. OF CALIF. I,TB*/n?Y. IAS ANGELES
 
 M. E. W. SHEKWOOD
 
 A TRANSPLANTED 
 ROSE 
 
 By M. E. W. Sherwood 
 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 
 1900
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1882, by 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 All rifhtt ratrted.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 "Mr dear," said Mrs. Trevylyan to Mrs. Mortimer, one 
 fine morning in November, " who do you think arrived 
 last night ?" 
 
 "I don't know; the Empress Eugenie, perhaps." 
 
 " No ; worse than that. My niece from the West not 
 from any of the polished centres, like St. Louis, or Chicago, 
 or Milwaukee, but from six hundred miles from anywhere ; 
 and ray brother, her father, wishes me to introduce her into 
 society." 
 
 " Is she pretty ?" asked Mrs. Mortimer. 
 
 " Well, rather ; she has bright eyes and good teeth ; but 
 she is absolutely a savage. She has no ideas of style, or 
 etiquette, or of manners, but she is ambitious of social suc- 
 cess, and there is something so very masterful about her 
 that I believe she will succeed. Now I am out of the 
 world, you know ill-health, and mourning, and all that ; 
 I can only give her a background and good maxims. Will 
 you see to the practical workings? Now do oblige me, 
 Sophia." 
 
 " You are asking a great deal, Laura," said Mrs. Morti- 
 mer, tapping a very pretty foot with her parasol. 
 
 " I know I am, Sophia ; but you declared last winter 
 
 2132720
 
 2 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 that you wanted an emotion ; that society bored you ; that 
 you wished you had something to make it worth your 
 while to go to the Patriarchs, and the F. C. D. C. ; and that 
 you were relapsing into the after-dinner somnolency of old 
 age. Now I offer you a piquant sensation. You can be- 
 come the modern Pygmalion, and evoke a woman from 
 this statue, and oblige me." Mrs. Trevylyan looked anx- 
 ious. Mrs. Mortimer is a worldling, a fashionable woman, 
 and a snob, afraid of the powers who rule fashion ; but she 
 has one tender, womanly, vulnerable spot. She does love 
 her old friend Laura Trevylyan, and she is, as are many 
 women of her creed, externally good-natured. 
 
 " Well, Laura, I'll undertake it for your sake, reserving 
 to myself the privilege of dropping the cake at any moment, 
 if I find it too hot. You know I have never yet endorsed 
 a failure, and if your niece is a hopeless case, why, I must 
 retire after giving her a chance. You know what New 
 York society is, demanding beauty or great wealth, an ad- 
 mirable social position, or some powerful pusher from be- 
 hind, to make a girl a success. You know Fashion does 
 not pretend to a heart, therefore we must have no hope of 
 any help from its kindness. We must storm it as one does 
 a fort." 
 
 " I know it all, and therefore I retired from it ; but my 
 niece has all the courage of inexperience, and desires it." 
 
 " Neither pretty nor rich, and probably obstinate ?" said 
 Mrs. Mortimer, musingly. 
 
 " I think you may credit her with a little beauty and 
 some money," said Mrs. Trevylyan, smiling, " but do not 
 parade her as an heiress. If we can get over her own con- 
 ceit that she knows what is proper in dress and manners, 
 we may do something with her."
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 3 
 
 At this moment a rather light footstep was heard on the 
 stair, and the ladies stopped talking. 
 
 " Here she comes," whispered Mrs. Trevylyan. " My 
 niece, Miss Rose Chadwick, Mrs. Mortimer." 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer saw a very self-possessed young girl of 
 eighteen, with beautiful dark hair, a fine brunette com- 
 plexion, and a slender figure, tall and not ungraceful. 
 
 " How do you do, marm ?" said Miss Chadwick, extend- 
 ing a hand to Mrs. Mortimer. " I expect you are my aunt's 
 friend, ain't you ?" 
 
 " Yes, for many years," said Mrs. Mortimer, trembling all 
 over as she heard a nasal pronunciation, and the belligerent 
 attack upon the letter r which garnished Miss Chadwick's 
 discourse. 
 
 " I hope yon are not fatigued with your long journey ?" 
 said Mrs. Mortimer. 
 
 " Well, yes, 'm, I am some fatigued. Nobody could 
 travel six days and nights steady without being some tired. 
 I had Emerson to read, though, and that was a comfort. 
 I'm awful bookish, and father says, ' Give Rose a book, and 
 that's the last of her.' But I want to see something of 
 the world, so I came on to Aunt Laura's to go into New 
 York society. I should like to be fashionable, and dance, 
 and sing, and improve myself. I have not had any chances 
 at Chadwick's Falls, but father says if I am a good girl I 
 shall go to Europe next year." (She pronounced it year-r-r.) 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer had taken a photograph of the speaker as 
 she talked, and found a charming expression in the frank 
 eyes, and a pretty smile playing round the fresh red lips. 
 Miss Chadwick's voice was agreeable too, although unculti- 
 vated. Her hands, those outposts of female beauty, were 
 small and well formed, though brown as a berry, and Mra.
 
 4 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 Mortimer discerned a pair of pretty feet and trig ankles 
 under the short travelling dress. 
 
 " It is a dreadful risk, but I declare I will try it," said 
 Mrs. Mortimer to herself. 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyan started at this moment to go across the 
 room for her work. She was lame, and moved with diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 Rose Chadwick jumped up a foot from her seat and 
 threw her arms around her aunt, nearly frightening her to 
 death. 
 
 " Sit down, Aunt Laura, and let me get the work ; you 
 shall not stir while I'm here ;" and she kissed her aunt, and 
 danced across the room like a gazelle. 
 
 " A wild vine, but luxuriant ; it will bear grapes yet," 
 thought Mrs. Mortimer. 
 
 "As soon as you have had time to get some dresses 
 made, I shall be happy to see you at my Thursday even- 
 ings," said Mrs. Mortimer, admiring the girl's figure. 
 
 "Oh, I have got dresses enough," said the young girl, 
 " and made of the best of stuff. I've got a brocade, and a 
 velvet, and a satin, all made up at Chadwick's Falls, and 
 lots of real lace that poor ma had, and I expect I sha'n't 
 want anything more here. I'll come. Let's see to-mor- 
 row's Thursday, ain't it?" 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer's heart sank, and Mrs. Trevylyan turned 
 pale. Here was a dilemma. It was impossible to tell this 
 frank daughter of nature that those dresses which she loved 
 must be burned, or otherwise gotten rid of. To insinuate 
 that brocade and old lace were not proper for a young girl, 
 but that white muslin, gauze, tulle, and the least possible 
 bit of satin and velvet to garnish the dress were alone proper 
 for a debutante who should tell Rose Chadwick this?
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 5 
 
 " Oh, I shall so like to come to your Thursdays," said 
 Rose, skipping over and kissing Mrs. Mortimer. 
 
 A breath of wild roses, something that reminded the 
 worn woman of the world of her vanished spring, came 
 over Mrs. Mortimer, as the girl's young lips touched her 
 powdery cheek. 
 
 " You shall come to-morrow evening, then. Wear your 
 plainest, simplest dress, my dear," said Mrs. Mortimer, look- 
 ing despairingly at Mrs. Trevylyan, " for my Thursdays are 
 very informal. Good-by good-by, Laura ;" and Mrs. Mor- 
 timer made a precipitate retreat, not daring even to look at 
 Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 This latter lady had a long talk with her niece after Mrs. 
 Mortimer left her, and found her apparently intelligent and 
 bright, sweet-tempered and overwhelmingly obliging, but 
 of a very determined spirit. 
 
 " I do not wish you to walk out alone in New York un- 
 til you know the streets, dear," said she to her niece. 
 
 " Oh, aunt, I have a map of New York, and I know just 
 how to reach the Park, and I ain't afraid. Why, I shot a 
 grizzly out at Chadwick's, and I must walk seven miles a 
 day, and unless I have some pleasant young man to walk 
 with, I'd rather walk alone any time." 
 
 "Oh, Rose, I couldn't let you walk with a young man 
 alone. That would not be proper." 
 
 " Oh yes, it would. I have several gentlemen friends. 
 There's Jack Townley. He was out shooting buffaloes last 
 year at our place, and he's real nice. He said if 1 came to 
 New York, he would walk with me every day. Father let 
 me go hunting with him." 
 
 " Yes, my dear, but it would not be thought proper in 
 New York"
 
 6 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " Oh, I don't care, so I know that I am doing right, what 
 people think." 
 
 " Then, Rose, I am afraid you will never succeed in New 
 York." 
 
 " Then I can go back to Chadwick's. I'm only going to 
 try New York to see if it pleases me. I don't care whether 
 I please it or not." 
 
 " Rose, when you went hunting ' grizzlies,' as you call 
 them, you had a particular kind of rifle, and a sort of dog 
 not afraid of bears, did you not ?" 
 
 "Oh yes," said Rose; "you have to be very particular 
 when you go after a grizzly." 
 
 " Well, Rose, when you are to bring down society, you 
 have to be careful of your ammunition. Your dress and 
 manners are the powder and shot. You want to succeed 
 in society you want to bring down your bear don't you ?" 
 
 Rose looked sideways at her aunt a moment, then gave 
 a little laugh. 
 
 "You are pretty smart, ain't you, aunt?" said the girl. 
 " You mean that I've got to tame down some ?" 
 
 " I mean that you had better take a little advice from an 
 experienced hunter, Rose, before you go out for a new kind 
 of game." 
 
 Rose looked down at her brown hands and at her swift 
 feet that had never known any restraint before. 
 
 " I am afraid I cannot be very tame," said she, " but I 
 will try to do what you tell me to." 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyan, like a sagacious woman, determined to 
 let Rose alone, and left her wise words to take root in her 
 mind. She amused her by driving about the city until 
 dinner, and after that meal allowed her to go alone to her 
 room to dress for Mrs. Mortimer's evening reception.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 7 
 
 "Now if you need help, Rose, let Martha, my maid, 
 come in, won't you ?" said her aunt. 
 
 " What, that stiff old thing ! No. I couldn't have her 
 round," said Rose. " All my dresses button up in front, 
 and I can do my own hair, I hope. I wish you would come 
 in and see how I look. I guess I'll wear my brocade." 
 
 " Oh no ; something simpler," suggested Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 " Well, there's my green silk," said Rose. 
 
 When Mrs. Trevylyan went in at nine o'clock to see to 
 her niece's toilet she found her standing before the glass, 
 with The Enameller's Assistant open before her, painting 
 her cheeks in great daubs of red, and putting powder and 
 chalk on in heavy patches. 
 
 " Oh, Rose ! Rose ! Rose ! what are you doing ? Spoiling 
 your fine clear skin by putting on all those cosmetics? 
 Rub them off at once. I shall be peremptory here ; I will 
 not allow you to make a wild Indian of yourself." 
 
 "But I have read that New York ladies always paint 
 when they go to parties," said Rose, dropping her brushes 
 in dismay. 
 
 " The decent ones do not," said Mrs. Trevylyan. " Wash 
 your face instantly, and never put any false colors upon it. 
 In the first place, it is a vulgar thing to do, even if you 
 needed it ; and, secondly, you do not need it." 
 
 Rose looked longingly at the carefully prepared rouge 
 saucer which she had supposed was the veriest grammar of 
 a fashionable toilet. 
 
 Her own color came out so vividly, however, after the 
 cold water douche, and the bit of anger and mortification, 
 that she could not but be pleased. 
 
 " There is a damask rose," said Mrs. Trevylyan, tapping 
 the cheek ; and carefully taking all the paints and powders,
 
 8 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 she threw them into the wood fire which blazed upon the 
 hearth. 
 
 " Now which dress ?" 
 
 Lying on the bed was a blazing brocade, which would 
 have done for Lady Teazle, but which was terribly inap- 
 propriate to a young girl, and a bright green silk, which 
 was trimmed with vivid red roses. 
 
 " Haven't you a plain black silk ?" asked Mrs. Trevylyan, 
 in despair. " This is a small party, and these dresses look 
 like private theatricals." 
 
 "Yes," said Rose, disappointed; "but that makes me 
 look so old." 
 
 " Well, try it, and come down to me. I am sure you 
 will be very pretty in it." 
 
 When Rose came down, she had been crying, and it was 
 evident that she was not quite ready for the black silk. 
 She was in the blazing brocade, and looked like Millais's 
 Vanessa. Its bright colors threw out her brunette com- 
 plexion magnificently, and her aunt exclaimed, imprudently : 
 
 "Well, you are a handsome creature, and don't cry, 
 dear. We will get you some simpler dresses later. Let 
 me see your feet. White satin slippers ! Oh, darling Rose, 
 do put on a pair of Well, no matter; black satin boots 
 can be bought to-morrow." 
 
 The brocade was miserably cut, and made in a fashion 
 which had prevailed several seasons ago. It did its best to 
 conceal and disfigure the pretty, slender, agile figure of the 
 Western girl. It was loaded down with real lace fit for a 
 duchess, and across the bosom blazed an imitation jewel of 
 green and red glass. 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyan removed this ornament, and put a rose in 
 its place.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 9 
 
 \ 
 
 " You must wear your own flower, dear," said she. 
 
 Martha stepped in with a warm fur cloak for the young 
 lady, and in her own bonnet and shawl, ready to accom- 
 pany her. 
 
 "Why, you ain't going to the party, are you?" said 
 Rose, looking at Martha. 
 
 "She goes to take care of you, my dear to wait on 
 you, and to come home with you. She will sit in the 
 dressing-room, and await your pleasure," said Mrs. Tre- 
 vvlyan. 
 
 " Well, I should think that would be cold comfort," said 
 the shooter of grizzlies. 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyan was spared the last blow. Just before 
 stepping into Mrs. Mortimer's beautiful parlor, filled with 
 the very creme de la creme of New York society, Rose drew 
 on a pair of one-button green gloves which had been worn 
 before. 
 
 II. 
 
 ROSE CHADWICK was not sorry that she bad taken Mar- 
 tha with her to Mrs. Mortimer's, as the door opened, and a 
 flood of light fell upon her like the waves which tumble 
 over Niagara, The atmosphere of the most pronounced 
 luxury enveloped her for the first time. Servants in livery 
 lined the great hall, and flowers in almost overwhelming 
 profusion hung from every coign of vantage. Music, low 
 and delicious, seemed to come from behind a group of 
 tropical plants which stood partly under the stairway. 
 Seven or eight splendid rooms opened out of the great 
 hall, and gentlemen and ladies, who looked to Rose as if
 
 10 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 they were figures in a dream, were walking up and down. 
 It overcame the Western girl, and she felt a little dizzy as 
 she essayed the grand staircase. 
 
 Martha, an accomplished lady's-maid, who had taken 
 many young ladies through a first party, was watching her 
 narrowly ; she took off her fur cloak immediately, saying, 
 softly, " I'm afraid the rooms is too hot for you, miss," 
 and, putting a kindly arm around her, led her up the stairs. 
 
 It was what Rose Chadwick had been sighing for in her 
 Western wilds, but, when it came, it was so much more 
 than she had expected that it made her almost faint. 
 
 She was in a new atmosphere, and something like the 
 overwhelming feeling of being at sea caused her to lose for 
 a moment the cool little head which was her birthright. 
 
 When she reached the dressing-room, which seemed 
 miles away, Martha placed her in a dressing-room chair, 
 whipped out a smelling-bottle from one of her capacious 
 pockets, and gave Rose an unexpected whiff. Martha was 
 an old soldier, and never travelled without her ammunition. 
 Rose, when she began to see clearly, was conscious of a 
 group of exquisite white, diaphanously clad girls, who stood 
 chatting by the open wood fire. The tallest of these, a 
 slender creature with beautiful golden hair, struck Rose as 
 being the most perfect thing she had ever seen, and her 
 woman's instinct teaching her to observe dress and its de- 
 tails, she was again surprised by the absence of any orna- 
 ment, and yet elegant appearance of the young girl. 
 
 As she looked at this group, she glanced down at the 
 brocade (made at Chadwick's Falls), and her heart sank 
 within her. She seemed to be all of a piece with the gor- 
 geous Japanese spread which lay over the great bed near 
 her. For a moment she wished herself under the bed,
 
 A TRANSPLANTED HOSE. 11 
 
 dead, back at Chadwick's Falls, anywhere. She saw that 
 she was badly dressed. 
 
 By this time the gay group had observed her, and she 
 noticed, although the faithful Martha tried to interpose her 
 portly person between them and the young girl, that they 
 were laughing at her; she even heard a very obtrusive, 
 rather stout, short, dark girl loudly whisper : " Fanny, I 
 say, what a guy ! How did she get here ?" 
 
 " For shame, Sidonie," said the tall girl. " Whoever 
 Mrs. Mortimer invites is sure to be nice ; and look ! she is 
 ill, I fear." 
 
 The girl called Fanny, the tall one in white, who seemed 
 a leader as indeed she was moved away from her 
 friends, and approaching Rose, said, kindly, " I am afraid 
 you are faint; you look pale. Here, Fifine, open one of 
 these windows; the house is too warm. Can I do any- 
 thing for you ?" And she extended a small hand, gloved 
 in a tawny Swedish covering, whose loose folds stretched 
 up her arm. 
 
 Never to her dying day will Rose forget that face, that 
 smile, and that voice. It seemed as if an angel bent over 
 her. She put out one of her green hands affectionately 
 and spasmodically, but became suddenly conscious of that 
 dreadful glove, and drew it back hastily. 
 
 She heard again Sidonie's scornful laugh. This gave 
 her courage ; this touched the right nerve. The shooter 
 of the grizzly did not lack an independent soul; all the 
 absurd little mortifications of dress fell from her as un- 
 worthy thoughts leave the spirit when it is aroused. She 
 started to her feet with an impulsiveness which had grace 
 and gratitude in it. She said : " Thank you. I was very 
 faint, I believe, for the first time in my life. I think it
 
 12 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 was the perfume of some flower, but this fresh air has re- 
 vived me. You are very good." 
 
 Although these words fell freighted with the peculiar 
 pronunciation which made Rose's best friends tremble, they 
 had the true ring in them, and Fanny felt drawn towards 
 her at once. It was an aristocratic sense, too, that of 
 smell, and all the girls thought better of Rose for being 
 made faint by a flower. 
 
 They little knew how sensitive those fine nostrils were 
 as sensitive as those of a deer which had only breathed 
 the pure air of the mountain or the prairie. 
 
 " Somebody, evidently," whispered Sidonie ; " some 
 Western Governor's daughter, I suppose; but what a 
 guy!" 
 
 " Shall we go down ?" said Fanny. "I see you are a 
 stranger here. Perhaps you will join our group " 
 
 Rose eagerly accepted this kind offer, and Mrs. Mortimer 
 was relieved and pleased to see the young Western girl 
 entering her beautiful reception - room with Fanny Grey, 
 the most admired belle of the winter, although Fanny's 
 quiet elegance made the toilet of poor Rose look even 
 more alarmingly dreadful than it had looked before. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer had that invariable accompaniment of 
 thorough breeding, the air always of a hospitable hostess. 
 She was not one of those half-bred and vulgar women, of 
 whom New York can occasionally show a specimen, who 
 make their own houses the fortress from which they sally 
 forth to wound and to disable. Some women really invite 
 people to their houses to make themselves of consequence, 
 and to try thus to humiliate their guests. But Mrs. Mor- 
 timer was too well-born and well-bred for that. Noblesse 
 oblige was her private motto, and although she was capable
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 13 
 
 of very much worldliness, and although if Rose proved not 
 to be a social success she would have dropped her later with 
 no particular compunction, she was altogether too much 
 mistress of the art of politeness to show coldness now. 
 
 She was shocked at her appearance, she abhorred the 
 brocade, she dreaded ridicule, and thought Mrs. Trevyl- 
 yan ought to have suppressed the green gloves there is 
 no doubt of that. 
 
 However, her very handsome face beamed with smiles as 
 Rose approached her, and extending both her hands, she 
 said, audibly, " Ah, rny dear little Western friend, Miss 
 Chadwick, how glad I am that you were sufficiently rested 
 to come, after your long, long journey ! So you have met 
 Miss Grey ?" 
 
 " No," said Fanny, stopping a moment ; " pray present 
 me : it is only an acquaintance of the dressing-room." 
 
 Mrs. -Mortimer introduced all the group to Rose even 
 the scornful, dark Sidonie, who could not have brought her 
 nose down, because Nature had turned it up, and who 
 looked at Rose with a mutilated bow. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer's speech had been intended for the by- 
 standers, all of whom were looking at Rose with that queer, 
 half-impertinent, and half-curious look with which a group 
 of fashionable New-Yorkers who know each other are apt 
 to greet a new-comer. 
 
 Fanny Grey was soon borne up to the dancing-room by 
 a small but ferocious admirer, who looked perfectly invin- 
 cible from behind a red mustache, the group of girls faded 
 away as if by magic, and new girls took their places. 
 Guests came pouring in, and Mrs. Mortimer was soon en- 
 grossed in the duty of receiving. 
 
 For half an hour Rose felt as she had never felt before 
 2
 
 14 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 that she was out of place. It seemed as if every new 
 arrival was but another stab, as women, old and young, 
 entered and looked with a half-smile at her, and whispering 
 to one another walked on. Young men stared at her, 
 nudged one another, and leisurely turned an eyeglass upon 
 her. Nothing could have supported her had not once 
 Fanny Grey passed her, on the arm of a black admirer, 
 who had succeeded to the red one, as rouge et noir, noir et 
 rouge, turns up on the green table ; as she did so, she gave 
 Rose a little smile and bow. 
 
 " She is the only good one here," thought poor Rose. 
 " I'll go back to Chadwick's Falls to-morrow." 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer had not forgotten her, however. She 
 was only waiting for Arthur Amberley, a well-bred bache- 
 lor of forty, who was so sure of his position that he could 
 talk to anybody, however badly dressed, and who was so 
 devoted a friend of Mrs. Mortimer's that he always obeyed 
 her. 
 
 As soon as he arrived, Mrs. Mortimer whispered to him, 
 " Do let me introduce you to Mrs. Trevylyan's niece, a 
 Western heiress, perfectly crude, you know ; but you must 
 take her through the rooms, and see, for me, if we can pol- 
 ish her into shape." 
 
 " What ! the brunette with the fine eyes, standing alone 
 in the corner?" asked Arthur Amberley, without seeming 
 to look. 
 
 " Yes, in the dreadful yellow gown and green gloves. I 
 want that creature Jack Long to be impressed with the 
 fact that she is somebody, and I want the poor thing to 
 have a little talk with you." 
 
 "I am your slave," said Arthur Amberley, smiling; 
 "but on what subject shall we converse?"
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 15 
 
 " Oh, she has shot a grizzly bear, I believe. You are 
 one of the hunting and buffalo kind, are you not ? Haven't 
 you been out on the prairies, cattle-stealing or something ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Mortimer," said Arthur Amberley, gravely, " you 
 see before you a man who owns ten thousand cattle and 
 a Western ranch. I am astonished at your ignorance of 
 the favorite pursuit of one of your oldest friends." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! I know that you love the shady side 
 of Pall Mall, and the Union Club window, better than any 
 other sport ; but come." 
 
 Rose saw Mrs. Mortimer coming towards her with a thin, 
 dry, rather plain man, but whose air and manner of perfect 
 simplicity rather reminded her in its way of Fanny Grey. 
 
 " Miss Chadwick, allow me to introduce to you Mr. Am- 
 berley, a mighty hunter, I assure you. You and he may 
 find something in common." 
 
 " I find nothing common about Miss Chadwick," said 
 Arthur Amberley, shaking hands with her kindly, and pay- 
 ing her a little compliment with his eyes. " Let me lead 
 you to a seat, or shall we take a walk ?" offering his arm. 
 
 " I should like to go look at the dancing," said Rose, 
 reassured by his manner. 
 
 " So should I," said Arthur Amberley. " How exactly 
 you interpreted my emotions, Miss Chadwick! But you 
 must not expect me to dance, for I am old and stiff. How- 
 ever, if you get tired of me, I will introduce some of Eiy 
 grandnephews to you, who will be but too happy to whirl 
 you in the waltz. This is a pretty house, isn't it ?" 
 
 " I think it the most splendid mansion that I ever saw. 
 It must be handsomer than the White House, or the 
 Queen's palace," said Rose, rolling her r's fearfully. 
 
 Arthur Amberley winced, but was too well-bred to show it
 
 16 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " The White House is very ugly," said he ; " the 
 Queen's palaces, particularly Buckingham, are also very 
 ugly. Our best American houses are more cheerful, and 
 altogether better to live in. This house is more like some 
 of the modern English houses in London, and very like a 
 French house. The Parisian salons are very beautiful." 
 
 " I expect you have travelled a great deal," said Rose, 
 looking at him admiringly. 
 
 " Wandered the best part of an ill-spent life, Miss Chad 
 wick. But here are the dancers." 
 
 Rose saw before her a beautiful large room, in white 
 and gold, and heard the strains of Lander's Band playing 
 " La Siren," and her little feet went tapping on the floor. 
 
 "Can you dance?" said Arthur Amberley. 
 
 " Oh yes. I learned of a Frenchman at San Francisco, 
 where pa and I spent a winter," said Rose. 
 
 " Then you shall, a little later," said Mr. Amberley, who 
 was touched and pleased by her simplicity and her rising 
 color and her youth. " Really a handsome savage a real 
 Pocahontas," said Amberley to himself. 
 
 He talked to her so kindly, told her who people were, 
 explained so many matters that seemed strange to her, that 
 Rose began to like him very much, and not to regret the 
 lost dance. But Amberley was planning his future course, 
 and led her off to the supper-room. 
 
 " What will you have ?" he asked. 
 
 " A dish of the ice-cream," said Rose, with her harshest 
 emphasis on the r. 
 
 " Oh that she could only say, ' I'll take an ice' !" thought 
 Amberley. 
 
 However, he got her the ice, and afterwards talked to 
 little Dicky Smallwood, who was horribly impecunious, and
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 17 
 
 who also danced divinely two things very apt to go to- 
 gether. 
 
 "Dicky, do you want to know a Western heiress, and to 
 dance with her? She dances beautifully." 
 
 "What, that horridly dressed girl? No, I couldn't be 
 seen with her on the floor. I am sorry to disoblige you, 
 Amberley, but I have my position to look to, and I am en- 
 gaged to Sidonie Devine really I am." 
 
 "Very well, I'll give her to Jack Long, then," said 
 Amberley. " Long, come and be introduced to Mrs. Tre- 
 vylyau's niece, a great Western heiress, and a very pretty 
 girl." 
 
 " Certainly, in a minute, Amberley," said Jack Long, 
 who had reasons of his own for courting and obliging the 
 all-powerful club-man Amberley. 
 
 Dicky Smallwood saw that he had made a mistake. He 
 was jnst mounting the ladder of fashion ; his hold on the 
 rungs was very slippery ; he had no background ; the sneer 
 of one leader of fashion would throw him back into the 
 darkest obscurity ; but if Jack Long could dance with the 
 girl, certainly he could ; so he retired and looked at his 
 card. Sidonie Devine's dance was several waltzes off, and 
 she always snubbed him so that he dreaded the annual sac- 
 rifice which he made to fashion in compelling himself, for 
 the honor of being seen with her, to endure for a half-hour 
 the most contemptuous treatment. He looked at Rose, 
 who was bowing to and smiling at Jack Long, and saw 
 that she was very, very pretty. 
 
 " I think, Amberley," said the poor little snob, slowly 
 approaching the table, where two or three gentlemen were 
 discussing Mrs. Mortimer's delicious terrapin and old Ma- 
 deira " I think I have a dance left. Would you recon*
 
 18 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 sider, and introduce me to Miss Chadwick I believe you 
 called her?" 
 
 " Not now, Dicky. She is off with Jack Long. She is 
 a great catch, you know, and he will not be apt to resign 
 her. Perhaps later on you mighj; get a dance." 
 
 So while Rose went off to dance, Dicky spread the re- 
 port that she was a well-born heiress, and the niece of Mrs. 
 Trevylyan. Arthur Arnberley laughed in his sleeve as the lit- 
 tle man rushed in after the waltz to get her name on his card. 
 
 For one thing was a success, and that was the dancing 
 of Miss Chadwick. The Frenchman had done his duty, 
 and the graceful, youthful figure, disguised in the yellow 
 brocade, and lighted up by the green gloves, went round in 
 Jack Long's firm embrace with the most perfect and quiet 
 elegance. She was a natural dancer; she delighted her 
 partners, as one after the other solicited the honor. 
 
 Arthur Amberley sauntered back to his hostess to get his 
 reward of a chat with her, for he privately adored Mrs. 
 Mortimer. 
 
 " Your debutante will do," said he, " for she can dance 
 well." 
 
 III. 
 
 THE next morning, as Mrs. Trevylyan was taking her 
 late breakfast in her sunny little sitting-room, which was 
 fitted up for her invalid needs, she sent Martha for Miss 
 Chadwick, anticipating an account of the party at Mrs. 
 Mortimer's with some curiosity. 
 
 "She sleeps late, poor girl," said Mrs. Trevylyan, think- 
 ing over the mortifications she had probably endured.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 19 
 
 Martha came down in a few moments, pale and trem- 
 bling. 
 
 " She's gone, ma'am !" said the careful and prudent 
 Martha. 
 
 "Gone! Where?" 
 
 A conversation with Rourke, the waiter, revealed the 
 dreadful fact that the front-door had been found unbarred 
 when he descended to open it, and, as Miss Chadwick's 
 street dress and bonnet were gone, it was but too probable 
 that she had departed for the seven-mile tramp of which 
 she had spoken. 
 
 " She's a wild one, mum," said Martha. " I'm thinking 
 you'll have trouble, mum." 
 
 " Lost in New York by this time !" said Mrs. Trevylyan, 
 wringing her pale hands. " Tell me all about last evening, 
 Martha. And here send a note to Mrs. Mortimer." 
 
 She wrote a few hurried words to Mrs. Mortimer, and 
 while debating as to whether she should send for the po- 
 lice and put them on the track of Rose, she listened to 
 Martha's story of the evening before. 
 
 " She cried in the carriage as we was a-coming home, 
 mum, and I guess she saw she didn't look just like Miss 
 Fanny Grey and them other young ladies, mum," wound 
 up Martha. 
 
 " Oh, I wish she was back at Chadwick's Falls !" sighed 
 Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer came in an hour, and recommended peace 
 and patience. 
 
 "She was dreadful, Laura, absolutely dreadful, in that 
 brocade and those green gloves ; you ought to have -sup- 
 pressed those, Laura. But she has produced an impression. 
 Do you know she dances beautifully? And Jack Long
 
 20 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 and Dicky Smallwood are telling everybody about her ; but 
 you should have heard Sidonie Devine go on about her 
 clothes and her pronunciation ! I believe she drew a cari- 
 cature of her on her dancing card. Fanny Grey, that dear 
 thing, was very good to her ; but then, you know, she is 
 good to everybody, and we must not count on many such 
 girls as Fanny Grey. Sidonie Devine will persecute her 
 nearly to death. However, Amberley says she has sense 
 and charm, if we can only get at them. She must be put 
 with a class of girls at Professor Paton's immediately to 
 correct her speech." 
 
 " But where is she now ? I ain afraid oh ! I don't 
 know where to look for her she has wandered off !" 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer laughed. " Why did not your brother 
 send you a ' grizzly ' at once ?" 
 
 " Oh, Sophia ! I don't think I can stand it ! I shall 
 send her back to-morrow." 
 
 " She will come back all right, do not fear, Laura ; that 
 girl could take care of herself in Paris. I was struck with 
 a certain native dignity and poise about her as she stood 
 in my parlor and was snubbed last evening ; her lip curled 
 and her eye flashed, and I saw that there was character and 
 courage and force in her. One thing is certain, the girl 
 has got to see for herself that she is in the wrong, and then 
 we can perhaps teach her something." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Trevylyan ordered her coupe, and started for 
 the Park as one would look for a needle in a haymow. 
 
 But in all the groups there was no Rose, and after a drive 
 of two hours Mrs. Trevylyan returned in despair. 
 
 Rourke was not allowed to open the door for his mis- 
 tress, but Rose threw it open, and ran down the steps to 
 help her aunt herself.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 21 
 
 " Oh, I am so sorry !" said she. " But you see I felt very 
 low down in ray mind, and I got up early to take a long 
 walk, and thought I would go and see the Brooklyn Bridge. 
 We have heard of that out at Chadwick's Falls, and I've 
 been over it. First they said I couldn't, but I told them I 
 would, so they laughed and let me, and then I walked round 
 Brooklyn (oh, a real nice place ! all trees and flowers and 
 gardens I like it better than New York), and then I came 
 home, and I'm sorry you were uneasy." 
 
 "But were you not frightened, and did you not lose 
 your way ?" 
 
 " Oh, not a bit of it. Father always has told me to re- 
 member that I had an English tongue in my head, and that 
 I could ask my way of a policeman when I was in San Fran- 
 cisco or St. Louis. Out on the prairie you have to find your 
 way without a policeman. Then I had some money in my 
 pocket, and, if I had lost my way, I could have hired a car- 
 riage to bring me home." 
 
 " But, Rose, there are other considerations. You know 
 what I told you about going out alone. You are too young, 
 and too pretty." 
 
 " Nobody seemed to think so, Aunt Laura. Nobody 
 looked at me, and nobody spoke to me. I reckon I ain't 
 so handsome as you think." And Rose continued : "You 
 see you're so good yourself that you think everybody else 
 is just like you ;" and the irrepressible Rose threw her 
 arms about her aunt's neck. 
 
 What to do with such a creature ? how to put suspicion 
 into this pure mind ? how to make her self-conscious, pru- 
 dent, and conventional ? it almost dazed Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 " Well, Rose," said her aunt, " I throw myself on your 
 generosity. You see I am an invalid, consequently ner-
 
 22 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 TOUS; you see I am easily frightened. Promise me here- 
 after that you will not go out without speaking to me first. 
 Won't you promise me that, dear ?" 
 
 " Well, aunt, I'll try ; but I can't promise, for I never 
 asked anybody's permission to go out in my life. I might 
 break my word, you know, and forget sometimes ; and that 
 is worse than going out alone, isn't it ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but remember, 7 expect it of you. Now tell me 
 about last evening. Did you enjoy it?" 
 
 " Well, yes ; it's the most elegant place I ever saw in all 
 my life real handsome and Mrs. Mortimer is a splendid 
 lady. I had an extra fine dance too. There's a Mr. Long, 
 who is coming to see me to-day." 
 
 " Oh, you asked him to call, did you ?" 
 
 " No ; he asked me if he might come ; he said his moth- 
 er knew you." 
 
 " That was all right, Rose." 
 
 " And I asked him if he knew Jack Townley, and he 
 said he did ; and I asked him to ask Jack Townley to come 
 and see me, and I wrote him a letter myself this morning, 
 telling him to come and see me." 
 
 " That was very wrong, Rose. You should have asked 
 me to write that letter and send the invitation to Mr. 
 Townley." 
 
 " Well, I don't know why, for I know him, and you don't, 
 Aunt Laura." 
 
 " Because, as I told you, young ladies do not ask young 
 gentlemen to come and see them; their mothers or their 
 chaperons do it for them." 
 
 "Well, I never had a mother since I can remember," 
 said poor Rose. 
 
 "I will make it 'all right; I will ask your friends to
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 23 
 
 come and dine with you here a little later," said Mrs. 
 Trevylyan. " Now tell me about the young ladies you 
 met last evening." 
 
