes, with an elaborate affecta- 
 tion of ignorance, " isn't it, Coryton? " 
 
 " Yes," he said impassively, " it is. I suppose you 
 go to Sidney for your dinners, Pirn, like every one 
 else; these are capital quail," he went on, helping him- 
 self as he spoke " it is only Barber who knows how to 
 do cailles bardees to a turn." 
 
 " But about this Union, Corry," persisted Forbes, 
 " surely you can chuck it for once. It's Sally's last 
 night, you know." 
 
 " Can't, old chap, awfully sorry they'd never for- 
 give me and I'm putting up for the Committee next
 
 44 THE GREEN BAY TEEE. 
 
 term. By the way, Pirn, I shall have to instruct you 
 where the Union is you're a member, you know." 
 
 " Am I ? Oh ! yes, I believe I am. My guv'nor made 
 me pay seven guineas to the place when I first came 
 up, so that I might learn to speak there. ' Excellent 
 practice for a public man,' he said. But what the 
 devil do you want me to go there for? " 
 
 " To put me up for the Committee ; you needn't 
 look so blank it's only to write my name in a book. 
 I'll show you what to do." 
 
 " But, my dear fellow, I never go there won't 
 Tyrconnel do as well ? " 
 
 "No, no," laughed Coryton, "not nearly as well. 
 He is not the son of the Marquis of Southwark, you 
 know. You see I know my constituents. They are 
 very democratic, but they ' love a lord.' You remember 
 that little German Baron half English who keeps 
 on Gaverigan's staircase in the New Court." 
 
 " Von Raggedback do you mean ? " 
 
 " Yes, Von Raggedback. He will be president next 
 term at least he is going to put up for it. For 
 ages he was proposed for Committee as Franz von 
 Raggedback and he never got in ; then some one 
 remembered and wrote down his trumpery title and 
 he headed the poll." 
 
 "What a lot of snobs," exclaimed Forbes with 
 indolent disgust. " I wonder you trouble about them." 
 
 " We're all snobs more or less," replied Coryton 
 blandly, "it is only a question of degree. That is 
 why all the bounders in Cambridge wear the terra- 
 cotta ties and cloth caps you started last term, Dolly, 
 it is only another variety of the same snobbery and 
 why Loucher swaggers about in riding-breeches at ten 
 o'clock in the morning, though he rides like a tailor 
 one would think he slept in them. But tell me, is 
 it true that you are going to play Prince Hal at the 
 A. D. C.?" 
 
 " I am not sure, I believe so " (it was a peculiarity 
 of this youth, that he was never sure of anything). 
 
 " Hullo, Pigeon," he went on, turning to Tyrconnel, 
 who sat the other side of him, " what are you and 
 the doctor looking so glum about?"
 
 CAMBRIDGE. 45 
 
 " The doctor's just been telling me about that chap 
 who was thrown out hunting the other day came a 
 cropper at that ugly bullfinch, you remember he's 
 killed." 
 
 " Kicked, has he ? Why, he didn't seem to be 
 much the worse for his spill at the time. Did you 
 attend him, doctor ? " 
 
 "Idid." 
 
 " Oh ! then, that accounts for it." 
 
 There was a general laugh, in which the doctor joined. 
 
 "Doctor, you really ought to become a polygamist 
 instead of remaining a gay bachelor." 
 
 " Why ? " asked the man of few words, with a 
 twinkle in his eye. 
 
 " You have helped so many people out of the world, 
 it would only be fair that you should be made to 
 repopulate it a little." 
 
 "My good fellow," he said in a voice of mock 
 indignation, " you would put a premium on vice." 
 
 Vice what is that ? " 
 
 The doctor held his glass critically up to the light 
 before replying. 
 
 " Oh er the opposite of virtue I presume." 
 
 "And virtue?" 
 
 " Virtue," put in Coryton, looking down at his 
 buttonhole, a yellow carnation and a copper beech 
 leaf " virtue is a struggle against the promptings 
 of nature -vice therefore, I take it, means simply 
 that one yields to them." 
 
 " I know a much better definition of vice than that," 
 cried Pimlico, who was now slightly " on," but he was 
 shouted down and his ribaldry became the signal for a 
 general scrimmage. The doctor hurled the inside of a 
 roll from the other end of the table and caught Pimlico 
 full in the open mouth, just as he was leaning back, 
 pealing with laughter. 
 
 " You're getting much too smart, Pigeon ! " said a 
 little, round, dark man, named Mauresk, mischievously, 
 as Pimlico looked round for his assailant. 
 
 "Oh! it was you, was it?" Pimlico exclaimed, 
 pelting Tyrconnel first with the flowers and then with 
 over-ripe pears.
 
 46 THE GEEEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 A wild tussle was meanwhile in progress between 
 Spofforth and the doctor, who had caught him drinking 
 up his wine whenever his back was turned. Williams 
 and Wilmot were holding Forbes down on a couch 
 and powdering his head with sifted sugar. 
 
 Coryton, who didn't care for scrimmages, presently 
 suggested roulette, but Gaverigan protested that the 
 toast-list must come first. 
 
 " The toast-list to-night is rather an original idea 
 of my own," he said demurely during a pause in the 
 hubbub. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, let's have the toasts," exclaimed every one, 
 " and then we'll wind up with a gamble." 
 
 Pimlico had intended to have the ordinary stereo- 
 typed toast-list," The Queen," " The Guests," " The 
 corps-de-ballet," and all the rest of it, but Gaverigan, 
 whom he had called in to surpervise the spelling, had 
 suggested that every one should propose a toast " out 
 of his head," and so everybody had come brimful with 
 " prepared impromptus." 
 
 " Gaverigan, as you're the originator of this notion, 
 you'd best lead off," said Pimlico, arranging himself 
 once more in his seat at the top of the table, and plant- 
 ing his puffy hands on the arms of his chair. 
 
 " Well, gentlemen," said Gaverigan, rising indolently, 
 " my toast is ' Change,' there's nothing so jolly as 
 Change." 
 
 " I prefer fives myself," whispered Williams to Wil- 
 mot, but everybody cheered and emptied his glass, 
 while Pimlico, who thought he had now discovered his 
 former assailant, rained sponge-cakes in quick succes- 
 sion across the table at the doctor. 
 
 When Coryton got up, there was a lull in the battle. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said, " I have to propose to you a 
 toast, which I am sure you will all of you be delighted 
 to honor. It is that of the very best friends we have, 
 our only sympathizers in adversity, our safest advisers 
 in perplexity, our surest pilots to success, our kindest 
 masters and most faithful slaves, the only true gods : 
 Our Jolly Good Selves ! " 
 
 " Bumpers then ! " cried Spofforth and Pimlico in a 
 breath.
 
 CAMBRIDGE. 47 
 
 " No heel-taps, Pigeon ! " 
 
 " Good old Corry ! " 
 
 " Long live the future Vice-President of the Union ! " 
 
 Rarely had such enthusiasm reigned, even at a dinner 
 of the Yellowhammers. 
 
 When Gaverigan finished drinking, he crashed his 
 glass upon the floor, exclaiming, " After such a toast, 
 this glass must never be put to vulgar use again." 
 Everybody followed suit and Pimlico gave a drunken 
 variation of the view-halloo. 
 
 " Now then a political toast," exclaimed Forbes as 
 Mauresk rose to take his turn. 
 
 " Very well, gentlemen, I give you the toast of ' The 
 Unemployed.' " 
 
 A murmur went round the room. 
 
 " None of your Radicalism here," growled Pimlico, 
 who had now reached the aggressive stage. 
 
 " The Unemployed," Mauresk resumed impassively, 
 " and long may they remain so ! " 
 
 There was a roar of delight. 
 
 " And I beg to couple the doctor's name with that 
 toast," added Spofforth slily. 
 
 " Your turn, Pigeon, and be sharp about it." 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Pigeon impressively, "my toast 
 is that of ' The British Conshtitoosh'n.' " 
 
 "Good old Conshtitoosh'n! Hi-tiddly-hi-ti-hi ! Hark 
 For'ard, Pigeon ! " yelled the interrupters, " Whoo-oo- 
 oop ! " 
 
 " The Brit'sh Consht'toosh'n, genelum," he went on 
 impassively, " is like a bird ," but he was not allowed 
 to go on further and had to fight for his life with Forbes, 
 to escape being hustled ignominiously under the table. 
 
 "That never struck me before," said Coryton to 
 Mauresk, " the British Constitution is very like Pigeon. 
 It means well, but only succeeds in making itself vastly 
 ridiculous." 
 
 " You do it," Williams murmured to Wilmot, as the 
 battle of flowers was languishing for lack of chrysan- 
 themums. 
 
 " No, you do it," said Wilmot to Williams. 
 
 " All right," said the latter. " Gentlemen, I give you 
 an old toast over again. I give you the toast of
 
 48 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 'Change' a jolly quick change into the next room for 
 roulette. It's past eleven and we can't stay here much 
 after twelve, after all these rows we've been let in for 
 lately." 
 
 When either Williams or Wilmot said " we " they 
 always meant themselves and no one else. 
 
 " Rot ! " interjected Pimlico, who was in his own 
 college and had no rules about gates to fear. "We'll 
 make a night of it. Come along. Who's going to take 
 the bank?" 
 
 And he led the way into the next room, where a full- 
 size roulette-board was waiting invitingly upon a long 
 table of green cloth. 
 
 Coryton arranged that he and Pimlico should go 
 shares in the bank, Pimlico spinning and himself doing 
 the paying out and raking in. With the rules in vogue 
 at Cambridge, to be banker was usually a profitable 
 matter, for the maximum was not made sufficiently 
 larger than the minimum to admit of doubling up or 
 any sort of systematic play. Moreover Pimlico's rou- 
 lette was of the old Ilomburg pattern with two zeros, 
 and he had made a rule that, whenever zero came, the 
 banker cleared the board, instead of only taking half 
 as at Monte Carlo. 
 
 Liqueurs were handed round and the game was soon 
 soberly in progress. Pimlico, with a big cigar between 
 his teeth, whirled the ball with a dignity begotten of 
 many drinks ; Tyrconnel scattered coins all over the 
 numbers with a recklessness unusual even for him; 
 Williams and Wilmot were trying a little system of 
 their joint invention upon the dozens and columns ; 
 Mauresk stood about smoking interminable cigarettes 
 and staking half-sovereigns a cheval on the two zeros 
 every time ; Gaverigan was winning steadily over a 
 long intermittence on Passe and Manque and grum- 
 bling loudly that the lowness of the maximum interfered 
 with his operations. 
 
 " All right, we'll make it a tenner limit, eh, Coryton ? " 
 
 " If we do, we must raise the minimum to ten bob," 
 returned that astute youth. 
 
 Williams and Wilmot raised a shrill protest, but the 
 rest were inclined to acquiesce. Coryton, however, cut
 
 CAMBRIDGE. 49 
 
 the discussion short by looking at his watch and an- 
 nouncing laconically, " Half-past twelve ! I'm off." 
 
 This aroused Pimlico's indignation and he began 
 singing, " We won't go home till morning," in an ag- 
 gressive tone. But Coryton lost no time in dividing 
 the proceeds of the bank (35.15.0. clear profit for each) 
 and Forbes and Mauresk gathered up their caps and 
 gowns to join him in his departure. 
 
 The rest determined to stay on, Gaverigan and Tyr- 
 connel because it amused them, and the rest because 
 they had lost. 
 
 " I'm going to punt now," said Pimlico. " Who'll 
 take the bank ? You, Pigeon ? All right ! Come on." 
 
 Tyrconnel's bank was not so successful as the pre- 
 vious one. Williams and Wilmot got into the habit of 
 announcing their stakes instead of placing them on the 
 table and, at this stage of the night, their memories 
 were often treacherous when they lost. Pimlico had 
 obtained a raise of the limit to 20 and was staking 
 that sum on each of the even chances every time. 
 
 When two o'clock struck, the banker had lost all his 
 winnings and a good deal more besides. Williams and 
 Wilmot, who had now retrieved their losses, expressed 
 great horror at the lateness of the hour, and there 
 was a general scurry to get home. Pimlico, Spofforth, 
 and the doctor decided to stay and have a quiet game 
 of poker "to steady their nerves," as the doctor 
 phrased it. 
 
 Gaverigan, Tyrconnel, Williams and Wilmot parted 
 from the rest outside the college and made their way 
 to Trinity, bemoaning the ticklish interview with the 
 Dean, which this escapade would involve, and it was 
 in a very subdued mood that they huddled together 
 outside the great gate of Trinity, and pulled the por- 
 ter's bell. 
 
 A sudden thought struck Williams and Wilmot 
 simultaneously. 
 
 " We can all get in through one of our windows at 
 the Bishop's Hostel. Run, you fellows, I can hear 
 Hoppett coming to open the gate." 
 
 The two inseparables were round the corner in a trice. 
 
 "I shall stay here," said Tyrconnel. "The porter 
 4
 
 50 THE GREEN BA Y TEEE. 
 
 might bo suspicious if he opened the door and found 
 no one here." 
 
 " I don't suppose I can climb those windows," said 
 Gaverigan, hesitating. " However, I don't see why I 
 shouldn't try," he added, suddenly making up his mind, 
 as the noise of withdrawing bolts awoke him to a sense 
 of the situation. 
 
 The porter was very sleepy, or he must have noticed 
 the nutter of Gaverigan's gown, still well in sight 
 when he opened the door. " Mr. Tyrconnel again ! " 
 he muttered to himself, as he scrutinized the sole re- 
 maining undergraduate, " when all but he had fled." 
 
 When Gaverigan reached the outside of the hostel, 
 Williams had already climbed in by the window and 
 Wilmot had got one leg in. The sight of the wall, 
 over eight feet before the bottom of the window was 
 reached, and the great iron bars above, appalled Gave- 
 rigan, who, like the Right lion. Joseph Chamberlain, 
 made it his boast that he never took exercise. 
 
 There were two ways in. One was by squeezing 
 round the side of the bars and was only practicable for 
 a very slim person; the other was through a window 
 two feet square, which only began when the bars ended, 
 some fourteen feet from the ground. 
 
 Wilmot was forcing his way through the bars, and 
 for some minutes it really seemed as if he would stick 
 there. At last, by a superhuman effort, he wrenched 
 himself through and sprawled into his bedroom head 
 over heels. 
 
 Now it was Gaverigan's turn, and Williams peered 
 through the window, telling him again and again how 
 easy it was. And indeed he found it much easier than 
 he had expected. He flung his cap and gown in first, 
 got his feet on a convenient ledge near the ground, 
 seized hold of the bars and found a drain pipe running 
 down vertically, which helped him up to the window- 
 ledge. 
 
 " Why, it's as easy as walking upstairs," exclaimed 
 Williams triumphantly. 
 
 Then came the climb to the upper window, for after 
 Wilmot's difficulties, Gaverigan hesitated to trust him- 
 self to the bars.
 
 CAMBRIDGE. 51 
 
 He felt that he was in a very disagreeable position, 
 and thought of the possibilities of a fall, how the 
 back of his head would cr-rash upon the pavement, 
 how nicely a proctor would catch him if he chanced 
 to come that way, and of a hundred alarming con- 
 tingencies. 
 
 lie heard a measured tread in the next street. 
 " Quick," whispered Williams. 
 
 He nerved himself for a desperate effort, swarmed 
 up the bars, got one leg through the top window and 
 breathed again as he looked down into Wilmot's com- 
 fortable bedroom. Then the helping hands of his 
 friends dragged him through and he was safe. 
 
 The little window had been smashed into smithers 
 by his boot in the process, but that did not matter ; 
 for a very disagreeable encounter with the authorities 
 had been providentially avoided. 
 
 " We'll have a bottle of flz to celebrate the event," 
 said Wilmot, rubbing his hands. 
 
 " All right ! And I'll go and get the Pigeon," put 
 in Williams. " What a fool he was not to come round 
 too." 
 
 " Poor old Pigeon ! " said Wilmot, " he'll get it 
 pretty hot from the Dean. I shouldn't wonder if he 
 got sent down." 
 
 "He always does get it hot, somehow or other," 
 remarked Gaverigan, yawning. "He's too good for 
 this world, bless his old soul ! "
 
 52 THE GREEN BAY TREE, 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 GWENDOLEN. 
 
 As a crown she had the heavens, where the angels dwell ; her 
 eyes were the white lotus-flowers, which open to the rising moon; 
 and her voice was, as it were, the humming of the bees. DHAM- 
 MA-CAKKA-PPAKATTANA SUTTA. 
 
 " So glad to see you, Mr. Coryton we have heard of 
 you often through Mr. Tyrconnel. I don't know 
 how it is that we have not made your acquaintance 
 before." 
 
 And Gwendolen Haviland held out her hand with a 
 bright smile of friendly welcome. 
 
 Coryton bowed low over the extended hand, white, 
 soft, and slim as a woman's hand should be, with 
 delightful little dimples here and there and pink- 
 tipped, filbert-shaped nails. 
 
 "Mine has been the loss," he murmured. Then 
 suddenly he lifted his eyes and fixed them with bold 
 admiration on the girl's fair face, " how great the loss 
 I never knew till now." 
 
 There was something in his look, something in his 
 manner, she hardly knew what, perhaps it was the 
 bald compliment which jarred upon Gwendolen. Be- 
 fore it her straightforward purity instinctively recoiled. 
 Yet she was prepared to like Walpole Coryton. 
 
 " Ah ! you should say those things to my aunt," she 
 laughed with the same apparent friendliness, no trace 
 of what she felt visible in her manner, " she appreciates 
 them : I do not." 
 
 Then, as if to atone for the ungraciousness of her 
 words, she added cordially, " but now that you have 
 once found your way to us, I hope we shall see you 
 often. You dp not know many people here," she 
 went on, glancing round the room " No ! Let me in-
 
 GWENDOLEN. 53 
 
 troduce you to Miss Verity," and she indicated 
 a damsel with red hair, a sallow complexion and limp, 
 sage-green gown, who was sitting on an adjacent chair 
 in an attitude she fondly believed to be early Italian, 
 but which suggested a spinal curvature instead. 
 
 " You ought to get on well together," Gwendolen 
 added mischievously. " You are very clever, Mr. 
 Tyrconnel is always telling me, and she is very clever 
 too took a first class in all three parts of her Little- 
 Go." 
 
 As she said this she turned aside to greet some 
 new-comers leaving Coryton by the side of the sage- 
 green maiden, faintly conscious of a rebuff. He 
 disliked rebuffs and thenceforward he felt a sort of 
 passive dislike to Gwendolen Haviland too. 
 
 Coryton was just entering upon his second year at 
 Cambridge, but this was his first experience of the 
 queer nondescript thing known as Cambridge Society, 
 that is, such society as the wives, daughters, sisters, 
 cousins and aunts of the University suffer to exist 
 intensely respectable, intensely dull, intensely exclusive 
 exclusive of course only in the sense that between 
 the ' Gown ' and the 'Town ' there is a great gulf fixed. 
 
 Of one phase of this society the gathering was 
 fairly typical. The long, low drawing-room of Pro- 
 fessor Haviland's pretty house on the Newnham Backs 
 was almost inconveniently crowded on this October 
 afternoon. It was the first of Mrs. de Courcy Miles' 
 At-Homes, which she held on every alternate Wednes- 
 day during full term. Here Greek met Greek and the 
 lion lay down with the lamb ; which, shorn of hyper- 
 bole, means that here the young blood among the Uni- 
 versity dons for there is some young blood even in 
 that effete body met on neutral ground the eligible 
 undergraduates who came hither to see Mrs. de Courcy 
 Miles' pretty niece. 
 
 Mrs. de Courcy Miles was a sister of the Professor. 
 She had come up to Cambridge ten years before, to 
 take charge of his house and his motherless daughter. 
 And, having come, she remained, while Gwendolen 
 gradually grew up, blossomed into lovely womanhood, 
 and the Professor slowly became mustier raid more
 
 54 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 professorial. But Mrs. de Courcy Miles did not change ; 
 she was one of those people with whom time seems 
 to stand still. The bloom on her cheeks deepened a 
 little perhaps as it will do, for the rouge-pot, like 
 dram-drinking, is apt to grow on one but her youth- 
 ful figure was just as youthful as of yore, her skittish 
 laugh just as skittish, her tripping step just as tripping. 
 How she managed it was a mystery. But manage it 
 she did. 
 
 Mrs. de Courcy Miles was the widow of a Colonel 
 in the Indian Army, who had gone to Paradise, said 
 the profane, because he knew he wouldn't meet his 
 wife there. Any way he had gone, and his widow 
 was left lamenting not at his departure, but at the 
 fact that lie had left her nothing but a small pension 
 to live upon. However it was no use indulging in 
 vain lamentation. She came home and established 
 herself for her means would allow of nothing better 
 in Kensington-beyond-Jordan, a terrible locality 
 without the pale of civilization, where one has to 
 give three shillings to a cabman to drive one to an 
 indigestible dinner. A place where all the people one 
 meets host and guests alike rejoice in double- 
 barrelled names, which mark of the beast, as a well- 
 known statesman with a future behind him (who by 
 the way rejoiced in one himself) once remarked, is a 
 synonym for mediocrity and dullness. 
 
 Mrs. de Courcy Miles had a double-barrelled name, 
 as suited the genius loci possibly too she was mediocre, 
 but she certainly was not dull, even her worst enemies 
 could hardly accuse her of that. She silently suffered 
 many things in her dreary suburb until the welcome 
 summons came from Cambridge. 
 
 She suppressed all mention of Kensington-beyond- 
 Jordan and gave out boldly that she had been travel- - 
 ling on the Continent. Her arrival took Cambridge 
 society by storm. 
 
 The strait-laced wives and daughters of the Profes- 
 sors, Tutors, and Heads of Houses could not understand 
 Mrs. de Courcy Miles at all and, not understanding 
 her, they regarded her with mingled feelings of envy, 
 curiosity, dislike and suspicion. But they could not
 
 GWENDOLEN. 55 
 
 ignore her the sister of a Regius Professor! Then 
 too she possessed a very aggressive individuality of her 
 own. She flaunted her tailor-made garments, her 
 walking-stick, her gaiters and her youthful make-up in 
 their solemn drawing-rooms .and figuratively snapped 
 her fingers in their faces. 
 
 " Positively gaiters, my dear," sighed the wife of the 
 Dean of King's to the wife of the Tutor of Jesus'." 
 
 " And then her low-cut bodices, positively indecent, 
 my dear," said the wife of the Senior Proctor, holding 
 up her hands in pious horror to the wife of the Esquire 
 Bedell "What a terrible example for that sweet 
 girl ! " 
 
 But her aunt's eccentricities did not seem to make 
 any difference to the " sweet girl." Gwendolen Havi- 
 land was acknowledged to be the most beautiful girl in 
 Cambridge, and her beauty was heightened by her ap- 
 parent unconsciousness of the fact. She was not really 
 unconscious of it, of course no girl can remain in ig- 
 norance of what her glass tells her every time she looks 
 into it but apparently she was so. 
 
 She had an oval face, with a coloring like a wild- 
 rose bloom, a perfectly chiselled nose and a mouth 
 moulded like the mouth of one of Carlo Dolce's Madon- 
 nas. There were great shadowy depths in her brown 
 eyes, and her hair, springing wavily from the roots, 
 was coiled in a loose knot low on the nape of her slender 
 neck. When she stood by the side of the crabbed old 
 Professor, one wondered how such an ill-favored tree 
 could have borne so fair a blossom. But Gwendolen 
 had inherited her beauty from her mother, and with it 
 a certain religious turn of mind. She looked at life 
 and its duties through the medium of a highly colored 
 light, and that she did so was certainly not due to any 
 external training for her father was too much wrapped 
 up in his books to heed her, and her aunt's school- 
 ing such as it was was all the other way. Her 
 ideas on many things were intolerant and unformed ; 
 her horizon was a narrow one, but it had all the thor- 
 oughness born of that same- narrowness. With her, 
 things were either right or wrong, she knew no middle 
 distance, and though this division is apt sometimes to
 
 56 THE GREEN SAY TREE. 
 
 be arbitrary in the complex circumstances of modern 
 life, yet there can be no doubt that it greatly simpli- 
 fies matters for the divider. 
 
 Tyrconnel had known her since his first year at Cam- 
 bridge. He had seen her one evening in the chapel at 
 King's whither he had gone as freshmen do go once 
 in a way to listen to the music. She was standing in 
 one of the massive oaken stalls in the choir, the pale 
 light of the tapers flickering before her, the dark wood- 
 work as a background, the billows and waves of mel- 
 ody, as the choir chanted the Magnificat, rising and 
 falling around her. 
 
 The face riveted Tyrconnel's attention. It seemed 
 to him the incarnation of " whatsoever things are pure, 
 whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of 
 good report." 
 
 It haunted him. 
 
 As luck would have it, he met her a few days 
 after at an evening party, given by his Tutor's wife 
 one of those dismal entertainments known as "Per- 
 pendiculars," where well-meaning dons and callow 
 undergraduates mutually bore one another. Mrs. de 
 Courcy Miles' quick eyes noticed his evident admiration 
 of her niece, the future Lord Baltinglass of Blarney 
 was not to be neglected ; she bore down upon him ; 
 and in a brief time Tyrconnel became a constant visitor 
 at the pretty house on the Xewnham Backs. 
 
 Gwendolen and he would talk over many things in 
 the dimly -lighted, flower-scented drawing-room, while 
 Mrs. de Courcy Miles dozed over a risky French novel, 
 or kept discreetly out of the way. They became 
 comrades and very good friends. He would show her 
 MSS. of poems and dissertations which he had 
 written ; for Tyrconnel had a literary vein, which he 
 had never shown to any one else, and she would give 
 her opinion with that dogmatic downrightness, which 
 encouraged and yet dissatisfied him. 
 
 Gwendolen appealed to all the better impulses of 
 his nature she was his good genius, so to speak 
 something shrined away in the inner sanctuary of his 
 heart too sacred for common mention. It was this 
 feeling which made him hesitate a good deal before
 
 GWENDOLEN. 57 
 
 introducing Coryton to her, though he often spoke of 
 him. In point of fact he never introduced him. It 
 was Mrs. de Courcy Miles, who came across Coryton 
 at her friend Lady Giddy's house near Henley during 
 the Long. He was clever, the son of the late Judge- 
 Advocate-General, the friend of Lord Pirnlico, that 
 dear Mr. Tyrconnel and a whole host of eligible 
 young men. Mr. Tyrconnel must bring him to call. 
 So he brought him and here he was. 
 
 From his coign of vantage by the Girtonian's chair, 
 Coryton leisurely surveyed the room. He knew several 
 of the men, none of the women. And there were a 
 great many women present, mostly Cambridge pure 
 and simple, but not a few from the county around. 
 Even the Duchess of Puffeballe had once driven over 
 from her "place" the other side of the Gog- Magogs 
 and left a card. It henceforth reposed at the top of 
 Mrs. Miles' card-basket forever. 
 
 However much the dons' wives might abuse Mrs. de 
 Courcy Miles, they all agreed that it was right for 
 them to go to her parties. 
 
 " Somehow or other she gets such nice men. I can't 
 think how she manages it," said the wife of the Vice- 
 Chan cell or, who had a whole tribe of unattractive 
 daughters. 
 
 Mrs. Miles' skill in this respect filled with impotent 
 rage and envy the hearts of feminine Cambridge. But 
 those laugh who win, and Mrs. Miles did not mind. 
 Their spite added to her triumph. 
 
 "I know they hate me," she wrote to her friend 
 Lady Giddy, with whom she had scraped an acquaint- 
 ance in Simla long ago, " and the feeling I assure you 
 is mutual. Meanwhile I smile and eat their dinners, 
 which are not so bad in fact one may say of Cam- 
 bridge that the dinners are good, the dons dull, but 
 the women my dear Gerty, the women are awful! 
 Xot a gown but what might have come out of Noah's 
 Ark and ideas to match." 
 
 The would-be aesthetic Girtonian was a little 
 puzzled all this time. The handsome young under- 
 graduate, who had put down her tea-cup and come 
 solemnly back to her chair, did not seem inclined for
 
 58 THE GREEN J5 AY TREE. 
 
 conversation. Yet she was not of a retiring disposi- 
 tion ; she had ventured several sallies, but somehow 
 they had fallen flat. 
 
 " I think," she began again tentatively, " I have seen 
 you at Professor Mealie's lectures." 
 
 " Oh yes, of course," Coryton said, stifling a yawn, 
 " I remember seeing you there." He hadn't the faintest 
 remembrance of having done so, but that didn't matter. 
 " I do put in one now and then. You were," he 
 hazarded a guess, " at the last one, weren't you?" 
 
 " Yes," she rattled on, now fairly started " I am 
 always there. I wouldn't miss one for worlds. This 
 course about Marlbo rough is quite too intensely 
 absorbing. The Professor throws such a lurid light 
 on the fallacies of Macaulay, does not he ? You are 
 going in for the History Tripos, like myself, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " I never go in for anything. I take things as I 
 find them," he said half absently. 
 
 At that moment a burst of laughter came from 
 the opposite corner of the room and, turning, he 
 saw Mrs. de Courcy Miles in the centre of a little 
 group smiling towards him. He answered the smile, 
 and catching sight of the Baron von Raggedback, a 
 Prussian Peer who was at Trinity, standing by, he 
 took him forcibly by the arm and introduced him to 
 the fair Girtonian before he knew where he was. 
 
 " The Baron is much interested in the History 
 Tripos," he said with a charming smile. " I am sure 
 you will find in him a kindred spirit." 
 
 And then with a bow he went off, leaving them 
 together. Coryton was never rude to any one, whether 
 he could get anything out of them or not. But there 
 certainly was nothing to get out of a red-haired young 
 woman, who posed like a bad edition of Ellen Terry 
 and who prosed about her tripos. % 
 
 "What are you all laughing about ?" he asked of 
 Mrs. Miles. 
 
 " A story of Mr. Funnie-Ffoulkes," she rejoined, 
 beaming on the little cleric who was holding her tea- 
 cup. Funnie-Ffoulkes was by way of being a wit. 
 He tried to model himself on Capel and the suave
 
 GWENDOLEN. 59 
 
 monsignori of the old regime. But Cambridge is not 
 Koine, neither was the drawing-room of Mrs. de Courcy 
 Miles a gilded saloon of the Borghesi. Nor was 
 Funnie-Ffoulkes a monsignore. Far from it. He was 
 only the Dean of St. Bridget's. 
 
 " Are you going to Lady Catchbois's dance next week, 
 Mr. Coryton?" inquired Mrs. Miles, changing the 
 conversation. 
 
 " I do not know Lady Catchbois." 
 
 " Oh ! That is a detail. Mr. Tyrconnel is going and 
 you are a friend of Mr. Tyrconnel. I will ask her 
 to send you a card." 
 
 " As a friend of Mr. Tyrconnel ? " asked Coryton, the 
 corners of his mouth curling upwards ever so slightly. 
 
 " No, foolish boy, as a friend of mine of course." 
 
 The little group around them had drifted away. 
 They were almost alone, but not sufficiently alone for 
 the lady's purpose. 
 
 " Come," and she motioned him to follow her into 
 a queer little recess built out and curtained off at one 
 end of the room in reality a very deep bay-window. 
 The upper lights were filled with stained glass and 
 there was a jardiniere filled with crimson tulips and 
 fragrant lilies of the valley. 
 
 " This is my chapel," she said, " at least I call it 
 so, a holy of holies which only my especial friends 
 are allowed to enter. I hope you appreciate the priv- 
 ilege." 
 
 " I should be base indeed if I did not," he answered, 
 seating himself on a low pouf at her feet. 
 
 Really with her back to the light, her " bloom de 
 Ninon " and her youthful figure neatly clad in a soft 
 mouse-colored gown trimmed with fur, Mrs. de Courcy 
 Miles might have passed for thirty-five. She didn't 
 feel a day older just nW with this handsome youth 
 at her feet looking up into her eyes. 
 
 Coryton possessed that caressing manner which 
 women love, and there was a certain sensuousness 
 about the dark beauty of his face, which perhaps 
 appealed to them even more than his manner. 
 
 Mrs. Miles had something to say to him, but she 
 hardly knew how to begin.
 
 60 THE GREEN SAY TREE. 
 
 " So you will come to Lady Catchbois's," she said 
 again by way of opening the ball. 
 
 " I thought that was settled," he replied blandly. 
 " Your wishes are my commands. I shall be delighted, 
 since you are going. I should not care to go if you 
 were not." 
 
 Mrs. Miles simpered. 
 
 " Flatterer ! " and she gave him a tap with her fan. 
 
 " One never natters when one tells the truth." 
 
 " And do you always tell the truth ? " 
 
 " Oh ! always," he answered, meeting her gaze with 
 frank candor, " unless there is a reason for doing 
 otherwise. It is so much simpler, you know." 
 
 " Quite so, but the reservation is important." 
 
 "Ah ! dear Mrs. Mallaby, must you be going so 
 soon ? " This to the Vice-Chancelloress, who with two 
 overgrown daughters had just come up to say good- 
 bye. "On Thursday is the meeting, is it? And you 
 have secured the Bishop for the address. How delight- 
 ful Oh ! I shall be quite sure to be there. I am 
 lunching at Magdalene Lodge, but I will come on 
 immediately after. Good-bye." 
 
 "That woman," she said with a glance at the re- 
 treating figure, " always reminds me of the XXXIX 
 Articles incarnate. Her piety, like her nose, is too 
 aggressive. And yet I have heard it whispered that 
 before she married the Vice-Chan cellor no one quite 
 knows where she came from, you know she had a vie 
 orageuse. And now she is so devout, would you believe 
 it?" 
 
 " I should not be surprised. Most women caress 
 penitence after hugging sin," said her companion 
 quietly. 
 
 Mrs. Miles lifted her eyebrows with a little jump. 
 
 " Where did you pick up that sentiment," she cried. 
 " You speak quite like a man of experience." 
 
 " Experience ! What is that ? " he asked smilingly. 
 " The name women give their intrigues, is it not?" 
 
 His listener lifted her shoulders this time and re- 
 garded him in blank amaze. " You are certainly a very 
 unusual undergraduate," she said. 
 
 Coryton bent his sleek head, " May I return the com-
 
 G WENDOLEN. 61 
 
 pliment and say that you are a very unusual mistress 
 of a professional household ? " he asked. 
 
 Mrs. Miles laughed by way of reply. She did not 
 detect the covert sneer, but she began to think that 
 possibly this youth might not be quite so easily moulded 
 to her purpose as she thought. She did not speak 
 again for a moment. Her eyes wandered absently 
 across the room. 
 
 Coryton followed her glance and an amused smile 
 flitted over his lips as he saw where it rested. Tyr- 
 connel and Gwendolen were sitting side by side. She 
 was talking to him earnestly almost fervently and, 
 as he was listening, his face turned towards hers in 
 the soft-shaded lamplight. The shade was not so great 
 but that Coryton could see on his face a look he had 
 never seen there before. 
 
 Mrs. Miles turned her head and their eyes met. 
 
 " You were thinking " she began. 
 
 " Of the same thing as yourself. Great minds often 
 run in the same direction." 
 
 She laughed a little constrainedly. 
 
 " Mr. Tyrconnel is often here," she said, taking up 
 the thread of her thoughts ; " he feels quite at home 
 with us now." 
 
 " So it appears," he replied drily. 
 
 " You are, he tells me, his greatest friend. Tell me, 
 do you think ? " here she paused and looked down. 
 
 " That he means business," said Coryton, filling up 
 the hiatus in his most insinuating tones. 
 
 Mrs. Miles shot him a swift glance beneath her 
 lowered lids, and put her fan up to her mouth. 
 
 "You are very frank," she said "brutally so, in 
 fact." 
 
 "We live in a brutal age," he answered with a 
 charming smile ; " did I not say I always told the 
 truth ? But I have not answered your question oh ! 
 yes," he went on, with playful protest, " that was your 
 question surely. Well, since you ask me, I think he 
 does." 
 
 A pleased light shone in his companion's eyes. 
 
 " What makes you think so ? " she asked. 
 
 " Because he says so little about her, for one thing ;
 
 62 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 because he sees so much of her, for another. Two sure 
 signs of a woman's influence." 
 
 " Well well," said Mrs. Miles with a pious air, " I 
 cannot say that I disapprove. Pie is a young man of 
 very high principles." 
 
 " High principles," echoed Coryton with an air of 
 candid innocence. "High principles are synonymous 
 with high teas, cold dinners on Sunday, missionary 
 meetings and such like middle-class virtues, are they 
 riot? Well " he pursued, shrugging his shoulders, 
 " I do not know about his high principles, they are too 
 abstract for me to deal with, but without doubt he is 
 the only son of Lord Baltinglass of Blarney and heir to 
 his wealth. Those are concrete advantages enough. 
 But these little affairs are not all on one side. What 
 does Miss Haviland say ? " 
 
 Mrs. Miles shook her head ; it suited her to ignore 
 the earlier part of Coryton's remarks. 
 
 " I cannot say," she said presently. " Gwendolen is 
 not an ordinary girl. One cannot judge her by ordinary 
 rules. You see I am a mother to her " (" Heavens ! " 
 thought Coryton, " what a mother ! ") " and a father 
 also one might say, for the Professor, though great on 
 the differential calculus, is as ignorant as a child in 
 affairs of the heart, or " noticing a faint smile on her 
 companion's face "of the world. One must leave 
 things to take their course and hope for the best. One 
 
 only wishes for their happiness I am so glad to 
 
 have had the opportunity of talking with you, Mr. 
 Coryton. You are so clever and, do you know ? I 
 value your opinion very highly." 
 
 Coryton bowed low. 
 
 "And now," she said, rising, "I really must look 
 after my guests. They will be wondering what has 
 become of me. Don't forget about Lady Catchbois's 
 party ; and will you come and dine with us first ? Mr. 
 Tyrconnel is coming and then we can all go on to the 
 dance together." 
 
 " What fools women are, even the cleverest of them 
 in fact the cleverer they are, the more easy they are 
 to fool," thought Coryton as he murmured his thanks. 
 " Poes this old woman seriously think that I am going
 
 GWENDOLEN. 63 
 
 to further her clumsy game, run the risk of angering 
 Lord Baltinglass and of losing my useful friend for 
 that girl's influence would be the death of mine in 
 return for a few twopenny-halfpenny compliments, a 
 badly-cooked dinner, and a second-rate dance ? Not if 
 I know it " 
 
 " Well, Pigeon," he said later, as they were walking 
 homeward together across the Backs, " you seemed to 
 be going it pretty strong this afternoon. You'd better 
 have a care or you'll burn your fingers before you know 
 where you are : that old woman wants to nab the future 
 Lord Baltinglass of Blarney for her pretty niece." 
 
 Tyrconnel laughed uneasily and kicked the dead 
 leaves beneath his feet. The " fire of the autumn " 
 had pretty well burnt itself out by this time, the leaves 
 lay in a golden shower beneath the great elms, whose 
 branches, bare for the most part, stretched weirdly 
 athwart the leaden-hued October sky. The air was 
 laden with the pungent odor of rotting leaves. 
 
 " You mean Mrs. de Courcy Miles, I suppose ? " he 
 said at last. 
 
 " Oh ! is that her name ? ',1 had forgotten it. Don't 
 go too far. Remember, what would Vixie say ?" 
 
 A red flush burnt itself on Tyrconnel's cheek, hardly 
 visible to his companion in the fading light. 
 
 " I don't think Vixie would mind," he said awkwardly, 
 " I don't think she cares besides Gwendolen Haviland 
 is so different to Vixie, you know." 
 
 " Quite so, like a cup of cold water a'fter a highly 
 spiced draught. Cold water is an excellent thing, but 
 it is apt to pall on the palate if one takes too much of it. 
 By the way, what was your guardian angel talking to 
 you about so earnestly this afternoon ? " 
 
 " She was only saying what she has often said be- 
 fore, that noblesse oblif/e, you know, that life is full of 
 opportunities for good that one ought not to waste 
 one's energies simply on selfish pleasures and all that 
 sort of thing and by Jove ! Coryton," he wound up 
 with an energetic swish of his stick through the air, 
 " I believe she is right."* 
 
 " Perfectly right," said Coryton calmly, " obviously 
 right. One has heard something very like it all
 
 64 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 before, but that does not matter ; it is better to repeat 
 old things well than to invent new ones and much 
 easier. I often do it myself. What else did she 
 say ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you," answered the other doggedly, 
 " you do not understand at least you will not. You 
 would only make a joke of it all, and I I do not care 
 to joke about Gwendolen Haviland. She looks at 
 things in a very different light to you and me. She is 
 a religious girl." 
 
 Coryton checked the laugh which rose to his lips. 
 It was as well his friend could not see his face. They 
 crossed the river and walked on a little way in silence. 
 
 " Religion is an excellent thing in woman," he said 
 meditatively, " all women should have a devotional 
 vein running through them ; it is such a comfort to 
 them, and it helps to pass the time. A free-thinking 
 woman is an abomination, she jars on one's sense of 
 the fitness of things. Yes, certainly, all women should 
 have a touch of religion." 
 
 " You are not arguing that religion is only meant for 
 women, are you ? " 
 
 " Oh ! certainly not, religion is very useful to men, 
 both in this world and the next. It is a very powerful 
 lever, they are only fools who ignore it. Never say 
 anything against religion, my dear Pigeon, if you wish 
 to prosper." 
 
 " You are incorrigible," said his friend, laughing in 
 spite of himself. " You upset all one's preconceived 
 ideas of right and wrong, and yet somehow one be- 
 lieves in you and likes you all the time. How do you 
 manage it, I wonder ? " 
 
 "Possibly because I always say what is passing 
 in my mind the things which other people think. 
 Frankness consists in telling the truth but not always 
 the whole truth," he added. 
 
 But his companion did not hear the reservation. 
 
 " I don't believe you are half as bad as you make 
 yourself out," he said. 
 
 " The devil is not as black as he is painted," quoted 
 Coryton. "But then he doesn't paint himself." 
 
 They had walked up Mill Lane and were on the
 
 THE APOSTLES. 65 
 
 quaint K. P. by this time. The square old Saxon 
 tower of St. Benet's loomed behind; the horizon in 
 front was blurred by the hideous, kotel-de-ville fa9ade 
 of Caius. The lamps were lighted and the shop win- 
 dows, full of gaudy blazers, groups of photographs and 
 pictures, wore a festive air. 
 
 A little crowd chiefly women was emerging from 
 the pinnacled gateway of King's. Evensong in the 
 Chapel, which does duty at Cambridge for a Cathedral 
 service, was just over, and the boom of the great organ 
 could be heard faintly sounding across the court. 
 Coryton, followed by Tyrconnel, turned into Bessie 
 Masterman's " the freshman's snare " and bought 
 some cigars. 
 
 "Well, what shall we do to kill the time?" he 
 queried when they came out again a flirtation with 
 Bessie had long ago lost its charms for him "you 
 are going to the Caledonian dinner to-night, aren't 
 you ? Forbes has asked me too. But that's not till 
 eight o'clock. Let us turn into Barrett's and have a 
 game of billiards." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE APOSTLES. 
 
 Cherchons done a voir les choses comme elles sont, et n'ayons 
 pas plus d' esprit que le bon Dieu. FLAUBERT. 
 
 THE undergraduate with literary aspirations is about 
 as precocious and insufferable a prig as may be found 
 in the whole republic of letters. His ideas are 
 suburban rather than of Grub Street ; his idols are 
 underdone poets and incomprehensible essayists ; his 
 principles are the give and take of inept admiration ; 
 the goal of his ambitions is to take a high degree, go 
 to London and be elected a member of the Savile Club. 
 
 The most pretentious coterie for such young men at 
 Cambridge is a highly exclusive society known as the 
 Chit-Chat, It meets once a week in the rooms of all
 
 66 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 the members in turn, when the host reads a dogmatic 
 paper on a subject of frivolous solemnity and the other 
 members discuss it. Punch is brewed, dried fruits 
 are consumed and the club snuff-box is handed round. 
 Every member is bound by honor and tradition to 
 consider all the other members ''frightfully clever" 
 and to speak to outsiders with bated breath of his 
 membership us the greatest honor which the Univer- 
 sity had to bestow. 
 
 Stay, there is a greater honor yet, but it is too 
 supreme even to be whispered in the ears of the 
 profane. The Chit-Chat has an inner circle, consist- 
 ing only of the twelve most f riff ht t futty clever men in 
 the University. They modestly style themselves " The 
 Apostles" and are theoretically only known to each 
 other in that capacity, though they usually take pre- 
 cious good care that the secret shall be only a secret 
 of Polichinelle. 
 
 The Chit-Chat and the Apostles have been in exist- 
 ence to minister to the vanity of at least three or 
 four generations of undergraduates, but the sluggish 
 Cam still flows on unfired. 
 
 "I want you to reserve me Sunday evening, dear 
 boy," said Coryton to Gaverigan as they walked home 
 together from a card-party at Williams' and Wilmot's 
 rooms. 
 
 " By all means. What is it ? Poker in your rooms 
 or a prayer-meeting in Victor Sexton's, O thou man of 
 many wiles?" 
 
 "No, an infinitely funnier study in human nature 
 than either." 
 
 " Human nature ! That means vice or something 
 equally humdrum, doesn't it ? To my mind ' human 
 nature ' is a contradiction in terms. Anything nakedly 
 natural disgusts me. What is there so repulsive as a 
 human being, who seeks to be natural and consequently 
 only succeeds in being foolish ? " 
 
 " For my part," returned Coryton, smiling, " I prefer 
 natural people. One knows just what they will do 
 under given circumstances and one can plan accord- 
 ingly. But then I am a student of fools, a morologist 
 to coin a word,"
 
 THE APOSTLES. 67 
 
 " You are quite right to study fools, if what you 
 labor for is success. For my part I don't believe 
 that anything is worth while. There is no heaven 
 save pleasure, and no hell save satiety." 
 
 " But all pleasures are of nature : from women to 
 'wittles.' Success is my greatest pleasure, and that 
 is why I pursue it." 
 
 " Philistine ! Success is the triumph of art over 
 nature. There is no pleasure in anything where nature 
 has not been completely overshrouded by art. Natural 
 food means bananas or raw potatoes washed down by 
 rainwater. It is to art that we owe our tournedos 
 Rossini and Mouton Rothschild 1874. But you haven't 
 told me what you propose for next Sunday." 
 
 " I want you to come to a meeting of the Chit- 
 Chat." 
 
 " Why, what on earth is taking you there ? " 
 
 " I am a member." 
 
 Gaverigan looked at Coryton with a curious smile 
 and whistled softly to himself. 
 
 " Whew ! You are a marvel ! Is there a single pie 
 in the whole 'Varsity, where you haven't got your 
 thumb ? But why bother your head about such small 
 fry ? They can be of little enough use here and none 
 hereafter." 
 
 " Every one has his uses down to the President of 
 the Catt's Debating Society. But will you come? 
 They want to elect you a member, but you needn't 
 accept unless you like." 
 
 " And I am to come for inspection, as Mauresk did 
 last week. All right, but I won't promise to be on my 
 good behavior." 
 
 " No one would ever expect that of you. Mauresk 
 made a very good story out of his inspection. The 
 show isn't quite so funny as all that. Still it may 
 amuse you, and I know you only live to be amused." 
 
 When Sunday came, Gaverigan had forgotten all 
 about the Chit-Chat and was lying comfortably at full 
 length before his fire, enjoying his greatest pleasure of 
 doing absolutely nothing, when Coryton burst in on 
 him like an avalanche. 
 
 " You are a nice chap ! " he exclaimed. " The Chit-
 
 68 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 Chat has been waiting for you half an hour a thing 
 utterly unheard of in its whole history. You are 
 really too provoking." 
 
 " My good chap," returned Gaverigan, scarcely turn- 
 ing at his entrance. "I wish you wouldn't burst in 
 like the north wind. You have chilled me to the 
 marrow. I vow I won't stir an inch until you have 
 pledged me in a bumper of this port. It's really not 
 bad for Cambridge." 
 
 " All right, but for Heaven's sake hurry up ! " 
 
 " Well, where are we to go ? " said Gaverigan gloom- 
 ily ; " I sincerely wish I hadn't said I'd come." 
 
 " It's in the rooms of a man named MacRonald, in 
 the Old Court. He's really rather a clever chap. 
 Older than most undergrads. Come up from Glasgow 
 University or some such place. Wears a truculent 
 yellow moustache. Never came nearer civilization 
 than Newcastle before his matriculation here, and yet 
 has passable manners outrageously artificial of course, 
 but then you like artificial things." 
 
 " He's 'frightfully clever,' I suppose, like all the rest 
 of them ? " 
 
 The rooms were very large, like all those in the 
 Old Court at Trinity. Oak panelling gave them a 
 certain air of solid wealth, which was not borne out 
 by the sparse and rather gimcrack furniture, evidently 
 intended for an aspiration after new-fangled art by 
 one who did not quite understand it. A long table 
 in the centre of the room was covered with coffee 
 cups of all sorts and conditions of patterns, which con- 
 veyed the impression that " alas, master, they were 
 borrowed." 
 
 MacRonald came up smiling, with one hand grasping 
 an end of his Randolphian mustachio. He had culti- 
 vated very carefully the appearance of being entirely 
 at his ease on all occasions, and had succeeded in 
 acquiring it to the satisfaction of superficial observers. 
 Coryton used to say that his manners were those of 
 a man who is always in expectation of being kicked 
 downstairs, but then Coryton was a keener observer 
 than most people. 
 
 " It is a great pleasure and honor to see you under
 
 THE APOSTLES. 69 
 
 my poor roof," MacRonald said to Gaverigan with 
 what he fancied was old-fashioned politeness ; " we had 
 half begun to fear we were forgotten." 
 
 " Forgotten ! 'Twere impossible to forget the high 
 honor of this invitation. I fear me I am not so 
 punctual as is my wont," returned Gaverigan, imitat- 
 ing MacRonald. But the humor as usual was lost 
 upon the Scotsman. 
 
 " I found him sitting over the fire with a bottle of 
 port," put in Coryton brutally. 
 
 The procedure at a meeting of the Chit-Chat is to 
 devote the first hour to conversation, or " chit-chatting," 
 whatever that may be then to proceed to the elec- 
 tion of new members, and to wind up with a paper read 
 by the host. 
 
 MacRonald's idea of entertaining had the merit of 
 simplicity. Directly a man came in, he would take 
 him to somebody, introduce them and plant them on a 
 sofa or two chairs close together. Before ten minutes 
 were up, he would pounce upon the man again, whisper 
 in his ear " I want to introduce you to So and So," and 
 carry him off to a tete-a-tete with somebody else. 
 There was a game of General Post going on all the 
 time, and MacRonald certainly showed skill in never 
 leaving anybody by himself, or with a man who evi- 
 dently bored him. At a pinch he would even go further 
 and suggest subjects when the conversation seemed to 
 be flagging. 
 
 MacRonald first introduced Gaverigan to an effem- 
 inate young man named Freeman. His father was a 
 partner in a well-known firm of wholesale haberdashers, 
 and had thought to turn his son into a gentleman by 
 sending him to a public school and university. The 
 result had been a curious hybrid, in which the shop- 
 walker strain struggled with the veneer of gentility. 
 Freeman had no notion how to talk or where to place 
 his hands and feet, but he had a gushing, almost girl- 
 ish disposition, and was liked by people when they got to 
 know him. He was good-looking, almost aristocratic- 
 looking, with a Roman nose and slight, well-curled 
 moustache, and so long as he did not open his mouth, 
 he made an impression on a stranger. He had what
 
 70 THE GREEN BAY TltEE. 
 
 members of his father's firm would have called a " good 
 address," which was only rendered tolerable by his in- 
 tuitive preference for the eloquence of silence. Like 
 so many who have alloyed a pretentious education with 
 middle-class home-life, he had no sense of proportion, 
 mistook for sentiment what was only mawkishness 
 and for philanthropy what was but foolery. He was 
 eaten up with fads, from socialism and esoteric Bud- 
 dhism to long hair and vegetable foods. 
 
 Gaverigan took to him at once. The great quality 
 to him in an acquaintance was that he should be a 
 good audience, and that was Freeman's strong point. 
 Finding that he had a faddist to deal with, Gaverigan 
 poured into his willing ears archaic individualism and 
 epicurean theories, and he was just completing the 
 process of captivating the impressionable youth by 
 avowing a belief in astrology, when MacRonald came 
 up and whispered in his ear that he was anxious to 
 introduce him to Thomas Llewelyn Morgan. This was 
 whispered with some pomposity, as though the propo- 
 sition w r ere an unusually advantageous one. 
 
 " I have known him ever since I was a boy," said 
 Gaverigan, following his host, though he hated Mor- 
 gan, " his father was up here with mine once upon a 
 time." 
 
 Gaverigan at once rose several feet in MacRonald's 
 estimation, for Thomas Llewelyn Morgan was a shin- 
 ing light in this coterie and was even whispered to be 
 of the mysterious inner circle, the Apostles ! 
 
 They found him seated on a window-seat, discoursing 
 atheism to a select circle of admirers. " The Bible," 
 he was saying, " is not only a mass of inconsistencies 
 and absurdities, but such hopelessly dull reading, such 
 dismally bad literature." 
 
 "There I don't agree with you," said a man' named 
 Emery, who was a Positivist by creed and an editor 
 of the Cambridge Jieview by profession, and therefore 
 of course an authoritjr both on religion and literature. 
 " The Bible isn't half a bad book if one can once get 
 rid of his prejudice against it. People who have had 
 it crammed down their throats during childhood can't 
 be expected to approach it impartially. I have had it
 
 THE APOSTLES. 71 
 
 bound in yellow calf, and really, when I come to peruse 
 it like that, I find it far better reading than either the 
 Talmud or Omar Kayam." 
 
 " What title did you put on the cover ? " asked Mor- 
 gan contemptuously. " Perhaps if you spelt Bible with 
 a little b, it might serve." 
 
 " I haven't put a title on yet. I want a good one, if 
 anybody has ideas." 
 
 " Of course we all have ideas," said a man called 
 Belgium indignantly, and he scratched a red shock 
 head, without however eliciting any. 
 
 " Poems and Fables of the Semites," suggested Ga- 
 verigan in a still, small voice. 
 
 A delighted shiver passed through the little audience, 
 and MacRonald rubbed his long bony hands with glee, 
 as he trotted off to arrange further introductions. 
 Morgan looked sulky at being eclipsed on his own 
 territory. 
 
 Coryton had been very much bored meanwhile, talk- 
 ing to one of the most precious of the Apostles, a color- 
 less young man named W. P. Jones, known to the in- 
 tellectual circles of Cambridge as " W. P.," and whose 
 "frightful cleverness " consisted merely in a knack of 
 passing examinations in Latin and Greek. He had a 
 thin, husky voice, which he used in the most supercili- 
 ous way, as if it were amazing condescension to con- 
 sent to speak at all. He was insignificant-looking, with 
 a pug nose and mutton-chop whiskers, but it was the 
 custom of the Chit-Chat to take men at their own val- 
 uation, and his was an unusually high one even for these 
 select circles. 
 
 Coryton had been flattering him more unblushingly 
 even than his wont, and was beginning to wonder 
 whether there was anything he would not swallow. 
 He had told him with what engrossing interest he had 
 read his article on Pindar in the Cambridge Review ; 
 he had alluded to him to his face as the cleverest man 
 in the 'Varsity ; he had even hinted at unparalleled 
 personal beauty, and suggested the Chit-Chat paying a 
 first-class artist to paint his portrait, but the man had 
 accepted it all as gospel, without turning a hair. 
 
 Coryton was beginning to admit that his powers of
 
 72 THE GREEN SAY TREE. 
 
 blarney must at last have reached their limit, when a 
 welcome relief was afforded by MacRonald taking him 
 away for introduction to Mr. Scott, whom. Cory ton had 
 heard much about, but somehow had not yet met. 
 
 Mr. Scott gave what turned out to be somebody else's 
 lectures in English literature in the hall of Trinity Col- 
 lege some half a dozen times a term, to a select audi- 
 ence of Cambridge Apostles and Xewnham disciples. 
 The Chit-Chat swore by him and probably contributed 
 to his vogue. In London, despite persistent log-rolling 
 in the Lickworm Gazette, he was only known as the 
 writer of washy sonnets of doubtful scansion and as 
 the editor of certain English classics, which required 
 no editing. At Cambridge he was Sir Oracle to a great 
 number of crude young men. He was a podgy little 
 person with glutinous hands, one of which he placed 
 in Coryton's without the least attempt at pressure. 
 
 " I am very pleased indeed to make your acquaint- 
 ance," he said in an oily voice. "I think I have seen 
 you sometimes at my lectures." 
 
 Coryton took the cue and began to express his enjoy- 
 ment of them, though in reality he had never been there. 
 " I was especially interested in what you said about 
 Milton," he said, " though I confess I do not entirely 
 share your admiration of him." 
 
 Mr. Scott's face gathered into a, frown. Then he 
 smiled pityingly and said, " Let me hear what you have 
 to say," in the tone of a master asking a lower boy to 
 show cause why he shall not be flogged. 
 
 " I take Voltaire's view," said Coryton boldly, for 
 he was getting tired of heaping Pelion on Ossa in flat- 
 tery of tenth-rate prigs ; " he accused Milton of ob- 
 scurity, unnecessary length and entire absence of in- 
 terest, and he pointed out that he was despised by his 
 contemporaries." 
 
 Mr. Scott gasped at what seemed to him sheer blas- 
 phemy and was about to administer a reproof, when a 
 movement in the room gave warning that the proceed- 
 ings were going to begin and every-one settled himself 
 to attention. 
 
 "Our first business," said Thomas Llewelyn Morgan, 
 the Secretary, with more than the solemnity of a
 
 THE APOSTLES. 73 
 
 Cabinet Minister, "is to proceed to the election of 
 new members. I hope it is understood by strangers 
 present," ar& here he looked biliously at Gaverigan, 
 "that our proceedings are strictly private. If any 
 stranger does not consider himself bound in honor 
 to treat them as such, I have to request that he will 
 withdraw." 
 
 He made a long, awkward pause to enable Gaveri- 
 gan to do so, but as the latter made no move, he 
 proceeded to read out the names of the candidates 
 proposed. 
 
 MacRonald took advantage of the pause to whisper 
 in Gaverigan's ear : " That warning is on account of 
 Mauresk. He behaved in a most ungentlemanly way. 
 Came as our guest. Accepted our hospitality. And 
 then went about everywhere, telling the most extrava- 
 gant tales about what we did." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! Mauresk is not a respecter of per- 
 sons," laughed Gaverigan. 
 
 " No, but one imagined he was a gentleman," re- 
 turned the Scotsman severely. 
 
 " Mr. Mauresk of King's College," Morgan was read- 
 ing, " proposed by Mr. W. P. Jones of Trinity College 
 and seconded by Mr. Drake of King's, has been with- 
 drawn." 
 
 The announcement was greeted with ironical cheers, 
 in which Gaverigan and Coryton, who knew that 
 Mauresk would never have accepted election at the 
 hands of this Society, joined heartily. 
 
 "Mr. Bertram Paine of Trinity College is proposed 
 by Mr. MacRonald of Trinity and seconded by Mr. 
 Edward Freeman of the same college," pursued the 
 inexorable Secretary. 
 
 There was a pause, while the Chit-Chats pondered 
 among themselves who should cast the first stone. 
 
 "Is he frightfully clever?" asked a man named 
 Crust presently, sniffing the air. 
 
 " I don't think he scintillates particularly," said an 
 overgrown King's man named Drake, his thick lips 
 quivering nervously as he tried to think of a joke and 
 failed. 
 
 " He wrote some frightfully clever articles in my
 
 74 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 paper, the May-Buy" said MacRonald with some 
 humility, " and really he did coruscate the night he 
 came on approval." 
 
 " Heavens ! " whispered Gaverigan to Coryton. " I 
 trust I am not here 'on approval.' Are they all watch- 
 ing to see whether I ' scintillate' or ' coruscate' ? " 
 
 " No, be quiet. You are watching them to see what 
 funny things they do. 1 ' 
 
 "And he isn't going in for the classical tripos," 
 growled The MacSriorter ; " T don't believe any one can 
 be frightfully clever who doesn't. Paine is a history- 
 man, I think." 
 
 " Yes," assented Chortle, " a man whose intellect is 
 nourished on history only is like a boy brought up 
 to eat nothing but bath-buns. Both necessarily lack 
 stamina." 
 
 After a long discussion in a similar strain, it was 
 decided to defer the election to next term, and Mac- 
 Ronald proceeded to read his paper. It was not 
 devoid of cleverness, though weighed down by Scottish 
 conceptions of humor. It was entitled " The Riddle 
 of Life " and consisted of emasculated Rabelaisian 
 language, with a few aphorisms modelled on Voltaire 
 peeping out every now and then like truffles in pate de 
 foie grus. 
 
 The aphorisms, which were evidently meant to be 
 the strong point of the paper, were of the kind which 
 prompts men to exclaim " How true ! " rather than 
 ." How strange ! " 
 
 " When a woman weeps, she is about to deceive / 
 when she smiles she has betrayed" 
 
 " Reputations like men are born of women, and 
 women are not hard to deceive." 
 
 " When you say ' Good-bye, Colonel, ' in America, 
 every man within hearing distance takes off Jiis hat ; if 
 you exclaimed ' Pretty scamp ! ' in a London drawing- 
 room, every icoma/i would curtsey" 
 
 "An amorous man is amorous to his friend 's wife." 
 
 " Love is the distemper of humans" 
 
 " The man who has a beautiful wife never lacks 
 friends"
 
 THE APOSTLES. 75 
 
 " A philosopher is one who asks other people questions 
 to the end that he may answer them himself." 
 
 And so on. 
 
 Signals for applause were never neglected. " Won- 
 derful ! " Drake would gasp to The MacSnorter ; 
 "Frightfully clever!" Quid, the Johnian History 
 Lecturer, would telegraph with his eyes to Charles of 
 King's ; " Ripping ! " was the comment of Belgium, 
 who had not yet got into the Chit-Chat jargon. 
 
 Coryton's face was that of a Sphinx all the time, 
 neither enthusiastic nor bored, but when the essay 
 came to an end in a splutter of scarcely intelligible 
 fireworks, he was the first to rush up and congratulate 
 the author with dulcet emphasis. 
 
 A desultory discussion followed and then the assem- 
 bly of prigs gradually melted away across the Great 
 Court in twos and threes, still keeping up their priggish 
 conversation. 
 
 As Coryton and Gaverigan walked across the court 
 together the latter asked, 
 
 "What are they all going to get out of this, do you 
 suppose ? " 
 
 " Mutual admiration here," replied the other with a 
 shrug of his shoulders, " and universal contempt here- 
 after." 
 
 " But they are all coming men, aren't they ? " said 
 Gaverigan, laughing. 
 
 "Coming men who never come. Or if they come 
 at all, it will be as third-rate ushers in fourth-rate 
 schools, quill-driving clerks, or literate ' ghosts ' for 
 illiterate hacks and quacks, doomed to spend their 
 lives flitting on the top of a bus between the suburbs 
 and the British Museum." 
 
 The which in point of fact they did.
 
 76 THE GREEN BAY TEEE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IX THE MAY WEEK. 
 
 Talk to women as much as you can. This is the best school. 
 This is the way to gain fluency, because you need not care what 
 you say, and had better not be sensible. B. DISRA.ELI. 
 
 LADY GIDDY had brought Violet Tresillian to spend 
 the " May week " so called because it is in the middle 
 of June at the house of Mrs. de Courcy Miles. 
 Coryton, Tyrconnel, Gaverigan and Lord Pimlico were 
 asked to meet them at dinner and take them on to 
 the First Trinity Ball afterwards. Lady Giddy was 
 an old friend of Mrs. Miles at least to all outward 
 appearances. But it was the sort of armed friendship, 
 founded on knowing too much, in which there is no 
 love lost. 
 
 Mrs. Miles had had to scheme and manoeuvre with 
 even more than her usual dexterity to get Violet up. 
 For some reason or other everybody assumed that she 
 was a great heiress, and as she was a " devilish pretty 
 girl " into the bargain, she was in great request among 
 hostesses. 
 
 Violet had quite determined to come up to Cam- 
 bridge for the May week and did not care much where 
 she stayed. Lady Giddy thought it would be better 
 fun to take a suite of rooms at the Bull, but Mrs. Miles 
 made such a point of it and put on the screw so merci- 
 lessly, that at length she had to give way. 
 
 The dinner-party was quite a success, everybody 
 being in the highest spirits. Coryton took in Miss 
 Haviland, with whom he was now intimate after a 
 fashion. They always treated each other with cordi- 
 ality and had even got to discussing questions of ethics 
 in a way which tickled Corytoii immensely, when he
 
 IN THE MAY WEEK. 77 
 
 thought over it afterwards. But each was more than 
 half conscious of a lurking dislike in the mind of the 
 other. 
 
 Tyrconnel sat between Gwendolen and Violet. The 
 dinner bored Violet. The professor, who was on her 
 other side, made it his business to " draw her out ; " 
 and, though that was a process she was always very 
 clever at baffling, it prevented her monopolizing 
 Tyrconnel as she had intended doing. He too, tire- 
 some boy, seemed at first to have no eyes or ears for 
 any one but Gwendolen. However, before the entree 
 was reached, Violet contrived to telegraph instructions 
 to Corytori. 
 
 He, understanding her wishes almost before they 
 were expressed, engaged Gwendolen in a discussion on 
 Puseyism, a subject which interested her so much 
 that she left Tyrconnel's last remark about cotillons 
 unanswered and turned right round in her chair to 
 thrash the question out thoroughly with Coryton. 
 Violet pounced on her opportunity, as a cat might 
 pounce on a mouse, failed to hear the Professor's 
 question about the " Ballad of Lord Bateman," which 
 he had given her to read, and proceeded to win back 
 Tyrconnel to her humble service. 
 
 "You bad Pigeon," she said, shaking a finger at 
 him, " you haven't spoken more than three words to 
 me since you came in, and we haven't met for at least 
 nine months. Are you huffy with me, or what ? " 
 
 "I was talking to Gwen," he answered sulkily. 
 
 "Yes, Gwen tells me that you and she are great 
 allies," she said, without a shade of annoyance in her 
 tones; "she seems an awfully sweet girl, which is 
 unusual in such a beauty." 
 
 The Pigeon was mollified at once. The next best 
 thing to talking to Gwendolen was talking about her, 
 and his heart warmed to Violet for her appreciation of 
 his idol. 
 
 " Do you really think so ? " he exclaimed ; " I I 
 didn't think you would care much about her." 
 
 " Why do you think so badly of me, Pigeon ? " she 
 asked in low, sad tones, looking him full in the face 
 with big glistening eyes.
 
 78 THE GREEN BAY TEEE. 
 
 " I am a beast, Vixie," he said, after a long pause, 
 feeling that he had been very rude and unjust and 
 disagreeable ; " I didn't mean to be nasty to you, only 
 you see I am a good deal changed since we used to 
 know each other. I am beginning to see that life is 
 a serious thing, and I am half afraid more than half 
 afraid that we shall never be the friends we were." 
 
 " Oh ! Pigeon, don't say that. We will always be 
 friends." 
 
 "Yes, but I know you don't like serious people. 
 I have often heard you say that serious people are 
 like soda water, either flat or flatulent, according to 
 their age." 
 
 " For pity's sake, don't murder my epigrams like 
 that." 
 
 " And you said a serious young man was like a 
 rotten egg, offensive to his surroundings from over- 
 hatching and serviceable only for political meetings." 
 
 Violet burst into a ripple of laughter. 
 
 " This is too killing," she said, leaning back in her 
 chair, " the Pigeon to be taken seriously, the Pigeon 
 in the role of ' the good young man who died ' ! Ha ! 
 Ha ! Ha ! " 
 
 " What are you two making so merry over ? " in- 
 quired Lady Giddy, speaking across the Professor, 
 whom it was everybody's habit to ignore and who had 
 not been spoken to for over twenty minutes. 
 
 " Pidge has been telling me that parody of Mr. War- 
 ton's about 'the good young man who lied,' " said Violet 
 hastily. 
 
 Mrs. de Courcy Miles pricked up her ears and asked 
 to have it repeated, but Tyrconnel was so evidently 
 confused and annoyed that she did not press the point, 
 and a diversion was speedily made by the Professor, 
 who was in a great hurry to take advantage of the 
 general lull in the conversation, in order to hear his 
 own voice again. 
 
 "Well, Miss Tresillian," he said, in the loud tones 
 habitual to the deaf, " and what did you think of the 
 'Ballad of Lord Bateman'? I think you know the 
 present holder of the title. If you are likely to be see- 
 ing him soon, I hope you will do me the favor of accept-
 
 IN THE MAY WEEK. 79 
 
 ing the copy I have lent you, in case you have an 
 opportunity of showing it to him." 
 
 Violet expressed her thanks in the language of nods 
 and smiles and then turned again to Tyrconnel, who 
 still looked hot and disconcerted. 
 
 " You mustn't be annoyed with me for being amused, 
 Pigeon," she said, in the soft voice which he had never 
 been able to resist; "you made your announcement 
 with such a melodramatic air, it quite took my breath 
 away. Of course, as we grow older, we all of us find 
 life more serious. I expect you will find me a good 
 deal changed too, when we have had a few quiet 
 talks." 
 
 Tyrconnel looked up in great surprise and his old 
 devotion to Violet came back with a rush. She too 
 had pondered and wondered over the dark problems 
 of life and had been through the deep waters. He 
 longed to hear from her lips the result she had arrived 
 at. Gwendolen was all very well as a spiritual guide, 
 but she had always been one of the serious ones of the 
 earth and could not make allowances for the old Adam 
 of a character, to whom, excitement was one of the 
 conditions of existence. She was often provoking by 
 the inflexibility of her " counsels of perfection." Violet, 
 with a desire to do right thrown in, would be indeed 
 a comrade. 
 
 Violet read in his look that she had hooked her fish 
 and at once began to throw her flies in other direc- 
 tions. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Gaverigan," she said to her vis-a-vis, 
 " I am going to turn the tables on you. What are you 
 and Lady Giddy enjoying so richly ? I have been talk- 
 ing very seriously to Mr. Tyrconnel and now I really do 
 want to be amused." 
 
 " It's only a little tale about Cory ton." 
 
 " How very odd," said Mrs. de Courcy Miles from 
 the other end of the table ; " Lord Pimlico has also just 
 been telling me a funny tale about Mr. Cory ton." 
 
 Mrs. de Courcy Miles had a knack of always keeping 
 one ear open for any conversation in which Lady Giddy 
 was, however remotely, engaged. 
 
 " Oh ! come now," exclaimed Coryton, laughing
 
 80 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 unmirthfully, " I think I shall begin to tell funny tales 
 about you fellows. Mrs. de Courcy Miles, did you ever 
 hear the strange story of Lord Piralico, the drag, the 
 fair lady and the Proctor ? " 
 
 " No. We'll have a scandal-bee. Everybody think 
 of a startling story about everybody else." 
 
 " Shall I begin, my dear ? " inquired Lady Giddy in 
 suave tones, which were intended to give her hostess 
 an unfriendly warning. 
 
 " No," replied that lady coldly, " I see Lord Pimlico 
 has something on the tip of his tongue." 
 
 "It's nothing much," said Pimlico, speaking hur- 
 riedly, " only about the last time Coryton and I went 
 over to Newmarket together. On the platform a 
 bobby told us we'd been spotted by sharpers. S'pose 
 they thought we looked mugs. Anyhow, when the 
 train started, there they all were and great fun we 
 had listening to 'em. I was in one corner and Cor- 
 ry in the corner furthest off. Imagine my amazement, 
 after about ten minutes, to see him stretch out a 
 sovereign and bet he could spot the lady. Of course 
 he lost. Then he turned crusty and wouldn't bet any 
 more, which amused the boys hugely. I thought, 
 Well he's lost his quid and there's an end of it.' 
 But not a bit of it ! At the first stoppage out he 
 got. I sat in my corner saying nothing, without the 
 faintest idea what he was up to, but I noticed the 
 boys were a bit uneasy. Presently back comes Coryton 
 with a couple of bobbies and a guard and a porter 
 or two quite a gang of 'em. In the quietest way 
 in the world he points to the josser next me, who 
 had won his money, and says, ' that's the man.' 
 ' Wot d'yer mean ? ' he answers. ' You know well 
 enough,' says the bobby, ' you've been cheating this 
 gentleman out of his money.' ' Not a bit of it,' he 
 answers, trying to bluster, ' we only 'ad a little game 
 o' kyards.' All right,' sings out the bobby, and 
 then he turns to Corry and says, ' D'you want to give 
 him in charge ? ' ' No,' says Corry, ' I only want 
 my money back.' ' Very generous of yer, I'm sure,' 
 says the man, with a murderous look, whipping 
 out a handful of sovereigns and giving him one,
 
 IN THE MAY WEEK. 81 
 
 Then I thought it was about time to clear out, so 
 Corry and I travelled in the guard's van the rest of 
 the way, and Corry was in a blue funk of being 
 ducked in a horsepond as a welsher all the while he 
 was at Newmarket. He told me afterwards that he'd 
 been taken in by the dodge of turning down the 
 corner and really believed he was going to cheat the 
 man when he betted with him." 
 
 " Oh! come now," protested Lady Giddy, "you are 
 all giving poor Mr. Coryton a very bad character. I 
 don't believe he's anything like so black as you paint 
 him." 
 
 Now this was precisely the opinion which Coryton 
 had been diligently striving to implant in Gwendolen's 
 mind all through dinner, and not without success. 
 
 " I believe, Mr. Coryton," she said impulsively, 
 " that you are ashamed of your good impulses and 
 that all the cynicism you impart to your conversation 
 is merely to conceal your natural kindliness and 
 generosity." 
 
 " You exaggerate my poor merits," he said with 
 humility. 
 
 "No, and I feel I owe you an apology for having 
 misjudged you. It is as well to be quite frank. I 
 thought you exercised a bad influence over Mr. Tyr- 
 connel, and I felt it my duty to advise him not to 
 confide too implicitly in you. He has a blind belief 
 in you, Mr. Coryton, and he is very young for his 
 years." 
 
 " And you think I take advantage of his innocence 
 for my own ends," said Coryton with a curious smile. 
 
 " You must not judge me too harshly. I feel that 
 I was too hasty in coming to my conclusions," she 
 said, in a slow, painful way. " It will be a lesson 
 to me. I will explain my mistake to him, and I trust 
 that you will consent to our being friends in future 
 real friends I mean." 
 
 There was a look of triumph in Coryton's eyes. 
 
 " My dear Miss Haviland," he said, " I have never 
 
 desired anything better. But may I not suggest that 
 
 you are in perhaps too great* a hurry to believe in 
 
 my immaculate intentions ? You may change your 
 
 6
 
 82 THE GREEN BAT TREE. 
 
 view about me just as rapidly again to-morrow and 
 that will be awkward now that we have sworn eternal 
 friendship." 
 
 She did not notice the sneer that just flavored his 
 remarks, like the tiniest suspicion of garlic in a salad; 
 for she was in a very serious mood, and when she was 
 in a serious mood, she always fancied every one else 
 was serious too. 
 
 " I have done wrong," she said contritely. " I know 
 it is very wrong to be so quick to think evil of any one. 
 The fact is, I had never met people, who tried to make 
 themselves out worse than they are. It is all new to 
 me," she looked up at him with a half smile, "I 
 hope you will forgive me." 
 
 " It is I who have to ask forgiveness, if I have un- 
 wittingly deceived you," he said with a profound bow. 
 
 " Do look at the way that little ecclesiastic has been 
 crumbling his bread," Lady Giddy was whispering to 
 Gaverigan, as she pointed to Funnie-Ffoulkes ; "he 
 seems terribly nervous under the fire of Miss Connec- 
 ticut's chaff." 
 
 "Like Sidney Smith," replied Gaverigan, laughing. 
 "Don't you remember he said, 'I always crumble my 
 bread when I sit next to a bishop ; and when I am 
 next to an Archbishop, I crumble it with both my 
 hands?'" 
 
 "No, I don't remember, you rude boy; I wasn't 
 going out to dinner parties in the days of Sidney 
 Smith. You are really getting as frank as Mr. Tyr- 
 connel in telling one exactly what you think." 
 
 " One needn't have been there to remember a story, 
 any more than the little boys who sing a ribald distych 
 on the fifth of November were present at Guy Fawkes' 
 execution." 
 
 "Now you are coming round to your Legitimist doc- 
 trines, and you know they bore me. It all happened 
 so very long ago." 
 
 " Well, now you will escape being bored any more," 
 he said, rising, as Mrs. de Courcy Miles, having at last 
 succeeded in catching Lady Giddy's eye, was pushing 
 back her chair noisily and flouncing towards the door. 
 
 When the ladies reached the drawing-room, Mrs.
 
 IN THE MAY WEEK. 83 
 
 Miles carried off the American girl to her " Holy of 
 Holies " and Violet, who wanted a private talk with 
 Gwendolen, expressed an eager desire to hear Lady 
 Giddy's new Spanish-guitar songs. 
 
 " You won't get her to sing until the men come in," 
 said Mrs. Miles, standing behind a sofa, with her arm 
 in Miss Connecticut's, as a preliminary to carrying off 
 that unwilling young lady. 
 
 " Oh, yes, why not ? " said Lady Giddy, getting up to 
 fetch her instrument. She always liked to disappoint 
 her dear friend Mrs. Miles, if she could. 
 
 " Well, it'll be practice for you, I dare say," said the 
 latter, carrying off her prey. 
 
 Lady Giddy sought out her guitar and fondly spread 
 out the array of ribbons of many colors attached to the 
 instrument, each of' which she boasted represented a 
 separate conquest. The whole array served to suggest 
 a small regiment of admirers, but Mrs. de Courcy 
 Miles' story was that they had all been bought one 
 morning at Marshall & Snellgrove's by Lady Giddy 
 herself. 
 
 That lady was soon trolling forth a song about the 
 .Bolero ; Miss Verity was skilfully isolated behind a 
 palm-pot by Violet, and Gwendolen found herself let 
 in for one of the " private and confidential " conversa- 
 tions, which she was so fond of inflicting upon her 
 undergraduate friends. 
 
 Violet began with a torrent of gush, which expe- 
 rience had taught her was best suited for a tete-a-tete 
 with a goody-goody girl. 
 
 " I have been longing for a quiet chat with you, 
 my dear Gwendolen, I may call you Gwendolen, 
 mayn't I ? I have heard so much about you during 
 the last two years, and it is strange, isn't it, that we 
 have never met before ? Now we really must make up 
 for lost time and I am going to be frightfully fond of 
 you and see such a lot of you, if you will let me." 
 
 Gwendolen was completely taken aback. She had 
 not been attracted by Violet, in fact had begun with a 
 slight instinctive antipathy, which she had fancied 
 from the first was returned. But her loyal nature 
 had prompted her to check the unfriendly feelings
 
 84 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 almost as soon as they were formed, and her recent 
 revulsion of feeling about Coryton had put her in the 
 frame of mind that is inclined to think the best of 
 everybody. 
 
 Violet had two objects in view ; she wanted to make 
 Gwendolen fond of her that was always good policy 
 and it cost so little effort ; but above all she wanted 
 to find out how far the girl had entangled Tyrconnel. 
 Keeping to her usual tactics, she kept the subject she 
 had in view until the last, mentioning and discussing 
 first all their other friends in an animated way, taking 
 care to say amiable things about everybody. 
 
 She approached the subject of Coryton with a good 
 deal of diffidence, as she had understood from him 
 that he was not popular in this quarter. However, 
 to her surprise, she had hardly mentioned his name, 
 when Gwendolen began to speak almost enthusiasti- 
 cally about him. 
 
 " I was a long time getting to know Mr. Coryton," 
 she said, " and at first there is a thick crust of cynicism 
 and reserve, which is not easy to penetrate, but I be- 
 lieve he is really a high-principled man, though per- 
 haps overmuch given to pleasure." 
 
 Violet raised her eyebrows an imperceptible mili- 
 metre.and then dropped them again rapidly as a happy 
 thought struck her. To get confidences one must give 
 confidences, whether or not they are true ones is a 
 secondary consideration. Do ut des was her motto as 
 well as Prince Bismarck's. 
 
 So her face beamed with delight as she thanked 
 Gwendolen for her warm praises of Coryton, and gave 
 her to understand, under a strict pledge of secrecy, 
 that she was more than half engaged to him. Then, 
 striking while the iron was hottest, she began to speak 
 flatteringly of Tyrconnel and askeihalf a dozen lead- 
 ing questions about him in rapid succession, while 
 Gwendolen was still touched by the subtle compliment 
 of making her the recipient of such a confidence so 
 soon, and was therefore more or less taken off her 
 guard. 
 
 It was a delicately revised version of the old con- 
 fidence trick, and, before the men came in, Miss Tresil-
 
 7# THE MAY WEES:. 85 
 
 lian had gathered that Gwendolen was over head and 
 ears in love with Tyrconnel, that she had set herself 
 the task of reclaiming him from bad ways and evil 
 companions, considered herself in some sort his ter- 
 restrial guardian angel and meant to marry him in 
 two or three years, if he proved that he could keep 
 straight in the meanwhile. The chief mistake in her 
 estimate of his character was that she had taken rather 
 too seriously his present religious craze and assumed 
 to be chronic a phase which is as necessary to the 
 emotional development as distemper is to the canine ; 
 she underestimated the power which his love of excite- 
 ment had to shatter his best resolutions ; and, where 
 he really had a strong will of his own, she only thought 
 him obstinate. 
 
 By the time the men came in, Violet had ascertained 
 all she wanted to know. Lady Giddy was singing a 
 Bulgarian love song, with the refrain "77 si moia, moia, 
 moia ! " (Thou art mine, mine, mine !) and, as Cory ton 
 came in, she sang a variation, using the word Moi 
 (mine) in the masculine and looking him full in the 
 eyes. When she had explained the line to him, she said 
 she should expect him to get her a new ribbon for her 
 guitar in return for the compliment. 
 
 " Will you let me destroy all those you have there, 
 and provide you with a complete set of white ones ? " 
 
 " Ugh ! why white ones ? " 
 
 " Because they are the symbol of innocence." 
 
 " And would contrast so well with me." 
 
 " You are incorrigible, Lady Giddy, it is hopeless to 
 try to pay you compliments." 
 
 " Well, will you give me one white ribbon to add to 
 my collection ? " 
 
 " No. It must be all in all or not at all," he replied, 
 folding his arms dramatically. 
 
 " You are a very ambitious boy," she said with a 
 pleased look and began to strike up " Setu fosse per me 
 'na chitarra " with a distinctly naughty look in her eyes, 
 that nearly made Violet explode as she caught sight 
 of it. 
 
 " Well, I think it is time for us to be putting our 
 cloaks on," said Mrs. de Courcy Miles, emerging sud-
 
 86 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 denly from her sanctuary and bearing down upon Lady 
 Giddy with scant ceremony. " It is past ten o'clock and 
 the carriages have been round some time " they were 
 only four-wheel cabs, but that didn't matter. Most of 
 Mrs. de Courcy Miles' geese were swans. " One doesn't 
 care to be too early at these sort of things," she went 
 on explanatorily, " but we must be there before the 
 Duchess of Puffeballe arrives." This for the benefit 
 of Lady Giddy. " If we didn't know her so well it 
 would be different. Gwendolen dear, the Duchess told 
 you when you met her at Magdalene Lodge she would 
 be there, didn't she ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Gwendolen, flushing a little at the ex- 
 hibition of snobbery, " I believe I told you so before, 
 Aunt." 
 
 "And lam sure I have been told so several times," 
 said Lady Giddy with a spice of malice, gathering up 
 her train. 
 
 A minute or two later they were all packed in the 
 cabs, trundling along to the Guildhall. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE FIKST TRIXITY BALL. 
 
 When Love is kind, 
 
 Cheerful and free 
 
 Love's sure to find 
 
 Welcome from me. TOM MOORE. 
 
 " You haven't asked me for a dance, Mr. Coryton," 
 whispered Lady Giddy as they met in the vestibule at 
 the top of the red-carpeted stairs which led to the 
 Cambridge Guildhall. They were waiting for Mrs. de 
 Courcy Miles, whose toilet apparently required a good 
 many finishing touches in the cloak-room. 
 
 " I never dance," he answered languidly. " Why 
 should one ? I am like the first Lord Holland, I never 
 do anything which some one else can do for me and I
 
 THE FIRST TRINITY BALL. 87 
 
 never do to-day what I can put off until to-morrow. 
 But you will sit out a dance with me and let me take 
 you in to supper, won't you ? " 
 
 " You do not deserve it, for I am sure you can dance 
 if you like. It is only affectation. In town they say no 
 one dances now but the very young men and the very 
 old ones. But I hardly expected to find that at Cam- 
 bridge." 
 
 " The men who can dance are generally to be found 
 standing against the wall. That will be my role to- 
 night," laughed Coryton. 
 
 " As a mural decoration I suppose, you conceited 
 boy," retorted Lady Giddy with a flash of her fan. 
 " But here comes our hostess pinned up at last." 
 
 Mrs. de Courcy Miles gathered her party around 
 her and sailed up to the top of the room. A valse 
 was just over as they entered the ball-room, so they 
 had a clear space and were the observed of all ob- 
 servers. Mrs. de Courcy Miles was supremely happy. 
 She had the two prettiest girls in the room in tow 
 and some of the smartest men. Her appearance 
 created quite a sensation. They had come in good 
 time, not too soon. The Duchess had not arrived in 
 point of fact she had never intended to come. 
 
 Mrs. Miles put up her lorgnettes and surveyed the 
 motley crowd. 
 
 " A good deal of imported material, my dear," she 
 remarked to Lady Giddy. "These balls are always 
 rather mixed. You must not judge of Cambridge 
 society from what you see here. It is much more 
 select, and much dowdier." 
 
 " There is a good deal of dowdiness here to-night," 
 retorted Lady Giddy. " Good gracious ! who are those 
 extraordinary creatures bowing to you now? I never 
 saw such gowns in my life. Do look one of them 
 has a high dress close to her chin and no sleeves, the 
 other has sleeves, and, well no dress to speak of! 
 Oh ! this is very amusing ! . . . . Tell me who is that 
 object yonder with a sort of fender on her head, and 
 flowers growing out of the middle." 
 
 " Some town person I believe," rejoined Mrs. Miles 
 with ineffable scorn, " the wife of a solicitor I think.
 
 88 THE GREEN SAY TREE. 
 
 I wonder how she managed to get here? Ah! there is 
 Mrs. Bellamy I thought there could be no mistaking 
 that old brocade. And there are Belinda and Cera- 
 
 minta with all the boys round them as usual 
 
 No, Mr. Sainsbury, I really cannot dance yet. I have 
 to talk to such lots of people. What would every one 
 say ? But I will give you one later on if that will do. 
 
 Shall we say number fourteen ? Very well 
 
 What a ravishing valse this is. Dan Godfrey's Band 
 of course . . . how well they are playing." .... 
 
 " Where is Miss Haviland ? " inquired Pimlico at 
 this juncture in an injured tone. " I hope she's goin' 
 to dance with me." 
 
 Pimlico did not care much about Gwendolen. She 
 had opinions, he did not care for women with opinions. 
 He never listened to them. " Why listen to a woman's 
 drivel?" he aaid to himself with good-humored con- 
 tempt it didn't much matter what they thought, or 
 didn't think. But Gwendolen was a "good-looking 
 filly and could step out well," and just now he felt in 
 a dancing mood. 
 
 " I'm sure she will be delighted," gushed Mrs. Miles. 
 
 After all Lord Pimlico was the Marquis of South- 
 wark's son a much greater peer than Lord Baltin- 
 glass of Blarney, with an enormous rent-roll and a 
 pedigree which was not invented by Burke. 
 
 " Ah ! here is Gwendolen ! " she exclaimed. For at 
 that moment her niece, who had been valsing with 
 Tyrconnel, came to a standstill near them. 
 
 " Gwendolen, dearest," she said suavely but in the 
 tones of " She who-must-be obeyed," " Lord Pimlico 
 wishes you to give him a dance." 
 
 Pimlico scribbled his initials on Gwendolen's pro- 
 gramme, opposite the next dance, and then surren- 
 dered her to her partner again. 
 
 " You needn't have given him a dance," grumbled 
 Tyrconnel as they revolved round the room again. 
 " I wanted you to keep them all for me. You know I 
 did." 
 
 " My aunt wished me to do so," replied Gwendolen 
 in her precise manner, " and he is one of our party. I 
 could hardly have refused without being rude ; though
 
 TUE FIRST TRINITY BALL. 89 
 
 I confess I do not like Lord Pimlico. lie seems to 
 have no ideas beyond stables and kennels. And yet 
 he is a great friend of yours. How I wish that 
 you 
 
 " Yes, I know," interrupted Tyrconnel, with a fore- 
 boding of what was coming and dreading a lecture. 
 " I will do all you wish if you will only keep me all 
 the rest of your dances. Promise me." 
 
 " You can have one of the extras if you like," re- 
 joined Gwendolen demurely. 
 
 " One ! Oh ! Gwen, do you think I should be content 
 with one ? " he cried. 
 
 " You have no right to call me ' Gwen,' and I wish 
 you wouldn't hold me so tightly," rejoined that young 
 lady, " I can scarcely breathe. Really there is no 
 occasion to do so. I am not going to break away from 
 you until the next dance at any rate." 
 
 She was not given to banter, but it was absolutely 
 necessary to check this threatened flood of sentiment, 
 or Tyrconnel would be on his knees before her in 
 the ball-room ere the evening was over." 
 
 " I suppose you prefer Pirn's style," rejoined Tyr- 
 connel jealously, loosening his hold a little all the 
 same. " He holds his partner at an arm's length and 
 runs round her he can't steer a bit." 
 
 " He tries his best " said Gwendolen dispassion- 
 ately. 
 
 Meanwhile Pimlico, who had as keen an eye for 
 female beauty as for the points of a horse, had for- 
 gotten all about Gwendolen, and was dancing with 
 Violet, who looked very pretty in a maize-colored 
 dress. She had got up a little flirtation with him, 
 arid even ventured upon one of those killing looks of 
 hers, half timid, wholly admiring, with a little blush 
 at the end one of those looks which she had never 
 known to fail. 
 
 But it did not seem to penetrate Pimlico's thick 
 hide. She was good to look at, but she knew nothing 
 about either horses or dogs. She pretended to do so, 
 but he soon found her out. He never met a woman 
 who did, except his cousin Theodora Gargoyle. She 
 wasn't here worse luck.
 
 90 THE GREEN BAT TREE. 
 
 " Well, how have you been getting on with Pirn?" 
 asked Coryton of Violet an hour or so later. 
 
 They were sitting after supper in a little room 
 under the gallery. There was a rowdy polka going 
 on in the ball-room. Echoes of it penetrated even 
 here. They were quite alone. 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know," rejoined Violet with a shrug 
 of her shoulders. She had not forgiven Pimlico for 
 his slowness in responding to her advances. " He is an 
 awful bore you know, and can't dance a bit. I have 
 lost half my dress and most of my hairpins, but I kept 
 my temper. I danced with him twice once more 
 than Gwendolen," she added with a spice of malice. 
 
 " Oh ! Gwendolen is a sort of correct young person, 
 who would never dance more than once with the 
 same partner unless she were engaged to him." 
 
 " Then she must be engaged to Pigeon for they 
 danced nearly all the supper extras together," 
 rejoined Violet. 
 
 " She is, or very near it," said Coryton, who had 
 reasons of his own for making the statement just 
 now. " I am afraid your influence over him has 
 sadly waned since the old Harrow days, Vixie." 
 
 " Oh ! propinquity is everything with that sort of 
 person." she said flippantly. "The thing one calls 
 love is purely physical with him, and he needs the 
 physical presence of the loved one to feed the flame, 
 otherwise it dies of starvation. Shut me up with 
 him in a country house for a week, and he would 
 be at my feet again." 
 
 "Well, his love for the fair Gwendolen is hardly 
 likely to die of starvation, rather from an attack of 
 indigestion, I should think. But Vixie, I didn't bring 
 you here to talk about them but about ourselves 
 don't you think it is about time we came to some 
 little understanding with one another? We really 
 ought to go into partnership." 
 
 Violet looked at him steadily for a moment or 
 two. Then she broke forth into a little rippling 
 laugh. 
 
 " You absurd boy, I shouldn't dream of marrying 
 you, if that's what you mean. One doesn't marry
 
 THE FIRST TRINITY BALL. 91 
 
 nowadays to cement a friendship, mais pour mieux 
 devaliser. As to the partnership, I don't say no. You 
 see we could carry that on far better if we were each 
 married to some one else." 
 
 " But, Vixie," he protested, " I really couldn't bear 
 to think of you married to some one else. I always 
 pose as caring for no one but myself. But you must 
 know that no one is really without all natural affection. 
 I am awfully fond of you. I'd do anything for you 
 within limits. We'd get on awfully well together. 
 We both have the same views of life, the same ideas 
 of success, the same contempt for humdrum people. 
 Hang it all! What an awful time you would have 
 tied up for life with a fellow like Pirn, say, or even a 
 dull, amiable person, like the Pigeon, whom you could 
 twist round your little finger ! How you would hate 
 him for every remark he made ! How you would curse 
 every scruple of his which interfered wth your plans ! " 
 
 He was close to her, his speaking eyes looking into 
 hers. If his passion was not real, it was at least ad- 
 mirably feigned. She met his gaze with the same 
 amused smile, but a little flush had crept over her 
 face. 
 
 "Nonsense," she said, "he would amuse me. I 
 should study his character. It would be such excel- 
 lent practice, learning not to mind the stupid things 
 he said and discovering the quickest ways to overcome 
 his scruples. He would be a living lay-figure, always 
 at hand for experiments in the art of wheedling 
 fools." 
 
 " I don't agree with you," he answered, " not a 
 bit. I think a fool is an incessant drag on a clever 
 spouse, even though the blood of a Howard and the 
 riches of Golconda are there to temper the folly. You 
 and I together, Vixie, could conquer the world." 
 
 " Very well, then," she said, giving him her hand 
 " henceforth we will be partners. You have useful 
 friends, a fair amount of money, I suppose," Coryton 
 smiled " and no affections to impede you. We will 
 go into partnership. But we won't talk of marriage 
 just yet, at any rate till we see if we can do better 
 elsewhere."
 
 92 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 And so they left it with a sort of half understand- 
 ing on either side. He saw it was useless to press her 
 further just then, and with quick tact abandoned 
 sentiment for other topics of a personal, but unsenti- 
 mental nature. 
 
 Coryton and Violet sat out most of the dances the 
 rest of the evening or rather the rest of the morning, 
 for the Cambridge May- week balls go on long after the 
 sun has risen. 
 
 They did not find it monotonous, for they had much 
 to talk about. Violet was not a young woman greatly 
 given to dancing with younger sons or callow under- 
 graduates, and she threw over her partners without 
 mercy. 
 
 Later on they went down again and made a second 
 excellent supper, and thoroughly enjoyed the bottle of 
 extra good champagne which Coryton induced Hubert 
 Sainsbury, the Hon. Secretary of the Ball Committee, 
 to produce out of the special dozen which he put aside 
 for himself and his particular pals. 
 
 It was nearly six o'clock before Mrs. de Courcy 
 Miles could collect her party and take her departure. 
 Coryton saw Violet into the carriage and gave her 
 hand a friendly squeeze at parting. 
 
 As the cab drove off he turned and saw Tyrconnel 
 standing in the sunshine pressing furtively to his lips a 
 long white glove. It was Gwendolen's. A gleam of 
 contempt flickered over Coryton's lips. Then he 
 slapped the love-sick swain on the back with a ringing 
 laugh. 
 
 " You must be very hungry, my good Pigeon," he 
 cried, " to nibble away at that indigestible morsel. 
 Come back to the supper-room, and have some hot 
 coffee with me instead. It's all right you needn't 
 hesitate. I've got a pass for the steward's break- 
 fast. . . Come ! "
 
 A UNION DEBATE. 93 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A UNION DEBATE. 
 
 Genius, when young, is divine. B. DISRAELI. 
 
 THE debate at the Union was largely attended. The 
 motion before the House was one of confidence in the 
 Government a well-worn subject, which cropped up 
 for debate at least once in every term. But on this 
 occasion a certain element of reality infused itself into 
 the proceedings from the fact that the vote of confi- 
 dence was to be moved by the son of a prominent mem- 
 ber of the Ministry. 
 
 In the gallery, which ran round three sides of the 
 spacious, ill-shaped hall, there was a goodly assemblage 
 of women chiefly from Girton and Newnharn, inter- 
 spersed with a sprinkling of strangers, who had dropped 
 in to kill an hour by looking down upon the bloodless 
 fray. 
 
 The brown leather seats on the floor of the House 
 were filled with undergraduates those on the " Noe " 
 side being perhaps the more crowded ; and every seat 
 on the Committee benches was occupied by youths 
 who took notes and conferred at intervals among 
 themselves with a portentous gravity, worthy of the 
 front benches of the House of Commons. 
 
 The President's chair a hideous gallows-like erec- 
 tion perched on a shabbily-carpeted" dais was on this 
 particular occasion filled by a large heavy-looking indi- 
 vidual, who wore a B.A. gown over his irreproachable 
 evening dress. 
 
 The debate was opened excellently well by the afore- 
 said son of the Minister, who wore an eyeglass, culti- 
 vated an ultra ministerial manner, and alluded at inter- 
 vals to " sources of information not generally open to 
 members of the House,"
 
 94 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 It was a smart speech and admirably delivered, 
 though certain parts of it smelt overmuch of the lamp. 
 He sat down amid a hubbub of applause. 
 
 " The motion is opposed by Mr. Walpole Coryton of 
 Trinity College," announced the President in deep 
 oracular tones, which he fondly fancied resembled those 
 of the Speaker of the House of Commons ; " I call upon 
 the honorable Member to address the House." 
 
 Then he sat down, settled his collar and resumed 
 the sphinx-like air, proper to one on whom the eyes of 
 Europe are fixed. 
 
 Coryton rose to reply. By this time the House was 
 thronged. The opposer of a motion always has the 
 best of it in this respect, for, by the time he is on his 
 legs, the constant dropping in of men on their way 
 from Hall has ceased. 
 
 He began with a curious hesitancy of manner, which 
 he always affected at full-dress debates. There was 
 not the least occasion for it, for he knew exactly what 
 he was going to say, but it suggested a diffidence he 
 did not feel, and it made his audience very tolerant 
 for was it not a subtle compliment to their superiority ? 
 He paid the usual compliment to the " able speech of 
 the honorable Opener" and lamented the disadvan- 
 tages at which he was placed, without those " sources 
 of information " to which the mover of the motion had 
 so frequently alluded, a touch of sarcasm which his 
 audience was quick to appreciate. Then he gradually 
 warmed to his work, and his words came quick and 
 clear. There was nothing particularly new in what 
 he said, but he had a new way of saying it, and he 
 gave point to his sentences with quiet little barbs of 
 satire, which rankled after they had sped home. His 
 peroration was delightful the loftiest sentiments de- 
 livered in a voice that quivered with an emotion manu- 
 factured for the occasion. 
 
 The ringing applause which greeted the end of his 
 speech told him that he had scored one more mark, 
 and a long one, towards the goal. 
 
 The opener and opposer of the motion having been 
 disposed of, the debate became general. Gaverigan 
 made a short and pointed speech from the high Tory
 
 A UNION DEBATE. 95 
 
 standpoint, full of winged words, which irritated his 
 own party rather more than they did his opponents. 
 He began by taking Coryton to task for having spoken 
 of the " Liberal Government." 
 
 " Sir," he exclaimed, throwing his head back and 
 arranging his hands on his hips, " the tottering ministry, 
 which now afflicteth England, is neither Liberal nor a 
 Government. It is a rotten body standing on two legs 
 of unequal length, whereof the shorter and the more 
 enfeebled has been blighted by the cruel, lying, canting 
 traditions of Whiggery, and whereof the longer, with 
 its pinchbeck trappings from Birmingham, seems in a 
 terrible hurry to slither the whole cursed corpse down 
 to its proper destination, into the jaws of Hell." 
 
 A shout of delight came from the Opposition, but 
 Gaverigan turned quickly upon them. " It is not for 
 the weak-kneed Humbugs, who aspire to be the heirs 
 and successors of the old Tory party of pious memory," 
 he said scornfully ; " it is not for the organized hypoc- 
 risy that I see around me to taunt others with the 
 inconsistency, with the imbecility, with the dishonesty 
 that are their own watchwords and rules of policy. 
 The old Tory Party is dead ! " he went on in declama- 
 tory tones, " as dead as the great God Pan. But its 
 spirit of chivalry, its spirit of stainless honor still lives 
 the spirit that charged with Prince Rupert, that 
 flashed from the sword of Sarsfield, that triumphed at 
 Gladsmuir ; and some day, in God's good time, that 
 spirit may reanimate this besotted nation, scatter before 
 its face the fools who are called Conservatives and the 
 knaves who manufacture new constitutions in Birming- 
 ham, drive out usurping dynasties, and make Right 
 and Might for once coincident and supreme." 
 
 Half a dozen youths were on their feet putting points 
 of order to the stolid President, who sat blinking 
 stupidly in the chair. 
 
 " I call upon the honorable Member to withdraw the 
 word ' besotted,' " he said after a long pause, feeling he 
 must satisfy somebody. 
 
 " By all means," said Gaverigan without rising, and 
 then resumed a conversation he had begun with Mau- 
 resk, who had just entered.
 
 96 THE GREEN BAY TEEE. 
 
 Everybody laughed and the President sat down dis- 
 comfited to blink anew, wondering why everybody 
 laughed. 
 
 The next speaker was an overgrown King's man, 
 named Drake, whom we had already met at the 
 "Apostles." He was of course "frightfully clever" 
 and had evidently adopted that theory of his own 
 abilities himself. His speech was thick and hesitating, 
 though bearing trace of elaborate preparation. Every 
 now and then he broke out into a ripple of harsh 
 laughter, preceded by a vacant snigger. For a long 
 time no one could understand the why or wherefore of 
 these grimaces, but, as the listeners got used to the 
 process, they discovered that it was intended as an 
 alarum to herald a joke, due precisely two minutes 
 later. These jokes were so abstruse that hardly any 
 one could grasp their meaning. A few mutual ad- 
 mirers, however, who had been favored with a rehear- 
 sal of the jokes at the " Chit-Chat," were seated all 
 round the speaker and supplied the desired applause. 
 
 Then followed " a poor Indian, whose untutored 
 mind" impelled him to make havoc of the Queen's 
 English. 
 
 At last a man in a Judeian gown, who had been 
 sitting well displayed on the front Opposition bench, 
 sprang up to address the House. He wore white 
 spats over patent-leather shoes, a loud waistcoat, an 
 enormous button-hole and a large amount of jewellery. 
 His hair was redolent of the oil of Macassar, and the 
 gaudy silk pocket-handkerchief which he waved at 
 intervals reeked of " Jockey Club." His arising was 
 the signal for a general exodus. He heeded it not, 
 but went on in strident, loud-throated tones which 
 had earned for him at the Union the nickname of 
 "sounding brass," just as his general style had caused 
 him to be known in other circles as " the Bounder 
 King." His utterance was volcanic, and his style 
 of oratory obviously modelled on that of Sir Cincin- 
 natus Spreadeagle, M. P. for the pocket borough of 
 Squint. 
 
 The youthful orator waved his arms, indulged in 
 vain repetitions as the heathen do, incoherently de-
 
 A UNION DEBATE. 97 
 
 nounced the " Arch-Anarch of Midlothian " and all his 
 works, opined that before long the "hell-dogs of 
 rapine and civil war would be let loose over the land," 
 finally announced his intention as a Volunteer officer 
 of fighting them to the death quite after his model's 
 famous Yeomanry speech. In his peroration he spoke 
 vaguely of a Nemesis pursuing the Government in the 
 shape of " letters of blood on a river of fire," and then 
 having run off the end of his notes pulled up abruptly 
 and sat down. No one took his diatribes seriously 
 except himself. To his ears the ironical cheers 
 which greeted his sudden collapse were sweeter than 
 music, and a smile flitted over his ill-favored counte- 
 nance as he thought of how delighted his Aunt 
 Mary Ann Dame President of the Kensington -be- 
 yond-Jordan Habitation of the Primrose League 
 would be when she read the report of her nephew's 
 speech in the Cambridge Review. 
 
 Coryton came across him a little later in the lobby 
 outside the debating Hall recording his vote with a 
 great flourish in the book kept for that purpose. In 
 accordance with his rule, Coryton went up and congrat- 
 ulated him warmly on his speech that sort of thing 
 cost so little and brought in so much. 
 
 "Thanks," said Plantagenet-Unkels for such was 
 the individual's name throwing down his pen with a 
 complacent air, " I flatter myself it wasn't bad either. 
 I let 'em have it pretty hot, didn't I ? By the way, are 
 you going now ? " 
 
 "I think so the debate is sure to be adjourned." 
 
 " Then come back to my rooms, will you ? I have got 
 a few fellows dropping in at ten o'clock. Will you 
 come ? " 
 
 "I shall be delighted," accepted Coryton, and, so 
 saying, followed his companion through the swing-gate, 
 across the roadway to Saint Jude's. 
 
 " There are two or three mattters I want to have a 
 chat about with you. I think you and I should pull 
 together, old chap," said Unkels with odious famili- 
 arity, as they walked along. " There's the Coningsby 
 Club, for instance. I suppose you know we are trying 
 7
 
 98 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 to get our next President Rupert Cameron to come 
 up later." 
 
 " No," replied Coryton, pricking up his ears. He 
 knew the Coningsby of course, and belonged to it. It 
 was the undergraduate Tory Club. But hitherto it 
 had done nothing but give a dreary dinner to the Uni- 
 versity Representatives and some other old fossils once 
 in two years in the days, that is, when the Cambridge 
 University Representatives were old fossils, and not 
 Tory Democrats as now. If there was a chance of Lord 
 Rupert Cameron coming, it would be worth while 
 looking it up. 
 
 " It is perfectly true," said Unkels with an impor- 
 tant air. " I am trying to get Sir Cincinnatus to work 
 it for us. Nothing like having a friend at Court, you 
 know, and then the annual election for the Vice- 
 Presidency and Committee are at the end of term. 
 But we will talk of that later on. Come in, old chap, 
 and hang up your gown here we are. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE BOUNDER KING. 
 
 "Sit crooked, speak straight." ARAB PROVERB. 
 
 UNKELS' rooms were in the new buildings of Saint 
 Jude's across the Bridge of Belshazzar. They were 
 gorgeously furnished in execrable taste carte blanche 
 having been given to the upholsterer in Sidney Street, 
 so far as money was concerned. They were very much 
 too crowded. Photographs were scattered all about, 
 sundry Royalties, actresses, Sir Cincinnatus Spread- 
 eagle, and other eminent politicians were interspersed 
 with photographs of Unkels in every conceivable pose 
 Unkels as Lieutenant of the University Volunteers, 
 Unkels as Richelieu in the last dramatic performance
 
 THE BOUNDER KING. 99 
 
 of the " Footlights," Unkels in " Spurs" (i.e. cap and 
 gown), Unkels surrounded by his pals, and so on. 
 
 The mural decorations were broken here and there 
 by Japanese paper fans, tin shields with University 
 and college Arms painted thereon, a Primrose League 
 Warrant emblazoned in purple and gold, a device of 
 the Bible and the Crown and a quantity of cheap pot- 
 tery from an emporium in the Petty Cury. 
 
 The Bounder King had made preparations for his 
 guests. On a side table there were biscuits, pdte-de- 
 foie-gras sandwiches, cake, oranges, walnuts, and sun- 
 dry other fruits, cigars, cigarettes, port, sherry, whisky, 
 and coffee all execrable. In an ice pail close by were 
 half a dozen bottles of still worse champagne. 
 
 " There is going to be quite an orgie in a small way," 
 thought Coryton to himself as he surveyed these prep- 
 arations. " I wonder what I am in for." 
 
 Whatever qualifications his host might lack, it was 
 evident obtrusively evident that he possessed the 
 very needful one of ready cash. The Bounder King 
 belonged to the monied set of Saint Jude's and to 
 those who know, this fact in itself will be sufficient to 
 explain what manner of man he was. 
 
 The " men of fashion," whom he imitated at a dis- 
 tance, took a delight in snubbing, in pilling, in ignoring 
 him and his ilk whenever they came in their way. But 
 Unkels persevered all the same. He had the hide of 
 a rhinoceros and intense vanity. If he could not be a 
 minnow among Tritons, he would at least be a Triton 
 among minnows. 
 
 The guests began to drop in and soon the room was 
 full. Coryton knew some of them by sight. There was 
 the man, for instance, who drove a four-in-hand to 
 Newmarket and, failing to get a desirable companion, 
 had to console himself with the society of a tipster 
 and a tout ; there was the man who tried to dine him- 
 self into the Pitt Club and failed ; there was the man 
 who rode excellently well, yet who always was pilled 
 for the Polo Club. Then there were several smaller 
 fry, Judeians for the most part, but not exclusively 
 so. 
 
 Of these Coryton recognized two as frequent speakers
 
 100 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 at the Union. One a short, thick-set youth, with a 
 bullet head, protruding eyes, and a face like an ill- 
 boiled suet pudding in which the blotches did duty for 
 the plums. His name was Gates and he hailed from 
 "Pots." The other reminded one somewhat of Uriah 
 Heep. He possessed a writhing body, damp hands, an 
 unclean collar, and crooked legs. He was generally 
 understood to represent the Church interest at the 
 Union ; his name was Bedlam and he came from a 
 place known as "Cats." 
 
 They all appreciated the good cheer, there was 
 much popping of corks and chinking of glasses, and much 
 introducing of " Cory ton of Trinity " by the host. At 
 first some were inclined to view the new importation 
 with suspicion, but his manner was such an admirable 
 mixture of deference and affability that this frost soon 
 wore off. The Bounder King looked on approvingly, 
 now arid then taking one aside and speaking with him 
 in a low voice. So might Guy Fawkes have whispered 
 at a revel of his conspirators. 
 
 But this was only a prelude to the real business of 
 the evening. Plantagenet-Unkels had no objection to 
 letting these worthies smoke his Jersey cigars, and 
 drink his gooseberry-and-petroleum. He was rather a 
 hospitable fellow in a way, and liked to see them do it 
 only he expected something in return. What that 
 was he now proceeded to explain, standing with his 
 back to the fire. 
 
 " You fellows," he said, rather thickly, " at least most 
 of you, know for what purpose we are met here to- 
 night ; it is to consider the situation the political sit- 
 uation. The situation is grave." 
 
 Coryton looked profoundly impressed and mur- 
 mured " Hear, hear ! " 
 
 " The situation is unparalleled in the history of 
 of" 
 
 " The nation," suggested Gates of " Pots." 
 
 " The Union," Unkels went on, loftily ignoring the 
 interruption. " For what is the situation?" 
 
 Every one looked expectant, the crushed Gates blinked 
 his little red eyes. 
 
 " It is this. There is a fellow putting up for the
 
 THE BOUNDER KING. 101 
 
 Presidency of the Union who is known as a Revolu- 
 tionist, who would " here he looked to the photograph 
 of Sir Cincinnatus Spreadeagle for inspiration, " hurl 
 down the august hiccup Monarch from her Throne, 
 scatter the Lords to the four winds of Heaven and 
 hreak the Empire in pieces. But that," he went on, 
 lowering his voice, " is not all ; he would hiccup 
 pull down our venerable Church, and root out hiccup 
 religion from the land, for, it has come to my ears 
 to-day, he is an ATHEIST ! ! " 
 
 There was a little stir in the room. Gates of " Pots " 
 snorted and quaffed again at the Hamburg sherry. 
 Bedlam of " Cats " uttered a pious ejaculation of 
 horror. 
 
 " You mean the man who opened the debate to- 
 night ? " put in a mild man, whose sense of fairness 
 was revolted, " but he goes to chapel sometimes, I have 
 seen him there." 
 
 Coryton smiled, but said nothing. 
 
 " All the worse," thundered the orator inconsequen- 
 tially. There was a general burst of applause, and the 
 mild man collapsed. " Down with him, I say, down 
 with the traitor ! " 
 
 There was another hush ; somebody cracked a walnut, 
 and Bedlam made a furtive dab at the pate-de-foie- 
 gras sandwiches. They did not get much pate-de- 
 foie-gras at " Cats." 
 
 " Excellent ; but how do you propose to do it ? " said 
 Coryton presently in his most dulcet tones. 
 
 " How do I propose to do it ! " repeated Unkels, 
 swerving round towards him. " Why, by standing for 
 the Presidency myself, of course. There is no other 
 man. Von Raggedback is no good." 
 
 Von Raggedback was the other official candidate, 
 whose wish it was to stand in the ordinary course of 
 events. 
 
 " Why, he's only half-English for one thing, and 
 then he's a Papist for another," continued the orator. 
 " Shall we leave the cause of this great Empire to be 
 defended by an alien and a Papist ? No, I say, no ! " 
 
 " No ! " sonorously echoed Gates of " Pots," who was 
 by way of being an Orangeman.
 
 102 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 " Therefore I shall stand as a Protestant and a 
 Briton I do not go for the Committee or any minor 
 office. I go slap-clash at the Presidency itself. You 
 know my motto : Aut Ccesar aut nullus" 
 
 "And a very admirable motto too," said Coryton, 
 as he flicked off the ash from his cigarette. "You 
 will take steps to prevent its being nullus, of course." 
 
 The Bounder King winked and looked knowingly 
 round the room. There was a little laugh. Bedlam 
 writhed and Gates snorted. 
 
 " We are taking precautions we have taken them," 
 he replied, producing a roll of papers from his pocket. 
 " These are our little lists. All our plans are laid out, 
 you see. Jude's is with us to a man. Gates has prom- 
 ised the ' Pots ' vote, and Bedlam that of ' Cats.' " 
 
 " Is that extensive ? " queried Coryton blandly. 
 
 " It is a dozen solid," put in Bedlam in a curious 
 falsetto voice, which suggested that he was trying to 
 intone and could not quite succeed. " Then there is 
 the vote of all the Colleges east of St. Benet's to say 
 nothing of the others. You see," he said, writhing, 
 " we exchange views at our debating societies ; I know 
 exactly how things stand." 
 
 Gates squirmed. 
 
 " The ' Pots ' vote is solid to a man," he said, deter- 
 mined not to be left out of it. " I am President of the 
 College Debating Society and I ought to know." 
 
 Unkels looked at Coryton with a satisfied air. 
 
 " You see," he said, " we are not riding for a fall. 
 Every college has been worked, except King's, and they 
 always plump for their own men. Quince," he went 
 on, indicating a youth whom Coryton vaguely remem- 
 bered having seen, when he once attended a meeting of 
 the " Magpie and Stump," " is working part of Trinity. 
 The point is, Coryton, will you undertake the other 
 part and give us your support ? " 
 
 " My dear fellow," said Coryton with emotion, " with 
 all my heart." 
 
 He was beginning to see light through the darkness. 
 Why should he not win over the " bounder " support 
 for his own candidature. That and Pimlico's nomination 
 would make him irresistible. As for Plantagenet-
 
 THE SOUNDER SING. 103 
 
 Unkels, he had no more chance of winning than the 
 Man in the Moon. " But," thought Coryton, " that's 
 his look-out." 
 
 Aloud he said, " Anything that it is in iny power to 
 do shall be done." 
 
 "That's right," exclaimed Unkels, "I thought I 
 knew my man. Then we'll put you on our lists for the 
 Vice-Presidency, and you'll begin to whip up your men. 
 I'll lead and you follow." 
 
 " One would be proud to follow such a leader," said 
 Coryton blandly, taking the lists which were given him, 
 with the full intention of putting them on the fire as 
 soon as he got home. 
 
 The conversation now became general. Every one 
 was very friendly. There were more drinks, and a 
 little music : " Wrap me up in my tarpaulin jacket," 
 " Sweethearts and wives," and so forth. Bedlam took 
 advantage of the confusion to finish off the remainder 
 of the sandwiches. Gates, when his host was not 
 looking, pocketed some of his Jersey cigars. After 
 a while they began to drop off one by one. Coryton 
 lingered. 
 
 " You were speaking about the Coningsby before we 
 came in," he said presently to Unkels, " have you a 
 little plan for that also ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, my dear chap," cried Unkels effusively. 
 He was well on in his cups now and inclined to be very 
 communicative and offensively affectionate. " But that 
 is a very simple affair. Funnie-Ffoulkes, you know, is 
 resigning the Vice-Presidency at the end of the term. 
 Well, I don't propose to have a don there again. 1 
 propose to elect myself ha-ha ! " 
 
 Here he winked and gave Coryton a friendly dig in 
 the ribs. 
 
 "That is very simple," said Coryton, " and altogether 
 an admirable arrangement. May one ask how you 
 propose to do it ? " 
 
 " Oh ! easily enough," chuckled the Bounder King ; 
 " at the general meeting all the fellows I know will 
 come round and vote for me. I shall give 'em a dinner 
 first. The other members never take the trouble to 
 turn up at a general meeting at all, you know. It's
 
 104 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 all a question of canvass. We shall have it all our 
 own way." 
 
 " Not if I know it," thought Coryton to himself. 
 " Two can play at that little game. All a question of 
 canvass, is it ? I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me 
 that phrase." 
 
 Aloud he said, " The Coningsby Meeting isn't until 
 the Union Election is over, is it ? " 
 
 " One week after. We shall get the other out of the 
 way first." 
 
 " Excellent," thought Coryton, " I shall win my 
 Union Election through this bounder's support and 
 then I can dish him at the Coningsby." 
 
 " Well, I must be turning in now," he said ; " I 
 wish you all success ; you may depend on me. Good- 
 night." 
 
 " Yes," Coryton mused as he walked along Trinity 
 Street, deserted now save by a few belated under- 
 graduates, " I have done a very good thing to-night 
 by going to that bounder's rooms made my Union 
 election sure and discovered a short cut to becoming 
 Vice-President of the Coningsby. And yet it was ten 
 chances to one that I went to his rooms at all. Surely 
 my luck has delivered mine enemies into my hands. 
 Why did he show his hand so ? With Rupert Cameron 
 coming I must make sure of the Coningsby at any 
 cost. But it will require careful working. I must 
 think." 
 
 He halted for a moment at the corner of King's 
 Parade, beneath the house from whose windows Frith 
 painted the first scene of his " Road to Ruin." The 
 great block of the University Church loomed up before 
 him, almost glorified out of its square commonplace 
 in the silvery moonlight. As he stood there, Gates and 
 Bedlam passed him with an effusive " Good-night." 
 
 " Those worms are to be bought over, if I know 
 anything of human nature," he said to himself, as he 
 looked after them, following the current of his thoughts. 
 " But do I ? The beginning of wisdom is the knowl- 
 edge of oneself and the end of it for the matter of 
 that. One is never so near being a fool as when one 
 thinks oneself wise, and I have been thinking myself
 
 THE BOUNDER KING. 105 
 
 very wise lately still if things go as I 
 
 hope Bah ! I will not hope. Hope is a snare. I will 
 act. Blessed is he that hopeth for nothing, for he 
 shall not be disappointed. That is the only beatitude 
 I believe in." 
 
 Then he turned in, and slept the sleep of the just. 
 
 The term sped by and Coryton matured his plans. 
 On the surface he did little enough beyond inducing 
 every now and then a batch of his boon companions 
 to join the Coningsby Club. This they did willingly 
 enough, for the subscription was a small one all the 
 more willingly because in some vague way they under- 
 stood that by doing so they would help to dish the 
 Bounder King. 
 
 The Union Election came and went. It all turned 
 out exactly as Coryton had expected or rather as 
 he had planned. He romped in for the office he de- 
 sired and the result of the contest for the Presidency 
 around which most of the interest centred was 
 Marshall first, Von Raggedback second, and Unkels 
 nowhere. Unkels cursed both loud and deep and 
 gnashed his teeth in impotent rage. But he consoled 
 himself with the thought that he was at least sure 
 of the Coningsby. Coryton smiled blandly upon him 
 and said nothing. They met at Philippi, and, within 
 two days of the Union election, Coryton became also 
 the Vice-President of the University Coningsby Club, 
 with the visit of Lord Rupert Cameron in prospect. 
 
 Now the rest of the acts of the Bounder King and 
 all that he did, how he blustered and swore and pro- 
 tested that he had been tricked and betrayed, and 
 vowed a vengeance that never fell, are they not chron- 
 icled in the annals of Bounderdom ?
 
 106 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ELLE ET LUI. 
 
 And I'll give my heart to my lady's keeping, 
 
 And ever her strength on mine shall lean, 
 
 And the stars shall fall and the angels be weeping, 
 
 Ere I cease to love her, my Queen, my Queen ! Old Song. 
 
 OXE afternoon, after a ride to Liuton, Tyrconnel hap- 
 pened to look in at Mrs. Croft's pretty house on the 
 Newnham Backs, and there he came across Mrs. de 
 Courcy Miles and Gwendolen. It was with a half hope 
 of meeting the latter that he had come, albeit he knew 
 that she was not much given to " five 'clocking," that 
 favorite pastime of Cambridge ladies. He did not get 
 much opportunity of talking to her, as she was deeply 
 interested in a new scheme which Mr. Funnie-Ffoulkes 
 was propounding to her with regard to the spiritual 
 necessities of gyps and bedmakers. 
 
 " I do assure you, my dear Miss Haviland," the little 
 cleric said, striking an attitude and smiting his knees 
 together after the manner of a mediaeval Saint in a 
 stained glass window, " that the condition of these poor 
 people is sadly neglected. The means of grace are all 
 around them, yet their state is one of spiritual starva- 
 tion. It is to this that I directly attribute the grasp- 
 ing spirit, and the misconception of the laws of meum 
 and tuum, which are so rife among them. Now take 
 the case of Mrs. Bumble, who is the bedmaker on my 
 staircase at St. Bridget's " 
 
 " You have told me all about that before," said Gwen- 
 dolen, nipping the story in the bud. This inconvenient 
 truthfulness was a habit of hers. " It is your scheme 
 of reformation I am interested in not Mrs. Bumble. 
 How do you propose to work it ? "
 
 ELLE ET LUL 107 
 
 Funnie-Ffoulkes proceeded to unfold his plans, 
 whilst Tyrconnel hovered around with a moody brow, 
 trying in vain to get in a word with Gwendolen edge- 
 ways. But how could he do so when the talk ran on 
 such an uncongenial topic as that of the spiritual desti- 
 tution of bedmakers and gyps ? Seeing how matters 
 stood, the ever -alert Mrs. de Courcy Miles, after a vain 
 endeavor to detach Gwendolen, rose to take her leave. 
 Her niece had perforce to follow suit. As they were 
 going out of the room, Mrs. Miles squeezed TyrconnePs 
 hand. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Tyrconnel," she murmured, " I wonder 
 if you would care to come and dine with us this even- 
 ing ? Quite en famille there will be only just our- 
 selves. If you are not better engaged, we shall be so 
 charmed to see you." 
 
 " I could not be better engaged," he said, giving her 
 a grateful glance, " I should like it of all things." 
 
 "Very well," she said briskly; "we shall meet later, 
 so I will only say au revoir. Dinner at eight, you 
 know." 
 
 Then she hurried home to tell the cook to put on an 
 extra entree, and the Professor to bring forth a bottle 
 of his cherished '47 port from the cellar. None knew 
 better than Mrs. de Courcy Miles the influence a good 
 dinner has in bringing a man to the point. 
 
 The dinner passed off very pleasantly. There was 
 a delightful suggestion of home, Tyrconnel thought, 
 about this cosy red-curtained room, with the little 
 round table drawn near the fire, the bright-hued 
 flowers and fruit, the gleaming glass and sparkling 
 silver. The menu was a very short one, but each item 
 excellent, and the wine irreproachable. The Professor 
 could not quite understand why his choice Heidsieck 
 and '47 Port should be produced for the benefit of an 
 undergraduate, an ordinary specimen of a class which 
 he was inclined to look upon as specially created for 
 the annoyance of dons and tutors. But with the fear 
 of his sister before his eyes he possessed his soul in 
 peace, and said nothing. Now, and then, it was true, he 
 would make a restive remark, which Mrs. de Courcy 
 Miles was careful to tone down, otherwise she too said
 
 108 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 little, only throwing in a word now and then when 
 needed. Her policy was to let the young people do 
 most of the talking. 
 
 They certainly did it remarkably well. It was 
 astonishing how excellently they got on together and 
 how much they had to talk about. There were no 
 differences of opinion to-night ; they seemed to look on 
 all things in common. 
 
 Gwendolen was one of those girls who shine best in 
 their own homes. In general society she was apt to 
 be a little cold and constrained, the atmosphere of arti- 
 ficiality jarred upon her ; people said she lacked the 
 aplomb of a girl who has done her two or three seasons, 
 and perhaps she did. 
 
 But to-night there was no constraint. "Unconscious 
 of her aunt's wiles, she rippled on, full of natural, 
 innocent gaiety, and Tyrconnel, feasting his eyes upon 
 her across the table, felt more in love than ever. Mrs. 
 de Courcy Miles and the Professor might have been a 
 couple of puppets, so utterly oblivious did he become 
 of their existence. 
 
 Puppet No. 1, however, who noted all things, 
 smiled to herself approvingly. But there was one 
 thing to be guarded against, it would never do to leave 
 her guest alone with Puppet No. 2, or the spell might 
 be broken. The Professor did not shine in the half- 
 hour after dinner, and she knew none better the 
 amount of physical exertion involved in bawling into 
 his deaf ear. 
 
 So when dessert was over and the time had arrived 
 for the ladies, under normal conditions, to withdraw, 
 she said airily : 
 
 " We will have our coffee here to-night, I think, 
 Gwendolen, and all go into the drawing-room together. 
 You see, Mr. Tyrconnel, we are treating you as quite 
 one of ourselves. James likes me so much to sit with 
 him a little while after dinner. He would quite miss it 
 if I didn't." 
 
 Poor James, whose ear had caught this last remark, 
 opened his eyes and said nothing, though this was 
 news indeed. Few were the smiles his sister vouch- 
 safed him in their home life. She telegraphed him an
 
 ELLE ET LUL 109 
 
 almost imperceptible frown and, sipping her coffee, 
 chatted on coquettishly : 
 
 " And you must have your cigarette just the same, 
 mustn't he, Gwendolen ? I wouldn't for worlds deprive 
 a man of the delights of his after-dinner cigarette. 
 The Professor never smokes, but we love it." 
 
 " If you are sure you won't mind," hesitated Tyrcon- 
 nel, taking out his case. 
 
 " Not at all, provided you give me one too," and she 
 reached out her hand for the silver case. " Ah," she 
 sighed, puffing the blue smoke with careless grace, 
 " how it reminds me of dear, dear India ! " 
 
 But her graces were all lost on Tyrconnel. If she 
 had smoked a short, black clay, he would not have 
 noticed it. His eyes were all for Gwendolen. She 
 looked so fair and sweet and pure with a bunch knot 
 of lilies-of-the-valley in her white dress. She was 
 always beautiful, but never had she seemed to him so 
 yielding, so gracious, so near to him as she did to- 
 night. 
 
 Nor had she been. She loved this youth. In 
 spite of all his faults she loved him, and her girl's 
 heart, speaking within her, told her so. She instinct- 
 ively heard love's divine accent here, and she yielded 
 to its spell. With all her prejudices, with all her cut- 
 and-dried notions of right and wrong, she was but a 
 girl after all and she loved. Later, perchance, the 
 disillusion might come, the old rigid principles re- 
 assert themselves. At present they were dormant, 
 drugged asleep with love's potion. She saw all things 
 through its rosy mist. 
 
 Presently, when the Professor was half asleep in his 
 chair and the decanter of port, which oscillated be- 
 tween him and Tyrconnel, had grown beautifully less, 
 Mrs. Miles, having finished her coffee and cigarette, 
 proposed a move to the drawing-room. 
 
 " All except you, dear James," she said to the Pro- 
 fessor. " You really must finish those notes for to- 
 morrow's lecture. So go to your study, like a good 
 dear man, and I will come and help you presently. 
 Duty before pleasure, you see, Mr. Tyrconnel," she 
 added playfully as the " good dear man " went off
 
 110 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 meekly to the room he was pleased to designate his 
 study, instead of snoring over the Times in the com- 
 fortable arm-chair by the drawing-room fire as was his 
 wont. 
 
 Mrs. de Courcy Miles accompanied the young people 
 to the drawing-room and fixed Gwendolen down to the 
 piano to sing Gounod's song "The Worker." 
 
 " Such a grand, beautiful song," the good lady 
 gushed to Tyrconnel, " and Gwendolen sings it like an 
 angel. I could listen forever." 
 
 Yet before the first verse was over, she murmured 
 something unintelligible about "having to help the 
 dear Professor," and, stealthily extracting Un Crime 
 cV Amour from her work-basket, slipped off to enjoy it 
 by the bedroom fire. Mrs. de Courcy Miles knew the 
 value of a little music. 
 
 " If everything is not settled by the time I go back 
 I shall cease to believe in myself," she said as she 
 opened her book, kicked off her shoes and put her feet 
 up comfortably on the fender. 
 
 Meanwhile the unconscious Gwendolen sang on, her 
 hands moving slowly over the ivory keys, her voice 
 rising and falling. The shaded light of the standard 
 lamp just behind her fell on her head like a glory. 
 She might have served for a study of St. Cecilia. 
 
 So Tyrconnel thought as he came closer to her, and 
 sat down on the low ottoman by her side. Mrs. de 
 Courcy Miles's drawing-room was full of cosy corners, 
 but there was none cosier than this little retreat by 
 the piano, framed off by a Japanese screen, and two or 
 three palms. 
 
 The song ceased and Gwendolen's hands fell idle 
 on her lap. She swerved round a little and met 
 TyrconneFs eyes. Before the ardor in them, her 
 own gaze drooped and fell. There was a moment's 
 embarrassment. 
 
 Then she said, turning nervously over the leaves of 
 the song, 
 
 " It is a grand conception, a noble idea. The toiler's 
 work done after death, victory; after conflict, rest; 
 after struggle, peace. It is the thought of this alone 
 which can reconcile one's idea of a merciful God with
 
 ELLE ET LUI. Ill 
 
 the suffering and anguish which He permits to come 
 upon His creatures here below." 
 
 "Yes," said Tyrconnel vaguely, as he caught the 
 look of spiritualized ardor in the girl's face. Gwen- 
 dolen in these moods seemed to drift further away 
 from him. 
 
 " What you say is very right you are always right, 
 Gwen, but it is of ourselves I would like to talk just 
 now." 
 
 "Of ourselves," she said with a dawning blush 
 " What of ourselves ? " 
 
 He came a little nearer, his lips trembling, his eyes 
 bright and eager. 
 
 " Gwen," he said brokenly, " I love you you must 
 know that. No, hear me out," he protested as she 
 was about to speak. "I am not worthy of you, I 
 know I am weak where you are strong, but I do 
 wish to live something better than the mere pleasure- 
 seeking, self-indulgent life, with which you seem to 
 credit me and with you I could do it only with 
 you, for you are my ideal of all that is sweetest and 
 purest and best. You are my good angel, Gwen. I 
 love you. Can you love me ? " 
 
 She bent a little towards him as though swayed 
 by the passion of his pleading. The fragrance of the 
 lilies at her breast smote upon his sense. In another 
 moment it seemed she would have been in his arms. 
 But a sudden wave of maiden coyness swept over her 
 and she drew back. 
 
 " I I do not know," she faltered, " you must give 
 me time." 
 
 " Not know ? " he cried, reproachfully, " oh ! Gwen ! 
 /know that I love you. Time! Have I not watched 
 and waited waited ever since I first saw you, more 
 than two years ago? I cannot wait longer. I cannot 
 live without you. Perhaps you think I am not good 
 enough. It is you alone who can make me better. I 
 am not a religious man, 1 know; I know nothing 
 of your creed, or your dogma. But I love you, 
 Gwen." 
 
 " My creed ! " she said softly, looking at him with 
 shining eyes, "my creed is a very simple one, Wilfrid,
 
 112 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 only that we should try to leave our little corner of 
 the world somewhat better than we found it." 
 
 " Then," he said impulsively, " let us try together. 
 With you I can do all things, without you I can do 
 nothing. Oh ! Gwen, do not cast me off try to love 
 me a little." 
 
 " Dear one," she said tremulously, " I do love you I 
 have loved you all along ; it is because I love you so 
 that I wish you to be worthy of yourself to break 
 from the life you are leading now, to try and live a 
 little less for yourself, a little more for others. Oh, 
 Wilfrid, there is so much to be done so few who will 
 do it." 
 
 He caught her hand in his. "I will, I will," 
 he vowed, " I will begin from to-night. For you T 
 would do all things. Only trust me, only give your- 
 self to me. The thought of your love will guard me 
 against all temptation." 
 
 And he meant it at the time, every word for the 
 spell of her influence was strong upon him. 
 
 The light of a great love and joy broke over her 
 face, she bowed her head upon his breast " Dear 
 one," she whispered, " we will work together for God." 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 COTTENHAM. 
 
 O youth ! thou often tearest thy wings against the thorns of 
 voluptuousness! VICTOJB HUGO. 
 
 IT was a bright morning in mid-February : one of 
 those mornings when the crisp fresh air makes the 
 blood tingle in the veins like new wine. The sporting 
 portion of undergraduate Cambridge was up betimes 
 and the livery stables were doing a roaring trade. 
 There was a great demand to-day, and every old, raw- 
 boned, hard-mouthed hack was sure to be hired.
 
 COTTENHAM. 113 
 
 For it was the morning of the Cottenham Meeting, 
 and every one who could manage it was on the 
 Chesterton Road, either astride a horse or behind one. 
 
 There was " Spot " Flanders, spanking along with 
 his gay little pony ; there was jovial Jack Jorkins 
 from " the little house in the park " astride his well- 
 known Bucephalus, and there was von Raggedback, 
 greatly daring, who couldn't drive a bit, trying to drive 
 tandem, a forbidden joy all the more a joy because it 
 was forbidden. There was all the horse-flesh and all 
 the vehicles which the establishments of Porcheron and 
 Saimders could produce. And last, but not least, there 
 was Pimlico on the box of a festive four-in-hand, hand- 
 ling the ribbons in fine style. 
 
 Four or five other men were on the coach, including 
 Gaverigan, who was eliciting the most dismal noises 
 from a horn. In the boot there was a suggestive look- 
 ing hamper and a case of champagne. On the box-seat 
 was a young and extremely pretty girl, with innocent 
 china-blue eyes, a rosy pouting mouth, and fluffy golden 
 hair blowing all around her baby face. She wore a 
 neat little sealskin jacket and cap, and a bunch of 
 fragrant Neapolitan violets nestled beneath her dainty 
 chin. So fair, so confiding, looked she, one would have 
 thought her a babe hi the world's wiles. 
 
 But appearances are sometimes deceptive, and they 
 were rarely more so than in the case of Miss Sally 
 Popkins, professionally known as Effie de Vere. Sally 
 had made her first appearance at Cambridge a few 
 terms ago, travelling thither with a theatrical company 
 who played My Sweetheart in the queer little theatre 
 down St. Andrew's Street. Sally played the part which 
 Miss Minnie Palmer once made famous. She could 
 not sing a bit, but she danced to perfection and kicked 
 up her little heels and wagged her golden head in such 
 a roguish way that she took the place by storm. Pim- 
 lico booked the first row of stalls every night for a 
 week, so that he and his friends might ogle at their 
 will. 
 
 Sally became the rage. She was an astute young 
 person, despite her angel face ; one of those who keep an 
 eye on the main chance. No one knew better than 
 8
 
 114 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 Sally that favor is deceitful and beauty vain from the 
 point of view of a permanent investment. So, like the 
 busy bee, Sally improved the shining hour, and made 
 the most of her opportunities. She made many pleasant 
 acquaintances during those trips to Alma Mater. She 
 was now visiting Cambridge for a few days in connec- 
 tion with some theatrical business, and residing for the 
 nonce in rooms down the Chesterton Road, just with- 
 out the ken of Proctors and Bull-dogs. Pimlico, who 
 was one of the most devoted of her swains, had called 
 for her on his way to Cottenham that morning. So 
 here she was, sparkling and laughing and dimpling and 
 prattling, as they drove through the muddy lanes in 
 the February sunshine to the outlying village where 
 the meeting was to be held. 
 
 It was a glorious morning for the time of year and 
 the sun shone brightly. They found the course in 
 capital order and betraying no signs of frost. If it rode 
 a little heavy in places, that was not to be wondered 
 at in those low-lying meadows; but, taking it all round, 
 it was a first-rate winter ground and as good a give- 
 and-take steeple-chase country as one could wish to see. 
 
 Pimlico turned into the paddock in fine "style and 
 drew up along-side the railing, where a few traps had 
 already taken up a position. Stand arrangements there 
 were none, unless it was the railing aforesaid, along 
 which divers vehicles stood in a row, chiefly tax-carts, 
 gigs, and sundry conveyances of more or less obsolete 
 appearance. This centre served as a betting-ring, 
 where a few Cambridge " bookies " were already 
 gathered together. Hanging on to their skirts was that 
 nondescript crowd which a race-meeting, however 
 small, is sure to attract : Sellers of race-cards, purvey- 
 ors of drink or food baked potatoes, monster sand- 
 wiches, lobster claws, and oranges and one very dis- 
 mal nigger minstrel. 
 
 There were few of those hard professional faces 
 one knows so well at recognized race-meetings, but 
 there were a good many ruddy farmers and jovial 
 country squires, who had driven over from the sur- 
 rounding villages to see the " young-uns " ride, and 
 there was a whole batch of undergraduates trying to
 
 COTTENHAM. 115 
 
 look as sporting as possible, with field-glasses and 
 wondrously built coats. Spofforth had ridden over 
 with his sisters from Fulbourn buxom hearty girls 
 with a wholesome out-of-door air about them, who 
 sat their horses like Diana and stared at Miss Popkins 
 and certain other damsels of the same feather who were 
 present, as though they were some species of newly- 
 discovered vermin. 
 
 Leaving Sally perched upon the box, like a young 
 woman in a circus procession, Pimlico strode off to 
 a neighboring tent. A few of these tents had been 
 erected here and there, one for the Stewards, another 
 for the Clerk of the Scales and so forth. A good 
 many of the amateur jockeys, their bright-hued jackets 
 covered up in Sandown coats, were standing about. 
 At Cottenham no one is supposed to ride but Members 
 of the University and a similar restriction applies to 
 the owners of the horses entered. 
 
 The start had been announced for twelve o'clock, 
 but it was 12.15 before the flag fell. Only three could 
 be mustered for the first race, the Magdalene Steeple 
 Chase Plate namely, Pimlico's Potted Meat, Williams's 
 Little Demon, and Forbes's Poppsea. Potted Meat 
 cut out the work, and was followed at intervals by 
 Little Demon and Poppsea, until two fences from 
 home, when Little Demon deprived Potted Meat of 
 the command. The top -weight suddenly and myste- 
 riously seemed to collapse, and so Little Demon won 
 easily by four lengths ; Poppsea second, Potted Meat 
 a bad third. It was a rare haul for the book-makers, 
 for the betting had been 5 to 1 on Potted Meat, 5 
 to 2 against Poppsea, and 10 to 1 against the win- 
 ner. 
 
 There were curses loud and deep around Pimlico's 
 drag, and sundry ominous mutterings as to " pulling." 
 But as it was known that Pimlico had laid money 
 on his horse, there was very little definitely said. 
 The only one who seemed to have benefited was the 
 astute Coryton who had won largely. Perhaps a little 
 confabulation he had with Pimlico had something to 
 do with it. Anyway that worthy's curses on his ill- 
 luck seemed a little overdone.
 
 116 THE GREEN BAY THEE. 
 
 " Hi, help me down ! " cried Sally irascibly, from 
 her coign of vantage, " I'm tired of being stuck up 
 here like the fairy queen in a transformation scene." 
 
 She was nearer losing her temper than ever she 
 had been in her life : she had lost, or rather she 
 had not won anything for Sally never paid her debts 
 on the race. The tip of her nose was getting quite 
 blue with the cold, and the Misses Spofforth had 
 directed towards her sundry scathing glances, which, 
 in her present dejected condition, she felt quite unable 
 to return. 
 
 " Get me a glass of curagoa and a biscuit, do," she 
 said, " I feel quite faint. Well, some people have 
 luck," she added, enviously, as she watched Coryton 
 pocketing his shekels. " Who would have thought of 
 Potted Meat going to pieces like that? I shall be 
 quite stony if this goes on." 
 
 " Women and horses are notoriously uncertain," re- 
 joined Coryton, and he buttoned up a fat pocket-book 
 with the unmoved air of a professional. 
 
 " Well I never ! " exclaimed Sally indignantly ; and 
 she tossed off her glass of cura9oa. Then, as the soften- 
 ing influence of the liqueur began to make itself felt, 
 she smiled on him again. 
 
 " Now, there's a good chap, put a pony on the next 
 winner for me," she said coaxingly, seeing that the 
 hint oblique was of no use. " Pirn is going to put on 
 something for me but he's always wrong, I want a 
 good tip." 
 
 " I'll give you one," said Coryton with a short 
 laugh. " Do you see the Pigeon yonder ? " he went 
 on indicating the spot where Tyrconnel was standing 
 near Miss Spofforth's horse. " That's the straightest 
 tip I can give you." 
 
 " But he always fights so shy of me," rejoined 
 Sally, nibbling the edge of her race-card, " and to-day 
 he has not been near me at all." 
 
 " I'll tell you how to bring him round. Come with 
 me," he said confidentially, taking her elbow in his hand 
 and leading her aside. " We'll talk it over together." 
 
 A match was coming off just then, in which Coryton 
 had no possible interest. They are always tame work,
 
 COTTENHAM. 117 
 
 these Cottenham matches. Mere processions, for the 
 most part, or put-up jobs with which the book- 
 makers will have nothing to do. Under cover of this 
 particular one, Coryton and Sally had an animated little 
 dialogue, which apparently ended quite satisfactorily. 
 
 Gwendolen's influence must be checked at all hazards, 
 and Coryton knew or thought he knew that the 
 only way to check a woman's influence over a man 
 is by playing oft' another woman upon him. He had 
 not studied Tyrconnel's character in vain. There 
 were certain passions which ran strong in him, and, 
 if Sally could only play upon them sufficiently, his 
 good resolves would melt like snow before the sun. 
 So he put matters in train, and trusting her woman's 
 wit to do the rest, hurried off to the next race in 
 which he was keenly interested. 
 
 The Cottenham Hurdle Race was one of the big 
 events of the meeting. Some half a dozen were try- 
 ing conclusions. Among them Coryton's Vixie (rose 
 and primrose), ridden by Williams, was soon in- 
 stalled favorite. Tyrconnel's Cutlet (green and Avhite), 
 ridden by himself, found plenty of backers, and so 
 too did Wilmot's Rosbif (orange and blue). The 
 running was first made by Cutlet, but about half 
 distance Rosbif joined him, and they went on side by 
 side. The lot kept pretty close company until some 
 five furlongs from home, when Vixie, who until now 
 had been laying back, came creeping up and took 
 second place. From that point it was an exciting 
 race. Cutlet, Vixie and Rosbif seemed almost of a 
 cluster at the last flight of hurdles and only after 
 a very pretty struggle did Vixie who, strange to 
 say, was seen over " sticks " now for the first time 
 win by a neck, Rosbif beating Cutlet by a head for 
 the second place. 
 
 After this came lunch, every one in the best of 
 spirits, Pimlico beaming, Coryton radiant, Forbes 
 facetious, Sally brimming over with good-humor. 
 Only Tyrconnel, who joined the party when lunch 
 was half over, was a little down on his luck as 
 well he might be, for he had backed his horse heavily 
 and lost. However, under the genial influence of
 
 118 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 Pimlico's champagne, with which Coryton plied him 
 freely, he soon recovered his spirits, or rather he 
 alternated between boisterous outbursts of merriment 
 and sudden fits of gloom. 
 
 Sally, who had somehow contrived to be next to 
 him, prattled on in her artless way to a running 
 accompaniment of the clatter of knives and forks 
 and the popping of corks. She did not talk to Tyr- 
 connel very much, but once, when no one was looking, 
 she laid her little hand on his, and whispered how 
 sorry, how very sorry she was that Cutlet had lost. 
 Looking down into her upturned eyes, he began to 
 think that she was really a very nice, good-natured 
 little thing and felt a sort of half pity, half liking, 
 for her steal over him. Xo doubt the wine had some- 
 thing to do with it. 
 
 Coryton,who noted everything, noted this, and smiled. 
 
 " Very good, Sally ! first-rate ! keep it up," he 
 whispered in an aside, when lunch was over, and Tyr- 
 connel, flushed and smoking a very big cigar,was stand- 
 ing a little way off, making entries in his pocket-book. 
 
 Sally looked knowingly at him as he hurried off 
 to the tent, for the next race was about to begin. It 
 was the Fulbourn Steeple-chase, which had been in- 
 stituted by Spofforth some three or four years before. 
 
 Tyrconnel was not riding in this, so he w r ent across 
 the meadow to see the water-jump, the famous Cot- 
 tenham water-jump, at which nearly every one comes 
 to grief. Though fair horsemen in their way, the 
 riders exhibited some very questionable jockeyship 
 here, floundering over in hopeless style. Wilmot 
 came an awful cropper, but Pimlico's horse cleared it 
 somehow, thundering over in a way that made the 
 earth shake, and managed in the straggling finish to 
 win by a neck. 
 
 As Tyrconnel was going back across the paddock, 
 he heard a little cry, and turning, saw Sally leaning 
 against a gate, the corner of her baby mouth drooping, 
 her face drawn with pain. 
 
 "What is it? Can I do anything for you?" he 
 asked, with concern. 
 
 " I have twisted my ankle, I think," she said ; " I
 
 COTTENHAM. lid 
 
 wanted to see the water-jump and was hurrying and 
 my foot caught in one of these," pointing to the rough 
 clumps of coarse grass which were dotted around, 
 " and oh ! it does hurt so, Mr. Tyrconnel ! " And she 
 lifted her face appealingly to his. 
 
 " Poor little thing ! " he said compassionately. 
 "Whatever induced you to go running about these 
 meadows all by yourself? Why didn't you tell me 
 you wanted to see the jump, and I would have given 
 you a lift across." 
 
 " I I didn't like to," said Sally, looking at him with 
 those great blue eyes of hers, " but I would have 
 liked to go with you very much," she added hesitat- 
 ingly, after a minute's pause. Then she looked down 
 again. 
 
 " Well you mustn't be standing here," said Tyrconnel, 
 good-naturedly, not oblivious of the flattery suggested 
 in that hesitating look. " Come, take hold of my arm, 
 and see if we can get back to the coach. We will go 
 very slowly." 
 
 Sally put her little hand on his rough coat-sleeve and 
 limped along by his side. 
 
 " But I am keeping you and you want to go away," 
 she said after they had gone a little distance ; pressing 
 closer to his side nevertheless. " If it had not been 
 for you I should have been left there all alone." 
 
 " Oh ! Pirn would have come after you," replied 
 Tyrconnel un sympathetically, "and he would have 
 done much better than I." 
 
 " Oh no," protested Sally, pouting a little, " not so 
 well not nearly so well. He is so rough." 
 
 Her hand on his arm tightened a little as she said it. 
 
 " Well, you seem to get on with him very well, in 
 spite of his roughness," rejoined Tyrconnel bluntly. 
 The wine was in his head somewhat, but he was very 
 loyal and did not like the slighting tone in which Sally 
 spoke of the absent. 
 
 She caught her breath a little a half-sigh, half-sob. 
 " I have to get on with him," she said. in a low voice 
 and then stood still. 
 
 Tyrconnel looked down on her in a puzzled way. 
 The corners of her mouth were twitching tremulously,
 
 120 THE GREEN SAY TREE. 
 
 her eyes were swimming with unshed tears. It is a 
 dangerous mood, that of beauty in distress ! 
 
 "What do you mean?" he asked, translating his 
 thoughts into words. 
 
 Sally looked around. They were all alone in the 
 wind-swept meadow. The shouting crowd yonder by 
 the betting-ring seemed very far off. Some fine nerve 
 quivered in her lip she seemed at the point of tears. 
 
 "How can I tell you what I mean?" she said, 
 " you would not believe me if I did. You think I have 
 no feelings, I suppose but I tell you I don't care for 
 Pirn a bit and I do care for somebody else who 
 never takes any notice of me at all and I am tired of 
 my life, and wish I had never been born." 
 
 She burst into tears and buried her face on Tyr- 
 connel's shoulder. 
 
 He felt his pulses quicken a little as she pressed 
 against him. It was only compassion, of course. He 
 hardly grasped the meaning of her words. She was 
 unhappy and tired of her life. Surely here was an 
 instance in which he might do something to help an 
 erring fellow-creature, some of that good which 
 Gwendolen was always telling him about. But Gwen- 
 dolen with the soft low voice and sweet pure face 
 seemed very distant just now as the sobbing girl 
 nestled against his shoulder. He could not bear up 
 against a woman's tears. 
 
 " Poor little one," he said perplexedly, putting his 
 arm round her in a protecting way, " don't cry, I will 
 help you if I can." 
 
 Sally prisoned his hand in hers, and her sobbing 
 ceased. 
 
 " You are very good," she said brokenly, "very good 
 to me indeed not like the others who think I'm made 
 for nothing but to laugh and joke with. It's very 
 hard," she continued brushing away a tear; "people 
 always blame a girl." 
 
 There was a ring of sincerity in her voice. She 
 stepped briskly out as she spoke. She seemed quite to 
 have forgotten her lameness. 
 
 Her companion did not notice the sudden and mirac- 
 ulous recovery, he was so moved by her words, or
 
 COTTENHAM. 121 
 
 rather by her tears, possibly too by the little hand 
 which nestled so confidingly in his own. He pressed 
 it in silent sympathy, trying- to think the while what 
 he could say or do to comfort her. She was such a 
 pretty, helpless, little thing. Suffering or sorrow 
 always went straight to TyrconnePs heart. He was 
 as malleable as clay in the hands of a potter with a 
 pretty woman. It was on this weakness Sally was 
 trading now. 
 
 " I wish I could do something," he said again, half 
 to himself half to her. There was a vague idea in 
 his mind of offering her money but he had never 
 given money to a woman. His men friends were in 
 the habit of borrowing from him freely at least they 
 called it borrowing, though they never paid him back 
 but that was another thing. A sense of shyness 
 held him back ; and then he could not offer very much 
 just now, for his losses that morning had been heavy. 
 He did not know Sally or he would have had no such 
 scruples, either about offering the money or as to the 
 smallness of the amount. She was a veritable daughter 
 of the horse-leech so far as money was concerned. 
 But just now her thoughts were running on other 
 things. She changed her tack. 
 
 "Will you come to the dinner this evening?" she 
 said coyly looking up at him, "Pirn's Cottenham 
 dinner it is to be in my rooms and if you come it 
 will make it so pleasant for me. Do come," she added 
 coaxingly. 
 
 Tyrconnel hesitated. With the full flood of his 
 good resolutions upon him, he had refused this dinner, 
 meaning thereby to take the first step in the upward 
 path which Gwendolen had pointed out to him. It 
 was to be the beginning of the break with his old life. 
 It had not cost him much of an effort to refuse, for he 
 knew the dinner would be exactly like all the others 
 he was in the habit of attending, and even those 
 delights were apt to pall when one had too much of 
 them. 
 
 But he had thought it a great sacrifice none the less, 
 and was rather proud of his resolution in refusing 
 Pimlico's invitation. Gwendolen would approve of
 
 122 THE GREEN SAY TREE. 
 
 that, he felt sure. She "would certainly have approved 
 of his resolution much more if she had known that Sally 
 was to be there. But of that he did not think just now. 
 
 "I I am afraid I can't," he said a little awkwardly. 
 " I have told Pirn I can't go I've got another engage- 
 ment." 
 
 Sally pouted and her lip began to tremble again. 
 
 " That is just it," she said with a sound of tears in 
 her voice. " Men are all the same.* They will do any- 
 thing and everything until you ask them and then 
 
 they will do nothing And it's such a little 
 
 thing too. Do come." 
 
 The blue eyes were so beseeching. Her face was 
 flushed with her pretty pleading. How could he 
 refuse her ? After all, it was such a little thing. 
 
 " I will come," he said a little unsteadily, pressing 
 her hand to emphasize his words. 
 
 A gleam of triumph glistened in Sally's eyes. They 
 were close to the betting-ring again now and there 
 was hardly time for her to do more than murmur her 
 thanks before Pimlico came up and swept her off to 
 the drag. There was only one more race and then 
 they drove home through the chill gray of the February 
 afternoon. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 AT HER FEET HE BOWED AND FELL. 
 
 Salvation should be very simple, since it is so easy to damn 
 oneself. ANON. 
 
 THE little house in the Chesterton Road was full of 
 light and laughter. It was not a big party, only half 
 a dozen or so, bosom chums of Pimlico all the usual 
 set was there. 
 
 Tyrconnel had come in spite of himself. He wa- 
 vered a good deal when he got back from Cottenham. 
 Had Gwendolen been in Cambridge she could have
 
 AT HER FEET HE BOWEL AND FELL. 123 
 
 saved him, but she had gone away for a few days 
 with Mrs. de Courcy Miles and he was unable to while 
 away the hour between the lights by strolling up to 
 the house on Newnham Backs. So he put in a chapel 
 instead. 
 
 It was a white chapel, for it was the vigil of some 
 saint. The sober-minded, stately prayers, the chanting 
 of the choir, the long lines of white- robed undergrad- 
 uates thrown out in bold relief against the dark panelled 
 walls, and far away in the richly-carved stall, the 
 grand, silver head of the Master all these things ap- 
 pealed to Tyrconnel strangely and reminded him in 
 some vague way of Gwendolen. As in all excitable, 
 emotional natures, there was a certain devotional vein 
 running through him. 
 
 When he came out of the chapel he had fully made 
 up his mind not to go to Pimlico's dinner after all. 
 But in his rooms he found Coryton ready, dressed and 
 waiting for him, Coryton, smooth, bland, and per- 
 suasive as ever, who seemed to think it the most 
 natural thing in the world that he should go, and 
 pooh-poohed his excuses in an airy manner. Tyrconnel 
 yielded after a brief resistance, and they went off to- 
 gether. 
 
 " You see we can slip away early," said Coryton 
 confidentially, as they went along. " I don't feel in- 
 clined to make a bout of it to-night." 
 
 The other quite agreed. 
 
 But before the dinner was half through all thought 
 of slipping away early had vanished from Tyrconnel's 
 head. Sally's smiles and the genial influence born 
 of a good dinner put matters in quite a different 
 light. Everything was very well done, the table was 
 decorated with roses and primroses, the colors of 
 the winning horse, and the light was tempered by 
 rose-hued shades. Everybody was in great form no 
 one more so than Sally. She wore a pretty pale 
 pink dress, cut in a way which showed off her dainty 
 neck and rounded arms to the best advantage. She 
 had the passion for diamonds common to women of 
 her class, and many little stars and brooches and 
 clasps adorned her bodice and twinkled amid the fluffy
 
 124 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 mists of her golden hair. Most of them were paste 
 probably, but they passed muster very well, and served 
 to give an added point to her sparkling beauty, and to 
 enhance the brightness of her eyes. She was full of 
 " quips and cranks and wreathed smiles " and had an 
 answer ready for every one. But her attentions were 
 chiefly reserved for Pimlico and Tyrconnel, between 
 whom she sat. 
 
 As the dinner neared its end and Pimlico dipped 
 deeper into his cups, Sally was able to give more 
 attention to her other neighbor. She had already 
 whispered to him how very, very good it was of him to 
 come, accompanying her words with a squeeze of the 
 hand under the table-cloth^ And Tyrconnel, as he 
 patted the little hand and looked into the candid depths 
 of her childlike eyes, thought himself a fool for having 
 wavered at all. 
 
 lie lifted his glass and toasted her admiringly : he 
 had done so several times before that evening. (Every 
 one was toasting Sally.) When he put it down again, 
 she stooped forward and touched it with her mouth, 
 just where his lips had pressed the rim. 
 
 " I do that for good luck to you," she murmured 
 softly, meeting his eyes. " I go away to-morrow and 
 may not see you again. But I shall never forget you." 
 
 " Nor shall I forget you," replied Tyrconnel, whose 
 blood was now slightly warmed by the enlivening 
 wine, repaying her glance with interest. " You must 
 tell me where I can find you." 
 
 " Alpha Cottage, Beta Road, St. John's Wood," re- 
 joined Sally promptly, " and you will come to tea with 
 me there one afternoon, won't you? here," she said, 
 taking the menu card, " I will write it down .... 
 Now don't forget, the very next time you are in town." 
 
 What Tyrconnel might have replied it is impossible 
 to say, for at that moment their tete-ct-tete was rudely 
 interrupted by a rain of flowers from the other side of 
 the table. Miss Popkins returned the volley with in- 
 terest, and for the next few minutes confusion reigned 
 supreme. It was the usual senseless "rag" in which 
 Pimlico and his friends were wont to indulge at their 
 convivial gatherings, and the presence of the lady seemed
 
 A T HER FEET HE BOWED AND FELL. 125 
 
 rather to egg them on than to restrain them. Sally 
 snatched Tyrconnel's button-hole from his coat. He 
 retaliated by robbing some of the flowers which nestled 
 among the laces at her breast. Forbes was pelting 
 Pimlico with bread, while Williams and Wilmot had 
 found convenient missiles in the marrons glaces. 
 
 Wilmot sat down at the piano and began to thump 
 out a " razzle-dazzle " polka. The table was pushed 
 aside, a space quickly cleared, and most of the party 
 were soon careering around the room. Sally danced 
 as much as she could, but after a time she subsided 
 breathlessly into a chair, shrieking with laughter at 
 the uncouth antics of Pimlico and the others. Cory- 
 ton, who never exerted himself, quietly turned Wilmot 
 from the piano and, sitting down, commenced to play. 
 Then Tyrconnel, flushed and excited with wine and 
 overmuch revolving in a small space, came up and 
 begged Sally for a dance. She consented instantly 
 and round they went at a furious rate. 
 
 A few minutes later the music closed with a crash 
 and Cory ton jumped up from the piano. 
 
 " Come, Pirn," he cried, taking that individual, who 
 had subsided into a semi-somnolent condition, by the 
 arm, "let's have a lemon squash to steady ourselves, 
 and a game of cards before turning in. Come along, 
 it's nearly half-past eleven already, and it won't do to 
 be late to-night." 
 
 Pimlico assented sleepily. So did the others, and 
 gathered themselves around the table all except Sally 
 and Tyrconnel, who cried off. 
 
 " You come and talk to me," she said affectionately, 
 putting her hand on his arm, and leading him into 
 one of those queer tent-like little erections, which 
 Cambridge upholsterers are so fond of rigging up in 
 the corners of undergraduates' rooms. Sally's lodgings 
 were not precisely undergraduates ' rooms, but they 
 boasted one of these little cosy corners all the same. 
 
 They sat down side by side in the semi-gloom. 
 There was only one low seat, heaped up with billowy 
 cushions, so they shared it together. Sally took a 
 
 glass of green chartreuse ; Tyrconnel took several 
 
 They gave alternate puffs at the same cigarette. The
 
 126 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 others were so much engrossed with their game that 
 they were practically alone, free to whisper any soft 
 nothings they might please. 
 
 But Tyrconnel, at least, had got past the stage of 
 conversation. Tie was no St. Anthony to remain in- 
 sensible to the witchery of this woman only a head- 
 strong youth with a slender stock of good resolutions, 
 which were now melting away like snow before the 
 
 sun They were so near to one another, the 
 
 perfume of her hair was in his nostrils, the fumes of 
 
 wine in his brain A sensuous drowsiness stole 
 
 over him, the scarlet mouth trembled close to his own, 
 
 the little hands were in his He bowed his 
 
 head, and their lips met 
 
 "By Jove! You fellows, it's half-past twelve," 
 cried Coryton suddenly throwing down his cards. 
 " This is the third night this week. We must be off 
 every one of us, or we shall be gated for the rest of 
 the term. Come on, Pirn " and he snatched up his 
 cap and gown " I'll race you as far as Magdalene." 
 
 But that worthy, who was now in the quarrelsome 
 stage, began to wrangle about his winnings. There 
 was a general bustle and scrimmage until Coryton 
 impatiently hurried him out into the darkness of the 
 night, closely followed by the others. 
 
 " Have you heard the news, Corry ? " cried Forbes, 
 bursting into Coryton's rooms about lunch-time next 
 morning and discovering that youth half-dressed in a 
 cosy chair by the fire, with silver grill dishes, a half 
 empty coffee-cup and all the other evidences of a late 
 breakfast beside him. 
 
 " What news ? " asked Coryton languidly, throwing 
 a little patchouli-scented note upon the fire as he spoke. 
 
 " Why, about the Pigeon. He's in for it this time 
 and no mistake. We clean forgot all about him last 
 night. He's been gated before this term. The Dean 
 is furious. He was hauled this morning for being out 
 after twelve o'clock and could give no account of him-
 
 THE TRUMP CARD. 127 
 
 self at all. There's to be a college meeting this after- 
 noon and he'll be sent down for the rest of the term as 
 sure as a gun." 
 
 " Poor Pigeon ! " said Coryton meditatively, as he 
 watched the smoke curl upwards from his cigarette. 
 " Well, we must pay for our little pleasures sometimes 
 you know. Have you seen him this morning ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have just come from him. He's awfully 
 down about it, full of repentance and remorse and all 
 that sort of thing." 
 
 " One is generally repentant when one is found out, 
 and remorseful when one can't do it again," rejoined 
 Coryton drily. " I am amused to think how shocked 
 the good Gwendolen will be ! I would rather face a 
 college meeting than her reproachful gaze. Wait a 
 minute, until I put on my coat, and we will go round 
 and comfort him." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE TRUMP CARD. 
 
 Man hat keinen Erfolg oder einen groszen. Und der grosze 
 Erfolg gleicht oft einem verwirklichten Marchentraum. F. 
 VON KAPFF-ESSENTIIEK. 
 
 LORD RUPERT CAMERON had accepted the presidency 
 of the University Coningsby Club without quite real- 
 izing the small part which that institution played in 
 the undergraduate world. His acceptance of that post 
 conferred a momentary importance upon the club and 
 helped to confer a more than momentary importance 
 upon Walpole Coryton, its Vice-President and local 
 chief. The smart sets suddenly discovered its ex- 
 istence and thronged to join it, a rowdy dinner was 
 instituted twice a term in connection with it, and a 
 new batch of officers and committee was drafted in. 
 
 The latter event was a masterpiece of intrigue on 
 Coryton's part. There had been the yearly election
 
 128 THE GEEEN BAY TREE. 
 
 already referred to, when Unkels was put to confusion, 
 with the result that Coryton had been elected Vice- 
 President, Funnie-Ffoulkes Treasurer, Bedlam Honorary 
 Secretary, and the Committee included Gates and many 
 others of the same kidney. But halfway through the 
 next term, Coryton summoned a general meeting of 
 the Club and proposed a re-election of officers. 
 
 He had secured the assent of the " old gang " by a 
 profusion of promises : Plantagenet Unkels had act- 
 ually been persuaded to believe that he was to be 
 Vice- President the term after next ; Funnie-Ffoulkes 
 was to be Vice-President very soon: Bedlam was to 
 be Vice-President next year and Treasurer as well as 
 Secretary in the mean time ; Gates was to be Secre- 
 tary some time or other and new representatives of 
 " Cats," King's, and " Pots," were to swamp the Com- 
 mittee. 
 
 Never had there been such reckless promising, not 
 even at a county council election or before a critical 
 division in the House of Commons. Half a dozen dif- 
 ferent people had been promised the same office and 
 such was their vanity and credulity not one of them 
 had a shadow of doubt about their election. Forbes 
 and Pimlico gave a series of bounder dinner-parties, 
 while Williams and Wilmot put up batches of impos- 
 sible people for the Pitt Club and were the first to 
 blackball them. 
 
 The result surpassed all expectation, and at the 
 general meeting not only was the requisite two-thirds 
 majority forthcoming in favor of a re-election of 
 officers, but even absolute unanimity. Then came the 
 ballot, when the " new gang," by enormous majorities, 
 elected Coryton Vice-President, Forbes Treasurer, 
 Pimlico and Gaverigan joint Honorary Secretaries. 
 The Committee also consisted exclusively of the " new 
 gang." 
 
 The "old gang" were effectively dished and were 
 only prevented from resigning in a body which was 
 precisely desired of them by a sense of favors to 
 come. They thought to start a club on their own 
 account in Rose Crescent, but the numbers and energy 
 of its founders did not suffice to attract attention in
 
 THE TRUMP CARD. 129 
 
 the University or distinguished visitors from outside. 
 So they returned to their old haunts and made them- 
 selves a great nuisance, until Pimlico devised a series 
 of practical jokes, which made the place unbearable 
 for them. So they revenged themselves by coming to 
 the smart dinner, given by the Club at the Lion Hotel, 
 and hooting Pimlico when he got up to propose the 
 toast of " The Ladies." 
 
 The next intrigue concerned the entertainment of 
 Lord Rupert Cameron, Lord Southwark and the other 
 guests who had come up to speak at a public dinner 
 in the Guildhall. Plantagenet-Unkels had had the 
 inviting of Lord Rupert and had taken the opportunity 
 of entangling him in an invitation to lunch with him 
 at St. Jucle's the day after the dinner. Coryton only 
 heard of this at the eleventh hour, when he received 
 an invitation " to meet Lord Rupert " from LTnkels, 
 who had remembered that it would " look funny " if 
 the officers of the club were absent. Coryton pulled 
 a long face when he read the note and decided that 
 prompt action was imperative. 
 
 Accordingly, when Lord Rupert arrived at the sta- 
 tion, Coryton arranged, by the diffusion of false 
 information, that he and Forbes should be alone there 
 to receive him, and, as Lord Rupert got into the fly 
 that had been chartered for him, Coryton said quietly, 
 
 " You were so kind as to hold out hopes that you 
 would come, and lunch with me next Sunday." 
 
 Lord Rupert, who of course had not a notion who 
 was who, acquiesced at once and Coryton slipped a 
 card into his hand to remind him not only, as he said, 
 of his address but also of his name. 
 
 At the Guildhall dinner Lord Rupert told Coryton 
 that he had received a note from a Mr. TJnkels, recall- 
 ing a promise to lunch with him, and that he feared he 
 would have to go there, but Coryton replied, with the 
 calmest assurance possible, that he had arranged it all 
 with Unkels and had invited him to meet Lord Rupert 
 at luncheon. It seemed most natural that the Vice- 
 President of the Club should be the entertainer, and it 
 never of course occurred to Lord Rupert not to accept 
 the arrangement. 
 9
 
 130 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 The dinner was a great success from everybody's 
 point of view : from Lord Rupert's, for he delivered a 
 rattling presidential address, which aroused much con- 
 troversy in the papers and ended by strengthening his 
 precarious position in the Conservative party; from 
 Lord South wark's, who replied for the House of Lords ; 
 from Coryton's, for many laudatory things were said 
 about him by a small galaxy of statesmen ; and even 
 from Unkels's, for Coryton had the assurance to intro- 
 duce him to Lord Rupert as " one of the most ardent 
 Tories in the University." 
 
 Gaverigan, who wound up the toast-list with " The 
 health of the President," was also gratified with some 
 pointed compliments. 
 
 " I wish to mention the very great pleasure with 
 which I heard the gentleman who proposed the toast, 
 address a public meeting," said Lord Rupert, when he 
 returned thanks ; " he is a nephew of one of my best 
 and oldest friends in the House of Commons (I am 
 sorry to say he belongs to the Liberal party), Mr. Hol- 
 
 loway Pother Mr. Gaverigan has eschewed 
 
 the avuncular heresies and walks steadfastly and lively 
 in the true political faith." 
 
 The luncheon next day was also a great success, ex- 
 cept from Mr. Unkels's point of view. That individual 
 had ordered in enough provisions to stock a caravan, 
 and the tables groaned with gooseberry champagne 
 and the sort of food which Unkels associated with 
 luxury. He had sent forth invitations to the highways 
 and hedges of the 'Varsity to compel men to come in 
 " to meet Lord Rupert Cameron." 
 