 " There was one girl who was real good to me ; the 
 others seemed to be proud," said Rose. 
 
 " You mean that they were not polite ?" 
 
 "I suppose I do. Proud and haughty, and not at all 
 sociable," said Rose, who would have been tortured like an 
 Indian at the stake before she would have confessed that 
 she felt herself badly dressed, and that she had been mor- 
 tified before these ill-mannered people. " I liked a girl 
 named Grey," she continued. 
 
 " Yes, one of the most admired girls in New York," 
 said Mrs. Trevylyan " very good manners. But let me 
 correct your phraseology, dear Rose. ' Proud ' does not 
 mean ' ill-mannered.' Proud people behave well. Pride 
 is a noble quality." 
 
 "Yes, but there are several kinds of pride," said Rose, 
 her cheeks flushing as she remembered Sidonie Devine's 
 sneer. " There was a nice old gentleman named Mr. Ain- 
 berley ; he wasn't a bit proud." 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyan laughed. " Arthur Amberley is not old, 
 Rose, and he is the proudest man in New York. He has 
 reason to be. He is of an honorable old family ; he is a 
 gentleman of the best breeding ; his position is of the high- 
 est. You were fortunate, in your first evening out, to meet 
 him, Rose, for you will not meet a better-bred man." 
 
 "He made me feel very comfortable, and he gave me 
 some supper, and he told me who people were, and he in- 
 troduced some paitners to me," added Rose, gratefully 
 this last good deed had filled her cup, evidently " but I 
 do think he is old."
 
 24 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " Well, do not say so, then," said Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 " He said he would introduce his grandsons or his grand- 
 nephews to me." 
 
 " That was his badinage. Arthur Amberley is just the 
 age for a successful and a courted man of society," said 
 Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 Rose looked as if this subject was getting tedious. 
 
 " By-the-way, Rose, I want to give you a pretty white 
 dress and some gloves and boots. Suppose we go out 
 after a while and order them ?" 
 
 So, without opening the mounds of Chadwick's Falls 
 millinery again, the question of toilet began to be satis- 
 factorily answered ; and when Martha went up to attend 
 to Miss Chadwick's wants for the evening, she found that 
 the brocade and the green gloves had been folded away in 
 the depths of a trunk. 
 
 Fanny Grey called in a few days, and asked Rose to join 
 a sewing class, to luncheon, and to come to the Roller- 
 skating Rink. 
 
 There are in society, as in the greater, wider world of 
 tragedy, and poetry, and human experience, two forces al- 
 ways at work the dark and the light, the good and the 
 bad Michael, the archangel, and Lucifer, prince of the 
 powers of darkness. It is perhaps somewhat absurd to 
 compare the petty jealousies of the salon with these mighty 
 powers, whom the poets Goethe and Milton describe as 
 dividing the world between them. But they fight out the 
 same great battle in every parlor, in every ballroom. Our 
 little girl, Rose Chad wick, is fated to be torn by these con- 
 tending forces. Good and evil, malice and kindness, will 
 pull her this way and that. The drama of to-day is ex- 
 actly like that of a thousand years ago, and if the agents
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 25 
 
 seem less dignified than Goethe's Mephistopheles or Mil- 
 ton's angels, their power over the happiness and the misery 
 of a human being is the same. 
 
 Sidonie Devine also called, and so did Jack Long and 
 Dicky Smallwood. Rose was not at her ease with any of 
 these people. She had as yet no experiences in common 
 with them ; a chat in the drawing-room revealed to her 
 more than ever how far away she was from their world, 
 how much they must look down upon her. She began 
 even to listen to her own voice, and to find it flat and dis- 
 cordant. She longed for the arrival of Jack Townley he 
 who had been so agreeable out on the plains, he who had 
 lived so long at her father's generous table, he who had 
 been 'so pleasant, and who had promised her that he would 
 come and see her when she came to New York, and would 
 take her for drives and for horseback. Where was he? 
 There was one subject on which she could talk with these 
 new friends of hers, and that was a horse. Rose knew all 
 about that noble animal, and was a fearless cross-country 
 rider. She was overjoyed when Jack Long suggested that 
 she should join the Galaxy Hunt, and she sighed to think 
 that her own beautiful blooded horse, Fountain, was at 
 Chadwick's Falls. She knew that there was nothing like 
 him in all New York. 
 
 Her idea of a riding-dress was, however, to put a long 
 skirt over her usual dress, to tie an old hat over her ears 
 with a handkerchief ; and in that guise she came down to 
 take her first ride with the fastidious Jack Long. 
 
 He declared himself suddenly taken ill, and had to give 
 up the ride that day. It was a bitter disappointment to 
 Rose. Jack Long wrote a note to Mrs. Mortimer that eveu- 
 insf.
 
 26 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 In a week Rose found herself, she scarcely knew how, 
 in a London cloth habit, with very short skirt ; a little pair 
 of boots showed beneath the skirt ; and, if truth must be 
 told, a very well fitting pair of cloth pantaloons and a 
 man's shirt were under the habit ; a low-crowned Derby, 
 fitting her small head to perfection, crowned this garb, 
 and Jack Long, with his groom, and a horse for Rose, were 
 waiting outside. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ROSE made a success at the Galaxy Hunt, and cleared 
 fences to admiration. The discovery of her passion for 
 riding, and her grace in the field, gave her ten or twelve 
 counts more in her favor. Her figure in that well-fitting 
 habit was discovered to be very neat, and her complexion 
 was brilliant when other people became blowzy. 
 
 Sidonie Devine was furious. This thing could not go 
 on forever; there must be a block interposed. Jack Long 
 was evidently becoming somewhat interested in this Poca- 
 hontas, and there were still three weeks left of the hunting 
 season. 
 
 Fanny Grey's lunch afforded Sidonie an opportunity. 
 Rose had the drawback common even to courageous natures 
 she always appeared at her worst when she was conscious 
 of being watched. At her aunt's quiet table, served as it 
 was by the accomplished Rourke, who would have been 
 burned at the stake before he would have noticed that any 
 guest of his mistress committed a solecism, she had passed 
 muster well enough as to her table manners, particularly 
 as Mrs. Trevylyan was extremely short-sighted, and was so
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 27 
 
 little on the lookout for faults of which she had no con- 
 ception herself that Rose did not draw attention to her 
 sins of omission and commission. 
 
 Finding at Fanny Grey's luncheon eleven girls besides 
 herself, Sidonie being one of them, a certain unpleasant 
 feeling in the air struck her as she entered. Not all 
 Fanny's cordiality could remove it from her. They were 
 evidently talking of her, she thought, as she entered. The 
 first thing which struck her as she sat down at table was 
 the beauty and profusion of the flowers, and the luxury of 
 everything. She supposed that she was going round to eat 
 a chop or a beefsteak with her friend, and she found her- 
 self at a superb banquet. In front of her was what she 
 supposed to be a plate of oysters, but on tasting one 
 which she put into her mouth with her knife (a silver 
 knife, and the only implement she discovered near her, not 
 noticing a small silver fork which was partly hidden under 
 her plate) this proved to be not an oyster, but a clam, 
 which was decidedly disagreeable to her, and she returned 
 it to her plate. She then had what she supposed was a 
 cup of tea before her, and, tasting it rather hastily, it 
 proved to be a cup of hot bouillon, the shock of which 
 caused her to choke, and she grew red and mortified over 
 that. 
 
 Sidonie was watching her like a lynx, and at every faux 
 pas of poor Rose the sneer grew more apparent. She was 
 nudging her next neighbor, a little pink-eyed girl, who was 
 in fits of laughter over some transparently foolish story, 
 but who really was responding to Sidonie's scarcely con- 
 cealed ridicule of Rose. 
 
 Fanny Grey was busy at her end of the table with some 
 strangers, and did not notice the discomfiture of poor Rose
 
 28 A TRANSPLANTED ROSB. 
 
 until the second or third course. When she looked at her 
 she saw that she was about to burst into tears. 
 
 " Miss Chadwick, you are eating nothing," said she, 
 kindly ; " let me recommend this filet," and she sent the 
 waiter to her. 
 
 Presently poor Rose, as if inspired by the genius of 
 blundering, and not knowing that one does not ask the 
 hostess for anything, called out, " Miss Grey, I will thank 
 you for some of the gravy." 
 
 Poor Fanny ! with all her good-breeding, she was almost 
 unnerved by this sudden attack; and as for gravy, it was 
 not near her, nor did she know if there was such a thing 
 with the filet. She had still composure enough to sum- 
 mon the tittering waiter, and to tell him to hand the dish 
 again to Miss Chadwick, when poor Rose, seeing Sidonic 
 stuff her handkerchief into her mouth, scraped up a few 
 undesirable peas, and took a very small spoonful of gravy. 
 She, however, ate it with the sublime composure of a mar- 
 tyr, and tried to talk to her next neighbor a very quiet 
 little girl, who seemed to be of no particular party, either 
 for her or against her. When the salads came, Rose had 
 sunk into obscurity ; the talk was loud and fast over some 
 coming private theatricals, and even Sidonie had ceased to 
 observe her, when she made another faux pas. 
 
 On tasting her salad, it seemed very flat and oily, and 
 she thought how good it would be if she only had some 
 vinegar. So she called out to a passing waiter, in a clear, 
 high note, " I'll thank you for some vinegar." 
 
 If she had asked for blood, the man could not have 
 looked more astonished. He retreated to the closet, and a 
 pause fell upon the conversation; there was much hurry- 
 ing and scurrying backward and forward, and at last the
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 29 
 
 servant approached her, and whispered, " I am sorry, miss, 
 but the cook has used up all the vinegar." 
 
 By this time her cup was full, and she ate and drank 
 blindly, without taste or sense. When her finger-bowl 
 was put before her, she observed some geranium leaves 
 and violets floating in the water, and, instead of rubbing 
 them through her fingers to give them a fragrance, she 
 took them out and made a small bouquet to put in her 
 dress, not noticing the beautiful bunch of flowers which 
 was awaiting her acceptance for that purpose. She dis- 
 covered her mistake just too late, and then concluded that, 
 whatever her impulses had been, they had all been wrong. 
 Conventional table manners were still a long way off. 
 
 Sidonie had noted every one of her mistakes, and made 
 a story out of them, which is still a part of her stock in 
 trade. 
 
 She had blushed until her face was hot and feverish. 
 She had suffered that keen sense of shame which had be- 
 gun at Mrs. Mortimer's when she first saw herself in the 
 cheval-glass from head to foot, contrasted with other girls 
 of her age, and which had once or twice since overcome 
 her. 
 
 The thought of Chadwick's Falls, of her dear, indulgent 
 father ; of Fountain, brave and fleet ; of that life of open 
 air and freedom came to her as she rose from the table, 
 and she threw out her hand as if to catch the bridle-rein 
 of her favorite horse to gallop away into boundless space. 
 As she did so she knocked over a beautiful ruby glass de- 
 canter, breaking a hole in its side, from which the red 
 claret flowed over the white damask. 
 
 That was the last straw, and she sank into her chair in 
 a flood of tears, saying, " Oh, I am so sorry !" 
 
 3
 
 30 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 Fanny Grey was by her side at once, having driven all 
 her other guests into the parlor, excepting the quiet girl 
 who had sat next to Rose. 
 
 " Indeed, Miss Chadwick, it is of not the slightest con- 
 sequence. Only think, I upset my claret at the beginning 
 of a dinner the other evening, and had to look at the 
 blood-red stain throughout the whole dinner. Now you 
 have only done the same thing at the end." 
 
 " Oh, it isn't that alone !" sighed poor Rose. " But I'll 
 pay for it. I'll buy you another one ; I'll get you another 
 decanter." 
 
 " Oh, never mind," said Fanny Grey, who could hardly 
 i-epress a smile. 
 
 "Leave her with me," said the quiet girl to Fanny, as 
 Rose burst into a fresh flood of tears. 
 
 It seemed to Rose as if that desired privilege of weeping 
 bitterly, with this quiet girl looking at her, carried off half 
 her mortification. 
 
 " You think too much of your mistakes," said the girl, 
 after a few minutes. 
 
 " Oh, I have been so awkward !" said poor Rose. 
 
 " No matter ; there are worse things," said the girl. 
 
 " I can pay for the glass," said Rose. 
 
 "No; you must not offer to do that," said her friend. 
 " That is not permitted in society." 
 
 " Another mistake ?" 
 
 " Yes ; this is the worst one," said the quiet girl. " You 
 can send Fanny a basket of flowers, or a fan, or something, 
 but never offer to pay for what you break." 
 
 " I once read a novel, Who Breaks, Pays," said poor Rose. 
 
 "That is true morally, but not in the matter of a glass 
 knocked over at a dinner."
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 31 
 
 " What is your name ?" said Rose, looking her neighbor 
 fall in the face. 
 
 " Harriet Araberley," said the girl. 
 
 "I wonder if you know Mr. Arthur Amberley?" said 
 Rose, brightening all over. 
 
 " My brother." 
 
 " You are kind, just like him," said Rose. 
 
 " I don't know ; I hope I have decent manners," said 
 Harriet Amberley, looking at the vacant seat of Sidonie. 
 " I saw that those girls were trying to ridicule you, and 
 that it confused you. My brother spoke to me of you. 
 He met you at Mrs. Mortimer's, and he admired you ; he 
 said you were fresh, like the prairies ;" and a charming 
 smile illuminated Harriet Amberley's plain face. 
 
 " He was very good to me," said Rose. 
 
 " I think he had his reward," said Harriet, pleasantly. 
 "Now shall we go up to Fanny's dressing - room ? The 
 servants are waiting to clear the table." 
 
 "How shall I learn all the etiquette of the table?" 
 asked Rose of Harriet, after she had washed her eyes and 
 smoothed her hair. 
 
 " By observation, and ask me any questions ; I shall be 
 glad to tell you. In the first place, never put your knife 
 in your mouth. Secondly, find out what you have before 
 you, and do not be in a hurry ; take your spoon, and quietly 
 test the heat of your bouillon. Then, with your fork in 
 your right hand, try whatever you have on your plate. 
 Never ask your hostess for anything ; ask the waiter." 
 
 " Why was there such a fuss about the vinegar ?" 
 
 " Because it is a condiment little used, and the salads 
 are supposed to be dressed. It was the waiter's fault, 
 however, that there was none in the caster."
 
 32 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " Why did they laugh when I fished out the flowers 
 from that bowl?" 
 
 "Because that was put before you to wash your fingers 
 in, and the flowers were simply to perfume the water." 
 
 " I thank you very much," said Rose. " I don't think 
 I should mind asking you questions." 
 
 " And I shall like to answer them," said Harriet. 
 
 They went down stairs, to find the party augmented by 
 the presence of Mr. Amberley, Mr. Long, Mr. Smallwood, 
 and several other gentlemen. Private theatricals were on 
 the tapis, and Fanny Grey had given her luncheon as a 
 preparatory step to the choosing of characters and the gen- 
 eral beginning of the rehearsals. 
 
 Mr. Amberley was unanimously chosen stage-manager, 
 and the usual contest began as to what plays would be at 
 once easy, becoming, interesting, and remunerative to the 
 charity to which they were to be devoted. 
 
 " You might as well boil it all down, and say, ' What 
 will be possible? ' " said Arthur Amberley. " Private theat- 
 ricals are always poor ; amateurs play very badly, and you 
 must get a play which will play itself. Depend upon your 
 costumes, and the gay and often changing incidents of the 
 play ; but do not depend upon your own powers as actors." 
 
 " Well, really, Mr. Amberley, you are very encouraging," 
 said Sidonie. 
 
 " I am not ambitious of my office, Miss Devine. You 
 may have it," said Amberley. 
 
 " No, thanks. I intend to have all the fun, and none of 
 the trouble," said Sidonie. 
 
 " Cast Miss Devine for a saucy chamber-maid," said Ar- 
 thur Amberley, making a note on the margin of a play- 
 book.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 33 
 
 There was much gay talk, which amused Rose beyond 
 measure. Fanny Grey and Jack Long were to be the hero 
 and heroine, and Dick Smallwood and Miss Devine were to 
 be a pair of ill-matched young married people; Harriet 
 Amberley was to be a maiden aunt, and Mr. Amberley pre- 
 sented her, Rose, with the character of a governess. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know how to play," said Rose. 
 
 " But neither do any of these people, Miss Chadwick," 
 said Arthur Amberley. " You are in the fashionable ma- 
 jority. I have got six weeks of unhappiness before me, 
 and I shall hire a professional to coach you all. You may 
 be an undeveloped Siddons who knows? Take the part, 
 I entreat you." 
 
 There was something inexpressibly kind and agreeable 
 behind his voice as he said these words. His dry wit and 
 sarcastic manner hid a good heart. Of this Rose was cer- 
 tain. 
 
 " Take the part," whispered Harriet 
 
 V. 
 
 THIS business of the private theatricals made it easy for 
 Mrs. Trevylyan to propose to Rose the propriety of study- 
 ing elocution. She could see no other way in which to 
 attack those vices of pronunciation which were so in the 
 way of any success, either social or intellectual. For al- 
 though no city and no state is without its local rusticity in 
 the way of accent although Boston people have their 
 twang, and although New-Yorkers say " byerd " for bird, 
 and "pote" for poet, and "Fifthavnu" for Fifth Avenue,
 
 34 A TRANSPLANTED ROBE. 
 
 and the Philadelphians talk about "cyanes" and "cyars," 
 and call their respected progenitors " payh " and " mayh," 
 yet there is a worse fault than all these, and that is the 
 adding of an "r" to every word ending in "a," and also 
 giving "r" an unnecessary agency in "scorn," such as say- 
 ing " scourne." All this, which we indefinitely and per- 
 haps improperly call Western pronunciation, Rose had to 
 a terrible degree. She also used the word " real" quite too 
 often, as "real pleasant," "real nice," "real elegant," all 
 of which made Mrs. Trevylyan feel as if rusty scissors 
 were being pushed into her ears. The lesser elegancies of 
 course escaped her. These could only come with time and 
 practice. 
 
 So Mrs. Trevylyan sent for Professor Paton, an English- 
 man, whose neat and finished speech made her perfectly 
 happy, and begged of him to obliterate the ruggedness of 
 this provincial speech. 
 
 " I call it continental speech," said the professor. " It 
 is all over your great country, madam." 
 
 " How do you hope to change it ?" said Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 " By the reading of the best authors in class after me, 
 by the study of music, and particularly by the study of the 
 Italian language, that liberates the throat." 
 
 " Oh dear ! poor Rose ! She cannot do all that this win- 
 ter," said Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 "If she is quick, she will soon begin to talk like me," 
 said the professor, laughing. " I catch the girls imitating 
 me very often." 
 
 " I could wish for nothing better," said Mrs. Trevylyan ; 
 but she felt very hopeless. 
 
 She had underestimated the vigor of her niece. Rose 
 was soon at work at Italian and music, and never missed a
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 35 
 
 I 
 
 day at Professor Paton's class, nor her beloved horseback 
 rides, nor her attendance at Fanny Grey's sewing-circle, nor 
 her ready and affectionate devotion to her aunt. She was 
 full of the ichor of youth, and New York was exactly the 
 full cup of which she loved to drink. She found that 
 blissful excitement which makes work easy in a highly 
 charged atmosphere, where every one is at work and in mo- 
 tion, as in the great city, whose pulses beat quickly and 
 deeply. She had not yet learned, poor girl, how tremen- 
 dous a strain it was to be upon her nerves, or how she 
 might yet pay for this overwork in after-days in head- 
 ache, in sleepless nights, and in weary years of nervous 
 prostration. All was bright before her, excepting one lin- 
 gering regret, almost a pain. 
 
 Where was Jack Townley? her only friend in New 
 York, of whom she had thought as she had looked forward 
 to her first winter. Where was the man with the delicate 
 face, the strong arm, the unerring aim, the splendid seat 
 across country ? Where was her hero ? He had been kind 
 to her on the prairie; he had looked love, if he had not 
 spoken it ; he had called her a " prairie flower," and other 
 nice names. He had told her many a time and oft that 
 when she came to New York he should be the first one to 
 greet her. She knew that he was in town, for she heard 
 his name every day,, But he had not answered her note, 
 and he had not called. Amid all her work, amid all her 
 new emotions and excitements, this thought would come 
 back, and it poisoned her pleasures. 
 
 She was glad that he had not seen her at Mrs. Mortimer's, 
 for she was now conscious that she looked badly then. 
 She was glad he had not seen her mistakes at the lunch 
 that dreadful lunch where those girls had grinned like
 
 36 A THAHSFir.AKTKD ROSE. 
 
 fiends. But she looked better now. She had wondered 
 why he was not at the hunt, why she had not met him on 
 the Avenue, or at Mrs. Mortimer's subsequent evenings. 
 Why? 
 
 Her first ball, however, was approaching, for Mrs. Mor- 
 timer, who never put her hand to the plough but she ad- 
 vanced it through the furrow, had seen to it that Rose was 
 aste-d to the Patriarchs, and to the F. C. D. C., and to all 
 the best of the private balls. She was also down for one 
 of Arthur Amberley's little dinners, and Mrs. Mortimer was 
 to chaperon her. When she was dressed for her first ball 
 in one of Connelly's best and simplest ingenu dresses, with 
 her rounded arms covered with long tan -colored gloves 
 nearly to the shoulder, with her superb hair braided in a 
 knot at the back of her head, she looked like anything but 
 the girl from Chadvvick's Falls. She was conscious her- 
 self that a graceful beauty stood before the cheval-glass, 
 and four bouquets claimed her attention. 
 
 Alas ! not one had the card she wanted to see ; not one 
 said " Mr. John Townley." But when Mrs. Trevylyan put 
 a pretty fan at her side, with her initials painted on it un- 
 der the guise of a daisy chain, added a delicate handker- 
 chief to put in her almost inaccessible pocket, and, kissing 
 her cheek, said, "You are very becomingly dressed, dear 
 Rose," the pleasant feelings overcame the disagreeable ones. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer called in her carriage at eleven o'clock to 
 take Rose to her first ball at Delmonico's. 
 
 By this time Rose had become a sensation. Her min- 
 gled beauty and mistakes, her failures and her successes, 
 Sidonie's attacks and Fanny Grey's partisanship, besides the 
 quiet endorsement of Mr. and Miss Amberley, and the care- 
 fully prepared report partly Arthur Amberley's mischief
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 37 
 
 that she was a great heiress, had given the name of Rose 
 Chadwick a certain prominence at the clubs and in social 
 circles. The wildest rumors were afloat. Some people 
 said that she owned a silver mine, and that, next to the 
 Baroness Burdett-Coutts, she was the richest woman in the 
 world. Others said that she had saved the lives of three 
 hunters who were attacked by grizzly bears. Others said 
 that she was an utter nobody, whom Mr. Chadwick had 
 picked up in the streets of San Francisco ; that he had no 
 money, but was an adventurer, a gambler, and a sot ; that 
 Mrs. Trevylyan was a wonderfully credulous woman to take 
 her at all, etc., etc. (Of the prospective fortune there were 
 grave doubts ; and, as the reader has a right to look be- 
 hind the scenes, it must be acknowledged that Mr. Chad- 
 wick's fortune was, like many another American fortune, 
 very apt to swing like a pendulum from bad to good, and 
 from good to very bad.) 
 
 But here was a very pretty girl, now well dressed, an ex- 
 cellent dancer, and under the most fashionable chaperon- 
 age, on the threshold of her first ball ; and, as Lander's de- 
 licious strains filled the room, two or three partners dashed 
 forward to claim her hand. 
 
 Whatever might be the future of Rose, that first hour 
 was full of delirious delight, and she was not aware until 
 she had completed her third dance that Jack Townley was 
 in the ballroom. 
 
 Everything faded before her eyes, and home came back. 
 Those long and delightful rides across the prairie; her fa- 
 ther, and Fountain, and her dear dogs ; and Jack, whom 
 they had taken care of when he was ill Jack, who had been 
 so kind and so familiar a presence ! 
 
 She darted from her seat, and almost ran to where Jack
 
 38 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 i 
 
 Townley ?tood with a group of young men, and, holding 
 out her hand, said : 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Townley, have you forgotten me t How glad 
 I am to see you !" 
 
 Jack Townley turned pale. He saw in a moment how 
 this story would be told, and how he should be laughed at 
 at the Union Club ; but he responded, of course, politely, 
 and, offering his arm, started for a promenade round the 
 room. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer was talking with the lady next to her 
 when Rose made this sudden departure, and did not notice 
 the frightful faux pas until it was almost too late to rem- 
 edy it. 
 
 But she was a great society general. She therefore 
 quickly did the best she could. Reading the scorn and 
 laughter in her neighbor's eyes, she immediately left her 
 seat, and walking towards Rose and Mr. Townley, she said, 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Townley, I am so glad Rose caught you ! I 
 wanted to insure your presence at the dinner I am to give 
 her on Wednesday week and you are always in such 
 request. Now you will be sure and come? It was so 
 thoughtful of Rose " with this she gave poor Rose a 
 pinch which meant " Keep your mouth shut," and went on, 
 " After you and Rose have finished your walk, bring her 
 to me, for she cannot half keep her engagements." 
 
 And thus talking, and walking half round the room with 
 the pair, Mrs. Mortimer covered Rose's mistake with the 
 large mantle of her own imperial social position, and re- 
 tired to her seat, with her heart beating, and with the de- 
 termination to give Rose a good scolding for her impulsive 
 action.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 39 
 
 Jack Townley belonged to the large class of deliberate 
 snobs who are only to be reached by the sense of what is 
 useful to themselves. He had liked Rose very well on the 
 prairie, but he did not particularly care to meet her at Del- 
 monico's. He was engaged, too, in a very engrossing flir- 
 tation with Mrs. Morella, a married belle, whose smiles were 
 only given to the favorites of fashion. He was, however, 
 a gentleman, and a man with many attractive qualities. 
 His fine, delicate face, and tall, slender figure, his quiet, ele- 
 gant manners, all covered physical courage and manly qual- 
 ities which had made him respected on the prairies. Rose 
 was to be forgiven if he had touched her young heart. 
 There were few women who did not find him fascinating, 
 the more so that his own want of heart left him always in 
 possession of his intellect. 
 
 He saw through the ruse of Mrs. Mortimer, and thanked 
 and respected her for her brave rescue of her young charge, 
 and for the possibility which she gave to him of refuting 
 the sarcastic statements which Dicky Smallwood might 
 make at the club of the impulsive rush of the young 
 lady. 
 
 There was therefore nothing before Jack Townley but to 
 walk and dance with Rose, although he did not answer her 
 beseeching eyes as she pointed out two or three vacant 
 places on her card. Pleading his own engagements, he 
 left her with Mrs. Mortimer, and returned to the quiet 
 corner where Mrs. Morella sat already with a black cloud 
 on her brow, for his interrupted allegiance had infuriated 
 her a nd noticed poor Rose no more. Rose passed the 
 rest of the evening in a dream. Dicky Smallwood took her 
 out, and told her all about Jack Townley's flirtation with 
 Mrs. Morella a story which shocked her,
 
 40 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " But isn't she married ?" said Rose, catching at a straw. 
 
 " Oh yes ; that's her husband flirting with Sidonie. He's 
 as great a flirt as she is, but Jack Townley is unusually de- 
 voted to Mrs. Morella ; some people think he is really in 
 love with her." Then Dicky swung her off in a galop. 
 
 When Arthur Amberley came to talk with Rose, he 
 found her so distraite that he could hardly get an answer 
 to his questions about the play, the hunt, the coming din- 
 ner, or her feeling about her first ball. He watched her 
 dark eyes, and saw that they were glued to the spot where 
 Jack Townley leaned over Mrs. Morella's ear, and he read the 
 story in a moment. " So here is some of Jack the Lady- 
 Killer's work, is it ?" thought he. " Poor little girl ! Well, 
 let us try the effect of an antidote." 
 
 " So you dance the German with Jack Long, do you ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " Yes," said Rose, gravely and absently. It seemed so 
 utterly unimportant with whom she danced now. 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you a secret. Jack Long saved a life to- 
 day, and has done a fine heroic act, and I think he did it 
 for you. Now show your woman's tact, and find out what 
 it was." 
 
 VL 
 
 ARTHUR AMBERLEY had read the secret of Rose in her 
 eyes, and the adroit plan of throwing in a new emotion 
 that of curiosity was an admirable one. 
 
 Jack Long had saved a life for her. 
 
 Whose life ? what life ? 
 
 He teased her too apparent desire to find out his secret
 
 A TRANSPLANTED KOSE. 41 
 
 after the most approved fashion, and her cheeks grew red 
 and her eyes brilliant as she questioned him. 
 
 While they sat together thus talking, they had the ap- 
 pearance of the very best possible approach to a fashion- 
 able flirtation in the eyes of the gazers. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer was delighted. She welcomed Arthur 
 Amberley with one of those smiles which he so much ap- 
 preciated, and with the remark: "Your tact is perfect. 
 How did you get her eyes off Jack Townley ?" 
 
 Amberley sank into the seat next the most agreeable 
 woman in New York society with an air of virtue rewarded. 
 
 " Why, you see, Mrs. Trevylyan made Jack Long and 
 myself the partners in a little plot. She sent for the horse 
 Fountain to Chadwick's Falls, and we were to receive his 
 equine majesty at the depot. Of course I gave Jack the 
 job, as he is younger and more firm-footed than I am. So 
 our modern Alexander, in the reception of Bucephalus, 
 very unwisely sent his groom up with a saddle, and told 
 him to ride Fountain down to Dickel's. Then just re- 
 membering in time that a strange Western horse would be 
 frightened at the elevated road and at civilization generally, 
 he hurried up himself to the Grand Central, to find Ferris 
 struggling with Fountain, who was mad with terror. In- 
 deed, he was backing into an engine, when Alexander 
 caught him, faced him towards his enemy, and saved his 
 life and legs. Don't you see ?" 
 
 " Rather mixed up, I must admit. Oh, I remember : 
 Alexander turned the horse Bucephalus towards the sun. 
 Well, Jack turned the horse Fountain towards an engine." 
 
 " Yes ; and Fountain a superb, blue - grass Kentucky 
 thorough-bred is now awaiting Miss Rose, and I imagine 
 from her cheek and lip that she is hearing all about him."
 
 42 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 "Very good; but she is dreadfully green. Did you see 
 her rush at Jack Townley?" 
 
 " Impulsive, very, but ' altogether very charming so 
 much youth !" said Amberley, in an absent way. It was 
 an unlucky speech, and Mrs. Mortimer winced. She had 
 every charm but youth. 
 
 " You must be brave, and tell her of her mistakes," said 
 Arthur Amberley, whose delicate perception felt the mis- 
 take he had made, and who repaired it as well as he could. 
 " Who so well as you can give her that necessary savoir- 
 faire without which her own natural advantages are use- 
 less?" 
 
 Jack Townley, in spite of Mrs. Morella, felt agitated, 
 remorseful, and profoundly curious about Rose. He told 
 his rather disgusted listener of Mr. Chadwick's hospitality, 
 of his having met Rose in the West, of their hunting ex- 
 peditions. 
 
 "You men don't like to be confronted with your rus- 
 tic lovers at Delmonico's," said Mrs. Morella, scornfully. 
 " Now do you ?" 
 
 " She was not that, I assure you. I never saw a more 
 dignified girl," said Jack Townley, beginning to be aware 
 that Mrs. Morella had too much perfume on her hand- 
 kerchief. 
 
 "I do not understand the amount of talk which that 
 girl starts up," said Mrs. Morella "a great awkward, un- 
 formed, badly dressed savage, who puts her knife into her 
 mouth, drinks out of her finger-bowl, talks about ' some 
 of the terrapin, if you please,' and who rushes at young 
 men as if she would knock them down." 
 
 " She dances well," said Jack Townley, as Rose floated 
 by them in the masculine girdle of Dicky Smallwood's
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE 43 
 
 arm. Absorbed as he bad apparently been, he had watched 
 out of the corner of his lady-killer eyes the great change 
 which had come over the complexion and the expression of 
 the poor little girl, whose pleasure at seeing him had been 
 so cruelly damped. 
 
 He did not like to see her so easily consoled, very awk- 
 ward as had been her attack on him, dreadfully as T>e 
 dreaded ridicule. Snob that he was, there had been a 
 great genuine heart-throb beneath his well-appointed -^raisi- 
 coat, as he recognized the difference between the genuine- 
 ness of her admiration of him and the utter selfishness of 
 Mrs. Morella's back-handed and meretricious admiration. 
 The wild prairie flower smelled very sweet beside the arti- 
 ficial bouquet which Mrs. Morella offered. To be sure, he 
 lived in a world to which artificiality was necessary, but he 
 was a man, and a young man. 
 
 But Rose did not look at him again, and when he came 
 to ask her hand for the galop, she said, with a perfect 
 truth which no coquette could have feigned, 
 
 " I declare, Mr. Townley, I had forgotten all about you." 
 
 " Mr. Long has made himself very agreeable, I imagine." 
 
 "He has he has indeed," said Rose, thinking only of 
 poor Fountain, her dear Fountain, in New York, frightened, 
 out of place, and an exile like herself. 
 
 Capricious, girlish, changeful, not yet mistress of her 
 emotions, angry in her heart at Townley, Rose happened in 
 her conduct towards him to behave exactly in the manner 
 most certain to rouse the curiosity and the languid worldly 
 heart of the lady-killer. 
 
 He was piqued, and it did him good. Jack Long re- 
 turned to claim his partner. When, after a most blissful 
 dance, Mrs. Mortimer called Rose to tell her that it was
 
 44 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 time to go home, that young lady looked back at the ball- 
 room with a sort of thrill. 
 
 Something told her that she should remember the even- 
 ing as long as she should live. The first ball whoever 
 forgets it? 
 
 Arthur Amberley gave her his arm as she descended 
 cloaked to the carriage. 
 
 " I congratulate you," said he, pressing her arm ever so 
 slightly to his side. " I have seen many debutantes, and I 
 have rarely heard so many compliments for any one of 
 them." 
 
 Rose blushed deeply when Mr. Amberley praised ; old 
 fellow that he was, she felt that his words sank deeply. 
 
 But Mrs. Mortimer gave her a most terrible scolding 
 when she got into the carriage, anent her sudden rush at 
 Jack Townley. It was so improper, so rude, so unladylike ! 
 
 Poor Rose ! 
 
 There was an acrimonious tone in the lady's voice that 
 struck unfavorably on the young ear, and, humbled and 
 grieved as Rose was, she could not but feel that Mrs. Mor- 
 timer had some other grievance besides the dreadful one 
 of her misconduct. Mrs. Mortimer's eludings sounded so 
 differently from the soft and lovely apologetic tones of 
 Mrs. Trevylyan, or the strong, clear, honest voice of Miss 
 Amberley. 
 
 Rose had yet to learn the complexity of character which 
 goes to make up a worldling, even a worldling so thorough- 
 bred and so truly amiable externally as Mrs. Mortimer. 
 
 Rose had not heard that fatal phrase from the lips of 
 Arthur Amberley, "She has so much youth." She was 
 too truly humbled at hearing of her dreadful misdemeanor 
 in the matter of going to speak to a gentleman in a ball-
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 45 
 
 room, instead of quietly waiting and allowing him to speak 
 to her, to be a very severe critic of Mrs. Mortimer's manner. 
 
 She simply sat and wept into one of the many faded 
 bouquets which, when they arrived, had brought only per- 
 fume and joy. 
 