 There they were, hungry and expectant, waiting. 
 A quarter of an hour passed, half an hour, three quar- 
 ters, yet still he came not. Their servile instincts 
 wrestled with the cravings of the inner man, and it was 
 only when three o'clock struck that they gave up all 
 hope and sat down, sulky and ravenous, to gobble up in 
 silence the good things that had been provided for them. 
 
 Meanwhile a very pleasant party was discussing a 
 simple but well-chosen luncheon in Coryton's rooms 
 on the King's Parade. Lord Rupert Cameron and 
 Lord Southwark sat on either side of the host. Mr.
 
 THE TRUMP CARD. 131 
 
 Toadey- Simile, member of one of the county divisions, 
 was at the other end of the table. Undergraduate 
 Toryism was represented by Forbes, von Kaggedback, 
 Gaverigan, Pimlico, Williams and Wilmot, while 
 Austen Marshall came as the show undergraduate on 
 the other side, Drake and MacRonald under the mis- 
 taken impression that they would make brilliant con- 
 versation. 
 
 " I wonder you made such polite references to Sir 
 William Falstaff," said Gaverigan to Lord Rupert, 
 while they were discussing the previous night's 
 speeches. 
 
 " Well, yes," he laughed, " Falstaff and I have had 
 some sharp passages-at-arms. I remember once in 
 the House of Commons, when I had irritated him 
 beyond endurance, he leaned forward and called out to 
 me across the floor of the House, ' You little ass,' in a 
 stage whisper that everybody must have heard." 
 
 " And what did you do ?" 
 
 " Oh ! " he answered roguishly, " I just shouted out 
 to him ' You are a d d fool,' twice as loud again. 
 I shall never forget his expression of amazement and 
 indignation when I said it. He got up two or three 
 times to call the Speaker's attention to the expression, 
 but each time his heart misgave him, as he remembered 
 his own share in the controversy. The Speaker 
 remarked afterwards that this was the most summary 
 way of carrying on a debate that it had ever been his lot 
 to witness." 
 
 This led to a number of House of Commons anec- 
 dotes, which Lord Southwark capped with experiences 
 of the House of Lords. They fell to discussing the 
 mannerisms of Disraeli in both places. Mr. Toadey- 
 Snaile, who was a notorious liar, said he had once seen 
 him so far gone, after he had been rather more than 
 dining, that all he could do was to wave his arms and 
 cry " British Constitution ! " 
 
 Lord Rupert thereupon gave a story about a bom- 
 bastic speech made by Disraeli in a mellowed condition 
 being followed by a sneer from Mr. Gladstone about 
 " the sources from which the right hon. gentleman has 
 evidently drawn his inspirations."
 
 132 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 " This," he added, " the House would not stand at 
 all, but groaned in disapproval. The fact is, even in 
 its most democratic intervals, there is no body of 
 men so conservative in habits or so tenacious of 
 tradition as the" House of Commons. It has its own 
 peculiar code of morals and, while very lenient towards 
 a good old-fashioned vice, like drunkenness, will not 
 stand anything approaching bad taste or bad faith. 
 For instance, if a man is once detected trying to hocus 
 the House with a garbled quotation, he will never be 
 listened to again." 
 
 " How do you prepare your speeches, Lord Rupert ? " 
 asked Forbes suddenly, apropos of nothing in par- 
 ticular. 
 
 Everybody laughed. 
 
 " Forbes is a great authority on speechifying," put 
 in Coryton parenthetically, " he once made an oration 
 in the market-place and compared the British Consti- 
 tution to a sack of wheat." 
 
 " That's better than Cincinnatus Spreadeagle's com- 
 parison of it to a rocket, at any rate," put in Toadey- 
 Snaile. 
 
 " When I first started making speeches, which, by 
 the way, isn't so very long ago," Lord Rupert went 
 on, "I used to write the whole thing out and learn 
 it word for word. Now, if I have time to jot down a 
 few rough notes and think out what line I intend to 
 pursue, I count myself lucky. Very often I have to 
 make a speech straight away without any opportunity 
 for preparation. It is all a matter of practice, like 
 playing the banjo." 
 
 "Talking of old Gladstone," said Toadey-Snaile 
 nobody had been talking of the man for at least ten 
 minutes, but that did not matter, "Talking of old 
 Gladstone, what's all this about his planting a tree at 
 Newnham and somebody cutting it do\vn in the night ? " 
 
 " Nobody knows," returned Coryton ; " but the old 
 man's admirers are frantic. They have employed pri- 
 vate detectives and threatened prosecutions for bur- 
 glary. But all in vain. They say it was done by a 
 Primrose dame among the Newnhamites." 
 
 " I believe you did it, Cameron," laughed Lord South-
 
 THE TRUMP CARD. 133 
 
 wark, " or, if you didn't, it's a very queer coincidence. 
 Do you remember the Dean's garden at Merton?" 
 
 " I should rather think I do." 
 
 " What was that ? " everybody asked. 
 
 "Oh! nothing much," Lord Rupert returned, "it 
 was only my Dean. I was always in hot water with 
 the dons when I was at Oxford, but I had special dif- 
 ficulties with my Dean, until he became quite unbear- 
 able. However, I found out that he had a mania for 
 horticulture and treasured the contents of his strange 
 little garden more than the apple of his eye. It had a 
 horribly high wall, but I managed to scramble over one 
 night, though I cut my hand rather badly with some 
 broken bottles at the top. You bet I wasn't long in 
 turning the place into a wilderness. I would have 
 given a fortune to see my Dean's face next morning, 
 when he looked out and found every pane of glass 
 smashed and every growing thing uprooted. But I 
 didn't pull down the Gladstone tree of liberty, 'pon my 
 word." 
 
 "I am sure this is quite a new thing," remarked 
 Lord Southwark sententiously, " having political clubs 
 at the Universities. There was nothing like it in my 
 day at least not to this extent." 
 
 "It's a very good thing anyhow," returned Lord 
 Rupert. " I wish I had gone in for politics when I 
 was their age. But I'm afraid I used to think more 
 of huntin' and racin' in those days than of the affairs 
 of the nation." 
 
 " Huntin' ! " grunted Toadey-Snaile, " there can't be 
 much in the way of huntin' at Oxford. The Old Berk- 
 shire, what ? " 
 
 " Yes, the Old Berkshire," and Lord Rupert laughed 
 over a reminiscence ; " a crusty old beggar we had for 
 master, by Jove!" he went on. "Swore at me like a 
 trooper once before the whole field, because he had 
 run into me, as far as I could make out. However, I 
 said nothing, but just bided my time, that is to say 
 till the hunt dinner at the end of term. I was down 
 to propose the toast of ' Sport ' and I felt that the Lord 
 had delivered mine enemy into my hand. 'I have 
 always been fond of sport,' I said benevolently, ' sport
 
 134 THE GREEN SAY TREE. 
 
 of all kinds. I like huntiu' and fishin' and shootin' 
 and I take an interest in racin' and athletics. More- 
 over, when I can't get the higher forms of sport, I don't 
 disdain humbler amusements, but find a certain enjoy- 
 ment in ferretin', cock-fightin', or even,' I wound up 
 in my most lugubrious accents, 'if the worst conies to 
 the worst, and there is absolutely nothin' else to be 
 done, a day with the Old Berkshire hounds ! ' Every- 
 body said I had scored and the old rascal never for- 
 gave me." 
 
 " I suppose your clubs here hold very advanced 
 views," Lord Southwark asked Coryton with bored 
 politeness. He had heard all these anecdotes before. 
 
 " Very sound views," Lord Rupert replied for him. 
 " They have been supporters of mine ever since I 
 formed the Tenth Party. This is quite a hot-bed of 
 Tory-Democracy, I assure you." 
 
 " Well, I'm very glad to hear it. It is a sign of the 
 times and of happy augury for the future," replied 
 Lord Southwark, beaming on Pimlico, who was half 
 asleep. 
 
 " The youth of a nation are the trustees of posterity," 
 quoted Gaverigan with mock solemnity. 
 
 " I suppose so, provided they are nourished upon 
 Disraeli's novels," returned Lord Southwark in the 
 same tone. 
 
 " Was Disraeli a Tory-Democrat ? " Marshall asked 
 MacRonald in a stage whisper. 
 
 "Undoubtedly," interposed Lord Rupert, "he was 
 the first Tory-Democrat." 
 
 " The antithesis, I suppose," said Marshall quietly, 
 " of that other personage, who has been styled the first 
 Whig!" 
 
 As soon as lunch was over, they adjourned to the 
 rooms downstairs, where Lord Rupert sat in an arm- 
 chair evolving countless anecdotes and smoking count- 
 less cigarettes. He had a long black amber holder, 
 with his initials on it in blue garnets, and as soon as 
 one cigarette was finished, he lighted another, con- 
 suming them very rapidly. The rest of the party 
 sat around, watching him open-mouthed and drinking 
 in all his narrations. They were all about himself,
 
 THE TRUMP CARD. 1B5 
 
 but that was a subject which interested his hearers. 
 Drake and MacRonald, who had been imported as 
 specimens of University wit, scarcely opened their 
 mouths all the afternoon. They sat in a corner, stolidly 
 smoking long cigars. Even Williams and Wilmot 
 were more loquacious. 
 
 Lord South wark went off with Pimlico to talk over 
 his "little bills" and Mr. Toadey-Snaile soon dis- 
 covered that he wanted to make some calls on sundry 
 musty dons, but Lord Rupert remained on till nearly 
 five, chatting away and taking great pains to be agree- 
 able. When at last he tore himself away and Coryton 
 came down with him to the door, he repeated his as- 
 surances of satisfaction and good- will. 
 
 " I think you spoke very well indeed last night," he 
 said kindly, as they parted. "You have a great 
 gift of fluency and you arrange your arguments 
 admirably. We must see if we can't get you into the 
 House presently. Come and see me when you are hi 
 town." 
 
 It was Coryton's last term at Cambridge and he felt 
 that these last triumphs had appropriately wound up 
 the long series of successes, which he owed to his own 
 energies. Lord Southwark as well as Lord Rupert had 
 expressed a desire to see him again, and he meant to 
 take good care that neither should forget it. As he 
 packed up to repair to Lord Baltinglass' place, where 
 Tyrconnel had been languishing ever since his banish- 
 ment from Cambridge the previous term, he flattered 
 himself that he had already got his foot on a rung of 
 the political ladder and that was more than most 
 young men had done before they went down from 
 Cambridge. 
 
 The thought of his father came over him. Poor 
 old chap ! He had not much to thank him for, but he 
 had at any rate received from him a legacy of good 
 advice. People are apt to sneer at good advice and say 
 it costs nothing. As well might they say that the hasty 
 masterpiece of the artist or poet costs nothing. Good 
 advice is the potted meat of experience. And Spencer 
 Coryton gave his son good advice when he said, 
 " Remember always that your best friend is yourself."
 
 136 THE GREEN BAY THEE. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE CITY OF LES DOULEURS. 
 
 Lasciate oyrii speranza 
 
 Voi ch'entrate DANTE, " INFEKKO." 
 
 Les Doideurs, " the City of Charlemagne " or, as the 
 Pope has termed it, " the City of the Saints " though 
 to the lay mind it would rather seem the City of the 
 Sinners, and withal miserable sinners looked very 
 bright one morning in mid-July. It was early morn- 
 ing. There was just that touch of freshness in the air, 
 which dies as the day wears on, and the dew was yet 
 wet on the grass. The band was playing away merrily 
 in the Kiosk, and the shady little Flisen Garden the 
 spot where visitors most do congregate was thronged 
 with Cure-guests, who had risen betimes to drink in 
 draughts of health from the healing springs. 
 
 It was a motley crowd of half the peoples, nations, 
 and languages under heaven. Russians, Germans, 
 Dutch, French, Americans, English, Belgians, all 
 jostled one against another as they ascended and 
 descended the steep stone steps which led totheElisen 
 brunnen all clamoring for their water and taxing to 
 their utmost the energies of the blue-eyed maiden, 
 who was the presiding genius of these sulphurous 
 libations. 
 
 If one wished to study types, one could hardly do 
 better than go to the Elisen Garden on this fine morn- 
 ing. There was an English Duchess, who (as she ex- 
 plained to an acquaintance who had turned up unex- 
 pectedly) had been sent by her doctor to Aix-les-Bains, 
 but came here by mistake. Why she did not remedy 
 the error by packing up and departing by the next 
 train, it is not easy to see. There was a thick-lipped
 
 THE CITY OF LES DOULEUBS. 137 
 
 Russian Prince who, rumor said, had incurred the dis- 
 pleasure of his Imperial Master, and was, apparently, 
 whiling away his banishment by coming here, to dip 
 and be clean, like Naaman of old in Jordan. There 
 was a besotted English peer, whose name was a bye- 
 word at Tattersall's, accompanied by a muscular music- 
 hall artiste more famous for her fists than her vocal 
 powers. They were passing themselves off, these two, 
 as " Mr. and Mrs. Smith " and were fondly deluding 
 themselves that the incognito was respected. There 
 was a colonial Archdeacon, who buttonholed every one 
 to explain that he was here for his rheumatism, as 
 though any one cared whether he had rheumatism or 
 not. There was quite a crowd of young Englishmen 
 in the Service for the most part from Henrion's and 
 Dremel's Hotels, and there was a prize-fighter and a 
 third-rate Gaiety actress. Altogether it was a remark- 
 able variety-show, and differed from other watering- 
 places in Europe mainly in two respects the scarcity 
 of its old women and the number of its young men. 
 
 Two of these young men, Englishmen obviously, were 
 pacing round the shingly path of the Elisen Garden, 
 keeping unconscious time with the music of the band. 
 One of them, a good-looking youth with a dark clear- 
 cut face, was carefully dressed in a suit of fresh, neat 
 flannels, with the regulation brown-leather boots and 
 cool straw hat. He walked along with an easy step, 
 the embodiment of superb health and careful grooming ; 
 he looked as if he had never known a care. His com- 
 panion had a dejected appearance and a lack-lustre eye ; 
 his clothes were loosely huddled on as though he had 
 jumped out of bed in a hurry, and was not quite awake 
 even now. His face was unshaven, and altogether he 
 had a very washed-out appearance. In his hand he 
 carried a glass of tepid water, which he sipped every 
 now and then with an expression of intense disgust. 
 
 " This is the third glass of this beastly stuff I have 
 got down," he exclaimed presently. " One more yet 
 ' must have four,' the doctor says. Ugh ! I wish 
 he had to drink it himself, and then perhaps he wouldn't 
 be so free with prescribing it to other people." 
 
 " Considering you have come all this way for the
 
 138 TIIE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 purpose, it would be rather a disappointment if he 
 didn't dose you, wouldn't it ? " asked Coryton, switch- 
 ing at a lime leaf with his cane. 
 
 " It's a beastly hole to come to anyway," growled 
 Tyrconnel. " Let me see, how long have we been here, 
 Corry ? Three weeks, I think. It will be my twenty- 
 iirst bath to-day. It must be jolly slow for you, old 
 chap, with no cure to fill up the time." 
 
 " Thanks very good of you to think of me, I am 
 sure," replied the other with a curious smile, " but I 
 think on the whole I prefer my leisure and am content 
 to leave you the cure." 
 
 " Well, it's awfully good of you to have come with 
 me. I don't know what I should have done without 
 you committed suicide I think in very melancholy 
 madness. You are the best friend I have in the world. 
 No other fellow would have stood by me as you have 
 done and followed me to this infernal hole " 
 
 " I would do anything for you, Tyrconnel, you know 
 that go through fire and water if need be." ' 
 
 This is a sort of acrobatic performance, which is 
 always being volunteered by people who would hesi- 
 tate to lend one a ten-pound note ; Tyrconnel did 
 not know that. Just now he believed in Coryton 
 more than ever. Had he not stood up for him against 
 his father, had he not thrown up a yachting trip to 
 join him here ? True, the yachting trip was some- 
 what in nubibus, and Coryton was quartered for six 
 weeks in one of the best hotels with all expenses 
 paid, and handsome baksheesh in his pocket from Lord 
 Baltinglass of Blarney besides, as a small return for 
 all the wise counsel and good advice he had given to 
 his prodigal son. 
 
 " That is a very clever young fellow, a man 
 who'll make a name in the world, you mark my 
 words if he doesn't. Just the sort of friend Wilfrid 
 should have," remarked Lord Baltinglass one even- 
 ing after dinner to his elderly maiden sister, who 
 presided over his house or rather houses for him. 
 Coryton had sat at his feet all the evening, applauding 
 his opinions, laughing at his jokes, treating him with 
 an exquisite deference, which insinuated that it was on
 
 THE CITY OF LES DOULEUES, 139 
 
 Baltinglass, and Baltinglass alone, that the future of 
 the House of Lords and the consequent safety of the 
 Empire depended. 
 
 Lord Baltinglass's sister, Miss Kezia Tyrconnel, 
 nee Simpson, a lady of evangelical views, with whom 
 Coryton had discussed the future of Protestantism in 
 the Church of England in the interval after tea, entirely 
 agreed. 
 
 "Ah ! If Wilfrid were only more like him ! Young 
 men are so careless about religion nowadays," she 
 sighed, shaking her ringlets. "By the way have you 
 noticed, Baltinglass, how ill Wilfrid is looking ? And 
 his cough troubles him a good deal too. I am afraid 
 he is going just like his poor dear mother." 
 
 Miss Tyrconnel sighed again. She was given to 
 gloomy forebodings. She called it " going to the bottom 
 of things." 
 
 " Dear me," cried Lord Baltinglass in alarm. " You 
 don't say so." 
 
 This allusion to his wife's decease frightened him. 
 He remembered how she had pined away amid her un- 
 congenial surroundings, a prey to an insidious disease. 
 Consumptive tendencies were hereditary to the Tyr- 
 connel family. 
 
 " What's to be done ? " he asked blankly. 
 
 " I have already asked the Reverend Fyre Irons to 
 offer supplication for him to the Throne of Grace," 
 replied Miss Tyrconnel piously, " and I need scarcely 
 say that I too supplicate both night and morning." 
 
 She folded her hands and cast her eyes upward with 
 the air of one who would say, " What can poor mortal 
 do more ? " 
 
 Lord Baltinglass gave an impatient snort. 
 
 " He must consult Dr. Doublefee without delay," he 
 said. 
 
 So Dr. Doublefee was consulted, and the upshot was 
 that that eminent physician advised a course of the 
 waters of Les Douleurs. It was Coryton who travelled 
 up to town with his friend and penetrated with him 
 into Doublefee's Holy of Holies. It was Coryton who 
 suggested that Wilfrid should not go alone to a foreign 
 land. It was Coryton who slipped into his waistcoat
 
 140 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 pocket, after many protests, the handsome check of a 
 grateful parent. 
 
 Such touching devotion almost made Miss Tyrconnel 
 shed tears. 
 
 " It quite reminds me of David and Jonathan," she 
 whimpered at parting, " or those two heathen creatures 
 I quite forget their names one used to read about 
 them in Miss Medgeworth's Mythology revised for 
 family and domestic reading." 
 
 " JSTisus and Euryalus," suggested Coryton. 
 
 Miss Tyrconnel did not hear him. She was tugging 
 something from her pocket. 
 
 "Dear Mr. Coryton," she said, "you must accept 
 this little gift from me oh yes, you really must in 
 memory of our many solemn talks on holy things." 
 
 Coryton took the little package. Could it be Bank 
 notes ? It felt soft. There was no time to examine 
 it closely then. But when later on in the train he 
 opened it to find nothing but a morocco bound edition 
 of " Saved from the Pit, or The Sinner's Refuge," he 
 threw it out of the window with an oath which would 
 have made the estimable giver's ringlets stand forth 
 like "the quills of the fretful porcupine," could she 
 have heard it. 
 
 "I don't know how I shall hold out for the six 
 weeks. I feel awfully bad already," resumed Tyrconnel 
 presently, as he tackled his fourth glass of water. " I 
 can eat nothing." 
 
 " Well you must take a turn on omelettes, like the 
 other fellows," said Coryton consolingly. " They cook 
 an omelette better than anything else here, and they 
 ought to do so, considering what a run there is on 
 them. Cheer up, old chap, ' it might be worse,' as a 
 man once remarked who looked into Hades and saw 
 the devil carrying off his friend." 
 
 " I don't quite see how it could be worse than that," 
 said the other ruefully. 
 
 "Well, his friend might have had to carry the 
 devil," rejoined Coryton drily. "But let us turn 
 round the other way, here's Wrigglesworth bearing
 
 THE CITY OF LES DOULEURS. 141 
 
 down upon us. You don't want to know him, I think 
 you said." 
 
 " No, he's such a malicious old brute, he abuses 
 every one." 
 
 " Well there is no advantage in not knowing him, 
 so far as that is concerned, for he abuses a stranger 
 just as much as a friend the only difference is that 
 he draws on his imagination a little more. However, 
 we are safe from him now, he has swooped down 
 upon the Archdeaconess, who is perched as usual on 
 her little seat in the corner. Poor woman! I pity 
 her. Let us go a little nearer the band. I want to 
 hear this Brahni's Z,iebes Zieder Waltz. . . . By Jove! 
 Pigeon," he exclaimed, suddenly catching his friend by 
 the arm, "do you see who is coming along? Sally 
 Popkins ! By all that's wonderful " 
 
 Sally it was beyond a doubt wearing an innocent 
 white gown and sailor hat, with a red parasol in her 
 hand, tripping straight towards them smiling as the 
 morn. Tyrconnel flushed hotly and would have 
 turned aside, but before he could do so, Sally was 
 upon them. 
 
 " Well, I never ! " she exclaimed, twirling her para- 
 sol round like a vast butterfly, "who would have 
 thought of meeting you here? How are you, Mr. 
 Coryton ? No need to ask. And you, Mr. Tyrconnel ? 
 Pretty fit, I hope. Surely you haven't forgotten me. 
 What, not very well ? I am so sorry. You do look 
 rather sorry for yourself, I must say." 
 
 " The morning light is trying even to the best com- 
 plexions, Miss Popkins," interposed Coryton. "What 
 brings you here, I wonder ? " 
 
 " Rheumatism of course," cried Sally with a rippling 
 laugh. " I was sent to Aix-les-Bains and came to this 
 place by mistake that's the thing to say, I hear. No, 
 the fact was I came over to see a friend of mine, 
 Pussie Prancewell. She used to dance at the Gaiety, 
 you know I wanted a little holiday and thought I 
 might as well come here. Do you know Pussie? 
 She's great fun." 
 
 " I believe I saw her taking the dust on the road 
 beyond Burtscheid yesterday," said Coryton.
 
 142 THE GEEEN BAY TREE. 
 
 "It doesn't seem a bad sort of place," said Sally, 
 twirling her parasol and glancing coyly at the Russian 
 Prince. "I am told it's poor fun to come here, but 
 people seem to enjoy themselves anyway." 
 
 "What would you have them do?" queried Cory- 
 ton with an amused smile. " There is such a thing as 
 ' Happiness in Hell,' some people say. What going, 
 Tyrconnel? Well, I must be going too. Ta-ta, Miss 
 Popkins, see you later, I hope " 
 
 " Why are you so glum, old chap ? " he asked of Tyr- 
 connel presently, as they walked together down the 
 narrow uneven pavement of the Bilchel on the way 
 back to Dubigk's Hotel, "aren't you pleased to see 
 Sally ? " 
 
 "Pleased!" echoed the other indignantly. "How 
 can you ask me ? Doesn't it remind me of the most 
 discreditable incident of my life ? Corry, I feel that 
 that woman is my evil genius a sort of Circe, who 
 turns all who come near her into swine. She is to me 
 the embodiment of the lowest part of one's nature. 
 You needn't sneer, I mean it." 
 
 " We all mean these admirable sentiments the first 
 thing in the morning. If we only acted upon them in 
 the evening, what a different world it would be. Don't 
 turn away from me, old chap. I was only joking. 
 You know that. I can't cure myself of the habit. 
 But, joking apart, though, I think you take matters 
 too seriously. We all have our own little peccadilloes. 
 Even St. Augustine was a rake in his youth that is 
 why he became a saint later, I suppose. But as to 
 poor little Sally, you are too hard on her, 'pon my word. 
 She is just like all the rest of her kind, neither better 
 nor worse rather better, for she is distinctly amusing, 
 which is something in a world made up for the most 
 part of the bores and the bored. Altogether, I am not 
 sorry she has turned up. She will help us to pass the 
 time here and we can have some fun together. Won't 
 we?" 
 
 " No," said Tyrconnel doggedly, " I won't. No more 
 paltering with temptation for me." 
 
 Cory ton gave him a quick glance. They were under 
 the colonnade of the Kurhaus now, just turning into
 
 THE CITY OF LES DOULEURS. 143 
 
 the hotel. The shadow was so great he could scarcely 
 see his companion's face, which was bent towards the 
 ground. But he saw that the usually mobile lips 
 were close shut. It would not do to press him further. 
 
 " My dear fellow," he said in a tone of real feeling, 
 linking his arm in his. " You are perfectly right, it 
 will be best for you to give the siren a wide berth. 
 We will say no more about it. Come and let us have 
 our breakfast out in the garden ; the letters must have 
 come by now." 
 
 They took their breakfast, a frugal meal after the 
 manner of German breakfasts just a trout, fragrant 
 coffee, crisp fresh rolls, and golden honey on the vine- 
 clad balcony which overlooks the quaint old garden of 
 Dubigk's delightful hotel. Conversation languished 
 somewhat, as it is apt to do the first thing in the morn- 
 ing, especially with people who have reached a stage 
 of intimacy, which renders it unnecessary. The head 
 waiter came presently with a bundle of newspapers 
 and letters. Coryton's were soon disposed of ; they 
 were bills and duns principally, forwarded from his 
 Jermyn Street lodgings ; one a County Court summons 
 inclosed in a registered letter, a new form of torture 
 invented to plague unfortunate debtors. He smiled 
 grimly and tore it into little shreds, making a little 
 orange-hued heap on his plate. 
 
 " Well I am out of the way over here at any rate," 
 he thought to himself. 
 
 Then he scanned the "Fashionable Intelligence" 
 column in yesterday's morning paper, chiefly so called 
 because it contains intelligence about people who are 
 not fashionable, but who cheerfully pay their guinea a 
 line to be thought so by suburban acquaintance and 
 country cousins. Beyond an announcement that a 
 marriage was arranged between Mr. Plantagenet- 
 Unkels of Kensington-beyond-Jordan and Miss Verity 
 of Bayswater-by-Whiteley, it contained nothing which 
 had even the faintest semblance of interest to him. So 
 he looked idly across at his companion. 
 
 Tyrconnel's under-lip was quivering and his eyes 
 were big with suspicious moisture. He was reading 
 over, for the third or fourth time, a letter of several
 
 144 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 sheets written in a thin, firm handwriting. Coryton's 
 brow contracted a little, as he recognized the hand- 
 writing. It was Gwendolen's. 
 
 Tyrconnel looked up, and their eyes met. 
 
 " It is a letter from Gwendolen," he faltered. " I 
 couldn't help it, Corry. I felt so wretched and miser- 
 able. I was obliged to write to her and she has an- 
 swered. What a brute I feel! I have broken her 
 heart." 
 
 " Hearts, which break, break in silence," said Cory- 
 ton with a thin vein of contempt in his voice. " They 
 do not relieve themselves on six closely written pages 
 of foreign note." 
 
 " I do not mean that," cried the other indignantly. 
 " Gwen is far too noble-minded to speak of her own 
 sufferings, but one can read between the lines. Not 
 a word of reproach for all I have done not one word ! 
 Do you think she will ever take me back again ? " 
 
 Coryton took a cigarette from his case before reply- 
 ing. He lit it and looked across at Herr Henrion's 
 pigeons sunning themselves on the red-tiled roof. He 
 seemed lost in thought. 
 
 " Do you?" persisted Tyrconnel. 
 
 Coryton blew a thin cloud of blue smoke into the 
 summer air. From the other side of the court, he 
 could hear Miss Gussie Gutter, the music-hall singer, 
 croaking out the fragment of a familiar melody, as she 
 made ready for her bath. 
 
 " Oh! what a difference in the morning! 
 What an alteration in the dawning! ' 
 
 He waited until the verse was finished before reply- 
 ing. Then he said in his blandest accents, 
 
 " My dear fellow, how can I possibly answer for a 
 girl like Gwendolen Haviland ? She and I approach 
 everything from a different point of view, and besides 
 you haven't shown me her letter yet. In the old days 
 they used to kill the fatted calf for the prodigal ; now 
 they rather slam the door in his face. I mean your 
 good religious people, not nous autres. Ah ! is that 
 the letter? Thanks."
 
 THE CITY OF LES DOULEURS. 145 
 
 " Take you back, I should think she would," he con- 
 tinued presently, " it is evident in every line. Even if 
 it were not, Mrs. de Courcy Miles would see to it. 
 But the question is, do you wish to go back? Remem- 
 ber, she never knew the details, and she treated you 
 very hardly, I thought. What was there in your 
 being sent down to make her throw you over as she 
 did ? Many good men and true have been sent down 
 before. If she had really cared for you, she wouldn't 
 have done it." 
 
 " Oh ! but you don't know Gwen," broke in the 
 other eagerly, " how pure she is, how good, how noble. 
 She loves me, but there is One whom she loves more 
 still. You smile, Coryton. I am not over religious, I 
 know, but I do believe in Gwendolen. She sees 
 things through other eyes than ours. She does not 
 know the details, you say, she must never know 
 them never never. But you do not know all. Only 
 two days before that that Cottenham dinner, she had 
 given herself to me, her pure, sweet love all she had ; 
 and I I had vowed to lead a better life for her sake. 
 And then, with my vows still ringing in her ears, she 
 heard that I had been sent down. Could she forgive 
 how could she believe in me longer? So as you 
 know, she broke it all off and I I don't know how I 
 have lived since then, drifting about like a rudderless 
 ship. So I wrote to her at last, to plead for one more 
 chance, and this is her answer. Tell me, Corry, what 
 does she mean ? " 
 
 " She means, if I know anything about such things," 
 Coryton replied, tossing back the letter, " that she is 
 at present fighting a battle between her inclination 
 and what she conceives to be her duty." 
 
 And you think ? " 
 
 " That her inclination will conquer, of course. It 
 always does. She will take you back, Pigeon, never 
 fear. This is merely fencing before the buttons are off 
 the foils." 
 
 " What do you advise me to do ? I cannot go on 
 like this." 
 
 " My dear fellow, I advise you to do whatever you 
 think you wish to do. I have a theory that people 
 10
 
 146 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 only take advice which happens to fit in with their 
 inclinations." 
 
 Tyrconnel thought a moment, then a flash illumined 
 his eyes. 
 
 " I know what I will do," he said. " I will ask Aunt 
 Kezia to write to Mrs. de Courcy Miles and get her to 
 bring Gwen to Blarney in September, when you and 
 Vixie will be there. When we are together once 
 
 more, she will relent, I am sure she will but " 
 
 His face suddenly fell. " Do you think she will con- 
 sent to come ? " 
 
 " Mrs. de Courcy Miles will see to that," replied 
 Coryton with a moody laugh. 
 
 So Gwendolen and Tyrconnel would come together 
 after all ! Well, it would be best to recognize the 
 situation and bow to the inevitable. " Che sard sard," 
 he muttered between his teeth. 
 
 " What did you say ? " queried Tyrconnel, looking 
 up from the letter he was now reading for a fourth 
 time. 
 
 " Merely that it is best to recognize the inevitable in 
 all things. Ah ! there goes Sally Popkins with the 
 Russian Prince, as I live. Why, they didn't know one 
 another half an hour ago. But she knows how to im- 
 prove the shining hour, does Sally." 
 
 " She does indeed," said Tyrconnel with an expres- 
 sion of disgust. " Talk about the inevitable it seems 
 inevitable for that woman to cross my path and just 
 now too, of all times. I believe there is destiny in it." 
 
 " Destiny," rejoined Cory tori, " bah ! Destiny does 
 not concern itself with insignificant atoms like you 
 and me. Do not let us lay that flattering unction to 
 our souls. We are creatures of chance, blown hither 
 and thither like straws before the wind." 
 
 " Gwendolen would not say so," replied Tyrconnel 
 returning to his letter. 
 
 " Gwendolen ! " echoed Coryton with an evil smile. 
 
 Then he sprang from his chair impatiently. 
 
 " Nearly ten o'clock. Isn't it about time for you to 
 have your sulphurous bath, Tyrconnel ? Now don't 
 be so down in the mouth. This fine weather ought to 
 affect you like a barometer. You ought to be up I
 
 THE CITY OF LES DOULEURS. 147 
 
 don't know where, instead of persistently remaining 
 below Zero. Come, we'll stroll across to the Rosenbad 
 together. We'll toss those little green frogs we bought 
 in the Fels-gasse yesterday, over into the other people's 
 baths. Won't Gussie Gutter yell ? Of course I shall 
 swear that you did it. Come, Joseph must have been 
 waiting an age. In the afternoon we'll walk over to 
 Vals and see Therese." 
 
 He linked his arm in Tyrconnel's and they walked 
 over to the long low building the other side of the 
 road, yclept the Rosenbad. As they pushed open the 
 doors, an odor anything but rose-like greeted their 
 nostrils, the sulphurous fumes, with which the place 
 was impregnated, forcibly suggesting the pit of Tophet. 
 In the covered hall at the back and in the little trian- 
 gular garden there were a good many people sitting or 
 standing about, patiently or impatiently waiting their 
 turn. The bath-accommodation at Les Douleurs is 
 absurdly limited, considering the number of visitors 
 who seek its healing springs. 
 
 Tyrconnel and his companion, however, had not 
 long to wait. They possessed, or rather one of them 
 did that golden key, which unlocks all doors. The 
 perspiring Joseph greeted them with an obsequious 
 smile and bowed them down to the white marble baths, 
 reserved for them at the end of a very long, narrow 
 passage. 
 
 Coryton's tub was a simple matter. As he was 
 not going in for the cure, it was soon over. So 
 when he had leisurely dressed in the dainty blue 
 and white chamber leading from the steps of his bath, 
 he brought out of his pocket the box of little frogs, 
 which he had smuggled in with him and prepared 
 for action. The baths at the Rosenbad run along in 
 a row adjoining one another. They are each sepa- 
 rated by high tiled walls, which form separate little 
 bath-rooms, but all are open to the lofty dome-like roof. 
 
 Coryton listened, the spirit of mischief in his eyes. 
 Every bath seemed full along the line and from 
 nearly all came whistling, humming, or snatches of 
 song, with which the bathers are wont to dispel the 
 bad half-hour, during which they sit up to their chins
 
 148 THE GEEEN BAY TREE. 
 
 in the greenish yellow water. He could hear some 
 little way down, Miss Gussie Gutter crooning : 
 
 " Wot cher 'Kia ? 
 'Ilia s on the job." 
 
 and nearer a volatile Frenchman's truculent : 
 
 " Malbrou 1 s'en va-t-en guerre, 
 Miron-ton-ton-ton, mirontaine ; 
 Qui salt quand reviendra ? " 
 
 while just beyond Tyrconnel's bath there came a 
 grunting : 
 
 " Hopp, hopp, hopp 
 Pferdchen lauf Galopp, 
 Uber Stock und iiber Steine 
 Aber brich mir nicht die Beine I 
 Immer im GMopp, 
 Hopp, hopp, hopp, hopp 1 " 
 
 from a fat old German Countess. 
 
 " Hist ! Pigeon," whispered Coryton tapping the 
 wall, which divided them. " Now ! " 
 
 The songs suddenly ceased. There came a volley of 
 shrill Billingsgate from the fair Gussie, an exasperated 
 " Scrongnieu!" from the Frenchman, a guttural "Conner- 
 wetter /" from the German Countess, a violent ringing 
 of bells, a rushing to and fro of attendants, and exclama- 
 tions of reprimand, disgust and indignation all along the 
 line. 
 
 The author of all the trouble strolled out with an 
 impassive countenance and, meeting the angry Frau 
 Lincter (the presiding genius of the Rosenbad), gave 
 a significant nod in the direction of Tyrconnel's bath.
 
 A CURE-HOUSE REVEL. 149 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A CURE- HOUSE BEVEL. 
 
 Vado a balar ze vero 
 Cossa ghe ze de mal f 
 Salter a Veth mia 
 No Ve peed mortal 
 Se giro, e se se sburta 
 E se sefa strucar 
 Vado a balar ze vero 
 No steme a tormentar. VENETIAN SONG. 
 
 CORYTON paused for a moment uncertainly as the glass- 
 doors of the bath-house swung to behind him. Then 
 he bent his steps in the direction of Mariahilf, and 
 strolled leisurely up to the Lousberg. 
 
 It was a beautiful day, bright and clear, the gar- 
 dens of the villas in Ludwig's Alltie were all a-bloom, 
 and the lime-trees swung their fragrant censers low 
 above his head as he walked along. But he hardly no- 
 ticed it all. His face was dark, and his thoughts were 
 occupied with other tings. 
 
 What brought this moody cloud to his brow ? 
 
 Coryton had hoped to play off Sally upon Tyrconnel, 
 against Gwendolen. What he expected to gain out of 
 it all was hardly clear even to himself. He only knew 
 that with Gwendolen's influence in the ascendant, he 
 would gain nothing. And when Gwendolen broke with 
 Tyrconnel after he had been sent down from Cam- 
 bridge, it seemed as though he had succeeded. But 
 when he found that Tyrconnel was writing to Gwen- 
 dolen behind his back, he was shrewd enough to see 
 that the game was up. It was no use opposing him. 
 There was a strong vein of obstinacy in Tyrconnel's 
 character and Coryton, who knew this, felt that the 
 only thing was to play to his likings ; and since his
 
 150 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 mind was set on Gwendolen, he would marry her. 
 But the marriage must be brought about in such a way 
 that it would seem that it was through Coryton and 
 Cory ton alone that it came to puss. And after? 
 
 "Well," he thought with a cynical smile, "one 
 must wait the progress of events, a disillusion may 
 set in. More love dies from satiety than from starva- 
 tion. It is impossible to interest, or to be interested in, 
 a person one sees every day." 
 
 The future, however, was uncertain. One thing only 
 was certain now, and that was, that Sally was played 
 out at any rate for the present. Tyrconnel evidently 
 viewed her with aversion as the origin of all his 
 troubles. 
 
 Coryton thought of all this as he climbed the 
 steep ascent. The Lousberg is a curving, pyramid- 
 shaped hill which rises abruptly out of the plain. 
 Fifty years ago it was bleak and naked, but now with 
 its shady avenues and winding walks, it forms a 
 sort of Bois de Boulogne to Les Douleurs. Coryton went 
 up as far as the Josephine Monument, and leaning 
 over the railing looked down upon the city stretched 
 out panorama- wise beneath. His gaze wandered over 
 the octagon-shaped dome of Charlemagne's famous 
 Cathedral, past the Marschier gate, and the old ivy- 
 covered fortifications, to where the Eifel mountains 
 loomed a broad line of blue on the distant horizon. 
 He was all alone. The place seemed deserted. It was 
 yet the forenoon and most of the visitors were occupied 
 with their cure. By and by, when the band played 
 in the Belvedere just below where he was standing, 
 it would be crowded, and still more thronged to- 
 morrow evening, for the Fremden-Blatt had announced 
 fireworks on the Lousberg, and the Salvator church 
 on the hill opposite was to be illuminated by the white 
 glare of electric light. 
 
 A great wave of bitterness swept over Coryton as 
 he stood gazing over the wide champaign ; a sense of 
 the injustice of things arose in his heart, as he 
 contrasted his own position with that of Tyrconnel's. 
 
 " Here am I," he thought, " with ability and energy 
 enough for ten men " he was not prone to under-
 
 A CURE-HOUSE REVEL. 151 
 
 rate himself " and every promise of success, were not 
 every promise blasted by the lack of opportunity 
 which money alone brings. While this raw youth 
 with but a fraction of my brains, has only to stretch 
 out his hand and all good things are showered into 
 it. Wealth, fame, power, gratified ambition all may 
 be his. While I I am never to have a fair chance. 
 I am to be content to black his boots to be grateful 
 for the crumbs which fall from the rich man's table 
 to end life at the point at which he started." 
 
 He beat his hand against the railings in the agony of 
 his hate and scorn. 
 
 " Is it a wonder," he continued to himself, " that I 
 am driven into crooked and tortuous paths, to plot 
 and scheme with sharpers and cocottes, when these 
 things are so ? What chance have I otherwise ? Oh 
 yes, it is easy to practice all the virtues when one 
 has a good balance at one's bankers the poor man 
 cannot afford them. It is better to be born blind, 
 and deaf, and lame than without money. Neither 
 heaven nor earth have any good for those who have it 
 not. Gad ! When I think of it all, the game of living 
 seems hardly worth the candle." 
 
 We have all our weak moments, even the wisest 
 among us. 
 
 He was so engrossed with his thoughts that he did 
 not hear a light step behind him falling softly on the 
 grass. Some one tapped him on the shoulder, and a 
 high-pitched voice cried : 
 
 " Well, old Chappie ; what are you thinking about 
 so hard ? " 
 
 Coryton swerved round and faced Sally (for she it 
 was), with all the evil passions his thoughts had called 
 up marked upon his face. Try as he would, he could 
 not obliterate them in a moment. He wanted to be 
 alone just now, and she jarred upon him. Besides, he 
 had no use for her at present. 
 
 " I was thinking," he said shortly, after a moment's 
 pause, " of Charlemagne." 
 
 " Charlie who ? " flippantly rejoined the irrepressible 
 Sally. "Don't know him. Is he a friend of yours ? " 
 
 Then she sat down on a bench with her back to the
 
 152 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 view and swung her heels together. She had no eye 
 for the beauties of nature, it appeared. 
 
 " It's lucky we have met, for I have been wanting 
 to have a talk with you," she continued. " Come, now, 
 you needn't give yourself those high-and-mighty airs." 
 
 Coryton ignored the latter part of the speech, in 
 fact he scarcely heard it. He was trying to bring his 
 emotions under control, and well-disciplined though 
 they were, it was a minute or so before he could man- 
 age to do so. He looked down, and began to punch 
 little holes in the turf with his stick. 
 
 " What is it you want ? " he asked at last. 
 
 " Oof ! " replied Sally laconically, bringing her heels 
 together with a click. 
 
 " I hope you may get it," rejoined Coryton indiffer- 
 ently. " You won't get any out of me. You ought 
 to know that by this time. Dog doesn't eat dog, you 
 know." 
 
 Then he went on digging at the turf again. 
 
 A little flush of annoyance crept over Sally's well- 
 powdered cheeks. 
 
 " There's the Pigeon," she said tentatively, " What 
 about him ? " Her voice became a trifle shrill. 
 
 " The Pigeon's no go," answered Coryton with a short 
 laugh, " he has eaten sour grapes and his teeth are set 
 on edge. No more cakes and ale for the Pigeon. Pie 
 is going to marry and mend his ways. The game's 
 up, my dear Miss de Yere, so far as he is concerned. 
 You had better seek fresh fields and pastures new. 
 You'll get nothing more out of that particular pasture 
 I warrant you." 
 
 "I never did get anything out of it," cried Sally 
 jumping up indignantly from her seat. " Nothing at 
 all. I never saw him after that evening, you know 
 that ; and I nearly had a row with Pimlico into the 
 bargain So this is the end of all your fine prom- 
 ises, is it? You may be a very clever fellow, Mr. Cory- 
 ton so I dare say you are for yourself but you 
 won't catch me doing any more of your dirty work in 
 a hurry, I can tell you." 
 
 She faced him with flashing eyes, her voice rising 
 almost to the upper C. These moods did not suit
 
 A CURE-HOUSE REVEL. 153 
 
 Sally. In them the artificial veneer was apt to wear 
 off, to reveal the coarse grains underneath. 
 
 Cory ton shrugged his shoulders at the ebullition. 
 His face was inscrutable. He had got the mastery 
 over himself by this time. 
 
 " Isn't it rather a pity to waste so much energy ? " 
 he said quietly. " If you scream so loud all Aix will 
 hear you." 
 
 " I don't care if they do," retorted Sally crescendo : 
 " I have a good mind to go to Tyrconnel and tell him 
 the whole story." 
 
 " Do you think he would believe a word you said ? " 
 replied Coryton contemptuously. " But come, let us 
 drop these heroics ; they don't become you, and they 
 bore me. Granted this little affair has turned out a 
 failure. Whose fault is it? Not mine I assure you. . . . 
 I have put you on many good things before now, and 
 may do so again if you only keep cool. Gratitude, 
 we both understand, means a keen sense of favors to 
 come ; there will be more favors, believe me, if only 
 you are reasonable and do as I tell you." 
 
 " That's all very fine," retorted Sally, a little molli- 
 fied none the less. " A bird in the hand's worth two 
 in the bush. I might believe you if I saw the color of 
 your coin. It would prove you were in earnest," she 
 added coaxingly ; " come, put a tenner now." 
 
 " You'll never get a brass farthing out of me," re- 
 joined Coryton, brutally. " I'm too wary a bird to buy 
 off rny Danes. . . . You don't grasp the allusion. 
 Well, never mind. It only means there's no cash in 
 this quarter. There's the Russian Prince, why not try 
 him ? or old Colonel Oldbags of the Blues ? A tenner 
 forsooth! What's the good of a tenner. I can put 
 you up to a dodge by which we'll get not a tenner 
 but hundreds, not just yet perhaps but a little later, 
 when the Pigeon has settled down in the odor of sanc- 
 tity. . . . We cannot all pay for our youthful follies, 
 you know. Come, let us walk down the hill together, 
 and I will tell you how to work the oracle as we go 
 along. . . ." 
 
 Sally sulkily consented. 
 
 What transpired between them it is impossible to
 
 154 THE GREEN SAY TREK 
 
 say, but when Miss Popkins appeared in the Eurkaus 
 Garden the evening of the same day, her good humor 
 was apparently restored. 
 
 Perhaps it was that little luncheon with the Russian 
 Prince, which had most to do with it. Anyway, she 
 greeted Coryton with a smile in which there was no 
 trace of ill-will : for Ty rconnel was reserved a saddened 
 inclination of the head and a sigh strangled in its 
 birth. It was lost upon him, however, for he was 
 walking with the Archdeaconess. 
 
 That good lady, who was something of a permanency 
 at Les Douleurs, and whose little rooms in the Biichel 
 were quite a centre for the English Colony, was busily 
 engaged in pointing out to Tyrconnel the local celebri- 
 ties of the place. These mustered in great force to- 
 night, for it was the occasion of what the Kur- Verein 
 were pleased to denominate a Grande Reunion illumi- 
 nations and a dance. The dingy garden of the Kur- 
 haus, by day hardly a cheerful place, was on this par- 
 ticular evening transformed into a fairyland ; ropes of 
 colored lamps ran from end to end, and many hundred 
 lanterns gleamed among the trees. Groups of people 
 were gathered around the little tables, chatting and 
 laughing as they drank their beer (without which no 
 German festivity would be complete), or were walking 
 up and down, listening to the music of the band. 
 
 In the larger ball-room of the Kurhaus a handsome 
 room richly decorated with stuccoes and paintings, 
 another band was playing. The windows were wide 
 open to the summer night, and through them at inter- 
 vals streamed the dancers, pacing up and down the 
 balcony and looking down therefrom at the animated 
 scene below. 
 
 The Archdeaconess kept a tight hold on Tyrconnel, 
 as she gave him sage advice as to whom to know and 
 whom to avoid, and she listened sympathetically to his 
 troubles the while or at least to as much of them as 
 he felt inclined to tell her. She was one of the kindest- 
 hearted of women with a weakness for young English- 
 men. She never forced confidences, but she heard a 
 good many and very strange ones they must have 
 been, some of them.
 
 A CURE-HOUSE EEVEL. 155 
 
 " People often tell me more than they think," she 
 would remark sagely over her cup of "English" tea, 
 and no doubt they did, for a prolonged sojourn at 
 Les Douleurs is apt to sharpen one's powers of obser- 
 vation. Besides which mothers confided in her those 
 who knew her and bade her give an eye to their 
 youthful prodigals. Miss Tyrconnel, who had heard 
 of her through her pastor, the Rev. Fyre Irons, who 
 had once been chaplain here, had written to her, 
 imploring her to keep watch on Wilfrid. She was 
 just the person to do it. Was she not the widow of 
 an Archdeacon ? Did she not keep the keys of the 
 Church? 
 
 "I must introduce you to the Chaplain's daughters, 
 Mr. Tyrconnel," she said as they walked round under 
 the trees, " such sweet girls that was one of them, 
 Barbara, dancing just now with Baron von Stern." 
 
 " Rather a funny place for a chaplain to bring his 
 daughters, isn't it ? " asked Tyrconnel blankly, gazing 
 round at the motley crowd. 
 
 The Archdeaconess laughed. 
 
 " Well, since you mention it," she replied confiden- 
 tially, " it is ; I should not have said anything myself, 
 
 but if they were my girls " She gave her shoulders 
 
 an expressive shrug. " However, the Chaplain is a 
 very strange man. Did you hear of that dispute he 
 had the other day with Colonel Oldbags ? " 
 
 " No, all I know of him is that he deals in very 
 bad cigars," rejoined Tyrconnel, who had a vivid 
 recollection of some vile " Trichies " which the rever- 
 end gentleman palmed off upon him at a mark a piece. 
 
 The Archdeaconess smiled broadly a meaning smile. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Tyrconnel, you don't mean to say he has 
 been trying that on with you already ? I ought to have 
 warned you. Why that is a very old game. I know 
 exactly what he said: Just a very few which he 
 brought with him from India, he would let you have 
 an odd hundred as a very great favor. That was it, 
 
 wasn't it ? Ah ! yes I thought so. Brought 
 
 them from India indeed ! Why he buys them down 
 at Schmidt's, in the Fels-gasse, for five marks the 
 gross, and then sells them at 5 a hundred. He ought
 
 156 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 to be ashamed of himself quite a disgrace to the cloth 
 I call it ! But there these ex-army chaplains ! How 
 different to the poor clear Archdeacon, or even that 
 shepherd of souls Mr. Fyre Irons. However, Barbara 
 is a sweet girl and dances so nicely. Shall we go up 
 to the ball-room now, and I will introduce you." 
 
 " I shall be very glad to be introduced but I can't 
 dance I don't feel up to it." 
 
 " Ah ! those baths are very fatiguing," rejoined the 
 Archdeaconess and then she squeezed his arm. " I 
 am so sorry for you dear Mr. Tyrconnel, I have 
 had sons of my own. But there, you have come to 
 the right place to get well, Les Douleurs is perfectly 
 wonderful. You have only had twenty-one I think 
 you said. By the time your cure is over I hope to 
 see you spinning round the room like a top. If you 
 will wait just one moment I will leave my bonnet 
 in the cloak-room, and we will go into the ball-room 
 together." 
 
 The band was playing the sugary-sweet Danube 
 "Waltz as they entered the room, and a good many 
 couples were revolving to its strains. There was a 
 great variet}?" of waltzing, the queer German cleitx- 
 tewps steps being perhaps the most predominant, but 
 there was also the Liverpool lurch, the Hampstead 
 hop, the Clapham slide, and the Kensington-beyond- 
 Jordan shuffle, for the sort of Englishmen who dance 
 at Les Douleurs generally hail from some of these 
 classic parts. The others are content to look on. 
 There were a good many looking on to-night, standing 
 in groups far out into the room so as to seriously 
 interfere with the comfort of the dancers. The Arch- 
 deaconess made her way up to one of these groups. 
 
 " Dear Colonel Oldbags," she exclaimed, effusively 
 bearing down upon a battered young-elderly man 
 who was leaning against the wall. " So pleased to 
 see you again ! When did you come ? You are 
 staying at Xuellens as usual, I suppose?" Then 
 without waiting for an answer to these questions, 
 
 " Let me introduce Mr. Tyrconnel Colonel 
 
 Oldbags is quite an habitue of Les Douleurs," she 
 explained.
 
 A CURE-HOUSE REVEL. 157 
 
 " You have been here before ? " queried Tyrconnel 
 by way of saying something, for Oldbags regarded 
 him in silence with a melancholy stare. 
 
 " Fifteen times," rejoined the Colonel with the air 
 of one who has done something to be proud of 
 " three times every year for the last five years. It 
 has been my salvation. You remember " turning to 
 the Archdeaconess " what a wreck I was when first 
 I came and look at me now." 
 
 Tyrconnel looked at him doubtfully. It was difficult 
 to conceive a more dilapidated specimen of mankind 
 even now. What he must have been in the past, it 
 baffled the wit of man to conceive. The Archdeaconess, 
 however, evidently thought a miracle had been worked. 
 
 " Perfectly wonderful ! " she exclaimed, throwing up 
 her hands. 
 
 "And you? Have you been here often?" asked 
 he of the sorrowful countenance of Tyrconnel. 
 
 " This is my first time, and I hope it will be the 
 last. My doctor thinks it will not be necessary for me 
 to return," he rejoined. 
 
 The Colonel shook his head with sad foreboding. 
 
 " Once," he said, " is no use at all you might just 
 as well stop at home I could tell you of many cases. . ." 
 This he forthwith proceeded to do, with the most 
 approved charnel-house details. 
 
 Tyrconnel turned away. This was hardly a cheerful 
 conversation. Why is the path of virtue so hard and 
 the other one so smooth? There was Coryton for 
 instance, over the other side of the room apparently 
 enjoying himself immensely with Sally, Pussie Prance- 
 well, Gussie Gutter, and two or three men. Each 
 of the three ladies carried a huge bouquet; they were 
 chaffing and laughing to their hearts' content. Pres- 
 ently they all went off to the supper room together. 
 
 Tyrconnel felt quite sad. He wished the pretty 
 golden-haired Fraulein, with whom he was so fond 
 of sitting under the vine-clad arbor in the garden 
 of the Hotel Dubigk, was here she and her pretty 
 sister. He had done his best to persuade them, but 
 they would not come. " Les Douleurs' society doesn't 
 do such things," they had told him, with an uncon-
 
 158 THE GREEN BAT TREE. 
 
 scious parody of Hedda Gabbler. But he really 
 couldn't stand this woeful Colonel any longer. He 
 was worse than old Wrigglesworth snarling in yonder 
 corner, or Lady Sometyme Typsie and her JBackfisch 
 daughter on the sofa at the top of the room. So 
 he took the Archdeaconess into the supper-room and 
 they had a bottle of sparkling Moselle together. 
 
 There was a very uproarious party at the table 
 next them. Miss Popkins gave a comical sidelong 
 glance towards Tyrconnel as he came into the room, 
 and then seeing that he did not respond, resumed her 
 pleasing pastime of trying to teach a little Spanish 
 Count to speak English. Her method was not that 
 of Ollendorff, since it consisted chiefly of making him 
 repeat after her such brilliant witticisms as " Go, fry 
 your face," and so forth, but his attempt thereat 
 seemed to provoke the party to an altogether dispro- 
 portionate amount of mirth. 
 
 Sally was looking very pretty this evening, all in 
 white, a symbol of her artless innocence. She thought 
 herself very much on the spot and so did the Spanish 
 Count, and he divided his attentions equally between 
 her and the mayonnaise. The rest of the party were 
 all very lively ; Miss Pussie Prancewell late of the 
 Gaiety, was repeating to the two young Englishmen 
 from the Grand Monarque Hotel a private and unbowd- 
 lerized version of " Helen of Troy," a process which 
 seemed to afford them an infinite amount of satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 Cory ton was carrying on a brisk dialogue with 
 Miss Gussie Gutter. That young woman was inclined 
 to be quarrelsome at first, and made many scathing 
 remarks when Sally sat down on her bouquet by mis- 
 take, but Coryton's tact had averted the threatened 
 storm, and now under the genial influence of supper 
 she waxed both generous and expansive. Gussie had 
 a good heart with all her faults. 
 
 " What have you done with your er friend, Lord 
 Welcher ? " asked Coryton as he plied her with more 
 champagne. He wasn't paying for it, by the way. 
 
 " Mr. Smith, you mean," corrected Gussie. " He 
 went to his downey long ago. He mustn't keep late
 
 A CURE-HOUSE REVEL. 159 
 
 hours while the cure's going on, the doctor says, and 
 as I'm over here to look after him I see that the doc- 
 tor's instructions are carried out. ' What's the good 
 of coming over here if you don't, Johnnie,' I say. 
 'Right you are,' he says and turns in as meek as a 
 lamb. No nonsense with me, I can tell you Poor 
 old Johnnie ! he's a bad lot, I know, but I should 
 be very sorry for anything to happen to him all the 
 same." 
 
 Here Gussie wiped away a furtive tear, but whether 
 born of Johnnie or of the champagne, who shall say ? 
 
 "I daresay," she continued, with a sudden change 
 of tone, catching sight of the smile which played for 
 an instant about her listener's lips, " that you think I 
 only care for what I get out of him. But I don't. It's 
 rather the other way, I think; I pay my way look 
 here." She whipped an envelope out of her pocket and 
 drew forth a check. " Do you see what that is ? 
 Forty quid ; that is for one week's work, four songs, 
 or rather four times the same song, at four different 
 halls the Tiv', the Troc', the Pav' and the Oxford. I 
 just hop into a hansom and round I go one after the 
 other, and the thing's done. 10 a week for each song. 
 So long as I can do that I have no need for anybody 
 to pay my bills," went on Gussie with dignity, folding 
 up the check again. "And the best of it is," she 
 added, dropping her voice confidentially, " I can't sing 
 a bit." 
 
 " Oh ! don't say so ! " put in Coryton affably. 
 
 " Not a bit," repeated Gussie, with engaging frank- 
 ness, "so don't come any of your blarney over me. I 
 often think of the man in the pit who called out to me 
 to 'Go 'ome and git you v'ice sandpapered.' Great 
 Scott ! if I was to sandpaper it, there wouldn't be any 
 left. And you know it too but there bless you, the 
 public ain't musical they want to be amused, and I'm 
 so ' sheek.' " 
 
 " Chic indeed ! " murmured Coryton as he filled her 
 glass again. 
 
 Miss Gutter quaffed it at a draught. 
 
 " Not bad tipple this," she said, " a trifle too sweet 
 for my liking though." Then she gave Coryton a
 
 160 THE GEEEN BAY TREE. 
 
 nudge. "Look at Sally there. How she's carrying 
 on with that little Count. Did you ever see such a 
 man. I wonder where he springs from ? Shall we 
 ask him ? " 
 
 " It is wiser not to ask any questions at Les Dou- 
 leurs," replied Coryton. "He may be a Prince in 
 disguise, you know princes do come here in disguise 
 occasionally." 
 
 " I know nothing about princes," said Gussie, " I 
 never knew one I never got beyond a Duke. Hi I 
 say, Count where do you hail from ? " 
 
 The Count knew that he was being addressed, but 
 he didn't understand a word she was saying. So he 
 removed his eyes from Sally and looked over the top 
 of the trifle-dish at his interlocutor with a puzzled air. 
 
 " Pardon ? " he asked tentatively. 
 
 " Tell him, Sally," said Miss Gutter, repeating her 
 question. But Sally's knowledge of the German tongue 
 did not run so far. So it had to be deputed to 
 Wrigglesworth, one of Miss Prancewell's friends. 
 
 " He says that he comes from Spain, where he has 
 an ancient castle and huge estates vast forests of cork 
 trees, and acres of garlic," explained that worthy after 
 he had translated the question. 
 
 " Tell that to the Marines," cried Gussie derisively, 
 " I'm more than seven. Here ! Kellner waiter 
 whatever your name is, bring some more champagne 
 same as last. Let us drink to the Count and his 
 Castle in Spain. Tell the Count, Mr. Wriggles, what 
 it's all about." 
 
 There was a fresh outburst of merriment round the 
 table. When some people have advanced to a certain 
 stage it takes but little to amuse them. Tyrconnel, 
 sitting apart with respectability and the Archdea- 
 coness, felt very much out of it. Yet surely it was not 
 much to be " out of " this coarse revelry. 
 
 " Waiter," cried Gussie, " if you don't bring that fiz 
 sharp, I'll say something that'll make your ears tingle. 
 That's right, now fill up all of you. No heeltaps! 
 Here's to our next merry meeting." 
 
 " I think," she said presently, " it's about time we 
 were moving to the next room. I hear them striking
 
 A CURE-HOUSE REVEL. 161 
 
 up again. But I'm tired of slidin' and glidin' to those 
 everlasting waltzes. It's time we had something more 
 lively I say they may be all right for these beer- 
 swilling Germans, but I want to skip about a little. 
 Say, Sally Pussy shall we do the pah de troy, eh ? " 
 
 But Miss Prancewell pleaded to be excused. She 
 was here for her health, she said. Miss Popkins, how- 
 ever, was game. 
 
 " Oh ! very well, we'll call it the pah de doo then ! " 
 continued Gussie, nothing daunted, " Sally and I will 
 be able to manage it. My won't the furriners stare. 
 Come, Sally, are you ready ? What are they playing 
 now, a waltz or a polka ? " 
 
 " I will go and see," said the astute Coryton, mind- 
 ful of the bill. If he ate his supper with these sort of 
 people, they must pay for the privilege. He wasn't 
 going to do so. 
 
 In the doorway he came across Tyrconnel and the 
 Archdeaconess and attached himself to them at once. 
 Even Gussie would not dare to pursue him here. The 
 sable skirts of the Archdeaconess were a sort of 
 danger-signal to young persons of her type. 
 
 " If you knew how I have been wanting to come to 
 you," murmured Coryton as they went back to the 
 ball-room " but it was so difficult to get away from 
 those dreadful people." 
 
 " Dreadful indeed, Mr. Coryton," said the Archdea- 
 coness severely, unfurling her fan. " I meant to have 
 warned you. I have heard all about them Goodness 
 gracious ! what are they going to do now ? " 
 
 Well might the Archdeaconess exclaim. Her virtu- 
 ous eyes had never seen such a sight before. Gussie 
 and Sally having kilted their skirts a little, started 
 forth on their celebrated " pah de doo " a dance chiefly 
 remarkable for a sort of prancing step and a liberal 
 display of ankle and frilling, something of the sort of 
 dance young ladies now endeavor to imitate in London 
 drawing-rooms before a select circle of bored acquaint- 
 ance. They call it "skirt-dancing" and fondly im- 
 agine that it is so. But it isn't, unless it be skirt- 
 dancing plus vulgarity and minus grace. 
 
 A waltz was being played when the two ladies first
 
 162 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 plunged into the throng, egged on by the plaudits of 
 Miss Prancewell and her companions. Round and round 
 the room they span, each round being wilder than 
 before. If their object was, as Miss Gutter had put it, 
 " to make the furriners stare," they certainly achieved 
 it. Necks were craned forward, lorgnettes elevated, and 
 exclamations of curiosity, wonder, surprise, amusement, 
 admiration and disgust the last chiefly from the 
 matrons of the Anglo-American colony were heard 
 on every side. The English Chaplain withdrew his 
 daughters from the scene, the Archdeaconess remon- 
 strated, but the Master of the Ceremonies was at sup- 
 per, and there was no one to interfere even if there 
 had been anything to interfere with. After all it was 
 only two young ladies enjoying themselves after their 
 own fashion. 
 
 " These English are so eccentric," said the Germans. 
 And then at Les Douleurs one is used to strange sights. 
 
 The waltzers, becoming gradually aware that some- 
 thing unusual was going on in their midst, paused one 
 by one, until at last Gussie and Sally were left in pos- 
 session of the field. Stimulated by the sensation they 
 were creating, possibly also by their libations of spark- 
 ling wine, they rose to the occasion and pranced more 
 than ever. Round and round, up and down, they flew, 
 flushed, panting, breathless, but undaunted. Sally 
 lost her shoe, but went on merrily just the same. Gus- 
 sie's hairpins came out and her hair tumbled down 
 her back like a Moenad's. At last the music closed 
 with a crash and they collapsed, exhausted, on a 
 friendly settee amid the enthusiastic plaudits of admir- 
 ing friends. 
 
 " Get me something to drink do, Count, if you love 
 me," gasped Sally. " My mouth's like a dust-bin well 
 that was a dance, Gussie." 
 
 "Yes," panted that young lady, "we have given 
 them something to talk about at last you bet. Lend 
 me some hair pins do, Pussie, my hair's all anyhow. 
 Luckily it's my own." 
 
 " You should spare us a lock in honor of the occa- 
 sion," put in Wrigglesworth. 
 
 " Oh ! you want a keepsake do you ? " exclaimed Gus-
 
 A COUNTRY HOUSE UP-TO-DATE. 163 
 
 sie. " Well, we can't part with our hair, can we, Sally ? 
 But," stripping a ribbon from her dress as she spoke 
 " we'll give you something else. Who wants one ? " 
 
 The last impression the Archdeaconess had as she 
 shook the dust off her feet and hurried from the room, 
 was the picture of two 'Bacchanalian young women re- 
 clining on a couch, and giving away shreds of ribbon 
 to the young men and old men too who crowded 
 around them. 
 
 " Never," she said, as she descended the stairs, " have 
 I seen such a sight in Les Douleurs before and never 
 I hope shall I see it again." 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A COUNTRY HOUSE UP-TO-DATB. 
 
 "Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn ? "BACON, King 
 Henry IV. Part I. 
 
 BLARNEY is built in a hollow, as all houses are that 
 date back beyond the modern craving for views. Yet 
 the prospect from the windows is by no means an un- 
 pleasant one. They look along a kind of valley, flanked 
 by wooded ridges, which are the boast of the whole 
 country-side. The previous owner, from stress of 
 poverty, had made sad gaps in the line of trees, and 
 this gave the ridges a somewhat toothless aspect. But 
 the rich coloring of the foliage, now in mid-autumn 
 with an occasional copperbeech standing out like a 
 dagger-wound in the side of the forest still retained 
 undeniable charms of its own. 
 
 Blarney has been associated in men's minds, ever 
 since Elizabethan days, with the name of Tyrconnel. 
 There was a Tyrconnel who was imprisoned for a 
 conspiracy in favor of Mary, Queen of Scots, and 
 lost sundry lands and manors, which were restored 
 to another Tyrconnel, who fought with Drake and
 
 164 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 covered himself with wounds and honors in the 
 process. There was a Tyrconnel who fought for King 
 Charles, " bidding the crop-headed parliament swing," 
 and nearly losing Blarney in the process. There was 
 a Tyrconnel at Sedgemoor and Killiecrankie, whose 
 prowess lost him Wilton for a time, until the " little 
 gentleman in black velvet " did his good work and 
 Anne Stuart gave back the stolen lands. There was a 
 Tyrconnel with the Chevalier de Saint George in 1715, 
 another at Fontenoy and another at Gladsmuir, and 
 one of them was created Lord Baltinglass of Blarney 
 by the Exile at Saint Germains. But they were 
 younger sons, and the head of the family, though he 
 came within the suspicions, was shrewd enough to 
 escape the molestation of the "wee, wee German 
 Lairdies." 
 
 Through all the troublous times of civil strife, when 
 loyalty was the most dangerous of disabilities, this 
 family of loyal gentlemen succeeded in maintaining, 
 and not merely maintaining but also increasing the es- 
 tate, through some erratic whim of Fortune. You may 
 trace the stages of their prosperity in the various addi- 
 tions and adornments which the house underwent three 
 or four times a century. They even survived the South 
 Sea Bubble and the rise of the Nabobs and the Revolu- 
 tion of 1832. 
 
 But the triumph of the Commercial System accom- 
 plished what neither foreign tyranny nor demolatry 
 nor Billy Pitt's taxation had been able to do. Rail- 
 roads took away their peace of mind, Free Trade took 
 away their income, and a succession of Reform Acts 
 deprived them of their status in the country. The 
 first steam whistle was the signal for the degeneracy 
 of their race ; the penny post and a cheap press relieved 
 them of any wish to be anything but degenerate; 
 laborers became members of parliament and the Tyr- 
 connels ceased to take any interest in anything that 
 might further happen to the country. 
 
 An ancient and glorious house, whose traditions of 
 stainless loyalty and honor remained almost their only 
 heritage, succumbed before the Spirit of the Age. For- 
 tune, love of country, desire for perpetuation died away
 
 A COUNTRY HOUSE UP-TO-DATE. 165 
 
 in the house of Tyrconnel ; and all its noble memories 
 centred in the person of one woman, a distant cousin 
 of the last heir of Blarney. 
 
 She was insignificant of stature and unprepossessing 
 of appearance, but her nose had the true Tyrconnel 
 arch and she possessed all the true Tyrconnel charm 
 of manner. She seemed to have resuscitated in her 
 character all the ambition of the race of soldiers from 
 which she sprang. But their pride and their prejudices 
 had not descended upon the heiress, and her ambition 
 prompted her to make submission to the Spirit of the 
 Age. She did so by marrying a millionaire soap-boiler, 
 named Simpson, and making him take her name as 
 well as her impoverished estates. So great was her 
 astuteness, that she actually succeeded in obtaining the 
 revival of the old title of Baltinglass of Blarney, before 
 she died of consumption a few years after giving birth 
 to Wilfrid Tyrconnel. 
 
 It was a triumph which did her head credit, if not 
 her heart, and Wilfrid, when he thought it over, ad- 
 mitted that Blarney might have passed to less worthy 
 hands. 
 
 The first impression of Blarney, as you approach it 
 through the park, is of size. It is a long, low, strag- 
 gling house of red brick, constantly added to at various 
 epochs in its three century existence, and presents 
 with its conservatories, its library and billiard-room, 
 each approached by long galleries, its stables, outhouses, 
 and observatory the appearance of a village rather 
 than a house. 
 
 This was what struck a wagonetteful of people 
 now on their way to Blarney as the guests for the 
 first time of Lord Baltinglass. They included Sir 
 Cincinnatus Spreadeagle, M.P., a professional politician 
 of alien origin, who had lately been rewarded for a 
 course of spread-eagle speeches in the provinces and 
 a golden silence in the House with a knighthood in- 
 stead of the baronetcy he had asked for ; Lady Giddy 
 and her brother, Colonel Lockhart ; Mr. Rupert Clifford 
 of the White Rose Society ; Miss Mudlark, a Canadian 
 girl, whose acquaintance Miss Tyrconnel had made in
 
 166 THE GREEN SAY TREE. 
 
 the reading-room of the Grosvenor Hotel ; her friend, 
 Miss Connecticut of New York ; and Mr. Alfred See- 
 maim, late M.P. for Penge. 
 
 The drive had been a rather merry one, Lady Giddy 
 making great fun of Sir Cincinnatus in a quiet way, 
 which led that orator to think he was being flirted 
 with and nearly sent everybody else into convulsions 
 of laughter ; the transatlantic young ladies giving 
 their impressions of English society with the approved 
 transatlantic freedom and forced originality ; and 
 Colonel Lockhart entertaining all who could be pre- 
 vailed upon to listen with startling stories of his prow- 
 ess with rod and gun. He had a trick, while describ- 
 ing his phenomenal shots, of putting up his arms in 
 the attitude of firing, which gave the stories a certain 
 dramatic point, but he showed signs of getting huffy 
 when, after a story that required more gesticulation 
 than usual, Seemann asked him quietly, " Did you ever 
 shoot with the long bow, old man ? " 
 
 As the house appeared in sight, they fell to discuss- 
 ing their host and the manner of hospitality that 
 awaited them. "I am told it is like staying at an 
 hotel," said Clifford, in his drawling voice. " No one 
 troubles to entertain you, but you can be tolerably com- 
 fortable if you bribe and bully the servants sufficiently." 
 
 " That's what 1 like," said Seemann, beaming through 
 his spectacles. " My ideal host is a vulgar beast, who 
 slaps you on the shoulders and tells you his house is 
 'Liberty All.' Nothing is so disagreeable as having 
 your day mapped out for you by some one who does 
 not understand your habits." 
 
 " Well, so long as one doesn't stay here a Sunday, I 
 imagine it's all right," said Lady Giddy. " You know 
 Miss Tyrconnel is a Presbyterian or a Shaker or some 
 such thing, and she turns the house into a sort of quar- 
 antine, to fumigate one's sins of the week, I suppose. 
 Poor Maria Miles spent a Sunday here once upon a 
 time and can tell you blood-curdling tales about it. 
 Cold meals ! Three times to church ! No amusements 
 of any sort or kind, not even a walk in the garden, and 
 family prayers at night with readings from Evangelical 
 divines, you know the kind of thing I mean."
 
 A COUNTRY HOUSE UP-TO-DATE. 167 
 
 I am thankful to say I don't," said Sir Cincinnatus 
 Spreadeagle, ogling Lady Giddy with a bilious eye. 
 
 " What ! Not when you stay with Lady Cocka- 
 doodledoo ? " L,ady Giddy asked sarcastically. 
 
 " I never do," he replied sulkily. 
 
 "I guess I'd hate that, wouldn't you, Kit?" said 
 Miss Connecticut to Miss Mudlark. " We'd have to go 
 upstairs with yellow-backs and cigarettes." 
 
 Miss Mudlark put her thumb in her mouth and 
 simpered in a silly way, which she imagined to be sug- 
 gestive of youth and innocence. 
 
 " Miss Simpson would soon rout you out if you did," 
 said Lady Giddy in the abrupt manner she always as- 
 sumed towards her own sex. 
 
 " My dear Gerty," whispered Colonel Lockhart, as 
 they now drove up to the front door, " you really must 
 be careful not to call the old woman Simpson. She 
 changed her name to Tyrconnel when her brother got 
 his peerage arid is frightfully touchy about it." 
 
 " Oh ! But I am a privileged person about names. 
 Why, even Mr. Seemann forgives me when I pronounce 
 his in the English way," she added laughing, as they 
 entered the house, " instead of ' Zay-man,' which he 
 clings to for some unknown reason." 
 
 They found Miss Tyrconnel alone in the drawing- 
 room, sitting upright in a hard-backed chair with a 
 large family Bible open upon her knees at the second 
 epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians. As the 
 guests came in, she took off her gold spectacles and 
 wiped them very deliberately ; placed a big red book- 
 marker, with " Their worm dieth not " elaborately em- 
 broidered upon it, between the pages where she had 
 just left off reading ; and laid the volume reverently 
 on a music-stool beside 'her, so that the words " Holy 
 Bible" might be conspicuously visible to every one. 
 
 By this time the whole party had come into the 
 room and was standing grouped around the hostess, 
 waiting until the termination of these devotions al- 
 lowed her to greet them. This at length she did, in a 
 stiff way intended to convey an impression both of 
 piety and dignity. 
 
 " Will you be seated ? " she asked condescendingly.
 
 168 THE GREEN SAY TREE. 
 
 " Oh, not there, I pray you,' 1 she added hastily, as Sir 
 Cincinnatus Spreadeagle was settling his portly person 
 upon the music stool and its precious burden. 
 
 "All right, thanks," replied the .culprit heartily, 
 " I'll move this book, if you'll allow me," and he pro- 
 ceeded to place it carelessly on the top of a pile of 
 light operatic music, with which Violet Tresillian had 
 been beguiling the morning hours. 
 
 Miss Tyrconnel frowned, rose slowly, took up the 
 Bible in an ostentatious manner, the corners of her 
 mouth drooping austerely as she did so, and stowed it 
 away in a large ormolu cupboard near the door. Mean- 
 while Sir Cincinnatus, rather red in the face, was try- 
 ing to pass off the incident by winking at Lady Giddy, 
 but she, enjoying his embarrassment, looked at him 
 as if he had been guilty of some very grave solecism 
 and the others took their cue from her. 
 
 "You have put your foot in it this time," Seemann 
 whispered in his ear. " I shouldn't wonder if she told 
 you to leave the house to-morrow morning." 
 
 Now it would not at all have suited Sir Cincinnatus' 
 arrangements to leave the house next morning and 
 his jaw fell at the suggestion. But Miss Tyrconnel 
 showed no trace of resentment and was returning to 
 her seat with all the airs and graces of a martyr about 
 to offer the other cheek to the smiter. She sat down 
 again angularly, like a soldier shouldering arms, arid 
 then, folding her hands religiously in her lap, said, " I 
 daresay you would like some tea." 
 
 Everybody's face brightened, for it was a quarter 
 past four and it had been necessary to lunch very early. 
 The faces soon fell again, however, as she added, " Our 
 tea-time is five o'clock," as if it were a feast immutable 
 according to the law of the Medes and Persians. 
 
 There was a solemn, hungry pause, during which 
 Miss Mudlark vainly tried to put up Miss Connecticut 
 to ask for whiskies and sodas. Then Miss Tyrconnel 
 said to the ladies, "Perhaps you would like to see your 
 rooms," and ushered them out of the door. 
 
 "This is cheerful," said Sir Cincinnatus gloomily. 
 " I think I shall go and see if I haven't got a flask and 
 some biscuits in my dressing-bag."
 
 A COUNTRY HOUSE UP-TO-DATE. 169 
 
 Just then the sound of much laughter fell agreeably 
 on their jaded ears and there burst in from the con- 
 servatory Violet Tresillian, Pimlico, Gaverigan, Cory- 
 ton, Williams and Wilmot, all in the highest spirits 
 after the tedium of a game of golf. The son of the 
 house had gone to the station to meet Mrs. Miles and 
 Gwendolen, who were arriving that afternoon by a 
 later train. 
 
 " What are you fellows looking so gloomy about ? " 
 asked Gaverigan, after greetings had been exchanged. 
 
 "We're ravenously hungry and thirsty and we've 
 just been told we can't have anything for three quar- 
 ters of an hour," said Sir Cincinnatus dolefully. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! That's easily remedied," laughed Gave- 
 rigan, ringing the bell. " You don't know the ways 
 of the house yet. Miss Tyrconnel's a very worthy 
 woman, but no one takes very much notice of her here. 
 She is hostess only by courtesy title. Give it a name, 
 that's all. George " (this to the footman), " take some- 
 thing to drink into the hall." 
 
 " I didn't know you were to be our host, Harold," 
 said Colonel Lockhart, laughing at the coolness of the 
 order. 
 
 " Gaverigan's a host in himself," said Seemann, 
 whose spirits were rapidly reviving at the prospect of 
 refreshment. 
 
 " Well, really, Mr. Clifford," said Miss Connecticut, 
 who had just slipped back from being shown her room, 
 " I guessed you were just joking when you said it was 
 like staying at an hotel here, but I found my room 
 numbered just like the Metropole, and a notice stuck 
 up over my bed saying that 'All luggage must be 
 ready fifteen minutes before the departure of the train ' 
 and another to say ' No reading in bed.' And this 
 looks like it too, calling for drinks all round on your 
 own hook. Do you all do that, or is it just one of Mr. 
 Gaverigan's bluffs ? " 
 
 " We all do it when we have a mind to," said 
 Coryton in confidential tones, as if imparting a cabinet 
 secret ; " for my part, I infinitely prefer it to a hotel. 
 You get better attendance and more comforts, with the 
 additional advantage that you have no reckoning to
 
 170 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 pay when you leave. I saw an advertisement the other 
 day of a place at the seaside that called itself ' A Home 
 away from home,' and it struck me that was a good 
 name for this one. You have all the advantage of 
 being away from home as well as that of being able to 
 make yourself entirely at home. I think I shall sug- 
 gest to Lord Baltinglass that lie should advertise the 
 place under that name." 
 
 "I quite agree with you," said Gaverigan joining in 
 rather superciliously. " I can't make out why every- 
 body doesn't come and stay here. I hate country- 
 houses as a rule because you are expected either to 
 amuse people or be amused yourself, and I don't 
 know which is the worse." 
 
 Further comment was cut short by a migration to 
 the hall, where there was a simultaneous entrance of 
 refreshments by one door and of Lord Baltinglass with 
 Lord Southwark by the other. The host, although of 
 the lowest origin and having no pretentious to breeding, 
 had yet brushed sufficiently with society to pick up 
 something of the off-hand manners, which are supposed 
 to denote smartness but really only connote imperti- 
 nence. So he only greeted the new arrivals with a 
 toss of the head and a careless shake of the hand and 
 led his companion to a little inner room, furnished in 
 the Turkish fashion, with luxurious divans and glitter- 
 ing embroidered cushions, where the very atmosphere 
 seemed suggestive of Oriential intrigues and privy 
 conspiracy. 
 
 " Which is our host ? " whispered Miss Connecticut 
 in Miss Mudlark's ear as they passed. " The little 
 sleek man, I guess, with the bone studs and cardboard 
 tie. If I hadn't known he was a real lord, I'd have 
 told him to bring me some ice- water." 
 
 "Hush ! that's the Marquis of Southwark, a Cabinet 
 Minister, with a pedigree that reaches back to the 
 ancient Britons. You know they used to stain their 
 bodies with woad ; that's the reason his blood's so blue. 
 The fat man, with the silky beard and the nose like a 
 yam, is Baltinglass, the Soap-King. But I say, here's 
 drinks at last. Come along and see a man."
 
 THE CONSERVATORY. 171 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 IX THE CONSERVATORY. 
 
 Marriage is like a beleaguered fortress : those who are outside 
 wish to enter, while those who are inside want to get out. ARAB 
 PROVERB. 
 
 THE hall was the favorite resort at Blarney. It 
 was a sort of tea-room, smoking-room, cloak-room, 
 boudoir and general lounge all in one, and visitors 
 were agreed that it was far and away the most com- 
 fortable room in the house. It was over-furnished, 
 of course ; every room was over-furnished there. But 
 the furniture aimed a little more at comfort than it did 
 in the other rooms, though it was still comfort tem- 
 pered by display. There were too many coats of mail 
 on the walls, and the best and softest seat near the 
 great open fireplace exposed you to banging. your 
 head against a hallebarde if you did not sit down 
 with circumspection. Even then you did not escape 
 from the all-pervading coronets, which, indeed, it was 
 impossible to escape from anywhere at Blarney. 
 There were coronets in bas-relief on the chairs, 
 coronets embroidered on the cushions, coronets in 
 haut-relief on the carved chimney, coronets on the 
 fire-screen, even a coronet in the pattern of the Ori- 
 ental rugs and coronets among the shadows cast by the 
 fire-logs. 
 
 " Our host is, at any rate, determined," said Clifford 
 contemptuously, " that we shall not forget the respect 
 due to his title. I wonder he doesn't wear his coronet 
 at dinner, as English peers are generally supposed to 
 do by the American colonists." 
 
 You did not escape from the coronets, but they were 
 less irritating when you had a comfortable chair and
 
 172 THE GREEN BAY TREE, 
 
 could close your eyes to them than they were, say, in 
 the drawing-room, among the gilt spindle-legged chairs 
 and the ormolu cabinets. 
 
 If Blarney was a village, this was the village club. 
 Everybody came here when he was in a gossiping 
 mood or wanted refreshments ; letters and newspapers 
 were always exposed here ; conspiracies hatched ; 
 characters dissected ; the opposite sex discussed and 
 travestied ; and both sexes married and given in mar- 
 riage by kind observers in the most grotesque and 
 unsuitable manner imaginable. 
 
 While the corks were popping in the hall, the two 
 peers were deep in discussion about the apportionment 
 of certain " safe seats," over which their control was 
 in reality not quite so complete as they imagined. 
 
 "I suppose you'll want the Bantam Division of 
 Hodgeshire for that boy of yours, Baltinglass," said 
 Lord Southwark, lighting a cigarette, and leaning the 
 back of his head against the chimney-piece. " Well, I 
 make no objection, but I shall count on your support 
 in West Southwark for some plans of my own. If 
 we are to do anything in either of those places, we 
 must agree to pull together." 
 
 " Quite so," returned the other, who had not changed 
 his manner of speech since he boiled soap, "but I'd like 
 to 'ear what your plans are." 
 
 "Lord Pimlico is to have the seat eventually, as 
 you are doubtless aware," began Lord Southwark 
 stiffly. " Eventually," he repeated, as the other gave 
 a contemptuous grunt. " I am quite aware that he is 
 not ready to enter Parliament yet. I see nothing to 
 smile at in what I am saying. He does not himself 
 wish it. But in a few years, when he has sown his 
 wild oats, he will do it to please me. The thing is 
 expected, and I shall make a point of it with him." 
 
 "And in the meantime?" 
 
 " In the meantime, I must find some warming-pan 
 or other. Wrigglesworth is positive that since Mr. 
 Loose-Fyshe put pepper into a cream-tart, the Pharisees 
 of Southwark won't support him and, unless he retires 
 (which he refuses to do) it will simply be a walk over 
 for the Conservative nominee. If I had a good private
 
 IN THE CONSERVATORY. 173 
 
 secretary, whom I could trust, he should have the 
 seat for the next three or four years. But I am in 
 despair about private secretaries. They are all either 
 sharps or flats and I am rapidly coming to the con- 
 clusion that one has less trouble in the long run by 
 being one's own private secretary." 
 
 "lean recommend you a capital fellow. He's a most 
 high-principled young man and as clever as they make 
 'em. A son of 'that old fox, Spencer Coryton, who 
 was Judge-Advocate-General in one of Disraeli's 
 administrations." 
 
 "I remember him, one of those professional minis- 
 ters who have done so much to degrade political life. 
 A useful varlet, but not to be trusted round the corner." 
 
 " Well, you can trust the boy. He's as good as gold. 
 I don't mind admitting to you that I am under some 
 obligations to him and I'd go a good bit out of my 
 way to do him a good turn. If you'd make him your 
 secretary and put him in for West Southwark, you'd 
 not regret it, I'll warrant ye." 
 
 " I will think your suggestion over and speak with 
 you again upon it. I saw the youth once at Cambridge 
 and was favorably impressed. I suppose he would 
 not exact a heavy salary, eh ? I am not a believer in 
 over-paying people." 
 
 " He must have a certain income of his own, but 
 you'll find him well worth all you like to give him. 
 I'm not one that throws good money away, as you 
 may imagine, but whenever I've given him a check for 
 a hundred or so, I've found him fairly earn it." 
 
 Meanwhile, the subject of this dialogue was occupied 
 with very different considerations. Coryton and 
 Violet were in the billiard-room, organizing a kind of 
 extempore theatricals which Lady Giddy had proposed 
 and every one carried by acclamation. 
 
 " It's a sort of Dumb Crambo, if you know what 
 that means," Violet was explaining to Miss Connecti- 
 cut, "only it isn't dumb. We invent our dialogues as 
 we go along. First, we choose a word. Then we 
 choose words beginning with each of its letters and 
 act them one after the other. Then we act the word 
 itself, and the audience has to guess it,"
 
 174 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 " I always find in these sort of entertainments, the 
 great difficulty is to get an audience," said Mr. See- 
 mann garrulously. " People are ready to take any 
 part you like to oft'er them, except that one. That's 
 where I come in. I ask nothing better than to be 
 allowed to play audience." 
 
 " Yes, you'll do very well," Violet rattled on. " Now 
 are you quite sure you all understand?" 
 
 " No, I am afraid it's a little beyond me," put in 
 Miss Mudlark, who felt she had not received sufficient 
 attention during the last ten minutes. 
 
 " You tiresome child. I'll take a word as an example. 
 Suppose we say Noah." 
 
 " Let me see. He was the man that found Joseph 
 among the bulrushes, wasn't he ? " 
 
 " See here, Kit, you just be careful," said Miss Con- 
 necticut, shaking a warning finger at her friend. " If 
 Miss Tyrconnel heard you, she'd pretty well pull the 
 house down about your ears." 
 
 " Do you never play with Noah's Arks in the wilds 
 of Canada ? " asked Violet contemptuously. " Now 
 let me see. N, O, A, H. N. might be Nebuchadnezzar 
 eating grass. That's rather an effective scene. We 
 had it at Caradoc Castle last year. O. might be Titus 
 Gates in the pillory ; A. Anthony and Cleopatra, 
 with Miss Haviland as Cleopatra," she added mischiev- 
 ously. " Then H. Henry the Eighth, Pirn is ad- 
 mirably cut out for that part. Last of all, the word 
 itself, Noah, with animals and rainbows and all that 
 kind of game." 
 
 "And here's the very man to play the leading 
 part," exclaimed Lady Giddy, clapping her hands, as 
 Sir Cincinnatus Spreadeagle entered the room. " Don't 
 you think he'd make an admirable Noah after dinner 
 with a bottle of port under each arm and two more 
 inside him ? " 
 
 Further consultations were interrupted by the dress- 
 ing-bell, and in five minutes everybody had gone up- 
 stairs. Violet and Coryton were the last to leave. 
 Just as she was skipping off after the little Yankee, 
 he put his hand on her arm and said with unusual 
 tenderness, " Vixie, please arrange for us to have a.
 
 IN THE CONSERVATORY. 175 
 
 quiet chat before we leave Blarney. I have got no end 
 to say to you and it's so hard to get a moment alone 
 with you in this rabble." 
 
 Violet looked up at him quickly with a half grateful 
 expression in her eyes. 
 
 "All right," she said, checking the sentimental 
 mood which had begun to steal over her, " we'll get 
 Gwen to sing after dinner, and then slink out and 
 spoon in the conservatory. D'you know, Poley, old 
 boy, I like you better than any of them. I wish you 
 had ten thousand a year. 'Pon my word I do." 
 
 " As long as we have enough for our modest wants," 
 he returned half ironically, " why sigh for more ? " 
 
 " Yes, but our wants ain't modest, that's what plays 
 the deuce with us," she laughed. 
 
 " I don't know. A little box of a house in Mayfair, 
 a good cook, a smart brougham and a long-suffering 
 set of tradesmen. We could do that on two or three 
 thousand a year." 
 
 Violet's face lighted up. Well, if he had got that, 
 it might really be worth while. They would certainly 
 get on very well together, and Coryton was a man 
 who might easily " arrive " some day, as they say over 
 the water. Meanwhile, she hated having to dress in 
 a hurry and it was getting late. So she waved her 
 hand airily at him and flew up the broad stairs three 
 and four at a time. 
 
 When she came down, she was evidently well 
 satisfied with the prowess of her maid and peacocked 
 into the room with all the self-confidence engendered 
 by a perfectly fitting dress perfectly put on. It was 
 made of pale rose-pink crepe-de-Chine, picked up at 
 a sale at Liberty's. The skirt was very full and 
 fluffy, caught up here and there by bunches of pearls, 
 not ropes of pearls, like Disraeli's heroines, but 
 little strings of them, at three and eleven-pence the 
 yard. Her baby-bodice, perhaps cut a little too low, 
 was drawn in by a wide stay embroidered with pearls. 
 It was a triumph of art over impecuniosity and, 
 except to a very well initiated observer, conveyed an 
 impression of unstinted dressmakers. No one* would 
 have guessed that it was all the work of the little
 
 176 THE GREEN BAT TREE. 
 
 French dressmaker, whom she had pulled out of a 
 ticklish scrape at Trouville one summer and taken on 
 as her maid and devoted worshipper at twenty pounds 
 a year. 
 
 Violet's figure was now well-developed ; she had a 
 long wasp-like waist and, as she came smiling into 
 the room, Wilmot, who had met some of the Paris 
 painter-men and consequently liked to air his knowl- 
 edge of art, whispered in Williams' ear that she re- 
 minded him of a Van Beers' girl in a Christmas num- 
 ber. Williams, who had not been to Paris, would have 
 it that she was more like a creation of Sir Frederick 
 Leighton and pointed conclusively to the pink velvet 
 bands that restrained the wealth of golden hair, 
 apparently threatening to burst out as from a horn of 
 plenty. 
 
 Violet's hair was the best among her " points," as 
 Pirn and his cousin Theodora Gargoyle said when they 
 discussed her, and Julie, her maid, certainly knew how 
 to make the most of it, as she did of everything about 
 her mistress. 
 
 When Violet came into the drawing-room, she 
 found an unusual commotion going on. It was all' 
 owing to Miss Tyrconnel, who, by way of marking her 
 resentment at the number of strange guests invited to 
 the house, had announced that she hadn't the ghost of 
 an idea how she was to send them all in to dinner. 
 Lady Giddy precipitated herself upon the opportunity : 
 let Miss Tyrconnel leave everything to her and it 
 should all be done most admirably. Miss Tyrconnel 
 did not quite like the idea, but, like most self-made 
 people, she had a lurking sense of respect for her 
 social superiors, and besides, after her incautious 
 avowal, it was not easy to back out of the offer. So 
 Lady Giddy announced to all and sundry that, instead 
 of going in to dinner in the usual orthodox way, they 
 were to go in by lot. It was quite the latest chic, she 
 assured Lord Baltinglass, who seemed rather doubt- 
 ful about it. The Broadakers always did it when 
 they had a big house party and Prince Pumpenheim 
 had thought it very funny during his last visit to Eng- 
 land,
 
 IN THE CONSERVATORY. 177 
 
 This had silenced the host's last scruple and here 
 were two hats on the table full of little folded bits of 
 paper. One contained the names of various historical 
 or mythological male characters and the other those of 
 the corresponding female ones. All the men had to 
 draw from one hat and all the ladies from the other ; 
 then they found themselves more or less grotesquely 
 paired off. 
 
 Screams of laughter greeted the announcement of 
 each fresh draw, culminating in unending merriment 
 when Sir Cincirmatus Spreadeagle was drawn as 
 Romeo to Miss Tyrconnel's Juliet. Lord Baltinglass 
 smiled grimly when he found himself allotted the char- 
 acter of Adam to Mrs. de Courcy Miles' Eve, asking 
 to Miss Tyrconnel's grave concern, whether the part 
 was to be played in costume. Every one agreed that 
 Mr. Rupert Clifford and Lady Elizabeth Gargoyle, a 
 stout lady with Titian-like hair, were hardly used in 
 being sent in as Jumbo and Alice, for their worst ene- 
 mies could not accuse them of excessive embonpoint; 
 but Coryton and Violet as Faust and Marguerite met 
 with general approval, as did Wilfrid Tyrconnel and 
 Gwendolen Haviland in the role of Darby and Joan. 
 Miss Mauresk and Colonel Lockhart were Venus and 
 Adonis, the latter a somewhat juvenile part for the 
 superannuated beau. Sir Edward Tresillian thought 
 the game rather funny until he drew Punch to Miss 
 Connecticut's Judy. Mr. Seemann was no less ridicu- 
 lous, though he thought himself more fortunate, as 
 Anthony with Miss Mudlark for an incongruous Cleo- 
 patra. Fimlico and Miss Theodora Gargoyle were the 
 Bulbul and the Rose ; Cupid and Psyche were repre- 
 sented : Cupid by a little shrivelled up old man in a 
 fez, who turned out to be the Turkish ambassador, and 
 Psyche by the " Archdeaconess," who had been asked 
 by Miss Tyrconnel as a return for her kindness to 
 Wilfrid at Les Douleurs ; Gaverigan and Lady Giddy 
 were Fox and Goose; Lord Southwark and Lady 
 Vieille were the Mouse and the Lion, or Lion-hunter, 
 as Lady Giddy said it ought to be. Owing to a dearth 
 of ladies there were two extra men's tickets, which ap- 
 12
 
 178 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 propriately enough, sent in Williams and Wilmot as 
 David and Jonathan. 
 
 When the various characters at last made their way 
 into the dining-room, they found cards on the plates 
 with their new names ; Jumbo and Joan were next 
 each other, while the Fox was in dangerous proximity 
 to the Bulbul. Adam and Eve were subjected to great 
 chaff when apple-tart came round. Altogether the 
 pastime afforded an agreeable diversion, but Miss Tyr- 
 connel registered a mental vow that she would never 
 tolerate such foolery again, and when, later on, Lady 
 Giddy proposed a game of hide-and-seek in the garden 
 by moonlight, she entered an abrupt and disconcerting 
 negative. 
 
 Coryton and Violet were, however, able to arrange 
 a small variation of that game for themselves after 
 dinner on a cosy settee behind a big palm in the con- 
 servatory. 
 
 " Well, Poley, my charming Faust-up-to-date, what 
 have you to tell your Marguerite ? " she asked play- 
 fully, when they were settled. 
 
 " Something she knows very well already," he replied 
 taking up her chubby little hand in his and looking 
 intently at it, half sentimentally, half wonderingly. 
 
 " Yes, but is it prudent ? " she said thoughtfully, 
 looking out into the moonbeams, which danced in the 
 splashing fountain just outside. " We are very good 
 friends and should probably remain so. That is the 
 best safeguard for a happy marriage. It can give 
 melodramatic love a stone and a beating, as Theodora 
 would say. But couldn't we both do a great deal 
 better for ourselves elswhere ? Wouldn't it be crim- 
 inally idiotic not to marry for tin ? " 
 
 " No. That is the mistake made by what are called 
 'fly jugginses.' The world is not divided into two 
 broad divisions, sharpers and jays. There are all sorts 
 of gradations between them. Perhaps the commonest 
 is the juggins by nature, who has been sufficiently, 
 emancipated to fancy himself ' fly.' The ' fly juggins ' 
 is a far commoner type than people suppose. The 
 three-card-trick is directed solely against him. He is 
 shown the corner turned down and fancies he is going
 
 IN THE ONSEEVATOEY. 179 
 
 to cheat the three- card-trick man, with the result that 
 he only gets cheated himself. Astuteness is all very 
 well, but it is not elastic beyond a certain point and 
 may be overdone." 
 
 " Yes, I remember hearing about your brush with 
 sharpers on the way to Newmarket, but I don't think 
 you came second best out of that encounter. However, 
 come back to your muttons, meaning me." 
 
 " I was only going to say, that people who marry 
 for money only, are 'fly jugginses,' who overreach 
 themselves. After all we should be comfortably off, 
 as I was saying before dinner, and I don't see what 
 more we should need. You've got money, or will have, 
 and I have a certain amount. We shan't starve or be 
 restricted to three-course dinners or driven to live in 
 a flat at Putney ! " 
 
 " No, I am sure we should have a very good time as 
 long as things went smoothly. But what do you pro- 
 pose? Not that we should place ourselves in the 
 ridiculous position of telling the world we are en- 
 gaged?" 
 
 " Would that be so very ridiculous ? " asked Coryton 
 rather hurt. 
 
 " I don't suppose we should be ridiculous. But 
 most people are when they're engaged. I almost 
 think I should feel shy, though I never have yet. If we 
 are to be engaged, let's only announce it about a day 
 before the wedding." 
 
 " Then we'd get no presents." 
 
 " Well, a week." 
 
 " All right. But between ourselves it's an engage- 
 ment all the same, isn't it, Vixie ? Just give me one 
 little kiss to seal the bargain." 
 
 Violet gave a slight blush, an unheard-of thing for 
 her. She had kissed many young men before now 
 among her acquaintances, but somehow this seemed 
 different. However, after a slight show of hesitation, 
 she put up her cherry lips, with her eyes sparkling in 
 quite an unnatural way, and there was a sort of trem- 
 ble in her eyelashes as she looked up at him. 
 
 Just at this psychological moment, however, the 
 spell was rudely broken by the appearance of Mrs. de
 
 180 THE GEE EN BAY TREE. 
 
 Courcy Miles, who had heard many inquiries for 
 Violet to play the game they arranged before dinner, 
 and had good-naturedly volunteered to find her. 
 Violet, for once taken off her guard, answered her 
 rudely, with some display of impatience. 
 
 "Can't you see that I'm busy?" she remonstrated. 
 " Why can't you mind your own concerns and leave 
 me alone, instead of bursting in like a hurricane just 
 when I was cosy and amused ? You quite startled me." 
 
 " So I perceive," said Mrs. Miles drily, as she turned 
 upon her heel. 
 
 When she was gone, the spirit of their dream was 
 altered and neither proposed to recommence the inter- 
 rupted kiss. They said nothing for a while, but sat 
 staring moodily at the tips of their toes. At last Violet 
 said in a constrained way, " Let's go to the drawing- 
 room," and they stepped blinkingly into the over-lighted 
 house. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE MELTING OF THE ICE-MAIDEN. 
 
 Hide, O, hide those hills of snow, 
 
 Which thy frozen bosom bears, 
 On whose tops the pinks that grow 
 
 Are of those that April wears ! 
 But first set my poor heart free, 
 Bound in those icy chains by thee. 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 Virtue, like an iceberg, chills most when it thaws. PICHEGKU. 
 
 GWENDOLEN now met Wilfrid for the first time since 
 his abrupt departure from Cambridge seven months 
 before. She had made a great show of reluctance about 
 accepting Lord Baltinglass's invitation to Blarney, 
 much to Mrs. de Courcy Miles's amazement and dis- 
 gust. But in her heart of hearts the girl knew that she 
 would yield. She had not known how dear Tyrconnel
 
 THE MELTING OF THE ICE-MAIDEN. 181 
 
 was to her until they were parted, apparently for- 
 ever. 
 
 She had the bump of veneration very strongly de- 
 veloped, and numbered respect for the powers that be, 
 such as college authorities, among the highest duties. 
 Like all those who have not yet tasted the fruit of the 
 tree of good and evil, she was utterly intolerant of the 
 smallest wandering from the path of duty and would 
 admit no distinction between the most heinous moral 
 offences and the most trivial peccadilloes. One of her 
 favorite phrases was, that that there are no such things 
 as little sins. 
 
 There was also a certain amount of injured pride in 
 her resentment against Wilfrid Tyrconnel. She had 
 not exactly mapped out for herself the role of the 
 beautiful saint marrying and reclaiming the dissolute 
 rake, but her schemes were leavened by some such idea. 
 He was weak, but well meaning ; she was a Christian 
 woman. Was he not to be snatched as a brand from 
 the burning and by her intervention ? Was she not to 
 be the humble instrument of rescuing him for the 
 church of Christ and guarding his goings so that his 
 footsteps slipped not ? She had been so happy in that 
 thought, so proud of her first success as an evangelist, 
 and at the very first trial all her hopes, all her calcu- 
 lations, all her triumphs had come to an abrupt end like 
 a child's house of cards. 
 
 In her moments of austerest self-communing, she at- 
 tributed the failure to her pride and thanked Heaven 
 for the timely lesson. But even then she was still 
 woman enough to feel that the fault of her failure was 
 Tyrconnel's and to cherish a grievance against him for 
 her disappointment. He had been in such a hurry to 
 forsake the narrow path, almost before the vows were 
 silent upon his lips. How little in earnest he must 
 have been, how idle must have been his promises of 
 amendment, his dedication of himself to the service of 
 God ! And if so, how idle too perhaps his passionate 
 protestations of love for her. She had said she would 
 trust him and he had been so hasty to prove to her 
 that he was utterly untrustworthy. All this and more 
 she had written in her precise style to him while he
 
 182 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 was at Les Douleurs. Pages and pages of remonstrance 
 and reflection and lamentation on that horrid " foreign " 
 writing-paper, where all the ink shows through. 
 
 "Good Heavens !" Tyrconnel had thought to him- 
 self, in the intervals between his moods of infatuation 
 and penitence, " if she makes such an outcry over my 
 being sent down from Cambridge for keeping late 
 hours, what would she not say if she knew of my 
 short-lived intrigue with Sally Popkins or even of my 
 passion for gambling ? " 
 
 He reflected bitterly that it was always so with 
 religious people : the gospel of forgiveness was a favor- 
 ite theory with them, but most uncongenial in prac- 
 tice. 
 
 Gwendolen only required a certain amount of pressing 
 to take her to Blarney. Coryton had told Wilfrid at 
 Les Douleurs that Mrs. de Courcy Miles might be 
 trusted to see to that, but Mrs. de Courcy Miles, with 
 all her boasted social astuteness, was painfully desti- 
 tute of tact in dealing with such a girl as Gwendolen 
 and her dogmatic methods of argument had often had 
 the effect of confirming the girl in her rebellions. It 
 was perhaps the strongest proof of Gwendolen's real 
 wish to come to Blarney, that she consented to do so 
 in spite of her aunt's ill-judged nagging. 
 
 Anyhow, here was Gwendolen at Blarney after all.' 
 It was not until she was actually 011 her way there 
 that she fully realized what a concession she was mak- 
 ing. By all rights, he should have come to her and 
 abased himself before her, like the prodigal that he 
 was, and implored her to be graciously pleased to accord 
 her forgiveness. And that forgiveness she would not 
 have required very, very long persuasion to induce her 
 to concede. Her pride rebelled again at the idea of 
 coming thus to his house, as his guest, in obedience to 
 his command, at the very first beck. And yet there 
 remained in her a sufficiency of sex to make her heart 
 confess that, in spite of all, she was glad to have con- 
 sented. Do what she would, her heart leaped joyously 
 within her at the prospect of seeing " her boy " once 
 more. 
 
 Their first meeting was somewhat constrained, for
 
 THE MELTING OF THE ICE-MAIDEN. 183 
 
 he had missed her at the station after all and, as a 
 number of people were present, it was impossible to 
 make much display of emotion. 
 
 " I hear you have become quite a traveller, Wilfrid," 
 Mrs. de Courcy Miles exclaimed with a show of 
 heartiness. " Gwen and I have been looking forward 
 so much to getting you to give us all your experiences. 
 Can't say the German waters have agreed with you, 
 though," she added, imagining she was displaying a 
 tender solicitude. " You'll have to take to cub-hunt- 
 ing or something to get you back your color." 
 
 " How d'you do, Wilfrid ?" 
 
 " Why, Gwen ! " 
 
 That was all, but their eyes lighted up as they shook 
 hands, and Lady Giddy whispered to Violet that she 
 believed there must be something in it after all. 
 
 Violet smiled. " Poor old Pigeon," was all she said. 
 
 During dinner the conversation had been boisterous 
 and general. Tyrconnel tried to engage Gwendolen 
 upon such a safe topic as a recent discovery of pottery 
 in the neighborhood, but she answered in a way that, 
 without actually conveying a snub, made it almost im- 
 possible to follow up the subject. Moreover, she seemed 
 to prefer to discuss Jacobitism with her other neigh- 
 bor, Rupert Clifford, and to enter upon a dogmatic 
 eulogy of Hampden, which sadly disconcerted that 
 very polite gentleman. 
 
 It was not until some time after dinner, just when 
 that little scene was being enacted between Coryton 
 and Violet in the conservatory, that she found the 
 opportunity she had been seeking of having private 
 speech with Wilfrid in one of the many nooks for 
 which Blarney was famous. 
 
 " You may have thought me rude," she said, settling 
 herself in a window seat of the library and making 
 room for him by her side, " but I couldn't ' make 
 talk ' with you at dinner on all sorts of trivial sub- 
 jects, when my heart was full and sad." 
 
 " Sad ! Gwendolen," he whispered reproachfully ; 
 " I hoped that you were happy to see me again, after 
 all these ages. I thought you would be content to let 
 bygones be bygones."
 
 184 THE GREEN SAY TREE. 
 
 " Ah ! Wilfrid, bygones never can be completely 
 bygones. One may forgive, but one cannot so easily 
 forget. The wounds of the heart are far more serious 
 and slow to heal than those of the body. I am of 
 a different temperament to you. I believe you suffer 
 acutely and then shake your suffering off, never to 
 think of it again. That I cannot do. What I have 
 suffered all these months you can never know. If I live 
 to be a hundred, I shall never forget the shame of it all." 
 
 " The shame ! " 
 
 " Yes, the shame. We were to be all in all to 
 each other, to fight the good fight side by side. 
 You had promised me to turn over a new leaf, yet 
 scarcely were you out of my sight than I heard of 
 your backsliding. Some dreadful orgy far into the 
 night, bringing you into conflict with the authorities 
 and compelling them to expel you from the University. 
 The details of that affair I have never sought to know. 
 The shame of it was enough for me. As we then 
 stood to one another, your shame was my shame." 
 
 " Don't be too hard upon me for the folly of an un- 
 guarded hour." 
 
 " Do not talk to me of an ' unguarded hour.' I 
 have no patience with such nonsense. You forget 
 the pain to me of having so misplaced my confidence. 
 I thought I could trust you, Wilfrid. It was hard, 
 very, very hard, to find how unworthy you were of 
 being loved." 
 
 " Oh ! Gwen," was all he could say, in a low, choked 
 voice. 
 
 " Yes, Wilfrid," she replied, looking him full in the 
 face with her big, mournful guardian angel's eyes. 
 "It has been a sad, sad time. It hurts me even now 
 to think of it. I am ready to believe that all this has 
 been a lesson to you, I will try to believe that you are 
 going to turn over a new leaf. But the old trust is 
 (lead and cannot be brought back to life and, with- 
 out that trust, there can be no such thing as perfect 
 love. Until you have given practical proof of your 
 repentance, how can you expect me to believe in you? 
 It is heart-breaking to me to have to speak to you like 
 this, but what else can I say ? "
 
 THE MELTING OF THE ICE-MAIDEN. 185 
 
 " Say that you forgive me." 
 
 "It is not of me that you must ask forgiveness. 
 There is only One who can forgive sins." 
 
 And she turned up the whites of her big eyes. 
 
 " Give me a chance, Gwen," he pleaded humbly. 
 " I have had a lesson which has made an altered man 
 of me. Let us forget all about it." 
 
 " That can scarcely be." 
 
 And she pressed her beautiful lips austerely together. 
 
 " But you do not throw me over entirely. It is not 
 all at an end between us. Only tell me there is still 
 hope for me." 
 
 " There is always hope. Hope remains long after all 
 else is lost." 
 
 " You will marry me some day, if if you find that 
 you can believe in me again," he pleaded with gather- 
 ing joy, as he read the light of love beaming on him 
 from her bright eyes. 
 
 " That is for the future to decide," she replied in 
 softer tones than she had yet used. 
 
 The hum of the guests in the drawing-room 
 sounded very far off. There was a solemn hush in 
 the lofty room with its wilderness of books ; only the 
 wood-fire crackled cheerfully in the big old-fashioned 
 grate and set bogie-like shadows dancing in the 
 corners of the room. The two reading-lamps, with 
 their scarlet shades, gave out a dim rosiness, which 
 transfigured as limelight transfigures the calm, 
 holy expression of the ice-maiden. It was the very 
 scene, with all appropriate surroundings, for a declara- 
 tion. Soft music was alone required to make it 
 theatrically complete. The sensation of this came over 
 them both suddenly and they looked into each other's 
 eyes with all the old tenderness. A blush spread 
 over Gwendolen's face, giving it another and a deeper 
 coating of color to that which she owed to the 
 scarlet lamp shades. His hand stole into hers and 
 she made an instinctive movement as if to withdraw 
 it, then changed her mind and let it rest in his. 
 He bent down and reverently imprinted a kiss on her 
 long, white fingers. 
 
 "I love you, Wilfrid," she said with infinite ten-
 
 186 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 derness. " I love you very, very dearly. I only wish you 
 to be true to yourself. I pray night and morning, 
 and shall pray so long as I have breath, that you 
 may have grace to withstand temptation." 
 
 " Hullo, there you are," Lord Pimlico's hearty voice 
 broke startlingly upon their ears as they came out 
 into the corridor. " We've been looking for you 
 everywhere. They're getting up a game of cutlets. 
 Rippin' fun. Come along. The Archdeaconess began 
 the game on Sir Cincinnatus Spreadeagle's knees and 
 has been exacting the funniest forfeits from that 
 stupid little Seemann." 
 
 And he hurried on after his cousin, Theodora Gargoyle, 
 who had a little more sense of the fitness of things 
 than he and preferred not to wait Gwendolen's answer. 
 
 " Yes, come along," said Violet, who had come up 
 just then, on her way from the conservatory with 
 Coryton. " We needn't join in Pirn's mad games and 
 one can always talk best in a rowdy crowd." 
 
 "Have you just come into a fortune, Pidge, old 
 chap ? " asked Coryton with a cold malevolent gleam 
 in his eyes that belied the geniality of his words. 
 He took TyrconnePs arm and they fell into line behind 
 the girls, who were turning their steps towards the 
 drawing-room . 
 
 "Fortune seems at last to be turning her nose 
 my way," replied Tyrconnel, blushing violently. " I 
 mustn't say too much. But, but I was sure that 
 you would be glad to know that you would like to 
 congratulate me." 
 
 Coryton did not betray the faintest annoyance at 
 this unwelcome intelligence, for which, after all, he 
 was not unprepared. He simply patted his friend 
 on the shoulder as if with encouraging friendliness, and 
 they entered the drawing-room. 
 
 If the noise of a crowd is the best accompaniment 
 to quiet conversation, as Violet had had the effrontery 
 to tell Gwendolen, those two young ladies had come 
 in for an unique opportunity. The game of " cutlets " 
 had just come to its usual abrupt termination and all 
 the players were struggling on their backs on the 
 floor, emitting peal after peal of uproarious merriment.
 
 THE MELTING OF THE ICE-MAIDEN. 187 
 
 The Archdeaconess was wagging her feet and hands, 
 like a beetle on its back waiting to be turned over ; 
 Miss Connecticut was emitting that shrill transatlantic 
 scream which is so distressing to European ears; 
 while Pimlico, who was only present as a spectator, 
 sat on the edge of the high fender and panted forth 
 a wild spluttering laugh that rose and fell in unmu- 
 sical cadence. Miss Mudlark put her thumb in her 
 mouth and tried to look innocent when she perceived 
 that Miss Haviland was among the arrivals. Indeed 
 the latter's presence seemed to act somewhat as a 
 wet blanket upon the high spirits of the party and the 
 hilarity soon died away, as the players gradually 
 regained their feet. 
 
 Lady Giddy proposed "a quieter game," which 
 elicited ribald remarks about the quietness of the pre- 
 ceding one. Pimlico protested that the only quiet 
 game he knew was baccarat. Theodora proposed an 
 adjournment to the billiard-room for pool and Williams 
 moved an amendment, which was seconded by Wilmot, 
 in favor of " blow-marble " on the billiard-table, but 
 everybody declared they were too much out of breath. 
 Of course Miss Mudlark wanted to have " blow-marble " 
 explained to her. 
 
 " It's very simple," volunteered Violet. " You pick 
 up sides and then it's like football. The captain 
 blows off the marble and then everybody tries to blow 
 it through the opposite side's goal. You mayn't touch 
 either the marble or the table during the game. Last 
 time we played it, Pirn's and Theo's mouths met in the 
 middle of the table and Lady Elizabeth declares they 
 became so engrossed in each other that they forgot to 
 blow." 
 
 There was a general laugh and Theodora shouted, 
 " Shut up, I never play that childish game. Come 
 along, who says pool ? " 
 
 Everybody was soon streaming along the corridor 
 to the billiard-room and a buzz of conversation went 
 before, like the incense that precedes a procession. 
 
 " By the way, Pirn, what's become of that bay mare 
 of yours, the Smiler ? " " Gone to the knackers, years 
 ago." " I met old Wrigglesworth at the Alhambra last
 
 188 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 week, trying to do the mash." " Fie ! Mr. Coryton, 
 what were you doing at the Alhambra?" "You don't 
 say so ! I am astonished. Known her ever since she 
 was a baby, just about so high, that's all." " He's in 
 luck. Quite good looking and such a fortune ! " " Yes, 
 such good fortune with such good looks ! " " Accord- 
 ing to the canon law, Lady Elizabeth, a dynasty only 
 acquires a prescriptive right when a hundred years 
 have elapsed without a protest." " Yes, yes, Mr. 
 Clifford, but what does the agricultural laborer care 
 about canon law, or indeed any law for the matter of 
 that ? " " Eight and nine seven times in succession. I 
 never heard of such a bank."" Oh ! no one reads 
 newspapers nowadays, least of all the folks who write 
 them." "England ceased to be England when cock- 
 fighting went out of fashion." " My dear Mr. Gave- 
 rigan, you are hopeless. I believe you would like us 
 all to go about with a fig-leaf, because it was the fashion 
 before the flood."--" Well, some of us do." " Pray be 
 quiet, Mrs. Miles will overhear you. She's touchy 
 about that dress." "Dress, do you call it?" "I think 
 I shall slip off to bed."" Oh ! don't go yet. Pim'll 
 probably take a bank presently." " It was a regular 
 
 ding-dong finish, and the filly " I don't believe 
 
 a word of it." " Well, I have got eyes." " Humph ! I 
 hope you haven't got a tongue too." " Oh ! no, I have 
 not got that."
 
 A MINISTERIAL RECEPTION. 189 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A MINISTERIAL RECEPTION. 
 
 Tout le monde est atwommant. lln'ya de tolerable que les 
 gens quime plaisent, uniquement parcequ 1 Us me plaisent. GUY 
 DE MAUPASSANT. 
 
 CORYTON had an interview with Lord Southwark 
 before he left Blarney. A few weeks after, a brief 
 paragraph found its way into sundry of the Govern- 
 ment organs, to the effect that the Marquess of South- 
 wark had appointed Mr. Walpole Coryton to be his 
 private secretary. 
 
 Coryton entered upon his duties at once. They 
 were not arduous, for Lord Southwark was by no 
 means an exacting man. The post he held in the 
 Government was one of great dignity, but small re- 
 sponsibility. The possession of it entitled the holder to 
 Cabinet rank and high precedence. The departmental 
 work was slight, and parliamentary duties consisted 
 chiefly in piloting Government measures, about whose 
 passing there could be no doubt, through the House 
 of Lords, duties which Lord Southwark performed with 
 admirable grace and skill. He was a persona grata at 
 Court, and therefore raised no murmur when he was 
 told off, somewhat frequently, as Minister in attend- 
 ance. Those who did not know him wondered a little 
 why Lord Southwark went in for politics at all. He 
 was an enormously wealthy peer, wealthy enough to 
 buy almost any further honors he might desire, and 
 great wealth means great influence even in these days, 
 when pocket-boroughs are not. But Lord Southwark 
 did not care to buy his honors ; he left that to the 
 " beerage," and he had some old-world theories about 
 noblesse obliye. So, though he refused the Irish Vice-
 
 190 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 royalty because it was too much trouble, he accepted 
 this other post, possibly because he courted the blue 
 ribbon of the Garter, or because he thought that a Cabi- 
 net office as Prince Bismarck is said to have remarked 
 of the throne of Bulgaria would always be " a pleas- 
 ant reminiscence." 
 
 Though not exactly the sort of Minister who moulds 
 the destinies of nations, Lord Southwark was an ex- 
 ceedingly clever man, and he liked to have clever 
 people about him. There could be no doubt about 
 Coryton's cleverness ; it was evidenced quite as much 
 by what he did not do as by what he did, and this his 
 chief was quick to find out. Though he did not hold 
 Lord Beaconsfield's views as to the value of private sec- 
 retaries, and though he was by no means overburdened 
 by generosity for the generosity of the wealthy is 
 generally in an inverse ratio to their means Lord 
 Southwark gave Coryton an additional 300 a year to 
 the official 200 accredited him in Whittaker, and a 
 corresponding amount of private work of his own. He 
 also admitted him to a certain degree of his confidence, 
 and with something of the feeling with which one likes 
 to back a winning horse, helped him forward in many 
 little ways. 
 
 For Coryton was a winning horse ; there could be no 
 doubt of that. He had got his foot firmly planted on 
 the bottom rung of the ladder which leads to fame. 
 He might slip, as many a one has done before, but at 
 present all seemed to go well with him, and he was 
 spoken of everywhere among his friends and acquaint- 
 ances as a coming man. Others have been spoken of 
 so too, but they are always coming and never come. 
 
 Coryton's great obstacle was scarcity of money, but 
 his appointment to Lord Southwark brought him, in 
 these early days, what was almost as good credit. So 
 with a certain amount of cash in hand and by making 
 a point of never paying for anything which he could get 
 upon credit, he was able to float along for the present 
 excellently well. This sort of thing could not go on 
 forever, of course the day of reckoning must come 
 but then he would be married to Violet arid she could 
 settle his bills.
 
 A MINISTERIAL RECEPTION. 191 
 
 " That is the truest function of a wife," he thought 
 with an amused smile, as he pictured to himself how 
 enraged Violet would be when she knew the real state 
 of affairs. Their love-affair was a matter of sympa- 
 thy and interest combined, but the interest played as 
 strong a part hi it as the sympathy. " After all," he 
 thought, " what matter ? The emotion between the 
 sexes called love is generally part selfish and part ani- 
 mal." 
 
 Cory ton settled down in London in October, just as 
 town was beginning to fill again a little, and he took 
 chambers on the second floor of a house in Picca- 
 dilly overlooking the Green Park. He was keenly 
 alive to the advantages of a good address and appear- 
 ance. He furnished his chambers handsomely, partly 
 on credit and partly on the proceeds of a check given 
 to him by that grateful parent, Lord Baltinglass of 
 Blarney. His dress was always perfect it would be 
 so of course with one who had carte blanche at Savile 
 Row ; moreover, remembering the words of the 
 immortal Mr. Vigo, he affected a certain slight severity 
 of style which befitted a budding statesman. He was 
 elected a member of the Bachelor's, and his name was 
 down for White's and shortly coming up for the 
 Carlton. He was always very civil to any journalists 
 who might come in his way ; he paid assiduous court 
 to Dowagers, and was to be seen regularly at Sunday 
 morning service at a fashionable church. 
 
 He had a good many introductions, of course. The 
 fact of his being private secretary to a Cabinet Minis- 
 ter especially a Minister of Lord Southwark's social 
 position was an introduction in itself. He soon had 
 more invitations than he could accept, and more than 
 he cared for. 
 
 " As a rule the people who want to know one are 
 the people one doesn't want to know," he muttered to 
 himself as he tore up two or three dinner invitations 
 which emanated from Kensington-this-side-of-Jordan 
 and threw them into the waste-paper basket. " It is 
 all right to eat these people's dinners," he continued, 
 "but it is a little awkward when one comes across 
 them full-tilt in the Park afterwards. And these sort
 
 192 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 of people are always in the Park it is their happy 
 meeting ground and they never seem to know when 
 you have had enough of them. They should be con- 
 tent to exist for dinner purposes only." 
 
 A good many quondam friends of the late Judge- 
 Advocate-General turned up again too. They had 
 forgotten all about the son. But now that he seemed 
 to be working his way to the front and was not likely 
 to want anything of them, they came and looked him 
 up, and bade him welcome to their houses. 
 
 Coryton accepted their hospitality in the spirit in 
 which it was offered. He could not afford to bear any 
 resentments, even if he had felt them. But he did 
 not. He would have acted in precisely the same way 
 himself under similar circumstances, and his was a 
 philosophy which takes life and human nature as it 
 finds them. " He who lives for himself lives for but a 
 little thing," it has been truly said ; yet it is very diffi- 
 cult to find anything else to live for. 
 
 So the months went by and the fogs came and 
 went, and the dismal thing called Christmas came 
 and went, and the New- Year's bills came and didn't 
 go, and Parliament opened and the Queen's Speech (so- 
 called) not more ungrammatical than such speeches 
 generally are, and not more stuffed than usual with 
 platitudes and impossible schemes of reform, was 
 read by a queer little man in a wig and gown whom 
 some called the " Lord High Jobber," and the business 
 of the Session began. 
 
 It didn't mean much extra work for Coryton, 
 beyond that he had to keep a sharp eye on the 
 " Notices for the Day " and to haunt the lobby of the 
 House of Lords four afternoons in the week, or stand 
 below the Bar sometimes when a dull and decorous 
 debate, in which Lord Southwark took part, was going 
 on. The work of a private secretary, whose chief is 
 in the House of Lords unless that chief should 
 happen to be at the head of a great department 
 is to a certain extent ornamental, and this part of 
 his duties Coryton was able to fulfil to a nicety, for 
 he posed as a sucking politician to the manner born. 
 It was only on those rare occasions, when he
 
 A MINISTERIAL RECEPTION. 193 
 
 had to attend a debate in the House of Commons, 
 that he felt the full fascination of political life, and 
 heard as it were, the great heart of the nation throb. 
 
 Lord Southwark, in addition to his other advantages, 
 possessed a beautiful house and a beautiful wife. 
 The office-seekers and bottle-washers of the Party, 
 who are apt to be envious, said it was these things, 
 rather than his abilities, which had advanced Lord 
 Southwark to so prominent a place in the councils 
 of the nation. It was probably the combination of 
 all these factors, though there might have been some 
 truth in the sneer, for the Party was badly in want 
 of another house whereat to rally its forces. The 
 dreary functions at the Prime Minister's, where people 
 were asked by the letters of the Alphabet, the A's 
 to L's one night, and the M's to Z's another ; where 
 the hostess ostentatiously showed her contempt for 
 the greater number of her guests by turning her back 
 upon them and hanging her hand over the banisters 
 to be tugged at like a bell-rope ; where the host was 
 wrapped in chilly, unapproachable, Olympian gloom 
 these functions could scarcely be described as inspirit- 
 ing. Doubtless though, Mr. Toadey-Snaile, M.P. for 
 Mudford, and Mrs. Toadey-Snaile, whilom Mayor and 
 Mayoress of that borough, Mr. Creeper Crawley, Editor 
 of the Lickworm Gazette, Mr. Hunter Tuft, the society- 
 promoter and all the other tag-rag and bobtail of the 
 Party were more than consoled for the snubs they had 
 endured by seeing their names in the paper the next 
 morning, and by thinking of the gall and wormwood 
 with which their less favored friends and intimates 
 would read them there also. 
 
 So Lady Southwark, after due consultation with 
 her lord, rose to the occasion and endeavored to 
 found a political salon. The exclusive portals of 
 Southwark House were opened wide, a miracle in 
 itself, for they were generally shut very close indeed. 
 The Southwarks belonged to the inner circle of what 
 was once considered to be the most exclusive aristocracy 
 in Europe ; they formed one of Lady Charles Beresford's 
 famous " forty families " who alone she says constitute 
 English society. 
 
 '3
 
 194 THE GEE EN BAY TREE. 
 
 " It is a great effort," Lady Southwark confided to 
 Lady Elizabeth Gargoyle, who was a cousin of hers. 
 " These people are not even amusing, they are simply 
 middle-class mediocrities. I am sure that to entertain 
 all those Socialist creatures, Anarchists, and Fenians 
 and things on the other side would be much more ex- 
 citing." 
 
 " The Devil has all the liveliest tunes, my dear," 
 said Lady Elizabeth. She prided herself on her free- 
 dom of speech, and so did her daughter Theodora. 
 " Just think what I go through with those dreadful 
 Primrose League teas, don't you know?" 
 
 " Oh ! but you are a privileged person," objected 
 Lady Southwark discontentedly, as she scanned her 
 " to-be-civil " lists. " However I suppose it can't be 
 helped, Southwark seems to make a point of it and one 
 must do something for one's country." 
 
 " Oh ! the country isn't in the least danger, I assure 
 you," exclaimed Lady Elizabeth vivaciously. " Are 
 there not the knights-companion, and the Harbingers, 
 and the Dames, and the Esquires ? Are not the forces 
 of Clapham and Balham on our side ? As I said the 
 other night to that dear delightful Radical person 
 what is his name ? He was in the last Government, 
 you know. I met him at that Jamrack gathering of 
 Lady Vieille's. Every one was there from a pet Prin- 
 cess to a third rate poet Dear me, Theodora, what 
 was the man's name ? I shall forget my own next." 
 
 " Marshall," said Theodora laconically without look- 
 ing up from the poodle she was fondling. 
 
 " Marshall of course, how stupid of me to forget. 
 ' Yes,' I said to him, * You are a wicked, danger- 
 ous man, Mr. Marshall, but we are not a bit afraid 
 of you, for all the snobs are on our side, you know.' " 
 
 " That was a little mal-d-propos, wasn't it ? " queried 
 Lady Southwark languidly. "I hear the creature is 
 going to be married to some colonial person with social 
 ambitions, and is coming over to us. The Duchess of 
 Puffeballe has taken him up. I daresay he will be 
 dining here in the fulness of time. But then he will 
 have become dull." 
 
 "Which is another way of saying he will have
 
 A MINISTERIAL RECEPTION. 195 
 
 become a good Conservative, you naughty thing," said 
 Lady Elizabeth rising. " Well, we really must be going. 
 Theodora has to be present at a drawing-room meeting 
 in aid of broken-down cab-runners, somewhere in 
 Kensington at five o'clock. Let me know if you want 
 any additions to your list. Theodora knows all those 
 sort of people, don't you know, and so do I only 
 I forget their names. Theodora doesn't. Good-bye." 
 
 Lady Southwark, however, managed her invitations 
 excellently well without the help of Theodora. Mr. 
 Coryton came to her assistance instead, and it was 
 really remarkable, considering the short time he had 
 been in town, how much he knew about "those 
 sort of people." It was not a very difficult task, 
 they had only to prune down the Prime Minister's 
 omnium-gatherum lists a little, and the thing was 
 done, at least so far as the invitations were con- 
 cerned. But Lady Southwark was grande dame to her 
 finger-tips and, having made up her mind to do the 
 thing, she did it well, and had a gracious smile, and 
 a kindly word for all the motley throng who pressed 
 up the broad marble staircase of the Southwark 
 Mansion. She was a perfect hostess. Ambassadors, 
 diplomats, Peers and Peeresses, Bishops and mon- 
 signori, Cabinet Ministers, provincial Tory M.P's with 
 their provincial wives and daughters, and the other 
 odds and ends, who figure at the tail of a gathering 
 of this kind all were welcomed with equal and gra- 
 cious courtesy. 
 
 It was at the last of these receptions, about the 
 middle of March, that Coryton met Violet again. 
 
 He had been dining with Pimlico that evening and 
 they had been to the Gaiety together on the strict 
 principle of " each pay his own." They understood 
 one another excellently well, did these two. 
 
 "I suppose I'd better show up at my mother's 
 menagerie, otherwise these things are not much in 
 my line," said Lord Pimlico superciliously, as they 
 picked up a hansom in the Strand and rattled west- 
 ward together. " But we will go on to the Stephanotis 
 Club after. In the meantime it will do to kill an 
 hour."
 
 196 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 On his arrival, Pimlico was promptly pounced upon 
 by Theodora, who had hitherto been joining in a 
 three-cornered conversation which her mother was 
 carrying on with the Turkish Ambassador. She hailed 
 Pimlico with delight and they went off to talk dogs 
 and horses together, subjects on which Theodora knew 
 almost as much as he did. 
 
 Coryton, left to himself, made his way leisurely 
 through the crowd and exchanged greetings here and 
 there. The spacious rooms were very full, for this 
 was the last reception before Easter and there was a 
 foreign prince present, whom Lord and Lady South- 
 wark had entertained at dinner together with the am- 
 bassador who represented the Prince's country, and 
 other notabilities. Coryton caught sight of the Prime 
 Minister in the second room, standing apart from the 
 crowd, the Star of the Garter flashing oil his breast, 
 his craggy brow bent forward a little, and a smile upon 
 his lips as he exchanged a few words with an extremely 
 pretty girl in a heliotrope gown caught up with sprays 
 of clematis. It was only a few words, for the great 
 man's attention was claimed almost immediately by 
 some one else, and as he moved away with a bow 
 and a smile the girl turned also, and Coryton saw 
 that it was Violet. She caught sight of him at once 
 and greeted him witli a sunny 'smile. 
 
 " Confess," she said, " you are surprised to see me 
 here." 
 
 " And delighted," he replied. " The pleasure is all 
 the greater because it is unexpected. I had no idea 
 you were in town." 
 
 " I only came up to-day," she said, " and I knew 
 I should meet you here this evening, so I did not 
 trouble to let you know. I am staying with Lady 
 Giddy in Seymour Street. She has brought me to- 
 night Oh ! " she went on in answer to his question- 
 ing glance, " I don't know where she is now. It is 
 impossible to keep close to any one in the crush ; and 
 she disappeared with Wilfrid Tyrconnel five minutes 
 ago. He is here and Lord Baltinglass too. Quite a 
 meeting of old friends, isn't it ? I have been amusing 
 myself quizzing the people and trying to make them
 
 A MINISTERIAL RECEPTION. 197 
 
 out Come, Poley, find me a seat, and then you shall 
 tell me who they all are." 
 
 " I found you talking to the most distinguished of 
 them all," he said, as they made their way into a third 
 and comparatively empty room and sat down on one 
 of the Louis-seize couches near the door. 
 
 " The Prime Minister Ah ! I knew you would 
 wonder how I came to know him. Well, we met on 
 the Riviera this January he was there just before 
 Parliament opened and, do you know ? he took rather 
 a fancy to me. So I smiled straight at him when I 
 saw him to-night it does not do to let oneself be for- 
 gotten, he may be useful to us some day. Great men 
 have short memories, is it not so ? " 
 
 Coryton looked at her admiringly. 
 
 " You are a wonderful woman, Vixie," he said. 
 
 " And you are a wonderful boy, Poley," she an- 
 swered. " Oh ! I hear about you a good deal. Every 
 one tells me how fast you are getting on. Together 
 we shall be so wonderful that we shall carry every- 
 thing before us. And you will soon win fame." 
 
 " Fame," he repeated musingly, " that is to be known 
 by people whom you don't know, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Precisely, Mr. Commonplace Book. But there is 
 nothing better in this life." 
 
 " Oh yes, there is," he said, " to realize the dream of 
 one's youth before one is middle-aged. That is what 
 I shall do when I marry you, Vi." 
 
 She looked at him almost affectionately. They were 
 not in the habit of paying one another compliments, 
 these two, but just now each was very much pleased 
 with the other. Perhaps also she cared for him more 
 than a little. She was certainly attracted to him. 
 His physical beauty appealed to her senses and women 
 are always more sensible to such influences than men. 
 Added to which, she thought he was fairly well off 
 not rich of course but his income, judging from the 
 style in which he lived must be a thousand or two a 
 year at the least or even more, for he might be hold- 
 ing himself in reserve. That was little enough to a 
 young woman of Violet's expensive tastes, but then he
 
 198 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 was a man who was likely to make more, and win 
 honors besides. Success was written on his brow. 
 
 She felt quite proud of him as they talked together 
 and watched the ever-shifting crowd. Lady Giddy 
 was an admirable chaperone, she left her charge to 
 look after herself. 
 
 " Yon must not realize all your dreams when you 
 marry me, Poley," said Violet presently, harking back 
 to the point at which they started, " or there will be 
 a rude awakening. Our marriage must be the starting 
 point of fresh opportunities. Every one has oppor- 
 tunities, some find them, others make them." 
 
 " And some miss them," interpolated Coryton. 
 
 " But those are the people who lack either money or 
 brains," she rejoined, " We shall have both." 
 
 " True," said Coryton brightening visibly at the 
 mention of the magic word money and pressing the 
 little hand which lay so near his own. " Together we 
 shall do all things. You are my ' affinity ' you know, 
 Vi." 
 
 She gave a merry laugh and drew her hand away. 
 
 " You talk as though you were one of the ' Souls,' 
 Poley. Don't try to be sentimental ; it doesn't suit 
 you. We are not Gwendolen and her young man, you 
 know." 
 
 Coryton acquiesced very philosophically. 
 
 " By the way, have you seen anything of Gwendo- 
 len ? " he asked. 
 
 Violet pouted. 
 
 " Not for ages," she said. " Not since Blarney. 
 But we are to meet in the season, I believe. We 
 correspond pages. Her letters bore me. The fact 
 is, she bores me too. She is too good for this world. 
 She is only fit for Paradise." 
 
 " Poor Paradise," murmured Coryton, " it must be 
 a tiresome place if it be peopled only by those sweet 
 saints whose society we so much dread below." 
 
 Violet laughed again. She was always laughing. 
 She had such pretty, pearly teeth. 
 
 " It is lucky the Pigeon does not hear you," she 
 exclaimed. " Poor Pigeon ! I wonder what Lady 
 Giddy is doing with him all this time. ... Oh ! here
 
 A MINISTERIAL RECEPTION. 199 
 
 they are. Talk of angels and you hear the rustle of 
 their wings. . . . What was I laughing at so im- 
 moderately, dear Lady Giddy ? At those little Orientals 
 over yonder with their backs to the wall. They 
 have been posted there like wax images the whole 
 evening, and such quaint dresses too ! Who are they ? " 
 
 " Some of the staff of the Chinese or Japanese 
 legation most probably," answered Lady Giddy with a 
 careless glance. " Oh ! do look at Lady Pfarrerheim, 
 Violet ! Did you ever see such a sight ! " 
 
 " Who is Lady Pfarrerheim ? " 
 
 " That woman near the door in the very decolletee 
 dress," replied Lady Giddy, whose own charms were 
 not too closely veiled. " She is one of the haute 
 Juiverie. Such an affected creature, enormously rich, 
 but she never wears an atom of jewellery." 
 
 " Nor much of anything else it would seem," said 
 Coryton with a laugh. " I have often heard that 
 women dress less to be clothed than to be adorned, 
 but I never realized it quite so vividly before." 
 
 " She is evidently of opinion that beauty unadorned 
 is adorned the most," said Violet. " But tell me, who 
 is the man she has been talking to so earnestly? 
 Not the Duke of Puffeballe, I know him, but that 
 other man, with the swarthy face." 
 
 " No one much," replied Coryton indifferently. " One 
 would wonder how he got here, except that he con- 
 trives to push himself everywhere. He is a profes- 
 sional philanthropist I believe." 
 
 " Dear me," said Lady Giddy waving her fan, " pro- 
 fessional philanthropist ! what is that ? " 
 
 " A man who lives in the West and talks about 
 the East. It is quite a lucrative profession if one 
 only talks loud enough. This man has found it so. 
 As he was very, very poor and obscure he went in for 
 philanthropy the cheapest form of advertisement 
 going." 
 
 " If he was very poor I don't quite see how he 
 could help poverty much," said Tyrconnel with a 
 puzzled air. He had talked much about philanthropy 
 with Gwendolen, and their schemes always meant 
 spending a good deal of money.
 
 200 THE GREEN BAY THEE. 
 
 " Oh ! it is quite easy," said Coryton. " If you 
 have no money of your own, you are charitable at 
 the expense of other people. You get just the same 
 amount of credit rather more in point of fact. It 
 is merely an extended application of the saying of 
 Sydney Smith's. A never sees B in trouble, without 
 
 thinking that C ought to help him But come, 
 
 Vixie, shall we go downstairs ? People are beginning 
 to go. The crush will be over now." 
 
 In the supper-room they came across Theodora and 
 Pimlico. That youth was evidently impatient to be 
 gone, and asked Coryton if he wasn't ready to " make 
 tracks." 
 
 " That is very rude of you, when you see he is 
 with me," said Violet. 
 
 " Yes, but you are going to make tracks too, aren't 
 you ? There is nothing to do. If there were only a 
 sit-down supper, it would be something but this sort 
 of thing," here he gave a contemptuous glance in the 
 direction of the long buffet "Why my mother fills 
 her house with all sorts of bounders she doesn't know 
 anything about, fairly stumps me. . . . More fiz, 
 Theo. No ? Then let me put your glass down." 
 
 " It is certainly very decorous and very dull," 
 laughed Violet. " Even the gowns are all of a Lenten 
 hue. If there had only been some music, it would 
 have helped us on a little. Conversation, I fear me, is 
 a lost art. However I have accomplished what I came 
 for, which was to have a chat with you, Poley, and 
 now I must be going, for I see Lady Giddy looking 
 towards us. We shall be in at five to-morrow, don't 
 forget." 
 
 " You are coming with Corry and me, Pigeon, aren't 
 you?" queried Pimlico a few minutes later. They 
 were all three standing together, cloaked and hatted, 
 in the vestibule, waiting for a hansom. 
 
 " It is the first I have heard about it," rejoined Tyr- 
 connei. " Where are you going ? " 
 
 " To the Stephanotis for an hour or so, just to take 
 the taste of this sort of thing out of our mouths." 
 
 " I I am afraid it's a little late. I think I shall 
 turn in," stammered Tyrconnel irresolutely.
 
 AT THE LEVEE. '201 
 
 " It is not half-past twelve yet," said Coryton, " but 
 as you please, of course." 
 
 "What rot!" ejaculated Pimlico "I can't think 
 what's come over you, Pigeon. Why, there'll be a lot 
 of fellows there you know, Gaverigan, Forbes, all the 
 rest of them and I daresay Pussie Prancewell too, 
 and Sally Popkins." 
 
 A swift change swept over Tyrconnel's face at the 
 mention of the latter name. 
 
 "I am sorry," he said decidedly, "but I cannot 
 come." He looked towards Coryton as he spoke. 
 
 Coryton said nothing. 
 
 " Well," exclaimed Pimlico in a huff, " if you won't, 
 you won't. I don't care. Come on, Corry, we can't 
 wait about here all night. If we walk a few steps we 
 shall pick up a hansom." 
 
 Nevertheless when they were bowling down Pic- 
 cadilly, he returned again to the subject. 
 
 " I can't think what's come over Pigeon. He's quite 
 a different chap to what he used to be. Is he going in 
 for piety, or what ? " 
 
 " He is going in for matrimony with a good girl," 
 said Coryton quietly, lighting a cigarette. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 AT THE LEVEE. 
 
 " Vanity of Vanities," saith the preacher, "Vanity of Vanities, 
 all is Vanity." ECCLESIASTES. 
 
 IT was a little before two o'clock on a sunny May 
 afternoon. There was an air of subdued excitement 
 in the vicinity of Marlborough House and St. James's 
 Palace, and a gaping crowd of the vulgar had gathered 
 itself together at the corner of Pall Mall ; a crowd 
 which extended up St. James's Street in one direction, 
 and down towards the Park in the other. For the
 
 202 THE GREEN BAY THEE. 
 
 Prince of Wales was about to hold a Levee by com- 
 mand of the Queen, and the street was bright with 
 uniforms and an incessant stream of vehicles was driv- 
 ing up the side entrance of St. James's Palace. The 
 crowd, with that love of " dressing up " which seems 
 inherent in the human race, looked on and gaped. 
 
 Among the men who rattled up in a hansom was 
 Coryton wearing a regulation black velvet suit. He 
 entered the Palace, and having handed one of his two 
 cards to the gorgeous being in the corridor known 
 as the Queen's Page, went up the stairs and found 
 himself in the midst of a panting, pushing crowd in 
 the outermost ante-room. 
 
 It was a largely attended Levee more than usually 
 so for there had been a Royal wedding, or some such 
 event, and loyal subjects were more than usually eager 
 to pay their respects to their Sovereign. 
 
 It was an odd spectacle. A number of common- 
 place and estimable elderly gentlemen had impaired 
 their digestions by hurrying over an early luncheon, 
 and had made themselves uncomfortable by arraying 
 themselves in sundry unusual and grotesque garments, 
 in which they vainly strove to look as little ridiculous 
 as possible. 
 
 There was a worthy old country squire, for instance, 
 who had never before ventured on any color but 
 "pink," masquerading in the gorgeous apparel of a 
 Deputy-Lieutenant ; there was a High Sheriff, whose 
 attenuated legs were never meant for silk stockings, 
 but who had donned them in order to be presented 
 by the Lord Lieutenant of his county. We say " his 
 county " with reserve, for he hadn't much to do with 
 it, albeit he was High Sheriff. The evolution of a 
 High Sheriff nowadays is a comparatively rapid process. 
 A wealthy stock-jobber or something of that ilk, buys 
 a place in the country, not much of a place neces- 
 sarily but he must have plenty of ready cash. He 
 restores a church perchance, subscribes liberally to 
 the hounds and local charities, and then the Lord 
 Lieutenant gets him put on the county bench. In a 
 very short time he will be " pricked " for the office 
 of High Sheriff of his county, though he may have
 
 AT THE LEVEE. 203 
 
 known nothing about the county ten years before. 
 Is it small wonder, under the circumstances, that 
 the impecunious but bona fide country gentlemen 
 are agitating for the abolition of this once honored 
 office? 
 
 There was a stout old general, puffing and blowing 
 in a uniform, which was very much too tight for him 
 now. There was an endless variety of uniforms, 
 varied here and there by the black gowns and Geneva 
 bands of a sprinkling of ecclesiastics, and by the sober 
 court-dresses of the civilians. There were several 
 Orientals present too, whose gaudy raiment gave a 
 touch of color to the scene. There was in fact the 
 usual collection of somebodies and nobodies though, 
 as most of the somebodies enjoyed the privilege of 
 the entree, the nobodies predominated here. 
 
 Conspicuous among them was the well-known 
 "Society-promoter" Mr. Hunter Tuft who had relig- 
 iously attended Levees for years in the vain hope 
 of favors to come, but has never received the slightest 
 recognition from the Court not even an invitation to 
 a Marlborough House Garden-party. Poor Hunter 
 Tuft ! he was no nearer his cherished goal now, than 
 when he commenced his upward career in Kensington- 
 beyond-Jordan, twenty years ago. All the same he 
 entertained ambassadors and ambassadresses at his 
 club and was an adjunct to every fashionable wedding 
 in Belgravia. He consoled himself for Court neglect 
 by saying airily, " The Marlborough House set is so 
 very mixed you know." The Royal favor is ever 
 sour grapes to the many, sweet to the few. 
 
 Mr. Toadey-Snaile, M.P., was also here of course, 
 and many other M.P.'s of the same kidney, who take 
 care that their presence at the Levee is duly chronicled 
 in the local papers of their respective constituencies. 
 It all tends to help them with the Knights and 
 Dames of Primrose Habitations, or with the Radicals 
 who love a lord often the greatest snobs of all. 
 Here was Creeper-Crawley, who had managed to 
 crawl in by the back door somehow. He represented 
 Letters perchance, since the more eminent men in 
 that line were conspicuous by their absence. Here
 
 204 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 was our old friend Sir Cincinnatus Spreadeagle, with 
 his greasy locks well-oiled, and clad in a gaudy 
 Militia uniform, prepared to shed the last drop of his 
 blood in defence of his Queen and country, as he said 
 in that never-to-be-forgotten after-dinner speech in the 
 House of Commons. They were all here, kicking their 
 heels and chattering glibly to one another. 
 
 Coryton saw a good many faces he knew, as he 
 looked around and pressed slowly onward, urged for- 
 ward by the ever-increasing crowd behind. Suddenly 
 he espied a familiar form arrayed in an unfamiliar 
 garb. It was Tyrconnel. His back was towards 
 Coryton. He was apparently looking blankly at the 
 quaint tapestry on the wall, but he turned round 
 quickly as Coryton tapped him on the shoulder and 
 asked : 
 
 " Que diable, Pigeon, viens-tu faire dans cette 
 gatere?" 
 
 " I might return the question," rejoined Tyrconnel, 
 smiling all over his face at this unexpected meeting. 
 
 "I oh! it's my first appearance," said Coryton. 
 " Lord Southwark is presenting me." 
 
 " I haven't been to a Levee this year, and my father 
 insisted on my showing up at this one. Not that it 
 makes the slightest difference to any one whether I do 
 so or not and it's a horrid bore," said Tyrconnel, rue- 
 fully trying to disentangle his sword from between his 
 legs. 
 
 "An imperative duty, the patriotic Spreadeagle 
 would tell you," corrected Coryton. " See how impor- 
 tant he looks. As for Creeper Crawley yonder, it is 
 the proudest moment of his life." 
 
 " It is one of the most uncomfortable moments of 
 mine," panted Tyrconnel, " the heat is awful I wish 
 they would open the windows." 
 
 " We must suffer to be beautiful," laughed Coryton. 
 " What are you doing this afternoon ? shall we drive 
 to Ranelagh later and dine quietly together ? " 
 
 " I I am going to see Gwen," replied the other, 
 " she's in town, you know. They came up last week." 
 
 "Oh, is she?" said Coryton, raising his eyebrows 
 ever so slightly. " I should like to see her too." He
 
 AT THE LEVEE. 205 
 
 had reasons for being amiable to Gwendolen. "May I 
 come with you ? I can take charge of Mrs. de Courcy 
 Miles." 
 
 " Do, by all means," exclaimed Tyrconnel, his face 
 brightening. " To tell you the truth, that old woman 
 is an awful trial. She is always pestering me with 
 questions about Lord This and Lady That I can hardly 
 get in a word with Gwen edgeways." 
 
 "Old woman indeed! " laughed Coryton, "it is lucky 
 for your beau yeux she doesn't hear you. However, I 
 will simply satiate her with the Peerage if it pleases 
 you. It's all in a day's work. By Jove ! " as they 
 were urged forward. " What a crowd there is ! We 
 shall go past the Prince at a trot, I expect." 
 
 " When we get to him. We've got to squeeze 
 through two or three more rooms first," said Tyrcon- 
 nel resignedly. " The dodge, I believe, is to come late 
 and then one can simply walk through the rooms at 
 the tail of the procession without any delay at all. 
 That is what Forbes says he does ; but one day he cut 
 it too fine and found the whole show over, and the 
 palace shut up. But hark ! " as the sound of music 
 floated up from below. " Here is the Prince arriving, 
 the crush will soon ease itself now." 
 
 Half an hour later they were both standing under 
 the old gateway of St. James's Palace. 
 
 " What a pity you tripped over your sword at the 
 supreme moment, Pigeon," said Coryton cruelly. 
 " You made quite a sensation. I shouldn't be surprised 
 if you find yourself figuring in the comic papers. 
 However, it's over now. Let us walk up the street a 
 little way and hail a hansom. It's no use waiting here. 
 As soon as I have changed these togs I will come round 
 with you. No ; on second thoughts, I'll follow you 
 later. Where are they staying ? " 
 
 " 405b, Park Street," said the crestfallen Tyrconnel, 
 ruefully regarding his damaged sword. " But you 
 don't mean what you said about the comic papers, do 
 you, old man I hate being laughed at." 
 
 " No, it was only my fun, that'll be all right," laughed 
 Coryton reassuringly " Here's a hansom. Jump in, 
 and let's get out of this gaping crowd."
 
 2l)ti THE GEEEX BAY TMEE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 MRS. MIJLES'S SEASON. 
 
 " While tumbling down the turbid stream, 
 Lord love us, how we apples swim ! " 
 
 DAVID MALLETT. 
 
 " What a monstrous tail our cat has got ! " 
 
 HENRY CAREY. 
 
 MRS. DE COURCY MILES had come up to town for the 
 season and had brought Gwendolen with her. She was 
 in the habit of coming to town for the season, albeit in 
 a general way the season and Mrs. de Courcy Miles 
 had about as much to do with one another as the groves 
 of Camberwell have to do with the gilded saloons of 
 Mayfair. But this year Mrs. de Courcy Miles had 
 hooked herself on to the skirts of Mayfair ; that is to 
 say she had sufficiently moved up in the world to hire 
 three rooms on the second floor of a house in the little 
 street which runs along the back of Park Lane, and 
 which may be therefore said to have a sort of ille- 
 gitimate relationship with that aristocratic region. 
 True, the house in question abutted on Oxford Street, 
 but Mrs. Miles, who knew the value of a good address, 
 duly announced herself and Miss Haviland as " arriving 
 at 405bPark Street, Grosvenor Square, for the season." 
 The announcement was not of the faintest possible in- 
 terest to any one save Mrs. Miles herself, and perhaps a 
 few Cambridge and Kensington-beyond- Jordan friends, 
 who not knowing the precise geographical position of 
 405b, gnashed their teeth with impotent spleen and 
 wondered " how that woman did it." 
 
 Mrs. Miles, moreover, followed up the announcement 
 by driving round in a hired brougham and leaving her 
 cards on every imaginable person with whom she could
 
 MRS. M1LE&S SEASON. 207 
 
 by any possibility consider herself to be on calling terms. 
 These tactics combined with rumors of the coming 
 Baltinglass alliance, secured a certain number of in- 
 vitations, issued more on Gwendolen's account than on 
 her own. In fact, it seemed to Mrs. Miles that they 
 were launched on a perfect whirl of dissipation. 
 
 Her other seasons, truth to tell though she would 
 have died rather than own it even to herself had not 
 been altogether a success. 
 
 " I really could not exist without my London season, 
 it does brush away the provincial cobwebs so," she was 
 in the habit of telling her Cambridge friends. Then 
 she would launch forth into descriptions of sundry 
 smart parties, of which she knew nothing but what the 
 papers told her. 
 
 Her Cambridge friends, who knew even less than 
 she, could not contradict her. But it was all imaginary. 
 Mrs. Miles's "season" consisted in point of fact of 
 three weeks in a second-rate lodging in a second-rate 
 street, of frequent promenades in the Park and a 
 religious attendance of church parade, of sundry ex- 
 hibitions, of a close inspection of shop- windows, a few 
 theatres, a visit to the Academy all these sort of 
 people always go to the Academy and possibly a tea 
 or two in Bayswater or Kensington. Then she returned 
 to Cambridge, and declared herself utterly done up 
 with the fatigues of her " season." 
 
 But this year she was more successful. She had 
 squeezed an extra 100 out of the Professor and 
 brought up Gwendolen. The Baltinglasses were not 
 much good from a social point of view in spite of 
 their wealth a fact surely more due to Miss Tyrcon- 
 nel's Evangelical opinions than to Lord Baltinglass's 
 vulgarity for society will swallow any pill if it be 
 only sufficiently gilded. But Lady Giddy helped some- 
 what, with an eye to future possibilities, and that 
 doubtless also accounted for many of the invitations 
 which found their way to 405b Park Street, Grosvenor 
 Square. The Grosvenor Square was never forgotten. 
 Mrs. Miles even ran to gold-stamped paper in its honor. 
 She was regarding it lovingly now, as she answered
 
 208 THE UXEEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 a dinner invitation, which had just come from Miss 
 Tyrconnel. 
 
 " Such a good address, and so near the Park too," 
 she said aloud as she closed the envelope. Of course 
 it was stamped on the flap as well. 
 
 " It is nearer the Marble Arch," said Gwendolen 
 bluntly. She was looking out, over the boxes of gera- 
 nium and lady-slipper in the window. 
 
 Mrs. de Courcy Miles looked up irritably. She ob- 
 jected to Gwendolen's bald way of putting things. 
 
 " Do come away and shut down that window a little," 
 she exclaimed ; " I am sure the smell of the lunch must 
 be out of the room by now. Have you put the photo- 
 graphs and the flowers on the table again ? Yes, that's 
 right, and the World, please, and the Morning Post, 
 and a book or two, and the Red Book pray, Gwen- 
 dolen, do not forget the Hed Book and the Peerage. 
 There now, we will just arrange the chairs a little, 
 and no one will know but that it is a drawing-room 
 only." 
 
 " What does it matter whether they know it or not ? " 
 said Gwendolen a little wearily. 
 
 " Matter ! " exclaimed Mrs. Miles shrilly, " of course 
 it matters a very great deal. It is past three o'clock 
 and people might be dropping in any minute." 
 
 " And they might not," rejoined Gwendolen drily, 
 with a remembrance born of previous experience. 
 
 " And they might not," repeated Mrs. Miles unmoved, 
 " but in any case we must be prepared. And I thought 
 you said Wilfrid Tyrconnel was coming on here after 
 the Levee. I wonder you have not more proper pride, 
 Gwendolen. You forget that we owe a duty to society, 
 you the future Lady Baltinglass of Blarney." 
 
 " That is nothing to me nothing," exclaimed Gwen- 
 dolen, her face flushing. " I am tired of hearing about 
 it. I am tired of this make-believe and pretence. The 
 title is nothing, the money is nothing. I would marry 
 Wilfrid just as willingly aye, more so if he had not 
 a penny in the world." 
 
 " You are quite right to tell him so, dear," rejoined 
 Mrs. de Courcy Miles approvingly, " but you needn't 
 waste it upon me. Please give me the third volume of
 
 MRS. MILES' S SEASON. 209 
 
 * Lady Ermyntrude's Folly.' It is on the table yonder. 
 We needn't talk any more until somebody comes." 
 
 So settling herself down in the most comfortable 
 chair, Mrs. Miles was soon lost in her society novel, so- 
 called. It was one of the voluminous series of a well- 
 known lady novelist, who has never viewed society, 
 properly understood, from any nearer point of view 
 than the area railings. 
 
 It was not very long before Tyrconnel arrived. He 
 was followed closely by Coryton, who rescued him 
 from Mrs. de Courcy Miles's clutches, and engaged the 
 whole of that lady's attention by whispering to her 
 certain coming scandals among the upper ten thousand, 
 which he manufactured as he went along, but which 
 Mrs. Miles listened to as attentively as if they were 
 gospel, in fact a good deal more so. 
 
 This gave Tyrconnel and Gwendolen the opportunity 
 they were longing for a quiet chat together. They 
 withdrew to the shelter of the window-seat and were 
 soon recounting all their thoughts and experiences 
 since last they met, just as though they had not al- 
 ready confided everything to each other in closely 
 written pages of Bath post six sheets in a budget. 
 
 Then they began to discuss their plans. Gwendolen 
 was quite a country cousin, she had so many things 
 she wished to see two or three plays, Olivia for one, 
 and the summer exhibition at the New Gallery. Then 
 she wanted to go to the morning service at West- 
 minster Abbey next Sunday, would Wilfrid come? 
 They had tickets from the Dean for the choir. And 
 there were several parties she didn't care much about, 
 save for the chance of meeting him at them, and there 
 was a philanthropic meeting at Crowther Lodge in aid 
 of little Italian children. She didn't know much 
 about Italian children organ grinders or otherwise 
 but she would like to go. Would Wilfrid go with 
 her there too ? Of course ; he would follow her into 
 the lion's mouth if need be. 
 
 Then they began to talk about their engagement, 
 which had not yet been publicly announced, though it 
 was an open secret among their acquaintance. 
 
 " Was Lord Baltinglass more reconciled to it ? " she 
 14
 
 210 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 asked timidly. She had only seen him once since they 
 came to town, but Miss Tyrconnel was on their side. 
 
 "And we have to thank Coryton too," said Tyr- 
 connel, " he has great influence with the Guv'nor and 
 has quite talked him round. Oh! yes, there is no 
 longer any obstacle to fear from that quarter. The 
 Guv'nor doesn't like to seem to give his consent too 
 quickly, but he has given it and he's not a man to 
 go back from his word, whatever his faults may 
 be. You see, it will be announced before the end of 
 the season." 
 
 " I do not care anything about the announcement," 
 she said, "if only you do not mind waiting for me, 
 Wilfrid." 
 
 " Dear one," he said, clasping her hands, " I would 
 wait for you twice seven years, if need be, as Jacob 
 waited for Rachel." 
 
 She looked at his flushed and eager face, a great 
 light of trust and love shining in her eyes. The little 
 breeze from the scarcely closed window ruffled her 
 hair about her brow and wafted in a faint fra- 
 grance of musk upon the summer air. The shabby 
 room was transformed into an enchanted palace for 
 these two. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. de Courcy Miles having listened 
 with great relish to a description of the Duchess of 
 Puffeballe's dance which she determined to transcribe 
 on paper (as an eye-witness) at the earliest opportunity 
 for the benefit of the wife of the Vice-Chancellor, 
 descended suddenly to matters more personal. After 
 a side-glance towards the two in the window she 
 asked Coryton in a lowered voice much the same ques- 
 tion as the one Gwendolen had already put to Tyrconnel, 
 though from very different motives. 
 
 "I think the engagement ought to be announced 
 without delay," she said. " I presume Lord Baltinglass 
 has no objections now that his consent has been vir- 
 tually given. Plave you seen him lately ? " 
 
 " I met him in the lobby of the House of Lords the 
 other afternoon," replied Coryton in the same con- 
 fidential tones, " and we talked upon the subject at 
 some length. As you are aware. Lord Baltinglass is
 
 MRS. MILES' S SEASON. 211 
 
 much prepossessed in Miss Haviland's favor, and he 
 has no serious objections to urge ; still it is only right 
 for me to tell you that he thinks his son might have 
 looked higher, and " 
 
 " I am sure Gwendolen is qualified to hold her own 
 in any society," interrupted Mrs. Miles tartly, for the 
 objection sounded like a reflection on herself ; " which 
 is more than can be said of Lord Baltinglass. What 
 more can the man want ? " 
 
 " I have no doubt about that," said Coryton, blandly, 
 in his most ultra- Parliamentary manner. " She does in- 
 deed, in the highest degree, reflect credit upon your ad- 
 mirable training. One cannot say more than that. But 
 it appears that Lord Baltinglass, after the manner of 
 his kind, had cherished the ambition of his son's ally- 
 ing himself with some great house, and it is the idea 
 of his having to forego this ambition, which has been 
 displeasing to him." 
 
 Coryton had reasons of his own for magnifying Lord 
 Baltinglass' reluctance. Mrs. de Courcy Miles looked 
 somewhat blank, though visibly mollified at the com- 
 pliments paid to her. 
 
 " We are dining at Baltinglass House on the 21st," 
 she said. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," said Coryton, " it proves that 
 the conversation between Lord Baltinglass and myself 
 has not been barren of results. As I was about to re- 
 mark, Lord Baltinglass has now determined to cordially 
 consent to the marriage. He has, as I said before, the 
 highest opinion of Miss Haviland. Her beauty and 
 grace, no less than her sound common-sense, have 
 made a great impression on him, and he is anxious that 
 Wilfrid should marry young and sow his wild oats. 
 Lord Baltinglass is not one who looks lightly on youth- 
 ful follies, nor need I add, does Miss Tyrconnel. They 
 think an early marriage will be his salvation, and Lord 
 Baltinglass is anxious that there should be no lack of 
 heirs to perpetuate his name. I myself think it is the 
 best thing to be done, for, of course, as you are aware, 
 Lord Baltinglass' vast fortune is entirely at his own 
 disposal, and he is just the sort of man, if angered by 
 some youthful indiscretion, to disinherit Wilfrid,"
 
 212 THE GEEEN SAY TREE. 
 
 " He cannot keep him out of the title," said Mrs. 
 Miles. 
 
 " True," said Coryton drily, " but a title without 
 money is but little worth especially a brand new one. 
 It is difficult for an empty bag to stand upright. How- 
 ever, we will not contemplate such a possibility. I 
 only mention it now, as an additional reason for hurry- 
 ing on the marriage." 
 
 " I am sure we are all very much obliged to you, Mr. 
 Coryton," said his listener with effusion. 
 
 " Pray do not mention it," he replied with a depre- 
 catory smile, " I am only too glad to be of any little 
 service to my friends, and 
 
 What he might have added was never uttered, for at 
 that moment a heavy footstep was heard ascending 
 the stairs, and then, to every one's astonishment, the 
 Professor entered the room. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 THE PLUCKING OF THE PKOFESSOR. 
 
 " Professors are admirable persons so long as they confine them- 
 selves strictly to the subjects which they profess." LOED K. 
 CHXIKCHILL : Speech at the University Carlton Club Dinner, 
 Cambridge, June, 1885. 
 
 THE Professor seemed unusually flustered and hur- 
 ried. One hand grasped a carpet-bag and the other 
 the University Don's inevitable umbrella. His broad- 
 brimmed hat was brushed the wrong way. Something 
 had evidently occurred to startle him out of his nor- 
 mal, professorial calm. 
 
 " Goodness gracious, James," exclaimed Mrs. Miles, 
 viewing the unexpected visitant with an inhospitable 
 eye. " Whatever brings you here bursting in upon 
 us like this ? " 
 
 The Professor did not hear her apparently. He 
 removed his hat and put it upon the table. Then he
 
 THE PLUCKING OF THE PROFESSOR. 213 
 
 saluted Gwendolen solemnly on either cheek, and would 
 have performed a similar ceremony with his sister, had 
 not that lady adroitly avoided it. 
 
 " Can I get a bed here to-night, Maria ? " he asked 
 in his usual strident tone, after he had shaken hands 
 with the two young men. 
 
 Mrs. Miles shuddered. That vulgar name ! She 
 always signed herself " Marie." 
 
 " Well, yes, I suppose so," she rejoined ungraciously. 
 " If you don't mind going up rather high, that is to 
 say," she added, her thoughts running on a certain 
 little attic up among the tiles. 
 
 The Professor looked somewhat doubtful. He knew 
 that attic. 
 
 " You can have my room, father," broke in Gwendo- 
 len, coming forward and taking him affectionately by 
 the arm. 
 
 " Your room ! Good gracious ! Gwendolen, what 
 are you thinking about ? " exclaimed Mrs. Miles sharply. 
 " There's the ball to-night. Who is going to move all 
 your things, I should like to know, and how are you 
 going to manage to dress properly up in that little 
 garret ? I won't have you crowding in with me, so 
 don't think it." 
 
 Then she paused abruptly, remembering that these 
 domestic details were hardly suitable for discussion 
 before her visitors. To divert attention she turned on 
 the Professor again. 
 
 " James," she repeated, " Will you tell me what has 
 brought you up to town in this unexpected manner ? " 
 
 " Business, my dear, business," rejoined the Profes- 
 sor, sitting down and wiping his spectacles deliberately, 
 " urgent and important business. I had a letter from 
 my broker this morning to say that the Vald'oro Gold 
 Mines were in a very shaky condition, so I wired to 
 him to sell out at once and followed up my telegram 
 in person to see if I cannot find a suitable investment 
 for those two or three thousand pounds. Nothing 
 like being prompt in these matters," he said, looking 
 towards Coryton, with that business-like air which 
 very un business-like people are so fond of assuming. 
 
 " Nothing indeed, I quite agree with you," replied
 
 214 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 Coryton, his eyes glistening at the mention of those 
 two or three thousand pounds. 
 
 " Humph ! " ejaculated Mrs. Miles, whose opinion of 
 her brother's business capacities was by no means high. 
 " I hope you won't be taken in, James." 
 
 "My dear," rebuked the Professor, loftily, "I am 
 always guided by the advice of my brokers. Though 
 1 confess," he added with a momentary hesitation, 
 " they have not always advised me aright." 
 
 "Hardly, if they advised Vald'oro Gold Mines," 
 interpolated Coryton with an affectation of superior 
 knowledge. " May I ask who are your brokers, Pro- 
 fessor Haviland ? " 
 
 " Messrs. Grabbit and Shark," replied the Professor. 
 " What ! Do you know anything about them ? " 
 
 " I would rather not say what I know about them," 
 replied Coryton, with commendable caution consider- 
 ing that he knew nothing at all. Then he continued, 
 with the air of one who could say much, an he would : 
 " But, as you know, my position gives me many oppor- 
 tunities of seeing behind the scenes and if I might 
 venture to advise, I should strongly recommend you not 
 to consult them with reference to future investments. 
 I must not say more I must not indeed. What I have 
 been told was in the strictest confidence, but my infor- 
 mation came from the highest sources I cannot say 
 more." 
 
 " There, James, you hear," broke in Mrs. de Courcy 
 Miles. " Mr. Coryton is the Marquis of South wark's 
 private secretary and his warning is not to be lightly 
 put aside. What have I always told you about 
 Grabbit and Shark? You know how they let you 
 in over that Lofosz business as well as these Vald'oro 
 Mines." 
 
 " Really, Maria," said the Professor, " if you remem- 
 ber you counselled the Lofosz investment yourself." 
 
 But he was frightened at Coryton's words. All 
 people who dabble in doubtful speculations are apt to 
 be at the merest breath of suspicion. 
 
 " What do you advise then, Mr. Coryton ? " he 
 queried, addressing him with increased respect. 
 
 " I only wished to warn you as a friend," replied
 
 THE PLUCKING OF THE P HOPES SOU. 215 
 
 Coryton with assumed reluctance. "To advise you 
 further is another matter. Of course you know" 
 this to Mrs. de Courcy Miles " Lord Southwark in- 
 vests largely of his surplus income every month." The 
 lady bowed assent. " I have therefore many oppor- 
 tunities of getting the ' straight tip ' so to speak, which 
 are debarred to the million ; still I hardly know if I 
 should be justified in " 
 
 " Oh ! do please advise James, dear Mr. Coryton," 
 cried Mrs. de Courcy Miles, as he paused. " You don't 
 know what a child he is in business matters. Yes, you 
 are, James, there's no denying it. Do tell him of some 
 nice safe investment with a good interest. Anything 
 which Lord Southwark has money in must, I am sure, 
 be first-class." 
 
 " Well, I don't know that I ought to do so," said 
 Coryton, lowering his voice to suit the solemnity of 
 the occasion. " Were it any one but you I should 
 
 refuse ; but I can refuse you nothing Well 
 
 then," he went on in a lowered voice as though he 
 were imparting a Cabinet secret, " a Company has 
 just been formed the shares are only just on the 
 market to promote one of the greatest inventions 
 the world has ever seen. There is a great future 
 before it absolute security and 20% dividend on 
 the first half year. The ' Patent Automatic Drainage ' 
 Company it is called. For obvious reasons I do not 
 care to explain the details just now, but it is a mar- 
 vellously good investment. Lord Southwark thinks 
 most highly of it." 
 
 "And is Lord Southwark one of the directors?" 
 queried Mrs. Miles, her eyes brightening at the pros- 
 pect of that 20% dividend. 
 