 " I do not know if I shall ever learn. He reminded me 
 of home and of father," said poor Rose. 
 
 " And what do you suppose he thinks of your modesty, 
 Rose ? He should have called on you, and he should have 
 been the first to remember, not you. To be sure, he is a 
 worldling and a snob, and I hate him. He is engaged in 
 a most outrageous flirtation with a married woman, but 
 still he ought to have remembered your hospitality. I can- 
 not forgive him for that bit of ill-breeding." 
 
 " And yet you asked him to dinner," said Rose. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer disliked being accused of want of con- 
 sistency, and she answered, somewhat sharply : " We do 
 not invite men to dinner because of their moral qualities, 
 Rose, but for their agreeability, and for their fashion. 
 Besides, I hastily improvised that dinner invitation to save 
 you. Had I not done that, the whole club would be laugh- 
 ing at you at this moment." 
 
 "I will go back to Chadvvick's Falls to-inorrow," said 
 Rose, now thoroughly insulted. 
 
 " I am sure I wish you would," said Mrs. Mortimer, 
 whose right boot pinched her dreadfully ; her temper 
 pinched also. She was nervous, tired, worn out, and she 
 forgot herself for a moment. The carriage stopped at 
 Mrs. Trevylyan's door, and Rose alighted, sobbing bitterly. 
 
 " I am very much obliged for what you have done for 
 me," said Rose, " but I will not come to your dinner, and 
 I never wish to go to another ball."
 
 46 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 This was said on the steps, and after the footman had 
 rung the bell. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer had a great horror of scenes, and a 
 strong desire that her servants should hear only the most 
 formal side of every subject. She was alarmed at the 
 mountain torrent which her own petulance had unloosed, 
 and she hastily called Rose back to the carriage. 
 
 " You must control yourself, Rose. Do not show every 
 feeling, particularly before servants ; they are such danger- 
 ous spies. I am sorry I spoke as I did. Forgive me, 
 dear. We are both tired and cross. I must say, how- 
 ever, you have looked very pretty, and behaved very well 
 for your first ball. Now go in and go to bed, and I will 
 write you a note to-morrow." 
 
 Rose found the faithful Martha awaiting her with a cup 
 of hot chocolate. Martha had too much tact and ex- 
 perience to notice the hot face and the red eyes, but un- 
 dressed and soothed the debutante silently. 
 
 The sweet sleep that never mocks us by running away 
 while we are young and fresh, but reserves its capricious- 
 ness for those hours when we are old and nervous, blessed 
 the soft lids of Rose as soon as she touched her pillow. 
 It was twelve o'clock the next day when Martha roused 
 her and laid a note on her pillow. 
 
 It was from Mrs. Mortimer. Rose knew her elegant 
 English handwriting, and the stiff, smooth, thick paper, 
 without monogram or cipher, which betokened the perfect 
 taste of the accomplished letter-writer, as well as the 
 sharply marked seal of red wax. 
 
 "Mr DEAR ROSE, In my desire to serve you, and my anxiety 
 lest you had caused evil and envious tongues to speak ill of you, I 
 perhaps used stronger language than I should have done. I feel
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 47" 
 
 that I unintentionally hurt your feelings, and I apologize. I trust 
 that you will forget my hasty expressions, and let nothing come 
 between us in our relations of chaperon and protegee. 
 
 "You must not go to Chadwick's Falls, nor must you shun my 
 dinner. It is given to establish thoroughly your position in New 
 York ; and, as you wish with me to save your dear aunt any pain, 
 suppose we do not let her know of the contretemps which made us 
 almost come to blows in the carriage ? 
 
 " I will call at four to take you to Sidonie Devine's tea. 
 
 "Ever your friend, 
 
 "SOPHIA MORTIMER." 
 
 VII. 
 
 ROSE hastened to dress to go to her aunt's room to 
 thank her for the inestimable gift of Fountain. How had 
 she remembered to be so kind? She asked her all about it. 
 
 "You have a very indulgent father, Hose," said Mrs. 
 Trevylyan. 
 
 " Poor pa," said Rose ; " how lonely he must be with- 
 out me !" 
 
 " He writes me that he is," said Mrs. Trevylyan. " But 
 he is glad that his little girl is happy. Now tell me about 
 the ball. Was it a success ?" 
 
 Rose, with a pardonable reticence, gave her aunt all the 
 good without any of the sorrow of the ball, but came back 
 again to Fountain and papa. 
 
 "Do you remember mamma?" she asked. 
 
 " Ah, indeed I do," said Mrs. Trevylyan. " When my 
 brother Pascal went to Harvard College," she continued, 
 after a moment, " he was considered one of the best schol- 
 ars in his class. We little thought of any career for him
 
 48 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 but that of a clergyman or a lawyer; but he has turned 
 out a Western speculator. Well, everything goes differ- 
 ently from what we thought. Your mother, too, such a 
 student ! Why, when they were to be married, I remember 
 she asked us to give her nothing but books, instead of the 
 point-lace veil that we had intended for her. Her trous- 
 seau was a very simple one, but your father took a large 
 library for her out to his first Western home." 
 
 " I have it yet," s-id Rose. " Pa says I may read every 
 book in it as much as I please." 
 
 Just at this moment a loud ring was heard at the door, 
 and presently Rourke came up with a card. 
 
 " For Miss Chadwick," said he, respectfully. 
 
 " The Honorable Hathorne Mack," said Rose, blushing 
 very deeply. 
 
 " Who is he, pray ?" said Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 " Ob, a friend of papa's a very important man. He is 
 our Congressman ; but I hate him." 
 
 " Why do you hate him, dear ?" 
 
 " Well, he chews tobacco, and he does not dress nicely, 
 and he sort of compliments me." 
 
 " Well, cannot you excuse yourself ?" 
 
 " Oh no ; papa says I must be very polite to him. He 
 is a great man a very great man, I believe," said Rose. 
 
 " What a very strange man my brother Pascal is !" said 
 Mrs. Trevylyan to herself, as she helped Rose to entertain 
 Mr. Hathorne Mack. 
 
 He was a large, coarse, beetle-browed man, with heavy 
 red lips, and teeth which were very much the worse for to- 
 bacco. He wore a black necktie close above his shirt col- 
 lar if, indeed, such an institution existed so that no 
 linen appeared to relieve his swarthy complexion. He
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 49 
 
 talked loud and defiantly, paid Rose some broad and rather 
 distressing compliments, called her father " Pascal," and 
 told Mrs. Trevylyan that she looked pretty well for a lady 
 of her age. 
 
 " I'm going to be in New York some time," said he, en- 
 couragingly. " I'm working up an important business that 
 we're going to get through Congress your father and I 
 and I expect to come and see you quite often. I'll take 
 you and your aunt out to ride after my fast team, and also 
 to the theatre, if you like. Pascal told me to see to his 
 little girl. Ha! ha! guess I didn't need any jogs from 
 him to help my memory, Miss Rose." 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyan saw him depart with pleasure and with 
 apprehension, and determined to write to her brother to 
 ask why he had let loose this dreadful incubus upon them. 
 
 However, he was followed by a caller of a different com- 
 plexion none other than the elegant Jack Townley, who 
 came in with the air of having been there every day for a 
 week. This polished corner-stone of society made no 
 apology for not having called before, and took, as he did 
 everywhere, the position of being calmly right and per- 
 fectly serene. Rose was crushed by this manner, and for- 
 got to ask him why he had not been to see her sooner, and 
 why he had not answered her letter. He told Mrs. Trevyl- 
 yan in an easy, gossiping way of the belle that her niece 
 had been the evening before, and made himself so agree- 
 able that the call seemed a short one, although, when he 
 left, the eyes of Rose sought the clock, and saw that he 
 had been an hour in the room. 
 
 " A very well bred, agreeable young man," said Mrs. 
 Trevylyan after he had left ; " and it is a blessing to see 
 such a man after the Honorable Hathorne Mack."
 
 50 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " Aunt Laura, I think I understand New York less and 
 less the more I see of it," said Rose, musingly. 
 
 " No doubt, my dear," said Mrs. Trevylyan, reading her 
 niece's thoughts, by the clairvoyance of experience and 
 sympathy. "Society is a hard thing for a neophyte to 
 understand. It is a place for smiles and pleasant words, 
 for social greeting, but not for the indulgence or display 
 of deep feeling. It asks no explanations, and makes none. 
 We are all its subjects and slaves, and must submit to its 
 arbitrary laws if we keep in it; and also, if we keep in it, 
 we must swallow a bitter pill now and then. But the true 
 rule is the juste milieu. Not too much demand, not too 
 much contempt, not too much belief, not too much expec- 
 tation: take just what amuses you." 
 
 Rose said not a word, but she put her rounded chin into 
 her hand, and thought deeply. 
 
 The great dinner was the next thing in order. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer had been to see Rose several times, and 
 was most affectionate and considerate. Not a word of 
 what had passed between them in the carriage. " Society 
 makes no explanations, and expects none." 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer's dinners were famous, and as Rose en- 
 tered on Jack Townley's arm, she thought she had never seen 
 so beautiful a picture. It reminded her of an oil-paint- 
 ing which she had been taken to see, of Louis XIV. 
 entertaining Moliere. She admired the coloring, all white 
 and scarlet, fire and snow ; the table-cloth, alternate squares 
 of lace and linen, through which a scarlet glimpse made 
 itself manifest; and a long, silver-edged waiter with mir- 
 ror, on which floated swans, that held up a silver e'pergne, 
 in which were masses of scarlet carnations. These flow- 
 ers were the only ones on the table, and filled the room
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 51 
 
 with their spicy fragrance. There was much gold plate on 
 the table, and dark red flagons stood in gold standards 
 everywhere white, red, and gold. The crystal of the 
 glasses, the shaded red candles, the mirrors, the swans, the 
 flowers, all seemed to increase the tropical warmth of that 
 vision of luxury. 
 
 There was nothing to be seen of any food excepting a 
 few bonbons in the beautiful high glass dishes, which were 
 held aloft by figures of nymphs carved in silver ; but, after 
 the company had been seated, plates of raw oysters, soup, 
 fish, entrees, pieces de resistance, salads, dessert, ices, fruits, 
 seemed to follow each other with the most perfect rhythm, 
 as if they danced in to the music which was playing outside. 
 
 It was somewhere in the fifth or sixth course that her 
 left-hand neighbor, a young man whom she had met but 
 once before, said to Rose, drawlingly, 
 
 " These grand dinners are very tiresome : don't you 
 think so, Miss Chad wick?" 
 
 " Tiresome ! No," said Rose. 
 
 " Oh, I go to so many, and nothing new at any one of 
 them ! Just the same story all the time !" returned her 
 neighbor. 
 
 " I never went to one before," said Rose, simply, " and I 
 think it is the prettiest sight I ever saw." 
 
 " Oh, delightful freshness !" said Mr. Walters. " What 
 would I not give to be as fresh as you are !" 
 
 " Why do you go to them, if you do not like them ?" 
 asked Rose, opening her eyes wide at him. 
 
 " Oh, the claims of society ! One cannot refuse without 
 giving offence, you know. I am a well-known diner-out, 
 and I must go or die I must die in the harness, and keep 
 going, you know."
 
 5S X TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 Rose looked at his exceedingly commonplace face and 
 healthy color, and she had noticed his good appetite be- 
 fore, so she could not see any immediate signs of his dying 
 in harness. 
 
 Jack Townley had heard this talk, and was exceedingly 
 amused. As soon as Mr. Walters was engrossed with his 
 other neighbor, Mr. Townley told Rose that this effete 
 child of luxury was the son of a shoemaker, who had by 
 dint of his inherited money from the man of lasts, and by 
 indomitable effort, gained a foothold in society ; that this 
 was the second winter that he had ever been seen in New 
 York society, and his first dinner at Mrs. Mortimer's. 
 
 "Then I should think he would not be so tired," said 
 Rose. 
 
 " Tired ! he is in the seventh heaven ; he never was so 
 proud and happy as to-day." 
 
 " How queer society is !" said Rose. 
 
 "And now tell me about my friend Mr. Chad wick," said 
 false Jack Townley, swinging round to the past as easily as 
 if he had never veered. " I declare, when I remember all 
 his hospitality, I am ashamed that all I could do for him 
 here would be to put him down at the Union Club. That 
 is the trouble as between town and country you cannot 
 return the kindnesses here which you receive there." And 
 Jack Townley sighed deeply. 
 
 Rose looked at him for a moment, and began to feel 
 that she had wronged him. 
 
 " Papa has sent me Fountain," said she. 
 
 " Has he ?" said Townley, looking up with his most 
 beaming smile. " That superb creature ! I wonder if he 
 will be safe for you to ride in New York ? he may be 
 frightened here."
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 53 
 
 Rose had taken up her dinner card, and was looking at 
 it attentively ; Jack Townley's eyes were renewing that 
 inner agitation which she had determined to put down. 
 
 Suddenly she saw, on the side of the card which she 
 had not turned, a picture of a noble black horse, and un- 
 derneath it a quotation : " Thou Fountain of all joys." 
 
 " That is exactly like Mrs. Mortimer," said Jack Town- 
 ley. " She has made an appropriate dinner card for 
 everybody. I dare say she sent an artist to the stable to 
 sketch your horse." 
 
 " It was very kind of her," said Rose, looking gratefully 
 towards Mrs. Mortimer, who sat, superbly dressed and glit- 
 tering with diamonds, at the head of the table. Just at 
 this moment the servant advanced to take the bouquets 
 out of the epergne to carry them about to the fair recip- 
 ients. He seemed to find it difficult to reach the flowers, 
 and Rose, with a spirit of helpfulness, and also perhaps be- 
 cause Jack Townley's eyes had fastened themselves upon 
 her face, with a trembling hand essayed to help him. 
 
 She pulled the flowers out of the little socket where 
 they stood, and in so doing she miscalculated the distance 
 and resistance, and over went the whole elaborate structure 
 on its side, striking on its way one of the ruby glass flag- 
 ons which stood near it full of claret, breaking it, and 
 flooding the beautiful lace and linen cloth with the worst 
 stain that housewives have to contend with. 
 
 This crash overcame even Mrs. Mortimer, who lost her 
 smile for a moment. It silenced everybody, and it petri- 
 fied Mr. Walters. Jack Townley alone, who seemed to have 
 recovered his good-breeding as if by magic, exclaimed : 
 
 "That was my work, Mrs. Mortimer. I would take a 
 flower from no hand but Miss Ch.dwick's."
 
 54 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " Well, let us go into the drawing-room," said Mrs. 
 Mortimer. 
 
 Rose had hidden her confusion behind the friendly 
 shoulder of Fanny Grey. Sidonie Devine was tittering 
 ana talking with Sir Lytton Leycester, a young baronet 
 just arrived in New York from a Western hunt, and very 
 much of a swell, whose honorable arm had taken her in to 
 dinner. Sir Lytton Leycester, it appeared, did not smoke 
 or drink, or else he chose to appear unlike other people, 
 for he had followed the ladies into the room. 
 
 Coffee was served, and Fanny Grey began talking very 
 kindly of the private theatricals, which had been under- 
 going a rehearsal. 
 
 " Mr. Amberley said you were doing so very well," said 
 Fanny to Rose. 
 
 "Professor Paton is trying to teach me to read," said 
 Rose, modestly. Sidonie meanwhile was being excruciat- 
 ingly funny to Sir Lytton, describing the past mistakes of 
 poor Rose. 
 
 " What did you say her name is ?" asked the baronet. 
 
 " Rose Chadwick." 
 
 " I wonder if that can be a daughter of Pascal Chad- 
 wick ?" said the young man. 
 
 VIIL 
 
 PASCAL CHADWICK was one of those men who had been 
 always moving towards the setting sun. He had carried 
 his young New England wife to the then farthest West, 
 when he was first married, and there, with her books and
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 55 
 
 her neat-handed thrift, she had fought fever-and-ague and 
 the difficulties of frontier life with silent courage, until one 
 day she lay down and died, as did hundreds like her. 
 
 Eose was four years old when this calamity overtook 
 her, and Pascal Chadwick was in despair. He could not 
 bear the sight of the child : she reminded him of his loss. 
 Like many a bereaved person, he had to struggle against 
 an unnatural abhorrence of the duty left. He would place 
 her from time to time in the family of some good married 
 pair, where the little thing grew up as she could a sort of 
 weed but he scarcely saw her, excepting once a year. 
 Meantime his fortunes went up and down ; he mounted 
 and descended the scale of opulence like an anchored bal- 
 loon, except that he did not always come down where he 
 went up. He changed his spots continually. He was en- 
 gaged in every railroad, every mining adventure, every 
 speculation, from the Colorado to the Rio Grande, for 
 years. 
 
 Finally, when Rose was thirteen, he had reached what 
 he supposed to be a certain fortune. He had made a 
 good thing of it at Chadwick's Falls ; and when Rose 
 joined him there to live with him, she found a commo- 
 dious ranch, horses and herds, vineyards and wheat-fields. 
 Her father was living like a Tartar prince. 
 
 Chadwick's Falls is one of the throats of travel. Every 
 one must go through it who wishes to reach the buffalo 
 fields to the north, the cattle ranges, and the gold and sil- 
 ver mines. There Pascal Chadwick, after twenty years of 
 struggle and adventure, settled down. 
 
 He was an exceedingly handsome man, tall and straight 
 and looked well in his careless Western garb ; a hat which 
 would have made the fortune of Buffalo Bill, a flannel
 
 56 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 shirt, and a loose coat belted in, became the fine athletic 
 figure. He had a natural address which was suave, plausi- 
 ble, and cordial. No man met him that was not fascinat- 
 ed. His early education gave him advantages of speech 
 which he never lost, although he paid little attention to 
 books, excepting the few that Rose called a library. His 
 wife had been his inspiration and his balance-wheel, and 
 he never recovered from the loss. Wherever he lived, in 
 hut or palace, her picture hung where he could look at it, 
 and her little " library " stood on hastily improvised 
 shelves : that much of nobility and the past clung to him. 
 But the rough life had blurred the outlines of his moral 
 character. He was not too fastidious as to the men he 
 knew ; he was sometimes called tricky in business matters. 
 Men who made money by him called him a " rare good 
 fellow ;" those who lost money by him called him a 
 smooth-tongued, plausible visionary. No man called him 
 scoundrel ; but his character, like his fortunes, stood, it is 
 to be feared, on somewhat doubtful trestlework. 
 
 As to hospitality, generosity, personal unselfishness, and 
 natural charm, Pascal Chadwick was at the very highest 
 notch. All men liked him. The English noblemen who 
 went through to their hunting fields often stopped a fort- 
 night with him, and left, perhaps, a few hundred pounds 
 in his last speculation. All the scientific men on their 
 travels paid him a visit, and found the old Harvard culture 
 peeping out in his conversation. He stood at the golden 
 gates of travel a sort of universal host, and made every- 
 thing easy for everybody. 
 
 Rose had grown up in this Western caravansary with a 
 father whose gentleness and indulgence knew no bounds. 
 He began to love the child when she had been with him
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 57 
 
 rbr a while, and had made some feeble attempts at educat- 
 ing her. Two English governesses and one French one 
 had been carefully imported, but as all these ladies tried to 
 marry him, and as he had Mr. Moddle's objection to being 
 " taken alive," they were summarily dismissed, so that he 
 merely pointed to her mother's books and told her to 
 read them it was all he could do for her. 
 
 Now this sort of browsing for education is very good 
 for the making of great men, but it does not make a con- 
 ventional lady. Rose adored her father, and liked, of all 
 things, to be with him. But he was a busy man, freighted 
 down with anxious work, and he had little time for her. 
 
 She did not like all of his friends, the Hon. Hathorne 
 Mack least of all ; and there were other men of very much 
 the same stamp, all connected with him in business, that 
 were equally distasteful to her, poor little girl. 
 
 She used to retreat to her own room, where good Mrs. 
 Macpherson, wife of her father's Scotch shepherd, would 
 bring her her meals and attend to her. When the table 
 got too full of men, her absence was never commented 
 upon. She was not missed. 
 
 It was Jack Townley's visit which had opened the eyes 
 of Pascal Chadwick to the fact that she was a woman, and 
 a beautiful one this little girl whom he had so forgotten. 
 
 Then he thought of his sister, Mrs. Trevylyan, with 
 whose husband he had had a lifelong quarrel. But Mr. 
 Trevylyan was dead. Would not Laura forget and for- 
 give, and take the girl ? 
 
 The rest we know. After her departure, Pascal Chad- 
 wick felt lonely and disturbed. His daughter had grown 
 to be more to him than he had expected, and he was not 
 sorry when a young English baronet, Sir Lytton Leycester,
 
 58 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 claimed his hospitality on his way East from the hunting 
 grounds. 
 
 Of all the men whom Pascal Chadwick ever fascinated, this 
 young Englishman became the most conspicuous example. 
 He had money to invest, and Chadwick's silver mines and 
 railroads were temptingly displayed. He liked the life, and 
 he liked the climate, and he liked Chadwick. 
 
 "I declare," said he, "if I had not five houses in Eng- 
 land, I would come here to live." 
 
 And when they parted, Chadwick gave Sir Lytton Leyces- 
 ter a letter to his sister and to his daughter. 
 
 After the dinner was over, and Rose had reached her 
 own room, she gave way to a long and bitter fit of weep- 
 ing. 
 
 Her luck had indeed been very bad. It has occurred to 
 most of us sometimes to upset a glass of claret on a snowy 
 cloth, and we have been very much mortified but it has 
 seldom happened to us to break two decanters. 
 
 Rose reasoned with herself as to what evil star reigned 
 over her. The next morning she determined to see Har- 
 riet Amberley and to have a long talk with her. 
 
 " Your trouble is, Rose," said Harriet, kindl}-, " that you 
 are too impulsive. Now last night you committed the 
 error of trying to help the servants. That is quite absurd. 
 They have their work all marked out ; you but embarrass 
 them. Now a woman can be helpful in a sick-room, can 
 be helpful at a fire, on a burning steamer, in her own 
 sphere anywhere, but at a fashionable dinner she must be 
 absolutely passive. She need only ask that her glass be 
 filled with water and her piece of bread be renewed ; all 
 the rest is done for her."
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 59 
 
 " But I always see a dozen little things I do not under- 
 stand," said Rose. 
 
 " Quietly observe them," said Harriet, " and they will 
 soon come to you." 
 
 " Now one lady put her gloves in her champagne glass. 
 What did that mean ?" said Rose. 
 
 " Simply it was her rather eccentric way of showing the 
 waiter that she did not want any champagne," said Har- 
 riet, smiling. 
 
 "There are thousands of girls like me who do not know 
 about table manners," said Rose, wiping away a few big tears. 
 
 " I suppose so," said Harriet ; " but very few as willing 
 to learn as you are. Now tell me how you used to live at 
 Chadwick's'Falls." 
 
 " We seldom had any table-cloth, to begin with, and no 
 napkins, until lately we had Chinese paper ones, and all 
 the food we had was put on at once a great saddle of 
 venison, a soup if Mrs. Macpherson made one, and then 
 some kind of pudding, and then a basket of peaches and 
 grapes, better than any here. Father used to have his 
 whiskey in a black bottle, and his wine from his own 
 vineyards in pitchers. I did see some nice tables in San 
 Francisco, but no one ever told me anything about table 
 manners." 
 
 " Never mind, dear Rose ; you will learn soon. Do 
 you know Sir Lytton Leycester wants to know you very 
 much ? I heard him telling Sidonie Devine so last night, 
 and she would not introduce him." 
 
 " Oh, Harriet, how good you are ! You always make 
 me feel more comfortable. I imagine Sir Lytton Leycester 
 is one of papa's friends. I wish I were back at Chad- 
 wick's Falls."
 
 60 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " And Fountain in New York ?" said Harriet. 
 
 " Yes, dear Fountain. But he is so frightened by the 
 elevated railroad that Mr. Long says I must not ride him 
 for some time." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense !" said Harriet, who was a fearless horse- 
 woman. " Go out with me this afternoon to the Park. I 
 do not believe in horses being frightened." 
 
 So Fountain was brought round, and knew Rose at once, 
 ate sugar out of her hand, and she and Harriet had a 
 delightful ride, with their grooms behind them ; and 
 before that invigorating gallop was over Rose had for- 
 gotten her mistakes and misfortunes. 
 
 Not so Mrs. Mortimer, who came with clouded brow to 
 see Laura Trevylyan and to pour out her woes. 
 
 "She is hopeless, Laura. I give her up. To see my 
 epergne pulled over, and my flowers scattered, and my 
 beautiful South Kensington drawn-work table-cloth ruined 
 by the claret, is too much. This is the second claret bot- 
 tle she has broken. Why, the men at the club already 
 call her the bottle-smasher, and say she will raise the price 
 of claret. I cannot assume the care of such a savage ; you 
 must excuse me. And then, do you know, she is a flirt 
 a regular flirt. She attempts to flirt with Arthur Amber- 
 ley, of course hopelessly. I wish you would call her at- 
 tention to her faults in that particular." 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyan, who had sat pale and troubled through 
 this diatribe, now laughed. 
 
 " Why, Sophia, she thinks Arthur Amberley a grand- 
 father ; she calls him ' old gentleman,' and ' old Mr. 
 Amberley.' " 
 
 "That is her art to deceive you. She is a bold, bad girl." 
 
 " Stop, Sophia," said Mrs. Trevylyan ; " I will not hear
 
 A TRANSPLANTED B08E. 61 
 
 that. Rose is awkward and unfinished, as I told you, but 
 her nature is as sweet and pure as her name. I will not 
 ask you to chaperon her further, of course. I regret your 
 mortification of last evening, and your table-cloth." 
 
 " Sir Lytton Leycester, to see Mrs. Trevylyan and Miss 
 Chadwick," said Rourke, in a loud voice, handing in a 
 couple of letters. 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyan read her brother's letter. 
 
 " He wants to see Rose !" said Mrs. Mortimer, scornfully. 
 
 " Come down with me, won't you, and help me enter- 
 tain him ?" said Mrs. Trevylyan, pleasantly. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer went down to hear the titled guest, in 
 whom she had taken much pride (for Sir Lytton was a 
 great swel'l), praise the beauty and freshness of Rose, speak 
 of his obligations to her father, and in every way make 
 himself most agreeable to Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 " By-the-way, I have just seen Miss Chadwick on a very 
 good horse in the Park," said Sir Lytton, "looking un- 
 commonly nice, do you know." 
 
 " Oh yes, Fountain, I suppose," said Mrs. Trevylyan ; 
 " just arrived from Chadwick's Falls." 
 
 " Oh ! one of my friend's famous thorough-breds ?" asked 
 Sir Lytton. 
 
 " I suppose so. My brother lives for his flocks and 
 herds, I believe, does he not ?" 
 
 " Your brother is simply the most fascinating person I 
 have ever met : so simple, so frank, so invigorating in every 
 way ! I dare say you have not seen him lately ?" 
 
 " Not for twenty years," said Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 " Fancy ! twenty years ! Well, I hope it will not be 
 twenty years before / see him again, nor twenty hours 
 before I see his daughter." 
 
 5
 
 62 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE- 
 
 " Will you dine with me to-morrow ?" asked Mrs. Tra- 
 vylyan. 
 
 " Most assuredly, with the greatest pleasure." 
 
 "You had better consult your diary, Sir Lytton," said 
 Mrs. Mortimer, sweetly. " You know you told me you had 
 no end of engagements." 
 
 " I shall break all of them to meet Miss Chadwick again," 
 said Sir Lytton. " Good-morning." 
 
 After he was gone, Mrs. Mortimer said, blandly : " You 
 must remember, Laura, that he is famous for good manners 
 when he chooses, but he is an intolerable eccentric. Be 
 prepared for any exhibition of bad manners from him to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " ' Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,' " said 
 Mrs. Trevylyan. " I thought him charming this morning." 
 
 " Oh yes ; when he is in his flattering mood, no one 
 better. But hear him talk of breaking an engagement! 
 Just like his English insolence !" 
 
 " I hope he will not do that," said Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 " By-the-way, Laura, I was hasty in what I said about 
 Rose. I will not be as cruel as my words. Of course the 
 upsetting of my epergne upset my temper. Let her come 
 to me as she has done, and I will take her to the Suffields' 
 ball. Forget and -forgive, won't you, Laura?" And Mrs. 
 Mortimer smiled fascinatingly. 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyan had not summered and wintered her 
 friend Sophia without knowing pretty well what were the 
 springs of conduct, and she said "Yes" without smiling, 
 although after Mrs. Mortimer had left she did smile behind 
 her handkerchief, and went up-stairs to write a note or two 
 for her own little dinner of the morrow. 
 
 She asked Arthur Amberley and his sister, and a very
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 63 
 
 agreeable woman who talked well Mrs. Carver to meet 
 Sir Lytton Leycester, and then, telling Rourke to be ready 
 for a little dinner of six people, went out for her afternoon 
 drive. 
 
 IX. 
 
 NOTHING could be more calm, quiet, proper, conven- 
 tional, and easy than was the demeanor of Rose at her 
 aunt's little dinner. Sir Lytton had come early, had told 
 her about her father, had brought all sorts of messages 
 from him and from Mrs. Macpherson, knew the names of 
 all her dogs, and was so gentle and fascinating that Rose 
 felt at once at her ease. A little dewy moisture would 
 gather round her eyes as he talked of her pug Mars, a very 
 great darling ; but she had never looked so like the moss- 
 rose which she wore in the corsage of her white dress as 
 she did when Arthur Amberley and his sister entered. 
 
 It was a charming little dinner, and everything seemed 
 to go off of itself. Mrs. Carver talked so well that Rose 
 kept thinking she should like to write down all .that she 
 said ; and her own dear aunt Laura came out as a hostess 
 of the rarest. Sir Lytton was in great spirits, and talked 
 of his adventures in the West, making always a hero of 
 her papa. Both Arthur Amberley and his sister were so 
 agreeable that Rose felt wrapped in a soft cloud of happi- 
 ness. She did not think of herself from the beginning to 
 the end of dinner the best fact in her favor, for both the 
 men looked at her with eyes which plainly told of their 
 admiration. 
 
 " What a beauty your niece is !" said Mrs. Carver, as tha
 
 64 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 two elderly ladies were left alone, Harriet and Rose having 
 gone up to indulge in a little chat in the boudoir. 
 
 " Not a beauty very pretty, I think," said Mrs. Trevyl- 
 yan ; " but with much to learn yet. You have heard of 
 her mistakes ?" 
 
 " Well, Sidonie Devine has talked of nothing else," said 
 Mrs. Carver, " and I watched to see if she swallowed the 
 pepper-caster. Oh, she will do very well." 
 
 " She is going to Professor Paton's reading classes, and 
 we hope to improve her pronunciation," said Mrs. Tre- 
 vylyan. 
 
 Arthur Amberley and Sir Lytton entered just as the two 
 girls descended the stairs, and Rose had in her hand a little 
 book. 
 
 " I have learned my part !" said she, gayly. " What a 
 very disagreeable girl she is, that governess why did you 
 give her to me ?" 
 
 " It is a very important part in the play, and I do not 
 think her disagreeable," said Arthur Amberley. 
 
 " She is in a disagreeable position," said Rose. 
 
 " Of course ; that is the germ of the play. A coarse, 
 handsome, rich, flirtatious, vulgar woman, anxious to be ad- 
 mired herself, hires a poor gentleman's daughter, takes her 
 to a watering-place, and there discovers that the people will 
 admire the refined governess rather than the unrefined mis- 
 tress. The mingled dignity and anxiety to please, the dis- 
 tress of the poor governess at the false position in which 
 she is placed, the sweetness with which she takes the out- 
 rageous, insulting revenge of the angry lady (if I may so 
 misuse the beautiful word), are all admirably fitted for the 
 display of talent, which I know you have, Miss Chadwick." 
 
 " Oh," said Rose, blushing scarlet at the compliment,
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 65 
 
 " you throw a new light on the character. I am so stupid! 
 I did not see all these lights and shades then. I wonder if 
 you would read the part to me ?" 
 
 " I wonder if I wouldn't, Miss Chadwick. Mrs. Trevyl- 
 yan, when can I have this beautiful Eastlake dado -fur- 
 nished portiere parlor of yours, for a private coaching of 
 Miss Chadwick? You are so aesthetic that you have no 
 light here. I shall require a blaze of morning sunlight 
 for the occasion, as my eyes are failing me. Miss Chad- 
 wick's complexion and mine can, however, stand a clear 
 morning light." 
 
 " I ask to be admitted as critic of the morning papers," 
 said Sir Lytton. 
 
 "And I must come as maiden aunt," said Harriet Am- 
 berley. 
 
 " I insist on my rights as the general public," said Mrs. 
 Carver. 
 
 " I will have none of you," said Arthur Amberley. " I 
 am to coach my actors alone. Mrs. Trevylyan may sit in 
 yonder window with her embroidery, if she promises not 
 to speak." 
 
 "You muzzle me in my own parlor?" said Mrs. Tre- 
 vylyan. " Well, I will submit. Come to-morrow, Arthur, 
 for I think Rose ought to have a great deal of training." 
 
 " Professor Paton is training me too," said poor Rose, 
 rather mournfully. 
 
 " Oh, he is such a pet, such a favorite, such an oracle, 
 with all of you women, that I do not think he will be se- 
 vere enough," said Arthur Amberley. 
 
 " He is very severe," said Rose. " He says I must drop 
 my R's, and that I shall need three months' training on 
 my Shakespeare lesson."
 
 66 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " Well, if you get his delightful accent, Miss Chadwick, 
 you will be fortunate. We have all of us need of a little 
 of that delicate, unexaggerated, and perfect English accent 
 which makes his reading so refreshing. Well, when shall 
 the rehearsal commence ?" 
 
 " To-morrow morning," said Mrs. Trevylyan, " at eleven 
 o'clock." 
 
 "I will be here as promptly as the baker's man," said 
 Amberley. " So good-night ;" and he and his sister took 
 their leave. 
 
 " I wonder what makes him take such an interest in 
 Rose ?" asked Mrs. Trevylyan in a whisper of Mrs. Carver. 
 
 "My dear, don't you see it? He is in love with her." 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Carver, how absurd ! Arthur Araberley, who 
 has known every fascinating woman for the last twenty 
 years, who is the perfection of worldly culture, who would 
 die of a rose in aromatic pain he in love with an unculti- 
 vated Western girl who has no savoir-faire ! Never !" 
 
 " My dear, have you forgotten your primer ? Do you 
 not know that freshness is what such men adore ? Now 
 I find your Rose singularly attractive something new 
 to the palate, like Catawba wine, or Isabella grapes, or 
 prairie-chicken. 'She is truly, purely American a great 
 compliment. See our English friend hanging over the 
 piano." 
 
 And Mrs. Trevylyan peeped through the portieres into a 
 music-room where Rose sat, her fingers slowly wandering 
 over the keys as she struck a few simple chords, and Sir 
 Lytton was bending over and talking to her with a rapt 
 expression. 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyau laugted. "She has a queer knowledge 
 of music, and can play and sing a little. I think the Eng-
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 67 
 
 lisli governess who was sent away for wishing to marry my 
 brother must have been rather a genius in the way of teach- 
 ing. Come, we will follow them. I do not wish our Eng- 
 lish friend to think that we have no idea of chaperonage in 
 this country. He and Rose have been together long enough. 
 They always misinterpret us here, for they see too many on 
 the other side, too many careless mammas, and too many 
 emancipated daughters." 
 