 " Lord Southwark does not see his way to becoming 
 a director at present," replied Coryton with gentle 
 rebuke. "He has to consider his position in the 
 Ministry but he is greatly interested." (In point of 
 fact Lord Southwark had no more to do with it than 
 the man in the moon.) " And in a small way, compari- 
 tively speaking, I am interested myself. But the 
 Board of Directors is a very influential one. It includes 
 the Marquis of Swindleycate, the Earl of Bubbelf raude,
 
 216 THE GREEN SAY TREE. 
 
 Lord Guineapygge, Sir Hawke Pluckpigeon, K. C.B., 
 Alderman Sir Levi Lazarus, Mr. Toadey-Snaile, M.P., 
 and many other names well known in the world of 
 finance." 
 
 u There, James," cried Mrs. de Courcy Miles, quite 
 overcome by this illustrious list. " What better guar- 
 antees can you have? Please talk the matter over 
 with Mr. Coryton. How providential you should have 
 met him in this way. But " her thoughts reverting 
 to the original grievance " I must say it is very in- 
 considerate of you to rush in upon us without notice in 
 this way, we have so much going on too. Gwendolen 
 dear, what are our engagements for this evening ? " 
 
 During the whole of this colloquy Gwendolen and 
 her lover had been engrossed with one another on the 
 window-seat. Mrs. Miles found it necessary to repeat 
 the question. 
 
 "Surely, Aunt, you know we have not so many 
 engagements," replied her uncomfortably truthful 
 niece. 
 
 Mrs. Miles wisely ignored the rebuke and consulted 
 her tablets. 
 
 "Ah! yes," she said, "it is as I thought. We are 
 dining at Lady Giddy's and going on to Mrs. Connect- 
 icut's ball afterwards. You see, James, how incon- 
 siderate you are. I have ordered no dinner. You'll 
 get nothing here." 
 
 "Perhaps Professor Haviland will come and dine 
 with me quite quietly at my club," suggested Coryton. 
 " It would give me great pleasure if he would." 
 
 " That would be very nice," said Mrs. de Courcy 
 Miles, accepting for the Professor promptly, " and then 
 you might have a little business chat together." 
 
 Gwendolen gave Coryton a grateful glance. She 
 was always grateful for any little kindness to her 
 father. She was very fond of him and resented the 
 way in which Mrs. Miles was apt to shunt him 
 aside. 
 
 " Well, I must be going," said Coryton, taking up 
 his hat. "We shall meet at eight then, Professor. 
 So good of you to say you will come. Are you 
 coming my way, Tyrconnel ? "
 
 THE PLUCKING OF THE PROFESSOR 217 
 
 " I think so," he replied, for he saw that as Cory- 
 ton was leaving all chances of a further tete-&-tte 
 were over. " We shall meet at Mrs. Connecticut's, 
 Gwendolen. Oh ! there is one thing I wanted to ask 
 you I had almost forgotten it. Will you and Mrs. 
 Miles drive down with us to Hurlingham next Satur- 
 day and have lunch there ? There is to be a Meet of 
 the Four-in-Hand first of all, don't you know, and the 
 idea was that we should drive down on Pimlico's 
 coach." 
 
 " Delightful ! " exclaimed Mrs. Miles with rapture. 
 " We should love it of all things." 
 
 She had often been among the crowd which watches 
 the Meets of the Coaching Club and Four-in-Hand 
 from the footpaths. Now she was to be on a coach 
 instead. Surely her ambitions were being realized 
 at last. " Oh ! how I hope the Overdone- Joneses will 
 be there to see," she thought to herself. 
 
 But Gwendolen demurred. 
 
 "I do not like Lord Pimlico," she said, flushing 
 a little. Poor Pimlico was the scapegoat just now, 
 her suspicions having been diverted from Coryton. 
 She in fact regarded him as Wilfrid's evil genius, 
 vice Coryton promoted. 
 
 " What nonsense ! " said Mrs. Miles, " I think Lord 
 Pimlico a most charming person, his manners are 
 the perfection of haut ton; as indeed they would be 
 the eldest son of the Marquis of Southwark. Really, 
 Gwendolen, you are too ridiculous, I suppose there 
 will be a large party, Mr. Tyrconnel ?" 
 
 " No," said Coryton, answering for him. " Pimlico 
 doesn't care about crowding his coach. I don't know 
 how many exactly ; but Lady Elizabeth and Miss 
 Gargoyle, Lady Giddy and Miss Tresillian and two 
 or three men are coming, I believe." 
 
 " There, do you hear, Gwendolen ? " said Mrs. Miles. 
 " Lady Elizabeth Gargoyle is going. Really, you are 
 a little too absurd ! " 
 
 " I thought Gwendolen would like to come," said 
 Tyrconnel a little hurt, " but of course if she doesn't, 
 we will say no more about it." 
 
 Gwendolen looked distressed. She heeded Mrs. de
 
 218 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 Courcy Miles's railings no more than the flies upon 
 the wall, but she did not wish to hurt Wilfrid's 
 feelings, just when they were so happy together. 
 Perhaps after all she was carrying her dislike of 
 Lord Pimlico too far. She gave Tyrconnel her 
 hand. 
 
 " I will come with pleasure if you wish it," she said. 
 
 The Professor dined that evening with Coryton as 
 arranged. They had a nice little dinner and a really 
 excellent bottle of port, to which the Professor, as 
 befitted a University Don, did ample justice. Only 
 Mr. Toadey-Snaile, that notorious Guinea-pig, dined 
 with them before going down to the House. Cory- 
 ton couldn't get any other members of the Syndicate 
 together at so short a notice, but Mr. Snaile served 
 excellently well. Before the evening was over the 
 Professor had quite determined to invest his odd 
 thousands in the Automatic Drainage Company 
 which Coryton was floating with a few titled decoys 
 and even to sell out other stock for the same purpose'. 
 Such an opportunity, as both Coryton and Mr. Snaile 
 impressed upon him was not to be lost. The younger 
 gentleman was comparatively new to the art of com- 
 pany-promoting, but he played his part to the manner 
 born so much so as to evoke the involuntary admira- 
 tion of that old fox, Toadey-Snaile. No one knew how 
 to pluck a pigeon better than Coryton, his early train- 
 ing admirably fitted him for the work and the Pro- 
 fessor was the silliest of all pigeons one who thinks 
 himself wise. University dons, old women and country 
 parsons, are notoriously the worst at business. It is 
 upon them that bubble speculators, financial agents, 
 company-promoters and such like vermin, fatten and 
 flourish. Some one has said the world is made up of 
 knaves and fools mostly fools. This is perhaps an 
 arbitrary division, the one thing certain is that there 
 is a continual transference going on from the pockets 
 of those who have money, to the pockets of those 
 who have it not. 
 
 The starving man who steals a roll from a baker's 
 shop is punished with the utmost rigor of the law, br.t
 
 THE PLUCKING OF THE PROFESSOR. 219 
 
 such as those who devour widows' houses and for pre- 
 tence make long prayers, go scot free, and live and die 
 in the odor of sanctity. The shadow of the Green Bay 
 Tree is over them all. 
 
 A merry party drove down to Hurlingham the fol- 
 lowing Saturday. It was a beautiful sunshiny morn- 
 ing with just enough breeze to temper the heat. A 
 little rain had fallen during the night, not much, but 
 enough to freshen the trees in the Park and render the 
 water-carts unnecessary. Pimlico kept his team of 
 bays together in fine style, and handled the ribbons in 
 masterful manner, evoking the noisy admiration of 
 Theodora, who occupied the box seat and gave her 
 opinion on the points of the horses in that delightfully 
 candid and professional manner for which she was re- 
 nowned. Mrs. de Courcey Miles had the audacity to 
 inano3uvre for the box-seat herself, but Theodora soon 
 settled that. However, Mrs. Miles managed to make 
 herself very much at home elsewhere, and even had 
 the satisfaction of espying the Overdone-Joneses gaping 
 at her from the path just a little way below the 
 Magazine. Miss Tresillian was unable to come; she 
 was knocked up after last night's ball, she had writ- 
 ten ; but the real truth of the matter was that her 
 dress did not come home in time a ravishing creation 
 of Kate Reilly's and she had "nothing to wear." 
 However, she bore the disappointment very philosophi- 
 cally by taking it out in bed with a French novel and 
 a big box of bon-bons. Her " dear Poley " would con- 
 sole himself, no doubt. 
 
 A dainty little luncheon was awaiting them at the 
 other end, a meal fit for Lucullus ; though probably 
 Lucullus, like most of those who make dining one of the 
 fine arts, would have voted luncheon a mistake. When 
 it was over, later in the afternoon the " all and sundry " 
 as Theodora phrased it, began to troop in. 
 
 " It is always so fresh and delightful here," said 
 Lady Giddy to Coryton with a comprehensive wave of 
 her parasol at the velvet turf and shady trees, " that I 
 feel quite good. One's surroundings have a good deal 
 to do with one's feeling good ; don't you think ? "
 
 220 THE GREEN SAY TREE. 
 
 " Possibly," said Coryton, with a glance at the ani- 
 mated crowd, "though I confess Hmiingham never 
 struck me in a pastoral light before. But then what- 
 ever our sins may be, we always flatter ourselves that 
 we are conquering them even when they are conquer- 
 ing us." 
 
 Lady Giddy laughed. " You are incorrigible," she 
 said. " We will talk of something more interesting. 
 Let us come and look at the Polo." 
 
 So they went and sat near the queer, mushroom- 
 shaped little tents, and watched the game and listened 
 to the music of the band. Coryton naturally translated 
 " something more interesting " to mean Lady Giddy her- 
 self. So he chose the most subtle form of flattery and 
 talked to her about herself. Lady Giddy was not back- 
 ward in responding and they were soon embarked on 
 the initial stages of a flirtation. However, they did 
 not get very far ahead to-day, for the coaches began 
 to move away early, as they generally do. Theodora 
 was looking forward to the homeward drive and Pimlico 
 was impatient to be gone. Gwendolen and Tyrconnel 
 were hunted up with difficulty by Mrs. de Courcy 
 Miles. They had turned their backs on the Polo, had 
 gone off somewhere together in the grounds. But they 
 were captured at last ; and then the whole party drove 
 homeward before the trees began to cast long shadows. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 HENLEY REGATTA. 
 
 The virtue of widows is a laborious virtue : they have to com- 
 bat constantly with the remembrance of past bliss. ST. JEKOME. 
 
 THE season was waning fast. Each year it seems to 
 die harder and to take longer about it ; but it was dying 
 at last, there could be no doubt about that. The trees 
 in the Park were dusty and grimy ; the flower-boxes in 
 the windows of Belgravia and Mayfair had lost their
 
 HENLEY REGATTA. 221 
 
 freshness, and it was too late for people to think of 
 renewing them ; the streets and squares were stuffy and 
 hot. There was an air of finality about everything, 
 people pined for a breath of fresh country air. Society 
 generally was pluming itself for flight discussing the 
 possibilities of Goodwood and Cowes, where it would 
 meet once more before dispersing itself to Homburg 
 waters or Scottish moors. 
 
 The Eton and Harrow Match, the turning point of a 
 dying season, was just over, and Lady Giddy had gone 
 down to her place near Henley to entertain a party of 
 friends for the Regatta. Not that Lady Giddy cared 
 about the Regatta ; she had been to so many and they 
 were all alike ; but it served as a peg to hang a house- 
 party on. 
 
 Lady Giddy had a pretty little place on the river 
 about a mile below Henley Bridge ; a spacious house 
 in good-sized grounds, the verdant lawns of which 
 sloped down to the water's edge, beneath umbrageous 
 trees. There was a tiny park and a charming boat- 
 house. The house itself faced the river against a back- 
 ground of beech-trees, which were wont to don won- 
 drous autumn tints of brown and red and gold. 
 
 People who did not know Lady Giddy very well often 
 wondered why she did not marry again. People who 
 knew her better did not wonder at all. Her late hus- 
 band, an old Indian Judge and K. C. S. I. whom she had 
 married for his money, became aware of the fact that 
 she had done so, and, being of a jealous disposition, he 
 willed his property in such a manner that everything 
 would leave her if she married again. 
 
 So his young and handsome widow was left to per- 
 form an involuntary suttee. Her moneyed admirers 
 did not admire her enough to marry her for her own 
 sake, and the impecunious ones were out of the 
 question. Love in a cottage would not suit Lady 
 Giddy. 
 
 She had a good many amourettes, but she was on 
 the whole discreet. She might possibly sin against 
 every commandment in the decalogue, and probably 
 did against one of them, but she was careful always 
 to observe the greatest commandment of all "Thou
 
 222 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 shalt not be found out." Wives and mothers were 
 inclined to be nasty now and then, but Lady Giddy 
 held her own, and the world generally, and her world 
 in particular, for the most part winked at her little 
 affairs of the heart, and said " It was only that dear 
 Lady Giddy's way." 
 
 Lady Giddy did not include Gwendolen in her house 
 party, though Mrs. de Courcy Miles threw out some 
 very strong hints indeed. 
 
 " After quartering herself and that girl upon us for 
 the May-week last year, I call it most unfriendly," she 
 said, forgetting that it was she who had worried Lady 
 Giddy into staying with her. But Mrs. Miles was more 
 than consoled by an invitation from Lord Baltinglass 
 of Blarney, who, at Wilfrid's instigation, had taken a 
 house at Wargrave for the Henley week. 
 
 Lady Giddy arranged a nice little party " mixed 
 and piquant " as they say of pickles. She invited 
 Lady Elizabeth and Theodora, Lord Pimlico, Gaverigan, 
 Colonel Lockhart, Miss Connecticut and Miss Mudlark, 
 Sir Lauder Forbes, Lady Greyheather, and Miss Miller, 
 Williams and Wilmot, and last but not least Violet 
 Tresillian and Coryton. Lady Giddy was very proud 
 of Violet in a way. She had done her much credit, for 
 she was universally admitted to be one of the prettiest 
 girls of last season. 
 
 Violet's wit, her beauty, heightened by her admirable 
 taste in dress and her vague reputation of being an 
 heiress had made her a centre of attraction. It was 
 remarkable under the circumstances that she kept her 
 faith with Coryton. She was just that sort of girl who 
 might make a brilliant match in time ; but somehow 
 no very eligible parti came in her way throughout the 
 season, at least not in the way of business men 
 often admire most the women they would care to 
 marry least and Coryton exercised an attraction, 
 it might almost be called a fascination over her, 
 and besides she was completely deceived as to his real 
 financial position. 
 
 Coryton accepted Lady Giddy's invitation gladly, 
 though he could only spare a few days. Parliament 
 was still sitting, but Lord Southwark had not much
 
 HENLEY EEGATTA. 223 
 
 for him to do just now. By and bye would come that 
 rush of bills which are always hustled up to the Upper 
 House at the fag end of the Session. In the meantime 
 the Lords were waiting for work while the Commons 
 were wrangling. So Lord Southwark went off to his 
 place in Loamshire for a day or two, and his private 
 secretary ran down to Henley. 
 
 Without being head over ears in love with Violet, 
 Coryton liked to be with her, and was anxious to urge 
 his suit. He knew how volatile she was and feared 
 that she might throw him over if some one, whom she 
 considered a better match, presented himself. That 
 would upset his calculations considerably, for was not 
 Violet's dowry to pay his bills, his Election expenses 
 and many other little luxuries? Therefore he was 
 anxious to settle the matter without delay. Some 
 awkward questions might turn up over the settlements, 
 perhaps, but he thought he knew a way of evading 
 them so far as he was concerned. He was quite ready 
 to settle anything on Violet on paper. When it came 
 to paying over the money, Violet would be tied to him 
 irrevocably. 
 
 " And she will be shrewd enough to accept the in- 
 evitable," he thought. " The real bond of wedlock is 
 self-interest. Passion dies, love passes, but that re- 
 mains. It is the motive power of most marriages, it is 
 the secret of the endurance of them all." 
 
 Lady Giddy having arranged her little party, pre- 
 pared to enjoy herself. 
 
 "You will have a good many boys among your 
 guests," remarked Lady Elizabeth discontentedly to 
 Lady Giddy, the afternoon of her arrival. 
 
 She and Theodora had come down by an early 
 train. The others were not expected until just before 
 dinner. Tea was over and Theodora had gone off 
 to have a "look in," as she phrased it at the stables. 
 The two were sitting under the great elm-trees on the 
 lawn. Her hostess had been running off her list for 
 the benefit of Lady Elizabeth. 
 
 " I love boys," gushed Lady Giddy, a somewhat un- 
 necessary statement, her listener thought. " They take 
 one so seriously, and do you know? it is quite a
 
 224 THE GREEN HAY TREE. 
 
 pleasure to be taken seriously sometimes. It almost 
 makes one believe in oneself." 
 
 "Which self?" asked Lady Elizabeth. "We all of 
 us have three selves, the one we think we are, the one 
 other people think we are, and the one we really are. 
 Which self?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know ! " rejoined Lady Giddy indiffer- 
 ently, looking beyond her at the broad, flowing river, 
 " the one people think we are, I suppose. It is refresh- 
 ing to be believed in now and then, anyway." 
 
 Lady Elizabeth laughed amusedly. 
 
 " My good Gerty," she exclaimed. " You are getting 
 quite sentimental. But tell me how comes it that the 
 Baltinglasses are not included in your list? I thought 
 you were such great friends." 
 
 " They have taken a house at Wargrave, a mile 
 or so from here, or I should certainly have asked 
 Wilfrid." 
 
 " Another boy ! " said Lady Elizabeth. " He is a 
 great friend of that new man one meets everywhere, 
 Southwark's secretary, isn't he? They always seem 
 to run in couples. Tell me, do you know anything 
 about the girl Wilfrid is marrying. I saw her one day 
 at Hurlingham and I believe I don't remember she 
 was at Blarney. She struck me as quite pretty. Who 
 is she?" 
 
 " Oh, nobody," rejoined Lady Giddy. " Quite a 
 middle- class person, I assure you, the daughter of a 
 Cambridge tutor or professor or something of the kind. 
 Yes, she is pretty in a way, but utterly gauche and 
 with no pretension to smartness." 
 
 " But you went to stay with the middle-class person 
 at Cambridge last year, didn't you ? " asked Lady 
 Elizabeth, a trifle maliciously. 
 
 " Yes," said Lady Giddy composedly, "I was pestered 
 into it. I know the girl's aunt a little, a terrible 
 woman" so do we speak of our dear friends "whom 
 I met in India long ago. We were at Simla one year 
 together, and at Simla one gets to know all sorts of 
 queer creatures, you know." 
 
 " Yes," said Lady Elizabeth, " quite so." She had 
 heard a little of Lady Giddy's Simla experiences from,
 
 HENLEY REGATTA. 225 
 
 another quarter. "Ah, here comes Theodora Well, 
 Theo, what do you think of the stables ? " 
 
 " Rippin'," ejaculated Theodora. She was in the 
 habit of clipping her g's ; and her English to put it 
 mildly was somewhat loose. " That's a gay little cob 
 you've got, Gerty. I like him better than that fiddle- 
 headed chestnut you rode last season." 
 
 " Yes," said Lady Giddy, falling into the same 
 vernacular, " the chestnut was a bit nappy on the 
 road, but fit as a flea when it came to going across 
 country. I'm glad you like the cob, Theo, he's a gay 
 little beast." 
 
 " I should like a mount on him to-morrow mornin', 
 then I could tell better what he's made of, don't you 
 know," said Theodora, decapitating a daisy with her 
 stick. 
 
 " I don't see how you'll manage it," rejoined her 
 hostess, " unless you turn out before breakfast. We'll 
 have to go to the Regatta some time before luncheon." 
 
 " All right," said Theodora, " I'm game. I'll see if I 
 can't rout up Pirn and we'll go for a spin together. It'll 
 do him good ; he's been gettin' very slack lately and 
 puttin' on weight in a manner that is quite alarminV 
 
 Pimlico, however (to whom she confided the idea 
 later on in the evening), didn't seem to see it, and so 
 the ride was postponed for another day. 
 
 The next morning they all drove over in a big 
 brake to the Regatta all, that is to say, except a few 
 of the more enthusiastic spirits, who preferred to go 
 by the river. But Lady Giddy and the bulk of her 
 party liked to take their pleasures easily. So they 
 drove over to Phyllis Court not too early in the fore- 
 noon, and lunched comfortably under some spreading 
 trees in the grounds, and then joined the privileged 
 few who witnessed the Regatta from Phyllis Court 
 lawn, which slopes down to the river's edge and com- 
 mands an unrivalled view of the scene of action. If 
 any wished to go on the river it was easy to get a boat 
 from there. 
 
 It is needless to enter upon a detailed description 
 of the Regatta. It may be taken for granted that 
 every one has seen it. And this particular Regatta, 
 15
 
 226 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 was just the same as all the rest. There were 
 races going on presumably, though most of the 
 people did not seem to know much about them ; 
 there was the huge flotilla of boats of every imagi- 
 nable sort and shape, from the flower-bedecked 
 house-boat to the Canadian canoe. There were 
 nigger minstrels and comic singers, there was the 
 gay animated crowd on the river and on the banks. 
 Except that there was plenty of sunshine, and no 
 rain and it generally does rain for Henley there 
 was nothing to mark out this Regatta from those 
 which had preceded it. 
 
 When Lady Giddy had disposed of her guests 
 or rather when they had disposed of themselves, as 
 people have a knack of doing on these occasions 
 she looked around for Coryton, but learned that he 
 had gone off on the river with Violet. A faint sense 
 of disappointment came over her. He amused her, 
 and she had quite looked forward to a little flirtation 
 with him. 
 
 She crossed the meadow with the intention of 
 giving some directions to her servants, who were 
 packing up the luncheon baskets, when suddenly she 
 came upon some one with his hands clasped behind 
 his head, reclining at full length under a chestnut 
 tree. A cigarette was between his lips, and he was 
 lazily watching the rings of blue smoke curl upwards 
 in the summer air. In the distance Lady Giddy 
 could see nothing but what seemed to her a heap 
 of white flannels, with a straw hat alongside, but as 
 she came nearer the heap resolved itself into shape, 
 and she saw that it was Gaverigan. 
 
 " Upon my word," she exclaimed, in a tone of 
 laughing remonstrance, " this is really too bad of 
 you, Harold. Quite apart from the ill compliment 
 you pay me, what is the good of coming to the 
 Regatta if you ostentatiously turn your back upon it ? " 
 
 He sprang to his feet at the sound of her voice, and 
 faced her with a smile. 
 
 " The Regatta !" he echoed, "I did not come to 
 see the Regatta that Cockney Carnival, that Paradise 
 of Bohemia but to see you," he added audaciously.
 
 HENLEY EEGATTA. 227 
 
 " Yt>u have a queer way of letting me know it," 
 she rejoined coquettishly, " going apart by yourself 
 in this manner Well, I will not interrupt your 
 meditations." 
 
 He laid a detaining hand on her arm, and looked 
 pleadingly into her eyes. 
 
 " Do not be angry with me," he said contritely, " and 
 do not go. Stay here with me. Surely it is better here 
 than in yonder crowd." 
 
 Lady Giddy thought so too. He was a handsome 
 boy, quite as amusing as Cory ton, she thought 
 resentfully, though in a different way and very much 
 more in earnest. So they sat down and chatted on 
 under the shady trees the whole of the afternoon, 
 while the band in the Isthmian enclosure played its 
 melodies, mellowed to them by the distance, and the 
 crowd on the river seemed very far off 
 
 " Gerty ! Gerty ! " cried a well-known voice at last. 
 " Ah, here you are, I have been looking for you every- 
 where." 
 
 And Lady Elizabeth bore down upon them, a lit- 
 tle flushed with walking and considerably out of 
 temper. 
 
 " Nearly every one is going into the house for tea," 
 she exclaimed in an injured tone. " Are you com- 
 ing ? I don't like to go by myself, I don't know the 
 people." 
 
 " Dear me," apologized Lady Giddy, " I had no idea 
 it was so late, and I thought you were with Lord 
 Pimlico looking at the races." 
 
 " He's gone off with Theo somewhere. They've 
 been away together all the afternoon. As for the 
 races," continued Lady Elizabeth discontentedly, as 
 they walked towards the house, " I saw nothing of 
 them. I'm too old to care about such things, and 
 there are really very few people here one knows. I 
 only saw the terrible Sir Cincinnatus just in .time, 
 fortunately, to avoid him. If it hadn't been for some 
 queer actress creatures in a gaudy house-boat and those 
 delightful nigger minstrels, I should have been bored 
 to death. There was really no one to talk to," she
 
 228 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 grumbled, determined to make her hostess feel the full 
 enormity of her delinquencies. 
 
 Meanwhile Cory ton and Violet had paddled over to 
 Lord Muskery's launch in a Canadian canoe ; or rather 
 Violet had done the paddling, while he lay among the 
 cushions and looked at her admiringly. She appealed 
 to his sense of fitness ; there was a vitality, a capabil- 
 ity about her every movement. 
 
 Violet showed to advantage on the river. She was 
 not one of the women who dress overmuch for Henley, 
 but there was an exquisite freshness and neatness about 
 her well-fitting white serge, her brown leather boots 
 and the little hat with the dark blue ribbon perched so 
 coquettishly 011 her dainty curls, which put to shame 
 the more elaborate toilets around her. 
 
 They fell to talking in a desultory way about the 
 subject which interested them most, namely, them- 
 selves. What would have struck a listener most was 
 the absence of sentiment on both sides. There were 
 no " pawings and maulings," no eloquent looks, no 
 half murmured words. They might have been arrang- 
 ing their dinner instead of the great event of their 
 lives. 
 
 Nothing could be more admirable than their plans, 
 if only one fatal flaw had not run through them all. 
 Neither of them was frank with the other. Coryton 
 had urged in the most convincing way the futility of a 
 long engagement the thought of his unpaid bills had 
 added a touch of eloquence to his pleading and Violet 
 was a little tired of an unsettled life, and of staying 
 about with people whose only thought was to get her 
 settled. 
 
 So they agreed to be married in the autumn. 
 
 Violet deftly piloted the canoe through the crowd 
 of boats, until they came alongside Lord Baltinglass's 
 launch a luxurious craft with a gaily striped awning 
 and heaps of cushions and flowers. Tea was going on 
 when they boarded her, and there were a good many 
 people sitting about, but the two whom they had 
 come especially to see, Wilfrid and Gwendolen, were 
 not there. 
 
 " They disappeared just after luncheon, and we have
 
 HENLEY REGATTA. 229 
 
 not seen them since," explained Mrs. de Courcy Miles, 
 who wore a gorgeous costume, which she fondly im- 
 agined was just suited for the river, and which she had 
 donned with a view of subjugating Lord Baltinglass of 
 Blarney. 
 
 " We'll wait a little, they'll probably turn up for 
 some tea presently," said Coryton. 
 
 " I don't know," ejaculated Miss Tyrconnel with 
 a pensive shake of her ringlets. " They have most 
 likely forgotten all about it. Ah me ! How sweet 
 is Love's young dream ! You can sympathize with 
 them, can't you dear ? " And she looked towards 
 Violet. 
 
 " I confess I can't," rejoined that young lady. " I 
 don't understand that sort of thing myself. Give me 
 one of those little cakes, Poley." 
 
 Miss Tyrconnel was right. Those of whom they 
 were speaking had no more thought of tea than of 
 the deluge. They were finding their all in one 
 another. 
 
 Tyrconnel had sculled up the stream, and when they 
 had got beyond sight of the shouting crowd he had 
 moored the boat alongside the bank. Here, beneath 
 the shade of a great alder-tree, whose branches swung 
 their creamy blossoms low above heads, they whiled 
 away the hours, " the world forgetting, by the world 
 forgot." 
 
 They were both very much in love, though in a dif- 
 ferent way. Tyrconnel worshipped Gwendolen with 
 all the passion of an emotional, impressionable nature. 
 Passion seemed hardly the word to apply to Gwen- 
 dolen. She was as pure as snow, and as cold. Yet 
 the love she felt for him softened her nature some- 
 what, for she loved him with all the first freshness of 
 a woman who loves once and can never love again. 
 But though it softened her, it did not change her. She 
 strove to raise him to her pedestal, but she did not 
 come down one step to meet him. 
 
 There are some women who love the part of coun- 
 sellor and adviser. Gwendolen was one of these. She 
 spoke to him eloquently of the iniquity of yielding to
 
 230 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 temptation, she who had never known what it was to 
 be tempted ! She spoke to him of the sufferings of 
 others, she who had never known .what it was to 
 suffer ! She was burning with a desire to set the 
 world right,- she who had no more idea of the world 
 than an unborn babe ! 
 
 But however unselfish one may be, however rigid in 
 one's spotless purity when one is young and when 
 one loves, one is apt now and then to let other con- 
 siderations slide, and to find the joy of loving enough. 
 
 Gwendolen felt this to a certain extent to-day as she 
 talked with her lover under the blossoming alder 
 boughs, and looked at the scudding ripples on the 
 river's breast. lS T ot that they talked much, for when 
 one loves most, one says least. Yet ever and anon 
 their thoughts found vent in words, as now when she 
 was telling him how she meant to help him in the new 
 life which lay before them. There was a glow of 
 enthusiasm lighting up her face, he seemed to catch 
 the reflex of it. 
 
 " Dear one," he said presently. " Do you never think 
 of yourself?" 
 
 " If one lives for oneself, one lives for but a little 
 thing," she answered. " I live for you, Wilfrid. You 
 are my other self." 
 
 " And you are my nobler one," he vowed, bending 
 nearer to her. Then a shadow fell over his face. 
 " Sometimes," he said, " it seems to me that our hap- 
 piness is too bright to last. Will you love me always ? " 
 
 " Always, always," she repeated, looking at him out 
 of the steady depths of her calm, beautiful eyes. 
 
 Foolish vow, which lovers always use. What does it 
 mean but that two beings, essentially changeable, 
 pledge themselves never to change? 
 
 " Can you doubt me, Wilfrid ? " 
 
 " No," he said, " never that I only doubt my worth- 
 iness Swear to me, Gwen, that nothing shall 
 
 part us nothing -past, present, or to come." 
 
 She looked at him, a little startled by his earnest- 
 ness. It was one of his moods, she thought ; it would 
 pass. 
 
 " Have I not told you I will love you always," she
 
 HENLE Y BEG A TTA. 231 
 
 said softly. " What can part us ? The past is over 
 and gone. You have told me all." He shrank 
 a little at this, but she did not notice it. " The future 
 lies with God. Surely the present is enough. We 
 havs no secrets from each other, you and I. Let us 
 then be happy in the perfect confidence which love 
 brings. " 
 
 " The perfect confidence which love brings," he re- 
 peated ; " and love is merciful and forgiving, is it not ? " 
 
 He paused for a moment and bowed his head. A 
 struggle was going on within him. He had not told 
 her all. The memory of a half-forgotten sin rose be- 
 fore him And she trusted him He shrank 
 
 from polluting her pure ears by even hinting at what 
 
 was past. But she trusted him And then he 
 
 knew not how she would take it. What some would 
 consider a mere boyish indiscretion might seem to 
 Gwendolen a mortal sin. No, he could not run the risk 
 of losing her But she trusted him 
 
 " Gwen," he said hoarsely, " what if I were to tell 
 you something more, something " 
 
 What he meant to say was never uttered. At that 
 moment a shout of noisy laughter, the splashing of oars 
 broke upon their ears and a boat passed by them. 
 There were four people in it of the Cockney Bohe- 
 mian type. Two men were rowing, a girl was steering, 
 and another girl was lying down in the bows. They 
 were all in boisterously high spirits, the girl in the 
 bows had a banjo, and a gaudy Japanese umbrella. 
 
 " Look out, Sally," cried one of the men, " take care 
 where you are going to, or we shall be into that boat in 
 a jiff." 
 
 Tyrconnel looked up to ward off the threatened dan- 
 ger and, as he did so, his eyes met full those of the girl 
 steering. A shock of surprise and disgust ran through 
 him, the words he had been forming died away upon 
 his lips. He felt like one who is suddenly confronted 
 with the ghost of an unforgiven sin. Here was the sin 
 incarnate in the form of Sally Popkins. 
 
 Sally was also taken aback for the moment, with sur- 
 prise probably. But she recovered an instant later, 
 and leaned forward with a sort of half smile of recog-
 
 232 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 nition. But seeing that Tyrconnel responded not, the 
 bow was strangled in its birth and her smile changed 
 to a melancholy reproachful gaze. She pulled the 
 wrong rope there came a volley of remonstrance 
 more laughter, and the boat swept on. 
 
 But Gwendolen had caught that look too. 
 
 "Who is that person who looked at you so strangely, 
 Wilfrid? "she asked with a puzzled air. "such an 
 extraordinary looking creature ! Have you seen her 
 before ? " 
 
 " I I don't know," stammered Tyrconnel confus- 
 edly " I believe so. Don't you think it is time we 
 were getting back, Gwen ? What a nuisance, I have 
 let my scull fall into the water." 
 
 In the excitement of fishing it out again, Gwendolen 
 forgot, for a time, the look she had noticed on the girl's 
 face 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE GRAFTING OF THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 We mutually pledge to each other our lives our fortunes and our 
 sacred honor. THOMAS JEFFERSON. 
 
 THE Coryton-Tresillian wedding was pronounced by 
 the society papers to be one of the events of the 
 autumn. That is to say, there were a great many 
 well-dressed people at St. Peter's, Eaton Square, with 
 favors and flowers galore. The bride's dress like 
 most bride's dresses was of ivory duchesse satin, 
 trimmed with Alenon lace and there were the usual 
 sprigs of aphrodysiac orange-blossom, inappropriate 
 emblem of innocence. There were eight white brides- 
 maids with Charles the First hats and long white 
 feathers that waggled all down their backs ; there were 
 two little page-boys, nephews of Sir Edward Tresillian, 
 who held up the bride's train and looked quite pictur-
 
 THE GRAFTING OF THE GREEN SAY TREE. 233 
 
 esque with their golden love-locks and cavalier cos- 
 tumes of white velvet. 
 
 After the ceremony, everybody trooped off to the 
 Lockharts' house in Grosvenor Place, kindly lent for 
 the occasion, and suggestive comments were inter- 
 changed, hollow congratulations offered. The wedding 
 presents were displayed on long tables all round the 
 drawing-room and suggested a charity bazaar, espe- 
 cially by their tawdriness and vulgarity. Lord South- 
 wark had sent a half-guinea nickel ink-pot, which 
 Violet mentally destined for the servants' hall, when 
 she got one. Seventeen people of wealth and good 
 position had sent silver muffineers, which afterwards 
 only fetched two and three-pence each as old silver. 
 An obscure painter-man had taken this opportunity 
 of exhibiting one of his daubs to a larger audience 
 than he had ever secured before, and an obscure nov- 
 elist had taken the same opportunity of advertis- 
 ing his three- volume shocker. Miss Tyrconnel's pres- 
 ent of half a dozen Nainsook night-caps was hid- 
 den away under the plethoric family Bible with which 
 she accompanied them. Pimlico's roulette board was 
 carefully wrapped up in its cloth. Coryton and Vio- 
 let were supposed to be rising stars and their most 
 ephemeral acquaintances took the opportunity of prov- 
 ing their regard without overtaxing their pockets. 
 Violet had remarked, as each fresh present arrived, 
 that such meanness defeated itself, for the object 
 of a wedding present was to give pleasure and exact 
 remembrance, while these trumpery offerings did 
 neither. 
 
 Violet had gone through the trying ordeal very 
 well, contriving to combine a certain affectation of 
 demureness and a pathetic by-play of her big round 
 eyes with an airy cheerfulness as rare in a bride as it 
 is delightful. The women congratulated her ironi- 
 cally on her pluck and went off to whisper in each 
 other's long ears that it was " most unmaidenly." 
 The men were inclined to think Coryton had got 
 " rather a handful," but all agreed she was " a deuced 
 pretty girl." A knot of young men began discussing 
 the question how long she would take to get tired of
 
 234 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 him and how she would treat her admirers in another 
 six months. 
 
 " They are neither of them the sort of people one 
 would care to marry," said Gaverigan airily. " They 
 are fairly good company so long as one does not see 
 too much of them. A week alone with either would 
 hore me off my head to say nothing of a lifetime ! 
 People who want to get on in life always bore me. 
 They are so cursed commonplace." 
 
 " They are very cynical," said Toadey-Snaile, who 
 disliked Gaverigan, " and there is nothing so common- 
 place as that nowadays." 
 
 " What nonsense ! " exclaimed Williams. " The 
 girl's as fresh and original as they make them. I've 
 heard her startle the stupidest people with the things 
 she says " 
 
 " Yes, I know she often startles you," sneered Wil- 
 mot, with the privileged rudeness of intimacy. 
 
 " Be quiet. I only mean she says astounding things 
 to the most correct people and yet every man, woman, 
 and child is devoted to her. I call that a proof of 
 cleverness, if you like." 
 
 "How sick she'll get of Mr. Coryton before the 
 honeymoon's over," put in Theodora, who always joined 
 in the confabulations of young men. " I do hate young 
 men who always let you see they are thinking about 
 their prospects." 
 
 " ' M yes. Other people's prospects don't interest one, 
 do they ? " said Gaverigan. 
 
 " That depends on who they are." 
 
 " Pirn, for instance ? " 
 
 " You cheeky chap ! No, I only meant that it 
 offends me to have ' comin' men ' give themselves all 
 those airs before they've come, don't you know? Big 
 bosses don't put on all that side. It's all very well to 
 say he's clever. I don't call it clever to have that 
 manner." 
 
 " Oh ! well. I don't know. People generally take 
 one at one's own valuation. Don't you think so, 
 Corry ? " Gaverigan went on, as the bridegroom joined 
 the group. 
 
 "Or at that of what the lawyers call one's 'next
 
 THE GRAFTING OF THE GREEN SAY TREE. 235 
 
 friend,' who knows more than all one's weak points 
 and like the 'damned good-natured fellow' he is 
 takes a pleasure in proclaiming them." 
 
 " But surely frankness is one of the highest privi- 
 leges of intimacy." 
 
 "Frankness! What is that?" he replied, turning 
 on his heel. " Frankness consists in telling plausible 
 untruths to your face, and outrageous ones behind 
 your back, doesn't it ? " 
 
 "Bridegroom seems fresh, don't he?" said Pimlico, 
 in his sporting lingo. " Vixie'll have to ride him with 
 the snaffle and put the blinkers on him." 
 
 At last Violet got a chance of saying a few words 
 privately to her husband. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake let's get this over as soon as we 
 can," she whispered. " I've thanked two hundred and 
 ninety-three people for their congratulations and a 
 hundred and seventy-five for their presents, without 
 making a single mistake. Nineteen old men have said, 
 ' God bless you ! ' to me, and at least as many old 
 women have made the most embarrassing allusions." 
 She blushed in the daintiest way as she said this. 
 "And really I can't stand it much longer." 
 
 " There's only half an hour more, thank goodness ! " 
 returned Coryton, his dark face lighting up with a 
 sunny smile. " I am afraid I have been quite rude to 
 some of these precious sight-seers. Modern marriage is 
 really a most disagreeable process. If we ever have to 
 go through it again, we'll go straight from the church 
 to the station, won't we ? " 
 
 Violet laughed. " To judge from our impatience, 
 anybody'd think we were madly in love with each 
 other, the sort of young fools who go in for ' love in a 
 cottage,' don't you know ? " 
 
 " Instead of a honeymoon at Monte Carlo, followed by 
 love in a little box in Mayfair, eh ? " he returned. 
 " Well, even if I weren't yearning for heaven with you, 
 I should be sick of this purgatory by this time." 
 
 *' Come, you're getting on. Compliments from Poley 
 are compliments indeed, aren't they, Miss Gargoyle ? " 
 
 "Don't know. Never tried 'em," returned that 
 young woman in her downright way. " S'pose you're
 
 236 THE GREEN SAY TREE. 
 
 off soon. Anyhow I am. This kind of show sickens 
 me. Xo offence, mind. I hope you'll have a real good 
 time. Must say J envy you Monte just now, it's rip- 
 pin' there before the rabble sets in. You and I must 
 be good pals all the same. I don't mind lettin' you 
 into a secret " and she took Violet aside mysteriously 
 and talked to her in a loud stage whisper "Pirn and I 
 are going to follow suit in the spring. Ain't it horrid ? 
 I 1 lush all over every time I think of it." 
 
 " You'll soon get used to it," laughed Violet, not 
 knowing what to make of all this unusual amiability. 
 " Well, if you really must be going, good-bye. Thanks 
 awfully for coming to see me. I daresay we shall see 
 you down south later on." 
 
 The guests were thinning a little and it was almost 
 time to prepare for departure. Violet heaved a great 
 sigh of relief. She was not quite sure she had done 
 wisely in marrying this man, and a haunting dread of 
 the future possessed her. She liked him and believed, 
 he was bound to get on. But that was very different 
 from the love which liopeth all things, endureth all 
 things, even poverty in a cottage. She laughed 
 softly to herself. Poverty ! No, that was not a thing 
 she could endure with any one. Phew ! Was she so 
 very cocksure that there would be plenty to live on ? 
 The settlements had been very carelessly gone into 
 and, when she came to think of it, the 1,000 a year 
 that had been settled on her had only been settled on 
 paper and, for all she knew, her husband might not 
 have a thousand pence to bless himself with. Her solic- 
 itors had not advised minute inquiries, as the object 
 of their diplomacy was to conceal by vague promises 
 and ambiguous phrases the nakedness of the land, and 
 it was feared, as Mr. Soapsuds, the senior partner, 
 phrased it, that " inquiries might breed inquiries." 
 
 However, she was not a person to anticipate evil. 
 So long as things were going well for the moment, 
 she was quite content to let the future take care of 
 itself. Poley was a dear boy and the beginning of 
 one's first honeymoon is always an inspiring period 
 even for the most blase. She determined none the 
 less to take an early opportunity of learning the exact
 
 THE GRAFTING OF THE GREEN BAY TREE. 237 
 
 state of affairs from her husband and putting an end to 
 this suspense. Her reflections were cut short by the 
 appearance of Wilfrid Tyrconnel with outstretched 
 hand and beaming face. 
 
 " At last I have an opportunity of giving you all my 
 good wishes ! " he exclaimed breathlessly. " I have 
 been looking for an opportunity all the afternoon, but 
 you were always busy with some old fossil or other. 
 And now you are just off and you will never be the 
 same Vixie again." 
 
 " Bless me ! Have you got such a volume of good 
 wishes for me as all that ? Very well, fire ahead. I 
 can still give you ten minutes." 
 
 " Don't joke, Vixie. I am quite sad about it. Be- 
 lieve me," he stammered, " I do hope you'll be very, 
 very happy. I used to think at one time I might per- 
 haps have had some share in making you happy. But 
 somehow we seem to have drifted apart. Corry's a 
 good chap and all that, but somehow I never thought 
 that he that you 
 
 " Were likely to fall head over ears in love with any- 
 body, least of all with each other," she said rather bit- 
 terly, helping him through in his confusion. 
 
 " Well, he has not your fine feelings. I never 
 thought you were cut out for each other exactly. But 
 as you have chosen him, I suppose you do love him 
 and I hope and pray that he may make you happy 
 may be worthy of you." 
 
 " Pray ! " she murmured, half to herself, with a 
 shade of displeasure in her tones. Why did this youth 
 come and put doubts into her head just as she was 
 making an effort to put them out ? 
 
 " Yes, pray" he returned earnestly. " You know 
 I never set up to be a religious chap." Violet smiled, < 
 as the thought of Gwendolen flitted through her mind. 
 " But I believe that sometimes prayers are heard 
 and I, who have a very deep regard for you, do pray 
 earnestly that all possible happiness may be yours." 
 
 He seemed deeply moved and Violet's quick sym- 
 pathies were touched at once. 
 
 " You are a kind boy, Pidge," she said gently, tak- 
 ing his hand, " and I am sure I can always count on
 
 238 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 you as a friend, even though others may come between 
 us." 
 
 A blush rose to his cheek. 
 
 " Xo one shall prevent my being your friend, al- 
 ways" he said simply. 
 
 " Gwendolen doesn't like me " she began. 
 
 " You and she have never got on very well, because 
 you are so different," he interrupted. "But you 
 wrong her in saying she does not like you. She does 
 not understand you as I do, but she is always eager 
 to think the best of every one. We shall always 
 desire your welfare. You know," he added con- 
 fusedly, "that we are going to be married almost 
 immediately ! " 
 
 " I have long expected it. I shall certainly ' pray ' 
 for you ! Miss Haviland deserves all congratulations. 
 Look here, Pidge, aren't you rather a queer fellow, 
 coming here to declare your eternal devotion to me, 
 just when I'm married to another man and you're 
 engaged to another girl ? All right, old boy," she 
 added almost affectionately, " we'll swear eternal 
 friendship, won't we? I only hope you may be as 
 happy as we are going to be. Eh, Poley ? " she added, 
 as her husband came to claim her. 
 
 What a relief when at last they were clear of the 
 nagging crowd and were driving off to the station 
 with tell-tale grains of rice in the folds of their clothes 
 and an old shoe lingering among the rugs. For the 
 first time there was a feeling of constraint between 
 them and neither spoke for some time. At last Violet, 
 whom a silence always bored, put on a little senti- 
 mental pout arid said, 
 
 " Are you quite sure you don't regret the step we're 
 taking, Poley ? " 
 
 " Oh ! yes," he said without enthusiasm. " We 
 thought it well out beforehand and it's going to lead 
 to a big boom, all the bigger perhaps because we are 
 hampered by no childish illusions about love." 
 
 Violet screwed up her face with a dissatisfied air. 
 
 " If you say so," she returned, " I suppose it must 
 be so. But I don't see the necessity of repeating 
 it so often. If you don't love me, you might at least
 
 THE GRAFTING OF THE GREEN BAY TREE. 239 
 
 have the- politeness to pretend to on our wedding- 
 day." 
 
 There was enough resentment in Violet's tones to 
 arrest Coryton's attention, but it never struck him 
 that it could be anything more than pique. He was 
 in a nervous irritable mood, chiefly from a haunting 
 doubt that perhaps this marriage was a rash specu- 
 lation, as well as from extreme anxiety to know what 
 they would have to live upon. He was meditating 
 how he should ask her, but even his cynical nature 
 shrank from such a step at this stage of the honey- 
 moon. Besides, his policy of always seeking to please 
 and keep everybody in perpetual good-humor had 
 become so much a habit with him that it was almost a 
 second nature. So he took his cue from her mood at 
 once and patted her little gloved hand with some show 
 of tenderness, saying, 
 
 "I believe we love each other as far as we are 
 capable of such an emotion, either of us. At any rate 
 we have what is much more important for a happy 
 marriage, and that is, the same interests and the same 
 character." 
 
 Violet smiled rather sadly. 
 
 " I am foolish enough to care a great deal more for 
 you than you do for me," she said, " and I know that 
 any unhappiness the marriage may bring forth will 
 fall upon my shoulders. Some people say it is always 
 the woman that suffers most. I don't believe that. It 
 is the one who feels most deeply." 
 
 " It is a mistake to feel deeply about anything," he 
 said lightly, " and I don't believe we either of us really 
 do. Least of all should we feel deeply during that 
 mad carnival, known as the honeymoon. A well- 
 arranged life is one continuous honeymoon and a well- 
 arranged honeymoon has nothing of real life about it 
 except its continuity." 
 
 " Those are good rules for fair weather. But there 
 must be love to take one through a storm. If we 
 were poor, for instance" she scrutinized his face 
 anxiously, as she said this, but learned nothing, "if 
 w 3 were poor we couldn't rub along on those terms." 
 
 " Or on any others, for the matter of that," he re-
 
 240 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 turned. " I don't agree with you that love would help 
 to make poverty tolerable. One would feel so much 
 more acutely the privations undergone by somebody 
 one loved better than oneself, if you can conceive the 
 existence of such a person," he added, with his sneer- 
 ing smile. 
 
 " You rascal, of course I can," she answered re- 
 proachfully, "and I believe the pleasure of smoothing 
 away those privations for him would more than coun- 
 terbalance the pain of enduring them or even of wit- 
 nessing them." 
 
 " Come now, Vixie. Such a sentiment from you is 
 too outrageous. You really might give up trying to 
 astonish me now. I believe you only say things just 
 too see how wide you can make people open their eyes." 
 
 " Well, that is an amusement, as you know yourself. 
 But I am serious this time. I believe quite apart 
 from sentiment or any such rot that love is a most 
 useful commodity in marriage, if you can get it." 
 
 "I daresay. But you can't. There isn't such a 
 thing, at least not after the first month is over and 
 the gilt has been rubbed off the gingerbread." 
 
 " At any rate love is the only thing that can make 
 poverty endurable." 
 
 " I don't agree at all. Love is excess of sentiment. 
 If poverty could ever be made endurable, it would be 
 by the utter absence of sentiment. I have always tried 
 to educate myself not to care a twopenny dam what 
 happens. That is the true philosophy. If you have that 
 and an unshakable belief in yourself, nothing can dis- 
 concert you. Poverty will only be a temporary incon- 
 venience, hardship a means to an end, and economy a 
 policy." 
 
 " What a subject for a honeymoon ! I am sure I 
 hope we may never have to put our theories to the 
 proof. As for me, I have no patience with poor people. 
 It is always people's own fault if they are poor. If 
 you play your cards well, you can always get credit for 
 your luxuries and then the necessaries can take care of 
 themselves. And the people I have least patience with 
 are those who are forever parading their poverty. I 
 consider that much more vulgar than parading riches,
 
 THE GRAFTING OF THE GREEN BAY TREE. 241 
 
 as Lord Baltinglass and people of his kidney do. How- 
 ever poor I was, I should have too much self-respect 
 to parade my poverty." 
 
 " Of course, no wise person parades poverty, unless 
 he is very rich, any more than a true gentleman ever 
 makes a parade of riches unless he is as poor as a rat. 
 Then he has to." 
 
 By this time they had reached the station and they 
 found they had some minutes to wait before the train, 
 which was to take them as far as Dover. Sir Edward 
 Tresillian's confidential valet had made all the arrange- 
 ments for comfort and privacy, which a honeymoon 
 is supposed to require. A private compartment had 
 been taken, and the usual necessaries of travel pro- 
 vided : a hamper from Benoit's, all the evening papers 
 and a selection of two-shilling novels. 
 
 Couples on their honeymoons are supposed not to 
 want companionship. At any rate they feel they must 
 conform to custom so far as to travel by themselves. 
 People always look at the newly-married in a horribly 
 embarrassing way and modesty, as well as custom, re- 
 quires a retreat. But when the retreat has been found 
 and the guard has tipped his last wink and the engine 
 has given its first outward puff, food and literature are 
 invaluable resources. 
 
 " How thoughtful of Cribble to get us all those yel- 
 low-backs," Violet exclaimed, as soon as they were in- 
 stalled. " I really could not have stood another half 
 hour of your epigrams." 
 
 "Well, there's Gaverigan coming along with lug- 
 gage and hampers and an air of infinite content on his 
 face. Would you like him in our carriage to relieve 
 you of the tedium of my society all the way to 
 Dover ? " 
 
 Nothing that any one could say ever ruffled Coryton's 
 imperturbable good-humor. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, do," Violet exclaimed, clapping her hands 
 delightedly. And then, seeing a comical look of dis- 
 tress on her husband's face, she added, " Not that I 
 don't like being with you, Poley, old boy, but we shall 
 see such a lot of each other presently that an hour or 
 two now won't make any difference,"
 
 242 THE GREEN BAT TREE. 
 
 "Don't distress yourself, Vixie," he said, as he 
 beckoned Gaverigan. " I'm not so thin-skinned as all 
 that." 
 
 Gaverigan was on his way to Monte Carlo and was 
 at once subjected to a good deal of chaff about his 
 discretion in concealing his intention at the wedding. 
 He vowed that he never made up his mind to go there 
 until the last moment and always kept the whole thing 
 a profound secret. In this case he had been especially 
 deterred from a confession by his desire not to intrude 
 upon the happy pair, when they would most of all 
 wish to be left alone. 
 
 The happy pair, however, protested that that was 
 what they least of all wished. 
 
 " You can't think how shy we are, Mr. Gaverigan," 
 Violet exclaimed. " Do come and be chaperone." 
 
 Gaverigan, however, required a great deal of per- 
 suasion, but was at last sufficiently tickled by the 
 novelty of the proposal to make him give way. They 
 had a very merry journey down, the hampers occu- 
 pying them most of the way and a game of stud-poker 
 keeping them amused for the rest. 
 
 " Well, I'm sure this is the most original journey I 
 ever heard of," Gaverigan exclaimed more than once. 
 "I can only think of one detail that could possibly 
 have made it more original and that would have been 
 for Coryton to travel in the public car and for you and 
 me to go alone in the honeymoon compartment, eh, 
 Vixie ? " 
 
 " I wish we'd thought of that," she laughed, " and 
 so does Poley. He's tired of me already." 
 
 Coryton certainly looked as if the whole business 
 bored him. He was feeling uneasy about the future, 
 an unusual thing with him, and his nervousness 
 seemed to communicate itself to his wife. Her last 
 remark was uttered with a good deal of feeling, which 
 the bantering tone she had assumed did not entirely 
 cloak. Coryton, who had quick perceptions, noticed 
 it at once and watched her curiously for some mo- 
 ments. 
 
 Then he turned to Gaverigan with a ludicrous shrug 
 and said,
 
 THE GRAFTING OF THE GREEN BAY TREE. 243 
 
 " You see, we're so confoundedly shy about all this 
 business that we have to make a parade of indifference 
 before other people, but when we are alone, we're just 
 as much spoons as any other honey in ooners, aren't 
 we, Vixie?" 
 
 "This is the most agreeable journey I've ever 
 known," exclaimed Gaverigan, interrupting him, 
 " and the journey from London to Monte Carlo always 
 is very agreeable, at any rate to an expert traveller." 
 
 " Like yourself," Violet put in. 
 
 Gaverigan made a deep bow. 
 
 " I say," he went on, " it would be jolly if you people 
 would consent to come straight on, instead of stop- 
 ping at Dover. It would be so delightfully unconven- 
 tional and we'd be as happy as sandboys. The jour- 
 ney is infinitely pleasanter if you do it without stop- 
 ping. You'll have plenty of time to register your 
 luggage again at Dover and send a wire to the Lord 
 Warden. I've secured a cabin for the boat, which is 
 very much at your service." 
 
 "I hate travelling at night," said Violet hastily. 
 " Besides, there are limits even to unconventionality." 
 
 She turned appealingly to her husband, who was 
 watching her with a comical expression. 
 
 " Certainly, my dear, very distinct limits," he replied. 
 " In fact, I always say that people only seek to attract 
 attention by being unconventional when they can't do 
 it in any other way. There's one for you, old boy," he 
 added, getting up, as the train rattled into Dover- 
 Town station, and slapping Gaverigan on the shoulder. 
 
 " But we shall meet out there very soon, Mr. Gave- 
 rigan," Violet added, her face brightening up with 
 pleasure at the prospect of arrival. " We shall spend 
 a fortnight or so in Paris and then go on south by easy 
 stages. I am counting on you to initiate me into all 
 the mysteries of roulette. I suppose everybody will 
 be there, Lady Giddy and the Pigeon and the rest. 
 I mean to have a regular good time." 
 
 Gaverigan bade her good-bye with more effusion 
 than that nil admirari youth usually thought it in- 
 cumbent on himself to display. Violet's character in- 
 terested him, and he had often contemplated the possi-
 
 244 THE GREEN BA Y TEEE. 
 
 bility of making love to her. As to the wisdom of her 
 wedding with Coryton, he had been in considerable 
 doubt all along. 
 
 " Poor little girl," he murmured thoughtfully, as the 
 train went on towards the pier. " I'm afraid she'll 
 have rather a rough time of it with that great, cold, 
 unemotional fathead, Coryton. I shouldn't think any- 
 thing would move him, either tears, or appeals, or death 
 itself. So long as everything goes smoothly he'll be 
 smooth and fair, and even charming in his way. But 
 directly anything goes wrong, there'll be the very devil. 
 They are both clever and, with a fair amount of luck, 
 there is no reason why they shouldn't make a boom of 
 life. But they can't either of them have much money 
 behind them and, without that, it's always an up-hill 
 game. . . . She is much fonder of him than he is of 
 her. But that'll wear off. It's always so to begin 
 
 with I suppose they'll drift into being knights 
 
 of industry one way or another. But I hope not. 
 She's much too nice for that sort of thing. ... I should 
 like to meet her again when she's lost her illusions, 
 if she has ever had any. . . . ! Here, Porter, take all 
 these things on board the Calais boat." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE LORD WARDENS 
 
 Philosophy triumphs easily over past and future evils, but 
 present evils triumph over philosophy. LA ROCHEFOUCAULD. 
 
 A COST sitting-room with a fire and a tempting din- 
 ner awaited the Cory tons at the Lord Warden hotel, 
 but not much appetite remained to either of them after 
 the anxieties of the day and the convivial journey down. 
 Violet heaved a deep sigh of content as she flung oil 
 her wraps and drew up an arm-chair to the fire. She 
 looked very picturesque with the glow of the flames
 
 TEE LORD WARDEN. 245 
 
 lighting up her face and there was a look of happiness 
 upon it which few had ever been privileged to see 
 there. 
 
 " Dear, dear Poley ! " she exclaimed with some 
 feeling, as soon as they were alone, " I really believe 
 I must be in love with you. I feel in such an 
 ecstatic condition, as if some good fairy had suddenly 
 granted me all my desires and I had nothing left to 
 wish for. I thought that journey would never come 
 to an end, but now my happiness makes up for all 
 that went before. Oh ! Poley, tell me I'm not dream- 
 ing. Really it seems almost too good to be true." 
 
 He bent down and kissed her forehead without 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 " It is quite true, nevertheless," he said half absently, 
 " and I'm sure I hope you'll go on being happy. I 
 mean to be. But what has come over you, Vixie ? I 
 thought you professed not to care a snap about any- 
 thing or anybody." 
 
 " You know I care about you," she answered 
 softly. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, we are very good friends," he returned 
 discontentedly, " but we never laid claim to a grand 
 passion, did we ? Our marriage was one of interest 
 quite as much as of friendship after all." 
 
 " Oh ! Poley," she said reproachfully. 
 
 " Well, what is it you're grumbling at ? Have you 
 ever taken any other tone towards it yourself ? " 
 
 " One may not have illusions, but surely it is not 
 necessary to go on rubbing in that or any other unpleas- 
 ant truth. I think at any rate on our wedding night 
 you might have the grace to pretend you care for me, 
 even if you don't." 
 
 " Don't let's quarrel, Vixie, especially about trifles. 
 We ought to understand each other by this time. We 
 have the same interests and are going, each of us, to do 
 our utmost to further them. What truer love can 
 there be than that ? Is it not much more practical as 
 well as much more lasting than the mawkish thing 
 that poets and children drivel about ? " 
 
 Violet's brow had clouded over and she was looking, 
 rather dismally, straight into the fire.
 
 246 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 " I hardly think either of us would care about love 
 in a cottage ! " he went on obstinately ; " and after all, 
 poverty is the only test of absolutely disinterested 
 affection." 
 
 " I don't know why you persist in talking about 
 that," she remonstrated, " as we are not going to be 
 put to that test, it would surely be more gallant to 
 assume that we should weather it." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear you say that," he replied, 
 seizing the opportunity he had been leading up to. 
 " for do you know, I have been rather anxious about 
 our money prospects all through." 
 
 Violet looked at him in amazement for seme minutes 
 without speaking. 
 
 " What on earth do you mean ? " she asked at last 
 without a trace of sentiment left in her voice. " What 
 you've settled on me is alone more than enough to 
 keep the wolf from the door, and I imagine it isn't the 
 whole of your income." 
 
 He paced up and down the room several times in an 
 agitated way and then stood facing her with his hands 
 by his side, clenched in a somewhat theatrical attitude. 
 She looked up at him, shading her face from the fire- 
 light, and noticed that he had turned a ghastly pale 
 and was breathing hard and fast. 
 
 "Don't stand there in that Adelphi attitude, but tell 
 me the truth," she said coldly. " It's too late now for 
 it to make any difference." 
 
 " The truth is," he said hoarsely, " that I haven't 
 any income at all. I have been living on my capital 
 for some years and now there is precious little even of 
 that left." 
 
 " There are my settlements at any rate," she returned. 
 It was meant for an assertion, but her voice sounded 
 rather like a trembling interrogative. 
 
 " Settlements bah ! They were only on paper." 
 
 " And do you mean to tell me ? " she faltered. 
 
 " That we have only your income and a hundred or 
 so between us and starvation ? Precisely." 
 
 " Well, but I haven't any income either," she blurted 
 out, quite taken aback. 
 
 There was a long silence before either of them spoke
 
 THE LORD WARDEN. 247 
 
 again. Like the hard-swearing farmer in the anec- 
 dote, they thought that no words of theirs were " equal 
 to the occasion." Coryton had often contemplated the 
 possibility of such a catastrophe, but in his heart of 
 hearts he had never believed in it and now that it had 
 come upon him, it was as overwhelming as a bolt from 
 the blue. He was of an extraordinarily sanguine tem- 
 perament and, as everything had always gone well 
 with him during his life, he was firmly convinced that 
 it always would. Failure is never so intolerable as 
 when success has become habit. With Coryton a be- 
 lief in his good star was almost a second nature and 
 the shock of his first failure seemed utterly to unnerve 
 him. It was as if somebody had suddenly dealt him a 
 blow full in the face and he had no means of returning 
 it. He stood beside a stiff velvet chair, pale and 
 drawn, his hands twitching nervously. It was impos- 
 sible to slap fortune back again, so he could only turn 
 his resentment against his wife. 
 
 She was, however, the first to break the silence. It 
 was in a very low voice, rather sad than reproachful, 
 that she aisked, 
 
 "What could have made you do it? You might 
 have known I hadn't much money and you never pre- 
 tended you loved me." 
 
 He had drawn aside the curtain and was looking out 
 into the dismal road, badly lighted and now almost de- 
 serted, biting his lips and trying not to think. He 
 heard what she said, but gave no sign that he had 
 done so. 
 
 " And I thought you were so clever," she went on, 
 her irritation increasing with his show of indifference, 
 " that you were going to be such a success. But it 
 turns out you are no better than a fool. Fool ! Fool ! 
 Fool ! " she repeated, raising her voice angrily. 
 
 Pie turned half round and cast a contemptuous 
 glance at her. 
 
 "I might say the same to you," he answered with a 
 sneer. 
 
 " I never deceived you about it," she retorted hotly. 
 "You could have found out exactly how much I had
 
 248 THE GREEN BAT TREE. 
 
 got, for the asking. But you deceived me, you deceived 
 my uncle, you even deceived the solicitor." 
 
 "That at least was clever," he said sarcastically, 
 turning his back and looking out of the window again. 
 
 " Clever ! " she almost shouted. " If that's being 
 clever, give me a born idiot. Anybody can take people 
 in, if he chooses to tell lies. And you weren't content 
 with telling lies, you stooped to draw up sham settle- 
 ments not worth the paper they were written on. I 
 call it fraud. It was obtaining something by false 
 pretences. I believe you could be locked up for it, just 
 as much as if you'd cheated people with a sham check. 
 Clever indeed ! What could have been your object in 
 behaving like such a silly fool ? You've succeeded in 
 ruining your own prospects as well as mine. What 
 could have possessed you ? " 
 
 She was working herself up into a passion as she 
 went on and the last sentence was jerked out with an 
 emphasis that was almost fury. 
 
 Coryton watched her, as one might watch a drama, 
 and there was a touch of admiration in his gaze. She 
 looked very fine in her rage. She had risen as she 
 spoke and was facing him, erect and defiant. 
 
 " What possessed me ? " he repeated. " I suppose it 
 was the idea that you had cleverness and money 
 enough for both of us." 
 
 " Money ! " she cried, with all that contempt for the 
 precious metals, which only those, who have never had 
 the handling of them, know how to express. " So that 
 was your object in marrying me ! Well then, all I 
 have to say is that you've made a great mistake." 
 
 After a pause she added, "A fatal mistake for 
 both of us. You don't seem to think anything of 
 the opportunities I have lost through my folly in 
 trusting you. I might have married a dozen men 
 just as clever and far more honorable than you. A 
 nice position you have brought me to tied for life to 
 a creature I hate and despise, and with scarcely a 
 penny to bless myself. The only course I can see open 
 to me is to apply for a divorce and go and live abroad." 
 
 " I am afraid that the judges would scarcely satisfy 
 you in that way yet," he replied with an acid smile.
 
 THE LOUD WARDEN. 249 
 
 " Well, then, I shall leave you and you can apply for 
 it or not as you think fit. I am not going to live any 
 more with a scoundrelly, broken-down adventurer, who 
 hasn't even the wit to cheat cleverly /" 
 
 " It's no use losing your temper," returned Cory ton 
 with an imperfect effort to appear calm. "Everything 
 you say applies equally, indeed doubly, to you. A man 
 has no means of finding out what income a girl lias be- 
 fore he marries her. It would be considered indelicate 
 if he even hinted that he wanted to know. A girl, on 
 the other hand, is generally safe-guarded by relations 
 and lawyers and people, and it is her fault or, at any 
 rate, theirs if she doesn't get all she needs settled on 
 her." 
 
 " It was precisely over the settlements that you 
 cheated us." 
 
 " Yes ; but do you suppose for an instant that a par- 
 cel of crafty, worldly old lawyers would have let you 
 be cheated, if they hadn't had orders to get you off at 
 any cost ? If there has been any sharp practice in this 
 matter, I certainly think I have been more sinned 
 against than sinning." 
 
 Violet made an impatient gesture, as if about to 
 speak. 
 
 " It is no use indulging in heroics," he said in delib- 
 erate tones ; " we have got to think out what we'll do. 
 I admit it is serious enough, but we shall gain nothing 
 by acting rashly on the impulse of the moment. I will 
 go downstairs and think the situation over. Perhaps 
 you may be in a calmer state of mind to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 He advanced to kiss her, having now quite recovered 
 his cold, imperturbable manner, but she waved him 
 back imperially. 
 
 " Don't touch me ! " she cried ; " don't dare to touch 
 me, you miserable idiot. Out of my sight, and may I 
 never set eyes on you again." 
 
 Coryton knitted his brows and was on the point of 
 making an angry retort, but he abruptly changed his 
 mind, and, taking up his hat and stick, left the room 
 without a word. As he passed out of the hotel he said 
 to the porter in cold, matter-of-fact tones :
 
 250 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 " Mrs. Cory ton is unwell. You will give orders that 
 a bedroom may be got ready for me on the same floor 
 as hers." 
 
 " Lor'," exclaimed the porter confidentially to the 
 barmaid when Cory ton had gone out, "that only shows 
 yer 'ow deceptive appearances is. I could 'ave sworn 
 they was a nooly-married couple, and ye know I have 
 'ad some experience of married couples in moy toime." 
 
 " I never thought as they was," returned the bar- 
 maid with a toss of the head over her superior astute- 
 ness. " Their things was noo an' all that, but there 
 was none of the billin' and cooiu' ye sees in them 'oney- 
 mooners. Prob'bly they ain't used ter travellin' an' 
 'ad ter git a noo rig out." 
 
 " Billin' an' cooin' don't prove nothing," said the 
 porter, indignant at the doubts cast upon his expe- 
 rience. " Why, Lor' bless yer, 'arf of them toffs just 
 marry for what they can git, an' there ain't no more 
 love about their marriages than there is rabbit in 
 one of our rabbit poys. 'Twon't be so when you 
 and Oi gits spliced, will it, Mariar ? " he added with a 
 leer. 
 
 " Oh ! go on wi' yer, Mr. Briggs ; I ain't so much as 
 promised as we ever shall," she replied with one of 
 those grotesque attempts at coquetry in which the 
 British middle and lower classes always fail so signally. 
 
 Meanwhile Coryton was making his way to the pier 
 in a very gloomy frame of mind. It was a bad busi- 
 ness certainly, but he was of a sanguine temperament 
 and nothing ever affected him seriously for long. 
 
 If they had not money, they had brains, which was 
 much better, he tried to argue to himself. But the 
 consolation to be found in that reflection was distinctly 
 forced and he found it more difficult to take a hopeful 
 view than he had ever done before. He still believed 
 in his destiny, of course, and he still believed in his 
 wife's, but he foresaw months and even years of strug- 
 gles and was not by any means sure that either would 
 be able to stand them. His was not a demonstrative 
 nature, but his regard for Violet was none the less 
 sincere. They had always been good friends, he re- 
 flected, and there was no reason why they should not
 
 THE LORD WARDEN. 251 
 
 continue to be so. If only they had found out the 
 true state of each other's affairs four-and-twenty hours 
 before, they might each have carved out a great career 
 and enjoyed many opportunities of doing good turns 
 to each other. 
 
 Now they were a mutual handicap, chronic obstacles 
 in the path of success. Their position was a standing 
 refutation of the silly proverb about union being 
 strength. If only the fatal step of that afternoon 
 could be retraced now, before the girl was compromised. 
 A foolish scheme passed through his head for a col- 
 lusive divorce or nullity suit, but he speedily dismissed 
 the idea, not so much for its difficulty as for the scandal 
 it would create. The slightest scandal in a public 
 man's private life is nowadays made much more of 
 than any public enormity he may have been guilty of, 
 however outrageous. 
 
 There was no getting over hard facts. Too much 
 astuteness had brought him to grief. He saw the folly 
 of it all now that it was too late, and he was not long 
 in coming to the conclusion that his only course was 
 to make the best of a bad job. But that did not make 
 the bad job any more acceptable. The blow to his vanity 
 was the hardest part of all and he walked up and 
 down the pier, reproaching himself in as unmeasured 
 terms as any Violet had made use of towards him. 
 
 The charm of Coryton's character was that nothing 
 ever really upset him for long. Before he had been 
 out an hour the worst of his fit of the blues was over 
 and, as he stopped to light a cigar, the match revealed 
 a fairly cheerful face, in which no trace of his worries 
 remained. 
 
 "After all," he concluded, as he turned his steps 
 back to the hotel, " the thing to be thought of is the 
 future, not the past. I daresay our marriage will not 
 turn out any the less satisfactory for the queer way in 
 which the honeymoon has begun." 
 
 Violet meanwhile was taking the matter far more 
 to heart. Her husband's indifference had revealed to 
 her a fact which she had long suspected, that she was 
 really and truly in love with him. When this first 
 occurred to her, she had scouted it with a merry laugh.
 
 252 THE GEEEN BAY TREE. 
 
 That she, who had never taken anything or anybody 
 seriously scarcely even herself should fall in love, 
 was too preposterous a notion. 
 
 For a long time she had kept up the pretence that 
 her marriage with Coryton was to be merely one of 
 convenience the alliance of two clever people for their 
 mutual advancement and when she had detected the 
 first symptoms of love-sickness, she was utterly puz- 
 zled and thought of sending for the doctor to prescribe 
 for influenza. As the symptoms became unmistakable, 
 she became even more moody and fitful than young 
 ladies usually are daring this distemper. Still she did 
 not give up the attempt to deceive herself on the sub- 
 ject until after the marriage, when she was stung to 
 the quick by the complacent way, in which he took it 
 for granted that love was an impossibility between 
 them. 
 
 Her heart now sank within her and she felt a 
 strange, disappointed yearning, which could leave no- 
 further room for doubt. It was this aching of un- 
 satisfied love, far more than the revelation of mere 
 money trouble, that kept her tossing and moaning, 
 in agony of mind, all through her wedding night. 
 Unrequited love is hard enough for any woman to 
 bear, but it becomes almost unendurable when united 
 with pride and cleverness and unscrupulousness suf- 
 ficient to remove mountains. 
 
 The revelation of her husband's poverty had 
 strengthened rather than diminished Violet's love 
 for him. She felt that even love in a cottage would 
 be endurable with him ; that there would be an in- 
 finite joy in denying herself pleasures and luxuries 
 in order that he might enjoy them in her stead ; that 
 their temporary poverty for, of course, with such 
 a genius as her husband, poverty could only be tem- 
 porary would aid her in winning his love. 
 
 But her heart sank as she contemplated the imme- 
 diate future. She was not used to poverty and, 
 from all accounts, it seemed to be unanimously con- 
 sidered a very disagreeable thing. Poverty would 
 leave her so desperately alone in the world. There 
 are none so desperately alone as the poor rich. The
 
 THE LORD WARDEN. 253 
 
 rich poor are happy: their wants are few, luxury 
 is undreamed of, and they can save money on a hun- 
 dred a year. The poor rich, on the other hand, have 
 appearances to keep up, expensive tastes, which grudge 
 if they be not satisfied, and expensive friends, with 
 whom friendship means the exaction of usefulness. 
 Violet knew full well that, if she and her husband 
 could not manage to keep up appearances, they would 
 speedily be dropped by all their fairweather friends, 
 who now only saluted what they believed to be the 
 rising sun. And what more utter loneliness was 
 imaginable than the solitary society of an unsym- 
 pathetic husband ? 
 
 It was over some such thoughts as these that Violet 
 fell into a heavy slumber in the small hours of the 
 morning. 
 
 When she woke up, Coryton was standing beside 
 her with a tea-tray, and her pleasure at his thought- 
 fulness overcame all recollection of last night's dis- 
 agreeable scene. 
 
 " This is good of you, Poley," she said, with a grateful 
 look in her tear-stained eyes. 
 
 The traces of her weeping and the anxiety tinged 
 with affection in her tones could not but affect 
 Coryton, nor could he ignore her undeniable pretti- 
 ness in her night-dress of lace and silk, with the rosy 
 light through the blind tinting the rounded outline 
 of her face. He felt almost remorseful and answered 
 her with far more deference than was usual with him. 
 
 " Not at all. I only came to see if you were inclined 
 to come on to Paris by the early boat. We shall be 
 as cross as two sticks in this dead-alive place. At 
 Paris we can at least get something fit to eat and 
 see a naughty play, two admirable specifics against 
 the blues." 
 
 Violet brightened up at once. 
 
 " You have forgiven me for my crossness last night ? " 
 she asked eagerly. "You know I didn't mean a 
 word I said." 
 
 " Well, don't let it occur again," he returned half- 
 play fully, in the tone of one lecturing a naughty 
 child. " We've got an up-hill struggle before us the
 
 254 THE GREEN EA Y TREE. 
 
 struggle of keeping up appearances on nothing. But 
 that is the very reason why we should try to pull to- 
 gether all the more harmoniously in harness. We 
 are in for it now and we can't afford to quarrel. 
 If any people ever were necessary to each other, 
 it's you and I. New get your things together as 
 quickly as you can and we'll have a week's dissi- 
 pation in Paris. By the end of it we shall probably 
 see our way more clearly. There is no such aid to 
 reflection as a good bout of dissipation." 
 
 " We shall get on all right," replied Violet, whose 
 good humor had now entirely returned, " if only 
 you've a little patience with me. To-night we'll 
 dine at the Cafe Riche, take a baignoire at the 
 Varietes and wind up with the Moulin Rouge. I 
 have always wanted to be taken to the Moulin 
 Rouge." 
 
 " All right," he assented smiling, " but you must 
 be ready to start in half an hour." 
 
 Thus melted the first and last cloud that overshad- 
 owed the blossoming of the Green Bay Tree. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE RIFT WITHIN THE l.UTE. 
 
 Too fair to worship, too divine to love. 
 
 II. H. MlLLMAN. 
 
 CANNES is decidedly the pleasantest place in the 
 Riviera, for those who are admitted to the vulgnr 
 and inflated clique, which passes there for Society 
 It is a close oligarchy which makes up for its vulgarity 
 by an affectation of exclusiveness. 
 
 Monte Carlo, on the other hand, is as much a democ- 
 racy as a great public-school, where neither rank nor 
 brains nor culture are the passport to respect, but only 
 success at games.
 
 77/7? RIFT \VITIIIN THE LUTE. 255 
 
 Physical-force games are the school idols, games of 
 pure chance those of Monte Carlo, and the worshippers 
 are on a footing of such absolute equality as is only 
 found in the dreams of crack-brained political philos- 
 ophers. Nowhere else in the whole round world will 
 you find duchesses of the blood and horizontals of the 
 flesh, illustrious statesmen and bibulous mummers, 
 cut- throats from Calabria and cut-purses from Jerusa- 
 lem-atte-Bowe, Alsatia and Arcadia, monarchs, journal- 
 ists, money-lenders, the famous and the infamous, all 
 sitting amicably round the same table, hobnobbing, 
 exchanging amenities, offering up the same incense to 
 the same false god. 
 
 Men tone is devoted to a gloomy piety and the adora- 
 tion of ill-health. There the residents are looked up 
 to according to the acuteness of their maladies, those 
 who are not consumptive do their best to simulate the 
 symptoms, and those unfortunates, who find it im- 
 possible to conceal their robustness, are looked upon 
 as outsiders and made to feel themselves outcasts. 
 
 Bordighera worships the Church and Stage. 
 
 Beaulieu and Nice are respectively English and 
 French suburbs of Monte Carlo. 
 
 And thus I have summed -up the whole of the 
 Riviera. 
 
 Cannes, the close oligarchy, looks down upon it all 
 (democracy, aegrocracy to coin a bastard word and 
 religion-and- water), with thin contempt. The full 
 vials of this are poured upon those strangers within its 
 gates who are in it, but not of it. Mr. and Mrs. Wil- 
 frid Tyrconnel were beginning to find themselves in 
 this position. 
 
 When they first arrived, still honeymooning, they 
 were acclaimed with open arms by the Pigeon's 
 innumerable friends, who were most qf them, more 
 or less, members of the various sets that combine to 
 form the governing class at Cannes during the 
 winter. But his wife was unable to adapt herself 
 to the tone of the place. Her strict views about 
 right and w T rong, descending to irritating details ; her 
 intolerance of the scarcely veiled humbug which goes 
 to make up the conventions of society ; her rooted
 
 256 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 antipathy to pleasure for pleasure's sake, to the whole 
 spirit of hedonism, which is the keystone of life at 
 Cannes, put her out of harmony with her surroundings 
 and brought about incessant friction. 
 
 That peculiar hybrid, the Cannes young man, an in- 
 vertebrate individual who poses as a person of light 
 and leading in this second-rate colony and proses 
 about his prowess at the golf-links or his luck at 
 Monte Carlo, said that young Mrs. Tyrconnel gave 
 herself airs. Meaning that she snubbed him, which 
 she did, unmercifully. The women took much the 
 same tone. 
 
 Like all enthusiasts, Gwendolen was painfully defi- 
 cient in tact. Had she not started a tirade against 
 Monte Carlo, under the nose of the Grand-Duchess, 
 with some very unpleasant references to the bad ex- 
 ample set by bigwigs who went there to play ? Had 
 not Lady Greyheather and the Hon. Mrs. Worrie come 
 to call and found her surrounded by eleven chronic 
 old maids, busy making stomachers for the deep-sea 
 fishermen, and had she not introduced every one of 
 these ill-favored Parcse and tried to force Lady Grey- 
 heather to take part in their humble revels over " real 
 English tea " cooked in a tin etna ? Were there not a 
 hundred and one new stories afloat about her eccen- 
 tricities and outrageous assurance? Was she not the 
 chief subject of conversation whenever the Vicomtesse 
 Lepeigne had exhausted her usual stock of gossip with 
 Madame Mufle at the Reunion and when Miss Lyke- 
 Spitelle waxed especially confidential with Mrs. Bach- 
 byte ? A good deal of this murmuring reached Gwen- 
 dolen's ears, but she was of most Puritan obstinacy in 
 her ethics and what she did was done almost as much 
 from a distorted sense of humor as for conscience's 
 sake. 
 
 The wedding had been boisterously quiet. That is 
 to say, Gwendolen had insisted on its being absolutely 
 quiet, and her aunt, while grudgingly acquiescing, had 
 secretly done her utmost to make it as rampageous as 
 possible. Gwendolen had "views" about marriage. 
 God forbid that she should consider it a sacrament, for 
 she hated ritualism almost as much as she hated the
 
 THE RIFT WITHIN TUE LUTE. 257 
 
 Pope and the Devil, two very real enemies in her 
 psalm of life. But she claimed that it was a very 
 sacred, holy thing, almost as sacred in its way as the 
 Lord's Supper, wherein she took part every Sunday 
 morning in her life. She did not invite herds of 
 friends and acquaintances to watch her partake of that 
 holy feast. Why then should they come to gape upon 
 her on this other sacred occasion, when most of all 
 a modest maiden would desire to be alone with her 
 nearest and dearest ? Her beloved old father to give 
 her away and Wilfrid, her chosen one, to receive her ; 
 Aunt Maria and the servants as witnesses ; no brides- 
 maids, for, like most old heads .on young shoulders, 
 Gwendolen had few friends of her own age; and the 
 solemn simple service in the old church of Grantches- 
 ter which she had known and loved so well from ear- 
 liest infancy. That was her idea of a happy marriage, 
 a fit prelude to the happy life, of which, in her trust- 
 ful innocence, she felt assured, so long as she did her 
 duty. 
 
 Mrs. de Courcy Miles had had short patience when 
 she heard these views enunciated. She had had 
 visions of herself, clad in scarlet sammet, mystic, 
 wonderful, flouncing up the aisle of St. George's, 
 Hanover Square, and exchanging familiar greetings 
 with marquesses and right honorables in the chan- 
 cel, while Plantagenet-lTnkels and the Overdone- 
 Joneses sat and heard each other groan with jealousy 
 in the dimmest recesses of the church. However, 
 she knew it was no use arguing when once Gwen- 
 dolen had made up her mind, so she agreed to a 
 quiet wedding, and even to a quiet wedding at 
 Cambridge, which was the hardest pill of any, and 
 then set diligently to work to get hold of everybody 
 whose name would look well in the Post. 
 
 In the event, Mrs. de Courcy Miles was woefully dis- 
 appointed, for, at Gwendolen's request, Tyrconnel only 
 asked his own immediate relatives and a few ultimate 
 friends. Coryton and his wife were away at Monte 
 Carlo; Pimlico was laid up with influenza; Lady 
 Giddy wouldn't come; Lady Elizabeth and Theodora 
 were beyond her ken; Colonel Lockhart and Mr. 
 17
 
 258 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 Rupert Clifford disappointed her at the eleventh hour. 
 So she had to be content with unaristocratic Lord 
 Baltinglass and his dismal sister in the way of 
 " quality," Mr. Toadey-Snaile to represent the Legisla- 
 ture, the Archdeaconess for the Church, and Sir Cin- 
 cinnatus Spreadeagle for the Army, Navy and (more 
 especially) the Reserve forces. 
 
 The Cambridge contingent of course mustered in 
 force, but they were of small account. The Vice- 
 Chancellor officiated, assisted by Funnie-Ffoulkes and 
 Professor Done-Brown of the woeful countenance. 
 Belinda and Araminta donned new gowns for the occa- 
 sion and twittered like a pair of canaries. Lady Catch- 
 bois brought out her old brocade and Mrs. Flummery- 
 North appeared in a wondrous violet bonnet. 
 Spofforth did full justice to the Professor's champagne. 
 
 The honeymoon like many honeymoons had been 
 a period of transition and disillusioning. Before three 
 weeks were up, Gwendolen had realized that her hus- 
 band was ineradicably wedded to the world and that 
 not even her gentle influence would long be able to 
 restrain him from returning to his old love for excite- 
 ment. Tyrconnel for his part had discovered that 
 even pure, flawless goodness palls after a time and that 
 angelic beauty is only aggravating, when it is accom- 
 panied by copy-book views of life. 
 
 The first time he was left alone for a couple of hours 
 since his wedding it was in Paris : she had gone to 
 her dressmaker's and he to the Hammam he had a 
 good hard think about things in general and thought 
 some very hard things about Gwendolen and his mar- 
 riage in particular. Perhaps it was the luxurious 
 atmosphere of the bath or the epicurean atmosphere of 
 this Paris, which he knew and had enjoyed so well but 
 was now no longer allowed to enjoy, that made him 
 take French views of marriage and incompatibility of 
 temper. 
 
 " She's too good for me, 'pon my word she is," he 
 mused bitterly, as he watched the smoke of his cigar- 
 ette curl up above his couch. "I really begin to 
 sympathize with the Athenians, who got so tired of 
 hearing Aristides called 'the Just,' that they drove
 
 77/7? RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE. 259 
 
 him out of their city. I thought I was marrying a 
 woman, but I find I have married an angel, and an 
 angel is rather too much of a handful for a humble 
 mortal like myself." 
 
 It had not come to any open quarrel yet, but Wilfrid 
 had several times turned away impatiently, when 
 Gwendolen pronounced her decision in her downright, 
 uncompromising way, upon some minor point on which 
 he had set his heart for the moment. At Paris she 
 would not lunch at Voisin's nor dine at the Cafe 
 Anglais, because they were " too extravagant ; " she 
 would not go to the theatres, because they did not 
 square with her notions of propriety ; and as to going 
 to hear Yvette Guilbert, she would as soon have 
 thought of witnessing Miss Gussie Gutter's " turn " in 
 a palace of varieties of our own Leicester Square. 
 
 Now, as Tyrconnel ruefully asked himself in the 
 cooling-room of the Turkish bath, if you don't eat 
 good food and you don't see naughty plays and you 
 don't hear Yvette Guilbert, where's the use of staying 
 in Paris at all ? " When he thought over it less im- 
 patiently afterwards, he admitted to himself that he 
 could not picture Gwen sitting out " Le Coquin de 
 Printemps " at the Nouveautes or going into boisterous 
 hilarity over " Josephine, elle est malade " or " E amour 
 mouille." So after a few days, during which he vainly 
 tried to interest himself in the pictures at the Louvre 
 and got snubbed for suggesting a visit to the Morgue ; 
 drove in a one-horse shay in the Bois ; looked into the 
 shop- windows at the Palais-Royal ; made pilgrimages 
 to the Sainte-Chapelle and the Eiffel tower ; and dined 
 at Bouillon Duval ; he became anxious to move on and 
 said so to Gwendolen. 
 
 It was a great surprise to her and she was inclined 
 to remonstrate. 
 
 " Why ! " she said, " you stipulated for at least three 
 weeks in Paris, which you said was the most delightful 
 place on earth. Now you want to hurry me off, just 
 as I am beginning to learn something about the pictures 
 too." 
 
 " Well, my dear," he replied, " the pictures can wait 
 till we return and ail our friends are on the Riviera,"
 
 260 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 " Oh ! Wilfrid," she said in aggrieved tones, " are 
 you so tired of me already that you want to get back 
 to your friends ? Besides we are not quite without 
 friends. Mr. Rupert Clifford has asked us to go over 
 to Saint Germain on Thursday, and Aunt Maria and 
 your Aunt Tyrconnel are to be here next week." 
 
 " That settles it. We absolutely must leave this 
 week." 
 
 " But I specially wanted to wait for your Aunt Kezia. 
 She promised to take me to the Gospel Temperance 
 Mission, which her friend, Miss Mitten, is establishing 
 in the Quartier Latin. You scamp," she added play- 
 fully, " I don't believe you want to see our good aunts 
 a bit ! " 
 
 " No, I do not," he replied with the very obvious 
 compliment, to which she had been leading up ; " at 
 least not now. We have not been married so long that 
 we want intruders yet. I am sure Miss Mitten will be 
 glad to show you her mission-hall any day. Nothing 
 shall induce me to stay after this week. The place is 
 too outrageously dull." 
 
 " Dull ! " Gwendolen gasped. She looked at him 
 with quivering lips for some moments, as if she had 
 received a blow in the face. 
 
 Tyrconnel was penitent at once. 
 
 " My darling ! " he exclaimed eagerly ; " you know I 
 didn't mean it like that. I could never be really dull 
 anywhere with you. But we may as well be at a lively 
 place as a dull one and this is enough to give any one 
 the blues." 
 
 " What ! Paris ? But you were so enthusiastic 
 about it before we came." 
 
 "Yes, but that was a different Paris. Don't mis- 
 understand me. I am quite willing not to go to theatres 
 and restaurants, if you think them wrong, but you 
 mustn't expect me to like plum-cake so much, when all 
 the plums are taken out. . . . Dear, dear me ! What 
 is the matter ? Don't look at me with that pained, 
 drawn expression, as if I had uttered some blasphemy. 
 I only live for you now and we shall always be quite 
 happy so long as we love each other, as I pray we 
 always shall."
 
 THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE. 261 
 
 " You are very dear to me," she said softly, taking 
 his face between her hands and chastely kissing his 
 forehead, " but I sometimes wish you were different 
 in character. The old Adam dies very hard in you 
 yet." 
 
 "It will be all right some day, my good angel. 
 Meanwhile I would not have you differ one iota from 
 what God has made you. In my eyes you are perfect 
 as you are." 
 
 " Hush ! Wilfrid dear," she said, looking into his eyes 
 with an air of infinite tenderness, and speaking with 
 more emotion than she often displayed, " there is none 
 perfect save One." And she pointed upward. 
 
 When his feelings were deeply stirred, Tyrconnel 
 felt this kind of ecstatic worship for his wife, but his 
 moods soon passed and, as the weeks slipped by, 
 they became rarer, while the contrary moods, when 
 he repined at the weariness of his present life, became 
 more frequent. He was proud to be good and true, 
 and he vowed to himself fifty times a day that nothing 
 should make him swerve one hair's breadth from the 
 narrow path. But the mental struggle and the con- 
 stant murmuring, which found no outlet, as he rarely 
 complained to Gwendolen and was too loyal to do so 
 to any one else, these were telling on his health and 
 temper. 
 
 While never particularly robust, he had not needed 
 coddling or been considered delicate as a boy and had 
 constantly led a healthy outdoor life. When he ap- 
 peared at Cannes, every one noticed that he stooped 
 slightly and was pale and poorly to look at, and, when 
 his old friends began to rally him upon it and tell him, 
 as Pimlico brutally did no one occasion at the Beau- 
 site, that evidently married life didn't agree with him, 
 he was not slow in showing that he had replaced his 
 lost good health by a newly-found bad temper, which 
 they were quite unprepared for. 
 
 " I should advise raw beefsteaks every morning and 
 a couple of dozen oysters the last thing at night," 
 said Williams, putting on a consulting-room expres- 
 sion. 
 
 " Only not Mediterranean oysters," put in Wilmot,
 
 262 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 who of course was not far off, " you must get a barrel 
 of Marennes from a man in the rue Sain t-H< more. I'll 
 give you his address. Mediterranean oysters give you 
 typhoid." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE WANING HONEYMOON. 
 
 The reason why so few marriages are happy is because young 
 ladies spend their time in making nets, not in making cages. 
 DEAN SWIFT. 
 
 CANNES is an inconvenient place for those who want 
 to play at Monte Carlo. It is a long day's excursion, 
 involving a barbarously early breakfast and a return 
 in the small hours of the next morning, if you mean to 
 play seriously. Most of the fast people at Cannes 
 resign themselves to this and either make rare ex- 
 peditions, whenever the gambling fever comes over 
 them, or devote a few days to it once or twice dur- 
 ing the winter. For the rest, baccarat at the Cercle 
 Nautique and poker-parties in the hotels and villas 
 generally suffice, and you hear disdainful remarks 
 about the " dreadful rabble " at the tables and about 
 the discomforts of the hotels at Monte Carlo. Most of 
 our friends, however, flitted to and fro between the 
 two places, corning to Cannes for their society and 
 returning to Monte Carlo for their dissipation. 
 
 A great yearning had come over Tyrconnel for dis- 
 sipation, lie had now been " cribbed, cabined and con- 
 fined " within the strait-waistcoat of virtue for quite a 
 long time and was heartily sick of it. Getting back 
 among his old companions in revelry awoke all the 
 old longings in him. Gwendolen had sufficient! y 
 disciplined him to keep the passionate side of his 
 nature well under control, but the irresistible crav- 
 ing for excitement, which had always been one of 
 his most ingrained characteristics, was now rapidly
 
 THE WANING HONEYMOON. 263 
 
 getting the better of him. Every day he became 
 more morose and unbearable. Any allusion to Monte 
 Carlo made him irritable and yet he could not be five 
 minutes with one of his old boon companions without 
 leading the conversation round to it, and his eyes 
 would glisten as Wilmot narrated extraordinary runs 
 at trente-et-quarante, or Williams enlarged upon the 
 fabulous gains made by a syndicate of young men who 
 had come out with a capital of 100 to play the Labou- 
 chere system. 
 
 Coryton tried to persuade Tyrconnel to come over 
 for the day, but he said Gwendolen would not hear of 
 it and hastily added, on detecting a smile on his friend's 
 Mephistophelian countenance, that besides he had no 
 wish to do so. Meanwhile his ricketty appearance was 
 getting more and more confirmed, and he would give 
 vent to outbursts of temper at the least provoca- 
 tion, outbursts which often terminated in an ugly 
 cough. 
 
 Last of all Gwendolen noticed it. 
 
 " You are not looking well, dear Wilfrid," she said 
 one morning, with a slight quiver of anxiety in her 
 voice. "I wonder whether this place suits you." 
 
 They were standing on their balcony after breakfast. 
 She was feasting her eyes on the intense joyousness of 
 nature, the deep, deep blue of sea and sky, the sparkle 
 of the sunshine in the fountain beneath their windows 
 and the soothing solemnity of the stately palms hard 
 by. The Riviera reminded her more and more each 
 day of the Bible lands as it has done many another who 
 has searched the Scriptures. Her husband's illness 
 had been dawning upon her for some time, but it never 
 formed itself as a reality to her mind before now, and 
 even now it did not do so as a serious one. She was 
 looking out towards the Esterels and deducing from 
 the aspect of the wooded hills in the foreground the 
 truth of the comparison of the man in the gospel who 
 began by seeing " men as trees walking," when his 
 sight was restored to him. Those trees resembled men 
 in the dim distance. Presently she relapsed into a 
 former train of thought and looked at the young man 
 again and reproached herself without any thought of
 
 264 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 bitterness that she had thought so much of the wel- 
 fare of his soul, so little of that of his body. 
 
 He too was straining his eyes out over the horizon, 
 but it was towards Golfe-Juan, where the Corsican 
 landed, and Antibes, whose obtruding promontory 
 angered him, for, like Gwen, it divided him from the 
 gay principality, whither his mental vision now strug- 
 gled to force the physical. At last he said with a hoarse 
 voice and an abrupt manner that was meant to be de- 
 termined, 
 
 " I think I shall run over to Monte Carlo for the day. 
 Let me see," he went on pulling out his watch, " if I 
 put on my boots now, I shall just have time to catch 
 the 9.45 train. I suppose it's no use asking you to 
 come? Well, I daresay you won't be sorry to get rid 
 of me for one day after such a dose of me all these 
 weeks! " 
 
 The last sentence was said with an attempt at playful- 
 ness, which proved a signal failure. 
 
 Gwendolen heard him out with an ominous silence, 
 biting her lip and looking at him with large glistening 
 eyes like those of a sorrowing guardian-angel. A tor- 
 rent of expostulation was twice on the point of over- 
 flowing from her lips, but she checked it with an effort 
 and then, with forced calmness, she said slowly, 
 
 " You could not go to-day, Wilfrid. We have prom- 
 ised Madame Lepeigne to go for a picnic to the 
 island." 
 
 " Bother ! " he conceded ungraciously. Then he 
 added with a very obstinate look in his face, " well, I 
 shall go to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow," echoed his wife with a half malicious 
 feeling of triumph at the fresh unanswerable obstacle, 
 "to-morrow will be Sunday." 
 
 Tyrconnel made a gesture of annoyance and said : 
 
 " Well, Monday then," as he turned abruptly back 
 into the sitting-room, striking his head sharply against 
 the window as he did so. 
 
 Nothing more was said about Monte Carlo until 
 Sunday night, when Gwendolen broached the subject 
 again after dinner. The moment was not well chosen, 
 for Tyrconnel had been worried into two attendances at
 
 THE WANING HONEYMOON. 2t)5 
 
 church, with the result that he was now irritable and 
 rebellious. The least thing seemed to tire him now. 
 Moreover, the sermon that morning-, by the diminutive 
 Bishop of Bedlam, had been devoted to denunciations 
 of the " House of Rimmon," and the eternal fallacies 
 about suicides, the grotesque assertion that the con- 
 certs and the gardens at Monte Carlo are the " price of 
 blood," with all the other extravagances of a narrow 
 and ill-balanced mind had outraged, his sense of fair- 
 ness. 
 
 They were in their private sitting-room. It was a 
 chilly evening and a fire had been lighted, but it burned 
 badly. The lamp had been carefully trimmed and 
 added an artificial gloom to that which already existed 
 in their minds. 
 
 Each had an expression of being profoundly bored. 
 Tyrconnel sat in a fold-up-chair affecting to read 
 " Natural Law in the Spiritual World," which Gwen- 
 dolen, who had views about " Sunday-books," had 
 forced on him. He found it difficult to keep his 
 attention to it and indeed scarcely cared to try, for the 
 type was blurred by the dim light and the subject had 
 not the faintest interest for him. 
 
 Meanwhile Gwendolen sat on the other side of the 
 fireplace turning over somewhat idly a large parcel of 
 tracts, recently sent her by Miss Tyrconnel. The 
 waning of the honeymoon had not destroyed in her 
 the minute interest in the smallest movements of her 
 husband, which devoted brides sometimes touchingly 
 display. She kept watching him with an expression, 
 which it would have puzzled a stranger to explain. 
 It contained solicitude for his health and a kind of 
 guardian-angel tenderness, which suited her style of 
 beauty ; but there was also a marked shade of annoy- 
 ance at his lack of interest in her book and, as the 
 yawns succeeded each other like minute-guns, a frown 
 began to form itself on her broad calm brow. 
 
 " If you're tired, you'd better go to bed," she said 
 at last, with unusual impatience, in the tone of a mother 
 lecturing a troublesome child. 
 
 It was the fifth long-drawn yawn in five minutes, and 
 he had slowly pulled out his hunter-watch, looked at
 
 2bt> THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 it and shut it up with an ostentatious click three times 
 during the same period. 
 
 " My dear, it's only half-past eight. I really couldn't 
 go to bed with the hens like that. Not even to oblige 
 you," he added with a touch of mockery in his voice ; 
 " I think I shall go down to the billiard-room for a 
 cigar." 
 
 " I have got something to say to you first," she re- 
 turned, in tones which only served to increase his irrita- 
 tion. 
 
 " Well ! " he asked with an ostentatious lack of in- 
 terest. 
 
 " You are not going to Monte Carlo to-morrow." 
 
 She had tried to impart a pleading, or at least an 
 interrogative accent to the sentence, but it sounded to 
 Tyrconnel more like a menace. There was a sulky 
 silence of about two minutes. 
 
 " Are you? " she added pleadingly, as he showed no 
 sign of making answer. 
 
 " You seem to have settled it for me," he replied with 
 some bitterness. 
 
 " That is good of you, Wilfrid," she said more softly, 
 taking this for acquiescence and laying a hand affec- 
 tionately on his. 
 
 He rose to his feet without responding to the caress 
 and said emphatically, 
 
 " Pray don't mistake me. I have made up my mind 
 to go and I shall go. I need a change. My health 
 is suffering from the monotony of this place. You 
 religious people are so selfish," he went on with rising 
 anger. " I don't believe you care a snap whether I am 
 ill or well, happy or miserable, so long as your bread- 
 and-butter theories of life are observed. Pray, what 
 do you know of the world outside your school-room 
 door and your Cambridge lecture-halls ? Who set 
 you up to be a ruler and a judge ? Where did you 
 learn " 
 
 The tirade ended in a fit of coughing. He rocked 
 himself to and fro for some minutes and then sank 
 back into his chair. But his words had probed her 
 to the quick and she stood before him with hands 
 clenched by her side and a strange light in her eyes,
 
 THE WANING HONEYMOON. 2G7 
 
 scarcely noticing his cough. When he had partly 
 recovered, she returned to the charge. 
 
 "The world! No, indeed," she answered with a 
 fine scorn. u I know little enough of it and I care not 
 to know. But I have at least learned even in the 
 small and humble sphere which you so despise I 
 have learned to distinguish between good and evil. 
 And the love I bear you will, I pray to God, inspire 
 me to protest, so long as I have breath, when I see you 
 setting your face towards wrong-doing." 
 
 " I must be allowed to judge what is right and 
 wrong for myself," he rejoined in a faint voice. " I 
 am willing to do all I can to humor your whims and 
 prejudices. I have denied myself pleasures and ex- 
 posed myself to actual discomforts in order to do so, 
 but there are limits to such sacrifices and you must 
 not tax my good-nature too far." 
 
 She was about to reply when the discussion was 
 interrupted by the entrance of the porter with a letter. 
 Tyrconnel took it carelessly, examined the address 
 with a slight show of curiosity, opened the envelope 
 and began to read a little ill-scented, ill-written note, 
 then hastily crumpled it up and thrust it into his 
 breast-pocket, his face gradually becoming crimson, 
 as much with anger as with embarrassment. Gwen- 
 dolen watched him with more astonishment than 
 alarm, but a certain qualm of uneasiness could not 
 be altogether avoided, and she stood before him, as 
 if waiting for and confidently expecting an expla- 
 nation. 
 
 As he offered none, she said, taking up the end of 
 his last speech, 
 
 " Would it be ' taxing your good-nature ' too far to 
 ask you whom that letter is from ? " 
 
 " I can't tell you, Gwen," he faltered, suddenly tak- 
 ing a more conciliatory tone. "I must ask you to 
 believe that it does not concern you in any way." 
 
 " What concerns you concerns me, Wilfrid." 
 
 " It does not concern my present life. - No good 
 purpose would be served by showing it to you. I will 
 show you what store I set by it," and he stooped down 
 to the fire, held the letter between the logs until it
 
 268 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 caught the flame, and then gave it a vicious dig with 
 the end of the bellows. The flicker of the fire gave 
 his face, now very pale again, a strange and ghastly 
 color. 
 
 Nothing was said for some time. Then he bent 
 over and kissed her forehead without a trace of senti- 
 ment. 
 
 " Good-night, Gwen," he said, " I have some letters 
 to write and am going downstairs for a smoke. I 
 daresay you will be asleep before I turn in." 
 
 " More letters ! " she said, stroking her forehead 
 upwards in a weary way, " and do they not concern 
 our present life either ? You used to have no secrets 
 from me. I feel already as if we had been mar- 
 ried years and years and years. You have begun to 
 slight me and the joy is ebbing from my life. I did 
 not dream that you would tire of me so soon." 
 
 "Don't be a goose, Gwen," he replied irritably, as he 
 sauntered out of the room with his hands deep in his 
 pockets, slamming the door behind him. 
 
 Gwendolen remained for a long time leaning against 
 the mantelpiece, thinking. She looked fixedly at the 
 damp logs and her eyes filled with tears. Presently 
 she drew herself up erect, as if to do battle with these 
 sad thoughts. She crossed the room, found her Bible, 
 and sat down on a stool to read the fourteenth chapter 
 of Saint John, which had upon her the effect of a 
 cordial on a fainting man. 
 
 There was a serene smile of trustful happiness on 
 her countenance as she turned down the lamp and made 
 her way to her bedroom. 
 
 " Peace I leave with you," she murmured, " my 
 peace I give unto you ; not as the world giveth, give I 
 unto you. I will not leave you comfortless : I will 
 come to you."
 
 THE HOUSE OF R1MMON. 269 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE HOUSE OF RIMMOX. 
 
 " I want to see the wheels go wound." 
 
 HELEN'S BABIES. 
 
 " IT is a quarter to twelve ; I must look sharp or I 
 shall be late for business," exclaimed Harold Gaverigan, 
 tossing his unfinished cigarette over the parapet and 
 making an unusual display of alacrity. 
 
 " Nonsense, old chap," said Coryton, leaning back 
 languidly, on the big green reversible seat which he 
 occupied on the terrace. " You can't coop yourself 
 up in that filthy casino on a glorious day like this. 
 Why not get hold of Lady Giddy and drive over 
 with Vixie and me to Xice for lunch at the London 
 House." 
 
 " Oh ! do, Mr. Gaverigan," added Mrs. Coryton, 
 looking up with a bright smile from an elaborate 
 pattern she was executing on the gravel with her 
 parasol. " That would be jolly." 
 
 Gaverigan, ever susceptible to attentions from the 
 fair sex, thereupon assumed a very sorrowful air, 
 like the rich young man in the parable, for the casino 
 was all-engrossing to him. 
 
 " I should have enjoyed it of all things," he said 
 regretfully, " but for one thing, I always have lunch 
 at eleven in the French fashion and, for another, I 
 rather packed myself up yesterday, as they phrase it 
 here, and I have fifty-four louis to recoup to-day. I 
 am afraid I must run along now or I shan't get a seat 
 at all, and it always spells ruin to try to play stand- 
 ing." 
 
 " Very well," laughed Violet with a friendly nod, 
 " we won't spoil your sport. I hope you will win
 
 270 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 a pot of money to-day and "be able to give yourself a 
 holiday and drive with us to-morrow. 1 " 
 
 The terrace at Monte Carlo is a pleasant lounge 
 at noon in winter. There are not enough people 
 about to be exacting in the matter of dress; you 
 can give yourself over to the full enjoyment of your 
 surroundings. And such surroundings! Assuredly 
 the world contains no other such favored corner, 
 where art and nature have so conspired to erect a 
 paradise. 
 
 Coryton and his wife, experts in the science of 
 extracting all possible enjoyment out of their sur- 
 roundings, had been sitting there for about half an 
 hour, looking the picture of content, basking in the 
 sunshine and drawing in long breaths of ozone as 
 the faintest of sea-breezes played upon their brows. 
 And they looked no less prosperous than they did 
 contented. There was not a trace of care of any 
 sort upon their smooth, fresh young faces ; they were 
 dressed to convey an impression of wealth as all wise 
 people with their own way to make in the world 
 always must be but -what is a still greater triumph of 
 astuteness, their clothes were made to aim rather at 
 comfort than display. 
 
 Violet's dress was of fawn-colored cloth, exquisitely 
 fitting and distinguished by a thin trimming of choice 
 sable ; her head looked very knowing under a prettily 
 twisted toque of violet velvet bordered with a couple of 
 sable tails. Coryton looked spick and span in a double- 
 breasted jacket of dark gray tweed with navy blue 
 trousers and Oxford shoes. The usual Monte-Carlo 
 hat of soft black felt was perched jauntily on the side 
 of his head so as to display his curls. 
 
 They were very little changed since we saw them 
 last and certainly not for the worse. Violet had not 
 lost her sprightliness, but had added to it some of the 
 charms of maturity. She had always been good 
 friends with her husband since they were boy and girl, 
 but it was only during the last few weeks that she had 
 come to admit to herself that it was all very ridiculous, 
 but really she was getting quite spoony about that 
 dear Poley. Love is always the most permanent when
 
 THE HOUSE OF RIMMON. 271 
 
 it follows, instead of preceding marriage, and Coryton, 
 who would have laughed aloud at the suggestion of 
 his possibly giving way to any such weakness as love, 
 was getting daily happier in the society of his wife 
 and prouder of her good looks and cleverness. 
 
 They watched Gaverigan hurrying up the terrace- 
 steps towards the casino, and Violet, half closing her 
 eyes to enjoy the brightness of the coloring around 
 her, remarked playfully upon the young man's unusual 
 display of energy. 
 
 " Yes," returned Coryton, " he has fits of energy like 
 that. If he only kept them up, he might accomplish 
 wonders. You remember when he went down to Shef- 
 field, utterly unknown there, and started a candidature 
 on lines of his own ? " 
 
 No. What happened ? " 
 
 "He had meetings every night for a week and after 
 the first three, carried votes of confidence in his candi- 
 dature. Then he calmly went away, and never came 
 near them from that day to this." 
 
 " It's a pity he gambles so much and so recklessly. 
 He's certain to bring himself to grief one of these 
 days." 
 
 " Yes, he should only gamble in the way we do, and 
 never back anything except certainties. I have no 
 patience with people who persist in backing uncer- 
 tainties." 
 
 " Like that dear good Pigeon, for instance." 
 
 " Pouf ! He plays like a lunatic. Gaverigan at any 
 rate has some method in his madness. By the way, I 
 wouldn't mind betting my boots we shall see Pidge 
 over here before long, in spite of all his new-laid virtue 
 and the terrorism of that Saint Nitouche of a wife of 
 his." 
 
 " I don't want your boots," she laughed, " but I'll bet 
 you something nicer, say, a kiss or, better still, a new 
 bonnet from the rue de la Paix, that if he does come 
 it'll be without her. In fact, I shouldn't wonder if it 
 meant a breach between them." 
 
 " Well," he said, lowering his voice, which was an 
 unnecessary precaution as there was no one within 
 shouting distance, "there most certainly will be a
 
 272 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 breach between them, unless Miss Sarah Popkins 
 should happen to come in for a fortune in the course of 
 the next few weeks." 
 
 "That dreadful Sally Popkins? I really think it's a 
 mistake coming down to that kind of instrument." 
 
 Coryton looked into her eyes with an amused smile. 
 
 " I almost believe," he said incredulously, " that you 
 are jealous ! " 
 
 Violet pouted. 
 
 " And if I am, I don't see that that is so very 
 ridiculous." 
 
 A cloud had gathered on her face as she finished the 
 sentence. The smile slowly died away on his face and 
 he looked vexed for a moment. 
 
 " Vixie, you mustn't be ridiculous. Have you such 
 a poor opinion of me after all these years ? Vi, I feel 
 hurt, I really do. Could you so misjudge me as to 
 think I have not control over myself in my dealings 
 with such creatures, or that I would demean myself to 
 touch them with the end of a barge-pole except to make 
 them useful ? Don't you know that I am a being en- 
 tirely destitute of emotions or affections of any sort or 
 kind except of course for you, my dear ? " he added, 
 with a ceremonious bow. 
 
 "I am glad you made that reservation, howbeit 
 reluctantly," she retorted, recovering her good-humor 
 rapidly. " But tell me what the scheme is. Sally is to 
 blackmail Pidge by threatening to tell the saintly 
 Gwendolen. That's all very well for Sally, but where 
 do you come in ? You're not going to share the spoil 
 with her, I suppose ? " 
 
 "Hardly. The thing isn't yet quite thought out. 
 Perhaps if she worries him judiciously, he may come 
 to me for advice. Or perhaps again she may produce 
 a breach between him and Gwendolen, as I was say- 
 ing just now. In any case he gets back into my team 
 again, and he was useful, you must admit." 
 
 " 'M yes. Useful in a way. But is it worth soiling 
 your hands like that for such an object ? Suppose it 
 all came out." 
 
 " I shall take precautions. So far as I am concerned 
 there will be nothing to come out. It won't need such
 
 THE HOUSE OF SIMMON. 273 
 
 a frightful amount of astuteness to accomplish that 
 much. I have had dealings with these Samaritans 
 before, you know." 
 
 " Yes, I know you have," she said drily ; " and I wish 
 you'd stop having dealings with them." 
 
 "I daresay you do. But, my good Vixie, beggars 
 can't choose. You know how hard up we are." 
 
 " I do indeed," she said bitterly. 
 
 " Well ! " was all he said, but it was very much in 
 the tone of the Q. E. D. after one of Euclid's rigmaroles. 
 
 Violet suddenly gave a merry peal of laughter. 
 
 " Upon my word," she said, " I think we are the most 
 wonderful people in the world. Here we are about on 
 the verge of beggary and we are as jolly as sandboys, 
 without the least care or fear of any sort or kind to 
 alloy our happiness for an instant. Some people 
 would be ordering in cartridges for their revolver or 
 sending round to the chemist for chloral." 
 
 Cory ton joined in the laugh. 
 
 " Yes, that's all very fine, but this sort of situation 
 would very soon get beyond a joke. We must think 
 of something." 
 
 " After all, if the worst comes to the worst, we can 
 always borrow from our friends." 
 
 " The worst must not come to the worst. Borrow- 
 ing from friends means the destruction of all their other 
 spheres of usefulness. I have always believed in the 
 truth of old Shake-Bacon's injunction. ' Neither a 
 borrower nor a lender be.' It is far better to take what 
 you want by strategy. The Professor's next instalment 
 in our Automatic Drainage Scheme comes due in a 
 week or two. Meanwhile, all we want is a little ready 
 money to go on with." 
 
 " Poor old cock," said Violet, dismissing the Profes- 
 sor, with a shrug. " Shall we have another supper- 
 party after the rooms close with a game of poker to 
 wind up ? " 
 
 " No, that's risky. People here play too well. Be- 
 sides they want such a lot of pressing. As they can 
 play at roulette and trente-et-quarante for eleven hours 
 
 a day " 
 
 18
 
 274 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 " And be sure of not being cheated." 
 
 " Precisely ray meaning ! they aren't likely to want 
 to come and play poker afterwards, where that certitude 
 is not so profound." 
 
 " What a pity Pidge isn't here." 
 
 " Yes. It would almost be worth while going ovei 
 to Cannes, if that confounded wet-blanket woman 
 weren't there. I must have managed things very 
 badly to let her marry him." 
 
 " There are several irons in the fire here that I should 
 not care to leave. There are Mr. Shepheard's invest- 
 ments and Mr. Plantagenet-Unkels's idea of starting a 
 paper, not to mention my Boyard, who only wants me 
 to say the word in order to present me with the most 
 magnificent tiara of diamonds that can be purchased 
 in all Bucharest." 
 
 " Come, come, Vixie. It'll soon be my turn to be 
 jealous." 
 
 " Your turn ! Don't flatter yourself that I was jeal- 
 ous, conceited boy. However, I'll strike a bargain with 
 you : my Boyard for your Sally." 
 
 " My Sally ! You scamp. She's only a means to 
 
 an end. And by Jove ! here is the end 
 
 Why, Pigeon, old boy ? Who'd have thought of 
 seeing you in this wicked place ? Is your wife with 
 you ? " 
 
 Sure enough it was Tyrconnel, walking along the 
 terrace with an uncertain step, as if the place were 
 strange to him. What a difference between this hag- 
 gard youth and the eager, sturdy Wilfrid Tyrconnel 
 who had trod this terrace twelve short months before ! 
 His face was flushed with the excitement of arrival 
 and his frail, boyish face looked quite pretty as he 
 stood before them. Both were struck at once by the 
 change in him. 
 
 " She is at Cannes. I am only over for the day," 
 he said shortly, in answer to Coryton's question. 
 Then, turning to Violet, he seemed to recover his 
 good spirits and began to rally her on her perennial 
 childhood. 
 
 " I wish I could return the compliment, Pidge," she 
 said with affectionate anxiety, " but you are looking
 
 THE HOUSE OF EIMMON. 275 
 
 decidedly dicky. You want a good bracing up here. 
 I shall tell Gwendolen so when I see her." 
 
 Tyrconnel frowned. 
 
 " Everybody keeps telling me that I am at death's 
 door," he growled. 
 
 " That's all rot," said Coryton, who knew exactly 
 how to manage his ex-charge. " All he wants is a lit- 
 tle lunch and, for the matter of that, so do we. Look 
 here, Vixie, take him up to the Grand and order lunch. 
 I'll join you in half an hour. I've a few things to 
 attend to. If you'd only wired you were coming, old 
 man, I'd have arranged to be at your disposal all 
 day." 
 
 While the two others slowly made their way up 
 to the Grand Hotel, Tyrconnel complaining grievously 
 of the heat all the while, Coryton hastily made his 
 way into the casino and scrutinized all the players 
 at the various tables. Gaverigan was at the first 
 table, in the highest spirits, evidently winning heavily. 
 He called out blithely to Coryton to join him as there 
 was an unheard-of run on the tiers du cylindre, but 
 Coryton passed on with a smiling shake of the head. 
 At the next table he paused a moment to watch Wil- 
 liams and Wilmot, who were playing a system, as he 
 had special reasons for wishing to know the state of 
 their finances. He exchanged amenities with Signor 
 Miauli, of Stratford-atte-Bowe, the popular tenor, 
 whom he found staking 100 francs gold bits profusely 
 on the transversales from behind Miss Gussie Gutter's 
 chair. That young lady called out gaily to Coryton 
 to come and bring her luck, but he only shrugged 
 his shoulders deprecatingly and passed on to the 
 trente-et-quarante room. Here Lord Pimlico and 
 Miss Theodora Gargoyle were engaged in a fierce 
 wrangle about the fetlocks of a horse called Saucisson, 
 who had won the Grand Prix de Monte Carlo at 
 Nice, and both appealed to him for corroboration. 
 
 They were more difficult to shake off than the rest, 
 but at last he managed to escape and, after one more 
 careful look all round, he made his way into the 
 reading-room, which in those days was downstairs, in 
 a last vain hope of meeting the object of his search.
 
 276 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 There she was, curled up in a huge arm-chair about 
 three sizes too large for her, voraciously reading the 
 Vie Parisienne, or rather its pictures. 
 
 " Oh ! it's you, is it ? " she exclaimed, scarcely looking 
 up as he entered. " Come and explain this bathing- 
 costume to me." 
 
 " I am very angry with you, Sally," he replied. 
 " You have wasted my time when every moment is 
 of importance. You said you'd be inside from twelve 
 to one. Why weren't you there ? " 
 
 " Because I'm broke, if you want to know. But I 
 shouldn't advise your trying to bully me. It's no go," 
 she added with a comic attempt at despair. 
 
 " All right," he returned, making a motion as if to 
 go away, " it doesn't matter. I had some news for you, 
 but no doubt it will keep." 
 
 " Oh ! you dear," she said, slapping him on the 
 shoulder and beginning to twist her parasol in a rest- 
 less way. " Tell me all about it as fast as you can." 
 
 " It's only that Tyrconnel's here," he said quietly. 
 
 Sally jumped to her feet in a fury and made as 
 though she was off at once. 
 
 " Where ? where ? " she cried excitedly, " I'll have 
 at him, the villain ! Show me where he is this very 
 moment." 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! All in good time. I'll arrange for 
 you to interview him in the course of the day. You 
 must first make up your mind what you are going to 
 say to him." 
 
 " I've decided that long ago. I shall go up to him 
 and slap his face or scratch his eyes or something. See 
 what he had the insolence to send me." 
 
 And she held up a note in Tyrconnel's big sprawling 
 hand. 
 
 " In answer to your letter of yesterday, I suppose ? ' 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " May I see it ? ' Madam.'' Come that's pretty 
 
 stiff ! ' Although 1 do not admit that you have any 
 claim whatever upon me, I am willing to send you 
 10, as you say you are in distress. I advise you to 
 use it to leave Monte Carlo at once, as I warn you this 
 is the last time I can consent to assist you. Should you
 
 THE HOUSE OF EIMMON. 277 
 
 write again, your letters will be returned unopened. 
 Yours faithfully, WILFRID TYRCONNEL.' Well, at any 
 rate you've got something in black and white, that may 
 come in useful by and by." 
 
 " Yes, but a tenner ! " screamed Sally with all the 
 scorn of a millionaire. " Did you ever hear of any- 
 thing so mean in your life ? I took it in this morning 
 and planked it down on 10 to 21 and it was swept off 
 the first go. So now I haven't got sixpence to bless 
 myself with." 
 
 " Well, you certainly won't get any more if you go 
 and scratch his face. If you promise me not to be 
 silly, I'll try and arrange for you to have a talk with 
 him for a quarter of an hour or so before he goes back 
 to Cannes, and if you don't get what you want then, 
 I've got a much better card up my sleeve for you. 
 Now I must run off to lunch." 
 
 " Wait a bit. You might explain it first. I don't 
 trust you an inch further than I can see you. You 
 made a fool of me once before. I'm not going to risk 
 it's happening again." 
 
 " Little unbeliever ! I've a great mind to let you 
 fend for yourself. A fat lot of gratitude I get for all 
 the trouble I take on your account. However, since 
 you are so anxious to know, I couldn't think of dis- 
 appointing a lady." 
 
 Sally put out her tongue, screwing up her nose so 
 as to display her dazzling little rabbit's teeth. But 
 he pretended not to see and gave her a hasty out- 
 line of the plan of campaign he proposed for her. 
 She listened with her head on one side in a pictur- 
 esque way, smiling incredulously all the while. 
 When he had finished, she said roguishly, 
 
 " Yes, and where do you come in ? " 
 
 " I ! " he exclaimed, raising his eyebrows, as if 
 that were a too preposterous suggestion. " It's not 
 my affair. I shall be more than rewarded if Miss 
 de Vere deigns to approve of her humble slave's 
 efforts on her behalf." 
 
 Sally gave a shrill, derisive laugh, but beamed 
 with pleasure all over her face, for no compliment 
 ever came amiss to her.
 
 278 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 " You are a downright humbug," she said amiably, 
 as he was making his way to the door, " but some- 
 how J can't help liking you." 
 
 Coryton made a deep mock bow and hurried out. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE PLUCKING OF THE PIGEON. 
 
 Every one is as God made him and oftentimes a great deal worse- 
 SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 WHEN Coryton reached the Grand Hotel he found 
 lunch just being served. 
 
 " We knew you wouldn't like us to wait, and have 
 these good things spoiled," said Violet as he came 
 in. "I think you'll be pleased with what we've 
 ordered." 
 
 They were all three very proud of their knowledge 
 of good food and certainly the arts of the cordon 
 bleu at the Grand were not thrown away upon them. 
 A very savory consomme, clear as liquid amber, 
 put them all in excellent humor from the beginning. 
 It was followed by coquillis de turbot, dressed with 
 not too much cheese, but just cheese flavoring 
 enough. Then came quails en casserole and a salad 
 such as Charles, the head-waiter, always mixed 
 specially for Coryton. He " showed a piece of bread 
 to some garlic," as he phrased it, then stirred the 
 bread up vigorously with the lettuce and took it out 
 before serving. Violet always declared this gave you 
 all the naughty feelings of eating garlic, without 
 making it impossible to kiss anybody afterwards for 
 at least twenty-four hours. A mousse aux framboises 
 was also appreciated, for they were all sweet-tooths, 
 and they wound up with Turkish coffee. During 
 the meal they drank a pint of Johannisberg with the 
 fish and a bottle of Mouton Rothschild 1874 with
 
 THE PL UCKING OF THE PIGEON. 279 
 
 the quails. Then eau-de-vie cle Danzic as a chasse-cafe 
 before strolling down to the gambling-rooms. 
 
 They played together in the rooms for some time 
 and then Violet left them for the concert, as she 
 was especially anxious not to miss Saint-Saens's 
 " Danse Macabre." It always sounds so weird and 
 impressive in the big, dim, fantastic concert-room, 
 which seems more in harmony with that piece than 
 almost any other place. 
 
 "You can almost see the goblins skipping along 
 the edge of the stage as the violins go ' Ping ! Ping ! 
 Ping ! ' " she said. " And the double-shuffle of the 
 dwarf devils, who form the chorus, is amazingly 
 creepy. You really ought to come and hear it, 
 Wilfrid, instead of staying here to lose money." 
 
 " The Pigeon's got the roulette-devil to tackle," 
 said Coryton, making signs to his wife not to press 
 her suggestion. "That's about as much as he can 
 manage without running after your blue devils too." 
 
 So Coryton and Tyrconnel remained playing side by 
 side at the trente-et-quarante table. The former had 
 long ago come to the conclusion that nobody but a 
 millionaire can win against the bank at Monte- Carlo, 
 and he never played save with an ulterior object. Now 
 he sat "with a little pile of gold in front of him, making 
 a great display of interest, pricking each announce- 
 ment of the winning color diligently on one of the 
 ruled cards provided by the administration; but all 
 the while he never staked more than the minimum of 
 a louis at a time, and that not every coup. At the 
 end of an hour and a half he was three louis to the 
 good and announced that he had had enough of it, and 
 that it was not worth all those emotions to win such a 
 small sum. 
 
 His companion had been plunging heavily, having 
 begun with five hundred francs at a time and in- 
 creased his stakes as he won. After an hour's play he 
 was taking maximums every time and had a goodly 
 pile of notes in front of him. Happening to look up 
 just then, he noticed a very malevolent little face 
 scowling at him from behind the croupier opposite. 
 
 " Heavens ! " he growled to himself. " Am I never
 
 280 THE GREEN BA Y THEE. 
 
 to be free from this haunting curse of my old indis- 
 cretion ? Am I doomed to have my path crossed by 
 this vile woman every time I go out of doors?" 
 
 He grew very impatient and began to play reck- 
 lessly, lie argued with himself that he had known 
 Sally was at Monte Carlo and that, if he could not 
 stand seeing her, he ought not to have come. But 
 it was all in vain. A blight seemed to have come over 
 him and smothered all the joyousness of the good- 
 humor that had buoyed him up ; he had taken all the 
 sweetness even out of the incomparable pleasure of a 
 run of luck. It was now fast turning into an avalanche 
 of disaster, this run of luck. Sally's malevolent gaze 
 was upon him and seemed to cast a spell, so that he 
 could do nothing right. Nobody but a gambler can have 
 any idea how rapidly a big pile of big bank-notes will 
 vanish, if only you have lost your head and are playing 
 recklessly. 
 
 By the time that Coryton had turned round and 
 announced his intention of stopping, content with his 
 meagre gains, the pile had melted away and Tyrconnel 
 was left with one solitary thousand franc note, which 
 he tossed gloomily upon red. 
 
 " Tin apr^s ! " the croupier announced. 
 
 Tyrconnel gave a gesture of impatience, as he saw 
 his last note swept on to the line to denote that it was 
 " in prison " and the impatience was heightened to indig- 
 nation, as he saw a mocking smile light up Sally's 
 provokingly childish face. The cards were dealt out 
 again. 
 
 " Neuf? said the croupier, announcing a heavy point 
 for black. 
 
 Tyrconnel gave a faint smile of hope at the imminent 
 prospect of getting back his last note. It would be the 
 turning point and he would have another run of good 
 luck, if only to spite Sally. While he was building 
 these castles in the air, the cards had been dealt and 
 there was a whisper of vexation half way round the 
 table. They were four court cards for red ! 
 
 " Quarante" said the croupier mechanically ; " rouge 
 perd, couleur gagne." And a long rake came down and 
 whisked off Tyrconnel's last note.
 
 THE PLUCKING OF THE PIGEON. 281 
 
 " Well," he said, with an affectation of indifference, 
 
 " I suppose I must go round to Smith's for some 
 more money. I am" absolutely stony now." "Where- 
 upon he got up and went slowly out of the room 
 with Coryton, studiously avoiding Sally's gaze as he 
 did so. 
 
 Tyrconnel was well known at the bank and had 
 no difficulty in cashing all the checks he required. 
 As they walked back to the rooms, Coryton put his 
 arm affectionately through Tyrconnel's and said in his 
 most caressing, confidential manner, 
 
 " Old man, I want to speak to you on a rather deli- 
 cate matter, but I want you to promise me you won't 
 be offended." 
 
 Tyrconnel promised, as one does on such occasions, 
 without enthusiasm. 
 
 " It's about Sally Popkins. She tells me you sent 
 her a tenner." 
 
 Tyrconnel started at the mention of the name and 
 then flushed up resentfully as Coryton entered into 
 details. 
 
 " Well ? " he said, shaking himself free and looking 
 Coryton full in the eyes. 
 
 " I think you are rather hard on her," he replied. 
 "After all, you cannot divest yourself of some respon- 
 sibility for her present position." 
 
 " Oh ! come now," he exclaimed hotly, " that is 
 rather a large order. She was not precisely a type o 
 innocence when I first made her acquaintance. That 
 Cottenham dinner was the beginning and end of it all, 
 as far as I am concerned. What possible claim could 
 she have upon me now ? " 
 
 " If you don't think she has, it is not for me to in- 
 terfere. I certainly never expected that you would be 
 mean." 
 
 " Mean ! I never was called mean before. Now tell 
 me candidly, do you think I am in any way responsi- 
 ble? Come, now, as a man of the world." 
 
 " Every one of her admirers might disclaim responsi- 
 bility in the same way. However, I will say no more. 
 It is no concern of mine and I certainly don't want to 
 quarrel with you about Sally Popkins."
 
 282 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 They had reached the casino entrance, but Tyrcon- 
 nel led the way round the building towards the terrace 
 without a word. 
 
 After a silence of some minutes, he said abruptly, 
 
 " Corry, if you think I owe the girl any reparation, 
 I will send her money, but nothing shall induce me to 
 speak to her again." 
 
 " That's my good Pigeon," said Coryton patroniz- 
 ingly. " I knew you would. You. know me well 
 enough to be sure that I would not advise you to do 
 anything quixotic or unnecessary. But the fact is, the 
 girl isn't the reprobate you have been inclined to take 
 her for, and I know that, if she were given a chance, 
 she would ask nothing better than to keep straight in 
 future. The difficulty always is that, when women 
 start on that line of country, they never get a chance 
 of pulling up ; they never have savings, no one would 
 think of giving them honest employment, and they 
 have no choice but to go on as they have begun. Now 
 if I could raise a hundred or so for her, I could get her 
 started as a florist in Belgravia, where she would have 
 an opportunity of making a good thing of it and, 
 as she would have the comforts she has got accustomed 
 to, there would be less danger of her relapsing to her 
 old ways. I think that is wiser than encouraging her 
 to go back on the stage, don't you ? " 
 
 Tyrconnel looked Coryton full in the face long and 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " You are a kind-hearted chap, Corry," he said as 
 they leaned against the parapet of the terrace, watch- 
 ing a pigeon flutter out of its trap and then roll over 
 and over in the dust, as a gun flashed out. 
 
 The most picturesque part of the scene was the re- 
 triever that ran out at once and marched back trium- 
 phantly, with tail erect, carrying the dead bird in its 
 mouth, while a man in a wonderful sort of Robin Hood 
 costume trotted out at the double to refill the trap. 
 There were a series of paths worn away in the turf 
 from his starting-point to each of the pigeon-trap^, 
 showing how equally the law of averages operated in 
 the frequency with which they were opened. 
 
 " I have always said you weren't half so cynical ;i3
 
 THE PLUCKING OF Till: PIGEON. 283 
 
 you try to make yourself out," Tyrconnel pursued. 
 " Of course I will help about the poor girl and I am 
 sure I ought to be much obliged to you for letting me 
 know the real facts of the case. She wrote and asked 
 me to help her to leave Monte Carlo and I sent her a 
 tenner for that purpose, fully imagining all the same 
 that she intended to blow it away at the tables. How 
 much do you say you want for her ? Here are five 
 thousand francs." 
 
 And he held out some notes. But Coryton made no 
 sign of taking them. 
 
 " Won't you give them to her yourself ? " he asked. 
 " I am sure she would value them a great deal more, 
 and it would be an excellent opportunity for offering 
 her a little good advice." 
 
 " Xo, no, my dear fellow, I couldn't. Do me this 
 favor. I shall be most awfully obliged. Here, take 
 them. . . . And now let's talk of something else." 
 
 " I am sure you will never repent this good action," 
 said Coryton, pocketing the notes. " I daresay I shall 
 get an opportunity of giving them to her in the rooms 
 to-night." 
 
 The scene in the rooms after dinner was fast and 
 furious. It seemed as if the players could not lose 
 their money fast enough, so hotly did they jostle and 
 wrangle round the tables. Coryton was heartily sick 
 of it all long before the announcement of the last three 
 spins. But he had made up his mind to stay and see 
 Tyrconnel off at the station by the train des deceives, 
 which, so far as Tyrconnel was concerned, was appro- 
 priately named that day. He had needed to make a 
 number of visits to Smith's bank in the course of the 
 afternoon and was about 1,000 out on the day, besides 
 what he had given Coryton for Sally. After the train 
 was gone, Coryton make his way to the Cafe de Paris, 
 where he found Sally seated at a little table drinking 
 cura9oa and waiting for him by appointment. 
 
 She looked very fresh and desirable in her long seal- 
 skin and dainty mauve skirt, with her face exquisitely 
 made up and her feet resting on a neighboring chair 
 so as to display a very smart pair of shoes and two
 
 284 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 most neatly turned little ankles. So a cut-throat look- 
 ing Roumanian boyard seemed to think, much to 
 Sally's annoyance, which she was vainly trying to put 
 into words when Coryton came up. The boyard bowed> 
 to Coryton and moved off in search of more promising 
 conquests. 
 
 " What a long time you have been," exclaimed Sally 
 petulantly. " I hope you bring me money in propor- 
 tion." 
 
 " Alas ! Sally," replied Coryton with mock contrition, 
 " I did all I could. At first he wouldn't hear of doing 
 anything. But I told him you were threatening to go 
 to his wife 
 
 " And that fetched him, eh ? " 
 
 " Not a bit of it. He only laughed and said you 
 would never dare to do that, if you did, she would 
 never believe you. Then I tried a different tack and 
 said you were very anxious to reform and only wanted 
 a little money to enable you to do so. I piled it on as 
 thick as I could and really thought at one time I had 
 got him. But after all he only gave me this for you." 
 Coryton held out a note. 
 
 " What ! only a ' sing-song.'* He is a mean brute. 
 What's the use of a wretched 20, when I am dead 
 broke, and in this hole of a place?" 
 
 Sally's voice trembled with emotion and for a mo- 
 ment it seemed as if she would give way to an out- 
 burst of passionate tears. 
 
 "But I'll be even with him yet. I'll go to his 
 psalm-singing wife and tell her a tale that'll startle 
 her, if it's only to spite him for being so infernally 
 mean. Look here, Coryton, you are not a bad sort and 
 I'm grateful to you for what you have done, though 
 I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have done it, if it hadn't 
 been to serve your own purposes.'* 
 
 " Odd that I should be forever misjudged in this 
 way and thought incapable of any but the lowest 
 motives," ejaculated Coryton with mock heroics. 
 
 "No, I don't say that," said Sally, taking his lament- 
 ations seriously. " You've always acted straight with 
 
 * Monte-Carlo Slang for 500 francs.
 
 THE PLUCKING OF THE PIGEON. 285 
 
 me and I like you better than the rest of them. But 
 now I want you to give me a tip what to do how to 
 get away from here." 
 
 " We must talk it over and that means something to 
 drink," replied Cory ton rapping the table with his stick. 
 
 It was nearly a quarter to one when Coryton parted 
 from his fair companion at the door of her hotel. He 
 smiled to himself all the way up to the Grand, and all 
 the way up to his rooms. There he found Violet in 
 anything but a smiling mood. 
 
 " You have been talking to that woman again," she 
 said irritably. 
 
 "Yes, darling," he replied in his ever-suave tones, 
 " but to some purpose and for the last time. How did 
 you get on at roulette?" 
 
 "1 won twenty louis playing a very careful game 
 and then I won thirty more from Shepheard at ecarte 
 after the rooms closed. So you see I have not been 
 idle which is just as well for you," she added laugh- 
 ing, "or I shouldn't be so amiable and forgiving to 
 you." 
 
 " You'll be more forgiving still, when you hear what 
 I've done," he said. " I've made 180 on the day, but 
 not by gambling." 
 
 " Oh ! do tell me how," she said, clapping her hands 
 childishly. 
 
 When he had related the events, she grew grave and 
 made no remark for some time. Then she said in a 
 sweet, low voice, 
 
 " It's playing it rather low, isn't it? But I am proud 
 of you, for you are so clever and so thoughtful to me. 
 Only I do wish we could afford to be honest. That is 
 the luxury I covet most of all." 
 
 He kissed her tenderly and said, " Xo doubt we shall 
 be able to afford it some day. But we mustn't be too 
 extravagant all at once. If we are- only patient, no 
 doubt even honesty will one day be within our reach."
 
 286 THE GllEEX BAT TREE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE SERPENT IN THE EDEN. 
 
 Behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth ! St. JAMES, 
 iii. 5. 
 
 IT was about four o'clock in the afternoon : the day 
 was scarce yet dying. It had been a perfect Riviera 
 day, a day of blue sky, soft warm breezes, and sunny 
 lambent air. One of those days all too scarce even 
 on the Riviera which make one forget the fog and 
 damp of Northern climes and turn with gladness to 
 the sunshine and flowers of this favored portion of 
 God's earth. 
 
 Gwendolen was sitting reading in their handsome 
 salon on the first floor of the Hotel Beau-site at 
 Cannes. The windows, partly open to the sunny 
 air, revealed glimpses of green palm trees, and of the 
 broad blue of the tideless Mediterranean. The room 
 was full of flowers flowers everywhere roses, bright- 
 hued anemones, delicate feathery branches of mi- 
 mosa, tulips, violets all scattered about in prodigal 
 confusion. On a table by her side stood a photo- 
 graph of her husband smiling at her from out its 
 velvet frame and before it, grouped like flowers before 
 a shrine, was a low vase filled with white lilies. The 
 piano was open, and on it was his favorite song the 
 one he loved to hear her sing best. She had been sing- 
 ing it a while ago and was still crooning over the frag- 
 ment of some wordless melody as she read. 
 
 She had been alone all the afternoon. Wilfrid was 
 gone over to Nice to pay a duty visit to some people 
 there friends of Lord Baltinglass. Gwendolen had 
 half thought of going with him, but as they had been 
 out together all the morning, she felt a little tired and,
 
 THE SERPENT IN THE EDEN. 287 
 
 at the last moment, he persuaded her to stay at home. 
 She looked very fair and pure in a loose flowing gown 
 of some soft creamy texture. A half-opened rosebud 
 nestled among the laces of her throat. His lips had 
 touched it before he placed it there ; its faint fragrance 
 recalled him to her now, and brought up the happy 
 smile which was playing around her lips. 
 
 Gwendolen was very happy just now, with that calm 
 serene happiness, which one often sees in women of 
 her type. Since her husband had broken away from 
 her that Sunday evening and had followed up his revolt 
 by the trip to Monte Carlo, there had been no more 
 differences between them. A change had come over 
 the spirit of her dream. The masterful tones in which 
 he had resented her interference, made her love him in 
 secret the more. His scornful words, " Who made you 
 a ruler and a judge ? " rang in her ears all the next 
 day. She had been too hasty, too precipitate, she said 
 to herself. She had taken too much upon herself, 
 pressed him too hard, she had not made sufficient al- 
 lowance for his emotional nature ; the old Adam would 
 not die in a day, Satan was making a strong fight. 
 But she would win yes, she would win. The light of 
 a holy enthusiasm lit up her face. But how ? Wilfrid's 
 was a nature to be led, not driven, henceforth she 
 would lead him by the golden chain of love, not drive 
 him with hard words or cram him with Scriptural 
 texts. She must change her tactics. 
 
 So when he came back from Monte Carlo that night, 
 rather down in the mouth and fully expecting a lecture, 
 she greeted him to his surprise with kisses and loving 
 words. Xot a word of reproach did she utter ; she 
 even hoped that he had " spent a pleasant day," and 
 she heaped coals of fire upon his head by turning up 
 at breakfast the next morning, fresh and smiling, full 
 of solicitude for his health and of plans for their 
 mutual happiness. 
 
 Tyrconnel was full of delight and surprise at this 
 sudden change. He met her advances graciously and 
 down in his heart he laid a flattering unction to his 
 soul. " That comes of showing a woman who is 
 master," he said to himself. All his irritability and
 
 288 THE GllEEN LA Y TREE. 
 
 ill-humor vanished and his love for his wife revived 
 again under the sunshine of her smiles. lie felt a little 
 ashamed of himself too ; he had not been quite frank 
 with her. That scene with Sally still rankled in his 
 memory however that was all settled now, thank 
 goodness Coryton would see to that ; and she would 
 trouble him no more. In this new mood his wife be- 
 came to him infinitely dearer, infinitely more lovable. 
 When he thought of going to Monte Carlo again, she 
 offered no objection ; but things became so pleasant at 
 home that he gradually ceased to wish to go there at 
 all. Perfect harmony was restored between them, 
 into their waning honeymoon there came a sort of St. 
 Martin's summer, an after-glow of love. The young 
 wife sometimes blamed herself for being so happy. 
 Surely it was sinful to fix her affections thus on any 
 earthly object. But young love is strong and young- 
 love is thoughtless. After all, she was but a woman 
 and she loved and human nature is much the same, 
 whether it be the saint's or the sinner's. 
 
 Thus had drifted on the golden, sunny days, the 
 present all, the joy of loving enough. 
 
 Gwendolen glanced at the time-piece. It was only a 
 little past four! He would not be back for some time 
 yet. She felt inclined to scold laggard Time because 
 he went not with swifter feet. 
 
 " A visitor for Madame," said the waiter, entering 
 the room with the noiseless step of the well-trained 
 Swiss. " Does Madame receive ? " 
 
 Gwendolen took the card from the salver and looked 
 at it with languid curiosity. It was a small, oblong 
 card, shaped like a man's, but on it was inscribed Miss 
 de Vere, Alpha Cottage, Beta Road, St. John's Wood. 
 Neither the name nor the address conveyed any mean- 
 ing to the innocent Gwendolen. She regarded the card 
 with a puzzled air. 
 
 " There must be some mistake," she said. " I do not 
 know the lady." 
 
 " There is no mistake, Madame," replied the waiter 
 impassively. " The lady asked especially for the Hon- 
 orable Mrs. Tyrconnel, and if you were engaged she 
 would wait, she said,"
 
 THE SERPENT IN THE EDEN. 289 
 
 Gwendolen's first impulse was to refuse ; then she 
 looked at the time-piece again. It would be a long 
 time before Wilfrid came home. She was more than 
 wearied of her own society. Perhaps, too, it was a 
 little spice of feminine curiosity which prompted her 
 to say : 
 
 " I will see her ; ask her to come up." 
 
 The waiter bowed and withdrew, presently reappear- 
 ing to announce " Miss de Vere." 
 
 Sally entered with a timid, hesitating step. She was 
 got up for the part with some skill. She had donned 
 an old black dress and quite a shabby hat ; her face 
 was absolutely innocent of rouge, though there might 
 have been a suspicion of blanc de perles. Her fringe 
 was out of curl ; her eyes were cast down sadly on the 
 floor. 
 
 " The Honorable Mrs. Tyrconnel ? " she said inter- 
 rogatively when the waiter had closed the door. 
 
 " Yes, I am Mrs. Tyrconnel," answered Gwendolen 
 kindly. " Pray be seated and tell me what I can do 
 for you." 
 
 She looked very nervous, this poor little thing ; 
 perhaps she was a teacher of English, a governess, 
 or something of the kind, who wanted befriending in 
 a foreign land. And yet she did not look quite like 
 a governess; Gwendolen had had no experience of 
 young women of Sally's type, either with their war- 
 paint on, or without. She was as innocent as a child. 
 
 Sally eyed her doubtfully. She had not come pre- 
 pared for this gracious greeting. She had understood 
 from Mr. Coryton that young Mrs. Tyrconnel was a 
 very religious person, and religion in Sally's mind was 
 associated with straight-backed spinsters and aggress- 
 ive matrons, withering looks, frigid words and a sort 
 of " do-not-contaminate-me " manner. If she had been 
 received in this way, she had a retort ready to hand ; 
 she would have been easy enough. As it was, she felt 
 a little nonplussed. She looked about her in a helpless 
 sort of way, not knowing how to begin. 
 
 " Pray tell me what I can do for you," said Gwen- 
 dolen encouragingly. 
 
 Sally's eyes wandered around the room until they
 
 290 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 fell upon the photograph of Tyrconnel. That nerved 
 her. A gleam of resentment shone in her eyes. 
 " There is no hatred like a woman scorned." The 
 more concealed it is, the more dangerous is the venom, 
 and in this instance the venom was prompted almost 
 as much by resentment as by greed. 
 
 " I am very very unhappy," she said, and burst into 
 tears. 
 
 She could not have begun better. Gwendolen's 
 sympathies were aroused in an instant. She got up 
 from her chair and, coming across to where the other 
 was sitting with bowed head, touched her on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 " I am so sorry," she said gently, " tell me what your 
 trouble is." 
 
 " I don't know how to tell you," whimpered Sally, 
 rubbing her eyes the harder. u Oh dear ! oh dear ! 
 to think it should have come to this." 
 
 Gwendolen looked perplexed at this somewhat irrel- 
 evant outburst. However, she waited patiently ; she 
 did not like to force a confidence. She saw that her 
 visitor was in trouble, and like most amateur philan- 
 thropists, she had no power to distinguish between the 
 genuine and the false. Here was an opportunity for 
 her to translate into practice some of her beautiful 
 theories. Meanwhile the astute little actress went on 
 sniffing behind her pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 " Come, tell me what your trouble is about," said 
 Gwendolen presently. Then she added in a tone of 
 apology for her words, " You see, I cannot help you 
 until I know." 
 
 " What is it about ? " echoed Sally "Ah ! I forgot 
 you know nothing." Then with a tragic gesture to- 
 wards the photograph, " It's about him /" 
 
 Gwendolen looked in the direction indicated in silent 
 astonishment. Had.this young person taken leave of 
 her senses ? Perhaps she referred to some unknown 
 " him." But no, one of Sally's hands covered her eyes, 
 the other pointed an accusing forefinger straight at 
 Wilfrid's photograph. 
 
 " My husband," said Gwendolen vaguely. " Surely 
 there must be some mistake." Then a sudden fear
 
 THE SERPENT IN THE EDEN. 291 
 
 rushed over her, her heart leaped to her mouth. "Tell 
 me," she cried, " is it bad news ? Has anything hap- 
 pened to him ? Oh ! tell me quickly quickly, I can 
 bear anything but the suspense." 
 
 " Him," said Sally scornfully. " Oh ! nothing has 
 happened to him that I know of he's right enough, 
 you may be sure. It is what has happened to me. 
 Oh dear ! Oh dear! " she went on, rocking herself to 
 and fro. " You think I should live to see this day. You, 
 his wife, and I nothing nothing." 
 
 Her simulated sobs broke forth afresh. 
 
 Gwendolen drew herself -proudly up and moved a 
 little distance off. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she said coldly, with a gest- 
 ure that a Roman matron might have envied. 
 
 " There ! " said Sally brokenly, " I might have known 
 it ! I might have known how you would have taken 
 it. You are like all the rest. It is always the poor 
 girl who suffers. She is always blamed, trampled on, 
 despised, while the man goes scot-free." 
 
 " I do not understand you," said Gwendolen, grow- 
 ing p'ale to the lips. " My ideas of right and wrong 
 are the same in the case of both men and women. But 
 I do not know what you mean to what you refer. 
 My husband is nothing can be nothing to you, nor 
 you to him nothing," she added with strained in- 
 sistence. 
 
 " Nothing nothing now," repeated Sally sadly, the 
 corners of her baby-rnouth drooping again. " Ah ! that 
 is the pity of it. And yet once he vowed by all the 
 vows. Ah ! me I had better die." 
 
 So might Marguerite have spoken of her betrayal. 
 
 Gwendolen looked at her with astonishment and 
 indignation. A passionate denial rose to her lips. 
 She moved towards the bell. But as she did so, some 
 faint chord in her memory vibrated again. Where 
 had she seen that face before? Ah ! she remembered. 
 
 " Tell me," she said quickly, " were you not at 
 Henley?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Sally in the same mournful cadence, 
 noting the change of purpose nevertheless. (" Meant 
 to turn me out, did she? "she thought to herself.)
 
 292 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 " Yes I am not likely to forget it. I passed you 
 on the river. He looked at me as if I was dirt. You 
 and he were sitting together in a boat beneath the 
 alder-trees." 
 
 Gwendolen bowed her head to hide the vague dread 
 in her eyes. Little links pieced themselves together 
 in her chain of memory. The look she had noticed on 
 the girl's face that day, Wilfrid's confusion, his eva- 
 sive answer to her query all rushed before her again. 
 She put her hand to. her throat, something hurt her 
 there .... What mystery was this? What did it 
 mean ? Into the sunshine of her young love there stole 
 the shadow of distrust. 
 
 From behind her pocket-handkerchief Sally noted 
 everything. She was quick to follow up the advan- 
 tage she had gained. 
 
 " I was only a poor ignorant girl," she continued in 
 the same melancholy monotone, " and he a gentleman 
 born. I did wrong of course, but then I was so young 
 and I loved him not wisely, but too well." (She 
 remembered this phrase in some play she had acted in.) 
 " I gave up everything for him then I was cast off, 
 ruined, thrown aside like an old shoe and in those 
 days at Cambridge I thought fool that I was that he 
 loved me." 
 
 Gwendolen staggered back and put her hand on the 
 table for support. As she did so, the photograph fell 
 with a crash to the floor. It lay there unheeded. Her 
 breath was coming in short quick beats, her eyes were 
 wide with horror. 
 
 " At Cambridge ! " she gasped. 
 
 " Yes," said Sally, warming to her part, " Oh ! how 
 I wish I had never heard of the place, I was innocent 
 till I went there. I went at first with My Sweetheart 
 Company. I was earning 10 a week," (as a matter 
 of fact she had never earned more than 4 even in the 
 ante-Pimlico days,) " and I should be now, if only I 
 hadn't been led astray. I was at Cambridge off and 
 on, after that after I met him whenever he wanted 
 me to go. Last time I was there was February year. 
 ' Twas about me he got sent down." And then, 
 noticing the flash of indignation, which spread itself
 
 THE SERPENT IN THE EDEN. 293 
 
 over her listener's face, she changed her tack. " Oh 
 dear, Oh dear,'' she wailed, " if my poor mother could 
 but see me now ! " 
 
 She burst into tears once more. 
 
 Gwendolen tried to speak, but could not tried to 
 think, but could not. The thought that her husband 
 the man she loved, should have been linked with this 
 low intrigue stunned her. She felt degraded, ashamed. 
 Her purity, her outraged love were both in arms. She 
 recoiled in disgust the thing was monstrous, incredi- 
 ble. She turned on Sally with sudden scorn. 
 
 " How dare you how dare you ! " she cried. " My 
 husband ! I do not believe you I will not." 
 
 It was then that Sally rose to her greatest height. 
 Had she been a less accomplished actress, a less con- 
 summate hypocrite, she would have met Gwendolen's 
 scorn with words as angry as her own. But she saw 
 that her disbelief was only half-hearted, that she was 
 struggling against her growing convictions. She met 
 her angry gaze with sorrowful eyes, with an air of in- 
 jured innocence. 
 
 " In that case there is nothing more to be said," she 
 answered in a broken despairing kind of way, rising 
 from her chair as she spoke. " I might have known 
 it all along : it is the poor girl who always suffers. 
 That is what he said ' Who will believe you ? ' He 
 was right. I had better go 
 
 She made as though to go to the door, moving with 
 feeble uncertain steps. All the same she fully meant 
 to turn back if Gwendolen didn't stop her. 
 
 But Gwendolen did. Her anger died away as she 
 looked at the bowed figure and listened to those un- 
 resentful hopeless words. After all, the poor girl 
 was probably more sinned against than sinning. In 
 her divine charity, she was willing to make every 
 allowance for this penitent Magdalene this weak err- 
 ing sister, the victim of man r s selfish passion. The 
 very way in which she had met her anger brought con- 
 viction with it. The cold, sick fear tightened itself 
 around her heart. She laid an arresting hand on the 
 other's arm. 
 
 " Forgive me," she said, mastering herself with an
 
 294 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 effort. "I was too hasty perhaps. I will hear all 
 you have to say do you hear me, all. Let me know 
 the worst." 
 
 Then Sally told, falsifying facts, putting her own 
 gloss upon everything, representing herself as the 
 tempted, Tyrconnel as the tempter; she the betrayed, 
 he the betrayer ; he had ruined her, abandoned her, 
 wrecked her life. Yet she was careful always to speak 
 of him more in sorrow than in anger. Of course she 
 magnified the Cambridge incident out of all its true 
 proportions, and upon this slender foundation of fact 
 she reared a whole edifice of falsehood. It was just 
 this substratum of truth which made the lie so difficult 
 to detect. 
 
 Gwendolen listened in silence, keeping mastery over 
 herself by a tremendous effort. All the warm sweet- 
 ness of her young love turned to gall as she listened. 
 Her innocence made her a dupe to this plausible tale ; 
 her purity made her hard and cold towards her hus- 
 band. She had high ideals, this young bride. She did 
 not see things as the world sees them. What to some 
 might have appeared an indiscretion of hot-headed 
 youth, was to her a deadly sin, the very thought of 
 which filled her with loathing, not only towards the 
 sin but towards the sinner. And then the treachery of 
 it all. He had pretended to tell her everything, all 
 the weaknesses, all the follies of his life and she had 
 forgiven everything as freely as she hoped to be for- 
 given. This, then, was the true reason of his having 
 been sent down from Cambridge ; until now, the pun- 
 ishment had always seemed to her disproportionate to 
 the offence. What ! he must have left her that very 
 night, when she promised to become his wife, and have 
 gone a few days after, perhaps the very same night to 
 this woman, gone with her love- words still ringing in 
 his ears and with her kisses still warm upon his lips. 
 The thought was torture she bowed her head in 
 shame shame for herself, shame for him. 
 
 Sally finished her narrative at last and sat silent, 
 watching furtively her victim's face to see how the 
 poison worked. She could glean little from that down- 
 turned face ; it was cold as marble, impassive as the
 
 THE SERPENT IN THE EDEN. 295 
 
 Sphinx. Xo one would have known the tumult which 
 was going on within. Yet even as she looked, a faint 
 change broke over it. It might not be true. Gwen- 
 dolen caught at the hope, as a drowning man catches 
 at a straw. 
 
 " What proof have you of all this ? " she asked, lift- 
 ing her head suddenly. 
 
 " Proof ! " echoed Sally with quivering lips, " proof 
 enough. You can easily find out. Every one knows 
 ask Pirn ahem ! I mean ask Lord Pimlico ask Mr. 
 Coryton though they would not like to tell tales 
 against their friend" she added with emphasis. " Find 
 out why he was sent down from Cambridge. But 
 here," producing the letter which Tyrconnel had 
 weakly written to her in answer to her urgent appeal 
 " this, I had from him only the other day would he 
 be likely to write to me, think you unless there was 
 a reason for it. Here, read it," handing her the letter. 
 
 This was another stroke of Sally's genius. She 
 knew the chances were ten to one against Gwendolen's 
 reading the letter. She had gauged her character to a 
 certain extent. 
 
 Gwendolen took the letter with a hand which 
 trembled in spite of herself. Yes the writing on 
 the envelope was in Wilfrid's big sprawling hand. 
 She had seen enough. She gave it back with a proud 
 gesture. 
 
 " It is not meant for me to read," she said. " I I 
 will ask him myself and now leave me, pray leave 
 me. I wish to be alone." 
 
 Yes, she wished to be alone, to think, poor soul, to 
 try and grasp the full horror of this revelation. She 
 did not speak unkindly there was pity in her face as 
 she turned it towards her companion. Yet she could 
 not help an involuntary recoil. Moments of intense 
 joy or sorrow .illumine the character as nothing else 
 can. This moment of anguish revealed Gwendolen, 
 just but cold and hard. 
 
 Sally looked somewhat blank at this unceremonious 
 conge. It hardly suited her purpose that the interview 
 should terminate like this. Instead of moving, she 
 began to weep again.
 
 296 THE GREEN KAY TREE. 
 
 "Go!" she' echoed despairingly. "Where am I 
 to go to without money, without friends ? The bot- 
 tom of the sea is the only place for me. He won't help 
 me he who brought all this trouble upon me, and 
 I I am penniless," she whimpered through her 
 tears. 
 
 " Penniless ! " echoed Gwendolen with astonishment. 
 There was a lower depth still. The man she called 
 husband was not only profligate but mean. But that 
 struck her as so utterly foreign to his character that a 
 faint suspicion stole over her again. 
 
 " How did you manage to come out to the Riviera 
 then ? " she asked. 
 
 Sally hung her head. 
 
 " Don't ask me ? " she said in a low voice. " Such 
 things are not for your ears I have sunk lower and 
 lower since I left Cambridge since I lost my inno- 
 cence. There are plenty of temptations for a poor 
 girl like me. But I am tired of it all I want to lead 
 a good life that is all I want, a little money to start 
 me. Without it I cannot I must live." 
 
 Gwendolen shuddered. A great rush of pity swept 
 over her, as she looked at the little figure in the shabby 
 black dress. Who was she that she should judge her 
 her husband's victim, ignorant, illiterate, her very 
 beauty a snare? She had never had a fair chance. 
 How selfish men were, how gross, how brutal ! This 
 poor creature had not only been betrayed but aban- 
 doned, thrown aside like a broken toy and her be- 
 trayer God help her ! was her husband. 
 
 " Penniless ! " said Gwendolen again. Then she 
 arose and went over to her desk. There was a roll of 
 bank-notes in it, which Wilfrid had given her only the 
 other day for sundry bills and expenses; there was 
 money also which her father had pressed upon her. 
 She took it all, all save two bank-notes which she 
 kept back in an afterthought. She thrust the notes 
 and gold in Sally's hands. 
 
 " Here," she said hurriedly. " Take this take this 
 and may God in His mercy guard you and help you 
 to lead a better life. And now do not think me un- 
 kind go I implore you go I must be alone."
 
 FLIGHT. 297 
 
 She almost pushed the astonished Sally out of the 
 room and closed the door upon her. 
 " Well, I never ! " said Sally to herself as she tripped 
 down the stairs, " if ever I see such a woman in all 
 my life. That's a good job over and done with any 
 way. Why, there must be nigh upon 200 here if 
 there's a penny ! He'll get a bad quarter of an hour 
 when he comes home. . . . How well she took it too, 
 so quiet-like. I hope I didn't hurt her feelings more 
 than I was obliged to. But there, I don't suppose she 
 cares much about him." 
 
 From which it may be gathered that women of 
 Gwendolen's type did not altogether come within the 
 range of Sally's mental vision. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 FLIGHT. 
 
 The prejudices of men emanate from the mind, and may be 
 overcome; the prejudices of women emanate from the heart, and 
 are impregnable. D'ARGENS. 
 
 GWENDOLEN was alone at last ! She looked around 
 her in a bewildered way. She could hardly realize 
 it yet. The flowers and the light seemed to mock 
 her. She passed into the inner room and, throwing 
 herself face downward on the bed, lay there, trying to 
 think, trying to nerve herself for the task which lay 
 before her. 
 
 Now and again a faint flicker of hope awoke within 
 her ; it might not be true and yet and yet the 
 different parts of the story, dovetailed in with one 
 another so well. Surely no woman would thus lie 
 away her honor ? Ah no ! It must be true. Wounded 
 love and wounded pride strove together in Gwendolen's 
 heart. And to these was added the horror of the sin. 
 Her standard of morality was a high one. She knew
 
 298 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 no distinction in the moral code between the man and 
 the woman. In' her eyes the fall from purity in the 
 one was as great as the fall in the other. Her feelings 
 were in fact just what her husband's would have been, 
 had a similar tale been told to him of his wife only 
 he would have disbelieved : she believed. 
 
 She lay there battling with the anguish in her soul. 
 Only an hour ago, and her life was full of light and 
 love and happiness. Now it was stripped and bare ! 
 She was alone. The brief day faded and died, the 
 gloaming came; but still she lay there, praying 
 for guidance, thinking thinking thinking. Her 
 thoughts all brought her round to the same point. If 
 the story were true then she and her husband must 
 part. 
 
 At last there smote on her ears the sound of an 
 opening door. 
 
 "Gwendolen," came her husband's eager voice 
 through the shadows, " Gwendolen ! " 
 
 But a few hours ago, how she would have welcomed 
 him, how she would have thrown her arms around his 
 neck in eager rapture, scolding him playfully for hav- 
 ing tarried so long away from her! Now she con- 
 fronted him in the waning light, stern and cold as an 
 accusing angel. The struggle she had been through 
 had left its mark upon her. Her face was white and 
 drawn, deep lines had cut themselves across her brow, 
 and around the corners of her mouth. In her eyes 
 there was a look Tyrconnel had never seen before. 
 
 " Gwendolen, dear one," he cried in alarm, coming 
 towards her. " What is the matter ? Are you ill? " 
 
 He would have taken her in his arms, but she waved 
 him off. 
 
 "Tell me," she said in a low intense voice, ignoring 
 his question, " Tell me, is this vile thing true ? " 
 
 " What thing? " he asked in astonishment. "What 
 on earth do you mean ? Why do you look at me like 
 this?" 
 
 " This will explain," she answered briefly and she 
 held out to him Sally's card, which until now had 
 been clutched in her hand. " Does this convey any 
 meaning to you ? "
 
 FLIGHT. 299 
 
 Tyrconnel took it wonderingly. As he read the 
 name a great revulsion of feeling swept over him. 
 He drew back involuntarily ; his breathing became 
 more labored, the hectic spot burned on his cheek 
 again. His hands grew moist. The serpent had 
 penetrated his Eden. This then was the meaning of 
 Sally's scarce-veiled threat in the begging-letter she 
 had written to him. She had been here with some 
 false lying tale, poisoning his wife's mind against him. 
 Curse her ! Curse her ! 
 
 He trembled with impotent rage. The hacking 
 cough came on again. In his agitation he could not 
 stop it. 
 
 Gwendolen noticed his hesitation, his flushed face, 
 his trembling hands. Her heart sank within her. To 
 her mind these were so many signs of guilt. 
 
 "Does this woman's name convey any meaning to 
 you?" she asked again. Her voice was cold and 
 stern. Then suddenly a little break came in it. 
 " Oh ! Wilfrid, why do you not speak ? Say it does 
 not say it does not " 
 
 "It conveys to me," he said in a voice thick with 
 anger, "the name of a bad designing woman, who 
 has dared dared to force herself into your presence 
 How dare she do this thing ?" 
 
 Gwendolen recoiled a step. He knew her. Until 
 now she had hoped faintly ever so faintly that he 
 would deny all knowledge of her and her works. 
 
 " Need makes one greatly daring," she said bitterly. 
 "You know this woman then. She has told me all 
 all do you understand? Answer me, is it true or 
 false ? " 
 
 " I have told you I know the woman," he said a 
 little impatiently, " and that she is a bad woman 
 not fit for you to speak to even to talk about. 
 What has she told you? If you will explain more 
 fully, perhaps I may understand you. At present I 
 confess your meaning is beyond me. What is it you 
 wish to know?" 
 
 " Is it true ? " she asked again, " that you sinned 
 against her Is it true or false ? " 
 
 A red flush burned itself on Tyrconnel's face. The
 
 300 THE GREEN BAY THEE. 
 
 memory of that one false step, of that past slip in 
 which he was more sinned against than sinning, rose 
 up before him. 
 
 " Gwendolen," he faltered, " you do not understand. 
 I- 
 
 She interrupted him with a passionate gesture. In 
 his hesitation she read the confirmation of her worst 
 fears. 
 
 " I understand," she said, " but too well. I ask you 
 a plain question, I want a plain answer Yes or no ?" 
 
 He looked at her hopelessly. He knew -what she 
 was like in these moods to reason with her was im- 
 possible. How could he make her understand ? Her 
 very purity, her innocence, fought against him. The 
 repented sin rose up and confronted him in all its 
 hideousness. Surely he had suffered enough for it 
 already. 
 
 " Answer me yes or no," she pleaded. " Oh ! Wil- 
 frid, if you love me if you have ever loved me, deny 
 this thing. I cannot bear it." 
 
 She covered her face with her hands. 
 
 Her grief touched him far more than her anger had 
 done. His heart ached to wound her so. 
 
 " Gwendolen," he said despairingly " How can I 
 explain to you innocent as you are about such things. 
 I was guilty of folly of weakness, I was tempted and 
 I fell I was not myself I 
 
 She staggered back against a chair, her hands fell 
 from her face, she looked at him with eyes wide with 
 repulsion. This was his excuse then ; like Adam in 
 the garden " The woman tempted me" Faugh! 
 
 " Then it is true," she whispered. " You have be- 
 trayed her and deceived me ? " 
 
 This assumption of his guilt, this sweeping con- 
 demnation of his error, was a little too much for 
 Tyrconnel. He was quite prepared to admit that he 
 had done wrong, but not that it was so bad as this. 
 They were to a certain extent at cross purposes. She 
 was thinking of the tissue of falsehood told her 
 by Sally, he of that slip at Cambridge. But the 
 element of fact common to both, made it the more 
 difficult to distinguish between the true and the false.
 
 FLIGHT. 801 
 
 " You are hard," he said, " hard and unjust. I do 
 not wish to defend myself. There were extenuating 
 circumstances but I did wrong, I admit that. I 
 ought to have told you perhaps but how could I ? 
 It was to spare you that I did not. The thing is 
 bad, but why magnify it out of all its true propor- 
 tions ? Surely you will not allow a little thing like 
 this to 
 
 A wave of disgust swept over Gwendolen's face. 
 
 " A little thing," she echoed, " to you perhaps, but 
 not to me not to her. A wife deceived, a girl betrayed 
 a little thing! Is it a little thing to her your 
 victim ? Nay, hear me out " he was about to speak. 
 " Are we women slaves, think you ? to be used as you 
 will, and then cast aside like broken toys ? Why 
 were you not frank with me ? Had I known this, I 
 would rather have died than have become your wife. 
 Yob. have deceived me and ruined her. You have 
 wrecked both our lives." 
 
 Tyrconnel stood aghast at this torrent of reproach. 
 He could not understand it. Allowing for the gloss 
 Sally was sure to have put upon the story, allowing 
 for the way in which purity, such as Gwendolen's, 
 might have been expected to recoil from evil surely 
 there was nothing in it, even then, to merit this sweep- 
 ing condemnation. 
 
 "You do not understand," he said again, "there 
 must be some mistake." 
 
 " There is no mistake," she said sadly. A stubborn 
 line cut itself around her mouth. 
 
 " But let me explain how it was that " 
 
 She raised her head. 
 
 " God forbid ! Do not pollute your lips nor my ears. 
 I want neither explanation nor palliation. Besides, 
 what difference would it make. You have admitted 
 your guilt No ? . . . . No ? . . . . Then I will frame 
 my question another way Was it on account of this 
 woman that you were sent down from Cambridge ? " 
 
 He hesitated for a moment, he resented the tone in 
 which the question was put, more than the question 
 itself. Argument and explanation seemed alike im- 
 possible to combat Gwendolen's prejudices. He was
 
 302 THE GREEN BAY THEE. 
 
 truthful. She had better know the truth, and then be 
 left to make the best of it. 
 
 " I cannot deny it Yes," he said coldly. 
 
 She bowed her head with a low moan her last atom 
 of hope was gone ; it was true then, this horrid thing 
 which was poisoning her life. 
 
 He looked at her dumbly and cursed Sally again 
 in his heart. He felt very .miserable and a little 
 angry too. It was natural perhaps that Gwendolen 
 should feel it but not that she should be so unrea- 
 sonable as this. As the Archdeaconess used to say 
 "Young men will be young men, and boys will be 
 boys." 
 
 " You take things too seriously," he said, uttering 
 his thoughts aloud. 
 
 She looked at him with a world of reproach in her 
 great eyes. 
 
 " Too seriously ! What would you think if I I, 
 your wife, had sinned so and concealed from you my 
 sin." 
 
 " Hush hush ! " he said more gently. The mere 
 thought of such a thing in connection with Gwendolen 
 seemed a profanation. " You do not understand, you 
 are a woman, I am a man that makes the differ- 
 ence." 
 
 " Are there then two codes of morality ? " she 
 asked with fine scorn, "one for woman, and one for 
 man? Were two sets of commandments given on 
 Sinai ? Did Christ preach two Gospels ? Not so. 
 In the sight of God the sin is the same, be it man o"r 
 woman." 
 
 " You are young and inexperienced," he said, " or 
 you would not look at things in this light. In the 
 eyes of the world and you and I have to live in the 
 world the two cases are widely different." 
 
 " The world ! " she replied, " What is the world to 
 me ? Did I not always tell you that the world was 
 nothing to me nothing." 
 
 "In the eyes of common-sense then," he said im- 
 patiently, a little wearied of the lengthened dialogue 
 and with an uneasy consciousness that he was get- 
 ting the worst of it. " I do not wish to argue with
 
 FLIGHT. 803 
 
 you, it is useless to argue with an angry woman. 
 As to my 'sin,' as you phrase it, I have told you 
 that I am sorry more sorry than I can say. Let 
 that be the end of the matter. Whatever happened, 
 it was before I was your husband. I have not failed 
 in my duty since. Do not you fail in your duty to me 
 now." 
 
 " My duty Ah ! what is my duty ? " she queried 
 more to herself than to him. 
 
 " Obedience," he returned almost roughly. " Are 
 we not told somewhere that 'Obedience is Heaven's 
 first law' you know more about Heaven than I 
 do," this was unkind " I only know that it is cer- 
 tainly a wife's first duty to her husband. I have 
 told you to let this subject drop, pray do so. In 
 your calmer moments I am willing to explain to you 
 fully, in your present mood it is useless to attempt to 
 do so." 
 
 Gwendolen resented the tone ; it seemed to add 
 insult to injury. To dictate, to counsel, to argue, these 
 had been her prerogatives. Now it seemed they were 
 to be his. Their previous tiffs had been bad enough, 
 but this was a more serious matter. She maintained 
 a stubborn silence. 
 