 So the two ladies walked into the music-room, dropping 
 the portiere behind them. 
 
 " You said something about this being an Eastlake house, 
 Mrs. Trevylyan," said Sir Lytton. " Now we do not allow 
 that term in England. We consider that too great a com- 
 pliment to Eastlake. This is a lovely Queen Anne house, 
 in the highest style of decorative art." 
 
 " It was my guest, Mr. Amberley, who called this an 
 Eastlake house," said Mrs. Trevylyan. " I am too thorough 
 a student of Burne-Jones, William Morris, and the other 
 sage greens to make that mistake," she added, with her 
 quiet smile. 
 
 "You have waked up a sleeping lion of the Decorative 
 Art Society," said Mrs. Carver. 
 
 Sir Lytton knew all about South Kensington designs for 
 stained glass, picture-frames, and ceilings, wall-papers and 
 wall -decoration, brasses and mahogany furniture, spindle- 
 legs and old clocks. He saw at a glance that Mrs. Tre- 
 vylyan's house was full of gems, and his few well-spoken 
 compliments went to the heart of the lady collector. 
 
 " Such old blue ! such Capo di Monte !" said he, admir- 
 ingly, looking at the shelves over the fireplace. 
 
 " I wondered why Aunt Laura hung up so many plates 
 on the wall," said Rose, beginning to show her ignorance
 
 68 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 of the modern principles of decorative art. "I should 
 keep my plates in the closet." 
 
 " Not such plaques as these," said Sir Lytton. 
 
 " These are painted by a native genius," said Mrs. Tre- 
 vylyan, " a young New York girl, who has found in herself 
 the genius of an Angelica Kauffman. Rosina Emmet." 
 
 "And those Cincinnati artists," said Sir Lytton, "how 
 clever they are !" 
 
 " Yes, here is a plate of Miss McLaughlin's," said Mrs. 
 Trevylyan, " hung, you see, between two of the best mod- 
 ern English." 
 
 " How very ugly those old yellow and green things are !" 
 said Rose, yawning perceptibly. 
 
 " My dear, these are priceless majolica," said Mrs. Carver. 
 
 Rose was very weary of all this : she had not been tu- 
 tored in the modern art talk. It was all beyond her ken 
 as yet. Ceramics, ecclesiastical embroidery, lace-work, crew- 
 els and cat-tails, wood-carving and modern tapestry, were 
 as yet anything but talismanic words to this child of nat- 
 ure. The open-sesame had not yet been spoken. 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyan, who had been charmed with Rose up to 
 this period, began to be a little disgusted at her evident 
 weariness, her undisguised yawns, her attitude of inatten- 
 tion. Perhaps, if Mrs. Trevylyan had a weakness, it was 
 her aesthetic taste, and she looked sternly at Rose. Mrs. 
 Carver, with ready tact, saw the situation, and covered it 
 with her woman's wit. 
 
 " Your aunt says that you play and sing a little," said 
 she. " Would you oblige me with an English ballad ? I 
 am so tired of Italian bravuras badly sung. Now what do 
 you know ? Oh ! here is one of my delights, ' Douglas, 
 Douglas, tender and true.' Will you sing that ?"
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 69 
 
 "I am afraid I do not sing well enough. I know I 
 don't," said Rose, very decidedly. 
 
 " Oh yes, Rose, sing that, dear ; we are a forgiving trio," 
 said Mrs. Trevylyan, sure that Rose would appear better 
 anywhere than on decorative art. " Sing it as well as you 
 can." 
 
 "Let me play your accompaniment," said Sir Lytton, 
 and he took the music and struck a few chords. 
 
 Something in the way he played that touching and love- 
 ly melody, which sets the gem of Miss Mulock's poetry so 
 well, gave Rose confidence and breath. She lost sight of 
 herself, and thought only of the words. 
 
 Beginning with a little tremor, she went on improving 
 with every line. Her voice was that excellent thing in 
 woman, a contralto, and of pure quality. Of course, to the 
 three listeners, all good judges of music, she was full of 
 faults, but she had the great elements of simplicity, 
 strength, good voice, and dramatic feeling. 
 
 " Delightful song that," said Sir Lytton. " You have 
 been taught by some one who knew how to take breath." 
 
 "Yes, my English governess, Miss Marjoribanks," said 
 Rose. 
 
 " What, old Marchbanks who used to teach my sisters ! 
 I wonder !" said Sir Lytton. " Now, how too too funny ! 
 I knew she came over here. Now, her name wasn't Re- 
 becca Ethel don't tell me that it was !" 
 
 " It was Rebecca Ethel," said Rose. " Did you know 
 her?" 
 
 " The bane of my childhood !" said Sir Lytton, " but a 
 good teacher. Did she put you through Hangnail's Ques- 
 tions?' 
 
 u I know every one by heart," said Rose.
 
 70 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 "Good-night, Mrs. Trevylyan. Good-night, Miss Chad- 
 wick. I trust you will soon come and spend a morning 
 with me won't you?" said the good talker to Rose. 
 
 " I should be so glad !" said Rose, who wanted to hear 
 those delicious accents, those lips drop pearls and dia- 
 monds, again. 
 
 " And I too, Mrs. Trevylyan. Forgive me ; I have stayed 
 forever," said Sir Lytton. " ' Forgive the crime.' " 
 
 " I will, if you will come again soon," said Mrs. Trevyl- 
 yan. 
 
 After they were gone, Mrs. Trevylyan gave Rose a little 
 scolding about her yawning in company. 
 
 Rose was in a delicious dream, and hardly heard her 
 aunt. 
 
 "The principle the first principle of good manners is 
 self-control, my dear child," said Mrs. Trevylyan. " You 
 appeared so well at dinner, were so delightfully uncon- 
 scious, that I did not like to see a relapse into carelessness ; 
 I did not want you to yawn in Mrs. Carver's face." 
 
 " Aunt," said Rose, " I think this was society ; I think 
 this little dinner was what I have been dreaming of. I 
 won't yawn again. I am so sleepy." 
 
 X. 
 
 ARTHUR AMBERLEY came, as he said he would, as 
 punctually as the muffins. 
 
 Rose was perfectly astonished at the gravity and the 
 business manner which had succeeded to the gay society 
 badinage of the night before.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 71 
 
 " I consider that anything worth doing at all is worth 
 doing well, dear Miss Rose," said he ; " and when I assumed 
 the leadership of these private theatricals, I intended to do 
 the thing in a business-like manner. No giggling and no 
 carelessness at my rehearsals. I respect and believe in the 
 noble art of the drama too much to tamper with it. It is 
 the business of many gifted men and women to work at 
 and perfect themselves in the art of acting, and we see, 
 alas ! even then, how a lifetime fails often of making a 
 good actor; and yet we must accord to all the profession- 
 als a certain finish and grace which no amateur can easily 
 rival. On the other hand, we know that certain people are 
 gifted with a mimetic power ; even in our own little circle 
 we shall find a different order of merit in the very first 
 reading. Jack Long is an excellent amateur actor, Jack 
 Townley is a very poor one, while Dicky Smallweed, for a 
 certain order of character, is better than either of them. 
 
 " I think my sister Harriet a very bright woman, but 
 she, again, is a very poor actress, and so I have given her a 
 very small part. Miss Devine, on the contrary, is a very 
 good actress in certain parts, if we can trust her temper; 
 but if she is disposed to be ill-natured, she will spoil her 
 part just to spite the rest. You, I think, have got some 
 important qualifications for the part I have given you, and 
 all I have to fear from you is stage-fright. Now I want 
 you to know your part so well that you cannot forget a 
 word; then I want you to submit to my tiresome and re- 
 peated corrections ; then I want you to think of the part. 
 I want you to make it a part of yourself. Sit down with 
 it, put yourself in the place of the governess, dream of it, 
 take it out to walk with you, and remember that if you 
 qan once enter into the life and spirit of your heroine's
 
 72 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 feelings, you have taken the first step towards being a 
 great actress. 
 
 " In the remote contingency of your failure, which I do 
 not wish you to think of, still remember that a part thus 
 earnestly studied will be of great use to you in the future 
 study of another part. No work is ever thrown away. 
 And the work over private theatricals has this advantage : 
 we learn by it a great deal of human nature always a 
 useful and an entertaining study not always of its best 
 side, but a great deal that may be of service." 
 
 Rose was a singularly obedient pupil to her kind, intelli- 
 gent, if rather exigeant instructor. She had the great ad- 
 vantage of knowing nothing. She had no cherished 
 opinions (presumably wrong ones) on the subject of act- 
 ing. She had seen a few plays, mostly very blood-and- 
 thunder ones, when she visited large cities with her dear 
 father. She had seen Shakespeare played generally with 
 great disappointment, for she had been in her small way a 
 loving reader of the greatest of dramatists, and her mother's 
 copy was Knighfs Pictorial, richly annotated. One of 
 Pascal Chadwick's few literary accomplishments, retained 
 from the days of his college life, had been occasionally to 
 read to his daughter the gloomy speculations of Hamlet 
 and the glowing hopes of Henry V. Together they had 
 wept over Juliet and laughed with saucy Rosalind. Then 
 Rose, lying flat on her back, would hold the book up to 
 the light and read the notes, and look at the delightful 
 illustrations, during her many lonely hours. Professor 
 Paton was delighted, when he came to read with her, to 
 see how much she knew of the thought of Shakespeare, al- 
 though she had little or no skill as yet in reading aloud 
 his eloquent and profoundly suggestive lines.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 73 
 
 Arthur Amberley was so conscientious a trainer that one 
 might have said he loved his work, and there was a per- 
 ceptible cloud on his brow when one morning's seance was 
 broken in upon by the entrance of Mrs. Mortimer. We 
 must pause here to mention an episode. 
 
 A strange gentleman had appeared once or twice in the 
 parlors as Rose had called lately at Mrs. Mortimer's, and 
 she had, on going out, asked the butler who he was. Her 
 astonishment knew no bounds when she was told that it 
 was Mr. Mortimer. 
 
 " Oh, a brother-in-law ?" she asked. 
 
 " My master, Mr. Mortimer, Mrs. Mortimer's husband," 
 said the man, hardly able to keep his respectful counte- 
 nance. 
 
 Rose had walked home in a maze to ask Mrs. Trevylyan 
 what this phenomenon meant. 
 
 " I always thought she was a widow," said Rose, un- 
 willing to believe in the wraith of Mortimer. 
 
 " Oh no. Mr. Mortimer takes long journeys, goes a 
 great deal to the South and to Europe ; but it is he who 
 makes all the money, he who builds and furnishes their 
 splendid house. He is a very important man, Mr. Morti- 
 mer," said Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 " Does his wife love him ?" asked Rose, who had not 
 found Mr. Mortimer attractive. 
 
 ' Oh, I don't know that," said Mrs. Trevylyan. " That 
 is not a question you must ask, Rose. We never ask such 
 questions. They are a very proper married pair, and if 
 there is no love, there is a well-bred indifference between 
 Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer, which never offends les convenances." 
 
 " What does that mean ?" 
 
 " Oh, Rose, do not be so literal. It means, in New York,
 
 74 A TRANSPLANTED ROSB. 
 
 where a man must be down at the Stock Exchange, and 
 the woman must be going into society up town, that if 
 they both do their business well, and do not quarrel, there 
 is little reason why they should not both go their own way 
 rejoicing, and like each other or not, as the case may be." 
 
 " That is not my idea of marriage," said Rose. 
 
 " It was not mine at your age, dear," said Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 It was, perhaps, the memory of this incident that 
 prompted Rose to remark to Mrs. Mortimer, when the 
 conversation fell flat at her morning call which found 
 them at rehearsal (for somehow the conversation would 
 fall flat, and Mrs. Mortimer would look at Amberley with 
 angry glances, Rose could not imagine why) : " I saw Mr. 
 Mortimer at your house the other day. I did not know 
 that you had a husband, Mrs. Mortimer," blurted out poor 
 Rose. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer actually blushed. 
 
 " Indeed, Rose, I fear there are many important facts 
 you do not know yet Mr. Mortimer has been South." 
 
 The angry flush on her cheek did not die away, and the 
 slight curl in Arthur Araberley's lip perhaps deepened it. 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyan hastened to the rescue by asking if Mr. 
 Mortimer's health was better. 
 
 " No ; he still has his dyspepsia ; cannot eat anything. 
 I tell him that he is too devoted to money -making; he 
 ought to leave business. He says if he does he shall die ; 
 that he is not aware of anything that interests him but the 
 price of stocks, and what he calls combinations." 
 
 " His absence put down the price of ' Blank-paper Tun- 
 nel ' and ' Red Riff Consolidated,' " said Amberley. 
 
 "How does your play progress?" asked Mrs. Mortimer, 
 rather stiffly, not noticing this last remark.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 76 
 
 " If all did as well as Miss Chadwick, it would go ad- 
 mirably. Dicky Small weed and Miss Devine cannot, will 
 not, learn their parts, however," said Amberley. 
 
 " Miss Devine is to have the dressy married-woman part, 
 I hear," said Mrs. Mortimer. 
 
 " Yes, she is to do the splendor for us regular pieces 
 des robes splendor. She is the married watering-place 
 would-be-admired woman, who is to oppress Miss Chad- 
 wick here," said Amberley. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer now had a chance to smile, as she remem- 
 bered Sidonie Devine's capabilities that way. 
 
 " When is the first public rehearsal that is, one that I 
 can see ?" said Mrs. Mortimer., 
 
 " We shall be happy to greet you at the Union League 
 on Wednesday week, at three in the afternoon," said Am- 
 berley ; " and then my troubles begin, for with all the call- 
 boys in the world I shall never be able to get my troupe 
 together." 
 
 " Let me help you drum up recruits," said Mrs. Morti- 
 mer, becoming suddenly amiable. 
 
 " Oh, if you put your shoulder to the wheel, all will go 
 well," said Amberley, with great animation. " If you will 
 frighten Dicky Smallweed out of his boots, and let him 
 know that he will lose the part if he does not appear 
 promptly, we shall be in your everlasting debt." 
 
 " I think I can manage Dicky," said Mrs. Mortimer. 
 
 " Of course you can manage everybody," said Arthur. 
 
 "How are Jack Long and Fanny Grey doing?" 
 
 " Conventionally well, I think. I have not had them 
 all together yet." 
 
 " Oh," said Mrs. Mortimer, looking very much relieved, 
 " you take your pupils singly, and not in class ?"
 
 76 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " The more important characters, yes. Where there is 
 a subtle part to be played, like this of Miss Chadwick's, I 
 give attention to it," said innocent Amberley. 
 
 " And I am such a little fool, too, you know, Mrs. Morti- 
 mer, and as ignorant as a prairie-dog," said Rose, who felt 
 humble just then. 
 
 " Ignorant with a vengeance, Mrs. Mortimer. Why, I 
 happened to say ' Old Tabby/ and she had no idea what I 
 meant." 
 
 Just then the bell rang again, and Rourke, who appeared 
 to have forgotten his instructions, ushered the Honorable 
 Hathorne Mack into the sacred rehearsal room. 
 
 He was very oily, very cordial, very dreadful ; his mouth 
 bore the sad insignia of the American habit ; his clothes 
 appeared to have been thrown at him several seasons ago. 
 The sloughing-off time, which in animals occurs periodi- 
 cally, did not seem to pertain to Mack. His clothes were 
 not perennial or deciduous. 
 
 " Well, Miss Rose, you and I have got to take a ride to- 
 gether, I expect. Here's a letter from your father, saying, 
 ' Have you been good to my little gal, Mack ? You must 
 call often and see her.' I should have been here a great 
 deal oftener, except for the Blank-paper Tunnel business. 
 I have got to get some of your New York Congressmen to 
 vote for it, and I ain't prepared yet to pay quite as much 
 as they want." 
 
 "Let me present you to Mrs. Mortimer," said Mrs. 
 Trevylyan. 
 
 '" How de do, marm ? Wife of the King of Wall Street, 
 marm ? I tell you Blank-paper Tunnel knows him. Sam 
 Mortimer, I presume? Yes? First-rate speculator, your 
 husband, marm. Proud to know you."
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 77 
 
 " Mr. Amberley, Mr. Mack," said Mrs. Trevylyan, who 
 really did not know what to do with her guest. 
 
 " How de do, sir ? In politics or WaH Street, sir ? I'm 
 considerable mixed up in both." 
 
 " Neither, sir. I have no ambition in either direction," 
 said Amberley. 
 
 "Hain't you now? Well, I'm sorry for you, sir. 
 American born ?" 
 
 " Yes, I was born here," said Amberley. 
 
 " Then I feel more than sorry, sir, more than sorry ; for 
 an American who has no interest in politics nor railroads 
 or, I may say, railroads as connected with politics 
 misses what I call the first duty of a citizen." 
 
 XL 
 
 MR. MACK'S call prolonged itself until Mrs. Mortimer 
 and Amberley took their leave. Poor Rose was crimson 
 with mortification. She saw disgust in the face of Amber- 
 ley, and triumph in the eyes of Mrs. Mortimer. It seemed 
 to her that she was never raised to the height where 
 she would be, but that some untoward event caused her 
 to be thrown therefrom, and to fall again into sad dis- 
 grace. 
 
 She was not casuist enough to know why she felt such a 
 pang when this man mentioned her father's name. She 
 did not recognize, as Mrs. Trevylyan did, the utter want 
 of moral dignity which pervaded her father's otherwise 
 lovable character. He had lost the sense of distinction 
 between a coarse man and a refined one in his rough-
 
 78 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 and-tumble life. Perhaps he never had it. Some men are 
 born without the sense of selection. 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyan remembered enough of her brother's 
 character to see this in all its fulness, but what could she 
 do? 
 
 The Honorable Hathorne Mack stayed an hour, growing 
 more disgusting every minute, yet Mrs. Trevylyan could 
 not deny him the possession of very strong sense, immense 
 knowledge of mankind, and a tremendous belief in him- 
 self. She was not the woman to underrate these powers. 
 
 But she saved Rose by her tact from half the pain by 
 talking to him herself and leading his coarse eyes away 
 from the blushing girl. She finally looked at her watch, 
 and sent Rose off to her Italian lesson. 
 
 Mr. Mack seemed a little annoyed at this, but took oc- 
 casion, with an eye to his watch also, to utilize the oppor- 
 tunity, as to a little business of his own. 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Trevylyan," said he, " I find you are a re- 
 markable clever woman, and I want you on my side. I'm 
 rather fond of that young lady that has just left the room. 
 To tell you the truth, I don't mind making her Mrs. Mack. 
 My friend Pascal and I are considerable mixed up in these 
 stocks and mines, and I hold the controlling influence. If 
 I marry Rose, it will be a good thing for Pascal, and he 
 knows it. He has never said so in words, but we under- 
 stand each other. I've been a widower seven years, Mrs. 
 Trevylyan, and no two people ever lived happier than 
 Mrs. Mack and I did. I am pretty well off, you may be- 
 lieve. Can give Rose all the diamonds and horses and 
 Worth gowns that she wants ; and she may live here, or 
 Washington, or St. Louis, just as she wants to. Now will 
 you pave the way for me here? You are a good-looking
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 79 
 
 woman yourself, and I should think you might be looking 
 round for another husband ; likely too ;" and he smiled at 
 his own delicate badinage. 
 
 " Certainly not, sir," said Mrs. Trevylyan, pale with sup- 
 pressed rage. " Certainly not your friend, if yon propose 
 to marry Rose ! The difference of age is quite enough to 
 deter me from any such arrangement." 
 
 " I ain't so old. I ain't so old as you are by five years," 
 said the Hon. Hathorne Mack, offended deeply. 
 
 "Perhaps not," said Mrs. Trevylyan, stiffly; "but my 
 brother has intrusted his daughter to me with every argu- 
 ment in favor of her studying and improving her mind. 
 She is very young and very immature. She is not at all 
 ready to be married to anybody." 
 
 " Oh, that's my look-out, Mrs. Trevylyan. I don't want 
 a learned wife. I want a good-looking, healthy one. I 
 ain't particular about her being any better educated than 
 Rose is. You needn't trouble about that." 
 
 " But I was not thinking of you. I was thinking of 
 my niece," said Mrs. Trevylyan, now furious. " I do not 
 think she loves you or would be happy with you, and I 
 certainly shall not make the slightest effort to present the 
 subject to her mind." 
 
 " Then, marm, I'll do it myself. I ain't a man to be 
 thwarted. I'll send a telegram to-day to Chadwick's Falls, 
 and it will go hard if I don't see your niece with her 
 father's blessing. And so good-by, ma'am. Perhaps you'll 
 regret offending Hathorne Mack." 
 
 He went off, breathing fire and brimstone. His round 
 bullet-head seemed to grow a set of bristling bayonets, in- 
 stead of hair. He was purple with anger. He descended 
 the steps, saying, with certain expletives which we will
 
 80 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 omit, " If Pascal don't sustain me in this, I'll smash him, 
 blank if I don't !" 
 
 The Honorable Hathorne did not, however, get time to 
 telegraph about love matters that day, for Blank-paper 
 Tunnel was in a bad way when he reached Wall Street. 
 Cupid gave way to cupidity, and the Honorable Hathorne 
 had to attend to his pocket rather than his heart. Mrs. 
 Trevylyan had, however, no such preoccupation. She was 
 beforehand with her telegram a fact which exercised an 
 important influence upon the future of her niece. 
 
 Meantime Arthur Amberley and Mrs. Mortimer had a 
 long talk. There is no such tyranny as that which a 
 married woman holds over a man who has once been her 
 admirer, if she sees in him the slightest wavering in the 
 matter of a rival. Mrs. Mortimer was altogether too great 
 a tactician to reproach Amberley. She saw that he was an- 
 noyed, and, if the word could be applied to so polished a 
 cynic, cross. Her business was to soothe him, and to make 
 herself agreeable. 
 
 "Isn't it dreadful what Mrs. Trevylyan has under- 
 taken ?" said she " not only this pretty unformed girl, 
 but the shocking acquaintance that her presence entails. 
 If this Honorable Hathorne Mack is to be dragged about, 
 it will be insupportable." 
 
 " Quite so ; but what has he to do with it all ?" asked 
 Amberley. 
 
 " Oh, he is a sort of predestined husband, I believe, for 
 Rose. Jack Townley tells me that he is the capitalist be- 
 hind Mr. Chadwick, and holds that gentleman's fortunes 
 in his hand. They have something going on in Congress 
 about their railroads. Jack Townley knows all the ins 
 and outs ; he will tell you."
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 81 
 
 " Heavens ! what a horrible sacrifice !" 
 
 u I do not believe Rose would mind it. She has been 
 brought up with such people, and she has no abhorrence 
 of his manners. In fact, I think she would be at home 
 with such a man, if we can judge by her behavior at my 
 house ; and you saw her at the ball rush across the room 
 to speak to Jack Townley ! There can be no native refine- 
 ment in such a girl. There is talent and beauty, of course, 
 but we cannot enamel manners on a Sappho if she has not 
 native refinement. But you look tired. Suppose we take 
 a turn around the Park?" 
 
 " With all my heart," said Amberley, who was more 
 disturbed than he usually allowed his well-regulated nature 
 to become. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer had never looked prettier, nor had she 
 ever been more calmly and gayly agreeable. She was mis- 
 tress of the situation again ; and to the polished man of 
 the world, who had been perhaps led away for a moment 
 by a pair of flashing eyes, a bright color, a sweet breath, 
 and a youthful grace, there came back the conviction that, 
 after all, the consummate grace of a woman of the world, 
 who could never offend one's taste, was the safest condi- 
 ment in the great mixture, the piece de resistance of life's 
 feast. 
 
 So when they came to the rehearsal, at the old Union 
 League Theatre that scene of so many charming plays, 
 that delightful little temple of the drama where New York 
 belles have often essayed the portrayal of the passion?, and 
 have imitated the elegant subterfuges which are so well 
 enacted in daily life Rose found Amberley, her best 
 friend, her instructor, cold and unsympathetic. He was 
 never rude that was not in his nature. But Rose, who
 
 82 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 was what the Italians so well call simpatica, missed a tone 
 in his voice, and a cordiality in his manner. It was to be 
 a hard day for poor Rose. Sidonie Devine scarcely bowed 
 to her, and she heard that destroyer of her peace say, with 
 ill-disguised voice, " What, the decanter-breaker has ar- 
 rived ? Well, let us look out for everything of a fragile 
 nature." 
 
 Fanny Grey had taken her place in the drawing-room 
 scene, and was rehearsing somewhat stiffly the flirtatious 
 dialogue with Jack Long, so that poor Rose had no one to 
 appeal to. Harriet Amberley was also engrossed with her 
 part, and Rose felt all her assumed confidence fall from her. 
 
 When her turn came, she stepped upon the stage and 
 began her part. 
 
 "Slower, Miss Chadwick, slower," said Arthur Amber- 
 ley, waving his baton, from the prompter's chair ; " you are 
 too fast." 
 
 Rose began again, and, knowing her lines, went on a lit- 
 tle better. 
 
 The scene proceeded between herself and Sidonie Devine. 
 
 It cannot be denied that Sidonie Devine did vastly bet- 
 ter than Rose. No palpitations disturbed that cold heart 
 and that calculating brain. She saw and enjoyed the con- 
 fusion, distress, and fear of poor Rose. She was mistress 
 of the stage business, but Rose was awkward, and tipped 
 over a table as she left the room. 
 
 The rehearsal went on. Harriet Amberley went through 
 her part badly, and not at all to the liking of her brother. 
 
 But Dicky Stnallweed was admirable; as glib and as 
 audacious, as dissipated and as rowdy, as insolent a young 
 yachting, racing, betting man, as could be. He had a part 
 to his liking, and he did it well.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 83 
 
 In the second scene, Rose, inspired by her part, did bet- 
 ter for the first few lines, and even brought a round of ap- 
 plause from the few spectators. She was going on very 
 well, when unluckily she espied, in the front row of seats, 
 her old abhorrence, the Honorable Hathorne Mack, looking 
 at her with his greedy red eyes. 
 
 From that moment all her composure left her. She 
 stuttered, stammered, and broke down. There was almost 
 reason for Sidonie Devine to say, audibly, 
 
 " Why are we all made to suffer by this woman's out- 
 rageous blundering ?" 
 
 Rose left the stage, her part was over, and, as she 
 emerged from the dark staircase which led down into 
 one of the greenrooms, she met the Honorable Hathorne 
 Mack, who held out his hands to her. 
 
 Hysterical, no doubt, from the excitement and the dis- 
 grace of having failed, she gave a little scream, and fled 
 from him. No gallery of Florence, no old palace of Venice, 
 ever had a more dark, mysterious, and dramatic congerie 
 of black staircases, and of passages which led no one knew 
 whither, or veiled doors, or opportune closets in which a 
 woman could hide, than had the old Union League Theatre. 
 Indeed, it was said of it that every year skeletons were 
 found there of those unfortunates who had strayed away 
 the year before, trying to find their way out. Rose dashed 
 down a flight of stairs, shutting a door behind her, and 
 found herself in a cold and lonely vestibule. The outside 
 door opened as she reached the foot of the stairs, and 
 Jack Townley entered. 
 
 " Oh, save me from that man !" said she, in a tone which 
 would have made the fortune of an actress. 
 
 " Who what, Miss Rose ?" said Jack Townley.
 
 84 A TRANSPLANTED ROBE. 
 
 " The Honorable Hathorne Mack." 
 
 "What has he to do with this play?" said Jack, who 
 was going up to rehearse his short and unimportant part. 
 
 " I do not know. I saw him in the audience, and he 
 came into the greenroom after me," said Rose, simply. 
 
 "Yes, I am afraid he is ' after you,' Miss Rose. Now I 
 remember, I saw him with Mrs. Mortimer in her carriage 
 this morning. I wondered why. She must have brought 
 him to the rehearsal. Well, stocks do make strange bed- 
 fellows," said Jack, thinking of Mr. Mortimer and Blank- 
 paper Tunnel. " I'll go and see if the coast is clear," said 
 Townley, kindly. " You'll catch your death here, Miss Rose." 
 
 He came back in a moment. The report was favorable, 
 and Rose crept up to the now deserted greenroom, where 
 she sat shivering and weeping until she was called, this 
 time by Arthur Amberley himself, for the last act. 
 
 " What is the trouble, Miss Rose ?" he asked, kindly, as 
 he entered the greenroom. 
 
 " I was frightened and shocked at seeing that dreadful 
 man, who persecutes me," said Rose, " and I feel so alone ! 
 so alone !" said she, weeping afresh. 
 
 "Do you really wish to get rid of the Honorable Ha- 
 thorne Mack ?" said Amberley. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Amberley, if you would rid me of that man ! 
 I can never play if he is in the house. I can stand the 
 ridicule of Miss Devine and the contempt of all these other 
 fashionable people, while I have a few friends ! I dare say 
 I deserve it all. I have no polish. I see every day how 
 utterly deficient I am in proper manners the manners of 
 society. But I cannot live if that dreadful man follows 
 me with his coarse admiration. Save me from him, Mr. 
 Amberley !"
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 85 
 
 Alas, Mrs. Mortimer ! your well-laid schemes were cob- 
 webs, they were swept away by one touch of nature, one 
 fresh and truthful outburst of the heart. The best-formed 
 device of falsehood and of cunning fraud, built up patient- 
 ly and well with infinite trouble, was washed out by a few 
 tears which fell on a damask cheek out of a pair of dark 
 eyes, and trembled on the lashes thereof. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " THE stage waits." This call had been uttered two or 
 three times before Amberley reappeared with Miss Chad- 
 wick. Indeed, Harriet Amberley had gone down to see 
 what was the matter. 
 
 " Miss Chadwick lost her way in descending to the green- 
 room, and I found her m the vestibule," said Jack Town- 
 ley, in an explanatory voice, as the others spoke of her not 
 being ready. 
 
 Rose took up her part with a trembling voice, but with 
 one not unmusical. As the play went on, and she had to 
 respond to the coarse attacks of her mistress and enemy, 
 her voice grew clearer ; she seemed, indeed, to become the 
 indignant and the insulted girl of the play. Still, she did 
 not yet play well. Agitation of any sort is "bad for the 
 amateur actor. The most perfect coolness and self-posses- 
 sion are needed, and one must do what seems the most im- 
 probable and remote thing, if one would fit in to the false 
 perspective of the stage. 
 
 But the players all noticed one great phenomenon. Ar- 
 thur Amberley had become gay, good-natured, and interest-
 
 86 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 ed. The audience had mostly gone ; there was a vacancy 
 where Mrs. Mortimer and the Honorable Hathorne Mack 
 had been sitting ; and only one gentleman in a paletot was 
 visible in the back seats. 
 
 When the rehearsal was over, this gentleman came for- 
 ward and took Rose by the hand. 
 
 "May I walk home with you?" he asked. 
 
 It was her excellent friend Professor Paton, who always 
 gave her strength and composure. 
 
 " You all did very badly to-day," said he. 
 
 " I am sure / did," said Rose. 
 
 "No worse than the rest. You have not learned tenue 
 en scene" said he, " any of you. You ought to rehearse 
 every day for six weeks." 
 
 " Oh dear," said Rose ; " I do not call it playing ; I call 
 it work." 
 
 "Yes, the very hardest work, I think," said Professor 
 Paton. "I wonder people amuse themselves with doing 
 badly what so many people work years just to learn how 
 to do well. Come to me to-morrow and rehearse, Miss 
 Chadwick." 
 
 " Oh yes," said Rose. 
 
 Arthur Amberley had become the most amiable of men 
 suddenly, and it was thus commented upon : 
 
 " What has happened to old Amberley ?" said Jack Long 
 to Jack Townley, as they walked up after one of the re- 
 hearsals. 
 
 " I don't know. Perhaps he has made money. I saw 
 him walking with the Honorable Hathorne Mack." 
 
 "No doubt. Well, that is a thing to make any man 
 cheerful. By-the-way, how well the little Chadwick did 
 to-night !"
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 87 
 
 " Yes, she gave it back to Sidonie very aptly. No more 
 chaff about claret-spillers on the part of Sidonie. She has 
 met her match." 
 
 The great business of society went on, although " the 
 play was the thing." Balls, dinners, rides, teas, matinees, 
 and wedding receptions were in order, and Rose attended 
 them all. 
 
 Sir Lytton Leycester was as amiable and agreeable as 
 possible, showing Rose great attention. 
 
 " I wonder," said one old tabby at a ball to another, 
 " what is the secret power attached to that dreadful 
 girl." 
 
 "I agree with you what is it?" said another tabby. 
 "If the days of love - philters had not passed, I should 
 think she possessed one. Why, you know all about her, 
 don't you ? Her mother was an actress in San Francisco." 
 
 " Ho !" said tabby No. 1 ; " that is the reason why she 
 acts so well, then, isn't it ?" 
 
 "Oh yes. Pascal Chadwick is a Western rogue, who 
 makes a great deal of money. Mr. Mortimer says he is 
 worth ten millions." 
 
 " Then I should think he would dress his daughter bet- 
 ter. Why, that muslin never cost fifty cents a yard. 
 Now I pay Connelly two hundred and fifty dollars for 
 every dress Delia wears." 
 
 " And I pay Josephine Egan two and three hundred for 
 every dress my girls have." 
 
 " Then she does such ht>rrid things ! Why, I heard that 
 at Mrs. Mortimer's dinner she got up and walked up and 
 down the room brandishing a tomahawk, and broke all 
 the Sevres vases." 
 
 "And she has broken another idol of Mrs. Mortimer's
 
 88 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 t oo don't you know ? She has swept Arthur Amberley 
 right off his feet." 
 
 " Good gracious me ! you don't say so ! Well, when an 
 old fellow falls in love, it is a desperate fall indeed. Now 
 can you see anything in the girl ?" 
 
 "She has a goodish complexion but so have other 
 people. People say she paints all Western women do. 
 Do you remember Sallie Stark ? How she did put on the 
 red and white ! Now see there ! Sir Lytton Leyccster is 
 flirting most dreadfully with her." 
 
 "And have you seen how she manages the two Jacks 
 Townley and Long ? Somebody said she had ' two Jacks 
 and the game.' Well, I do not think much of Miss Chad- 
 wick, or of Mrs. Trevylyan for introducing a Western ad- 
 venturess of doubtful birth here." 
 
 " Nor I much of Mrs. Mortimer for bringing her to these 
 exclusive balls. However, New York society is getting 
 very mixed very, very mixed." 
 
 The last speaker, who represented the latest, lowest, and 
 most reprehensible muddy particle of mixture, drew herself 
 up, very, very indignant. 
 
 " Well, there now !" said the first tabby ; " Mrs. Morton 
 Burnie has got hold of her. That means that Miss Chad- 
 wick is a lion." 
 
 "And I am sure all her sins will be expiated if Mrs. 
 Morton Burnie has found her out. She wishes her to 
 come to one of her dreadful parties." 
 
 " Oh yes ; she wants Sir Lytton Leycester, I suppose, 
 and Miss Chadwick is the bait." 
 
 " And Sir Lytton Leycester is looking after the ten mill- 
 ions. Englishmen are so mercenary ; they only demand 
 that you should have money, no matter how you get it."
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 89 
 
 And so the two Mrs. Candours picked their bones, and 
 picked them clean. 
 
 Arthur Amberley gave the famous dinner which had 
 been so much talked of (he did not often entertain at his 
 own house) to the members of his dramatic company. 
 Only Mrs. Trevylyan and Mrs. Mortimer were asked, they 
 undertaking to chaperon the young ladies and to receive 
 for him, Harriet being rather frightened at the idea of so 
 large a dinner. 
 
 Rose thought she had never seen a more enchanting 
 hostess than her plain friend, so cordial, so easy, so unob- 
 trusive; but then she was partial to Harriet. The house 
 was a double one, broad, old-fashioned, in an unfashionable 
 street, but with an air of bien etre about it which charmed 
 Rose. Wood fires burned in all the old fireplaces, and a 
 broad, handsome staircase went up grandly through the 
 large hall. It was of mahogany, almost as black as ebony. 
 Nothing but a few rich portieres had been added (to shut 
 off the draught at the wide dark shining doors) since the 
 days of the old Amberleys, who had been great people in 
 their day. There was a wealth of brass about the fire- 
 places, and the doors and furniture were quite enough to 
 break the heart of Sypher, or any other collector. There 
 were fine old clocks, and a real "eight day" in the hall 
 which told the tides at Amsterdam. There was a spinet, 
 a harp, and a six-legged piano, which had belonged to some . 
 musical ancestress, and pictures everywhere. China col- 
 lected a hundred years ago, cabinets from Florence, Venice, 
 Rome, brought by the Amberleys themselves, all, all told 
 of the wealth, education, and taste of two or three genera- 
 tions. 
 
 " No nouveaux riches here, Miss Rose," whispered Jack
 
 90 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 Townley, as he spoke to her, after she had bowed to Mr. 
 and Miss Amberley. 
 
 " Oh, how comfortable it all is !" said Rose, as she sank 
 into a great arm-chair. 
 
 , Arthur took Mrs. Trevylyan in to dinner, Jack Townley 
 followed with Mrs. Mortimer, and Harriet Amberley took 
 in Sir Lytton Leycester, as the most distinguished of the 
 guests. Rose felt a little disappointed, as Dicky Small- 
 weed only was left for her, but she was rewarded by find- 
 ing herself on Mr. Amberley's left hand. 
 
 At her plate lay the most beautiful bouquet of great 
 pink roses. Indeed, there were no other flowers on the 
 table but the " Gloire de Paris," the most delightful of 
 roses. They were everywhere. 
 
 "Arthur, your room is fragrant as ' Bendemeer's stream,' " 
 said Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 "Rose, Rose," said Arthur. "This is a dinner to a 
 Rose," said he, in a low voice. 
 
 " You will spoil her, Arthur," said Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 " She cannot be spoiled," said he. 
 
 Well, Dicky Smallweed was not so disagreeable either. 
 He was quick to see which way the wind blew, and he 
 knew that in this house it was his role to be polite to Miss 
 Chadwick. 
 
 He told her all the mots from the club, all the good 
 stories, all the new engagements, what Tupperton Tons had 
 said at the Union League, what Chaffs had said at the 
 Union. He gave her a description of the Lotus Club, 
 where the wits meet, and the Art League, where the young 
 geniuses quarrel. Indeed, as a man about town, Dicky 
 Smallweed, behind a blonde mustache of ferocious dimen- 
 sions, seemed to loom up suddenly into great importance.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 91 
 
 Meantime Fanny Grey was near Rose, giving her kindly 
 glances and smiles, and Sidonie Devine and the pink-eyed 
 girl were very far off; so she enjoyed her dinner. 
 
 Then what china ! Real old blue, the hest of Lowestoft, 
 Worcester, and real Dresden, not bought yesterday either ; 
 fine Queen Anne silver, superb in weight and finish, and 
 beautiful rich damask which had a look as of satin. 
 And what a dinner ! All the men were silent the early 
 part of the dinner, for Arthur Amberley's plats could not 
 be lightly passed over. And his wines ! Each wine was 
 a rarity, good, sound, and, if proper, ancient. 
 
 " What is thine age ?" might have been asked of the 
 Madeira, as it was of Juliet, and the answer would have 
 been quite as satisfactory, though numbering rather more 
 years. 
 
 Strawberries in midwinter, peaches, artichokes from Al- 
 giers, grapes and pears from California ; and one little bas- 
 ket was set before Rose which brought the color high up 
 into her cheek. 
 
 " Grapes from Chadwick's Falls," was the legend on the 
 handle. 
 
 " And did you send for these ?" asked Rose. 
 
 " I did," said Mr. Amberley. " I telegraphed to your 
 father two weeks ago, and he has sent me grapes enough 
 to last me a lifetime ; besides that, a pipe or two of excel- 
 lent wine. Really, Rose, you Western people are great 
 magnificos." 
 
 " And some of you Eastern people are very kind," said 
 Rose, blushing. 
 
 This little story ran down the table through the leaky 
 lips of Dicky Smallweed. 
 
 " He has sent to Chadwick's Falls for some of her own
 
 92 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 grapes," said Jack Townley, in a loud voice. "Really, 
 Arthur, you outdo Heliogabalus." 
 
 The grapes were passed around, and pronounced excel- 
 lent. Everybody liked them but Mrs. Mortimer. 
 
 She broke off a little bunch, but left them scarcely tasted 
 on her plate. 
 
 "I never can eat these Western grapes," said she to 
 Jack Townley. "They are crude, like the people." 
 
 " Sour grapes," thought Townley. " Perhaps so, Mrs. 
 Mortimer." But he did not say all that he thought. Sly 
 Jack. 
 
 XUI. 
 
 PROFESSOR PATON worked hard over his pupil. He saw 
 in her the result of that neglect which has damped the 
 success of many a transplanted Rose. He had found, even 
 fifteen miles from the City Hall, a family of intelligent 
 girls, who had asked him for a book of etiquette while he 
 was teaching them Shakespeare. Etiquette, that conven- 
 tional way of doing things, is a subject of curiosity to all 
 the untaught. 
 
 Professor Paton knew that to many of his pupils out- 
 side the pale of society the doings of society were the most 
 interesting subjects upon which he could chat, and, although 
 he was no gossip, he often amused these intelligent girls 
 by describing the dinners to which he occasionally went 
 the elegancies of that world to them so far off, but so 
 amusing. 
 
 He had travelled all over the great country which we 
 call America or the United States indiscriminate^, and he
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 93 
 
 knew that the sort of ignorance which Rose displayed was 
 far more general than society people suppose. Table eti- 
 quette, table manners, although a few people may not 
 think so who happen to know all about them, are not sub- 
 jects of universal inspiration. (A learned professor, not a 
 hundred years ago, asked a lady out of which glass he 
 should drink his sherry, and out of which his champagne. 
 Preferring the sherry, he had poured it into the large 
 glass intended for the champagne.) Rose was betrayed by 
 her impulsiveness, a native peculiarity, as Professor Paton 
 knew, which was against her in a society which demands a 
 quiet, impassive smoothness of demeanor. 
 
 But the learned Professor Paton had not studied alone 
 Shakespeare's heroines. He had studied many a Rosalind 
 and Portia in private life, and he believed that he knew 
 genuineness. He saw in Rose a sweet and genuine charac- 
 ter. Behind the flashing eyes and burning cheeks of this 
 young girl who could not keep the eloquent blood from 
 speaking appreciation of the sorrows of Lear, or the weird 
 visions of Macbeth he thought he saw the divine fire. 
 He had always delighted in her obedience and her efforts 
 to learn. Already her Western burr had begun to dis- 
 appear. She now rolled her " r " in the middle of a word, 
 as French people do, giving her pronunciation distinctness, 
 but she did not put the unnecessary letter on the end of 
 her words. She was full of her part in the private 
 theatricals, too, and that gave her a still greater interest in 
 the study of elocution. 
 
 The great evening of the play came, and the Union 
 League Theatre was full of the expectant public. Seats 
 
 had been sold at five dollars a ticket, and it was whispered 
 
 7
 
 94 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 that Sir Lytton Leycester had bought the two front rows. 
 These social affairs always command a tremendous audience 
 in New York. Perhaps they do everywhere, as each one 
 is anxious to hear how Sally and Margaret and Jane " do 
 their part," and even those who are not successful give the 
 town something to talk about as well as those who are. 
 The very pretty toilets of an amateur actress who does 
 not care how much she spends on the dresses, which would 
 swallow up the earnings of a stock actress for a year or 
 two, are also attractive, and therefore private theatricals, 
 however stupid and however bad, are always well attended. 
 
 But Arthur Amberley's theatricals were not bad ; he had 
 taken extraordinary pains. 
 
 Sidonie had thought very little of the play or its general 
 effect. She only knew that she was to dress well and 
 abase Miss Chadwick, and these were two passions of her 
 soul. She had only generally observed Rose as an awk- 
 ward and verdant personage, whose faults would, she was 
 sure, obscure the faint glimmering of sympathy which the 
 governess was to invoke. The play, she thought, rested 
 with Fanny Grey, whose love episode was very pretty, and 
 whose social position and fine gowns made her success (for 
 success it was sure to be) palatable to Sidonie. So that 
 " her set " won, Sidonie could forgive success. 
 
 But after the somewhat lukewarm applause to the gen- 
 teel mediocrity with which every one played had subsided, 
 Sidonie entered upon her great scene with Rose. 
 
 A burst of applause greeted Rose as she entered, in a 
 plain merino which fitted her slender figure marvellously, 
 and whose gray tone threw out her bright color most 
 becomingly. 
 
 She stood quite still as Sidonie, in her character as the
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 95 
 
 vulgar belle of the watering-place, admonished her govern- 
 ess not to try to attract the admiring glances of the gentle- 
 men, but to stay away from the piazza. 
 
 When Rose answered, it was in a sweet, clear, full voice 
 that had no ungraceful inflections ; it was another speech 
 from that which she had brought from Chadwick's Falls. 
 
 Suddenly it dawned upon the audience that the gray 
 figure was the figure of the play. All the rest were but 
 the " trappings and the suits of " fashion. Pretty situa- 
 tions of joy, light gossip, and love, all had trooped across 
 the mimic stage in proper conventional array ; the heart 
 was silent; no angel had yet come to trouble the waters. 
 But when the young girl, abused, misunderstood, and 
 sorrowful, stood alone before them to be browbeaten, then 
 the heart beat loudly, then the voice of nature spoke. 
 
 And in the last scene, when the brutal woman referred 
 to the poor girl's lost father, then did the answer come, 
 swift and terrible. 
 
 Rose became a great actress, all unknown to herself. 
 
 "You speak of my father, madam; you refer to his 
 calamities " the play went on " you say that I may have 
 inherited his misfortunes. Yes, I have ; but, alas ! not his 
 virtues nor his forbearance. Fate was cruel to the man of 
 genius and to the man of honor, and he bore her assaults 
 with true courage. He did not turn upon his detractors ; 
 he spoke ill of no one. But his daughter has not inherited 
 his patience. Madam, I renounce your service, and retire 
 from it. None but a vulgar woman could have so insulted 
 an unprotected girl ; none but a heartless fiend could have 
 unearthed her dead father. The children of such mothers 
 as you are should grow up murderers. I will have nothing 
 to do with their education. Sorry am I for them in their
 
 96 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 hour of innocence. If their mother can speak as you have 
 done to a motherless girl, what sympathy will she have 
 with them in their hour of need ? Take back your patron- 
 age, your false and cruel assumption of assistance. The 
 world is wide ; there will be found a home wherein I can 
 earn my bread. I do not need you." 
 
 And the amateur actress sank down, with real tears rain- 
 ing over her cheeks, on a low footstool, in an attitude so 
 unconscious and so graceful that Rachel might have envied 
 it, to hear that wild, that tumultuous applause which has a 
 music in it like the sound of a whirlwind over the trees of 
 a forest. 
 
 " Wonderful ! Clara Morris could not have done better. 
 Splendid ! And how disgusted Sidonie looks !" 
 
 " Well, her mother was an actress, you know," whispered 
 the lady of the ballroom. 
 
 " Her mother happened to be my sister, and was not an 
 actress," said a venerable gentleman in white necktie and 
 spectacles, looking at his voluble neighbor. 
 
 " Who is that?" whispered the lady. 
 
 " Oh dear ! it is President Williams, of Charpentier Col- 
 lege," said the other. 
 
 " You never know whom you are sitting next," said the 
 first lady. 
 
 When Rose reached the greenroom she was almost in 
 hysterics. 
 
 Fanny Grey put her soft arms about her and kissed her. 
 " You are a great actress, dear," said she. We are all pup- 
 pets beside you. See, I have cried until my stage rouge is 
 all in streaks. Oh, Rose, it is a great privilege to have 
 genius ! You have got it. It comes to you this power ; 
 you do not have to seek it ; it is yours already ;" and this
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 97 
 
 generous, lovely daughter of luxury and conventionality, 
 this girl whom fashion had not injured, calmed and soothed 
 the poor excited child. 
 
 When Harriet Amberley got through her scene, she too 
 came to kiss and congratulate Rose, and wisely endeavored 
 to calm her down for her last scene. 
 
 " I wonder if Mr. Amberley is pleased ?" said Rose. 
 
 "My brother? He is in an ecstasy of delight," said 
 Harriot. " Now, Rose, whatever happens, do not lose 
 your self-possession. Remember you must play your part 
 to the end." 
 
 It was difficult for Rose to obey this injunction, par- 
 ticularly as Sidonie forgot her part, thus putting Rose out. 
 She, however, did her bitter enemy a great service by, in 
 her character of governess, almost upper servant, going 
 over and picking up her gloves, which Sidonie had dropped, 
 throwing in a bit of stage-business which was not in the 
 play, and thus giving Sidonie time to recover herself an 
 act which went to the heart of every amateur player, for 
 who does not remember the cold chills, the agony of sus- 
 pense, which any interruption of the stage-business creates 
 in the bosom of the inexperienced aspirant to dramatic 
 success ? 
 
 When the play was ended, the stage was covered with 
 bouquets. All were remembered, but Rose had the pretti- 
 est basket of orchids from Sir Lytton, and the finest bunch 
 of roses from Mr. Amberley. She was loudly called for 
 after the curtain fell. Sidonie had refused to accede to 
 Mr. Amberley's request that they should all bow to the 
 audience, and had sulkily gone home. 
 
 The calls increased in intensity, and Fanny Grey took 
 Rose by the hand, and led her on herself before the curtain.
 
 98 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 There they stood, the wild flower and the cultivated one, 
 two young and beautiful women, near in character, for 
 both were sound and true, and no one could say which was 
 the sweeter. With their graceful, grateful courtesies the 
 play ended. 
 
 "I shall immediately take Wallack's Theatre for a 
 matinee, and bring out my company, especially my new 
 star," said Arthur Amberley, as he welcomed them all at a 
 supper. 
 
 " I think it was a little too tragic for private theatricals," 
 said Mrs. Mortimer, who, however, was in very high per- 
 haps assumed spirits. 
 
 "That you owe to Miss Chadwick's acting," said Mr. 
 Amberley. " She is one of your successes. Do you re- 
 member when you asked me to take her around your par- 
 lors?" 
 
 " Yes. How like a savage she looked that evening !" 
 said Mrs. Mortimer. 
 
 " I did not think so," said Arthur Amberley. " Simply 
 unconventional in dress and manner not vulgar ; that is 
 a very different thing." 
 
 " I wonder how much of etiquette is indigenous ?" said 
 Mrs. Mortimer. 
 
 " It is all arbitrary," said Amberley. " But she is catch- 
 ing it quickly." 
 
 " If we were to write out the story of Rose, it would 
 seem improbable," said Mrs. Mortimer, looking at her as 
 she sat on a distant sofa, holding a glass of lemonade high 
 in one hand, as Sir Lytton Leycester and Jack Townley 
 were talking to her. 
 
 " Yes, any truth seems glaringly improbable when it is
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 99 
 
 written out ; but you and I remember the beautiful daugh- 
 ters of a stage-driver who became baronesses and countesses, 
 and we saw somewhat of Rose's story in theirs. I also re- 
 member a young girl, now Lady Somebody, whose faux 
 pas surpassed those of your protegee. ' What is grace but 
 culture entering the hands and feet ?' says Emerson. I can 
 tell him it is the dancing-master, the dressmaker, the school- 
 master, the contact with society, the early training of the 
 mother, the atmosphere of a refined home. It is all this. 
 And as every society has certain arbitrary distinctions 
 and observances which are entirely conventional, a girl 
 must be ' learned in her surroundings,' or she will commit 
 mistakes. No native refinement prevents the commitment 
 of a social sin, which had no reason for being a sin except 
 that it was the whim of some queen, or some king per- 
 haps, a hundred years ago." 
 
 " She has captured Leycester," said Mrs. Mortimer, look- 
 ing furtively out of the corner of one eye. 
 
 Amberley looked across the room with a not too pleased 
 expression. " Well, the fashion is not unknown, and is 
 growing," said he. " Betty dearly loved a lord. They have 
 a value historical and personal, these men with handles to 
 their names. Americans are accused, rightfully or wrong- 
 fully, of carrying matters to extremes. Perhaps it is des- 
 tined that England shall reconquer us, and avenge Yorktown. 
 It is a sort of Roman-Sabine way of doing things, however, 
 this coming over and taking all our beauties. I am emi- 
 nently conservative, as you know, and prefer that American 
 girls should marry Americans. I like Henry James, Jr.'s bru- 
 tality to all young Englishmen ; he makes them desperately 
 in love with American girls, and the American girls give them 
 the mitten with such admirable and improbable patriotism."
 
 100 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " Perhaps, as Thackeray says, the wicked lords have all 
 the money, and don't care," said Mrs. Mortimer. " But I 
 assure you Sir Lytton is in earnest." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Now, if you please, Miss Rose, isn't truth stranger than 
 fiction ?" said Sir Lytton Leycester, one fine morning, as he 
 stepped into Mrs. Trevylyan's pretty parlor. " Isn't truth 
 stranger than fiction ?" he went on, fumbling in his pock- 
 ets for a letter which he could not find. "Do you re- 
 member, Miss Rose, that we were speaking the other day 
 of Marjoribanks Rebecca Ethel our and your old gov- 
 erness ?" 
 
 " Oh, I am sure I do !" said Rose. " What of her ?" 
 
 " Just read that note, will you, please, and then tell me 
 that we do not live in the land of dreams, that there is 
 nothing in the cards, that spiritualism isn't true." 
 
 " Oh, how well I remember the fine English handwrit- 
 ing !" said Rose, looking at the note. 
 
 " Rebecca Ethel has seen my name in the public prints, 
 she says (you observe, Miss Rose, this pleasant way your 
 American papers have of mentioning where one dines and 
 calls, and where he takes his bath), and she appeals to me 
 for a character." 
 
 " Poor thing !" said Rose. " Do give her one." 
 
 " So you bear no malice because Rebecca Ethel aspired to 
 become your mamma-in-law ? You forgive her for Mang- 
 nalVs Questions ?" 
 
 " I am sure I do. Who could have helped loving papa?"
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSS. 101 
 
 said innocent Rose, who had no very clear ideas of the pro- 
 prieties as interpreted by fashion. 
 
 "Well, I do not know anything against her, I am sure," 
 said Sir Lytton. " I think my mother sent her off because 
 we were all through Mangnall. She was a good-looking, 
 red-haired, Mercy Merrick sort of personage, was she not ? 
 She cannot be so very young now." 
 
 " She told me she was twenty-six," said Rose, to whom 
 that age seemed to have been, then, Methuselan. 
 
 " Add ten years to that, dear Miss Rose." 
 
 " I mean to go and see her poor Miss Marjoribanks !" 
 said Rose. 
 
 " That would be kind," said Sir Lytton. " However, let 
 us wait awhile. I wonder if I may sit down to your aunt's 
 table, and use her lovely silver inkstand and jolly paper and 
 clean pens to write out poor Rebecca Ethel a character? 
 Stay, how do I know what she has done since?" 
 
 " Oh, she has done nothing wrong. She is a good 
 teacher, I know ; and if she is a little sentimental, that 
 hurts nobody," said Rose. 
 
 "She certainly taught you to sing very charmingly," 
 said Sir Lytton. 
 
 So between them these philosophers of eighteen and 
 twenty - three gave Rebecca Ethel Marjoribanks a good 
 character, by which she got a New York situation, thus 
 influencing their own destinies more than they could have 
 thought. Had they been older, they would have paused ere 
 they gave a recommendation. The ease we might almost 
 say the want of conscience with which people give "char- 
 acters " in America has led to no end of trouble. 
 
 So, as it may be supposed, Sir Lytton's recommendation, 
 written on Mrs. Trevylyan's paper, with that lady's cipher
 
 102 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 on the sheet, was a very valuable document to Rebecca 
 Ethel Marjoribanks. 
 
 It must not be supposed that the Honorable Hathorne 
 Mack was idle, or neglecting his own interests, all this time. 
 It is we who have been neglecting him. On the other hand, 
 to the infinite surprise of Mrs. Trevylyan and Rose, he be- 
 came evidently very much the fashion. Mrs. Mortimer ex- 
 plained her interest in him by the fact that Mr. Mortimer 
 had large business interests with him, and that he had re- 
 quested her to show him attention. " He is a rough dia- 
 mond, you know," said this sapient lady, " and he is rather 
 just a little unconventional ; but he has sterling traits, and 
 he is an important factor in the development of the West." 
 
 All of which meant that the Honorable Hathorne Mack 
 had some stock, or was creating some, in a Western railroad, 
 of which Mr. Mortimer wanted shares yes, the lion's share. 
 
 And Sidonie Devine courted him, and was seen in deep 
 conversation with him at a Patriarchs' ball. Even Fanny 
 Grey, refined and lovely, invited him to a tea, because every- 
 body did ; and the seven exclusive McBrides, who came 
 over in the first voyage of the Mayflower, all smiled sweet- 
 ly on the great Mack, because he was supposed to be the 
 coming decillionaire. 
 
 At the dinners and receptions the Honorable Hathorne 
 committed a thousand faux pas where Rose had committed 
 one, and all were forgiven him. If he ate with his knife, 
 pushed his food thereon with his fingers, and defiled the 
 marble floors with tobacco juice, people either looked the 
 other way or forgave it, because he was a rough diamond, a 
 great power in Wall Street, a " coming man." 
 
 Had any power seated just above the social circle of our 
 best society unroofed the houses, like a modern Asmodeus,
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSB. 103 
 
 and had this much-needed spirit taken the pains to com- 
 pare the behavior of the fashionable set towards the inex- 
 perienced but naturally refined girl, and their subsequent be- 
 havior towards the naturally brutal, repulsive, and ignoble 
 man, that same spirit might have readily observed, " How 
 inconsistent is humanity !" But as that has been said before, 
 perhaps he would not have deigned to mention it. He 
 might, however, have given a Mephistophelian grin. 
 
 It would, perhaps, have not troubled the spirit to know 
 why men courted the Honorable Hathorne Mack. Pluto 
 is a god whose powers of persuasion, ever since he induced 
 Proserpine to marry him, have been enormous, and if Ha- 
 thorne Mack or any one else can get good points in Wall 
 Street for a New York man of fashion, the man of fashion 
 will take him out in his dog-cart to the races. 
 
 But that women, refined women, should have so soon 
 adopted him, seemed at first impossible. Ah ! Asmodeus, 
 in your process of unroofing houses you have seen that 
 woman, lovely woman, is sometimes venal. She too spec- 
 ulates in Wall Street. 
 
 Mrs. Morella and Sidonie Devine had a great passion for 
 Wall Street. Almost every day at afternoon tea Jack 
 Long came in, and Dicky Smallweed, and several others, 
 with the stock quotations, and some thousands changed 
 hands under the old blue teacups. 
 
 Mrs. Morella had a beautiful house, every sort of por- 
 tiere, where modern elegance made luxury and taste a pal- 
 pable atmosphere, and yet what a jargon was talked there ! 
 
 Jack Townley, whose devotion to Mrs. Morella had been 
 the talk of the town, seemed to have fallen into disgrace 
 with that lady since he had in a measure returned to Rose, 
 and his place was filled by the Honorable Hathorne Mack,
 
 104 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 whose bouquets were the biggest, as his dinners at Delmon- 
 ico's were the most expensive, that Mrs. Morella had ever 
 received or enjoyed. 
 
 There was, however, one point on which Mrs. Morella 
 and Sidonie held high and most painful discourse. 
 
 "He wants me to receive his sister, that horrid Mrs. 
 Philippeau," said Mrs. Morella. 
 
 " Yes, I know it," said Sidonie. " A regular second-rate. 
 It is terrible. We cannot do it." 
 
 " It would be so different if she were not known at all ; 
 but she is such an exact caricature of nous autres, and so 
 conspicuous, and so ambitious, that I cannot, I will not, have 
 the creature here," said Mrs Morella. 
 
 " I have a thousand in Brandy Gulch," said Sidonie, 
 reflectively, " and my broker says that, if he will, Ha- 
 thorne Mack can make it worth ten times what I paid 
 for it." 
 
 " Oh, I am much deeper in than that," said Mrs. Morella, 
 " but I would rather lose it all than to see that woman 
 Philippeau in my drawing-room." 
 
 " I tell you, we must temporize," said Sidonie. " Or we 
 might let her in, and make it so uncomfortable for her that 
 she would immediately be glad to go out again." 
 
 " Oh no, we could not ; the Honorable Hathorne Mack is 
 too clever for that. He would put us under the harrow if we 
 did not treat her well. No more dinners at Delmonico's; no 
 more points. When he sells a thing, it must bring its mar- 
 ket value ; and when he buys, he buys cheap, and sells 
 dear. I know him. It is only by feminine wit and artifice 
 that we can keep Philippeau out. Just see here ; she has 
 had the impudence to write to me about a governess I dis- 
 charged, a creature named Ethel Marjoribanks, and who I
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 105 
 
 thought stole my diamond ear-ring. Don't you remember? 
 I afterwards found it in the coupe. Well, I never answered 
 the note, and she has written me another, saying I need 
 not take the trouble, as she has had a charming character 
 of her from Sir Lytton Leycester. Now did you ever hear 
 of such a brute?" 
 
 " No ; horrid, vulgar, pushing creature ! Well, I tell you, 
 Fanny Morella, we shall have to notice her." 
 
 " No, Sidonie, not yet not yet ; let us hope for better 
 things." 
 
 " I hope for nothing since I see the success of Rose 
 Chadwick," said Sidonie, looking gloomily in the fire. 
 
 " I have found out the attraction that draws Jack Town- 
 ley and Sir Lytton," said Mrs. Morella. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "They are both deeply interested in her father's silver 
 mine." 
 
 " And what draws Arthur Amberley ?" 
 
 " Tired to death of Mrs. Mortimer," said Mrs. Morella. 
 
 " Yes, that has something to do with it. But how he 
 can bear her manners !" 
 
 And yet Sidonie could bear the manners of the Honor- 
 able Hathorne Mack ! 
 
 Mrs. Philippeau, to do Mrs. Morella justice, was a most ob- 
 jectionable person to the eye of exclusive fashion. She 
 had married a rich French silk-importer, who had no idea 
 that society would ever open its portals to him, nor did he 
 wish it to do so. He was very willing that his wife should 
 have all the brocades and diamonds, fine horses and opera- 
 boxes she wanted, if she would leave him in his counting- 
 room. He was sorry she fretted herself so about that world 
 which went on without her, and often talked to her, with his
 
 IOC A TKANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 mingled French philosophy and wit, his homely wisdom, 
 of her folly. 
 
 " Ah, Marie, vy air you so triste, cherie ? You haves ze 
 fine horses you like, and I gives you diamond necklace at 
 Noel. Now share up, Marie share up." (Mr. Philippeau 
 congratulated himself on his knowledge of American slang.) 
 " You sail go ze pace, Marie, if you like have dinners, fetes, 
 all ze grand tings. Ven I vas leetle boy, I starve. I no 
 have good coat like him" and he stretched out a sealskin 
 arm. " Now I am varm, veil fed, have pretty vife. Marie, 
 share up !" 
 
 " Oh, what do you know of a woman's feelings, Mr. Phil- 
 ippeau ?" said the ungrateful Marie. " What good do my 
 fine clothes do me ? I go nowhere ; I cannot wear them ; 
 I am not in society. I have no use for my horses ; they 
 can drive me nowhere but around that stupid Park, of which 
 I am tired. I see all the ladies chatting at the opera, but 
 no one comes to speak to me except my brother." 
 
 " Veil, he knows ze grandes dames : vy does he not make 
 ze acquaintance for you ? And if it is not nice here, ven I 
 make two, tree millions, very soon, ve go to France 
 la belle France vere it is shareful. I say, Marie, share 
 up." 
 
 And the little square-faced, homely, plebeian Frenchman 
 tried to kiss his pretty, vulgar, discontented wife, who 
 would not cheer up at all. 
 
 "I wish I knew Mrs. Mortimer, and Mrs. Trevylyan, and 
 Mrs. Morella, and that pretty Miss Chadwick, and Miss 
 Grey," said Mrs. Philippeau, sighing. 
 
 Her cheerful little husband sighed too. Here was a grief 
 which he could not reach ; here was a sorrow for which 
 his honestly earned money could buy no balm of Gilead,
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 10? 
 
 If a woman wants " society," society can be as cruel as the 
 grave. 
 
 " Here, papa ! here, mamma ! here comes Pierre," sound- 
 ed a pleasant little voice through the splendid salon of 
 Mrs. Philippeau, and the prettiest little boy dashed in, to be 
 caught to the heart of his loving father, who felt that fort- 
 une, comfort, and this boy were quite enough to be grate- 
 ful for. 
 
 " Ah ! here is petite maman for a kiss," said the delight- 
 ed father, leading him up to his mother. 
 
 Mrs. Philippeau saluted him gravely : the bitterness of 
 her social ostracism blighted even the bliss of maternity. 
 
 " Where is Miss Marjori banks ?" asked his mother, see- 
 ing the boy alone. 
 
 " Oh, she has gone out to walk, and I am to drive out 
 with papa," said Pierre, grasping the fat, pudgy fingers with 
 rapture. 
 
 " Sail not chere maman go with us too ?" asked Philip- 
 peau, modestly, looking at his wife. 
 
 " Oh no. How perfectly common we should look, you 
 and I and the child, on the seat of your dog-cart ! I 
 wonder at your vulgarity, Philippeau !" So she sat and 
 consumed her heart with bitterness. 
 
 XV. 
 
 " COME here, Rose ; I want to introduce you to a new 
 relative," said Mrs. Trevylyan, as she caught Rose on the 
 stairs just going out for her horseback exercise. "Presi- 
 dent Williams, your mother's brother."
 
 108 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 Rose found herself opposite the gray-haired, whitc-cravat- 
 ted, grave gentleman who had spoken in her behalf at the 
 theatricals. 
 
 " I am not often in New York," said he, smiling ; " but 
 I happened to be visiting a friend, who took me to see 
 Miss Chadwick act at the Union League Theatre the other 
 evening. I was delighted indeed to recognize a niece. 
 You did very well. I remember your mother had a very 
 pretty talent for these amusements. Now I have come as 
 a peace-maker. Your father and I had some difficulty 
 before you were born, and we have never spoken since. 
 We are not to be commended for that, my dear. Now let 
 us be friends. I live in a very quiet university town, but 
 you must come next summer and pay your aunt and 
 cousins a visit. I will write to Pascal to-morrow. Why, 
 my dear, how much you look like your father and your 
 mother both ! You make me feel ashamed of my past 
 twenty years, wasted in a quarrel. Well, Pascal has been 
 generous to me. He lost some money for me once, but 
 he has paid it all up again." 
 
 The President was agreeable, chatty, and kind. It gave 
 Rose a new sensation to hear him talk, and to feel that she 
 had kindred and friends. Mrs. Trevylyan was delighted 
 with the reconciliation, for she had passed her life striving 
 to smooth over family feuds. 
 
 After Rose left them for Fountain was pawing the 
 ground outside Mrs. Trevylyan gave President Williams 
 a little sketch of his niece, her trials and her mistakes, and 
 of her singular success. To the man who spent his life in 
 the educating of young men, these lesser trials of a pretty 
 girl who made a few blunders in etiquette seemed at first 
 very trivial ; but Mrs. Trevylyan was a woman of sense,
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 109 
 
 and she opened before him many hidden views down the 
 corridors of society which had not been revealed to him 
 before. " She has been so neglected," said Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 He listened and thought. Yes, he had been one of the 
 people to blame. He might have sent for this orphaned 
 daughter of his sister, and have given her a quiet, scholarly, 
 and most excellent home : he had neglected her. 
 
 " But she seems refined. I particularly liked her elocu- 
 tion," said the President. 
 
 " That we owe to the perseverance of Professor Paton," 
 said Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 " Ah, yes, I know him well. He was one of my old pro- 
 fessors. I was sorry when he left us ; but he seems to be 
 doing vastly better." 
 
 " Yes, he has found his pot of gold, and many friends." 
 
 " By-the-way, I have met an agreeable woman, who spoke 
 of you and Rose Mrs. Carver ; she was painting a watej- 
 color of a very pretty woman, Mrs. Philippeau." 
 
 "Oh yes, Mrs. Carver, a most fascinating talker poor, 
 very poor, has to aid herself by painting photographs. 
 This Mrs. Philippeau is rich and vulgar, and knows that it 
 is a good thing to patronize her." 
 
 The President wrinkled his heavy brows. He did not 
 like this talk of society, this sort of revealing of base 
 motives. He had seen two agreeable women together, the 
 one painting, the other being painted; he saw nothing 
 vulgar in either no patronage, and no loss of caste. 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyan was too experienced in the art of con- 
 versation not to see that she had jarred upon the feelings 
 of the President. 
 
 " I ought to tell you more," said she. " Mrs. Philippeau 
 
 is a woman who makes herself ridiculous by trying to be 
 
 8
 
 110 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 fashionable. She pushes, and pushes, and pushes. She 
 has money, but she does not know the fashionable set the 
 set she wishes to know so she subscribes to every fashion- 
 able charity; she goes everywhere that she can go; she 
 apes the follies of the leaders of fashion, and Fashion, like 
 every other passion, if I may so call it, only sees how fool- 
 ish it is when it is caricatured ; therefore the women whom 
 she wants to know take a wonderful pleasure in keeping 
 her out. Mrs. Philippeau has observed that, after a cer- 
 tain position has been reached, a reputation for fastness is 
 a great and triumphant emblazonment, so she tries a little 
 flirting, and all that sort of thing, with men who are not 
 yet the fashion, not having the wit to observe that what 
 would be forgiven to Mrs. Morella is rank blasphemy in a 
 nobody. This, you may say, shows " 
 
 " An impoverished moral sense," said the President. 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyan laughed. " My dear President, I am 
 ashamed to talk to a man of your dignity of these fol- 
 lies of a crowded social life; I cannot find the proper 
 phraseology." 
 
 "I understand you, I think. You would say that this 
 pretty woman, this Mrs. Philippeau, is a very bad copy of 
 a villanous original do I understand you ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Trevylyan ; " you state it strongly." 
 
 " I know you have forsaken it all, Mrs. Trevylyan. Tell 
 me, do you not dread this modern world, this day in which 
 we have thrown away too much ? We had guards, tradi- 
 tions of good-breeding, in our day ; now we have none. 
 Do you wish my niece to be a purely fashionable woman ? 
 Tell me, has religion no place in this education which you 
 are giving her ?" 
 
 " Come here, President," said Mrs. Trevylyan ; and she
 
 A TRANSPLANTED KOSE. Ill 
 
 led him into her own little sanctuary, where stood her 
 writing-table. Books and work lay in orderly confusion. 
 