 Her husband turned on his heel. 
 
 " This interview had better end," he said again. 
 
 "Yes," she said sadly, "I agree with you. And 
 from to-night there must be an end of everything 
 between you and me. In my own heart I know 
 that I am nothing can be nothing to ~you any 
 more." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he exclaimed incredulously, 
 arresting his steps. 
 
 She lifted her eyes to his. There was a distant look 
 in them. Her words came like one who is repeating a 
 lesson learned by rote. 
 
 "I mean that from to-night we are husband and 
 wife in name only. You and I must part. To live 
 with you would be to condone your sin. I see it 
 all now. I doubt if we could have ever been really 
 happy together; this has made it impossible. We 
 IPust part,"
 
 304 THE GEEEN BAY TREE. 
 
 " Part ! " he cried, " you and I really, Gwendolen 
 this is carrying it too far you forget your duty to me 
 your husband." 
 
 " I have a higher duty still," she said solemnly 
 " my duty towards my God." 
 
 " This is too much," he cried angrily, goaded out of 
 all patience by her reproaches. " You are as free with 
 the name of the Deity as the German Emperor. I will 
 waste words with you no longer. You are unfor- 
 giving, ungenerous, unjust. I will leave you to come 
 to your senses. It is I who have been in error. 
 I admit it. I thought you loved me and you do not, 
 you have never really loved me, that is it. Had you 
 done so, you would never have spoken to me as you 
 have done to-night." 
 
 So saying, he turned and left her. . . . 
 
 Not love him ! What then meant those streaming 
 eyes for tears had come to her relief at last that 
 gesture of abandonment, with which she threw herself 
 on her knees before the bed that exceedingly bitter 
 cry which rose to her lips " Oh God, help me to do 
 right help me to do right ! " 
 
 But when she arose from her knees at last, a light 
 shone in her eyes, clear and strong. It was the 
 light, which shines on the face of one who has been 
 through a fierce conflict and has come out the victor ; 
 of one who has resolved on a definite purpose, who 
 knows no change, neither shadow of turning. 
 
 Meanwhile Tyrconnel had gone off in high dudgeon. 
 He felt hurt, wounded, angry, all the more so because 
 in his heart there was a lurking consciousness that he 
 was in the wrong. He was prepared to admit it ; he 
 had admitted it but that was no reason why his wife 
 should exaggerate the offence in this way, refuse to 
 hear his explanation, spurn his excuses, speak to him 
 as though he were a criminal of the deepest dye. 
 
 Once more the sense of their inherent incompati- 
 bility of temperament was borne in upon him. How 
 could he agree with a woman who looked at every- 
 thing in such an uncompromising light, who seemed 
 incapable of understanding the weaknesses and errors
 
 FLIGHT. 305 
 
 of human nature, who was always in the right, never 
 in the wrong, who was as pure and flawless as snow, 
 and as cold. Such a one might be perfect to worship 
 from a distance, but to live with that was another 
 thing. To-day she had shown herself hard, unforgiv- 
 ing nay more, unjust. He would leave her to herself 
 for a time, and meet her averted looks and cold words 
 with words and looks as distant as her own. He had 
 been too yielding to her not firm enough, that was it. 
 She must learn who was master. 
 
 Not for a moment did he think she would put her 
 threat of leaving him into execution. He deemed it 
 mere idle words uttered by an unreasonable woman, in 
 a moment of anger. He had not forgotten their dis- 
 pute about Monte Carlo. To-morrow, when a night 
 had brought reflection and she realized that he meant 
 to be firm, she would probably yield him that obedi- 
 ence which she had hitherto refused ; if not, he must 
 make the lesson harder. He had quite argued himself 
 into believing that he was the aggrieved one by this 
 time. 
 
 Full of doughty resolve, he dined alone or rather 
 he made a feint of eating his dinner. Hitherto he and 
 Gwendolen had dined together in their private rooms 
 to-night he went down to the public dining-room and 
 sat down at one of the little round tables. But it was 
 dull work ; he could not eat, he felt sick at heart. He 
 passed most of the dishes untasted and, though he 
 drank a good deal of wine, it did not seem to have 
 much effect in rousing his drooping spirits. So after 
 coffee and a cigarette, he lighted a cigar and went out 
 for a stroll. 
 
 He walked some little distance, and then sat down 
 on a bench. He felt strangely fatigued and over- 
 wrought, it was astonishing how little tired him now. 
 He sat there a long time. It was an unwise thing to 
 do, for the night was chilly and he had no overcoat 
 his cough was very troublesome. But no one cared, 
 he thought to himself bitterly. 
 
 Was this the perfect happiness he had dreamed of 
 hungered after thirsted for? Gwendolen was his 
 wife ; he had attained his soul's desire only to find, as 
 20
 
 306 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 so many have found before, that, like Dead-Sea apples, 
 the fruit of his longing had turned to ashes on his lips. 
 This was marriage. 
 
 The wind was cold, he shivered and buttoned his 
 coat around him. Yet the wind bore on its breath 
 the scent of orange-flowers and violets from the villa 
 gardens hard by, and somehow or other the fragrance 
 reminded him of Gwendolen of Gwendolen as he 
 had known her in the first hours of their married 
 life as he had known her again yesterday known 
 her but that morning soft, gentle, yielding, basking 
 in the sunshine of his smiles, full of love and caressing 
 words. A sudden revulsion swept over him, the love 
 within him stirred again. Poor Gwendolen ! He had 
 been too hard on her perhaps, he had not made suf- 
 ficient allowance for her in the first shock of this revela- 
 tion. He could not realize how a pure and innocent 
 nature such as hers would recoil from the contact 
 with evil. Poor Gwendolen! What was she doing 
 now, he wondered? Was she as miserable and as 
 lonely as he? He took out his watch and looked at it 
 by the light of a match. Nearly ten o'clock ! This 
 was about the time she was wont to sing to him. 
 .... When the singing was over, she would 
 come and sit on a low stool at his feet, and lean her 
 head against his knees and they would talk together 
 in the dim light, of all their hopes and plans in the 
 new life which lay before them .... A great rush 
 of shame and compunction swept over him, as his 
 thoughts dwelt thus. His was all the blame, all the 
 wrong. All thought of resentment and of domination 
 passed away. He would go to her go as a suppliant 
 and tell her he was sorry for what had passed, and she 
 she would forgive him, and they would be happy 
 once more. 
 
 Full of this new-born desire, he arose and walked 
 quickly back to the hotel. He sprang up the stairs, 
 three at a time. There was no one in the sitting- 
 room. But the lamps were lighted, the coffee-tray 
 was arranged on a little table by Gwendolen's chair, 
 and by its side was a folded Galignani. On a chair 
 were two or three unopened parcels, the fruits of
 
 THE BE WARD OF THE RIGHTEOUS. 307 
 
 their morning's shopping .... There were too 
 many flowers in the room, their odor seemed to 
 stifle him .... He crossed over quickly to the door 
 of Gwendolen's room and knocked. No answer came. 
 
 He knocked again. 
 
 " Gwendolen," he said, " Gwendolen ! It is I your 
 husband." 
 
 There was no reply, neither was there any sound nor 
 movement. An indefinable dread stole over Tyrconnel. 
 What was the matter? Was she still angry with 
 him ? W T as she ill ? Was ah God ! not that ! 
 
 He burst open the door and entered. His suspicion 
 deepened to a certainty. No one was there. The room 
 was in a state of confusion, drawers were pulled open, 
 clothes scattered here and there on the dressing-table 
 lay, in a heap, the rings and jewels and trinkets he 
 had given her. 
 
 As his eyes fell upon them, the truth flashed over 
 him ; he staggered backAvard with a groan. 
 
 Gwendolen had gone. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE REWARD OF THE RIGHTEOUS. 
 
 Be not righteous overmuch. ECCLESIASTES. 
 
 THE 8.30 p. M. train from Liverpool Street steamed 
 into the Cambridge station one wet gusty night. 
 Among the passengers which it deposited was a sad, 
 weary-looking woman. 
 
 It was Gwendolen. One would hardly have known 
 her, as she stood on the cheerless platform looking 
 after the red lights of the departing train, so changed 
 was she. How altered that once happy face with its 
 wild-rose bloom ! How different that bowed, saddened 
 woman from the smiling, blushing bride who had left 
 this spot only a month or so ago !
 
 308 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 Now her eyelids were swollen with weeping, her 
 cheeks were colorless, her eyes lacked lustre. She 
 was faint from lack of food, her limbs ached with 
 fatigue, her head was dizzy from the rush and 
 rattle of her ceaseless journey. As she stood there, 
 a great rush of self-pity swept over her. This then 
 was the end of her honeymoon, this her return home ! 
 
 " Any luggage, ma'am ? " asked a porter, touching 
 his cap to the solitary figure standing beneath the 
 nickering gas-light. 
 
 Gwendolen started from her reverie and pointed to 
 her one small trunk all that she had brought with 
 her from the far-off southern land. Alas ! how very 
 far off it seemed to her now. She shivered slightly 
 and gathered her mantle closer around her. Every- 
 thing looked bare, cheerless, desolate, like her own 
 wrecked life. All the warmth and sunshine she had 
 left behind her in that land of love and flowers. Here 
 there was nothing but mist and driving rain. 
 
 The porter shouldered her box and she followed him 
 to the cab an old musty four-wheeler, the only one 
 available this rough night. 
 
 Not until the door was shut and she was being 
 rattled along the road towards Newnham, did she 
 realize what it was that she had done. For the first 
 time in her headlong flight a faint shadow of doubt 
 not as to the course she had adopted, but as to 
 the reception she would meet with crossed her mind. 
 Hitherto the bitter sense of injury, the need of having 
 her wits about her, the very excitement of the journey 
 had kept her up. It was a new experience to her 
 that journey across Europe to her who had never 
 been allowed to travel alone even from Cambridge to 
 London before. How she accomplished the journey 
 she hardly knew. Looking back it seemed like some 
 evil dream. 
 
 The moment her husband had left her she had 
 begun to act upon her suddenly -formed resolution. 
 She hastily packed the few things she needed most in 
 one of the smallest of her trunks. Then she rang the 
 bell, ordered a fly and drove to the station. The hotel- 
 keeper was somewhat surprised, but he had lived too
 
 THE REWARD OF THE RIGHTEOUS. 309 
 
 long in the neighborhood of Monte Carlo to be very 
 much astonished at the eccentricities of womankind. 
 Madame was departing? N^importe. Monsieur re- 
 mained, and he would pay the bill. So he bowed 
 Gwendolen down the steps with an impassive counte- 
 nance, and sent the hall-porter with her to the station 
 to take her ticket, explain her route, and see her off. 
 
 Gwendolen travelled night and day. How the time 
 passed she could not tell, she scarcely had any con- 
 sciousness of her surroundings. 
 
 Now the journey was accomplished. But the worst 
 was to come : the servant's scarce-concealed surprise, 
 her aunt's shrill anger, and later on the world's sneers. 
 All would have to be faced. Gwendolen's heart sank 
 within her. In the first moment of her passionate in- 
 dignation, when she threw the gauntlet down at her 
 husband's feet, she had told him and told him 
 truly that she cared nothing for the world. Brave 
 words indeed! But it is one thing to despise the 
 conventions, another to set them at defiance. And so 
 Gwendolen was to find it. 
 
 But her purpose never swerved, her courage never 
 really faltered. It is impossible for a worldling to 
 understand the light in which this young girl, with 
 her narrow views, her child-like faith, her Christ-like 
 ideas, her passionless purity, viewed her husband's 
 wrong-doing. There was the deceit practised on her, 
 the wrong done as she "believed to a confiding 
 girl, and most of all there was his fall from purity. 
 In this first horrible surprise, this sudden darkening 
 of the dream of her young life, this clouding over 
 of every hope, she felt she could not live with him. 
 And yet she loved him ! But she thrust away that 
 love as sin as an unholy thing. If she were to 
 remain under the same roof with him, see his face, 
 hear his voice, she knew that her weakness would 
 conquer her, that she would condone his fall and in 
 condoning it forget what she believed to be the 
 higher instincts of her nature and become a partaker 
 of his sin. No, her only safety lay in flight, if she 
 remained with him, her good resolutions would falter, 
 her individuality would become merged in his.
 
 310 THE GREEN BAY TEE 3. 
 
 In the wild desire to be away from him in the 
 shock of her shattered ideal, whither should she flee 
 but to the home which had sheltered her, to the father 
 who loved her? As she thought of him, the fear of 
 her aunt's anger, the dread of the world's scorn faded 
 away. A sense of great comfort stole over her. Her 
 father! Never until now had the full sense of his 
 protection, his love, his unwearying patience been borne 
 in upon her. He had been ignored and set aside. But 
 now in her anguish she turned naturally to him, the 
 author of her being, the one who most loved her. He 
 would shelter her, and would shield her from the 
 world's cheap sneers ; his love would make the stony 
 way less rough, the upward path less thorny to her 
 bleeding feet. Oh ! How she longed to weep out her 
 sorrows on his breast. 
 
 Every moment brought her nearer to him. The cab 
 jolted down Mill Lane and over the bridge, the rain 
 beating against the panes. They were under the great 
 elms now, on the Backs. She pressed her face against 
 the glass, but she could see little. Now they had 
 turned in at the gate. She was at home. 
 
 Gwendolen got out and put her hand on the bell. 
 She faltered a moment, uncertain, and looked up at 
 the darkened house. How still everything was, how 
 desolate. The house was all in darkness, save where 
 a light burned dimly in an upper room. ... it was 
 
 her father's room A strange eerie feeling crept 
 
 over her. She pulled the bell sharply. No one an- 
 swered. "What a long time they were in coming to be 
 sure ! She pulled again Ah ! here was some one com- 
 ing at last 
 
 Why did the man look at her with that scared face? 
 What was the vague, undefinable something which 
 hung over all. A chill struck Gwendolen's heart. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " she asked hurriedly. 
 "Where is your master? I wish to see him at 
 once." 
 
 " Oh ! Lor', ma'am," said the servant, scared out of 
 his senses at this unexpected apparition, and blurting 
 out the truth with brutal suddenness. "Don't you 
 know ? Haven't you heard ? Master's dead ! "
 
 THE REWARD OF THE RIGHTEOUS. 311 
 
 " Dead ! " gasped Gwendolen with whitened lips, 
 falling back against the wall. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," answered the servant garrulously, 
 with that air of ghoulish relish, with which servants 
 always like to impart bad news " he died this after- 
 ternoon, about four o'clock, all of a sudden like. He 
 had a telegram to say as 'ow he had lost all his money " 
 (The man had taken advantage of the general confu- 
 sion to read it) " and it took his heart, which has been 
 affected a long time, the doctor says. Mrs. Miles " 
 he forgot the de Courcy in his haste) " is mortal bad 
 too, high sterics, something awful. She've bin go- 
 ing from one fit to another, it's as much as me and 
 Jane could do to 'old her down. There now, ma'am, 
 don't take on so," he added soothingly, moved to com- 
 passion by the sight of the anguish on that pale, drawn 
 face. 
 
 " Where is he ? Take me to him," gasped Gwendo- 
 len, rallying herself with an effort. 
 
 The servant led the way silently. There was some- 
 thing in the intensity of her sorrow, which checked 
 even his garrulity. In the chamber Death's grim satel- 
 lites had done their dread work ; all was quiet and 
 peaceful now. 
 
 With one glance at the sheeted outline, Gwendolen 
 threw herself down upon the bed, with an exceeding 
 bitter cry. 
 
 This was her welcome home. 
 
 " I never heard such nonsense never ! " cried Mrs. 
 de Courcy Miles, regarding her niece with indignant 
 eyes. 
 
 They were sitting in the study together about a 
 week after the Professor's death. It was a cheerless 
 February afternoon. Mrs. de Courcy Miles had 
 ensconced herself in the Professorial chair it was the 
 most comfortable one in the room and had drawn it 
 up close to the blazing fire. So that in a sense she 
 might be said to speak ex cathedra. 
 
 Gwendolen gave a little weary sigh as her aunt's
 
 812 THE GREEN KAY TREE. 
 
 ejaculation fell upon her ears. She had heard it at 
 least fifty times before in the course of the last few 
 days. (Mrs. Miles was a past-rnistress in the art of 
 " nagging.") Then she went on with her task again. 
 It was a sad task that she was engaged upon. She 
 was looking through her dead father's private letters 
 and papers those sort of things which men are wont 
 to hide away from every human eye, which they hardly 
 ever look at themselves, but still keep by them stray 
 links in the chain of memory sacred relics of the past. 
 She came across many things love-letters of her 
 mother's, the ink dim and faded now, a lock of sunny 
 brown hair, a faded photograph of a child herself. 
 This last proof of her dead father's love was too much 
 for Gwendolen. She bowed her head, her eyes filled 
 with tears. 
 
 Mrs. Miles watched her narrowly over the top of her 
 Court Journal, which did duty as a fire-screen. Tak- 
 ing her niece's emotion to be a sign of weakness she 
 renewed the attack. 
 
 "And people are beginning to talk already," she 
 continued. " Only yesterday the Master of St. Brid- 
 get's asked me where your husband was and I had to 
 trump up some excuse. I said that his lungs were too 
 delicate for him to leave the Riviera and Belinda and 
 Araminta both suspect there's something wrong. I 
 am sure they do by the way they asked me about you 
 yesterday, I know that twinkle in Belinda's eye ; and 
 once let them get hold of the story it will be all over 
 the place. A pretty tale indeed for them to gossip 
 about ! A wife of a month and separated from her 
 husband! Not that jTcare what they say, for I shall 
 soon be away from the whole lot thank goodness ! 
 but you, you ought to have proper respect for yourself, 
 Gwendolen, and for your family. Think how angry 
 Lord Baltinglass must be, and just now too when his 
 help would be so valuable to us. Not one of the Bal- 
 tinglass family at the funeral. No wonder people 
 smell a rat Do you hear what T say, Gwen- 
 dolen?" queried Mrs. Miles sharply with startling 
 suddenness. " Why don't you answer me and not sit 
 there like a wooden image ? "
 
 THE REWARD OF TlIE RIGHTEOUS. 313 
 
 " I hear," replied Gwendolen in a low voice without 
 raising her head. (It would have been strange if she 
 didn't, for Mrs. Miles was apt to become crescendo when 
 excited.) "I have nothing to add to what I have told 
 you before. What you say about people talking makes 
 no difference to me, none." 
 
 " Then it ought to do so," retorted Mrs. Miles, in- 
 censed at this new proof of Gwendolen's obstinacy. 
 
 Suddenly she changed her manner ; it might not be 
 wise to press her niece too hard. So she adopted a 
 high moral tone which sat upon her oddly, like a 
 youthful make-up on a withered face. 
 
 " You are doing a very wrong and wicked thing, 
 Gwendolen," she said. " A wife's first duty is to her 
 husband. After all my careful training, you ought to 
 remember that, I am sure." 
 
 " And has a husband no duty towards his wife ? " 
 asked Gwendolen with a faint ring of scorn in her voice. 
 
 "Certainly he has," rejoined Mrs. Miles briskly. 
 " He should pay her bills and give her a liberal allow- 
 ance, and he should there are many things he should 
 do. And I am sure your husband, if only managed 
 properly, would be the most generous of men. I wish 
 / had him for a week," said Mrs. Miles sagely. 
 
 " He has wronged an innocent girl and deceived 
 me," said Gwendolen in a dull flat voice, as though 
 repeating a formula learned by rote. She had indeed 
 whispered it to her truant heart many times these last 
 few days. 
 
 '.' Stuff and nonsense ! " exclaimed Mrs. Miles, " I 
 haven't common patience to listen to you. Innocent 
 girl, forsooth ! Some designing cat or other, I have 
 no doubt. I dare say the creature feathered her nest 
 well. I know the bold-faced hussies ; I have seen them 
 skipping about with Paris-made gowns, and diamonds 
 big enough to make an honest woman turn green with 
 envy. Where do they get them from I should like to 
 know, if it isn't from our husbands and our lovers ? 
 
 They never give us such diamonds As to his 
 
 deceiving you, why, if women were to demand a certif- 
 icate of strict morality from the men they marry, they 
 would never get husbands at all."
 
 314 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 " Men expect it from their wives, or from the women 
 who are to be their wives," replied Gwendolen, harping 
 on her old theme. 
 
 " It is not the same thing quite different. I never 
 heard such sentiments. They are absolutely indecent. 
 Wherever yon could have picked up such ideas from I 
 don't know, not from me that I am sure of. I always 
 told poor dear James he ought to have kept a tighter 
 hand over yon, allowing you to read whatever you 
 liked and running to church all day and every day. 
 This is what it has all come to," declared Mrs. Miles, 
 fanning herself vigorously with the Court Journal. 
 
 " I need no Church to tell me what is right," said 
 Gwendolen, looking at her aunt with a steady gaze. 
 She looked very pale in her deep mourning dress. " I 
 have followed the dictates of my own conscience and 
 the sure guide of the Gospel." 
 
 " I do not wish to say anything against religion," 
 Mrs. Miles rambled on, apparently addressing a distant 
 chair. " I am a religious woman myself, I hope, all 
 respectable women are religious, and as for the 
 Gospel, I dare say it was quite suited to Jews and Gen- 
 tiles and " vaguely " all those semi-barbarous heath- 
 en creatures, who lived such a long time ago. But 
 it is hardly suitable for Society in the present day, in 
 a literal sense, I mean." 
 
 " Evidently," said Gwendolen with a sigh. 
 
 Then she went on sorting her letters. There was a 
 little pause, but it was only the lull before the storm. 
 
 " I can't think what your husband is about to let 
 you go on lilce this," continued Mrs. Miles presently 
 in an aggrieved tone. " Hasn't he written to you ? " 
 
 " No," said Gwendolen, and she set her trembling 
 lips. " I have heard nothing from him. I expect to 
 hear nothing from him. Were he to write to me, I 
 should return his letters unopened. T told him when 
 w T e parted that everything must be over between us, 
 and he has taken me at my word." 
 
 Brave words these ; but no one knew save herself 
 the awful desolation in her heart, the eager longing 
 for news of him, which she strove in vain to quell. 
 
 Mrs. Miles gave a contemptuous sniff.
 
 THE REWARD OF THE RIGHTEOUS. 315 
 
 " What a poor weak-minded creature he must be," 
 she exclaimed, " to take a woman at her word ! And 
 I thought he was so fond of you ! If I were your 
 husband, I'd make you come back sharp enough, I 
 warrant you." 
 
 " Would you force me to live under the same roof 
 with a man who has led an immoral life?" 
 
 "Was there ever such an argumentative, obstinate 
 creature?" cried her aunt, apostrophizing the ceiling. 
 " I can't think where you get your obstinacy from, 
 I am sure. Xot from our side of the family. Poor 
 dear James was always amenable enough, I will say 
 that of him. What you expect of a husband I don't 
 know. You ought to go to India for a time, that 
 would enlarge your ideas. Or you can look nearer 
 home. Look at the Duchess of Puffeballe, for instance. 
 How well she bears it, and every one knows that the 
 Duke has a- perfect harem stowed away somewhere. 
 That dear Creeper-Crawley told me so. But the 
 Duchess doesn't know, or rather she pretends she 
 doesn't know. And quite right too a woman ought 
 to stick to her husband, even if he were a regular 
 Henry the Eighth." 
 
 To this diatribe Gwendolen made no reply. She 
 had said too much already. To answer was to add 
 fuel to the flame. 
 
 Mrs. Miles regarded her with compressed lips. The 
 situation was becoming alarming, the girl must be 
 brought to reason somehow. 
 
 " Perhaps you would be good enough to inform 
 me," she said with crushing civility, " in the event 
 of this separate establishment, what allowance your 
 husband proposes to give you to maintain it with? 
 As he apparently consents to the ridiculous arrange- 
 ment, I hope it is a good one. It was a great 
 mistake that there were no settlements. I told poor 
 dear James so at the time, but he was always so 
 unbusiness-like as events have proved and Lord 
 Baltinglass seemed disposed to be so generous that I 
 didn't like to press it." 
 
 Gwendolen started as if stung, a deep flush over- 
 spread her face.
 
 816 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 " He makes me no allowance," she cried. " T would 
 not touch his money not one penny it would burn 
 me. I would rather starve." 
 
 " And starve you will, and serve you right too," 
 said Mrs. Miles brutally. Mrs. Wilfrid Tyrconnel plus 
 a handsome allowance, even if separated from her 
 husband, might have been worth conciliating ; Mrs. 
 Wilfrid Tyrconnel penniless and at hopeless issue 
 with the Baltinglass family certainly was not. " How 
 do you propose to live?" she went on shrilly. "You 
 know your father has died without a sixpence 
 bankrupt almost I shall be surprised if there is 
 enough to pay the creditors. We are only in the 
 house on sufferance ; I wonder the bailiffs are not in 
 it at the present moment. It was shameful of James, 
 that it was, to go and speculate all his money away 
 like this, and not leave anything for me, not even 
 the plate I who have kept his house all these years, 
 and made such sacrifices for him too. And I pleaded 
 with him I did everything in my power to dissuade 
 him from trusting that Coryton creature, who is 
 now living- on the fat of the land with our money. 
 But he would not listen, the obstinate mule ! And 
 now I am left like this. Oh ! it is shameful, shame- 
 ful!" 
 
 Mrs. de Courcy Miles abandoned the Court Journal 
 for her pocket-handkerchief and sought refuge in tears. 
 
 Gwendolen bent her head still lower. Alas ! It 
 was all true. Her poor father ! He had been duped, 
 deceived, ruined. She was penniless, and the man 
 who had done all this was her husband's own familiar 
 friend. Then a sense of the injustice done to the dead 
 by her aunt's coarse words struck her. 
 
 " How can you speak so, Aunt ? " she said indig- 
 nantly. "You know that it was you who advised 
 poor father to entrust his money to Mr. Coiyton. I 
 heard you urge him to do so myself." 
 
 " You heard nothing of the kind," cried Mrs. Miles, 
 now thoroughly roused. " It is a monstrous fabrica- 
 tion. But there, it is only what I might expect. 
 Like father, like daughter nothing but ingratitude. 
 How do you propose to live, I should like to know.
 
 THE HEWAIW OF THE IUGUTEOUS. 317 
 
 You are much mistaken if you think you are going 
 to palm yourself off upon me. I have quite 
 enough to do to keep myself it's little enough I 
 have, only the pension of a colonel's widow. What 
 a mercy your father couldn't get hold of that, or he 
 would have squandered my little all too. No carry 
 out your absurd ideas and I wash my hands of you 
 once and for all. Not one sixpence will you get 
 from me. Again I ask, how do you propose to 
 live?" 
 
 " I shall work," said Gwendolen, apparently unmoved 
 by her aunt's wrath, " as many others have done before 
 me ; my wants are few." 
 
 She spoke with the quiet confidence of one who has 
 never known what it is to want never known what 
 it is to work for a living to seek work and not to find 
 it. 
 
 " Work ! " echoed Mrs. Miles with a scoffing laugh, 
 jumping up suddenly from her chair. " What will 
 you work at, I should like to know ? What are you 
 fitted for? An underpaid governess, a lady-help, or 
 perhaps you'll take in plain sewing like enough you 
 won't even get that. People are not so fond of 
 employing women who are separated from their 
 husbands, I can tell you. It doesn't matter who's in 
 the wrong, it is always the woman who gets blamed, 
 and so you'll soon find out. The future Lady JBaltin- 
 glass and plain sewing it is the most ridiculous thing 
 I have ever heard of. If it gets into the Radical 
 papers, it'll be enough to upset the House of Lords, 
 that it will." 
 
 She paused a moment, breathless, glaring at her 
 niece. Gwendolen again took refuge in silence. 
 
 "I wash my hands of you," cried Mrs. Miles, 
 retreating towards the door. " I shall denounce you 
 to Lord Baltinglass. I shall leave this horrid Cam- 
 bridge to-morrow and go back to Kensington dear 
 Kensington, how I wish I had never left it ! " Then, 
 with startling inconsistency and a threatening of 
 hysterics " You ungrateful creature, if it hadn't 
 been for you, instead of being hounded out of the 
 house like this I might be living in luxury at Blarney.
 
 318 THE G HE EN BAY TREE. 
 
 Never shall I forgive you, never ! I wish, oh ! how 
 I wish your husband may drag you back to him by 
 the hair of your head! " 
 
 And with this Parthian dart Mrs. .Miles whisked out 
 of the room, and slammed the door after her. 
 
 A few days later Gwendolen left Cambridge. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE SPROUTING OF THE BAY TREE. 
 
 Ce sont surtout les commencements qui sont charmants. LA 
 ROCHEFOUCAULD. 
 
 " You see we are so very poor," said Violet. 
 
 " You don't look it," rejoined Theodora bluntly, as 
 she helped herself to another glass of claret. 
 
 They were sitting at lunch together in the well- 
 appointed dining-room of the Coryton's nutshell 
 establishment in Curzon Street. It was a pretty little 
 room, pretty like everything else in this pretty little 
 house. It had a dado of olive green running around the 
 walls, a Smyrna carpet, tapestry curtains, hand- 
 somely carved furniture of unpolished oak, half a 
 dozen good pictures on the walls, three or four vases 
 of Oriental ware on the mantelshelf, and the table with 
 its white damask, silver, and bright-hued flowers 
 setting off an excellent lunch. Everything betokened 
 comfort, refinement, even luxury. But poverty ? 
 No. Theodora was right. If appearances were to be 
 trusted, Mr. and Mrs. Coryton Avere flourishing like 
 the Green Bay Tree. 
 
 Violet manufactured a little sigh. It was her 
 policy just now to pose as poor with her rich friends. 
 People expected so much less of one. Besides 
 every one was " poor " now. It was much better form. 
 
 " Poverty is a relative thing," she answered sweetly. 
 " Of course Poley and I have enough to rub along with
 
 77717 SPEOUTISG OF THE BAY TREE. 319 
 
 iii a Darby and Joan sort of manner. But if Lord 
 Southwark were not defraying Poley's election ex- 
 penses, I really do not know how we should have 
 managed them. Of course we would do anything for 
 the Cause, make any sacrifice, but West-South wark is 
 such an expensive constituency to contest. We are so 
 very grateful to Lord Southwark." 
 
 She said this with honeyed sweetness, hoping it 
 would find its way round to the right quarter through 
 the medium of Theodora. 
 
 " You needn't be then," said that young lady with 
 characteristic frankness, "Lord South wark's not the 
 man to do anything without an object. He's only 
 poppin' your husband in to keep the seat warm for 
 Pimlico. He'll have to turn out when Pirn's ready for 
 it, don't cher know ? " 
 
 "Oh! of course," echoed Violet, with an inscru- 
 table little smile. " We quite understand that. Still, 
 I repeat, it is very, very good of Lord Southwark, to 
 have put Poley forward." 
 
 " Well I s'pose he could have run some one else," 
 said Theodora with engaging candor. "There's 
 Creeper-Crawley for instance, he's a useful person, or 
 that man we met at Blarney you remember, Wriggles- 
 worth, was his name, wasn't it, the man with a bald head 
 and a mustache like a dilapidated tooth-brush. He's a 
 protege of Sir Alway and Lady Sumtyme Typsey, isn't 
 he? You know whom I mean. By the way, talking 
 about Blarney, do you ever hear anything of Wilfrid 
 Tyrconnel or his wife by any chance?" 
 
 " Never," answered Violet with a little pout and a 
 shrug of her shoulders. 
 
 " That's curious," said Theodora reflectively. " You 
 used to be such pals, don't cher know. Poor Wilfrid ! 
 I'm sorry for him. Somebody told me, Lauder 
 Forbes I think, that he was drivin' a hansom, or 
 somethin'. If so, I'm sorry for his fares, for Pigeon 
 was never much of a whip. I wonder what's become 
 of his wife too. She's livin' apart from him, I'm told 
 governessin' or somethin'. I wonder how long they'll 
 keep it up. It's a great mistake to go on quarrellin' 
 with your bread and butter."
 
 3'20 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 So saying, Theodora helped herself to a slice of rein- 
 deer tongue " just to top up with," as she phrased it. 
 She had a good healthy appetite and was not ashamed 
 of it ; there was nothing of the Lydia Languish about 
 Theodora. 
 
 " I wonder what the row was about between them," 
 she went on presently, pushing her plate aside with an 
 air of satisfaction. 
 
 "I really do not know," replied Violet wearily. "I 
 only know that poor Lord Baltinglass has been very 
 angry about it. He has been abroad ever since March. 
 It was a 'most unsuitable marriage. Poley did every- 
 thing he could to prevent it. She was an utterly im- 
 practicable person and Wilfrid Tyrconnel was always 
 very wild. Xo\v that Poley's restraining influence is 
 gone, I am afraid he has gone from bad to worse. 
 Why, if you believe me, he has even quarrelled with 
 Poley, his best friend, who sacrificed so much for him. 
 I don't wonder at Lord Baltinglass being angry " 
 
 " Humph ! " ejaculated Theodora. 
 
 "But do not let us talk about them," continued 
 Violet, not quite understanding this oracular utterance, 
 " let us talk of something else." 
 
 " With all my heart," said Theodora. (One cannot 
 waste too much time over unfortunate friends in 
 Vanity Fair). " You haven't got such a thing about 
 you as a cigarette, have you. Thanks. Got a light. 
 
 Thanks awfully Well, what shall we talk about, 
 
 the West- South wark Election? I s'pose that's what 
 you wanted me to come to lunch for, wasn't it?" 
 
 " Well, of course I should like to know what you 
 think my husband's chances are," said Violet, a little 
 taken abaQk at this plainness of speech. " You see," 
 she went on winningly, "you know so much about 
 politics." 
 
 "I know a good deal about West- South wark. I 
 should be a fool if I didn't, considering I've been 
 workin' up a Habitation of the Primrose League there, 
 ever since that affair of Loose-Fyshe's first came out. 
 Oh we shall run our man in, not a doubt of it. Fyshe 
 refuses to retire for any other Liberal Candidate, and 
 the Nonconformist ' conscience,' as they call it, is dead
 
 THE SPROUTING OF THE BAY TREE. 321 
 
 against him. Your political Nonconformist can swal- 
 low a good deal, but this cream-tart business is a little 
 too hot." 
 
 " Yes," said Violet drily, " Mr. Fyshe has committed 
 the unpardonable sin, he has been found out." 
 
 " I don't agree with you at all," answered Theodora 
 with uncompromising frankness. "At least, it don't 
 strike me in that way," she went on flicking the ash 
 from her cigarette, " I'm not over squeamish, I hope, 
 and I don't see what a man's private life has to do with 
 his public career though I wouldn't say so on a plat- 
 form. Look at Napoleon and Nelson and all the rest 
 of 'em. But there are some things which are not good 
 form, and putting pepper into a cream-tart is one of 
 'em to my thinkin'." And she tossed off a glass of 
 Allasch. 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Violet wincing. She hated long 
 tirades and Theodora's in particular. " By all means : 
 I quite agree with you. And you really think Poley's 
 chances are good? If only you and your splendid 
 Primrose League will work for him, I am sure he must 
 win." 
 
 " We shall pull him through," said Theodora, who, 
 like most young women of her kind was not prone to 
 under- rate her own importance, "with the Primrose 
 League and the Southwark influence, he's bound to 
 head the poll. " We've got a meetin' of the Habita- 
 tion to-morrow and I'm goin' to canvass from house 
 to house every day next week. There's a great art in 
 canvassin'. It's more important than speakin' if 
 people would only realize it. You'd better come 
 round with me. It'll do good if you show yourself 
 and help the Cause, and then I can put you through 
 your paces." 
 
 " That's awfully good of you," said Violet enthusi- 
 astically. " I'll do anything, anything of course." 
 
 " Well, I must be off," said Theodora, jumping up in 
 her usual abrupt manner. "I've promised to meet 
 Pirn at Tattersall's a little after three and have a look 
 at a Park hack he's got his eye on for me. Where's 
 my dawg? Oh here he is," as a villainous-looking bull 
 pup emerged from beneath the table, where he had
 
 322 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 been sniffing round Violet's ankles much to her discom- 
 fort. But she had borne it like a Spartan. " He's a 
 beauty, isn't he ? A nose you could hang a bucket on. 
 Come along, Bill." .... 
 
 When Theodora had taken her leave, Violet went 
 up to her room, a cosy nest with white wood furni- 
 ture and draperies the shade of a blush rose, to put on 
 her things for a drive. She gave a little sigh of satis- 
 faction as she looked around. Certainly the Professor's 
 money had been laid out to a good advantage. Then 
 she drew on her gloves, Violet's male friends kept 
 her well supplied in gloves, and tripped downstairs 
 to the neat well-appointed victoria, which was waiting 
 for her. 
 
 She had a good many things to do that afternoon, 
 a lot of cards to leave and one or two At-homes, 
 for the season, precipitated by the coming General 
 Election, was dying with a rush, and people were 
 trying to cram everything into a week or two, that 
 which should have been spread over a month. It 
 was quite late before she got home, after a turn in 
 the Park just to give her an appetite for dinner. 
 
 She found her husband busily writing upstairs in 
 the little room, which he called his study. 
 
 He threw down his pen as she came in with a sigh 
 of relief. 
 
 " That will do, I think," he said, gathering up the 
 sheets of foolscap on which he had been writing his 
 Election Address. " Read it over, Vixie, and tell me 
 what you think of it. It's not more packed with plati- 
 tudes than the ordinary run of such documents, I sup- 
 pose. There is the usual reference to dynamite and 
 American gold and the infamy of smashing our grand 
 old Constitution. I think that touch about Free Food 
 will catch the Labor Vote and that phrase about the 
 sanctity of domestic life the Nonconformists. What 
 do you think ? " 
 
 Violet looked over the sheets with a critical air. 
 
 " You have forgotten the ' Maintenance of true Re- 
 ligion,' she said presently. 
 
 " Dear me, so I have. How stupid of me to forget 
 it. Make a note of it, Vixie. Anything else?"
 
 THE SPROUTING OF THE BAY TREE. 323 
 
 " There is no direct allusion to the Fyshe scandal," 
 she said, tentatively. " Is the sentence about the sanc- 
 tity of domestic life sufficient ? " 
 
 " I think so. We will leave the women to do all the 
 rest. . . Well then, I'll stick in that little omission 
 about religion and send it off to the printer. Lord 
 Southwark will want to see the proofs, of course. To- 
 morrow the campaign begins in earnest." 
 
 " And in three weeks' time," she exclaimed, throw- 
 ing her arms around his neck, " I shall be the wife of a 
 real live M. P. Oh ! Poley. When it comes to be a 
 question of reward for ' services to the party,' remem- 
 ber nothing less than a baronetcy will suffice. You 
 must not take a knighthood like that wretched Cincin- 
 natus Spreadeagle." 
 
 He returned her embrace in earnest, a smile lighting 
 up the dark beauty of his face. They were really very 
 fond of one another, these two. 
 
 " His was a prize for silence. I mean to make my 
 voice heard I can tell you. Nothing less than an 
 Under-Secretaryship will content me to begin with I 
 mean after my first Parliament." 
 
 " When Lord Southwark means you to make way 
 for Pimlico," reminded Violet with a little pout. 
 
 " Lord Southwark has forgotten that possession is 
 nine points of the law. Once in, I am not going out 
 again unless I am bought out with a safe seat else- 
 where and something down on the nail. We know all 
 about that, don't we, little one? But tell me what 
 have you been doing all day ?" 
 
 " I had that odious Theodora and her horrid dog to 
 lunch. She and her ridiculous Primrose League will 
 make themselves useful canvassing of course. Then I 
 made some calls, and went on to Lady Lily Splashe's. 
 She edits a society paper, you know, and is going to 
 put me in next week as one of the ' Beauties of To- 
 day.' It all helps." 
 
 " I thought that was a question of buying five hun- 
 dred copies at least," said Coryton, looking a little 
 glum. 
 
 " Not to me, dear boy. I tell her all about the smart 
 parties I go to, from which she is tabooed now, poor
 
 324 TEE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 * 
 
 thing- and this and some puff-paragraphs are the re- 
 turn. ' Cutlet for cutlet,' you know." 
 
 " You are a genius, Vixie," said her husband admir- 
 ingly. " What else ? " 
 
 " I have written your biography for Creeper-Craw- 
 ley's paper. You are to be the next in the series 
 of 'People I have known.' This is an age of ad- 
 vertisement, you know ; there is nothing like log- 
 rolling. Cultivate the press agencies and subscribe 
 to Romeike, that's my motto. By the way, he's 
 coming here to dinner to-night Creeper-Crawley, I 
 mean, not Romeike, and so is Cincinnatus Spread- 
 eagle. They are both to help you in the election in 
 different ways. Dear me, it's half-past seven already ! 
 I must be off to dress." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 WEST-SOUTHWAKK. 
 
 The age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, economists and 
 calculators has succeeded. BUKKE. 
 
 THE fateful day of the West- Sou thwark Election 
 opened' bright and encouraging. There is nothing so 
 encouraging as a bright day, most of all in politics, and 
 Coryton, Violet and their chosen henchmen, as they 
 drove down in two-horse victorias at cockcrow, were 
 all in the highest spirits. Partly because they felt they 
 were going to win and partly because it was such a 
 relief to have done with this tiresome electioneering at 
 last. 
 
 The campaign had been wound up the night before 
 with a crowded meeting, where Sir Cincinnatus Spread- 
 eagle had discoursed, in his very best Yankee twang, 
 on the irresistible vigor of British patriotism, and Mr. 
 Toadey-Snaile, M. P., amid the respectful silence due 
 to so solemn a subject, had dealt with the sanctity of 
 the home.
 
 WEST-SOUTH WAR K. 325 
 
 It had all been unanimous, enthusiastic, righteously 
 indignant. And Cory ton knew enough of politics to be 
 aware that, though unanimous and even enthusiastic 
 meetings never mean anything, yet when the free and in- 
 dependent turn up the whites of their eyes, they always 
 mean business. Moreover, since that meeting Cory- 
 ton had obtained his trump-card and there seemed no 
 doubt that he had only to play it in order to win the 
 game. 
 
 For the last ten days his agent h&d been telling him 
 that the issue depended entirely upon the votes of 
 some two hundred members of an Independent Labor 
 Club, who wanted the government to take up the ques- 
 tion of Free Food in the Board Schools. This grimy 
 little club had become the pivot of the election, and 
 had acquired a totally disproportionate importance. 
 The caucuses of both parties had tried to bully it, but 
 it had snapped its fingers. The hack wire-pullers had 
 been sent down to parley and had received only a snub- 
 bing for their pains. Mr. " Tutu " Falstaff had had 
 the door slammed in his face and the Hon. Fitz Mar- 
 maduke Brabazon had had his hat bashed in. Then 
 Mr. Toadey-Snaile, M. P., and Mr. Snorthorse, chief 
 among wire-pullers, had said, " Surely they will rever- 
 ence us ; " but even the visits of those magnates to the 
 little club in Petticoat Lane, West-Southwark, had 
 been of no avail. 
 
 If the Government would pledge itself to bring in a 
 " Beer and Buns " bill, as it was popularly called that 
 Session, the Wat Tyler Club would vote solid for Mr. 
 Coryton ; if the Government refused and the Old Par- 
 liamentary Leg would give a pledge, unqualified by his 
 usual sesquipedalian parentheses, the Wat Tyler Club 
 would vote solid for Mr. Loose-Fyshe. A pledge from 
 Snorthorse or Toadey-Snaile would not suffice. No ex- 
 cuses were held to be satisfactory. It was a case of no 
 bill, no votes. What cared the Wat Tyler Club for the 
 fact that the Conservative party was opposed to the bill 
 on principle ? What cared it for the fact that Mr. Loose- 
 Fyshe was pledged up to the eyes against it ? No bill, 
 no votes ! 
 
 Mr. Artful Cadger. President of the Wat Tyler
 
 326 THE GREEN BAY THEE. 
 
 Club, was inexorable. It was in vain that Coryton 
 assured him of sympathy and objected that the Con- 
 servatives of West-Southwark would not stand a 
 pledge on the subject ; in vain that he promised to 
 support such a bill if some one else would introduce it. 
 Xo bill, no votes ! 
 
 So Coryton had an interview with the Prime Min- 
 ister the day before, and now he had in his breast- 
 pocket a letter in that statesman's precise hand, which 
 could not fail to brush away Mr. Cadger's last remain- 
 ing scruples. 
 
 " We will bring in a bill," the Prime Minister had 
 said, with an oracular smile, after listening in an 
 amused paternal sort of way to Coryton's pleading, 
 " we will bring in a bill, by all means, if the Wat Ty lei- 
 Club insists. Just now that body is master of the 
 situation." 
 
 " It is the key to the election," said Coryton, with a 
 passable affectation of earnestness. 
 
 " And the election is the pivot of the Empire," 
 returned the Prime Minister sarcastically. "So, of 
 course, we will bring in a bill. But whether we shall 
 pass it," and he looked longingly towards his chemical 
 laboratory, impatient to end the interview, "God bless 
 my soul, that's quite another thing! " 
 
 Coryton laughed. " They'll expect you to resign if 
 you don't pass it." 
 
 " They will, will they ? " he returned gruffly, as he 
 sat down to write the required letter. 
 
 The agent had wished Coryton to read the letter at 
 last night's meeting, but Coryton had prudently pre- 
 ferred not to risk Conservative abstentions by such a 
 course and had determined to communicate with the 
 Wat Tyler Club only at the last moment. Every effort 
 would be made to poll his own party early and, when 
 there were as few as possible of them to risk alienating, 
 he would go and make his terms with the mammon of 
 the Wat Tyler Club. 
 
 He knew, since their last deputation to Mr. Fyshe, 
 that they would certainly not vote for that statesman, 
 and that it was merely a question of producing the 
 Prime Minister's letter and securing their votes at any
 
 WEST-SOUTHWARK. 327 
 
 time. With their votes the victory was assured and 
 Coryton, as he drove down to Southwark, in the early 
 morning, felt that his first great ambition was virtually 
 attained and that he was on the threshold of a great 
 career. 
 
 Never had Violet been in such spirits, certainly 
 never at that time in the morning. 
 
 " Do you know," she said to Mr. Toadey-Snaile, " I 
 had been dreading this business of getting up in the 
 middle of the night. I always agreed with Admiral 
 Mauresk, who tells you, ' One always feels frightfully 
 ill in the morning and then one gets gradually better 
 and better all day, until by dinner time one is charm- 
 ing.' I used to think it was simply tempting Provi- 
 dence even to show oneself before luncheon. But 
 somehow to-day, at 6.30 A.M., I feel as sprightly and 
 active, and keen about things as a cheap tripper on a 
 Bank Holiday." 
 
 " She's as beautiful as a butterfly, 
 And as proud as a Queen," 
 
 trolled forth Mr. Toadey-Snaile with a slobbery leer. 
 
 " Is pretty little Sally Popkins 
 Of Clerkenwell Green," 
 
 Coryton hummed, completing the couplet. 
 
 Violet frowned slightly and changed the conver- 
 sation. 
 
 " I wonder how early Theodora Gargoyle will turn 
 up. She is going to drive a dog-cart ablaze with 
 Poley's posters all day to bring up voters. She wanted 
 it to be a tandem, but Pirn persuaded her that rotten 
 eggs would fidget the horses and, though she would 
 not mind such things for herself, she was not going to 
 risk them for her precious ' gees.' " 
 
 The election passed off as most elections do. 
 There was the usual display of activity at the various 
 committee rooms, the usual demonstrations of party- 
 spirit on the part of all the small boys in the constitu-
 
 328 THE GREEN BA Y THEE. 
 
 ency, and the usual amount of bribery, treating and 
 intimidation under the rose. There was more than the 
 usual amount of social splash, which is always imported 
 into metropolitan elections beyond Jordan. With the 
 Radical candidate it was a life or death struggle and no 
 effort had been spared to make an imposing show of 
 every single one of his friends who still stuck to him. 
 Admiral Mauresk had sent his carriage all the way 
 from Dorking and his son " Tiger," was driving a van 
 round all day bringing up voters. A number of French 
 statesmen, as yet untainted by the breath of Panama, 
 went the round of the committee rooms to impress the 
 electorate. And late in the afternoon, when things 
 were beginning to look black, the wife of the ex- Premier 
 came down and drove rapidly three times round the 
 constituency in a poke bonnet: "as if the seat was to 
 be captured like Jericho," said Sir Cincinnatus in com- 
 ment, as he gulped down another brandy and soda. 
 
 On the other side the struggle was no less keen. 
 The party felt that a victory in West-Southwark meant 
 a new lease of life and it took care to send all its sol- 
 diery into the field, from the light skirmishers of the 
 Primrose League in their smartest spring dresses to 
 the heavy ordnance of the Beerage and the kept regu- 
 lars of the Working Men's Clubs. Never had such a 
 display of posters and election literature been known, 
 never had so much ingenuity been expended in devis- 
 ing telling cries. Before the early milkman had started 
 on his rounds, the whole pavement of the constituency 
 had been stencilled in large black letters with a com- 
 mand tO " VOTE FOK CORYTON AND THE ELEVENTH COM- 
 
 MANDMENT." Before the postman had concluded the 
 first delivery of letters, every street had an arrange- 
 ment of banners, hung from one Radical window to 
 another, proclaiming to the world that " SOUTHWARK 
 TRUSTS AND HONORS FYSHE." Before the workers had 
 gone out for their dinner-hour, every wall and hoard- 
 ing had the pictorial representation of a gigantic loaf 
 with the legend " VOTE FOR FYSHE AND CHEAP BREAD," 
 in subtle allusion to Coryton's supposed leanings to- 
 wards Fair Trade. Before the workers had returned 
 to their work, Coryton's printers, at the suggestion of
 
 WE8T-SOUTHWARK. 329 
 
 the astute Creeper-Crawley, had pasted the additional 
 words " AND CIIKAP WAGES " at the foot of the placards. 
 
 Towards tea-time the agents on both sides were cock- 
 sure of success, but Mr. Creeper-Crawley, who knew 
 more about elections than everybody else, shook his 
 head gravely and said oracularly that he thought they 
 now had a slight majority, but that he fervently wished 
 that "night or Blucher" would arrive. Blucher in 
 this case was Mr. Artful Cadger, President of the Wat 
 Tyler Club, whom Cory ton had been vainly searching 
 for during more than an hour. 
 
 The two hundred of Mr. Cadger's brigade had been 
 spending the day at the Blue Badger Tavern, watching 
 each other like lynxes, determined that they would be 
 bought or sold as one in.in. "But Mr. Cadger was off 011 
 a secret mission to the Goat and Compasses and, in his 
 absence, nothing that Coryton could say or show had 
 the faintest effect upon his followers. So Lord Pimlico 
 and his van, Theodora Gargoyle and her gaudy dog- 
 cart, Lady Elizabeth in a brougham, Mr. Blunder Cable 
 with his drag and Violet on the box-seat beside him, 
 waited outside to take them up to the poll as soon as 
 they would come. 
 
 Meanwhile, Coryton dashed along in Lord Rupert 
 Cameron's private hansom from one low public house 
 to another, in search of the key to the situation, the 
 " pivot of the Empire," as he told Mr. Cadger the 
 Prime Minister had called him, when at last he found 
 him in a half-drunken condition in the bar parlor of the 
 Marquis of Granby. However, everything was ac- 
 complished all right ; the Prime Minister's letter more 
 than sufficed to turn the " Pivot of the Empire ; " and 
 Coryton brought him back in triumph to the Blue 
 Badger as fast as his hansom could scamper. Theodora 
 gave a joyous view-halloo as they came in sight and 
 the other impatient amateur Jarveys joined in giving 
 them a tumultuous ovation. The faithful two hundred 
 needed but few words of persuasion from their chief 
 and soon they were driving down to perform their 
 duties as citizens as fast as their aristocratic convey- 
 ances could carry them. 
 
 As soon as the poll was closed, everybody drove
 
 330 THE GREEN RAY TREE. 
 
 back to dinner at Lord Southwark's. Some were for 
 going down to hear the poll declared at midnight from 
 Southwark town-hall, but the majority preferred to 
 await the pleasure of the telegraph wires. Everybody 
 was unanimous in congratulating Coryton upon the 
 splendid manner in which he had fought the election, 
 and especially upon the diplomatic talent he had shown 
 in the suing and winning of Mr. Artful Cadger. Violet 
 also came in for many pretty speeches, especially from 
 the men, upon her cunning as a canvasser. Nor were 
 compliments wanting to Theodora Merivale for her 
 tireless efforts and success with her horses in a crowd. 
 
 When much-needed refreshment had put everybody 
 in a more hopeful frame of mind, Lord Southwark asked 
 Mr. Creeper-Crawley across the table what he thought 
 the majority would be. 
 
 " A close thing, my Lord, a very close thing," re- 
 turned thnt oracle. " Thanks to the Blue Badger con- 
 tingent, we have certainly won, but I shall be surprised 
 if Mr. Coryton's majority exceeds 150." 
 
 Theodora whistled and offered to bet him six ponies 
 to four that it would exceed 500, but Creeper-Crawley 
 only blinked benevolently and said he did not wish to 
 take advantage of a lady's ignorance of electioneering 
 matters. 
 
 " If Crawley is right," said Mr. Toadey-Snaile in his 
 unctuous way, " our good friend Cadger will really 
 have justified his claim to the title of ' Pivot of the 
 Empire.' Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! " 
 
 Creeper-Crawley had not to wait long for the accu- 
 racy of his prediction to be justified, for within a couple 
 of hours the electric wires were throbbing through the 
 country and beneath the seas with the news that a 
 young and unknown man had defeated by the narrow 
 majority of 179 votes a statesman, whom Europe had 
 long been watching with anxiety. 
 
 When at last Coryton and his wife were alone, in the 
 small hours of the next morning, their hearts were too 
 full for many words. But as Violet turned up the 
 lamp in their little sitting-room in Curzon Street and 
 looked at her husband, she thought she had never
 
 GRUB STREET W. C. 331 
 
 beheld so victorious a visage. He seemed to hold him- 
 seii more erect than was his wont, his eyes had a 
 sparkle more brilliant than kohl, and his nostrils were 
 dilated like those of a racehorse, which has just carried 
 off the prize. She stood gazing at him fondly as he 
 stood by the chimney, lost in thought. Then suddenly 
 an irresistible impulse came over her. She placed her 
 hands upon his shoulders and looked up enthusiast- 
 ically into his eyes exclaiming, " Poley ! Poley ! This 
 is too good to be true. I am sure it must be some 
 heavenly dream and presently there will be a knock at 
 the door and I shall wake up to find that you are not 
 an M.P. after all." 
 
 Cory ton looked back tenderly into her eyes and said, 
 
 " Vixie, darling, this is the beginning of a great 
 
 career. You and I together, my clever little girl, we 
 
 are irresistible. There is nothing so high that it is out 
 
 of our reach." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 G HUB S T K E K T, W. C. 
 
 " My life is one demd horrid grind.'' C. DICKENS : Nicholas 
 Nickleby. 
 
 " WOT'LL, you 'ave for dinner to-day, sir ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Anything. Whatever's least 
 nasty." 
 
 " Let's see. Yer 'ad steak last night. Would yei 
 fancy chawps to-day ? Or p'r'aps " (this as an inspi- 
 ration) " p'r'aps I might do yer some tasty little weal 
 cutlets. Only weal comes expensive just now." 
 
 " Pray don't trouble to put such a tax on your im- 
 agination. I shall dine out to-day." 
 
 There was a discontented silence for nearly a 
 minute. 
 
 " Then there's lunch and dinner to-morrer, which, 
 bein' Sunday, 'as got to be thought on. I suppose
 
 332 THE KEEN BAY TREE. 
 
 yer'll be in to-morrer, won't yer, sir? for lunch and 
 dinner.' 1 
 
 " Xo. I won't be in to-morrow, for either lunch or 
 dinner. I am sick of having nothing fit to eat. I can't 
 stand it any longer. Leave me now. I am busy. I 
 have a great deal of work to do and yon keep on inter- 
 rupting me. Leave the room, I say/ 1 
 
 Tyreonnel's eyes filled with tears as his landlady 
 bounced ont of the room in a dudgeon, slamming the 
 door after her. The room, as he looked round it 
 wearily, was indeed enough to give any one the blues 
 and he felt broken in health as well as sick at heart. 
 The carpet was of the cheap "Kidderminster" kind, 
 which by the way is no longer made at all in the 
 town of that ilk. It had a great vulgar pattern of im- 
 possible flowers, such as nature, in her vulgarest mo- 
 ments, never dreamed of perpetrating, and it seemed 
 to have been chosen with a view of presenting the 
 utmost possible discord with the bird of paradise wall- 
 paper, Avhich once had been of the brightest aniline 
 dyes, but now looked a strange medley of griminess, 
 and flaring bad taste, like an exhibit at the Xew 
 English Art Club. 
 
 Some two feet above the level of the eye were a 
 series of loyal and patriotic oleographs, The death of 
 Xelson, The wedding of Queen Victoria, and a portrait 
 of a German princelet wearing the ribbon of the garter. 
 Among them were three ordinary very ordinary 
 dinner plates affixed to the wall by an arrangement of 
 wire. On a side table was a ghastly erection of shells 
 and mouldy birds and artificial grasses, protected from 
 contamination by a bell-glass. 
 
 At a table in the centre of the room sat Tyrconnel, 
 with a blank sheet of paper and a new stock of pens 
 and blotting paper beside him. For a long time he sat 
 with his elbows on the table and his hand pressed 
 against his temples, vainly trying to think and only 
 succeeding in starting fresh speculations about the in- 
 finite variety of stains and marks upon the scarlet 
 cloth with the ornithological pattern. 
 
 He had suffered a great change since Monte Carlo. 
 His face, which used to be rather cherubic in the old
 
 GEUP. STREET, W. C. 333 
 
 days, had acquired a pinched, angular ln'>k ; his cheek- 
 bones stood out prominently and there was a hectic 
 flush upon them that boded no good. When he walked 
 abroad, whicli he now only did for a specific object, 
 men would often turn round in the street and whisper 
 to each other. lie now sat upon a hard, straight- 
 backed chair, but his shoulders were rounded and he 
 crouched over the table helplessly, and his mind kept 
 wandering away to all sorts of sad, heartbreaking 
 subjects. From time to time he would make a stern 
 effort to collect his thoughts. lie would sit bolt 
 upright, gasp for breath and make a feeble motion 
 to move his shoulders back. He would take up a 
 pen, dip it in the ink and poise it in the air just above 
 his blank sheet of paper. But it was no use. The 
 words obstinately would not flow and he had not the 
 physical strength to remain sitting to attention. 
 
 As he sat there in the gray November gloom, he went 
 over, in a sad retrospect, all that had happened to him 
 since his wife's flight from Cannes six months ago. 
 
 The recollection of his last scene with her and of 
 the staggering shock caused him by her abrupt 
 departure from Cannes, without so much as a line or 
 a message, was burnt into his soul. Every train of 
 thought seemed to lead back to that catastrophe, and 
 all the events that followed it had no more reality to him 
 than a bad dream. 
 
 Most of that never-to-be-forgotten night had been 
 spent pacing up and down the sitting-room, in an 
 agony of self-reproach and despair too piteous for 
 words. He had tried to reason with himself, to find, 
 if possible, some ray of hope for a happy future, 
 but when the cold gray dawn came through the Venetian 
 blinds and woke him from a restless stupor that had 
 overtaken him on the sofa, it brought no relief to 
 his perplexities. He knew Gwendolen's unbending 
 obstinacy too well to believe that anything short of 
 a miracle could alter it. And without Gwendolen 
 life must be a blank to him. He had felt the re- 
 straints imposed by her stern code irksome at times, 
 but now that she was absent, every trifle reminded 
 him of her and added fresh torture to the wound.
 
 334 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 What would become of him ? To whom should he 
 turn ? God help him", he did not know. The day 
 wore on until the short Cannes twilight was upon 
 him, and he scarcely stirred. He sank into a sort 
 of lethargy and remained in one position hour after 
 hour, staring blankly into space. 
 
 All of a sudden the mood changed and a great 
 craving for action came over him. He paced the 
 sitting-room and poured himself out a stiff tumbler 
 of brandy and soda. A telegram from Cory ton was 
 on the table, saying he and his wife Avould come 
 over to lunch on the morrow, but he turned from it 
 in disgust. How could any such mere mundane de- 
 tail interest him now ? How could he endure the 
 superficial condolences, the veiled sneers, the idle 
 gossip of those butterfly friends ? To-morrow ! He 
 would be hundreds of miles away by then. Cannes 
 was alive with memories. He would hasten away 
 anywhere. If he could not hope to rejoin his wife, 
 he could at least escape from this torture. 
 
 No sooner said than done. When he was in this 
 mood, he always acted on impulses. Bradshaw was 
 hastily dragged out. Just time, by Jove ! A bag and 
 a portmanteau were packed. The landlord was paid 
 his bill and told to have the rest of the luggage done 
 up and sent home by petite vitesse. 
 
 Within an hour Tyrconnel was installed in a little 
 salon, with his nose towards the Xorth. He felt 
 feverish, his head ached with great throbs and there 
 was a numb pain in his chest which he had never 
 known before. But he felt also a keen sense of relief, 
 as if he had just passed through an agony and w r as 
 weak and prostrate after it. 
 
 At last he was off. The familiar stations flashed 
 past, the familiar names were bawled out sonorously, 
 but it was all one to him. He did not get out once, 
 he refused all proffers of food, all the way to Calais. 
 The conductor was sent again and again for brandy, 
 but it had no more effect on him than upon a man in 
 whom poison has begun to work. 
 
 After Lyons there was snow everywhere, a soulless 
 waste of white as far as the eye could reach in all
 
 CHUB STREET, W. C. 335 
 
 directions, and a great chill came over him, extending 
 from the heart to the frail, shivering body. He wrapped 
 himself more closely in his furs, he drew forth fresh 
 rugs from the straps, but nothing could drive away the 
 chill from his broken heart. 
 
 Something brought Coryton into his thoughts and 
 he half regretted that he had not waited to see him 
 Coryton was a good fellow and had seen him round 
 many a difficult corner before now. But no ! That 
 sleek, smiling face woilld have been maddening in the 
 midst of a great grief. Violet Coryton ? She was a 
 sympathetic little thing and her presence could not 
 have failed to be soothing. But how could she under- 
 stand ? Strong feelings, the sorrow of a lifetime would 
 be about as intelligible to her as Coptic. He was best 
 alone. Alone ! Yes, indeed. He had not a single real 
 friend, no one to whom he could open his stricken 
 heart now. 
 
 The train rattled on through the snow and darkness 
 and seemed to snort mockingly as it forged ahead 
 towards the unknown. The channel crossing was a 
 fearful one, all the more fearful in the miserable cockle- 
 shell of a boat, which the company seems always to 
 select in connection with the. more expensive services 
 of trains. Tyrconnel, who at the best of times was a 
 bad sailor, learned all the bitterness of the valley of 
 the shadow of death. As Miss Connecticut once ex- 
 pressed it, " to begin with he was afraid he was going 
 to die, and then he became much more afraid that he 
 was not going to die after all." 
 
 At the end of the journey he just had energy enough 
 to tell his cabman to drive to some lodgings in Curzon 
 Street, kept by old servants, where he had often spent 
 an odd week in the old days, when his father's house 
 was shut up or it was convenient for some other rea- 
 son. They welcomed him effusively but regretted 
 more than they could say that they had not a crevice 
 in the whole house to spare, and the best they could 
 suggest was a house they knew of in Half-Moon Street 
 hard by. 
 
 There he obtained two dreary little rooms on the 
 second floor at the exorbitant rent of four guineas a
 
 336 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 week and took to his bed at once. During three days 
 he was delirious and the doctor for a time feared for 
 his reason. It never occurred to any one to send for 
 liis relations and he remained there, at death's door, 
 badly nursed, without a friendly face beside him, left 
 to die like a dog in a ditch. 
 
 Thinking it over now in his Bloomsbury lodgings, 
 he wondered ho\v he had managed to survive that 
 period of physical and mental torture. He clenched 
 liis fist and rapped the greasy table with it, cursing a 
 malevolent Providence that had brought him through. 
 And yet he was glad that he had not died then, for, 
 while there was life, there was ever a lurking hope 
 that he might see Gwendolen once more. 
 
 It was that hope, amounting almost to a fixed idea, 
 which had buoyed him up through it all, and a deep 
 intense longing came over him and shook his slender 
 frame. Tie would see her ! lie must see her ! But 
 how ? But when ? He buried his face in his hands 
 and swayed to and fro with impotent desire. 
 
 It was some months now since his delirious fever, 
 but the delirious yearning was no whit less strong 
 upon him. And yet he had had plenty of worries to 
 distract his thoughts. As soon as he was well enough, 
 he had written to his father and his aunt, telling them 
 the whole story and more than the whole sad story in 
 a torrent of self-reproach. 
 
 Never very good at lucid expression, he could 
 now, in his weak half-hysterical condition, only put 
 together a rambling inconsequential narrative, which 
 exaggerated every wrong on his part and left out 
 every extenuating circumstance. The natural inference, 
 as far as any inference was possible from his ravings 
 was that, before his honeymoon was a month old, 
 he had left his wife at Cannes and gone off to Monte 
 Carlo with some syren, whom he now denounced 
 with ridiculous violence ; that, when Gwendolen 
 complained, he had told her brutally that the same 
 code of morals was not to be expected from a man 
 as from a woman ; that he had abused her, ill-treated 
 her, made her life a burden to her, and that she was 
 obliged to leave him ; that she had gone out into the
 
 GRUB STREET, W. C. 337 
 
 snow ; that he did not know where she was and that it 
 was useless to inquire; that he was very, very un- 
 happy and needed sympathy ; that he had no friend left 
 in the world save his father and his aunt and that he 
 implored them, in God's name, not to forsake him in 
 his distress. 
 
 Lord Baltinglass, who had not a particle of senti- 
 ment in his composition, made short work of this tirade. 
 
 " By your own showing," he wrote, " you are a fool 
 as well as a scoundrel. Your wife was not the one 
 that I should have chosen for you, as I naturally 
 thought that the future Lord Baltinglass of Blarney 
 might have looked somewhat higher, but as you said 
 your happiness was at stake, I gave way and you 
 married a girl, who, if not rich or nobly born, was at 
 any rate sweet and good and beautiful and, what is 
 more, entirely devoted to your weak and wicked self. 
 Now, as far as I can gather from your badly expressed 
 letter which is more worthy of a hysterical schoolgirl 
 than of a Harrow arid Cambridge education, you have 
 already insulted her virtue and innocence, with a 
 vulgar intrigue. You have treated her so badly that 
 she has been forced to run away and claim the protec- 
 tion of her relatives almost before your honeymoon 
 was over. And now you don't seem to care a snap 
 what may have happened to her, or show any desire to 
 make amends. You simply come whining to us for 
 sympathy with your weakness and wickedness. I 
 blush to think that a son of mine should have acted 
 in such a dishonorable and unmanly way. You will 
 get no sympathy from me until you come to a right 
 sense of your position and are reconciled to the wife 
 you have injured. You seem to think of nobody at all 
 but your contemptible self, neither of me nor of her. 
 Have you so little to thank me for that you do not 
 consider the injury to me such a scandal must cause if 
 it got into the papers ? My sympathy ? No, nor my 
 money shall you have until you make full amends 
 for your wrong-doing. From this day forth your 
 allowance ceases. Not a sixpence of mine shall go 
 towards your shameless career of profligacy. Per- 
 haps that will help to bring you to your senses, as 
 22
 
 338 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 neither warnings nor stern experience seem to have 
 any effect upon you. We shall see. Meanwhile I 
 decline to see you or have any communication what- 
 ever with you, until I am assured that you have 
 turned over a new leaf. Your sorrowful Father, 
 BALTIXGLASS." 
 
 Miss Tyrconnel wrote in quite as uncompromising 
 a tone, though with less lucidity. After the shock 
 given him by his father's letter, Wilfrid's heart sank 
 within him at the prospect of wading through the 
 twelve blurred pages, crossed and recrossed, in which 
 his aunt delivered herself of her reproaches. She 
 began with a biographical sketch of her nephew, dwelt 
 upon the many merits of her system of juvenile educa- 
 tion and his ingratitude in belying them, and launched 
 off into more or less inappropriate quotations from the 
 Bible about undutiful children and the way of trans- 
 gressors. Then, like an old seven- volume novelist, she 
 took Gwendolen in the same way ; traced her parent- 
 age and education, pointing out the connection between 
 her amenability as a child and her present state of 
 grace ; held forth upon the soundness of her doctrines 
 and their usefulness as consolation in time of calamity. 
 From this she drifted into a tirade against the wick- 
 edness of unbelief, and the yet greater enormity of 
 misbelief, until Tyrconnel really began to think he 
 must be a heathen and a savage as well as a criminal 
 and a hysterical girl. 
 
 " You are treading the broad way," she said in con- 
 clusion, " that leadeth unto destruction. There can be 
 no hope for you, either in this world or that which is 
 to come, until you recognize your sin and turn unto 
 the Lord. You have recognized your sin I hope and 
 think, but have you turned unto the Lord ? Have you 
 laid your burden upon Him ? It has been my prayer 
 night and morning that you might see the error of your 
 ways and turn your heart unto the wisdom of the just. 
 Until you do this, until I have full proof of your con- 
 version, I cannot intercede for you with your father, now 
 justly incensed at your conduct ; for until you are con- 
 verted I can have no assurance that you will not be %, 
 backslider at the first onset of Satan."
 
 GRUB STREET, W. C. 339 
 
 These letters had precisely the contrary effect upon 
 Wilfrid Tyrconnel to that, which his well-intentioned 
 relatives had designed. Instead of bringing him to his 
 knees by their severity, they stung him by their injustice 
 and awoke the obstinacy, which was so deeply in- 
 grained in his character. They acted as a fillip to his 
 self-confidence, which had lately been almost crushed 
 out of him by adversity. He had no friend in the 
 world ! His own father turned against him ! His 
 allowance was withdrawn. 
 
 Very well. He would show them all that he could 
 get on admirably without friends. He would make his 
 cantankerous father understand once for all, that he 
 was not dependent upon the charity that he chose to 
 dole out. He was not a fool, nor a cripple ; he had a 
 good headpiece and a sturdy pair of hands. Why 
 should he not earn his own living and snap his fingers 
 at them all ? People are always more inclined to do 
 you a service if they know that you have no vital need 
 of it. When he had achieved prosperity on his own 
 account, they would all be on their knees to him and 
 it would be for him to dictate his own terms. His 
 father would come to him and " humbly bring pieces 
 of silver " and Gwendolen too, like the rest of them, 
 would bow her head to the risen sun. 
 
 She took too much upon her, silly girl, but when he 
 had trampled upon his enemies and his false friends 
 and was in the flowing tide of prosperity again, she 
 would recognize that he had been right after all. 
 Would she? He stopped himself in the torrent of 
 indignation and wounded vanity. No, no. Gwendolen 
 was not like that. His fair-weather friends would no 
 doubt be veered round to him again by a triumph of 
 this sort, by the proof that he was self-sufficing. Cory- 
 ton, with whom he was now en delicatesse, would fawn 
 upon him all the more and make fresh proffers of doing 
 dirty work ; Williams and Wilmot and the rest of them 
 would trust him with a respect, which they had never 
 feigned ; and his father's commercial instincts would 
 be flattered by a proof of worldly wisdom after his own 
 heart. 
 
 But Gwendolen was not like that. It would be as
 
 340 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 ridiculous as it was unjust to speak of her in the 
 same breath with worldliness or material considera- 
 tions. She was one of those rare few, of whom it 
 could really be said otherwise than as a figure of 
 speech, that she would rather starve than swerve 
 one hair's breadth from what she thought to be her 
 duty. If he made a million in a week, saved the 
 country from invasion, or were appointed Prime 
 Minister to-morrow, he knew full well that it would 
 not prepossess her one iota in his favor. Alas! he 
 feared that she was indeed lost to him, if not even 
 success could pave his way back to her heart. Still, 
 he contended, eager to see wisdom in the course of 
 action he had decided to pursue, success would give 
 him a foothold from which to approach Gwendolen. 
 That canting old aunt, for instance, would be among 
 the first to make her peace with him and she would 
 be an invaluable ally for arguing with Gwendolen in 
 her own line of country. And Mrs. de Courcy Miles 
 would nag for him till she was blue in the face, if he 
 could make any show of worldly prosperity. So true 
 is it that " to him that hath shall be given, and from 
 him that hath not shall be taken even that which he 
 hath." 
 
 Having made up his mind, the difficulty was how 
 to put the resolve into execution. He had always had 
 the profoundest contempt for poor devils, who profess 
 themselves anxious for honest work but declare they 
 can't find any, who are forever proclaiming their readi- 
 ness to do " anything," but who all the while mean by 
 the phrase that they are capable of doing nothing. 
 But when he came to consider the matter from a 
 personal point of view, it was not so easy to see where 
 the bread and butter was to come from, to say nothing 
 of short cuts to wealth. He could not dig. He knew 
 nothing of business, nor even of finance. His pride 
 debarred him from dependent or semi-menial employ- 
 ment, such as a secretaryship or tutorship. The unex- 
 pectedness and urgency of the situation made any of 
 the so-called learned professions out of the question. 
 So, like most persons in a similar plight, he drifted 
 into journalism, with the mistaken idea that it was the
 
 GRUB STREET, TF. C. 341 
 
 high road to affluence and influence, and that it was 
 compatible with independence, self-respect and even 
 common honesty. 
 
 He had abilities above the average and had acquired 
 a varied, if desultory education. He might be said to 
 know a little about everything, though not everything 
 about one thing, as somebody or other advised young 
 men to do. But he had never read books from the 
 point of view of one who may have to write them and, 
 though he could criticise, he could not create. Still 
 less had he acquired the technique of writing articles, 
 the art of dressing up commonplaces to rill the role of 
 oracular verities, the word juggling that passes current 
 for epigram, nor the affectations that stand sponsors 
 for originality of style. Moreover, he was handicapped 
 with principles and a soul of his own and felt a great 
 repugnance towards hiring out his pen as an advocate 
 hires out his tongue. 
 
 He had begun by writing solemn, heavy articles on 
 solemn, heavy subjects, fortified by research in the 
 British Museum and an array of classical quotation. 
 The style was as pedantic as Dr. Johnson, as unintel- 
 ligible as Carlyle and as inconsequential as Ruskin. 
 Conceive a thousand volumes of the Quarterly Review 
 rolled into one and you have a faint idea of the heavi- 
 ness of the treatise he began by sending off to a weekly 
 journal, which prided itself upon its sparkling mo- 
 dernity. 
 
 It was a very laborious business grinding out his 
 articles, and he scarcely accomplished more than one, 
 some three thousand words in length, each week. 
 They were not without cleverness ; they were infinitely 
 polished ; they had certain touches of character, which, 
 properly dished up, would have been applauded as 
 original. But he did not know the grooves to which 
 editors are accustomed ; he had no discrimination 
 about the style and subjects suitable to each paper ; 
 and he would never stoop to adapt his writing to the 
 audience he had in view. Here it was, the best he 
 could do. If they didn't like it, let them do without 
 it and he would offer it elsewhere. They must take it 
 or leave it, hoity-toity, confound it all !
 
 342 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 The result was, that they did leave it. He Clod- 
 ded on and sent off neat bundles of manuscript by 
 registered post to various editors with polite notes 
 and stamps " for return if unsuitable." Sometimes the 
 editor kept the stamps and destroyed the manu- 
 script ; at other times, strangely conscientious, he 
 returned it with a printed formula, expressive of 
 compliments and thanks. Then Tyrconnel would 
 write another polite little note, enclose more stamps 
 and post his parcel off by registered post to some 
 other editor. No article was ever accepted, but each 
 eventually found its way to some editorial waste-paper 
 basket and was lost, for he never kept a copy of his 
 work. 
 
 After his father had stopped his allowance, Tyr- 
 connel had realized the necessity of minute economy 
 and, though of all things the idea was most distaste- 
 ful to him, he determined to grapple with it. At his 
 marriage his father had made no settlement upon him 
 but, while fixing a very liberal allowance, had given 
 him to understand that he might draw upon him to 
 any extent within reason. 
 
 The result had been that Tyrconnel never kept any 
 accounts nor troubled about keeping any particular 
 balance at his banker's. When Gwendolen had inter- 
 fered with his enjoyment of Paris during the honey- 
 moon, it was not from any need of economy, but 
 because she considered it sinful to waste money on 
 mere physical pleasures. His losses at Monte Carlo 
 and Sally's requirements had, however, made a large 
 hole in what remained of his last quarter's allowance 
 and, after paying his bill in Half-Moon Street he found 
 he was only worth some fifty pounds in the world. 
 
 This did not, however, greatly take him aback. 
 He had a notion, like most people who have never 
 tried it, that economy is perfectly easy if you only 
 make up your mind to cut your garment according 
 to your cloth. Fifty pounds he was sure would last 
 a long time with proper precautions, certainly much 
 longer than it would be necessary to wait until he 
 could be earning his living. His first idea of proper 
 precautions was to remove to what is known as " a
 
 GRUB STREET, W. C. 343 
 
 cheaper neighborhood." On the theory that what ought 
 to be, is, most people are firmly convinced that dirty, 
 badly-furnished accommodation in a squalid, remote 
 or unfashionable part of London is necessarily very 
 much cheaper than to live in cleanliness and comfort 
 in Saint James's or Mayfair. 
 
 There can be no greater delusion. Each neigh- 
 borhood has its cheap and its extortionate, its miserable 
 and its comfortable, its pretentious and its common- 
 place accommodation, whether it be houses, flats or 
 apartments. 
 
 The lodging-house fiend is the same everywhere: 
 coelum non animum mutat, when he changes from Park 
 Street, Grosvenor Square, to Park Road, Regent's Park, 
 from Bayswater to Belgravia. The only difference is 
 that you are very much more uncomfortable in the 
 more barbarous parts and that anything you may save 
 in the way of rent is more than counter-balanced by 
 the addition to your cab-fares. 
 
 This Tyrconnel soon found out and he saw his 
 fifty pounds melting away much faster than he liked. 
 As we have seen, with the best will in the world, 
 he often broke down under the sordid discomfort of 
 bad food and filthy surroundings. That meant going 
 out to a restaurant first his old haunts in Regent 
 Street and Piccadilly, then nasty Italian eating-houses 
 in Oxford Street and the Strand, where he scarcely 
 fared better than at home. And that meant spending 
 more money. 
 
 Still he did not lose heart but persevered with his 
 writing, flattering himself that, as soon as one article 
 was accepted, he would catch the knack of the business 
 and get into the swim straight away. 
 
 One afternoon he met Creeper-Crawley in the Strand, 
 who being ignorant of his quarrel with his father, 
 greeted him with great effusion. 
 
 Inspired by this cordiality, Tyrconnel began to 
 discuss journalism with him volubly. 
 
 " My dear Tyrconnel," said Creeper-Crawley with 
 some surprise and a trifle less enthusiasm, "you're 
 on the wrong tack altogether. It's not a question of 
 doing good work ; it's a question of nobbling editors.
 
 344 THE GREEN HAY TliEE. 
 
 You should never, never do you hear, never write an 
 article unless it is accepted in advance and even then 
 only if you know for certain that the editor isn't a 
 bigger liar than most of them. I am sorry I can he of 
 no use to you. You should go and call on the Editor 
 of The Normny Pump. Tell him you're the son of 
 Lord Baltinglass and are going to stand for Parliament, 
 and that you will he glad to do him a series of leading 
 articles on the financial stability of the agricultural 
 laborer." 
 
 " But T don't know anything about the agricultural 
 laborer." 
 
 " All the better. You'll be able to approach the sub- 
 ject impartially. Failing him, I should go and see 
 Cincinnati!* Spreadeagle. lie runs a rag subsidized 
 by the party and would no doubt be delighted to share 
 the pickings with you." 
 
 Next day Tyrconnel walked wearily down to the 
 Strand and, after much inquiry from its discourteous 
 frequenters, found his way at last to the offices of 
 Britain, where Sir Cincinnatus Spreadeagle presently 
 received him in a small and grimy editorial room. He 
 looked curiously at his visitor and mentally noted the 
 falling off in smartness and assurance, now only too 
 evident in Wilfrid Tyrconnel. With the instinct of 
 his kind, the editor altered his tone correspondingly. 
 The unctuous welcome, which he had prepared when 
 he received Tyrconnel's card, died away unuttered on 
 his lips. lie did not rise from his seat, but airily 
 motioned the young man to a hard chair by the wall, 
 saying unsympathetically, 
 
 " Well, Tyrconnel, what can I do for you ? I'm a 
 busy man, as you see." 
 
 Tyrconnel had no fight left in him to resent this 
 insolence, but asked meekly, 
 
 "I I wanted to know whether you'd take a few 
 articles from me." 
 
 " Sorry I haven't much space to offer you. Most 
 of our articles are done in the office. But if you 
 ('are to send in anything, I'll give it my best considera- 
 tion." 
 
 This was not very encouraging, but Tyrconnel was
 
 GRUB STREET, W. C. 345 
 
 sufficiently desperate to persevere, and he went on to 
 suggest various subjects for articles. Sir Cincinnatus 
 pooh-poohed most of them, saying laconically that they 
 had been done before. Then he rose and terminated 
 the interview unceremoniously, saying, 
 
 " You must excuse me now. Send anything you 
 like." 
 
 " What do you pay for articles ? " stammered Tyr- 
 connel uncomfortably as he fumbled for his hat. 
 
 Sir Cincinnatus's face grew even more unsympa- 
 thetic than usual. 
 
 " I'm afraid we subsist mostly on voluntary contribu- 
 tions," he said with a brutal laugh ; " but surely you 
 haven't come down to penny-a-lining. I'll tell you 
 what, though," he added after a pause. " If you want 
 to make a few half-crowns, you can do me some bright 
 pars on topical subjects. There's that fellow Coryton, 
 for instance, rising man, I'm told. You used to 
 know him, didn't you? Knock me up a few spicy pars 
 
 about him What, won't you? " he exclaimed in 
 
 surprise, seeing that Tyrconnel had taken his hat and 
 was making his way down the perpendicular staircase 
 without a word. " Well, well, penny-a-liners mustn't 
 be choosers. That'll teach me not to try philanthropy 
 again in a hurry, if that's all the thanks I get for try- 
 ing to do a poor beggar a good turn."
 
 346 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE CROWX OF BAY LEAVES. 
 
 To be famous when you are young is the gift of the gods. 
 B. DISRAEL.I : Tan c red. 
 
 Behold, my son, with how little wisdom the world is governed. 
 OXEXSTIERX. 
 
 " 'Tis the critical debate of the session," said the 
 Prime Minister musingly. 
 
 He was sitting astride a hard cane-bottomed chair 
 in the whip's room ; Lord Southwark sat on the table 
 and dangled his legs uncomfortably ; Creeper Crawl ey 
 and the whips were ranged uneasily against the wall. 
 Meanwhile Lord Rupert Cameron lay stretched at full 
 length on the one sofa, which the room contained, 
 lazily puffing the blue smoke of his cigarette towards 
 the ceiling. 
 
 " The only critical part about it," said Lord Rupert 
 grumpily, " is how those ten labor beggars are going 
 to vote. If they support the bill, we are in a majority ; 
 if they vote against it, we are spoofed." 
 
 "What do they want?" asked Lord Southwark, 
 with an affectation of ignorance. 
 
 " Payment of members out of the secret service 
 fund," came a gruff voice from the sofa. 
 
 " Have you made out what they want, Crawley ?" the 
 Prime Minister asked, ignoring the voice from the sofa. 
 
 " It's the ' Beer and Buns ' clause, my Lord. They 
 supported us on the second reading of the bill, because 
 we went in for free breakfasts in board schools as well 
 as the free education which was all the old man would 
 promise them. Now Snorthorse is going to give them 
 the support of the opposition for a clause to provide
 
 THE CROWN OF BAY LEAVES. 347 
 
 free Beer and Buns for Board School children at eleven 
 o'clock every morning." 
 
 " Oh ! for an hour in the House of Commons ! " 
 sighed the Prime Minister to himself. 
 