 She led him to another table, where Eose bad marked 
 out her own day's work. There lay her books of devotion 
 and her calendar for the week. So many hours for study, 
 so many for the poor and suffering, so many for religious 
 duty, so many for her Bible class. 
 
 The President was satisfied. " I ask your pardon, Mrs. 
 Trevylyan. So long as she seeks fashion and a knowledge 
 of etiquette with these strong grappling chains to hold her 
 to an honest and true womanhood, I shall not despair ; but 
 it seems light and frivolous to me." 
 
 "And yet it is a service, this of the world, for which 
 people strive and work hard," said Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 " I suppose she is to inherit a large fortune I" asked the 
 President. 
 
 " I hear that Pascal is now rich, and with a certain fort- 
 une," said Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 " I hope so," said the President. " I am, however, 
 thinking what would become of his daughter if he should 
 die poor." 
 
 "I believe Rose would have courage for any fate.' It is 
 my business just now to prepare her for that life in the 
 world to which, should she marry well, she may be called. 
 You remember Tennyson's poem of the Lord of Burleigh 
 and of the poor girl who died 
 
 "'With the burden of an honor 
 Unto which she was not born.' " 
 
 "Yes; but we Americans are born to all honor." 
 " I am aware of that. But we are not born to good 
 manners. Nobody is. That must be taught. Since I
 
 112 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 have seen Rose suffer, I feel how necessary these little 
 things are. We must condescend to think that etiquette 
 is a minor classic, which should be added to our academic 
 course." 
 
 " Well, well, I do not know but you are right, dear Mrs. 
 Trevylyan. Certainly I am not too old or too countrified 
 to be charmed by an agreeable manner. Good-morning, 
 and give my farewell and love to Rose." 
 
 Meantime Rose was trotting along in the Park, with her 
 groom behind her, Harriet Amberley and Jack Townley 
 not far behind ; but by her side Sir Lytton was riding, and 
 looking into her bright eyes whenever Fountain gave him 
 a chance. 
 
 This intimacy had grown, as all such intimacies do, un- 
 consciously. Sir Lytton did not mean to fall in love in 
 America. He knew that there were many reasons why he 
 should not. He had, however, encountered a beautiful, 
 young, original woman, unlike any other whom he had met, 
 preoccupied, too, when he first saw her, and careless of 
 pleasing him. Yet, as he had known her better, she had 
 grown so winning, so confidential, so full of respect and re- 
 gard for his opinion, that the young baronet was completely 
 won, and fell head over ears in love. A thousand times he 
 tried to tell her so, but the hour was not yet arrived for 
 that. Love is a fruit which will ripen and open in its own 
 good time ; no gardener can force it. 
 
 Every day Rose gave Sir Lytton some reason to think 
 that she loved him ; every day she drove him to despair 
 by a certain frankness and confiding naturalness which was 
 not love. Sir Lytton knew very little of women, but he 
 knew enough for that. He knew that Rose could live 
 without him. So, disliking to destroy the charm of an ac-
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 113 
 
 quaintance which was always baffling and always charming, 
 he allowed the golden moments to float along, with his 
 message yet unspoken. 
 
 He was as delightful as he could be, this young English- 
 man. There wr.s a " contagion of nobility " about him : 
 not only his refined Norman face, his perfect manners, his 
 manly soul, his good heart, but he had a generous desire 
 to make himself agreeable. He had a sunny kindness in 
 his soul. Dogs and horses loved him ; servants liked to 
 wait upon him ; he was the most unconscious fascinator. 
 
 Love was not with Rose a matter of " two quadrilles and 
 three waltzes." If she had partly forgotten Jack Townley, 
 if she half remembered how he had been the first image in 
 the magic mirror, she was not much to be blamed. Life 
 to her was still a dream. Some new and almost contradic- 
 tory incident came up every day, and she had not only to 
 learn the ways of society, but that deeper and more in- 
 tricate country, her own heart. 
 
 Meantime Jack Townley, as many a worldling has done 
 before and since, had been too much disturbed as to his 
 digestion, or the fit of his clothes, or the proper tempera- 
 ture of his Burgundy. Things were going wrong with 
 Jack Townley. He did not quite know what was the matr 
 ter. The quiet, soothing, and unexciting conversation of 
 Harriet Amberley always had a comforting effect upon him, 
 and to-day she, respecting his far-off glances, which be- 
 trayed where he wished to be, i. e., in Sir Lytton's saddle, 
 with a woman's tact began on a subject which made them 
 both laugh. 
 
 "Mrs. Carver's picture of Mrs. Philippeau is to go to 
 the exhibition, I hear," said Harriet. 
 
 "Ah, she has got so far, has she, poor pretty little
 
 114 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 woman ! I wonder if Sidonie and Mrs. Morella will go and 
 throw penknives at it? If I had my way, Mrs. Philippeau 
 should be admitted to the F. C. D. C." 
 
 " Her brother is, and he is less pretty." 
 
 " Yes, decidedly ; but then he sells us ' Brandy Gulch,' 
 you know, Miss Amberley." 
 
 " I am glad he has stopped persecuting Rose," said Har- 
 riet Amberley. 
 
 " He has his eye on her, I assure you, Miss Amberley. 
 He is a strange and powerful man ; he holds Pascal Chad- 
 wick between bis thumb and forefinger. If he wishes to 
 marry Rose, and she will not have him, I believe he is 
 capable of ruining her father." 
 
 " What a wretch !" said Harriet. " Why do you asso- 
 ciate with him?" 
 
 " Miss Amberley, I have long since determined to ask 
 myself no questions. I do not know why I associate with 
 anybody. I am the creature of fate." 
 
 Harriet Araberley laughed, as if anybody was less the 
 creature of fate than this man. 
 
 Polished, elegant, selfish, well-born, and well-bred, with 
 that devotion to society which becomes a profession, Jack 
 Townley looked and acted as if enveloped in an armor of 
 proof. He seemed to walk protected by the harness of 
 many generations of London tailo/s, and yet Jack Townley 
 suddenly felt that he had been playing genteel comedy all 
 his life. Was there something else, something better than 
 all this, or had he suddenly gone wrong in health ? 
 
 " I don't know what is the matter with me to-day," said 
 he apologetically to Miss Amberley, after a long silence. 
 " Do forgive me for my stupidity. I believe I must give 
 up smoking cigarettes."
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 115 
 
 " They are very harmful, I believe," said Harriet. " They 
 are rolled in that horrid paper which gives you cancer on 
 the lip, and polypus in the nose." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Amberley, don't. Not so bad as that." 
 Here Sir Lytton and Rose stopped for them, and the 
 two girls chatted for a moment. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " I KNOW what is the matter with you, Mr. Jack Town- 
 ley," said Harriet to herself, as they trotted home, "and 
 I know what is the matter with my grave brother, and with 
 Sir Lytton. You have all found a fascinating young girl, 
 who is as yet quite uncertain on which of you she will 
 bestow the prize of her fresh young heart." Jack Town- 
 ley was quite correct in his supposition that the Honorable 
 Hathorne Mack did not mean to leave Rose alone. He 
 had merely been, with his usual canning, playing out his 
 salmon. He watched her movements with the secrecy of 
 a cat, and was not at all unaware of the various "flirta- 
 tions," as he called them, which she was carrying on with 
 different men. He was a man who had gained everything 
 he wanted in life by a sort of brutal courage, persistency, 
 and assumption. He did not doubt that he should still 
 gain all he wanted by the same means. 
 
 He had a strong, determined passion for the girl ; it was 
 the almost ferocious love which comes to a man when he 
 has passed his first youth, when life lies behind him a 
 partly conquered province, whose green fields and waving 
 vineyards he is yet to enjoy.
 
 116 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 Hathorne Mack had won his fortune and his position by 
 the hardest toil. He felt that it was time for him to be- 
 gin to enjoy. 
 
 It was for Rose that he flirted with Mrs. Morella and 
 Miss Devine. It was for Rose that he allowed these so- 
 ciety men to become his slaves or his dupes as he held 
 forth his tempting shares. He gave dinners at Delmonico's 
 that Rose might hear of them ; he sent flowers, played the 
 magnifico, that Rose might be dazzled. He was not with- 
 out a certain sense of gratified power that all these elegant 
 people began to pay court to him, Hathorne Mack ; and 
 he thought sometimes of the country tavern where he was 
 reared, and the old mother who had sat and smoked her 
 pipe as she hurled epithets at him, and of his own ragged, 
 neglected self in those days, with a sort of satyr satisfac- 
 tion. Then he remembered the only good deed of his 
 life : how after the old people dfed he had taken his young 
 sister, the child of their old age, and had supported her, ed- 
 ucated her after a fashion, and brought her along until now 
 she was the rich, handsome, discontented Mrs. Philippeau. 
 
 He had more affection for this sister than for any one 
 on earth. Until he had fallen in love it may be safe to 
 say that his sister was the only human being he cared for 
 at all. 
 
 When she made an excellent marriage in a worldly sense, 
 Hathorne Mack had ceased to take any particular care of 
 her. But now that he had come to New York, she claimed 
 of him his old love and kindness. She demanded that he 
 should give her society, as he had given her clothes and 
 schools and food and shelter in the past. 
 
 But the two found that society was a good which money 
 rould not always buy.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 117 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer said, when he asked her to call on his 
 sister : " Dear Mr. Mack, my visiting-list is so large that I 
 never get round once in two years. I have solemnly prom- 
 ised Mr. Mortimer that I will not know another person. 
 Why, look at the cards left to-day ! Just imagine my em- 
 barrassment ! My sister Louisa marriad into the Delavans, 
 and they are legion. Now a Delavan has married a Mo- 
 rella, and they are as the sands of the sea. They alone 
 have sent me five new acquaintances, on whom I must 
 call. Now, isn't that intolerable? Just wait awhile be- 
 fore you ask me to call on anybody. Mrs. Morella ought 
 to call ; she is a young woman, with no visiting-book at 
 all. And Jack Townley and Dicky Smallweed must get 
 your sister's name put down for the balls, and the skating- 
 rink, etc." 
 
 Mrs. Morella pleaded bad health, and all sorts of absurd 
 things, until she saw the Honorable Hathorne Mack grow 
 purple in the face. 
 
 " What is the matter with my sister ?" he asked. " She 
 is as good-looking and as well dressed as any of you, and 
 has a great deal more money." 
 
 " But, dear Mr. Mack, she has such a dreadfully vulgar 
 husband," said Mrs. Morella, driven into a corner. 
 
 The Honorable Hathorne Mack did not like his brother- 
 in-law. Here he was content with an explanation. The 
 little Frenchman knew how to take care of his money. 
 He never went into any of the schemes. His dollars rolled 
 up, and he put them safely away ; bought corner houses 
 on Fifth Avenue, and things which he could see. Then 
 he sent home to France, and perhaps did a neat thing on 
 the Bourse, if he speculated anywhere. 
 
 " I vill go down to ze bank of my good friend Moses
 
 118 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 Tayleure, and put in ze rest for Marie," he would whisper 
 to himself, as the good money rolled in. " But my brother- 
 in-law, no. He has not ze clean hands. No !" 
 
 So when Mrs. Morella declared that poor little Philip- 
 peau stood in the way, and prevented the gates of fashion 
 from flying open, the Honorable Hathorne Mack was in- 
 clined to believe her. 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyan and he had come to an almost open 
 fight, so he could hardly ask her to call. In fact, he dread- 
 ed those clear, courageous eyes of hers. He knew she 
 would say no, and would tell him the reason why. 
 
 But Fate, whose puppets we all are, threw Mrs. Philip- 
 peau into society, and society at Mrs. Philippeau, in a 
 strange way, by a dreadful misfortune to poor Rose, whose 
 sky became suddenly overcast. 
 
 Fountain had never been quite safe since his first fright. 
 He had been startled once or twice by a passing vehicle, 
 and had attempted to run. Rose was an admirable horse- 
 woman, and thoroughly acquainted with his mouth ; her 
 own seat was perfect. So, allowing him the rein judicious- 
 ly, she had always succeeded in curbing him at last. 
 
 But on one nearly fatal Friday, as she was coming out 
 of the Park, Fountain took fright and ran ; and as he did 
 so a victoria in front of him caught in the wheel of an- 
 other vehicle, was overturned, and a general commotion 
 caused a great crowd and confusion. Fountain became 
 that dreadful thing, a crazy, frightened horse, and ran 
 away down through Fifth Avenue, wholly unmindful of 
 the firm little hand on the rein. 
 
 Rose showed admirable coolness. Those who looked 
 long remembered the closely shut lips, the bright wide-open 
 eye, the high color, the firm seat. She put her hand on
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 119 
 
 his neck, spoke to him, held his head firmly ; but it was 
 of no use. He was wildly insane, mad, and uncontrol- 
 lable. 
 
 All of a sudden she heard the clatter of a horse's hoofs 
 behind her, and Fountain swayed to the left. A sharp, 
 sudden, dreadful pain struck her leg. The shaft of a pass- 
 ing vehicle had knocked violently against her. She felt 
 deadly sick, and knew that in a moment she should fall 
 into that terrible vortex of passing carriages, when an arm 
 was reached out that clasped her waist, and she felt that 
 she was being lifted from her horse. Then all grew black 
 before her as she caught a glimpse over her shoulder of the 
 hateful face of Hathorne Mack. 
 
 Yes, he had saved her life. He knew how to ride, did 
 the Honorable Hathorne. He had learned of the Mexicans, 
 and had before this seized an adversary off a horse. He 
 had been riding in the Park, watching Rose from afar off, 
 and had intended to join her as she emerged into Fifth 
 Avenue. Whether she had seen him or not, he could not 
 tell; but he saw Fountain begin to run. Then to follow 
 her, to catch her as she was about to fall, was a brave and 
 manly thing. Perhaps not another man in New York 
 could have done the deed of strength and daring which he 
 did. Xor was it easy for him to support his fainting bur- 
 den, or to control his own horse, with Rose in front of 
 him, until he could turn into a side street. 
 
 But, that done, all was easy. The crowd followed him. 
 Rose was gently lifted down, and he alighted. A doctor 
 came and felt her heart. A woman with red hair emerged 
 from the crowd. " Rose Chadwick," said she, kneeling by 
 her side. 
 
 It was her old governess, Miss Marjoribanks ; and when
 
 120 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 Rose opened her eyes, she gave a little groan, and recog- 
 nized her. 
 
 They tried to lift her to her feet, and she leaned on 
 Miss Marjoribanks. 
 
 " My leg is broken," said the poor girl, falling again, 
 and faint with pain. 
 
 " Take her to your sister's house ; it is just around the 
 corner. She must not be carried farther," said Miss Mar- 
 joribanks to the Honorable Hathorne Mack. 
 
 Little Philippeau was just going up his steps as he saw 
 the mournful procession coming thither. His governess 
 ran on to explain. Never did an honest gentleman open 
 his door more quickly ; never was a doctor brought more 
 speedily; never did a more tender heart feel for the 
 wounded and suffering. And then he ran to tell Marie, 
 who would be nervous and frightened, he feared. 
 
 Aias for the nobility of his own nature, he little knew 
 of the selfish joy which filled the heart of Marie ! She 
 saw it at a glance. Now she would get into society ; now 
 was her chance ! Fate had opened the door. 
 
 And she was not disappointed. Mrs. Trevylyan was by 
 her niece's side in half an hour, overwhelmed with sorrow, 
 anxiety, and gratitude. The doctor declared that Miss 
 Chadwick must not be moved, and Mrs. Philippeau put 
 her whole house at the disposal of doctors and nurses. 
 
 She reminded Mrs. Trevylyan that she had accidentally 
 engaged Miss Chadwick's old governess (with a recommen- 
 dation from Sir Lytton Leycester), and that no one could 
 be more devoted than she would be, etc., etc. 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyan, a feeble invalid herself, was overcome 
 by all this kindness. " What injustice I have been doing 
 this woman !" said she.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 121 
 
 Mis. Mortimer, Fanny Grey, Harriet Amberley all called 
 the next day to inquire for Rose. Nothing could be more 
 sweet, more gentle, more delightful, than Mrs. Philippeau. 
 Every one went away charmed. 
 
 Then came Jack Townley, Sir Lytton Leycester, Jack 
 Long, Dicky Small weed ; and finally, since every one called, 
 so did Mrs. Morella and Sidonie Devine. 
 
 The rescue had been so romantic ! Honorable Hathorne 
 Mack came near having a reception tendered to him at the 
 City Hall. 
 
 Then it was discovered that Mrs. Philippeau's house was 
 full of pretty things such water-colors ! such miniatures ! 
 such china ! such bric-a-brac ! 
 
 Of course no one saw Rose. She, poor child, lay in a 
 burning fever, scarcely conscious that old Martha and Miss 
 Marjoribanks and Mrs. Trevylyan and a strange new nurse 
 hovered around her bed. 
 
 She had been injured more than they thought. The 
 broken leg was not the only wound. And the fright, the 
 terrible shock to the nervous system, came when she was 
 wearied by a winter of extraordinary excitements, and after 
 much work. Yes, much, too much, work. 
 
 So society, shocked, stunned, grieved as it was for a 
 day or two by so serious an accident to one who had 
 held but lately so prominent a place in its circles, turned 
 in its way to the later sensation, Mrs. Philippeau, who re- 
 ceived all her callers with a grave dignity, and who re- 
 ported Miss Chadwick's condition with the sincerest con- 
 cern. 
 
 " I declare she is all right, except that she wears her 
 diamonds in the morning," said Mrs. Morella. 
 
 " She has excellent teacups," said Sidonie. " And what
 
 122 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 a good-looking red-haired woman that is who sits and 
 turns out the tea !" 
 
 " Oh ! that is the English governess," said Mrs. Morella. 
 "Do you know, Sidonie, I should not wonder if she had 
 given Mrs. Philippeau some hints ? She is not half so vul- 
 gar as she was." 
 
 " She is quiet enough," said Sidonie. 
 
 The gentlemen were all in favor of Mrs. Philippeau. 
 Her beauty began to assert itself under the favorable cir- 
 cumstances of Worth peignoirs, shaded rooms, and a sad 
 air. 
 
 Ethel Marjoribanks sat and poured the tea, and enter- 
 tained the Honorable Hathorne Mack, and observed the 
 world which floated before her in a still, quiet way. Her 
 pupil Pierre gave her but little trouble. He had two 
 nurses to dress him and undress him ; he had his loving 
 father to caress and drive him out ; and the English gov- 
 erness, who had been the foot-ball of fortune for many a 
 long year, thought that her lot had at last fallen in pleas- 
 ant places. 
 
 Many a hint did she contrive to give to Mrs. Philip- 
 peau, who knew little or nothing of society. She wrote 
 her notes ; she told her of the families she had lived 
 with in England; she advised this calm, dignified self- 
 abnegation. No vulgar young upstart ever had a better 
 friend. 
 
 Meantime Miss Marjoribanks was watching the situation. 
 It grew more interesting and more complicated every day. 
 She taught Pierre conscientiously. She nursed Rose, when 
 her turn came, faithfully. Meantime she was speculating 
 upon higher game.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 123 
 
 XVII. 
 
 "Is polite society polite?" What, after all, are the 
 requisites for good society ? A high moral character, a 
 polished education, a perfect command of temper, good- 
 breeding, delicate feelings, good manners, good habits? 
 Are wit, accomplishments, and talent advantages ? 
 
 Is society the meeting on a footing of equality, and for 
 the purposes of mutual entertainment, of men, of women, 
 together, of good character, good education, and good- 
 breeding, or is it a place where wealth commands the first 
 place, and where a spotless reputation is of very little ac- 
 count unless it has something else to offer to a selfish 
 world ? 
 
 Certainly the old ideas were all comprehended in the 
 earlier codes, even the selfish code of Chesterfield. 
 
 But in the modern world of society in England and in 
 America, we learn to-day that these requisites do not al- 
 ways enter into the demeanor of the fashionable. The 
 first maxim of politeness was to be agreeable to everybody, 
 even at the expense of one's own comfort. The fashion- 
 able expert of to-day treats herself to a great license of 
 rudeness, and the bad-mannered are most powerful. Every 
 one fears them, every one pulls away a foot if it is to be 
 trampled upon. 
 
 We have seen how in the case of poor Rose the absence 
 of a knowledge of a set of arbitrary rules which society 
 has made for its own preservation caused her annoyance 
 and distress. We have seen, also, how the cruelty of those
 
 124 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 whose mission it was to be polite had hurt her feelings and 
 confused her mind. We ought all to be thankful for these 
 arbitrary rules, for they save much trouble, doubt, and un- 
 certainty. With a knowledge of these ordinances of 
 society, the least skilled person can in a short time take 
 her place comfortably at a court, if called upon to do so. 
 But for the cruelty and bad-breeding of those who stand 
 at the portals of good society, like bad angels with flaming 
 swords to smite rather than to give the accolade, we have 
 no explanation, and can find no forgiveness. 
 
 Despots of fashion, like all despots, change their minds 
 more frequently than other people, nor do they ask any- 
 body to excuse them for so doing. 
 
 So no one received an apology from Mrs. Mortimer, Mrs. 
 Morella, or Miss Devine that they began in a patronizing 
 way to speak of Mrs. Philippeau as if she were " one of 
 us," that some grudging invitations were given to her, and 
 that on the Avenue she received a few mutilated bows. 
 Her own manners and dress were undergoing a change, and 
 an improvement, but Mrs. Philippeau did not grow refined 
 half as fast as her enemies grew forgiving, for motives of 
 their own. 
 
 These were great days for Brandy Gulch. Sidonie 
 Devine made a large sum of money ; Mrs. Morella came 
 out with a new diamond necklace; and the Honorable 
 Hathorne Mack was in the highest of spirits. 
 
 But Mrs. Trevylyau was breaking down with a new 
 anxiety. Her telegrams and letters to her brother re- 
 mained unanswered. The Scotch farmer wrote that Mr. 
 Chadwick had departed for Alaska, without telling them 
 when he should come back, and that they were expecting 
 to hear from him every day.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSB. 125 
 
 The Scotchwoman, who entered his deserted parlor to 
 lay one letter after another on that now dusty pile which 
 had been accumulating for weeks, thought sadly of the 
 brilliant child who had once brightened the room, and 
 anxiously of her master. He was often gone a long time, 
 but they heard from him ; he sent for his letters, and 
 made them some communication. Now he had relapsed 
 into unusual silence. Mrs. Trevylyan was unable to go and 
 see Rose now, for her old malady came back, as it always 
 does when the mind is troubled, and she was laid up with 
 rheumatism ; but she wrote to Hathorne Mack to ask him 
 what could have become of Pascal Pascal, who should 
 know of his daughter's accident. 
 
 The Honorable Hathorne Mack did not trouble himself 
 to answer hurriedly. When he deigned to explain, he 
 wrote that his friend Chadwick had probably sailed for 
 the Sandwich Islands, where they had some joint in- 
 terests. 
 
 "Ah, madam," said he to himself, snapping his pudgy 
 fingers, "you dared and defied Hathorne Mack, did you? 
 Well, I should like to see which of us is ahead just now !" 
 
 Rose was indeed in the hands of her enemies. She had 
 been delivered over to them, bound hand and foot. For 
 many weeks she was too ill to care much, and pain absorbed 
 all her attention. 
 
 As for physical comforts, she had enough and to spare, 
 and she was as well cared for as ever patient with broken 
 leg could be. That horrible plaster jacket would have 
 been equally intolerable anywhere, but every taste was con- 
 sulted, every alleviation procured. She and Miss Marjori- 
 banks had never been enemies ; they became almost warm 
 friends in these bitter days, and her other friends were 
 
 9
 
 126 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 very kind. Flowers and fruits, and cards and notes, all 
 poured in upon her. 
 
 And she was very much entertained by Pierre, and got 
 
 / J 
 
 to like the kind-hearted little Frenchman, her host. He 
 was so sincerely sorry for her, and so kind and amusing ! 
 He invented a thousand little surprises for " ze poor 
 mademoiselle," and was always bringing her a bird in the 
 cage, a marmot, a squirrel, a little dog ; a parrot even oc- 
 curred to him as likely to rouse her spirits in her cap- 
 tivity. 
 
 She had been told carefully of her father's probable de- 
 parture for the Sandwich Islands and of her aunt's illness; 
 so, as Martha came every day with cheerful face, she ac- 
 cepted these two desagrements with patience. She was 
 accustomed to her father's absence. 
 
 Her hostess she liked least of all, although Marie was 
 very kind. No sort of conversation amused Mrs. Philip- 
 peau excepting the tittle-tattle of society, and her questions 
 seemed to Rose to be those of an inquisitor. She was 
 asked how she liked Mrs. Mortimer ; how many balls and 
 dinners she gave ; how many Mrs. Morella gave ; whether 
 Mrs. Morella " stood as high " as Mrs. Mortimer, and which 
 was called the better dressed ; what gentlemen were " atten- 
 tive;" and who was the greater belle, Fanny Grey or 
 Sidonie Devine ? 
 
 Poor Rose did not feel at all qualified to answer these 
 questions, nor were they at all important to her, even if she 
 could have answered them. " I wonder why you want to 
 know ?" she one day imprudently remarked. 
 
 Marie looked at the girl curiously. " Why, haven't you 
 enjoyed society ?" said she. 
 
 " No, not always," said Rose. " Have you ?"
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 127 
 
 " N n no, not always," said Mrs. Philippeau ; " but I 
 should if I were like you, a great belle." 
 
 " I was not one," said Rose. " I made so many mis- 
 takes, people laughed at me." 
 
 " But you were invited everywhere." 
 
 "That was for my aunt's sake, not mine," said simple 
 Rose. 
 
 " Were you ever cut cut dead ?" said poor Mrs. Phil- 
 ippeau. 
 
 "What!" 
 
 " Were you ever cut ? Did anybody you had once 
 known ever pass you and not bow to you?" asked 
 Marie. 
 
 " No, I suppose not ; I never noticed it. Why should 
 they ?" 
 
 " I think that is a part of society," said Mrs. Phil- 
 ippeau. " I knew some New York people very well at 
 Saratoga, and when they came back here they used to look 
 me in the face and not bow to me." 
 
 " They must have been near-sighted," said Rose. 
 
 " No ; they cut me, cut me dead, because I was not in 
 society." 
 
 She said this with a sort of groan of pain, a voice in 
 which anguish struggled with anger. The parrot heard it, 
 and with a sort of fiendish mockery repeated, " Cut, cut 
 dead !" 
 
 " Perhaps they thought you cut them ?" said Rose, who 
 was learning of a new pain one which perhaps was more 
 hard to bear than even a broken leg. 
 
 Then when Rose was able to move to a sofa and the 
 window, Marie would sit by her side, and ask who people 
 were, and bring her cards up-stairs, and wonder which were
 
 128 A TRANSPLANTED KOSE. 
 
 left for Rose and which for herself, and show such an in- 
 terest in society that Rose began to ponder anew upon the 
 vexed subject, and wonder, after all, what society really 
 was, whether an instrument of torture or beneficent inven- 
 tion, whether Mrs. Philippeau would be so anxious for it 
 if she knew more of it. Rose had never heard that wise 
 saw, " Great minds are content with very little society ; it 
 is the weakest class that can never do without it." But 
 convalescence brought a less agreeable person than Mrs. 
 Philippeau to the little boudoir where Rose lay for many 
 weeks after recovery set in. 
 
 This was the Honorable Hathorne Mack, whose flowers 
 and grapes had been sent up most liberally. His sister 
 brought him in to pay his respects, and of course poor Rose 
 could say nothing to prevent the visit. 
 
 She owed him her life ; he was her father's friend ; she 
 was in his sister's house. All, all were arguments in his 
 favor ; but she loathed him as he took her hand and held 
 it to his greasy waistcoat. 
 
 " Well, Miss Rose, getting pretty perky ? I hope we 
 shall have you down soon. You never will ride that beast 
 again, I can tell you." 
 
 " Why not ?" asked poor Rose. 
 
 " Oh, he broke his leg, and a policeman shot him, down 
 by Twenty-third Street," said Hathorne. 
 
 " Fountain shot ! Fountain dead !" said Rose. And she 
 turned her face on her pillow and wept aloud. 
 
 " Now don't take on so. I'll give you another horse 
 better than that devil. Why, I'd never have let you ride 
 him again, Rose never. He'd never haf e been safe, you 
 know." 
 
 But the Honorable Hathorne Mack did not speed in his
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 129 
 
 wooing that day. His assumption of ownership, his fa- 
 miliar address oh ! how it began to fold itself around Rose 
 like the slimy coil of the anaconda ! And then the tidings 
 he brought poor Fountain dead ! 
 
 There was no help for it, however. She was glad to 
 see other people, and as they were allowed to come and 
 see her, the Honorable Hathorne Mack was permitted to 
 come, of course. At last she made_ a treaty with Marjori- 
 banks, which was this, that the governess and Pierre would 
 always be in the room, and that they should divert and 
 distract Mr. Mack from his love-making. 
 
 This good deed Miss Marjoribanks undertook with great 
 alacrity. She had known the Honorable Hathorne in her 
 life in the West, and she showed great tact in talking to 
 him. She led him off on the subject of his enterprises. 
 She made him brag and boast, and fight his battles over 
 again. She saved Rose many a dreadful hour. 
 
 Sir Lytton Leycester and Jack Townley, Mr. Amberley 
 and Jack Long, were admitted together one day ; for Mrs. 
 Philippeau gave a tea, and invited the people who had 
 called. 
 
 Rose had never looked more lovely than as she lay there 
 in a curtained bow-window, looking out on the sunset with 
 the refined convalescent air on her pale face, and the new 
 light in her eyes which suffering always brings. Harriet 
 Amberley was sitting with her, and Fanny Grey knelt by 
 her sofa, playing with some flowers. 
 
 " Now no one need tell me that this picture is not a 
 composition," said Arthur Amberley. " It is all gotten up 
 for the ruin of our peace of mind. My dear Miss Rose, 
 how can I tell you how I have been torn with anxiety lest 
 you should never dance so well again ?"
 
 130 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 "The doctor says I shall dance better," said Rose, glad 
 of his scoffing humor. 
 
 " Impossible ! He is a quack. I shall await the spring 
 balls with anxiety." 
 
 Jack Townley was all that good-breeding and correct 
 taste could suggest. He gave her a little package, to open 
 when she was alone, he said. 
 
 " What can it be ? It is too large for an engagement 
 ring," said Amberley. 
 
 Sir Lytton sat down and looked at her while the others 
 were talking. He too had his gift, and he held her hand 
 a moment longer than the rest. 
 
 " I haven't brought you anything but myself, dear Miss 
 Rose," said Arthur Amberley, laughing, and taking leave. 
 
 Jack Townley's gift was a riding-whip coiled up, with 
 " Good Luck " on a miniature horse-shoe. 
 
 But Sir Lytton's was the real thing one of Fountain's 
 small hoofs, set in silver, and on it was engraved, " Foun- 
 tain, the playfellow." 
 
 XVIIL 
 
 THE prolonged absence of Pascal Chadwick began to 
 alarm his business friends, and to be talked about in New 
 York. But Rose, although always grieved not to hear 
 from her father, remembered he had never been a good 
 letter-writer; therefore she thought it not so strange as 
 the others did that she had no news of him. 
 
 She was very well now, but not well enough to leave 
 her room yet, the doctor said, so that her visit to Mrs. 
 Philippeau became a long one. She was greatly amused,
 
 A TRANSPLANTED KOBE. 131 
 
 and also much bored, by that lady's questions upon the 
 subject of etiquette, none of which she felt qualified to 
 answer ; but perhaps she learned much by thus being made 
 a teacher. 
 
 Mrs. Philippeau brought her half a dozen manuals on the 
 subject of etiquette, all of which conflicted, and all of which 
 seemed to Rose to be full of mistakes. She could only tell 
 Mrs. Philippeau what her aunt did and what Mrs. Mortimer 
 did ; but that was in its way invaluable assistance to Marie. 
 
 Miss Marjoribanks was of great service too. Well 
 trained in an aristocratic English house, Miss Marjoribanks 
 knew the formal English etiquette, which, although it 
 differs from ours somewhat, was yet a good guide. She 
 had the best of all possible styles of note-writing, however, 
 and that was a part of education which in the case of Mrs. 
 Philippeau had been neglected. 
 
 " Now, how soon should I return my cards ?" asked Mrs. 
 Philippeau. 
 
 "I believe Mrs. Mortimer said within a week or ten 
 days ; and if a person only leaves a card, you must only 
 leave a card ; if she calls, you must call," said Rose. 
 
 " Now I am going to a house where three or four people 
 live. Must I leave a card for each, or must I write their 
 names on the cards I leave ?" 
 
 " Oh no ; don't write their names. That, Aunt Laura 
 says, looks like an Irish boarding-house. Leave a card for 
 each." 
 
 " Must I send in my card before I go in myself ?" 
 
 " Oh no ; not if the lady is at home." 
 
 " What must I do with Mr. Philippeau's card ?" (Poor 
 Jean Pierre !) 
 
 " Leave it on the hall table," said Miss Marjoribanks.
 
 182 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 Another point which embarrassed Mrs. Philippeau was 
 the matter of introductions. One book told her one thing, 
 and another book told her another thing. 
 
 Rose told her that Mrs. Mortimer considered it the most 
 improper thing possible to introduce two people who lived 
 in the same city to each other, but that her aunt always 
 did it, considering it kinder, as American ladies never will 
 chat with each other as English ladies do if in the same 
 drawing-room, the latter considering the " roof " a sufficient 
 introduction, and also arguing that the two ladies could go 
 down the steps and never know each other again if they so 
 chose. 
 
 " Now ought I to rise when people come to call 2" she 
 asked. 
 
 Miss Marjoribanks answered by reading from an excellent 
 work she held in her hand. " ' If a second visitor arrives 
 ten or fifteen minutes after the first visitor, the first visitor 
 should take her leave as soon as she gracefully can ; the 
 hostess would rise, meet 'and shake hands with the second 
 visitor, if a lady, and then reseat herself. If a gentleman, 
 she would not rise. The second visitor would at once seat 
 himself, or herself, near the hostess. She would not, of 
 course, formally introduce the visitors to each other, unless 
 she had some especial reason for so doing; she would, how- 
 ever, in the course of conversation casually mention the 
 name of each visitor, so that each might become aware of 
 the name of the other. Formal introductions on these oc- 
 casions are rarely made. But if the hostess possesses tact 
 and a facility and readiness of speech, she would skilfully 
 draw both visitors into a conversation. 1 " 
 
 Poor Marie Philippeau ! this she knew she could never 
 do; and she knew that her set who would come to her
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 133 
 
 " days " must never be presented to the fashionable ac- 
 quaintances whom a lucky chance had thrown in her way. 
 
 She was not quite so hardened as a certain family in 
 New York, who, marrying their daughter to the black 
 sheep of a fashionable family, whose alliance brought them 
 the right to send cards to Mrs. Mortimer's set, then and 
 there deliberately dropped all their old acquaintances, even 
 the grandfather and brothers and cousins, and have been 
 laughed at ever since, but are counted in in the set ! 
 
 No, Marie Philippeau had not the courage of her opin- 
 ions. She did not quite dare to do this; so she wonder- 
 ed how she should amalgamate set No. 1 with sets Nos. 
 2 and 3. 
 
 "Ought I to accompany my departing guests to the 
 door?" said Mrs. Philippeau. 
 
 "Ask Miss Marjoribanks," said Rose. "I never saw 
 Mrs. Mortimer do so." 
 