 At this moment the penetrating ping of the electric 
 bell sounded through the lobbies, into the library and 
 the smoking-room and on into the room of the Con- 
 servative Whips, where it roused Lord Rupert Cam- 
 eron with a start from the snooze he had been feigning 
 during Creeper-Crawley's explanation. 
 
 " Speaker's in the chair," he growled as the AVhips 
 trooped off to attend to their quarries ; " now the 
 job'll be to get him out again." 
 
 It was not to be one of those show debates, when 
 country cousins come up " to hear the old man speak " 
 and members with slender majorities devote long 
 profitless hours to balloting for seats in the strangers' 
 gallery for their constituents. Yet there was some- 
 thing of that electric feeling in the air, which betokens 
 a government crisis, and opinions were pretty evenly 
 divided in the lobby as to whether the government 
 would survive the motion to go into committee on the 
 Free Food and Education Bill. The subject had 
 aroused a certain amount of interest -in the country, 
 rather because it concerned the life of the government 
 and the prospects of a dissolution than for any concern 
 about the provisions of the bill: Mr. Beer Hardup 
 had given notice of an instruction to the Committee 
 on the subject of free beer and buns ; Mr. Grit, the 
 one respectable labor member, had undertaken to 
 second him, and it was rumored that he would receive 
 the support of the whole official opposition, excepting 
 the late Prime Minister and a few of his colleagues of 
 cabinet rank, who would shirk responsibility by leav- 
 ing the House without voting. 
 
 At the period I speak of the country was governed 
 by an Opportunist party, which had usurped the 
 name without acquiring the reputation of the ancient 
 Tory party. With that Government the gilded goal 
 was permanency in office; the only notion of state- 
 craft to purloin and exaggerate the measures of the 
 Opposition , and the only passport to their good
 
 348 THE GREEN BAT TREE. 
 
 graces was a nodding acquaintance with the Spirit 
 of the Age. It is now so long since the country 
 has known a real Tory party or beheld high principles 
 in any party that it may well be excused for agnosti- 
 cism about all political virtue. After the betrayal of 
 the country party by Peel in 1856 and their yet more 
 shameful betrayal by their own leader in 1868, how 
 could any sane man ever repose confidence in a party 
 leader again ? 
 
 This at least was what the Tory Cave of Adullam 
 was now muttering in the lobbies and the clubs. 
 Their strength and their determination no man knew, 
 not even the omniscient Whips with their hundred 
 eyes. But the fact of their discontent was no longer a 
 secret. The Whips were beginning to get frightened. 
 And, when the Whips get frightened, the Ministry has 
 to cast about for concessions. The difficulty about 
 concessions just now was that two groups wanted 
 them in conflicting directions and that, unless both 
 were satisfied, the bill could not pass. 
 
 The Cave's view of Toryism was what Harold 
 Gaverigan, now a high-and-dry Tory candidate for a 
 north-country constituency, was urging upon Coryton, 
 from his privileged seat under the gallery. Coryton 
 was shrugging his shoulders in his inimitable way and 
 had begun his stock formula of inquiry, " Principles ! 
 What are they?" preliminarily to. answering himself 
 with a choice epigram, when the door-keeper crept up 
 along the narrow gangway below the bar of the House 
 and handed him a card bearing the name of Mr. Artful 
 Cadger. 
 
 " Principles," said Coryton, rising to depart, " are 
 the bastards of Conscience and derive their complex- 
 ion from the keeper for the time being of that lady 
 of catholic tastes. Here is the card of the keeper of 
 my conscience, so I must be off. See you again. 
 Ta-ta!" 
 
 " A conscience is a very useful servant but a hard 
 mistress," said Gaverigan with a smile which re- 
 mained on his lips as he watched the other start off 
 down the gangway, bow to the Speaker with more 
 than the carelessness of an old member and disappear
 
 THE CROWN OF BAY LEAVES. 349 
 
 among the little knot of persons standing just inside 
 the door of the chamber. 
 
 It was question time, and the House had not filled 
 yet, but the lobbies were full and animated, with the 
 sort of buzz of expectation and speculation, which 
 hovers about a racecourse before a big event. 
 
 "I've seen two or three members of the Cave," 
 Sir Cincinnatus Spreadeagle was saying oracularly to 
 an admiring audience, consisting of the staunch 
 Blunder Cable and the faithful Plantagenet-Unkels, 
 who had come up all the way from Balham to hear 
 the debate. " I've seen two or three members of the 
 Cave just now in the lavatory and I am convinced they 
 mean mischief." 
 
 "Pish!" said Toadey-Snaile, whose business it was 
 always to overhear everything. " They've swallowed 
 the free breakfasts. It's all rot to say they'll strain at 
 the Beer and Buns clause." 
 
 "You don't mean to say the Government's going to 
 accept that clause?" gasped Blunder Cable, feeling 
 uncomfortable about angry meetings of ratepayers 
 among the free and independent of Hounslow and half 
 wishing he had not pledged himself so uncompromis- 
 ingly against the principle of free food. 
 
 " Not a doubt of it," returned Toadey-Snaile, who 
 had reasons of his own for wishing to know how the 
 other would take such a determination on the part of 
 the Government. 
 
 " Well, they mean mischief," Sir Cincinnatus Spread- 
 eagle interrupted him with tiresome iteration, " they 
 vow they have principles, protest that there are other 
 considerations beside party, are not prepared to swal- 
 low anything 
 
 " In the same generous way that Sir Cincinnatus is," 
 said Toadey-Snaile with a mock bow, completing the 
 sentence for him and passing on into the House. 
 
 Coryton stopped for a few moments to talk to Mr. 
 Holloway Pother, who was on his way to talk to 
 Gaverigan under the gallery. " Well, Mr. Pother," 
 said Coryton in the hearty manner he always adopted 
 towards people reputed to be genial, " what do you 
 think of the Stale Buns clause? "
 
 350 THE GREEN BA Y TKEE. 
 
 " Eh ! dearie me ! " said the venerable Free Trader, 
 stroking one of his chins and screwing up his eyes 
 merrily, " is that what you call it ? Well, to tell you 
 the truth, I am in rather a fix about it. I've spent two 
 hours in the library over Cobden's works trying to 
 make out what would have been his view on the sub- 
 ject. But such a thing was never contemplated in his 
 day and I can't find anything to guide me. If it 
 weren't for the Temperance people, I should be inclined 
 to support it. But good beer's so hard to get nowa- 
 days. One doesn't know what to say." 
 
 Corytoii passed on to the outer lobby, where a 
 policeman called out his name in stentorian tones for 
 the edification of a line of strangers, who looked very 
 weary with the long waiting that is always exacted of 
 those who come to visit their legislators in the cham- 
 ber, probably to impress them with the busy and 
 important character of the place. Among the stran- 
 gers Coryton recognized Mr. Rupert Clifford, who had 
 come to ask an Irish member to present a petition 
 against the Act of Settlement. He had only time to 
 nod to the modern Jacobite before Mr. Cadger ad- 
 vanced to claim his attention. 
 
 That gentleman seemed somewhat awed by his sur- 
 roundings, in spite of the assurance conveyed by a 
 tight-fitting frock-coat and a brown bowler hat, not to 
 mention a selection of paste-diamond rings which he 
 wore outside his bright yellow gloves. The process of 
 waiting and the insolence of the police, which would 
 have irritated Mr. Cadger anywhere else, served to 
 impress and subdue him in these lofty halls, whose 
 atmosphere of sham antiquity has often served to over- 
 awe many a more hardened patriot than even Mr. 
 Cadger. Coryton took him aside into the lobby which 
 leads to the strangers' refreshment bar, and they sat 
 down together on a leather seat facing a picture of Monk 
 declaring for a free parliament. 
 
 Mr. Cadger wanted a great many things. 
 
 In the first place he wanted a pledge that Coryton 
 would vote for the Beer and Buns clause, and he began 
 to bluster a good deal when his representative coolly 
 informed him that he should be guided by events. Mr.
 
 THE CROWN OF BAY LEAVES. 351 
 
 Cadger talked of pledges ; Mr. Coryton replied that 
 courtship was a period of greater freedom and less 
 responsibility than matrimony. Mr. Cadger hinted at 
 a vote of censure in the Wat Tyler Club ; Mr. Coryton 
 indulged in generalities on a member's duty to his con- 
 stituents as a whole. Mr. Cadger swore that the Presi- 
 dent of the Wat Tyler Club was not to be trifled with .; 
 Mr. Coryton threw out mysterious hints at other means 
 of meeting his constituent's desires. 
 
 In the second place Mr. Cadger wanted money. He 
 was Treasurer as well as President of the Wat 
 Tyler Club, and the club's finances were now at low- 
 water mark. The club wanted a billiard-table and 
 some additions to its cellars. Would Mr. Coryton 
 contribute fifty pounds towards them? Well then, 
 five-arid- twenty ? Surely that was not too much to 
 ask after all the club had done to secure his elec- 
 tion ! Coryton flung the man the stock phrase about 
 the stringency of the Corrupt Practices Act, as one 
 might fling a bone to a dog, but Mr. Cadger's sense of 
 justice was outraged. 
 
 " You ain't spoke to me like that," he protested, 
 "when you druv me from the Markiss o' Granby to 
 the Blue Badger on the day of the 'lection. I said 
 that letter you showed me were all werry foine an' 
 that in course we was patriots an' all that koind o' 
 thing, but that we was pore men an' 'ad ter think on 
 ourselves fust. An' you sez, sez you, that were quite 
 roight. An' I sez, 'Now come, deal fair with me 
 and oi'll deal fair with you ; wot'll yer stand us if we 
 gits yer in ? ' An' you sez, ' B'leev' me, Mr. Cadger, 
 yer'll not foind me backurd in doin' the 'andsome 
 thing, if yer gits me in.' Well now, we 'ey got 
 yer in, an' if yer calls yerself a gentleman yer 
 won't go back on yer word now. Wot me an' moy 
 mates wants ter know is, are yer or are yer not 
 goin' to do the 'andsome boy us naow ? Yes or no ? " 
 
 Mr. Cadger was raising his voice unpleasantly loud 
 and Coryton could see the ill-favored eyes of Mr. Beer 
 Hardup watching him curiously from the lobby. So 
 he smiled his most bewitching smile and said in his 
 most dulcet tones :
 
 352 ' THU GREEN SA Y TREL\ 
 
 "My dear Mr. Cadger, you must not let your imagina- 
 tion run away with you like that. Of course I mean 
 to treat you handsomely. How could any one treat so 
 line a fellow otherwise ? I have to be running off to 
 the debate in a moment, but I cannot deny myself the 
 pleasure of offering you some slight refreshment after 
 your walk." 
 
 <' Refreshment be d d ! " said Mr. Cadger curtly ; 
 
 "a foiver's the werry least as'll satisfoy me. Come 
 now " (whining), " yer won't be so 'ard on a pore 
 man as to refuse 'im a foiver arter all 'e's done for 
 yer." 
 
 " I am sorry you won't take any refreshment," 
 replied Cory ton, without turning a hair. " I must be 
 leaving you now, as the debate has begun. Let me 
 know if I can serve you at any time." 
 
 " Serve me ! I'll serve yer in a way yer won't like," 
 growled Mr. Cadger between his teeth. 
 
 But Coryton was already lounging back through the 
 lobby, as unruffled as possible. He exchanged another 
 word with Mr. Rupert Clifford, who was still waiting 
 for his Irish member, and then made his way up to the 
 ladies' gallery, where Violet, with Lady Elizabeth 
 Gargoyle, Theodora and Lady Giddy, had secured the 
 best seats in the front row by the cage. Questions 
 were just over, and the Vice-President of the Com- 
 mittee of the Council had got through the opening 
 sentences of his speech. 
 
 He was aware, he said, that great diversity of opin- 
 ion existed as to the details of this Bill, not only 
 among honorable gentlemen opposite, where diversity 
 of opinion was chronic, but also among his honorable 
 friends, where it was almost unknown. However, he 
 hoped that by a little timely concession he would be 
 able so to modify the Bill that it might commend itself 
 to all sections of the House. This, it appeared, he pro- 
 posed to do by a compromise, which, like most com- 
 promises, only served to alienate everybody. 
 
 The Tory Cave had consented, after much pressure 
 from the Whips, to vote for a Bill embodying free 
 breakfasts, but they had protested and, what is more, 
 meant it, that nothing on earth should induce them
 
 THE CROWN OF BAY LEAVES. 353 
 
 to . concede another iota. The Independent Labor 
 Party, on the other hand, had protested, with equal 
 emphasis and in less measured language, that nothing 
 less would satisfy them than free beer and buns at 
 eleven also. They vowed they marvelled at their own 
 moderation in not demanding more. 
 
 "When therefore the Minister coolly proposed a 
 compromise which would increase the breakfasts but 
 not provide a second meal, he only succeeded in 
 exasperating the Tory Cave, which had already gone 
 beyond the limits laid down by their conscience, while 
 he provided the Labor Party with the excuse they 
 desired for refusing the gifts that came from the 
 Greeks. There were murmurs from below the Min- 
 isterial gangway, which kept increasing in intensity 
 and volume as the Minister developed his proposals ; 
 the murmurs found echo among the Labor Party 
 opposite, where peal followed peal of derisive laughter, 
 until the Minister could scarcely make his voice heard 
 above the hubbub. 
 
 It was not a defeat, it was a rout, and the word 
 went round the House that the doom of the Govern- 
 ment was sealed. The Irish members raised a psean of 
 exultation and, as the Minister's speech came to an 
 abrupt termination, they leaped upon the seats and 
 waved their handkerchiefs and were only sorry that 
 they had not shillelaghs with them in order to mark 
 their joy by cracking a few crowns. 
 
 Cory ton surveyed the scene with a vain attempt 
 at calmness. His face lighted up with an intuition of 
 coming triumph. He caught his wife's eye and smiled. 
 Both felt that his hour had come. 
 
 "Shall you speak to-night, Mr. Coryton?" asked 
 Lady Elizabeth Gargoyle carelessly, as he prepared 
 to leave them. 
 
 " He is going down to save the Government," said 
 Violet with a seriousness that made the others smile. 
 
 " You don't say so ! Quite heroic," sneered Lady 
 Giddy, who had never quite forgiven Coryton for 
 getting married. "Almost another Quintus Curtius 
 isn't he ? " 
 
 Meanwhile it seemed as if the Independent Labor. 
 23
 
 354 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 Party had only to advance and occupy the enemy's 
 positions. Beer Hardup moved his instruction to the 
 Committee in a short and vigorous speech and, with 
 an ambitious attempt at pathos, dwelt upon the hard- 
 ship of compelling children to attend school all day and 
 denying them beer and buns at eleven. He concluded 
 by saying, amid ringing cheers from his colleagues, 
 that their watchword was No surrender! and their 
 duty to make no compromise. The motion was 
 conded by Mr. Grit in the briefest possible terms, 
 which, as Colonel Bally waiter whispered to Mr. Toadey- 
 Snaile, was just as well, for the man spoke no in- 
 telligible language, not even his own. 
 
 By this time the rout seemed to have become 
 general. The Ministerialists, sullen and dismayed, 
 looked as if they would have liked to fling away 
 their Orders of the Day, or whatever does duty, in 
 a parliamentary battle, for chassepots, and take to 
 flight at once. Sir Cincinnatus Spreadeagle stepped 
 into the breach and was received with tumultuous 
 cries of " Divide ! " not only from the Opposition but, 
 with even greater violence, from the Tory Cave. His 
 speech (already type-written and liberally distributed 
 in the reporters' gallery, punctuated with " Cheers ") 
 only served to make matters worse. He rallied the 
 Tory Cave on their lack of patriotism in a blundering 
 sledge-hammer sort of way, which made them all the 
 more restive and provoked several stage-whispers 
 about the patriotism of alien adventurers. He attackep 
 the Labor Party for the ill-turn they were doing to 
 labor in depriving the children of the poor of their 
 only chance of obtaining free breakfasts ; and the 
 Labor Party were only the more confirmed in their 
 impatience with the Government. 
 
 He sat down amid derision, which was followed by 
 a painful silence a silence of indecision and a 
 silence of triumphant expectation. Some one called 
 out " Cameron," as a drowning man might call for 
 a straw, but Lord Rupert only gnawed his moustache 
 as if to say, " You must stew in your own juice. 
 This pie is none of my making." A rumble of 
 " Divide ! Divide ! " swept along the Opposition benches,
 
 THE CROWN OF BAY LEAVES. 355 
 
 gathering 1 volume as it went. Dr. Bob Quid made a 
 diversion by calling out " Order there among the rats ! " 
 because a Liberal Unionist member had sneezed. It 
 was as complete a collapse as ever a government had 
 known. 
 
 The Speaker had half risen to put the question, after 
 a last lingering look around the crowded House, to see 
 if any other honorable member wished to catch his eye ; 
 the attendant inside the House, with a brass chain 
 round his neck, like that of the wine-waiter at a res- 
 taurant, had already poised himself to start and bustle 
 the strangers out of their seats under the gallery ; and 
 the attendant outside, with a brass chain round his 
 neck, like that of a city alderman, had already shaped 
 his throat for the chaunt of " Clear the lobby ! " 
 
 Suddenly the spell was broken. A young man, 
 whose features were not familiar to most of those 
 present, had risen from the third bench below the 
 Ministerial gangway and was beginning to speak, as if 
 it were the most simple and natural thing in the world. 
 
 It was a difficult moment to choose, for the House 
 was in an excited, electric state, tossed about between 
 derision and despair. Coryton, however, made the 
 utmost of his advantages. He had not spoken more 
 than two or three times in the House since his sensa- 
 tional election, and those who had heard him had been 
 favorably impressed by his telling way of saying things 
 and the opportuneness of their delivery. Moreover, 
 those who had not heard him cherished a certain curi- 
 osity about the personality of the young man, who had 
 relegated Mr. Loose-Fyshe to obscurity, and they were 
 disposed to accord him a favorable hearing. His heart 
 was beating very loud on what he felt was the great 
 chance of his life, which, taken at the flood, must lead 
 on to fortune. But to all outward appearance he was 
 as calm and self-possessed as the oldest of old parlia- 
 mentary hands, calm and self-possessed and yet suf- 
 ficiently modest and respectful in demeanor not to hurt 
 the susceptibilities of the most jealous. His connec- 
 tion with Lord Southwark also stood him in good 
 stead, for Lord Southwark was considered a coming 
 man and known to have dabbled in labor questions,
 
 356 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 and a good deal of curiosity existed about that noble- 
 man's view of the Government bill. 
 
 As Cory ton proceeded, the good-natured interest, 
 which had welcomed him, deepened into a breathless 
 attention, such as is very rarely accorded by the House 
 of Commons even to its most famous orators. Before 
 he had finished, it seemed likely that the Government 
 had been saved and it was certain that the young man's 
 reputation had been called into being. He had begun 
 by addressing himself to win over the Independent 
 Labor Party. At the West-Southwark election, he in- 
 formed them, this very question had been prominently 
 raised, and he had been able to satisfy the desires of a 
 body of men, who went even further in this question, 
 than the honorable member for Houndsditch (Mr. 
 Beer Hardup). lie had promised them, on the authority 
 of the Prime Minister, a bill this session, which would 
 give children in Board Schools not only free educa- 
 tion, not only free breakfasts, not only beer and buns 
 at eleven o'clock (Cheers from the Independent Labor 
 Party), but also free dinners in the middle of the day 
 (Renewed cheering). He now felt it his duty, in view 
 of his election pledges and in view of the mandate 
 of his constituents, to call upon the Government to 
 redeem the Prime Minister's written promise, made 
 to him last June. Let the portion of this bill dealing 
 with the food question be struck out (Cheers from 
 the Tory Cave) and another bill be introduced later 
 on to confer upon the poor man's children the free 
 meals, which the Prime Minister had promised them. 
 (Cheers from the Independent Labor Party). After a 
 few pointed generalities upon both the food and the 
 education questions, which he skilfully introduced in 
 order to give the Tory Cave and the Labor Party time 
 to take in the full force of his proposals, he wound up 
 with a brilliant peroration and sat down amid a tem- 
 pestuous ovation, such as the House of Commons rarely 
 accords. 
 
 The more his proposals had been rubbed in, the more 
 they were liked on all hands. The Independent Labor 
 Party saw a great triumph for itself and much glorifi- 
 cation before its constituents and pay-masters, in hav-
 
 THE CROWN OF BAY LEAVES. 357 
 
 ing extorted from the Government concessions even 
 greater than those they had demanded. The Prime 
 .Minister's pledge was in black and white. It was 
 public, formal and, as far as they saw, could not now 
 by any possible means be shirked. It was a triumph 
 for their policy, and it had the advantage of keeping 
 in office a government infinitely more squeezable than 
 the Liberal party was ever likely to be. The Tory 
 Cave welcomed the emasculation of the objectionable 
 clauses from the bill and felt confident it could procure 
 the rejection of such a bill as Coryton had fore- 
 shadowed. The official Opposition also believed in 
 the certainty of its rejection and, jumping to the con- 
 clusion that the fate of the Government would be bound 
 up in it, rejoiced also. The Government itself was 
 at first bewildered, as this was the first it had heard 
 of the Prime Minister's pledge. Then gradually the 
 conviction presented itself that this was the critical 
 moment in their career and that, if they could weather 
 it, their future was probably assured, while, if the 
 worst came to the worst, delay would leave them to 
 enjoy the sweets of office a little longer. Coryton 
 had cut the Gordian knot and the tangle was un- 
 loosed. 
 
 Lord Rupert Cameron was the first to rise after 
 the cheers at the end of Coryton's speech had at length 
 subsided. He was always the quickest to take in a 
 situation and seize an advantage. He began by com- 
 plimenting Coryton on " his brilliant diplomacy, worthy 
 of a Metternich or a Beaconsfield," and still more on 
 the masterly way in which he had expounded it. He 
 dwelt upon the boldness of Coryton's action and 
 hinted with much veiled sarcasm at the risks he had 
 run of being disowned in case of failure. " But my 
 honorable friend has not failed," he added amid uni- 
 versal applause, " and therefore he will not be dis- 
 owned." He advised the Government, if for once they 
 would take his advice, to adopt the course which his 
 honorable friend had suggested. And he advised the 
 leaders of the Independent Labor Party, who had al- 
 ways done justice to his (Lord Rupert's) sympathy 
 with Labor Movement, to accept the Prime Minister's
 
 358 THE GREEN BAY THEE. 
 
 pledge, while yet it was on offer, and, in view of the 
 generous concessions that had been made, to set up no 
 obstacle to the separation of the two bills in the method 
 suggested. 
 
 Mr. Grit followed, saying that he had great pleas- 
 ure in accepting, both for himself and his colleagues, 
 the terms offered by the Prime Minister, provided they 
 were confirmed by the Minister in charge of the bill. 
 This the Minister, who had meanwhile communicated 
 with his chief, had no difficulty in doing and despite 
 a protest from Mr. Timothy Mealy that there was no 
 occasion for eliminating the food clauses from the bill 
 because the Government proposed to extend them 
 the motion for adjournment was carried unanimously, 
 and next week the Free Education bill, lightened of 
 its perplexing food clauses, was sent up to the House 
 of Lords. 
 
 The Government was saved, and from that day 
 forward its stability kept on increasing. So much 
 so that, when the promised Food bill saw the light 
 and was defeated on second reading by the conniv- 
 ance of the Government whips, the acuteness of the 
 questions had passed away and the House only smiled 
 at the impotent fury with which the Independent 
 Labor Party proclaimed itself to have been foiled. 
 
 The Government was saved and its saviour was the 
 hero of the hour. The society papers were soon throw- 
 ing out mysterious hints about the offer and rejection 
 of an under-secretaryship and even about the prospects 
 of Cabinet rank being immediately conferred. There 
 was no truth in the rumors, of course, and they all 
 might have been traced to one source, but they served 
 their purpose none the less efficiently for that. 
 
 As good luck would have it, society was then on the 
 look-out for a lion. There was no special African 
 traveller in London with new yarns about " the Anthro- 
 pophagi and men whose heads do grow beneath their 
 shoulders ; " there was no Yankee circus-man with a 
 picturesque hat and a certain knack of shooting straight 
 at glass balls, acquired by much practice at the heads 
 of San Francisco bar-loafers ; nor was there even an 
 Oriental Monarch, a revolutionary General, or a slack-
 
 TSE SORROWS OF SANCTITY. 359 
 
 baked poet, with whom long, curlless hair and unclean 
 habits might pass for genius and plagiarized imper- 
 tinences for natural wit. 
 
 So Walpole Coryton stepped by common consent 
 into the vacant situation and seemed to bid fair, with 
 his irresistible Vixie, to " live happily ever afterward." 
 Everybody delighted to do them honor, from the Prime 
 Minister, who had said, " He will make a useful under- 
 secretary," down to Creeper-Crawley andToadey-Snaile, 
 who abased themselves before them. All the saloons 
 of Society vied for the honor of entertaining them, and 
 Majesty herself, deigning to share the public interest, 
 sent a " command " to dine and sleep at "V\ 7 indsor Castle. 
 Everything and everybody smiled upon the happy pair, 
 and no one assuredly was better fitted than they to 
 derive the fullest enjoyment out of all that fortune had 
 to offer. 
 
 " What have we done," Violet was never tired of 
 asking herself and her husband, as she rejoiced again 
 and again over the exceeding joy of living, " what have 
 we done to deserve all this happiness ? " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 THE SORROWS OF SANCTITY. 
 
 The treasure that He lent us in life's garden 
 Falk, we shall find no answer then but this. 
 Lord, we have lost it on our road to death. 
 
 IBSEN. 
 
 WHAT was happening to Gwendolen all this time? 
 Had she found the upward path too steep, the narrow 
 way too rough for her bleeding feet ? Had she, like so 
 many others in the first flush of enthusiasm, essayed a 
 task which was too hard for her ? Had she fainted or 
 turned aside by the way ? 
 
 Not so. She was made of sterner stuff than that. 
 If her creed, if her conception of duty, was a narrow
 
 360 THE GREEN BAT TREE. 
 
 one, she had with it all the thoroughness born of that 
 narrowness. She had mapped out for herself what she 
 considered to be the right course and, having put her 
 hand to the plough, she was not one likely to turn 
 back. Her aunt's shrill protests, the world's wonder- 
 ing sneers, Lord Baltinglass's anger (for when he found 
 that she refused the segis of his protection and the 
 solace of his cheque-book, his wrath knew no bounds) 
 Miss Tyrconnel's tearful prayers all left her ab- 
 solutely untouched, nor swerved her one hair's-breadth 
 from her purpose. 
 
 The only thing that could have moved her a 
 renewed appeal from her husband remained unut- 
 tered. If, when she left him, he had followed her, 
 sought her out, pleaded again for her pardon and 
 her love, she might have forgiven him, might have 
 thrown herself upon his breast and sobbed out 
 all her sorrow there. The aura of his presence, the 
 glamour of his love, might have reasserted itself and 
 conquered her. It might have done so and it might 
 not. Such possibilities must be banished to the 
 limbo of " might-have-beens," for she was never 
 tested. In the first shock of her flight, Tyrconnel's 
 wounded pride battled with his wounded love and 
 kept him silent until it was too late. He was ill 
 at first, as we know; then, when he had rallied 
 enough to collect his scattered thoughts, when he 
 sat down and poured out all his soul to her in a 
 rush of penitence and weakness, the letter never 
 reached her she had left Cambridge for good. Her 
 husband did not write again. This chilling silence 
 was a thousand times worse than the most passionate 
 rebuff. It stung his pride to the quick and made 
 him more determined than ever to show that he 
 could live without her, without them all, and that 
 he could make his way in the world alone. Had he 
 succeeded he would have written to her again, but he 
 failed. How could it be otherwise, when the ground 
 around him was strewn with the bones of those who 
 struggled before and had been vanquished in the 
 unequal fight ? His failure drove him back upon 
 himself and made him think more hardly of his wife.
 
 THE SORBO WS OF SANCTITY. 361 
 
 He knew nothing of her father's sudden death nor 
 of his ruin. When he thought of her, it was to 
 picture her at Cambridge, the centre of a happy 
 home or perhaps with his father at Blarney, petted, 
 pitied, caressed, taking a side against him, while he 
 was struggling outcast, alone. The thought made 
 his heart hot with indignant pain. 
 
 In the mean time no one knew whither Gwendolen 
 had gone, not Lord Baltinglass, nor Miss Tyrconnel, 
 nor even Mrs. de Courcy Miles. When she quitted 
 the home of her childhood one bleak February day, 
 the home which was already under the auctioneer's 
 hammer, Gwendolen resolutely turned her back on all 
 the world. Henceforth she would be dead to them, 
 those false friends, those evils counsellors, who were 
 trying to turn her from the path of right! A great 
 longing came over her to be away from them all. 
 After this turmoil and strife she wished to go aside 
 into the wilderness and rest awhile. She chose the 
 greatest wilderness of all the wilderness of London. 
 Here she took some little rooms in a dingy back 
 street somewhere in Westbourne Grove, a street which 
 was a sort of bastard offshoot of that paradise of 
 suburban shoppers, Westbourne Grove. 
 
 Gwendolen had been guided thither by the fact 
 that an old servant of her mother's had married and 
 settled years ago and let out "apartments." The 
 woman was dead now, but her daughter carried on 
 the anything but flourishing trade. So Gwendolen 
 drifted there, but despite all her fortitude, all her 
 stern sense of right, her heart sank within her as 
 the cab rattled her up to the door of that dingy house 
 in that dreary little street. 
 
 It was the first step on her pilgrimage of duty, 
 or rather her sacrifice to a mistaken sense of duty, 
 the first, but not the last for many a weary day. 
 
 In the long months which followed she suffered 
 ah! how she suffered! as only these silent, still 
 women can suffer and make no sign. The burden 
 of the Great City loneliness was upon her, a sense 
 of desolation too great for words weighed her down. 
 She did not indeed undergo that torture of vain
 
 362 TIIE GREEN 3 AY TREE. 
 
 questioning and doubt as to the right course, which 
 a weaker nature one less heavenly and more earthly 
 might have suffered, but ever and anon her heart 
 would go out in spite of herself to her husband, and an 
 aching yearning would come over her to see him again. 
 But she stifled it down, this holy yearning treated it 
 as men and women of her type are wont to treat the 
 promptings of nature repressed it and thrust it aside 
 as if the very thought were sin. But stifle it down as 
 she would, struggle as she would, the still small voice 
 within her would make itself heard, the deep whisper 
 beating ever in her heart "My husband! My hus- 
 band! Wilfrid! Wilfrid!" 
 
 She little' knew that on the other side of this great 
 Babylon, the one her soul yearned for was fighting 
 against all the hard circumstances of his life, battling 
 against an insidious disease, toiling, struggling, in the 
 vain endeavor to do something which should win back 
 her duty and her love, which should make him "more 
 worthy" of her. She pictured her husband as still 
 abroad, at Monte Carlo perhaps, or at Baden-Baden, 
 Paris, Vienna or some other wicked city. He loved 
 such places better far better she tried to think, than 
 he had ever loved her. 
 
 So these two wrong-headed young people went on 
 their way alone, each sacrificing the heaven of happi- 
 ness which lay within their reach she to her mistaken 
 sense of duty he to his wounded pride. 
 
 Meanwhile Gwendolen had to wonder how she was 
 to live. Her father had died a ruined man. Every- 
 thing he possessed had been seized upon by his cred- 
 itors and even those few things to which she might 
 have laid a personal claim she did not demand. Her 
 stern sense of conscientiousness made her yield up 
 everything until the last debtor was satisfied. But she 
 was not absolutely destitute. She had a little money 
 in hand, very little but then a woman is said to want 
 so little and a few trinkets, which could, if necessary, 
 be converted into cash by a process of which she had 
 hitherto been ignorant. Still the fund she had in 
 hand, though it would last for a time for her wants 
 were few and she seemed to take a pleasure in denying
 
 THE SORROWS Off SANCTITY. 363 
 
 herself everything but the barest necessaries, would 
 not last forever. To prevent its dwindling too rap- 
 idly, she must work. But how ? She had thought it 
 so easy at first. She knew nothing of the terrible in- 
 dustrial struggle which presses even more heavily on 
 women- workers than on men, which indeed in the low- 
 skilled industries thrives on the very weakness of 
 women. She had not recognized the fact that for 
 women there is practically only one profession, and 
 that an overcrowded one to wit, matrimony. She 
 knew nothing of these things. So she put her modest 
 little advertisement in the Guardian and some other 
 papers, to say that a lady wished to give lessons in 
 music and painting and other arts. And then she 
 waited. She might have been left waiting, for no an- 
 swer came. At length she gave up advertising ; it did 
 no good and it only spent her money. It was as Mrs. 
 de Courcy Miles had said, people didn't want gover- 
 nesses, especially governesses they knew nothing about, 
 and Gwendolen was determined of all things to keep 
 her past life a secret. 
 
 So she essayed fresh fields and pastures new and fell 
 back upon her needle. She was clever at fancy-work of 
 all kinds, flower-painting on satin, crewels, church em- 
 broidery and so forth. All these things she had been 
 accustomed to play at in the pretty-pretty way, which 
 ladies call " work." She took some specimens of her 
 needlework to the great Emporium hard by, and en- 
 deavored to find employment. The result was not en- 
 couraging. They had no work to give, but the Manager, 
 a kind-hearted man, touched by the look of patient sor- 
 row on the girl's sweet face, told her of a shop in Bond 
 Street which dealt largely in lamp-shades marvels of 
 silk and lace photograph-frames, hand-screens, and 
 like trifles. Here Gwendolen was more successful. 
 They could give her much work at an inverse ratio of 
 pay. But it was work she could do at home, and, small 
 though the price of her labor was, she was thankful to 
 get it. It helped to eke out her scanty fund, and it 
 gave her something to occupy her thoughts. 
 
 She needed it. She worked feverishly, incessantly, 
 trying through prayer and much sewing to still that
 
 64 THE GREEN SAY THEE. 
 
 deep whisper, ever beating in her heart, to blot out 
 that image, which strive as she might would rise un- 
 bidden before her eyes. By day she was fairly success- 
 ful, but by night ah ! who can keep guard over the 
 truant visions of the night? Sometimes in her dreams 
 her love would live once more her husband would 
 come to her again, his voice whisper in her ear, his 
 warm kisses press themselves upon her lips, his curly 
 head pillow itself upon her bosom and then she would 
 wake with a start to find it was but a dream. A device 
 of the Evil One, she deemed it, instead of the voice of 
 Nature struggling against the unnatural restraints 
 she had imposed, and, true to her stern creed, she 
 would arise and kneel down shivering in the cheerless 
 room praying that she might have grace to fight 
 against temptation, trying to comfort herself with the 
 promise which comforted of old the doubting Peter : 
 
 ''Every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or 
 sisters, or father, or mother, or children, or lands, for 
 My name's sake shall receive a hundredfold, and shall 
 inherit everlasting life.' 1 '' 
 
 But Gwendolen was not Peter, she was only a loving 
 woman ; and, though she murmured in the fervency 
 of her prayer, " Thy strength shall be sufficient for me " 
 yet in her heart she knew that it was not sufficient. 
 How could it be ? She was but flesh and blood after 
 all. She yearned after the visible not the invisible, 
 the tangible not the intangible, the real not the unreal. 
 Yet still she would kneel there fighting with herself, 
 while the hours wore themselves on through the night, 
 until the first gray gleam of dawn lit up the sordid 
 room. There was something sublime in this abandon- 
 ment of self. It was the same spirit which animated 
 the Virgin Martyrs of the Early Church and made 
 them yield their slender bodies to the rack and to the 
 flames. 
 
 But the Virgin Martyrs probably found happiness 
 the happiness which the Moslem feels when he 
 rushes to meet his death upon the bayonets of the 
 infidel and Gwendolen did not. It is all very well to 
 say that to do right is the only happiness. Gwendolen 
 was doing right, or what she firmly believed to be
 
 THE SORRO WS OF SANCTITY. 365 
 
 right, which is the same thing, since right is a relative 
 term all the world over. Yet she was not happy. 
 The awful sense of loneliness entered like iron into her 
 soul. 
 
 So dragged the months along. March passed by, 
 April and Easter came. The trees in the parks put on 
 their summer vesture of green and the butterflies of 
 fashion came out with the sunshine. The Season 
 waxed and waned. In July Gwendolen read by chance 
 of Coryton's election in the papers. Do what she 
 would, she could not altogether keep down the feeling 
 of bitterness which rose in her breast when she read it. 
 This man her husband's false friend, as she now 
 knew him to be, the man who had ruined her father 
 and brought her to the verge of penury, was flourish- 
 ing like the Green Bay Tree. Like the Psalmist of 
 old, she found this thing too hard for her until she 
 went into the Sanctuary of her faith. That brought 
 peace and refreshment into her soul for a time, but 
 only for a time. 
 
 About this time Gwendolen became very ill. The 
 mental worry, the inferior food, the close air, all 
 told upon her health. For a time she gave way 
 utterly, broken down both in body and mind. All 
 through the days which followed, scorching August 
 days when the Park was a desert and the streets dusty 
 and glaring, she lay in her room listless, dispirited, 
 drooping like a faded flower, praying for death. So 
 she remained all through the autumn which followed, 
 until the November fogs came and stern necessity 
 made her arise from her couch and take up her work 
 again. Poverty is a hard task-master, it takes no 
 account of wrecked lives nor broken hearts ; and so 
 Gwendolen found it. Christmas passed, the New 
 Year dawned, but it brought no promise of joy or hope 
 to Gwendolen Tyrconnel. The anniversary of her 
 wedding-day came and went. She spent it with prayer 
 and bitter tears. 
 
 One evening in late February she started forth to 
 take her work back to the shop from which she was 
 employed. It was the very evening so mysterious 
 lire the workings of destiny, or so odd are the
 
 366 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 freaks of chance the very evening that Coryton was 
 making his brilliant hit in the House of Commons. 
 Gwendolen had been -working incessantly all day to 
 get her task finished in time. Her limbs felt stiff 
 and cramped, her head ached, her eyes were dizzy, 
 she had not given herself time for food but she had 
 done her work, and now she must take it back. It was 
 not often she went out after dusk, but she had no one 
 to send, and the Bond Street establishment closed at 
 seven o'clock. She must get it there before closing 
 time at all hazards. 
 
 The darkness of the cold damp day had closed in. 
 The lamps were looming large through the gloom 
 as Gwendolen walked along the muddy pavements, 
 drawing her waterproof more tightly around her as 
 she went. She felt weak and tired ; she had not 
 gone far before she felt she could walk no longer, 
 so in the Bayswater Road she hailed a passing 'bus. 
 It was an extravagance (every penny spent was an 
 extravagance to Gwendolen now), but it was one she 
 could not help. At the top of Bond Street she alighted 
 and the 'bus went on its way down Oxford Street and 
 Holborn. 
 
 The shop for which she was bound was situated 
 in Old Bond Street, hard by the Burlington Arcade. 
 There is not in all London a prettier sight than Bond 
 Street just the hour after dusk, when the shops 
 are lighted before closing for the day. The Art 
 Galleries, the jewellers, the modistes, the flower shops, 
 all reveal their treasures in the glow of the lamp-light, 
 and the narrow thoroughfare brings either side well 
 within the range of vision. But Gwendolen hurried 
 along, her thick veil down, her parcel under her arm, 
 looking neither to the right nor to the left. She never 
 came to this neighborhood without a sense of fear 
 lest some chance meeting might reveal her to those 
 whom she of all things wished to avoid, and when 
 possible she sent a messenger. But to-night it had not 
 been possible. 
 
 About half-way down the street a man lounged 
 out of a cigar shop. A stout man with big fishy 
 eyes and a Jewish cast of countenance, over-dressed
 
 THE SORROWS OF SANCTITY. 367 
 
 after the mariner of his type, with a loud necktie, 
 louder gloves, a blue overcoat, and a buttonhole of 
 blue carnations evidently one of those low brutes 
 who prowl around, seeking whom they may devour. 
 As Gwendolen passed he accosted her. A woman, 
 alone, and unprotected, was fine game to him. A 
 cold terror struck her heart. All the months she had 
 been in London this was the first time that any one had 
 dared to molest her thus ; she gave him a withering 
 glance and hurried on. Nothing daunted, he stalked 
 after his prey, following her, quickening his pace to 
 accord with hers, every now and then making some 
 remark whose inanity scarcely veiled the covert 
 insult. How dared he? How dared he? The sense 
 of her unprotected condition had never been brought 
 home so vividly to Gwendolen before. Oh! if her 
 husband were only here. She hailed the shop for 
 which she was bound as a haven of refuge. 
 
 She was kept there waiting some time, for those who 
 come to sell are treated very differently to those who 
 come to buy, but at last she disposed of her parcel 
 and received the reward of her labor, a few shil- 
 lings. 
 
 When she came out, to her dismay she found her 
 persecutor still waiting. In her anxiety to avoid him 
 she turned into the Burlington Arcade. In her in- 
 nocence she did not know how was she to know ? 
 the reputation this region has won for itself when the 
 lamps are lit or that the smartly-dressed fair who 
 flaunt up and down beneath the covered dome can 
 hardly be said, like Caesar's wife, to be above suspicion. 
 The man evidently took the bend her steps had turned 
 as a tacit encouragement, for he followed her and 
 accosted her again, this time in unmistakable terms. 
 She gave him one look of horror and indignation, and 
 then sped as fast as her feet would take her out of the 
 Arcade. As she was rushing across Burlington Gar- 
 dens (just where the road turns into Bond Street) a 
 smart little brougham dashed along at full speed. In 
 her blind terror Gwendolen ran right under the horse's 
 nose. There was a warning shout from a policeman, 
 and a scream from some woman standing by; the
 
 368 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 coachman tried to pull up, but it was too late. Before 
 he could do so or Gwendolen could swerve aside, the 
 shaft had struck her on the shoulder and she fell sense- 
 less to the ground. 
 
 In a moment confusion reigned supreme, the crowd 
 closed around and the carriage came to a standstill. 
 The brougham window was let down with a rush, and 
 a little figure with golden hair, a vision of satin and 
 sables, sprang out and elbowed her way through the 
 crowd to where the senseless woman lay. A police- 
 man was before her and lifted the drooping head, wav- 
 ing back those who huddled around. The lady of the 
 sables and the satin gave one glance towards the sense- 
 less form, the white beautiful face, the shabby black 
 dress. Then she shrieked in shrill amazement, 
 
 " Goodness gracious ! If it isn't Mrs. Tyrconnel ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE WOOD OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Extremes in everything is a characteristic of woman. DE 
 GONCOUKT. 
 
 WHEN Gwendolen recovered consciousness, it was to 
 find herself lying on a downy bed, lapped in an all- 
 pervading sense of warmth and drowsiness. She 
 looked about her in a semi-bewildered way. It was a 
 pretty room, prettily furnished. The bed hangings 
 were of rose pink, edged with lace ; the toilet- ware 
 and window curtains were of the same delicate hue, 
 which tinted also the woodwork of the furniture. A 
 night-light was dimly burning, and a fire of red coals 
 glowed in the grate. It was a picture of warmth and 
 comfort. By the side of the fire was drawn up a large 
 arm-chair and a table with a medicine bottle and 
 glass upon it, also a servant's cap. But whoever had 
 occupied the chair, it was tenantless for the nonce, and 
 Gwendolen was alone.
 
 THE WOOD OF ST. JOHN. 369 
 
 At first she thought she must be dreaming. How 
 came she here in this luxurious nest, so different 
 from her sordid little room in Bayswater? Where 
 was she? What did it all mean? She raised herself 
 on one elbow, and again her eyes wandered round 
 the room, taking in each item in mute amaze. 
 Suddenly they lighted on her mud-stained waterproof, 
 
 which was thrown carelessly across a chair 
 
 Ah ! she remembered that dreadful man . . . 
 
 . . the rush across the street the blow on her 
 
 shoulder. It still ached with pain the fall. 
 
 But how came she here ? 
 
 A sudden terror struck her, banishing all her drow- 
 siness in an instant. She remembered the evil look 
 in the man's eyes. Had she been seized, kidnapped, 
 carried off, while still unconscious, to some den of vice. 
 Innocent, guileless though she was, Gwendolen had 
 vague ideas about vice, indefinite notions gleaned 
 from chance paragraphs in the newspapers veiled 
 hints of wickedness too great for words. 
 
 Fearfully she gazed around in the flickering light, 
 her heart seemed almost to stop its beating. What 
 she expected to see, she knew not, nor did she know 
 that those who are most vicious make the least parade 
 of their vice. Anyway, her scrutiny was reassuring 
 to her ; there was nothing to suggest evil here. A few 
 chaste water-colors in Oxford frames adorned the 
 walls, over the fireplace there was a picture of a dis- 
 tinctly religious type ; the chintz-covered furniture 
 looked innocent enough to have graced the " spare bed- 
 room " of a respectable family. 
 
 Still the terror was upon her. She got up and began 
 hurriedly to huddle on her dress. Her head was 
 dizzy, her knees so weak that she could scarcely stand, 
 the pain in her shoulder made her slow of movement. 
 But she managed to dress somehow, fear lent her 
 strength. 
 
 With uncertain, feeble steps, guiding herself by the 
 furniture, as invalids are wont to do, she tottered to 
 the door, and opening it noiselessly, peered out. 
 
 Gaslights were flaring on the stairs and in the nar- 
 row hall beneath. The clock on the landing pointed 
 24
 
 370 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 to half-past one. Gwendolen gasped. She must have 
 been here nearly seven hours. She crept cautiously 
 down the stairs. As she did so, the sound of boister- 
 ous merriment burst upon her ears. It issued from 
 the half-open door of a room on the ground floor. 
 Gwendolen shuddered and drew back. To her dis- 
 torted sense, it sounded like the unholy mirth of a 
 Pandemonium. Oh ! to what terrible place had she 
 come ? How should she escape from it ? Beyond that 
 room lay the hall-door, and the safety of the outer air. 
 She must reach it at all hazards. She had gathered 
 up her strength for a sudden rush, when upon her 
 ears there fell the sound of her own name. 
 
 "I'd just been round to Schwabe's to try on a 
 
 frock You might have knocked me down 
 
 with a feather," cried a high-pitched, staccato voice, 
 
 'I never was so taken aback in all my life 
 
 When I caught sight of her face, I'm blessed if 't wasn't 
 Mrs. Wilfrid Tyrconnel." 
 
 Gwendolen paused in amazement. Where had she 
 heard that voice before ? Ah ! she remembered, she 
 was not likely to forget, for with it was associated the 
 bitterest hour of her life. And yet Could it be ? 
 
 Urged by an irresistible impulse, she moved towards 
 the half-opened door. At first, she could see noth- 
 ing. It was a long double room, with heavy curtains 
 of blue plush dividing it midway. These curtains 
 were drawn now and the back part of the room, 
 which Gwendolen entered with noiseless step, lay in 
 darkness, save that a glimmer of light made its way 
 through where the curtains met. It was the smallest 
 opening, but through it Gwendolen was able to see 
 without being seen. 
 
 A sight met her eyes which was new to her, but 
 which crystallized at once all her vague notions of 
 an evil life. And yet on the surface there was noth- 
 ing so very evil about this particular gathering It 
 was only the burlesque actress, Miss de Vere, nee 
 Popkins, entertaining Miss Gussie Gutter of music- 
 hall fame, Miss Pussie Prancewell, and a few friends of 
 the other sex to supper after the play. True, the 
 guests were expressing themselves in that free-and-
 
 THE WOOD OF ST. JOHN. 371 
 
 easy fashion current in Bohemia ; and, if noise were a 
 criterion, they seemed to be enjoying themselves, 
 though very likely they were not, for Bohemia is often 
 at the bottom as dull and flat as average Exeter Hall 
 respectability. But Gwendolen judged from appear- 
 ances. 
 
 It was a little, gaudily-furnished room, crammed 
 with furniture, poufs, cushions and photographs, a 
 room full of discords of color and glare of gilding. 
 The air WHS thick with tobacco smoke and heavy with 
 scent. On a round table pushed away now against the 
 wall, were the remains of a substantial supper oysters 
 and chablis, lobsters and champagne, devilled bones 
 and brandies and sodas, plenty of variety and plenty 
 of everything. The light from the red lamp-shades 
 threw a meretricious glow over the group gathered 
 around the fire. Sally was there, the centre of the 
 group, lying back in a low chair heaped around with 
 downy cushions but not Sally as Gwendolen had seen 
 her last as she had pictured her ever since, a poor 
 little Marguerite in a shabby black frock, but Sally 
 radiant with rouge and pearl powder, with diamonds 
 real or sham gleaming on her white bosom and in 
 the golden mist of her fluffy hair, Sally in shimmer of 
 satin and lace Sally a very Circe incarnate, with a 
 cigarette stuck between her lips and a big tumbler of 
 something by her side, her roguish little face lit up as 
 she held forth for the benefit of the others around her. 
 And those others ! Miss Gussie Gutter in a flaunting 
 garb of red and yellow, with her hands clasped behind 
 her head, sitting on the arm of a chair, and that hered- 
 itary legislator, Lord Welcher, reclining on the bear- 
 skin rug at her feet, Miss Prancewell also en grartde 
 tenue on a sofa, and by her side what did he here? 
 that eminent legislator and Exeter Hall luminary, Mr. 
 Toadey-Snaile, M. P. There was yet one more his 
 back was towards her, but Gwendolen had no difficulty 
 in recognizing the thick-set bull neck and stubbly black 
 hair of Lord Pirnlico. With difficulty she suppressed 
 a scream. To what terrible place had she been 
 brought ? The trail of the serpent seemed over all ; 
 yet she could not fly ; terror and amazement kept her
 
 372 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 rooted to the spot. She put her hand to her heart, 
 and gasped for breath. Meanwhile the high-pitched 
 voice went on : 
 
 " So I told the bobby that she was a friend of mine. 
 What are you grinning at Pirn ? What else could I 
 say ? And he lifted her into the brougham and off we 
 were like a shot out of that horrid crowd which was 
 enough to suffocate anybody. The doctor says the 
 fall's nothing. She fainted more from fright than 
 anything else, and when she showed signs of coming 
 to and was light-headed, he gave her something to 
 make her doze off again. She'll be as right as a trivet 
 in the morning." 
 
 " You don't mean to say she's here now," cried Mr. 
 Toadey-Snaile in astonishment and alarm. 
 
 "You don't think I should turn her out in the 
 streets, do you ? " retorted Sally indignantly. " I am 
 not quite such a brute as that and she was good to me 
 
 once on a time Yes, she's upstairs in bed, at 
 
 least I s'pose so ; I haven't seen her since I came back, 
 but Jane's looking after her if the lazy hussy hasn't 
 gone to sleep, that is." 
 
 " Miss de Vere turned good Samaritan ! " sniggered 
 Toadey-Snaile. " How touching ! " 
 
 " Better than a Pharisee, any day," rejoined Sally 
 tartly. Her sentiment evoked a sturdy " hear, hear ! " 
 from the fair Gussie. 
 
 Lord Welcher gave a tipsy snort. He had been half 
 asleep during this colloquy. 
 
 " Don't you think we'd better be toddlin', Gussie ? " 
 he queried drowsily. 
 
 " Dry up," retorted that damsel, giving him a tap on 
 the head with her satin slipper. " Go on, Sally, don't 
 take any notice of him. What are you going to do 
 with her, when she comes to ? " 
 
 " I'm blessed if I know ! " said Sally, with a puzzled 
 air. " It's a rum go altogether. Whatever could make 
 the likes of her be running about the Burlington at 
 that time of night, and all alone, too ? And the doctor 
 says he doesn't think she has had half enough to eat 
 and she'd got a pair of boots on that I wouldn't 
 touch with the tongs, all down at heel, and an old
 
 WOOD OF ST. JOHN. 373 
 
 frock well it's almost as bad as what I used to wear 
 when 1 was in a garret, starving on a bloater and four 
 and sixpence a week, before " 
 
 " You knew me," interrupted Pimlico. He was al- 
 ways inclined to be spiteful in his cups. 
 
 " Oh, long before that," rejoined Miss Popkins coolly, 
 " though you don't part with any more than you can 
 help I know that." 
 
 Whereat there was a general laugh. Even Lord 
 Welcher joined in under his bibulous breath. 
 
 " I'm sure I can't make it out," resumed Sally reflec- 
 tively " pass the cigarettes will you, Toadey, if you 
 don't mean to keep them all to yourself. What beats 
 me is how she got like this a real swell, too ! What 
 can her husband be thinking about? But there, I 
 always said he wasn't fit to black her boots." 
 
 " Her husband ! " echoed Pimlico. " He's on his 
 last legs too, I hear. Poor Pigeon ! Don't you know 
 they had an awful row at Cannes about something or 
 other, and she went off and left him then and there. 
 You ought to know all about it, Sally " 
 
 Sally winced, and turned almost pale beneath her 
 rouge. 
 
 " You don't mean to say," she exclaimed in unfeigned 
 astonishment, " that she ran away from him because of 
 that ! " 
 
 " I do mean to say it," repeated Pimlico doggedly, 
 " and what's more, when he got back to England, old 
 Baltinglass turned him out of doors without a sou in 
 his pocket. I believe he took to quill-drivin' or 
 somethin', but somebody told me the other day he was 
 dead." 
 
 He took another swig at his whiskey and soda. 
 
 " No, he isn't," chimed in Pussie Prancewell, speak- 
 ing now for the first time, " but he's precious near it, I 
 can tell you. You remember Olive Jennings of the 
 Gaiety chorus, don't you, Sally ? She has been terribly 
 down on Her luck lately. I went to see her the other 
 day, in Duchess Street, Soho. That is where she is 
 living now, and bless me, who should have a room of 
 the top floor but Tyrconnel ? I met him accidentally on 
 the stairs, as I was going up one day. I should never
 
 S74 THE GREEN SAT TREE. 
 
 have known him, he looked out at elbows, half starved, 
 and scarcely able to drag himself along, but something 
 in his face struck me, and I asked Olive who it was. 
 She said she believed his name was Tyrconnel, and he 
 was dying of gallopin' consumption Gracious Good- 
 ness ! What ever* s that! ! " 
 
 There was a low moan a sudden cry the next mo- 
 ment the blue velvet curtains were rent asunder, and 
 a pale, agonized woman tottered forward, and almost 
 fell at the speaker's feet. 
 
 "Dying you say dying? Wilfrid my husband, 
 dying, and I never knew it. Oh ! where is he ? 
 where is he ? take me to him 
 
 Banquo's ghost at the banquet the writing on the 
 wall at Belshazzar's feast could not have brought 
 greater confusion than this sudden apparition sud- 
 den as it was unexpected wrought on this select 
 assembly. The men sprang to their feet all except 
 Lord Welcher, who still sat on the hearthrug blink- 
 ing his little red eyes in tipsy wonder. Sally gave a 
 screech, Gussie Gutter, as she afterwards phrased it, 
 felt " all of the creeps " Miss Prancewell, to whom 
 this appeal was addressed, stared as though she were 
 confronted with a spectre. 
 
 " Where is he ? Oh, take me to him," wailed Gwen- 
 dolen again, wringing her hands oblivious of every- 
 thing save her husband's dire need. The wifely instinct 
 was aroused in her at last. She pictured him starv- 
 ing, dying, helpless, deserted. A great .rush of pity 
 and love swept over her, breaking all barriers down. 
 
 " Sixty-four Duchess Street, Soho," gasped out Miss 
 Prancewell, too astonished to equivocate. " There, 
 don't take on so don't," she added, touched in spite 
 of herself at the look of unspeakable sorrow on the pale 
 face. 
 
 But her words fell on deaf ears. Worn-out by con- 
 flicting emotions, weak from long fasting and over- 
 work, exhausted by all she had gone through ; even as 
 she spoke Gwendolen reeled and fell. For the second 
 time, she fainted 
 
 " I think we'd better be toddlin', Gussie," the noble 
 peer said again when the confusion had somewhat sub-
 
 THE WOOD OF ST. JOHN. 375 
 
 sided. He had remained in a semi-torpid condition 
 throughout. 
 
 Miss Gutter promptly took the hint, and, tucking his 
 arm througli her own, marched his uncertain steps to 
 the door. Pussie Prance well followed suit. Toadey- 
 Snaile had long since disappeared, skulking off at the 
 first alarm. A wholesome dread of the wife of his 
 bosom and a terror of being arraigned before his con- 
 stituents by a reptile press, if this escapade should 
 leak out, lent wings to his flight. Sally was kneeling 
 by the side of the insensible girl, chafing the cold 
 hands. Pimlico hovered around, uncertain whether to 
 go or to stay. 
 
 " Here's a silly go," he exclaimed presently, address- 
 ing Sally's back. " What are you going to do with 
 her, I should like to know ? " 
 
 " You'd better let her people know," said Sally 
 without looking up. " Lord Baltinglass ought to be 
 told where she is and then he can come and fetch her 
 away." 
 
 " Oh, that be hanged," cried Pimlico. He was in a 
 very bad temper at this premature breaking up of the 
 party, just when he had settled down to make a night 
 of it, too. " You don't catch me mixing myself up 
 with it. "Why, he or the Guv'nor 'd be wanting to 
 know how I came here, and then what should I say ? " 
 
 Sally shrugged her shoulders indifferently. 
 
 " Tell a lie," she said. " 'T wouldn't be the first you 
 have told by a good many." 
 
 Pimlico glowered, but did not venture the retort 
 which rose to his lips. Sally in her " tantrums " was 
 a difficult person to deal with. 
 
 " Better have her put to bed, and we'll talk it over," 
 he hazarded presently. 
 
 " I am not going to leave her any more to-night," 
 said Sally. And she meant it. 
 
 " Well, in that case," he said sulkily, " I'd better 
 make tracks, I suppose." 
 
 To this Sally deigned no response. But when he had 
 put on his hat and coat and came to claim a caress, she 
 pushed him roughly from her with a sudden spasm of 
 shame.
 
 376 THE GREEN BAT TREE. 
 
 " Oh, go away, do," she cried. " Can't you see how 
 I feel just now ? I might have been almost a good 
 woman, if it hadn't been for you." 
 
 Pimlico made no further remonstrance. He was too 
 much astonished at this new phase of feeling. He 
 banged out of the door in a huff, and, hailing a han- 
 som there were always hansoms hanging round Alpha 
 Cottage in the small hours of the morning jumped in, 
 and drove off westward. 
 
 " God may forgive you, I never can." 
 
 The words sounded stern and hard, but they were 
 not sterner nor harder than Gwendolen's heart. She 
 stood there in the cold, gray light of the early morn- 
 ing, buttoning her cloak with trembling hands. *^very 
 nerve quivered with repulsion as she looked at the 
 woman before her. For Sally, moved by a strange, 
 unaccountable impulse peculiar to excitable souls, 
 smitten by compunction at the sight of the anguish 
 which she had wrought, maudlin too, perchance, from 
 the frequent nips of Cognac which she had taken to 
 sustain her through the trying night, had told her all. 
 All the story of that plot at Cottenham, of the net 
 spread before the bird, of the one fall and subse- 
 quent recoil, of Coryton's suggestions at Les Douleurs 
 and Monte Carlo ; of everything in fact, exonerating 
 Tyrconnel and shelving all the blame, or as much of it 
 as she could, upon Coryton's shoulders. Still, palliate 
 it as she would, she was a consenting party, privy to 
 the plot, the willing tool whereby it was carried out. 
 The damning fact remained. 
 
 " I'm sure I never thought you'd take it like you did," 
 snivelled Sally, moved to tears at this stern rejection 
 of her prayer for pardon, " I thought you'd give him a 
 wiggin' of course, and then kiss and make friends again, 
 like like anybody else. Why even if all I had told 
 you was true and it wasn't it was no more than 
 plenty of other men have done and are doing every 
 day. Oh ! I could tell you some pretty tales about 
 people you little think it of and of old men too.
 
 TSE WOOD OF ST. JOHN. 377 
 
 Old men," she wound up viciously, " are the worst of 
 the lot." 
 
 Gwendolen put up her hand with a stern gesture of 
 silence. But the torrent of Sally's exculpatory drivel 
 was not to be stemmed thus ; it simply swerved in 
 other directions. 
 
 "And I was hard up too," she continued, "very 
 hard up, I was. I didn't know where to turn for a 
 penny or I never should have done it never. I 
 lost everything on the tables, and he only gave me a 
 tenner at least that was all that thief of a Coryton 
 gave me from him, though I'm quite sure now that he 
 bagged the rest himself. Oh, it's bad to be poor, that 
 it is." 
 
 She began to whimper again like a beaten puppy. 
 
 Gwendolen's eyes travelled slowly round the room 
 the rose-hued hangings, the lace-fringed curtains, the 
 pretty furniture all seemed to her part of the price 
 of sin. Lastly her eyes came back to Sally herself a 
 poor dishevelled Sally in this morning light. Her 
 eyes were red as a ferret's, tears had mingled with the 
 rouge and powder on her face, producing an effect akin 
 to that of a washed-out doll. Last evening's dissipa- 
 tion followed by a sleepless night had told on her. 
 She looked the wreck of her painted beauty. And yet 
 Gwendolen felt no pity. She had been fooled, 
 tricked, lied to, she had been betrayed, she had blighted 
 two lives, by her incapacity to take a wide view of life. 
 And this woman, who had lured her husband into sin 
 and who had lied to her, was now suing her pardon. 
 Faugh! It was only one more piece of dissimulation. 
 Just now she was a poor bedraggled Magdalen, indeed. 
 By and by she would be smiling again, in silks and 
 velvets and diamonds. A wave of repulsion swept 
 over her ! 
 
 " This is not poverty," she said, sweeping her hand 
 around. " Shame on you shame ! " 
 
 " No, it isn't," said Sally, becoming in a moment less 
 lachrymose and more defiant. The utter scorn of Gwen- 
 dolen's words penetrated even her thick skin. A 
 worm will turn at last. " This is the gilding of the 
 pill," she went on bitterly, " this is what makes ' sin,'
 
 378 THE GREEN BA Y TREE. 
 
 as you call it so attractive. Four and sixpence a 
 week, a garret and a herrin', working from dawn to 
 night, that was what virtue had to offer me, so I could 
 stand it no longer : I chose vice. And," looking 
 around, "can you wonder?" 
 
 Gwendolen shuddered, shuddered at the gulf of 
 degradation which seemed to yawn at her very feet. 
 Sally misinterpreted the gesture and applied it as per- 
 sonal to herself. 
 
 " Yes," she cried with a bitter resentful laugh. " I'm 
 what I am, and I am not ashamed to own it. But bad 
 as I am, I don't know that I'd change places with you. 
 You seem precious sure of being in the right. Well, 
 you may be. I only know this : If a man loved me 
 worse luck, no one ever has or if I loved a man, hus- 
 band or no husband, I'd stick to him through thick and 
 thin, right or wrong, good or bad, rich or poor, it'd 
 make no difference to me. If he was bad as the Devil, 
 I'd stick to him just the same. But you, with your 
 cantin' and psalm-singin', just because of one little slip, 
 you go and chuck your husband over like an old shoe 
 and leave him to die or go to the Devil for all you 
 care. If that's being good, let me be bad, I say ! " 
 
 " Oh, spare me, spare me," pleaded Gwendolen pite- 
 ously, looking around to seek some means of escape. 
 Every one of these reproaches, coarsely put though they 
 were, sped home. " I'm going to him going at once 
 only spare me." 
 
 The look of anger died out of Sally's face in an in- 
 stant. She felt herself in the presence of some great 
 grief, some conflict of the soul she could not fathom. 
 
 "There, there," she said soothingly, "don't mind 
 what I say. You shouldn't have provoked me. I only 
 want to make up for what I've done. No doubt you 
 thought you were doing right though how you could 
 think so beats me into a cocked hat. But then I am 
 not a religious woman," she added without any con- 
 scious irony " What are you looking about 
 
 for ? You needn't be in such a hurry to get away. I'm 
 not plague-stricken." 
 
 " I must go to him," cried Gwendolen, hardly hearing 
 what the other was saying. " Oh ! God help me out
 
 THE WOOD OF ST. JOHN. 879 
 
 of this wicked house ! I cannot breathe, cannot think 
 here." 
 
 " But you can't go like this," remonstrated Sally 
 " here's your umbrella, if that's what you are looking 
 for. It's not seven o'clock the servants aren't up yet. 
 If you'll wait a little time, and have some breakfast, I'll 
 send you in my carriage. You'll never find your way 
 there like that." 
 
 " I cannot wait, I cannot wait," reiterated Gwen- 
 dolen, looking wildly around her. " Sixty- four, Duchess 
 Street, Soho. Did you hear what that woman said? 
 He may be dying now even now and no one beside 
 him. Oh ! Wilfrid, why have I kept away from you 
 so long ? Oh ! God forgive me ! " 
 
 " You won't forgive me," said Sally meaningly. 
 
 Gwendolen turned towards her, the light of a great 
 renunciation dawning over her face. 
 
 " I do forgive you," she said solemnly, " I was wrong. 
 What am I ? I, who never knew your hard life, nor 
 your temptations, that I should judge you ? I need 
 forgiveness more than you. I see it all now now 
 that it is too late." 
 
 She moved towards the door. 
 
 " Let me come with you if you must go," pleaded 
 Sally brokenly, gulping down her tears. " Let me 
 come with you you aren't fit to go by yourself, really 
 you aren't." 
 
 But Gwendolen moved her gently aside. 
 
 " I must go alone," she said " alone." 
 
 Thus she left her. 
 
 And yet let the cynic sneer an he will a few min- 
 utes after she had gone out in the gray dulness of the 
 cheerless dawn the front door opened again to let out 
 a little figure cloaked and veiled, who followed her 
 followed her all the way afar off.
 
 380 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 THE LAST STAGE. 
 
 "Out out, brief candle." MACBETH. 
 
 THE fog-demon brooded over everything and seemed 
 to stifle the morning with its vampire wings. It pene- 
 trated everywhere, creeping with stealthy, resistless 
 step alike into West End mansions and East End 
 hovels. Among other places it crept up the evil-smell- 
 ing stairs of Number Sixty-four, Duchess Street, Soho, 
 and penetrated into a sordid attic on the topmost floor. 
 
 On a narrow bed in one corner of the room lay the 
 wreck of what was once Wilfrid Tyrconnel, fighting 
 his last fight with the fell disease which had long since 
 marked him for its own. The gray mist, which strag- 
 gled in through the dirty yellow blind, was too thick 
 to admit of his face being clearly seen, but his labored 
 breathing could be heard smiting the silence, broken 
 at intervals by a terrible, racking cough. Every now 
 and then he would turn in the bed and draw the 
 scanty covering higher around him, not that he was 
 cold how could he be with that dry fever running hot 
 in his veins ? but in very restlessness, the restlessness 
 born of a sleepless night. By and by, his hand 
 groped on the floor beside the bed for the cup of cold 
 water which he hoped was there to slake his thirst. 
 He lifted it, it was empty ! There was plenty more 
 water in the chipped jug which stood on yonder box 
 an improvised washstand. But he had not the energy 
 to get out of bed to go across to it. He gave a little 
 weary sigh even that effort brought on his cough. 
 Would the morning never come? It had come al- 
 ready, but he knew it not, the dull grayness seemed as
 
 THE LAST STAGE. 381 
 
 night to him. He had no means of telling the time. 
 His watch ? That had gone long ago. 
 
 At last a heavy step was heard ascending the creak- 
 ing stairs. The door opened in response to a shove 
 from without and a stout, red-faced woman elbowed 
 her way in, a woman in a greasy cotton frock and 
 sleeves rolled up her chapped and brawny arms. She 
 was another specimen of that horrible genus, the cheap 
 lodging-house shark, a shade lower than Tyrconnel's 
 hostess at Bloomsbury, because a shade less pros- 
 perous. 
 
 "'Ere's yer brekfus'," she panted, in a coarse, fat 
 voice, somewhat wheezy from the long ascent; and 
 she banged down upon the bed a battered tray on 
 which reposed a metal teapot, a cup, and a hunch or 
 two of thick bread and butter. " And 'ere," plunging 
 her hand into a capacious pocket, " 'ere's yer letters. 
 P'r'aps I'd better light the candle, the fog's that thick 
 ye can hardly see yer 'and afore yer face, and then ye 
 can read wot's in 'em, somethui' good, I 'opes this 
 time." 
 
 She proceeded to light a tallow dip with a brimstone 
 match. The match sent forth an evil smell ; the 
 candle spluttered and flared in the murky gloom, 
 throwing weird, misshapen shadows upon the wall. 
 It was like a glimpse of Tophet, or one of William 
 Blake's studies of Hell. 
 
 Tyrconnel dragged himself up in the bed and, 
 seizing the letters, eagerly began to break the seals. 
 The woman crossed her brawny arms and leaned 
 back against the wall, watching him the while with 
 a sort of contemptuous pity in which a gleam of 
 avarice was mingled. 
 
 He took the packets in his trembling hands. The 
 first two he knew alas too well, rejected MSS. 
 They had been backwards and forwards many a 
 weary time. They came back again to him now, 
 one with a printed form of conventional regret, the 
 other with contemptuous silence. The third was a 
 bill marked "account rendered," with an intimation 
 that legal proceedings would be taken. They must 
 hurry, he thought grimly; he would be out of the
 
 382 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 reach of legal proceedings before long. The last was 
 from the editor of a leading monthly Review on whom 
 he had staked all his hopes. His paper had been 
 accepted, it would contain the cheque. Alas ! no 
 "pressure upon our space compels us to hold the 
 article over until our next issue." Oh ! this was 
 cruel ! . . . . The letter fell from his nerveless hands, 
 all the light died out of his face. 
 
 " Well ? " said the woman interrogatively. Then 
 seeing that no answer came, she went on in a shriller 
 key "'Ev yer got any think for me, or 'ev yer not? 
 That's wot I want to know. Come hout with it." 
 
 " I I " faltered Tyrconnel, then his eyes fell upon 
 another letter lying on the blanket, one he had over- 
 looked in his haste. He seized it as a starving dog 
 seizes a bone. He knew the handwriting; it was 
 that of a friend, a dear friend in the old days, to 
 whom, knowing that his paper was accepted, he had 
 written in his dire need, and after a fierce struggle 
 with his pride, asking for a trifling loan of 10 until 
 the editor should send him a cheque. It was such 
 a small favor and such a dear friend ! Of course it 
 
 was granted but what was this? 
 
 A platitude as to " regret " a lie about " so 
 
 many claims " a false hope that " things may 
 
 soon be brighter " that was all. He fell back 
 
 with a groan. 
 
 " Come, hout with it," repeated the woman again, 
 more insolently this time, for she noted how the blank 
 grayness had crept over his face. 
 
 " I I am very sorry," he faltered, " more sorry 
 than I can say. They promised, you know, to put 
 my article in, and I had hoped they would have sent 
 me a cheque, but it has been held over until next 
 month and 
 
 " 'Eld over till next month ! " screeched the landlady 
 in her coarse, strident voice " and so I'm to be 
 'eld over till next month too, I s'pose ? Not if I knows 
 it. That's a tale I've 'eard once too often, I can tell 
 yer." 
 
 " But but, you see what they say," gasped Tyrcon- 
 nel, holding out the letter, " They will put it in next
 
 THE LAST STAGE. 383 
 
 month really they will, and then I shall be able to 
 pay you." 
 
 " 1 don't care when they put it in," she said, nicking 
 the letter contemptuously aside. " Wot I wants to 
 know is when Fm goin' to put some o' your tin into 
 my pocket. 'Ere's three an' a narf weeks owin' for 
 rent, let alone yer keep, an' all sorts o' hextras which 
 I've got yer, too. I won't go on no longer. If I don't 
 'ave somethink on account by to-night out yer goes, 
 so there ! " 
 
 She stuck her arms akimbo and faced him with 
 angry eyes. 
 
 She was not a bad-hearted woman at least not 
 worse than her kind, only the struggle for existence 
 was pretty hard on her too. Years of keeping a cheap 
 lodging-house and of haggling with prostitutes and 
 penniless clerks had blunted her finer feelings such 
 as they had been. 
 
 " I I " panted Tyrconnel, looking round like a 
 rat caught in a trap " I will go out and see \vhat I 
 
 can " Here the cough came and choked his 
 
 utterance. He lay gasping, panting for breath, clutch- 
 ing the air with his wasted hands. 
 
 The woman eyed him with stony indifference ; his 
 sufferings only seemed to add to her exasperation. 
 
 " Go hout ! " she echoed, with a brutal laugh. 
 "Yes, yer'll go hout sure enough, I'll see to that 
 go to the 'orsepital if they'll 'ave yer, or into the 
 work'us, where yer ought to 'ave gone long afore. 
 You ain't fit for nothin' else. I ain't agoin' to 'ave 
 no corpses knockin' about 'ere and so I tells yer. I've 
 
 'ad enough trouble with yer already Well, I'll 
 
 leave yer to think it over. I can't waste the morning 
 talkin' to the likes o' you. When I comes back, hout 
 yer go." 
 
 So saying, she snatched up the untasted breakfast 
 and bounced out of the room. 
 
 Left to himself, Tyrconnel buried his face in the 
 dirty pillow, trying to shut out light, sound, every- 
 thing. There comes a point past suffering, a dead 
 apathy beyond the power of words to phrase. He 
 had reached it now. All through the weary months
 
 384 THE GREEN BAY TREE, 
 
 which had passed since we saw him last, he had been 
 fighting his hand-to-hand fight with adversity and 
 disease, but the struggle was too hard. He had been 
 beaten at last, not in the spirit but in the body. It 
 was this physical weakness which had dragged him 
 down. In spirit, Tyrconnel would struggle on to the 
 last, but the body had refused to do its bidding. 
 
 With that obstinacy, which paradoxical though it 
 may seem one finds sometimes in the most emotional 
 natures, he resisted still. Perhaps his pride helped 
 him too, a pride inherited from his mother. And yet, 
 the thought struck him once more, he had only to 
 make a sign, to own his failure, to make known his 
 need to Lord Baltinglass, and this sordid garret, this 
 brutal landlady, these hideous surroundings, would van- 
 ish like magic, and he would find himself surrounded 
 by everything that wealth, and luxury, and medical 
 skill could give. But he thrust the thought from him 
 with passionate scorn. He had suffered so much, 
 could he not suffer a little more ? A few days, maybe 
 a few hours and then nothing this earth could give, 
 nothing this cruel world could do, would matter to 
 him any more. Earthly prosperity seems so small a 
 thing in the presence of the King of Terrors. No, all 
 things might fail him, but he would at least keep his 
 self-respect. He would die without making one sign 
 more to the relatives who had spurned him, the wife 
 who had abandoned him. Better torture, better 
 hunger, better death better anything than that, to 
 crawl back as a suppliant with that most pitiful word 
 " failure " branded on his brow. 
 
 Brave thoughts indeed ! Then there rose up to 
 mock them the vision of that coarse-voiced woman 
 worrying for her rent, clamoring like Shylock for 
 her pound of flesh. Unless he could find something 
 to stop her voracious maw, the vulture would not even 
 let him die in peace. But how? The thought struck 
 him like an inspiration. If he went to the editor of 
 the Review which had accepted his paper and told 
 him his need, surely he would give him a cheque. 
 Editors were but human after all, and then it would 
 not be begging, the work was done and approved, the
 
 THE LAST STAGE. 885 
 
 payment was due. Full of this new idea he threw off 
 the blanket, and got out of bed. Alas ! he had reckoned 
 without that laggard body. A few steps convinced 
 him of the futility, the impossibility of the task. His 
 feet tottered, his knees gave way .... that awful 
 cough seized him again, shaking his very frame. He 
 tried to stand up against it ; he fell back exhausted on 
 the bed. 
 
 It was true then what this woman had said he 
 must die, die in a hospital or a workhouse die with 
 the task he had set himself to do unfinished, with 
 his life-work just begun. Sheridan had died thus in 
 poverty, with the bailiffs tugging at his sheets, but then 
 Sheridan had done his work, had accomplished some- 
 thing, which would last through all time, handing his 
 name down to posterity an imperishable monument 
 among men. But he, he had done nothing his name, 
 as poor Keats had said in his unprophetic soul his 
 name was "writ in water." If the remnant of life 
 were so hard, wherefore should he live it ? His eyes 
 travelled around the room, but there was nothing 
 nothing whereby he might end his misery .... unless 
 
 it were that blunt razor lying on yonder box 
 
 There was a struggle .... then he thrust the thought 
 from him in very weariness of soul. Why take the 
 trouble to ante-date a process, which Nature would 
 herself perform so soon ? 
 
 With a groan he turned his face to the wall. The 
 room grew darker and darker .... the fog crept 
 closer and closer. . . . Exhausted by this conflict of 
 emotion, he sank into a semi-stupor 
 
 There was a sound of hurried feet upon the stairs. 
 Not the landlady he knew her heavy, deliberate 
 step, the resounding smack with which her feet 
 hailed each successive landing but too well. Some one 
 opened the door. . . . 
 
 Who was this? The sordid garret seemed sud- 
 denly flooded with light. . . . Who was this on her 
 knees beside his bed, raining kisses on his wasted 
 hand, murmuring broken words of contrition and pity 
 and love. 
 
 ' 25
 
 386 THE GREEN SAY TREE. 
 
 " Wilfrid my husband forgive me speak to me. 
 It is I, Gwendolen, who loves you so. Oh ! forgive 
 me forgive me." 
 
 " Gwendolen ! . . . . Thank God ! " he whispered. A 
 great light broke over all his face. He held open 
 his arms. With a low cry of happiness she fell 
 upon his breast. 
 
 That was all. There were no reproaches, no ex- 
 planations, no theological disquisitions any more. In 
 that mute embrace all was forgotten and forgiven. 
 After long grief and pain it seemed so sweet to lie 
 here, lip to lip, heart to heart, oblivious of every- 
 thing except their mutual love. The hours wore on, 
 the fog crept closer and closer it had no terrors 
 now yet still they rested here, babbling their pas- 
 sion with broken words words too sacred to phrase 
 coherent only to themselves. Life had something 
 left for them after all ! 
 
 "And you have corne back, really and truly 
 never to leave me more ? " he said at last. 
 
 " Never never," she whispered through her rain- 
 ing tears. " Oh ! Wilfrid, the scales have fallen from 
 my eyes at last. I know all. I know myself. What 
 was I, that I should abandon you? Who was I, 
 that I should judge you? I, who thought myself 
 the follower of One, who said, 'tTadge notf I, who, 
 when I deemed myself nearest, was farthest from 
 Him cold, hard, unforgiving, wrapped in my armor 
 of spiritual pride, false to His teaching, false to 
 
 you pity me, and forgive me. I cannot forgive 
 
 myself." 
 
 For all answer he stroked her bowed head, not 
 trusting himself to speak. The gesture in itself was 
 full and perfect absolution. 
 
 " You will not leave me, dear one, never again," 
 he repeated with strained insistence, "never again 
 while life lasts. ... It will not be long." 
 
 His words struck a chill to her heart. She drew 
 him nearer to her, nearer. 
 
 All through the next two days she never left 
 his side, ministering to his needs, anticipating his
 
 THE LA8T STAGE. 387 
 
 every wish, bartering even her wedding ring to get 
 him food, fighting hand to hand against the fell dis- 
 ease which was stalking him down, sending up ever 
 from her heart voiceless prayers to the Great White 
 Throne that this cup might pass away. With his 
 consent she wrote to Lord Baltinglass, bidding him come 
 quickly in the dread presence of the King of Terrors 
 all lesser evils seemed to vanish, all past bitterness to 
 melt away. 
 
 But alas ! Lord Baltinglass was in Algiers with Miss 
 Tyrconnel, still hugging his wounded self-love and his 
 resentment against his son. When the letter reached 
 him it was too late 
 
 It was towards the evening of the third day. 
 They had been talking of the old happy time at Cam- 
 bridge and their brief love-dream until Wilfrid's cough 
 came on again and she would let him talk no more. 
 He was resting now, the cold gray day was slowly 
 dying. Gwendolen had drawn a chair near the window, 
 the better to see in the fading light. She was reading 
 aloud in that soft, low voice of hers, the wondrous 
 twenty-sixth chapter of Isaiah : 
 
 " I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy 
 name ; thou art mine. 
 
 " When thou passest through the waters, I will be 
 with thee; and through the rivers they shall not over- 
 flow thee / when thou walJcest " 
 
 There was a movement from the still figure on the 
 bed. Suddenly he sprang up with a loud cry : 
 
 " Gwendolen Gwendolen ! " 
 
 She ran to him and threw her arms around him, as 
 though she fain would keep him with her through the 
 very strength of her love. 
 
 " Wilfrid, dear one," she wailed. "What is it? 
 speak to me. Look at me, only one word. Oh! 
 Wilfrid Wilfrid." 
 
 But no answer came. The lips quivered mutely but 
 could not speak ; a wan smile of peaceful trusting broke 
 over the poor thin face ; with a tired sigh his head fell 
 upon her breast. 
 
 The troubled soul of Wilfrid Tyrconnel had passed 
 through the dark waters and had at last found peace.
 
 388 THE GREEN BAY TREE. 
 
 L'ENVOI. 
 
 A CHEERLESS day followed a gusty night. There had 
 been a downpour all the morning of driving rain and 
 sleet, but in the afternoon the clouds lifted some- 
 what and the rain ceased, though no gleam of sun- 
 shine pierced the all-pervading grayness. A cutting 
 east wind swept down the Bayswater Road, driving 
 Gwendolen before it, making her draw her shabby 
 cloak more closely around her as she went along. Her 
 slight figure was bowed with grief, her face was white 
 as the pale snowdrops she carried in her hand a few 
 she had purchased with her spare coppers at a dingy 
 shop in the Westbourne Grove, her votive offering to 
 the dead. 
 
 What was she doing in the public streets, this 
 widow of a _ day ? Surely at such a time the 
 mourner would tarry, sorrow-stricken in her chamber, 
 striving to hide her grief from every eye. Alas ! 
 dire poverty does not give much time for the luxury 
 of woe ; it has scant ceremony for mourners' tears. 
 The last sad offices had to be performed and, when 
 one cannot pay other people to do them, one must 
 needs see to them oneself. So Gwendolen had torn 
 herself away from the death chamber, and trudged 
 all the way from Soho to her Bayswater lodging. 
 She had a few trinkets there, all her most cher- 
 ished possessions. She was going to pawn them now, 
 so that she might satisfy the lodging-house woman's 
 claims and give her loved one a decent burial. He 
 should not rest in that dreary city of the dead, a 
 London cemetery, surrounded by streets and squares 
 and alleys of gravestones. No, she would take 
 him down to Cambridge, to the little country 
 churchyard of Grantchester, the church where they 
 had been married, the place where her dear 
 father lay. There in some quiet corner she would
 
 L'ENVOL 389 
 
 lay him to rest, to sleep until the Resurrection day. 
 He would have wished it thus, rather than in the 
 great, dreary vault at Blarney, with all the pomp 
 of paid woe. And she would lay him to his rest alone. 
 There should be no false friends, friends who had 
 shunned him in his misfortunes, to come and shed 
 their crocodile tears around his grave. They would 
 come fast enough now, for they would know that he 
 wanted nothing of them any more. The dead do not 
 borrow, the dead do not need. 
 
 So thought Gwendolen as she hurried along, 
 grudging every moment which kept her from the bed- 
 side of her dead. " God grant it may not be long 
 before I rejoin him," she prayed. The blankness of 
 desolation lay upon her. 
 
 She had reached Hyde Park Terrace, and was cross- 
 ing the road just by the Marble Arch, when a warning 
 shout from a policeman made her pause mid- way. A 
 carriage dashed past, a neatly appointed Victoria with 
 a smart coachman on the box. It came so near that it 
 splashed her with mud almost from head to foot. 
 Gwendolen looked up indignantly. 
 
 There were two people inside, clad in warm furs, 
 wrapped round with a luxurious bear-skin rug. They 
 were so engrossed with one another that they did not 
 see her. The man was talking with animation, the 
 woman was looking up into his face with a happy smile 
 playing around her lips. They were Walpole Coryton 
 and his wife. 
 
 It was only an instant, and then the carriage swept 
 through the gates into the park, leaving Gwendolen 
 standing there alone. 
 
 A great flood of bitterness poured over her soul. 
 Some chord in her memory vibrated. Back on her ears 
 there rang in mocking irony the words of the 
 Psalmist : 
 
 " I have been young, and now am old : yet have I not 
 seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread" 
 
 Then she wiped the mud from her face and went on 
 again. 
 
 THE END.
 
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