 " If the lady is of sufficient rank, you should do so," 
 said the Englishwoman. 
 
 " But we have no rank here," said Mrs. Philippeau. 
 
 " Haven't you ?" said Miss Marjoribanks. " Then why 
 do you talk of sets?" 
 
 " I notice that some people seem to be of greater impor- 
 tance than some other people," said Rose. " I never could 
 see why." 
 
 Rose and Miss Marjoribanks had hit upon the difficulty, 
 and the reason why all American etiquette is so undefined. 
 They could neither of them tell why Mrs. Mortimer wag 
 better than Mrs. Simpkins, who was a conspicuous horroi 
 of set No. 3. 
 
 " Must I introduce a lady to a gentleman ?" asked Mrs, 
 Philippeau.
 
 184 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " No ; a gentleman must always be presented to a lady," 
 said Miss Marjoribanks. 
 
 " Now next week, at my dinner, must I introduce the 
 people?" said poor Marie, remembering that the persons 
 her guests would know least would be her husband and 
 herself. 
 
 "You must, I think, ma'am," said Miss Marjoribanks, 
 " present them all to Mr. Philippcau " (poor Jean Pierre !), 
 " and then only the gentleman to the lady whom he takes 
 in to dinner. However, in England, Lady Leycester said 
 that at dinners, both large and small, the hostess should 
 use her own discretion as to the introductions she thinks 
 proper to make. It is not the custom in England to in- 
 troduce people at a dinner party ; they talk without being 
 introduced." 
 
 " They never do that here," said Rose ; " it is very stiff." 
 
 Little Jean Pierre Philippeau gare his guests an excel- 
 lent dinner, and it was admirably served. There the little 
 Frenchman was at home. He never could make his wife 
 speak French ; but the ladies on either side of him had 
 the tact to talk to him in his own tongue, and he was 
 neither vulgar nor inelegant. His wife, who had expected 
 to be ashamed of him, was not at all so. Indeed, it oc- 
 curred to her that perhaps after all Jean Pierre was not so 
 common as he looked. 
 
 His wines were excellent, and that won the men. Of 
 course they all went away and abused him and his pretty 
 and violently vulgar wife, and said that he must have been 
 a cook when at home in France, to give them such plats, 
 and " perhaps he had come over here and married a cham- 
 ber-maid who knows ?" Such are the rewards showered
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 135 
 
 upon new people who show a desire to penetrate the inner 
 circle of the best society. When they are fairly in, they 
 turn and ask the same questions. Well may Mrs. Julia 
 Ward Howe ask, " Is polite society polite ?" 
 
 Mrs. Philippeau was a little fussy, and was pronounced 
 by the ladies as being without repose, without dignity, and 
 without savoir-vivre. She showed too much interest in her 
 guests, tried to amuse them, asked them to be helped twice, 
 which was a terrible social sin, and overdid her cordiality. 
 These were her faults at a dinner. But she appeared very 
 well at afternoon tea, where she sat behind her own pretty 
 table equipage and poured out a cup of tea as her guests 
 talked to her. Rebecca Ethel had trained her teas on the 
 English fashion, where afternoon tea is understood. The 
 little business of the tea gave her an outlet for her nervous- 
 ness, and she learned not to ask any questions, but to serve 
 everybody silently and naturally while she chatted of the 
 events of the day. 
 
 Jack Townley came often to see Mrs. Philippeau. He 
 found her very pretty. Not a pin did he care for her early 
 unconventionalities ; he knew they would all wear them- 
 selves off in a short time. They were not appalling, like 
 those of Rose, which came the nearer to him that he had 
 been even then a little in love with Rose. Here was new 
 game for Jack Townley a very pretty and very rich young 
 married woman, married to a square-faced little Frenchman 
 of decidedly plebeian appearance. He saw many good din- 
 ners and many afternoon teas before him in that elegant 
 and even sumptuous house. He was not averse, either, to 
 pleasing the Honorable Hathorne Mack, nor to the chance 
 of seeing Rose, who was occasionally visible. 
 
 It was to him that Mrs. Philippeau carried some of hei
 
 180 A TRANSPLANTED RO8B. 
 
 society distresses, and, as she was very pretty, he did not 
 laugh at her, but helped her. 
 
 " Don't be too polite to people," said he. 
 
 " Not too polite !" said Marie, opening her eyes. 
 
 " No ; be a little insolent. Your new friends will like 
 you a great deal better. Now you must forgive me, dear 
 Mrs. Philippeau, if I am a little prosy. We have made a 
 new departure in America. On the Continent, any man, 
 whether you know him or not, who crosses your threshold 
 with friendly intent, is your guest, and you are bound to 
 treat him with the truest respect. Here, half your ac- 
 quaintances will respect and like you better if you treat 
 them very badly." 
 
 " Why ?" asked Marie, opening her pretty eyes. 
 
 " Because they will think you think so well of yourself 
 that you think very ill of them." 
 
 "I cannot Imagine such a state of things," said 
 Marie. 
 
 "Wait, then, till you see certain hostesses, and the way 
 they treat the persons they invite to their houses," said Jack 
 Townley, anxious to prepare Mrs. Philippeau for her own 
 sorrows. 
 
 " I thought," said Mrs. Philippeau, remembering one of 
 the few adages that she had learned at the boarding-school 
 to which Hathorne Mack had sent her, " that a lady was 
 always bound to be polite in her own house." 
 
 "An exploded idea of our grandmothers," said Mr. 
 Townley. "Now, again, on the Continent, your host's 
 friends are your friends. When I enter a room in Paris, I 
 have a right to speak to everybody present. The friend- 
 ship of your host is enough. But here I should no more 
 speak to a man whom I met at Mrs. Mortimer's, without an
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 187 
 
 introduction, than I should slap him on the back. And 
 imagine two ladies speaking in your parlor !" 
 
 Poor Mrs. Philippeau went to her first ball after this, 
 and endured all the snubs, cold shoulders, and almost cuts 
 which are served out so liberally to the new-comers, while 
 Jean Pierre cooled his heels outside looking in at the 
 dancers. 
 
 Ah, if it had been under the walnuts of sunny Provence, 
 how he would have liked to waltz with his own Marie ! 
 
 He thought she looked prettier than anybody there, and 
 the diamond necklace was becoming. But she sat alone, 
 and there was a frown on her brow. She had told him 
 not to come near her ; so he did not dare to go and com- 
 fort her, to take her some champagne, and to dance with 
 her. And none of the ladies who had dined with him 
 seemed to know him, or to remember his existence at all. 
 
 Presently Jack Townley approached the lonely woman, 
 and asked her to dance. Ah, how glad was poor Jean 
 Pierre to have his little wife " taken out," and to see her 
 brow clear! And he rejoiced to look at her as she danced. 
 
 " That is a nice Mr. Jaques Townley," said he ; " ze best 
 of zem all, to be kind to my Marie." He spoke out loud 
 in his pleasure, and as he did so a quiet-looking gentleman 
 stopped and extended his hand. 
 
 " Mr. Philippeau Mr. Amberley. I have been at your 
 house several times. Allow me to introduce myself. A 
 very pretty ball? Yes. Mrs. Philippeau is, I see, enjoy- 
 ing herself. Suppose we step in to supper ?" 
 
 " I declare, Marie," said Jean Pierre, as they drove home, 
 " one man did speak to me."
 
 138 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 ROSE was made the confidante of all Mrs. Philippeau's 
 distresses. They seemed to be a sort of caricature of her 
 own sufferings, and to make the whole business of " suc- 
 cess in society " a foolish and absurd ambition, a poor 
 thing. We are very apt to judge of ourselves and our 
 motives *as artists do of their pictures, by holding them up 
 to a mirror. The reflection shows us wherein lies the bad 
 drawing. Mrs. Philippeau was a rather distorted mirror, 
 to be sure; what we call "an unbecoming looking-glass," 
 of which every lady has seen at least one specimen. 
 
 To see her late ambitions, which were honest enough in 
 her own simple way of thinking, reflected back to her 
 from the vulgar, uneducated, and selfish soul of Mrs. Phil- 
 ippeau, gave Rose (who was rather morbid and nervous 
 from her long and suffering imprisonment in a plaster 
 jacket, which the surgeons had deemed necessary to the 
 broken leg) a great sense of shame. 
 
 It seemed so indelicate to hear Mrs. Philippeau complain 
 because people did not invite her. Rose felt as if she 
 ought not to listen to her when she said, " Well, I suppose 
 she didn't think I was good enough for her," or, "He 
 wouldn't have treated Mrs. Mortimer so," or, " Why don't 
 the Amberleys ask me to dinner?" etc. remarks which 
 Mrs. Philippeau continually made. 
 
 She was a self-tormentor, this pretty little woman, wear* 
 ing her soul out to enter that society which was carelessly 
 and selfishly indifferent to her. Even the extraordinary
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 188 
 
 luck which had partly pried open the closely shut doors 
 of fashion was to her but an aggravation, for she heard of 
 thousands of things to which she was not invited, and she 
 saw that her presence at a ball or party was looked upon 
 rather as an intrusion. She was not yet " one of us" a 
 phrase which she often heard her guests use. She was like 
 the traveller in Mexico who, in order to climb a mountain, 
 must pull himself up by the prickly cactus, and through 
 a jungle of cruel spines, all of which wound and tear the 
 flesh. 
 
 The dear little Pierre, who had grown very intimate 
 with Rose during her illness, used to jump into his 
 mother's lap, and seeing her brow knit and lips contracted, 
 would, with a child's instinctive sympathy, try to smooth 
 away the irritation. 
 
 " Come, pretty mamma," he would say, " throw away 
 these naughty letters that make you so unhappy " as the 
 smooth white cards came in, and on being opened proved 
 to be not the ones Mrs. Philippeau desired " throw them 
 all away, and come play with Rose and me." 
 
 " Oh, Pierre, go away ! go away ! What do you know 
 of society ? Why shouldn't Miss Fanny Grey invite me ?" 
 
 Then she would call her little dog Pink, and tucking 
 him under her arm with far more tenderness than she had 
 shown Pierre, the poor foolish Marie would go down stairs 
 to see Jack Townley, who now came in every afternoon to 
 drink tea with the pretty woman, to look out the window 
 with her to see the world go by, and to tell her who were 
 the occupants of the various victorias arid broughams, car- 
 riages, T-carts, tilburys, and four-in-hands which swept up 
 the broad and varied panorama of Fifth Avenue. 
 
 "There goes Louisa Wallace," said Marie, bitterly.
 
 140 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " She is an old friend of mine ; but when she married into 
 the Rigton family she cut me." 
 
 " Well, she knew how to do that, she had been so often 
 cut herself," said Jack Townley, laughing. " She was 
 married for her money by that dreadful dead-beat Pony 
 Rigton, as we call him. Of course his family were pre- 
 cious glad to have Pony taken care of ; so they went the 
 entire figure, and invited all the Wallaces. Old Wallace 
 has paid down a hundred thousand dollars for every invi- 
 tation he and his wife have received, I dare say, for Pony 
 would not sell his connection cheap. But never mind 
 Mrs. Rigton. If you want her back, Mrs. Philippeau, I 
 will see that she calls." 
 
 " Will you ?" said Marie, most exultantly. " I wish you 
 would." 
 
 " So you still like her, do you ?" asked Jack. 
 
 " No, I do not. I hate her. But I want to see her 
 humbled. I want her to be obliged to call here." 
 
 "Oh, my dear Mrs. Philippeau!" said Jack, coloring a 
 little at this naive expose, "I should call it anything else 
 but a humbling process, her being allowed to call on you." 
 
 "I suppose she thinks I am not in society," said poor 
 Marie. 
 
 " Next year she will know that you are, my dear Mrs. 
 Philippeau. What would society be if it had not always 
 the opportunity of attaching to itself new and delightful 
 acquisitions ? I should be in despair if society were to re- 
 main an old and formal institution that could not grow." 
 
 " I do not think Louisa's mother is much of an acquisi- 
 tion to it," said Marie. 
 
 " No ; those are the necessary evils ; what you call, on 
 oyster shells, accretions. You see, Rigton wanted the
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 141 
 
 pearl in the oyster, that is, he wanted money ; so he took 
 with it the oyster, that is, your friend Louisa, and with her 
 those not too ornamental shells her parents don't you 
 see ?" 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Townley, how fanny you are !" said Marie, 
 who relished this sort of wit extremely. 
 
 "You may be assured, Mrs. Philippeau, that next year 
 Mrs. Rigton will ask you to be on two charities, and on 
 one ball-ticket as lady patroness, and then she will ask you 
 to buy several tickets, and also to subscribe to the ' Help- 
 ing Hand to One-armed Plasterers ;' and, if I were you, I 
 would subscribe largely to one of her charities, and be very 
 disagreeable about the other three, and say that you think 
 they are too mixed." 
 
 " Why should I say that ?" said Marie, opening her eyes 
 very, very wide. 
 
 " I don't know ; I notice they always do it," said Jack, 
 remembering the haughty sneers of several ladies who, on 
 their first admission to parties of a more exclusive character 
 than any which they had before attended, declared that 
 they were " very mixed." 
 
 "How you must enjoy being in society!" said Marie, 
 looking at him as a neophyte of the old Egyptian worship 
 might have looked at the high-priest, he who knew all the 
 mysteries and the secrets of that dreadful inner sanctuary, 
 he who had gazed upon the holy of holies. 
 
 " I don't know," said Jack. " It is very heartless. 
 Sometimes I hate it, and run off to the plains and shoot 
 buffaloes. They at least are sincere." 
 
 " That is where you met Rose ?" asked Marie, fur- 
 tively. 
 
 " Yes," said Jack, forgetting himself a moment " a 
 10
 
 142 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 beautiful vision in a hammock swinging under a great tree, 
 and afterwards we scampered about on horseback. The 
 lamented Fountain was a fine horse ; and oh, how she rode 
 him ! He might better have stayed out there ; and per- 
 haps so had she." 
 
 " Why do you say that ? She wanted to see society." 
 
 " Oh yes," said Jack, awaking from his self-indulgent 
 reverie, and feeling that he was not playing his part very 
 well ; " of course, so she did-. Yes, and she has had a 
 wonderful success perfectly wonderful. No one has 
 stirred up society like Rose Chadwick for a long time." 
 
 " I wonder why ?" said Marie. 
 
 " Well, she was a novelty, and well introduced," said 
 Jack. " There were all sorts of rumors about her. Her 
 father is one day a millionaire, and the next day nothing. 
 And then your brother, the Hon. Hathorne Mack, is known 
 to be in love with her ; that gives her a certain prestige. 
 And now Sir Lytton Leycester is following suit. Then 
 she made a great success in the private theatricals, after 
 having made several social blunders : you heard about the 
 epergne, etc., etc. If any one can be talked about for any 
 singularity, it is sometimes a great help in this tremen- 
 dously crowded and monotonous world. And then she is 
 so very, very pretty." 
 
 Marie rose suddenly, and rang the bell violently. " Lud- 
 ley !" said she. 
 
 A servant came instantly, dressed to perfection in a neat 
 brown livery, and shod with silence. 
 
 " Tell Miss Marjoribanks I want Mr. Pierre to go out for 
 his walk," said Mrs. Philippeau. 
 
 "I must compliment you on your service," said Jack 
 Townley. " That man is perfection ; he seems to be in
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 143 
 
 the atmosphere, he comes so quickly " as indeed he did, 
 having been listening just outside. 
 
 Meantime the room above held a happy pair Rose and 
 Pierre ; the latter, listening to the most delightful fairy 
 story that ever was written, as Rose, holding one of his 
 dear little chubby, sympathetic hands, comforted the 'boy 
 for the absence of the mamma whom he loved (but who 
 cared much less for him than she did for an invitation to 
 the Mortimers') by reading aloud to him. 
 
 Pink, the dog, accompanied the footman up-stairs, as the 
 unwelcome message came to poor Pierre that he was to go 
 out and walk with Miss Marjoribanks, whom he hated. 
 
 Rose told Ludley to go in search of Miss Marjoribanks 
 while she finished the few remaining words of the story. 
 
 " Rose," said Pierre, sadly, looking at Pink, " what is 
 society ? Is it a dog ?" 
 
 He remembered that his mamma always dropped him 
 and caught up the little shock-headed Scotch terrier when 
 she talked of society. 
 
 " I am afraid it is, Pierre," said Rose, laughing, " a very 
 snarling, bad-tempered, and treacherous little dog some- 
 times. But no, not always; it is an amusing dog too, and 
 a generous one occasionally. In fact, Pierre, there are 
 many varieties of both society and dogs." 
 
 Miss Marjoribanks could not be found, and Fifine, the 
 French maid, was summoned, who sulkily dressed poor 
 Pierre, and took him off for a gloomy walk. His lovely 
 afternoon was spoiled. 
 
 No sooner had he left her than Rose heard the hateful 
 voice of Hathorne Mack on the stairs. He was coming he 
 was coming to Mrs. Philippeau's boudoir, and she was alone !
 
 144 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 She had stipulated with Marie that this should never 
 happen. Indeed, she had enlisted her old governess on 
 her side, and had requested that one or both should be 
 with her when any gentleman called. They had enough 
 womanhood in them to accede to this request, and she had 
 hitherto been spared a tete-a-tete. Now it was inevitable. 
 Even Pierre, her little guardian, was gone, and she was 
 helpless. She could not even rise to ring a bell. 
 
 A quick knock at the door, and the Honorable Hathorne 
 Mack entered. He drew a chair up to the side of her sofa, 
 and began talking at once in a thick, husky voice. 
 
 He was agitated and nervous. She could see that im- 
 mediately. 
 
 " Now, my dear Rose, how are we getting on? I want 
 to know all about it, you know ; tell me, what do the 
 doctors say ? You know I saved your life, and I have a 
 right to know all about you." 
 
 " Oh, very well," said Rose. " I am going back to Aunt 
 Laura next week." 
 
 " Well, I don't know about that I don't know ; I don't 
 like that stiff old aunt of yours. She didn't treat Pascal 
 well I don't know why Pascal ever let you come and 
 stay with her." 
 
 " I shall go next week," said Rose, trembling all over. 
 
 " Now, Rose," said he, slowly, " we have got to come to 
 an understanding. I intend to make you my wife.. Your 
 father wants it and it wouldn't make any difference if he 
 didn't. I know how to handle Pascal Chadwick. I don't 
 ask you to love me; I don't care whether you do or not. 
 You will, fast enough, when you see the diamonds I have 
 bought you. There ain't a girl in New York would refuse 
 those diamonds. And I am going to settle half a million
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 145 
 
 on you, and give you the best house in New York. You 
 may go to Paris every year, and have all the dresses 
 you want, and all the horses. But I am going to be 
 master. Nobody ever resisted Hathorne Mack yet, nor 
 ever will, by Jove !" 
 
 Rose recoiled as far as the couch would allow hev to do 
 so. "I will never marry you, Mr. Mack never !" said she, 
 resolutely. 
 
 " Oh yes, you will," said he, with a coarse laugh. " I 
 have seen coy girls before. Why, here is our engagement 
 ring." And be took a box out of his pocket, and showed 
 her an immense diamond, which he playfully tried to put 
 on her finger. Rose resisted violently, and taking box and 
 ring forcibly in her own rather vigorous right hand, she 
 threw both over the Honorable Hathorne Mack's head. A 
 loud crack resounded through the room. 
 
 The lover suddenly looked behind him, and both he and 
 Rose were appalled to see that the diamond had struck a 
 large mirror, and had broken it into a dozen pieces. 
 
 " Bad luck, Miss Rose, to this house, where you have 
 been so well treated," said he. 
 
 " Bad manners too, I am sorry to say," said Rose ; " but 
 I hope that you know that I will never marry you." 
 
 " I know that you will," said he. " Rose, I hold the 
 fortunes, the future, even the life, of your father in my 
 hands. I can ruin yon both. I am more powerful than 
 you think. Now you shall marry me !" 
 
 " I can refuse at the altar, if you drag me there," said 
 Rose. " It is cowardly for you to come here, where I am 
 lying helpless and alone, to urge a marriage which I ab- 
 hor. But we do not live in an age when girls can be com- 
 pelled to marry men, Mr. Mack. I defy you !"
 
 146 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 The man, brutal as he was, shrank before those brilliant, 
 courageous eyes. 
 
 " Come now, Rose, forgive me ; I was too ardent and too 
 fierce. Come, let us kiss and be friends." And he bent 
 over her couch and tried to take her hand. 
 
 Up to this time Rose had kept back her last best weap- 
 on, a woman's weapon, which never deserts her. She 
 screamed loud and long a scream which would have been 
 efficacious in case of fire. It was answered in a way which 
 neither of the high contending parties had anticipated. A 
 number of portieres hung before the various doors, which 
 opened into the prettiest little boudoir in New York, and 
 at this crisis one of them was swung back on its rings with 
 a loud clatter. From behind it, as pale as death, with a 
 singular fire in her eyes, stepped Miss Marjoribanks. She 
 did not speak, but she looked at the Honorable Hathorne 
 Mack. 
 
 For the first time in her acquaintance with him Rose 
 saw the powerful financier, the great railroadist, the poli- 
 tician, quake. This red-haired English girl looked at him 
 silently, but with eyes which burned like coals. 
 
 "So you've been eavesdropping, have you?" said he; 
 and snatching up his hat, he suddenly left the room. 
 
 " Thank you, Rebecca," said Rose, as her old governess 
 leaned over her. 
 
 "Aha! my dear Mees Rose, but I am sorry you did 
 break ze looking-glass," said Jean Pierre, when he came 
 home. " 'Tis ze very bad luck, my dear Mees Rose."
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 147 
 
 XX. 
 
 THIS episode of an unexpected and undesired offer 
 brought on a feverish condition which threw Rose back 
 into a miserable state for several days, and determined 
 her to leave Mrs. Philippeau's house as soon as the 
 doctor would possibly permit. Her dear Aunt Laura 
 was still very ill : the world was apparently forgetting 
 her. 
 
 A long illness is a very trying thing. No matter how 
 much we may love the secluded denizen of the sick-room, 
 outside life has for us all its peremptory duties and its en- 
 grossing cares. We cannot go to see the invalid as much 
 as we would like. And while to us the time seems short, 
 how long it must appear to her ! how sad the indiffer- 
 ence, how cold the hearts, that can so forget ! 
 
 Two faithful friends, however, remembered Rose. They 
 were Arthur Amberley and Sir Lytton Leycester. Little 
 notes of inquiry, little presents of fruit, a new book, a 
 basket of flowers, a bunch of violets something came 
 every day from one of these two. They were of the faith- 
 ful kind : they are not so common. 
 
 Rose had been obliged to explain the accident of the 
 broken looking-glass to Mr. and Mrs. Philippeau. The 
 latter received it with a certain sullen forgiveness, saying 
 that her brother was an old fool anyway, and that there 
 was no fool like an old fool. 
 
 It is doubtful if sisters are ever very sympathetic with 
 their brothers' unfortunate love affairs. They are not in
 
 148 A TRANSPLANTED RO8B. 
 
 love with these gentlemen, and they do not quite expect 
 the rest of the world to be. 
 
 But poor Jean Philippeau was very superstitious ; he 
 could not get over the idea that Rose had brought bad 
 luck upon herself or upon him by this unfortunate break- 
 age. He was always kind to her, very kind, and he liked 
 her simplicity and love for little Pierre. Not a word es- 
 caped him that could be construed into blame ; he only 
 regretted in his naif way that the lesser deities had been 
 evoked for bad luck. But he was delighted, although he 
 did not dare show it, at the rejection of his brother-in-law. 
 Hathorne Mack was his bete noir. He hated him, as he 
 loved his sister, with true Provencal warmth, and he felt 
 enough interest in the young girl who had been thrown 
 upon his protection to wish for her a better fate. 
 
 As soon as Rose could receive visitors again, Sir Lytton 
 Leycester was admitted for a long and intimate talk. At 
 the request of Rose, Miss Marjoribanks remained in the 
 room with her, and wrought at her tapestry in the win- 
 dow, far enough away not to hear the low-voiced con- 
 versation, but near enough to be seen. 
 
 The friendship between Sir Lytton and Rose had grown 
 into a very warm one, and trembled on the border-land of 
 a deeper feeling. He knew how to woo. Youth and re- 
 fined feeling, and the sympathy of twenty-three and nine- 
 teen, helped him along. He made none of Hathorne 
 Mack's mistakes. Although their conversation was by no 
 means highly intellectual, it was very pleasant to both. 
 
 " It was a brilliant ball last night at Delmonico's, was it 
 not?" Rose asked. 
 
 " Yes but you were not there." 
 
 " Waa I not ? I thought I was, when your Jacqueminot
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 149 
 
 roses came in so good of you to send them !" said Rose, 
 with becoming blushes. 
 
 "So you liked them, did you? I danced a spiritual 
 waltz with you. I had really one of Theophile Gautier's 
 experiences when I was flying round with Miss Grey. I 
 thought it was you. I really had that sort of superstition." 
 
 "Oh dear! I am frightened. If you mistake Fanny 
 Grey for me, how do I know but " 
 
 " But what ? that I shall like her as well as I do you ? 
 Never ! She is, though, next to you, the nicest girl in 
 America. But, Rose you said I might call you Rose 
 when, when are you to get out?" 
 
 "Next week, Sir Lytton, the doctor says." 
 
 "Drop the Sir, and drop the doctor. You will drive 
 with me the first pleasant day, of course ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, and spring is coming spring, with all the 
 wild flowers. Do you remember the violets and the 
 anemones at Chadwick's Falls?" 
 
 " No ; I was picking up gold nuggets with your father 
 instead of violets. To be sure, they are rather apt to be 
 iron pyrites in my case. No, Rose, the flower of Chad- 
 wick's Falls I found in New York. Do you know what 
 they call you here ?" 
 
 "An awkward savage, I believe," said Rose, who could 
 now afford to laugh at her past. 
 
 " No a transplanted Rose ! Not a bad name, if the 
 Rose will only bear one more transplanting." 
 
 Sir Lytton looked dangerously lover-like as he said this, 
 and Rose picked up a novel she was reading, and put him 
 off in true maiden fashion. 
 
 "Let me read you this pretty passage about spring," 
 said she.
 
 150 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " ' We could see the fields casting their covering of 
 snow, and withered trees bursting into bloom ; brooks 
 swollen with warm rain; birds busy with nest-making; 
 clumps of primroses with velvet leaves, and the subtle 
 scent of violets ; youths and maidens with love in their 
 eyes ; hedges white with hawthorn, woodland slopes with 
 sheets of hyacinths, as if heaven's blue had been spilled 
 upon earth's grass.' " 
 
 " Yes, very pretty, especially one line ; let me see, what 
 was it ? ' Youths and maidens,' etc. Primroses ah, Rose, 
 you should see the primroses about Tellisor House, where 
 I was born. Some day you will." 
 
 " You are going to England soon ?" Rose asked, 
 evasively. 
 
 A cloud came over the fresh, honest, handsome face of 
 the young baronet. "Yes; I am recalled. My uncle is 
 not in good health. I am called so hastily that I can 
 scarcely wait for your father's expected letter. You know 
 he and I have some business relations, and, as he has gone 
 to the Sandwich Islands, our correspondence has been in- 
 terrupted. When have you heard from him ?" 
 
 Rose turned pale. "Oh, Sir Lytton, not for so very 
 long ! I am anxious, cruelly anxious, about him." And 
 the tears ran down her face. 
 
 Now, if there is one thing which a lover cannot stand, it 
 is the dew-drop on the rose. To see a woman weep has 
 unnerved many a stronger man than was Sir Lytton. 
 
 "Dear Rose," said he, taking her hand in both of his, 
 " do not be anxious. You know your father's peculiarity 
 of not writing. You know how he flies off to the end of 
 the earth. He is too important a man to be lost. No one 
 could hide him but himself. In these days of telegraphs
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 151 
 
 and of steam he could not but be found. He is only 
 drifting down in the sunny, soft Pacific, trying to get rid 
 of his bronchitis. Now do not be troubled." 
 
 Rose wiped her eyes, and looked out of the window 
 silently. " See, what a cold, pitiless rain ! See, what a 
 dark gray wintry sky again !" said she. 
 
 " I think the Honorable Hathorne Mack has heard from 
 your father," said the baronet, kindly. 
 
 " Has he ?" said Rose. " How cruel of him not to have 
 told me !" 
 
 And she looked up, and saw the broken mirror. Per- 
 haps he had that letter in his pocket, behind the engage- 
 ment ring, and her wild temper, her impulsive anger, had 
 prevented his giving it to her. Her deep blush, as all this 
 passed through her mind, did not pass unnoticed. 
 
 " He has been troubling you, Rose ?" Sir Lytton asked. 
 
 Rose did not answer, and they were silent so long that 
 Miss Marjoribanks looked up from her tapestry. 
 
 " Tell me about England ; tell me about your five 
 castles, is it?" said Rose. 
 
 " Not quite so many as that, yet too many for the rent- 
 roll. Rose, I am a poor man. Too many acres, too short 
 an account at my banker's, too many old annuities and 
 jointures to pay off. But never mind ; we shall make 
 some money, let us hope. I have a few shares in a rail- 
 way which looks very bad, and another which the Hon- 
 orable Hathorne Mack says looks very well, and I have a 
 dozen irons in the fire. But let us talk of the chestnuts 
 and the lime-trees about Tellisor House. Why, Rose, in 
 May they will be in full bloom, and the nightingales sing 
 then, oh ! so richly. The pheasants troop through the tall 
 grass, and the red poppies bloom everywhere. There is a
 
 152 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 chapel belonging to the house a beautiful old thing, eight 
 hundred years old. All the Leycesters are married there, 
 Rose, if the brides will only come. There is a couplet 
 which promises us good luck if we can be blessed at that 
 altar as we speak our nuptial vows. Rose, as I tell you all 
 this, I feel so happy. I feel that I have no cause for care 
 or grief. I wonder why I feel so I" 
 
 " I do not know, Sir Lytton. To me the air seems full 
 of mysteries and uncertainties; they cling to me like a 
 shadowy garment. I feel as if I were under some stifling 
 influence, and that I were no longer a free and happy girl. 
 The Rose of Chadwick's Falls has suffered from trans- 
 plantation ; it cannot flourish and grow strong." 
 
 " Oh, that is all nervousness. You are a little ' seedy,' 
 as we say in England. You need the fresh air, and the 
 enlivening influences of a drive with me. Don't you see 
 you do ? And you must get well for the fancy ball. 
 Now, Rose, one confidential word in your ear;" and he 
 looked at the distant Marjoribanks. He whispered some- 
 thing which no one heard but Rose. To her it sounded 
 the very concentration of sweetness and poetry, and there 
 was on her face a radiance and a joy which made even the 
 bleak outside sky light up, as if a stray sun ray had stolen 
 across it. 
 
 Sir Lytton Leycester always had a word or two with 
 Miss Marjoribanks before he left. She had been, as we all 
 remember, the governess at Tellisor House. To him she 
 owed her present position. Rose used to watch, with a 
 somewhat amused smile, the deferential and awed manner 
 in which the Englishwoman received these little good- 
 natured courtesies of the young baronet. Rose had no 
 awe or respect for rank. She did not know what it meant;
 
 A TRANSPLANTED KOBE. 153 
 
 but Miss Marjoribanks was steeped in the deepest and most 
 profound regard for it. To her the young boy whom she 
 had put through Mangnalfs Questions was a superior piece 
 of human clay, and to. be courtesied to, now that he had 
 come into his title ! It offended her to see him making 
 love to the savage of Chadwick's Falls ; but she had too 
 much self-control to show it. It seemed to Miss Marjori- 
 banks that the young English nobleman was throwing 
 pearls before swine. 
 
 " How are you to-day, Marchbanks ?" Sir Lytton said, 
 joyously. "Take good care of Miss Chadwick. I am 
 going back very soon ; any messages for Lady Leycester 
 and the young ladies ?" 
 
 " Marchbanks " threw into perfect English a few dutiful 
 and humble words of adoration and respectful remem- 
 brance, and then relapsed into silence. 
 
 Sir Lytton Leycester took his leave, and, as he did so, 
 the Honorable Hathorne Mack was announced. 
 
 " Mr. Mack wishes me to say that he has news of your 
 father," said the footman, respectfully. 
 
 " Ask him to come up," said Rose, her voice trembling. 
 " Miss Marjoribanks Rebecca sit here. I fear I was very 
 rude to Mr. Mack last week, was I not ?" 
 
 " A trifle childish, perhaps, Miss Rose. You know I 
 always found you impulsive." 
 
 Mr. Mack was exceedingly dignified and pompous, and 
 took a chair by a table, spreading one of his large fat hands 
 out on a deep crimson cloth, where it looked exceedingly 
 inharmonious. 
 
 " Miss Rose, I hope you are better now ?" he re- 
 marked. 
 
 " Yes, much better, Mr. Mack ; and I wish to apologize
 
 154 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 for my rude conduct to you the other day. It was, as 
 Miss Marjoribanks says, childish." 
 
 The Honorable Hathorne Mack cast a dark look at Miss 
 Marjoribanks, who was watching steadily. 
 
 "Perhaps you will regret some day your treatment of 
 your father's best friend," said he, slowly. 
 
 " I do regret it ; I do regret it a thousand times, Mr. 
 Mack. I would do anything for you anything but marry 
 you." 
 
 " Well, Miss Rose, as that is the only thing which I hap- 
 pen to wish you to do for me, I don't see as your pro- 
 fessions amount to much. But I should have told you 
 something that you might like to hear if you had been a 
 little more patient the other day. I have heard from your 
 father." 
 
 " Oh, do tell me ! Is he well ? Is he happy ? Why 
 does he not write to me ?" 
 
 " He is well ; he is in the South Pacific ; he has written 
 to you. One letter being lost explains the whole thing. 
 And he writes me that he hopes his little girl may become 
 my wife." 
 
 Never did good news come so interlarded with bad ; 
 never did postscript so undo the body of the letter ; never 
 did codicil so revoke will. She did not believe one word 
 of it. 
 
 Rose buried her face in her hands. A thought struck 
 her. She determined upon a course of conduct. " Mr. 
 Mack," said she, slowly, " when I see my father, if he says 
 to me that I must marry you, why, then I will." 
 
 " I will bide my time, Miss Rose," said Mack ; and, as 
 he left the room, he made a sign to Miss Marjoribanks to 
 follow him.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 155 
 
 XXI. 
 
 HAPPY was the day when the long-banished girl, slowly 
 and carefully, with a doctor on each side of her, remounted 
 the steps of her dear aunt Laura's pretty Queen Anne house. 
 
 She was less effusive now than when she had first 
 bounded up those steps. A uniform quietness and gentle- 
 ness seemed enamelled on that impulsive nature. It sad- 
 dened Aunt Laura to see the pale cheek, the subdued lips, 
 and a certain weariness of life which was written on that 
 young brow. Martha could hardly keep the tears out of 
 her old eyes as she marked the change. And Rose, as she 
 watched her aunt, was shocked to see how wasted and aged 
 she was by her six weeks' illness ; she seemed to have some 
 anxiety and distress within her eyes. But they both were 
 sincerely glad to be together, and soon got into their old 
 friendly, pleasant relations. 
 
 " Well, now tell me about Mrs. Philippeau, and all your 
 curious experiences, Rose," said Mrs. Trevylyan. "How 
 can we ever repay those people for their kindness ?" 
 
 " I think," said Rose, after a long conversation, " we can 
 best repay Mrs. Philippeau by getting her as many invita- 
 tions as we can to all the teas, and dinners, and balls, and 
 theatre parties, and receptions that are going on." 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyan laughed. " The old story," said she. 
 " Social ambition is the most powerful passion. But is 
 she not invited a good dpal ? I have heard of her at Mrs. 
 Morella's, and at the Patriarchs." 
 
 " Oh yes, but she has not been asked to Mrs. Mortimer's
 
 156 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 musical party, or to the fancy ball, and she is making her- 
 self perfectly miserable about it." 
 
 " That is easily managed," said Mrs. Trevylyan. " She 
 shall be asked at once ; and, to show in part my gratitude 
 to her for her care of you, I shall enclose my card, to show 
 her that I have asked for her." 
 
 " I am afraid she will come to you for more, Aunt 
 Laura," said Rose, laughing. 
 
 " Oh no ; she could not have such a lack of delicacy," 
 said Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 " I don't know," said Rose. " I think poor little Mr. 
 Philippeau has more much more refinement than she 
 has. He is a dear soul, so kind and so good, and so fond 
 of her ! And Pierre oh, Aunt Laura, I must have Pierre 
 here some day such a little wandering angel as is that 
 boy ! so pretty and bright and truthful ! But as for poor 
 Marie well, Aunt Laura, refinement of thought and mo- 
 tive was left out of that blood." 
 
 There never was a happier woman than Marie when the 
 two distingue invitations arrived, accompanied by the card 
 of Mrs. Trevylyan. Little Jean Pierre was glad too ; for 
 he now saw that the inner door, the most respectable door, 
 of that society which his wife craved was slowly swinging 
 open. His French blood had risen in revolt against the 
 Morellas and the Devines. He saw in them the covert in- 
 solence of women who were heartless coquettes, and whose 
 power had not an honest background. He could not have 
 put his feelings into words, but he was as sure of the right 
 article, as distinguished from the false, as he was of a good 
 piece of Lyons silk when he rubbed it through his fingers, 
 as against a bit of pretentious stuff loaded with cotton or 
 jute. Jean Pierre knew " good goods " when he saw them.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 15*7 
 
 " A nice, grateful demoiselle, ze petite Rose, and her 
 aunt, very grande dame," said he as Marie unfolded the 
 precious documents. " I only wish she had not throw 
 ze ring of your brother at ze cheval mirror." 
 
 Rose was soon able to drive with Sir Lytton in the 
 Park ; but his servant, a staid Englishman, was too re- 
 served to tell us what they talked about. And then Sir 
 Lytton went off to England, saying to everybody, and 
 especially to Rose, that he should soon be back. 
 
 Just at this crisis, Miss Marjoribanks had a violent 
 quarrel with Mrs. Philippeau, and came complaining to 
 Rose. "Mrs. Philippeau was so vulgar and so ignorant, 
 and so unaccustomed to such a governess as she, and, 
 above all, Pierre was too young to profit by her instruc- 
 tions." " If I could but come back to you, dear Miss 
 Rose !" said she. 
 
 Now there was no doubt but that Rebecca Ethel Mar- 
 joribanks was a good teacher, a thoroughly well-instructed 
 woman ; and she had beeu kind to Rose while in the house 
 of the flighty and foolishly ambitious little Marie. They 
 had read together, and begun their musical lessons over 
 again. 
 
 As it looked now to Rose, there could be no more 
 agreeable arrangement than this, nothing which could so 
 much remind her of Sir Lytton during his absence, as to 
 have Miss Marjoribanks come to her as a sort of com- 
 panion, teacher, and friend. 
 
 On speaking to Mrs. Trevylyan, she acquiesced immedi- 
 ately, as in her invalid state it would be most convenient 
 to have so proper and so ladylike a person to act as chap- 
 eron to Rose, now that Pascal Chadwick was not here to 
 
 be wooed, and that Rose seemed to like her. 
 
 11
 
 158 A TRANSPLANTED ROSB. 
 
 " I wish I liked her expression better," said Mrs. Trevyl- 
 yan. 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Laura, I always told you there was nothing 
 wrong about poor Ethel. Only a little too sentimental, 
 perhaps, and that evil, poor thing, has been corrected, I 
 suspect, by her hard, hard life." 
 
 So Miss Marjoribanks came again into the life of our 
 heroine. 
 
 Rose took a seat by her new friends Mr. and Mrs. Phil- 
 ippeau at Mrs. Mortimer's musicale, and Mr. Amberley sat 
 near them. It was a charming concert. Mrs. Mortimer's 
 great ballroom was filled with Germans, and they gave 
 Beethoven's Fourth Symphony, so redolent of spring. 
 The hymn-like first movement ; the second, a song of uni- 
 versal love and joy and thanksgiving ; all the breadth and 
 brightness of color and movement seemed to fill the room 
 with the breath of violets; and then came the strong 
 melodious modulations, Beethoven's great hand imitating 
 the hand of Nature as she unlocks the ice-bound streams, 
 unfetters the leaves from the hard bark of the tree, and the 
 flowers from the damp mould. 
 
 " How miserably inadequate words are to express the 
 delight which such music gives one !" whispered Dicky 
 Small weed, leaning over to Rose. 
 
 " I never attempt to express it," said Rose, who had 
 been dreaming of Tellisor House and Sir Lytton, lime-trees 
 in full bloom, nightingales, and moonlight views of an old 
 chapel. 
 
 Dicky Stnallweed thought Miss Chadwick had grown 
 very " snubby," as he expressed it ; and, as he did not 
 choose to be snubbed, he began a light rattling talk with 
 Mrs. Philippeau, who had no deep reminiscences to keep
 
 A TRANSPLANTED EOSB. 159 
 
 her from responding to all that Dicky Smallweed wished 
 to say. 
 
 Arthur Amberley, who had been delighting the heart of 
 poor little Jean Pierre by talking excellent French to him, 
 now moved around by Rose, and thoroughly renewed all 
 her esteem and respect, as he always did, by his original 
 ideas, his strong idiomatic language, and his curt, witty 
 sentences. She felt towards him as she would have done 
 to a strong, kind, thoughtful elder brother, and some of 
 her old vivacity and brilliancy came back as she talked to 
 him. There was always an undertone of kindness for her 
 in his unemotional words. She felt certain that he was 
 her friend, and that thought comforted and strengthened 
 her. 
 
 For Rose had passed through a great and trying experi- 
 ence since she had gone into that sick-room. Indeed, 
 since she had last seen Arthur Amberley all the foolish 
 and fluttering girlish impressions had given way before 
 one great passion. She had found her master, and she 
 liked the mastery. It was rest and peace, and yet he had 
 gone without that last word, that last promise, that last 
 acknowledgment, which would have bound them as affi- 
 anced lovers. 
 
 He had said : " Give me that greatest joy that woman 
 can give to man tell me that you love me. Accept from 
 me everything I have. I am yours forever and ever." 
 And yet he had told her that he must gain the right to 
 ask her from her father, and the certainty that he could 
 marry with prudence, before either could speak of the 
 engagement to their friends. 
 
 Arthur Amberley looked at her, as was his wont when 
 she was not looking, and he saw " with eyes kissed into
 
 160 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 sight by love" half her story one which she would not 
 have told. Looking upon her with his deeper knowledge 
 of life's mysteries, he saw that the 3 7 oung girl had begun 
 the martyrdom of woman, to wait and hope. He found a 
 grace unutterable in the turn of her head as she slowly 
 moved it towards him, as if she recalled her thoughts back 
 from unseen spheres, and all the chivalry of his nature 
 chivalry which he hid behind a mask of cynicism started 
 to ally itself to her cause, as he read in her clear eyes, as 
 in a glass, how pure and perfect was her trust in himself. 
 He, Arthur Amberley, he her sworn knight! But he 
 would have died before these unfashionable thoughts 
 should have found utterance. 
 
 " Who is that jolly old party ?" said he, as a stout prima 
 donna came forward to sing a cavatina. 
 
 "Oh, that is the Marquise de Vinier," said Dicky Small- 
 weed, " forced on the stage by political reasons, family 
 misfortunes, etc., etc. You heard how her jewels were all 
 stolen the other evening at the St. Casimir Hotel, didn't 
 you? ten thousand dollars' worth of diamonds from the 
 Emperor of Russia, and an opal from the Cham of Tartary." 
 
 " That is the reason why she wears paste to-night, I sup- 
 pose," said Arthur. " I used to hear some one who looked 
 like her at a cafe chantant in Paris, several summers ago, 
 who was not a marquise," said Arthur in a whisper to 
 Rose. 
 
 A tremendous roulade and a sliout of victory from the 
 marquise pleaded loudly for aristocracy in distress at this 
 moment. 
 
 " Well, she is pretty good at it," said Amberley. " Vin- 
 ier yes ; I think the veneering is too apparent. What 
 nationality did you say, Dicky ?"
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 161 
 
 " Polish, I think ; married a French marquis very 
 noble." 
 
 " They all are Polish, Roumanian, Servian, and they^ all 
 marry a marquis of the Faubourg/' said Amberley. " If 
 that isn't Cecile Bellinger, of the cafe chantant, and if she 
 wasn't born in Paris, I am a Servian myself. How do 
 you like her, Miss Rose ?" 
 
 " I think she is horrid," said Rose. 
 
 " So do I. Her voice has seen better, days ; but she 
 must make a poor little penny if she can. Let us give her 
 a recall poor old Cecile !" 
 
 They had it all over again, and then a ballad about 
 M Zome, zweet Zome." 
 
 "Zere is no place like zome," 
 
 remarked the Marquise de Vinier, swinging gracefully off 
 the amateur stage, which creaked with her weight. 
 
 " Delightful !" " So sweet !" " So charming !" " How re- 
 fined!" "Such a perfect lady!" resounded through the 
 rooms. 
 
 " Hum ! hum ! hum !" said Arthur Amberley. " Home, 
 sweet home ; she never had one, poor thing ! Whom have 
 we here, I wonder?" he asked of Rose, who held a beauti- 
 ful programme in her hand, all printed in gold. 
 
 This was a fat-faced young man, who had banished all 
 expression from his eyes, and whose limp black hair fell 
 to his coat-collar. 
 
 " ' Herr Siegfried von Rheingold,' " said Rose, reading 
 from her card. " He gives us selections from the Walpur- 
 gis Nacht of Mendelssohn." 
 
 " Oh, how dreadful !" said Mr. Amberley, as Herr Sieg. 
 fried von Rheingold began to bang on the pianoforte.
 
 162 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 Then came an unexpected joy. A woman with a 
 pleasant face came on and sang Schumann's beautiful little 
 wreath of seven songs, " Woman's Life and Love," in a 
 delightful style. 
 
 As Rose listened, the sadness seemed all lifted from her 
 heart. Sir Lytton seemed to be sitting silently beside her ', 
 she remembered that he had once had a " spiritual " waltz 
 with her. She did not raise her eyes from her bouquet, 
 but indulged in a dreamy reverie, which was so full of joy 
 that the tears almost filled her eyes. She would have 
 covered her eyes with her hands, and have indulged in 
 these thoughts of exquisite delight, had not her fan fallen 
 to the floor, making a slight noise, so far gone was she in 
 sympathy with the song. As Arthur Amberley picked it 
 up and handed it to her, he whispered, " Delightful sing- 
 ing, is it not? Do look at our dear Jean Pierre. Is he 
 asleep, or shall we call it reflecting? If any one says 
 that he is asleep, let us laugh the insidious whisper to 
 scorn." 
 
 There was poor little tired Philippeau, who hated Ger- 
 mans and German music as he did the well, all compari- 
 sons fail, because a Frenchman can hate nothing as he does 
 the Germans indulging in a sound sleep and a coming 
 snore. 
 
 Rose, now all dimpling smiles, and thoroughly aroused 
 from her dreams, leaned over and touched him gently with 
 her fan, before Marie saw him a fact for which, in his 
 slow gathering consciousness, he deeply thanked her. 
 
 And Arthur chased from the face he had grown to love 
 the strange, subdued, absent look. She was the cheerful, 
 gay, laughing girl again, as people stopped to chat and eat 
 an ice after the music.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 163 
 
 He did not want the world to see what he saw, and he 
 knew that she was not yet strong. 
 
 " I fear you are very tired," said he. " I shall be so 
 glad to get you out of here, into the hall, where there is 
 more air, if you say so." 
 
 "Yes," said she, " and where poor Ethel Marjoribanks is 
 waiting for me." 
 
 , " Good-night," said he, " and ' Schlaf wohl,' as Schu- 
 mann would say." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 THE fancy ball came late in the season, but as Lent had 
 intervened, and the gay world was refreshed like a giant 
 from sleep, there was no lack of enthusiasm in the getting 
 up of the dresses. Monks, Nuns, Chief - justices and 
 Penitents, Cavaliers and Neapolitan Peasants, Queen Eliza- 
 beth and Matilda, Agnes Sorel and Savonarola, Marie An- 
 toinette and Prince Metternich, Hannah More and D'Arta- 
 gnan, Roman Contadini and Early Saxon Kings, William 
 the Conqueror and William Penn, Osceola and Madame 
 De Sevigne, King Francis the First and Lindley Murray, 
 Marie de' Medici and Carmen tripped lightly over the cen- 
 turies and all probability and met on the floor of a 
 theatrical ballroom, where private boxes offered convenient 
 and animated retreats for the weary or the disgusted. 
 
 To this entirely new and fascinating entertainment Rose 
 lent herself with peculiar pleasure. It seemed to her fresh 
 mind that all poetry, all of the drama, would come to- 
 gether to this sort of a ball. She was sure that most men 
 looked better in costume than in black broadcloth, and the
 
 164 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 stories of early Italian romance had made a domino a very 
 interesting thing. 
 
 The first plan of the ball was a good one. Every one 
 was to go in full costume, but with loose black domino 
 and mask, the latter to be thrown off at twelve, when the 
 motley crew were to disport themselves gayly. As the 
 black dominos were gloomy, a dispensation was obtained, 
 and every one was finally allowed to appear in the domino 
 best suited to his taste. 
 
 Mrs. Trevylyan did not quite like the idea of a masked 
 ball. 
 
 "It will be very stupid, gloomily respectable," said 
 Arthur Amberley. " Americans cannot intriguer ; we are 
 not up to it ; we have not the genius for it. That im- 
 mense border-land wherein innocent fun abides, that is not 
 one of ' these United States.' French and Spanish people 
 can be wildly, poetically gay, and yet not vulgar or im- 
 proper. In Italy, the Carnival fun, the mystery of the 
 mask, the entirely feminine pleasure of piquing curiosity 
 all are so well carried out at a masked ball. Here we are 
 nothing if not ourselves. We demand a recognition." 
 
 "But the men are not to be allowed to enter masked?" 
 
 " Oh no. Our ugly faces are to be shown to a severe 
 guardian angel at the door, as it we were the mischief- 
 makers." 
 
 " Will you and Harriet look after Rose ?" 
 
 " We will, we will. We will add to the general disillu- 
 sion which will cripple that young person's belief in masked 
 balls for evermore. She thinks now (poor thing !) that 
 every mask will scatter over her the glittering dust of wit ; 
 that every Shepherd who pursues Phyllis through rose-em- 
 bowered arcades is a hero in disguise. She thinks that a
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 165 
 
 masquerade and fancy ball will realize all her dreams of 
 fine attitudes, brilliant coloring, and perfect archaeology. 
 Hideous disappointment !" 
 
 " Why, Arthur, I do not agree with you. I remember 
 a fancy ball at Delmonico's which brought you men out in 
 great and unexpected beauty." 
 
 " That was a peculiar occasion, carefully limited and ex- 
 ceptionally successful. This ball attempts too much." 
 
 " Well, I do not know that I regret that we have not 
 the talent for the masquerade. That needed the ' pict- 
 uresque and gloomy wrong ' of the Council of Three, the 
 subtlety of the Borgias, ' the faded freshness and fatigued 
 king ' of Versailles, the dissolute Empire, the grace, the 
 deceit, the finesse, of another race." 
 
 " I should not regret it either, only that I have to go to 
 an attempted masquerade in mercantile New York," said 
 Arthur. 
 
 " Where there is no finesse and no deceit ?" asked Mrs. 
 Trevylyan, laughing. 
 
 " None at a masquerade. This saturnalia of expected 
 gayety will turn out a failure." 
 
 " Do not tell Rose so," said Mrs. Trevylyan, unexpectedly 
 comfortable at the thought of a staid, slow, and dismal 
 masquerade. 
 
 " I was about to suggest that Miss Rose and my sister 
 and myself should alone know the secret of one another's 
 dominos, and we could thus come to the rescue if she got 
 frightened, which is extremely improbable. She will go to 
 sleep in our deep proscenium box, I suspect, before the 
 time for unmasking comes." 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer, always ready to add to the brilliancy of 
 a fete, had arranged that a select party should meet at het
 
 166 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 house from eight to eleven, where the dresses could be seen, 
 inspected, and admired, and the partners arranged for the 
 subsequent masquerading hour or two at the public ball. 
 
 Admirably did Rose look in the dress of the French 
 Princess in Henry V. a white satin petticoat stiff with 
 gold embroidery, a long green velvet mantle, with the 
 golden fleurs-de-lis of France fastened on the shoulders 
 with golden clasps. In her fine black hair a golden wreath 
 of delicate fleurs-de-lis, designed by Miss Marjoribanks, 
 who proved a most efficient aid to the costumer, added 
 a queenly charm. 
 
 Arthur Amberley had sent round his domino, a very 
 peculiar one, which had been made in Paris, and which 
 Rose and Harriet had copied. It was of black satin, with 
 a pale purple lining, and on one arm was embroidered a 
 small silver arrow. 
 
 There was much gayety at Mrs. Mortimer's. Jack Long 
 and Fanny Grey had suddenly appeared to belong to each 
 other exclusively, and the interesting rumor, " They are 
 engaged," or the more interesting question, " Are they en- 
 gaged ?" became current. Fanny was very lovely as a copy 
 of Queen Clotilde, and Jack had adopted the white uniform 
 of one of the Queen's Guards. Sidonie Devine was striking 
 as a Jacqueminot Rose ; Mrs. Mortimer gorgeous as Marie 
 de' Medici her pearls and diamonds would have gladdened 
 the heart of that avide princess. 
 
 And when they were all masked, what fun ! As Rose 
 entered, her breathing very much impeded by her mask, 
 and her domino thick, warm, and heavy, she was still very 
 much elated. That shabby theatre had never looked so 
 well as now, hung with wreaths of evergreen, and camellias, 
 and colored lights. On the stage a model of the Rialto
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 167 
 
 spanning a blue and rippling river, while colored lamps 
 and an imperial veiled loge suggested the arrival of some 
 anonymous princess, and the music of the Ballo in Mas- 
 chera invited the throbbing heart to a dear expectant ro- 
 mance. All this to the untried senses of a young girl ! 
 No wonder that for a few minutes Rose was gay. 
 
 There was a picturesque moment as female masks came 
 in two and two, and tripped across the bridge, like Lucre- 
 zia Borgias bent on mischief. Then the scene did look 
 Venetian. Then all seemed to relapse into dulness, and 
 everybody retreated to the boxes, and some began dancing. 
 Rose became separated from Mr. Amberley, and was ap- 
 proached by another mask, who asked her to waltz. She 
 recognized the voice and manner of Dicky Smallweed, who 
 was perfectly inane under his disguise. Others could in- 
 triguer, but Dicky could not. Then she danced and talked 
 with a brilliant mask, who amused her and whom she did 
 not find out ; and then, feeling too warm and too tired, 
 she retreated to the proscenium box of which she had the 
 key. 
 
 She expected to find Miss Marjoribanks there, for that 
 faithful creature had come (in a black cambric domino) to 
 take care of her, and had been early deposited in the 
 box. But neither she nor Harriet Amberley were there. 
 However, Rose, dismissing her cavalier, sat down, and in 
 the dark interior of the box took off her hot mask and 
 domino, and fanned herself. She supposed that Miss Mar- 
 joribanks, tired of waiting, was taking a stroll through the 
 galleries. 
 
 She soon got attracted towards the scene going on be- 
 neath her, and, drawing a curtain, peeped from behind it 
 on the motley crowd moving hither and yon. With very
 
 168 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 little difficulty she recognized Harriet Amberley, Mrs. Mor 
 timer, Sidonie Devine, Fanny Grey, and other friends, 
 through their dominos. " Why," said she, " was I so 
 badly disguised ?" Rose had not learned that the proper 
 wearing of a domino demands other and more potent dis- 
 guises than a mere loose wrap around the figure. 
 
 A noise made her turn about, and she saw two masked 
 dominos in her box. One left immediately, taking with 
 him her own domino and mask ; the other locked the door, 
 and motioned her towards him. 
 
 She saw, to her great relief, that this was Mr. Amberley, 
 for he wore the black satin domino lined with pale purple, 
 and on his arm was the silver arrow. 
 
 " This is a Venetian adventure," said she. " At first I 
 was frightened. Mr. Amberley, why did Harriet take out 
 my domino ?" 
 
 The man put out his hand, and drawing Rose to a seat, 
 where he partly held her down, began, in a totally strange 
 voice, to say : " Miss Chadwick, I am giving you a slight 
 uneasiness, a temporary fright, to save you from a great 
 shock. I come to tell you of your father. He is hiding 
 from a great shame and disgrace. He has cheated all his 
 friends ; he is neither faithful nor honest ; he has injured 
 Sir Lytton Leycester irreparably ; he has ruined Hathorne 
 Mack ; Amberley, Townley, and myself all lose by him. He 
 wishes you to communicate with him. Here is the address." 
 
 Rose, pale, silenced, terrified, shrank from the strong 
 hand, which still held her down. 
 
 " That is false," said she. " I know my father. He is 
 true and honorable fantastically, foolishly, and ruinously 
 honorable, to his honor be it spoken. If any one is ruined, 
 it is himself, not others."
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 169 
 
 "A daughter should plead for her father. You are a 
 true, good girl. Take this address, communicate with him, 
 and learn for yourself. But, if you breathe a word of this, 
 you will precipitate his utter failure his death. Take 
 care!" 
 
 And, pressing the paper into her hand, the man in 
 Arthur Amberley's domino left the box. Rose felt her 
 head swimming, and her senses going. The music sounded 
 far off, everything was dark about her ; she would have 
 fainted, but suddenly a noisy commotion, and Arthur Am- 
 berley, his sister, Mrs. Mortimer, and two or three others 
 came trooping into the box. It was time to go to supper, 
 and to unmask. 
 
 "Rose, we have been looking for you everywhere; and 
 I declare I saw your domino just now going down the op- 
 posite stairs," said Harriet. 
 
 Miss Marjoribanks stepped in, her black cambric domino 
 thrown back from her very red face. 
 
 "Why, where have you come from, and where is your 
 domino ?" said the governess. " I came to help you off 
 with it. I have been looking for you everywhere, Miss 
 Rose." 
 
 "You are tired and pale," said Arthur Amberley. 
 " Have you been frightened ?" 
 
 His voice always gave her an opportunity to think. " I 
 believe I have been the victim of a masquerading trick," 
 said she ; " two masks came in, and one carried off my 
 domino." 
 
 " Oh, thieves possibly," said Arthur, anxiously, " or per- 
 haps merely a malicious joke. Some one has appeared in 
 your domino, I am quite sure, for we saw the lady running 
 down the opposite stairs."
 
 170 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " It was a man !" said Rose, remembering the strong 
 terrible hand. "Yet there were two of them." Arthur 
 looked around ; all the other people in the box were 
 thinking of themselves, not of Rose. 
 
 "Do not tremble so. Compose yourself, and let Miss 
 Marjoribanks rearrange your hair a little," said Mr. Amber- 
 ley. " You must come down and walk about with me, 
 and go in to supper. If it was a mere joke, that will be 
 your best revenge. If it was something worse, we will de- 
 feat the perpetrator." 
 
 In a few moments, having hidden the paper in her glove, 
 and after being rearranged by Miss Marjoribanks, Rose 
 descended to the now truly glittering and gay fancy-dress 
 ball, where the gayety which the masks had banished came 
 back. As Arthur Amberley passed a quiet gentleman in 
 plain clothes, who was really a detective, he said, " I fear 
 that some thieves have gotten in ; you had better arouse 
 your force." 
 
 At that moment a stout lady came up with a great 
 grievance. " I have lost a jewelled fan and a camel's-hair 
 cloak from my box, although it was locked. Police! 
 police !" 
 
 " That is it," said Arthur Amberley, as the lynx-eyed 
 detective moved off. " Thieves. I feared as much ; but 
 you have lost nothing ?" 
 
 The detective caught the thief who had stolen the fan 
 and the camel's-hair cloak, but he failed to catch the un- 
 known robber who had stolen the peace of mind, the inno- 
 cent slumber, the hope, from the heart of Rose. That paper 
 which she had in her glove what should she do with it, 
 where put it, that it vrould not burn ? 
 
 The supper was pronounced excellent, but even that
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 171 
 
 moment, so dear to the heart of the weary dancer, had no 
 charms for Rose. The carte bore the picture of a lofty 
 snow ridge of mountains ; why, Rose could not imagine. 
 She pressed it in a weak way in her burning hand, think- 
 ing perhaps that it might cool it; but it did not. It re- 
 minded her of that great mountain barrier which shut her 
 off from her father. 
 
 " You have not enjoyed the ball, I see," said Amberley 
 to Rose. 
 
 " Perhaps not," said she, absently. 
 
 " It is an exotic in a strange land ; it cannot live under 
 an unsympathetic sky. There are few here who under- 
 stand its culture. But you will dance after supper ?" 
 
 " No ; I think I will go home." 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 MRS. PHILIPPEAU had been very happy at the masquer- 
 ade. It had suited her, as the English say, " down to the 
 ground." 
 
 She was beautifully gotten up as Agnes Sorel. The 
 dress became her, and when she reluctantly put on her 
 domino, which was pink, she quite believed that several 
 gentlemen were aware what its color would be. One mask 
 approached her, and gave her his arm. " Forgive this 
 intrusion," said he. "But I have no other means to ap- 
 proach you, to breathe a passion which you must have 
 seen and have anticipated. I am driven mad, reckless, 
 by the coldness of your manner, the obstacles in my 
 way."
 
 172 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " Ah," sighed poor Marie, wondering if this were a joke 
 or earnest, " where have I seen you ?" 
 
 " Say, rather, where did I see you ? Everywhere in 
 your box at the opera, at the theatre, at your own house. 
 The chords of a certain beautiful instrument are dumb un- 
 der the hands of a man who knows not how to sweep 
 them. You are not happy there." 
 
 " You talk like a novel," said Marie. " Have I seen 
 you in society ?" 
 
 The mask gurgled deeply behind his shelter, and paused. 
 " Yes," said he, " often in society." 
 
 That charmed word fully aroused Marie's interest. 
 " Well, that is very odd," said she. " I wonder where it 
 was." 
 
 " I know it was one evening when I felt very lonely and 
 dull and uncared for, and I went to Mrs But I must 
 not tell you where, and I saw you you for the first time, 
 coming down the stairs. So lovely ! you wore pink." 
 
 "Then it was Mrs. Mortimer's," said Marie, exultant, and 
 caring much more for the place than for the avowal. 
 
 " And I felt for a moment oh, such a moment ! ' Now 
 somebody that I shall love beyond anything else in this 
 world is coming down those stairs, and I shall be so per- 
 fectly happy, and I shall forget all about everything and 
 everybody but her.' " 
 
 " Oh ! I must not listen to that sort of talk, you know 
 I'm married." 
 
 "I know that, and I must conquer my feelings and 
 go away ; I must not stay here where I shall see you and 
 suffer, and suffer, and suffer." He stopped, choked with 
 emotion, and the last words seemed to have escaped him 
 involuntarily.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 173 
 
 " I would not go quite yet," said Marie ; " we may yet 
 meet in society." 
 
 " I have heard before of two people falling in love at 
 first sight," said the impassioned mask, " before either knew 
 whether the other were married or single; their souls, 
 created for each other, in the self-same instant, their eyes 
 meeting, their souls have rushed together, the stray halves 
 made into one perfect whole, the life-long ache satisfied, 
 the restless, yearning hearts finding rest at last. I have 
 heard of this : have you, Mrs " 
 
 " Yes. You are a great novel-reader, and terribly roman- 
 tic, I can see. But tell me, do you belong to the Union 
 Club ?" 
 
 The mask had another choking fit, and evidently did not 
 like so material a question. 
 
 " Yes," said he, " I do belong to that rather crowded and 
 impersonal organization. It is to a sensitive soul like stop- 
 ping at the Windsor Hotel : there is no sympathy there." 
 
 " Do they play very high there ? I want to know if you 
 ever meet Jack Townley there ?" 
 
 " Jack Townley ? Gentleman Jack, the lady-killer ? Oh 
 yes. But what of him ?" 
 
 Just then a mask arrayed like Mephistopheles came up, 
 and gave Mrs. Philippeau his arm. 
 
 " Good - evening, Mrs. Morella," said the impassioned 
 mask, moving off. 
 
 "Not Mrs. Morella at all," said Marie, in a disappointed 
 tone. " Why, you don't know me !" 
 
 " Nor you me," thought the mask, as he disappeared. 
 
 " Am I such an ugly devil that I frighten you ?" asked 
 Mask No. 2. " You seem distraite. Ah, I know who you 
 
 are. I recognize the turn of your beautiful shoulders." 
 
 12
 
 174 A TRANSPJMNTED ROSE. 
 
 "Do you?" said Marie. ".Well, who was that just talk- 
 ing to me ?" 
 
 "The deuce if I know or -care. Who asks at a mas- 
 querade who is who ? That is the fun of the thing. But 
 there is one thing I do want to know : do you know what 
 it is to love ? to long for some one all and every day, to 
 think of nothing else upon earth, to weary for some one, 
 to feel that until you win* that person life is worth nothing, 
 absolutely nothing ?" 
 
 "No; I married very young," said Marie, beginning to 
 regret her lost opportunities. 
 
 "Ah, then love is tp come," said Mephisto. 
 
 " I did not know tlfat tfi'ey talked so much love at a mas- 
 querade," said Marie. " I thought they spoke mere gossip." 
 
 "Ah, no," said Mephistopheles. "You cannot, perhaps, 
 understand that admiration at first sight. Now I have 
 seen you, and have learned your manner and face by heart, 
 when you were not thinking of me, and suddenly it dawned 
 \ipon me that life would not be worth living without you ; 
 that I must I must I must know you better." 
 
 " Perhaps you think I am Mrs. Morella," said Marie. 
 
 " No ; I know you are Mrs. Philippeau. Now tell me," 
 said the gentleman in scarlet, pressing her arm, " did you 
 never feel irresistibly drawn towards me, when I took you 
 down to supper don't you remember where ?" 
 
 (" Now," thought Marie, " this is genuine. Where and 
 who did take me down to supper ? This cannot be Mr. 
 Smallweed ? No.") 
 
 " Well, really," said Marie, feeling herself called on to 
 say something, " I am so much in society that I cannot 
 really now tell what I ought to do or say scarcely. I cannot 
 remember all the gentlemen who take me down to supper."
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 175 
 
 "But," said Mephisto, "I want you to listen, and to un- 
 derstand me. You remember that bunch of primroses? 
 And if you do not love me now (it is improbable that you 
 should, for although I have watched and followed you so 
 long, you do not yet know me), I have been to you no more 
 than any one of the idle dancing young men who have stared 
 at you at church, and at balls, and at the theatre ; yet you 
 will like me a little ? Say ' Yes.' " 
 
 " I am stared at a great deal, and Mr. Philippeau does 
 not like it," said Marie. 
 
 " What a bitter, bitter fate is yours !" said the mask. 
 
 " I don't know that," said Marie. " I am very I l, ! ke 
 society very much." 
 
 " Ah ! and no deeper feeling? No regrets for an uncon- 
 genial marriage ? No thoughts of a brighter life ? No de- 
 sire for a congenial soul ?" 
 
 " My husband is very kind to me," said poor Marie, fall- 
 ing into the trap. 
 
 "But is he capable of comprehending you now, as I 
 could?" 
 
 " Your voice is very pleasant," said Marie. 
 
 "Should you know it again?" asked the mask. His 
 mouth was full of chestnuts, and Marie laughed a little as 
 she thought of its music. " A woman has a superior li- 
 cense to laugh at a man's follies, and when one is laughed 
 at, it is sure he is playing a losing game ; for do we not 
 know that woman will pardon a crime where sfte would be 
 merciless to a foible ?" 
 
 " Now I know that is from a novel, and you are laugh- 
 ing at me," said Marie, her naturally rather shrewd com- 
 mon-sense getting the better of her ignorance and her folly 
 for a moment.
 
 176 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 "No; I am in earnest. Now, as a proof of it, I will 
 give you my photograph, if you will not look at it until to- 
 morrow ;" and he handed her a sealed envelope. 
 
 " Ah ! this is indeed serious," said Marie, as she put it in 
 her pocket. " Well, I will own that you are very agree- 
 able," said she ; " but I cannot remember the primroses, or 
 the place where you took me down to supper. But then I 
 go out so much. Was it Mrs. Morella's ?" 
 
 " No," said the mask, shifting the chestnuts. " But now" 
 (and there was a wild and reckless defiance in his tone) 
 " I must leave you ; our long talk is being observed. Do 
 not be afraid. To you I shall ever be faithful and true, 
 and neither grief nor sorrow shall ever come between us." 
 
 As Mephistopheles left her, another mask took his place, 
 and talked more nonsense to the silly woman ; nor did she 
 suspect that three scoffing men of the clubs had been amus- 
 ing themselves at her expense. 
 
 The fourth mask was Jack Townley, and the two had 
 the great pleasure to feel that they had outwitted fate, and 
 had done a very ingenious thing because one had a black 
 ribbon in her domino, while the other had a pink one in his. 
 
 " Well, are you pleased or disappointed ?" said Jack. 
 
 " Oh, I think it is lovely," said Marie, for a great deal of 
 the complimentary love-talk had adhered. 
 
 " It is a consummate failure and swindle," said Jack, who 
 was in a very bad humor. 
 
 She looked up at him with surprise, his excitement ap- 
 peared to her so unnatural. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said he ; "I have not on my mas- 
 querade manner ; I have just heard some bad news. How- 
 ever, I'll not spoil your pleasure. Who was that fellow in 
 red who was talking to you ?"
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 177 
 
 " I do not know," said Marie, in an injured tone ; " but 
 he was much more agreeable than you are." 
 
 " I do not doubt that, for I have found it dreadfully dull 
 here. Remember," said Jack, recollecting his role, " I have 
 not met you before." 
 
 " I stood for ten minutes under that gas-light, as you 
 told me to in your note." 
 
 " That was very sweet of you ; but I meant on the other 
 side. That is the way I missed you." 
 
 " You might have looked," said Marie. 
 
 " What a foolish little coquette !" thought Jack. " Well, 
 it was my fault. Shall we go up to the box ?" 
 
 "Thank you, no. I am very comfortable down here. 
 Why should we go up to that lonely box?" 
 
 " You are angry with me ; I see it," said Jack. " You 
 are disappointed." 
 
 " I am more than disappointed I am bored," said poor 
 Marie, tired of Jack for the first time. 
 
 " Well, I am disagreeable to-night; however, it is almost 
 time to be unmasked." 
 
 Marie came out from under her mask very rosy and 
 bright. She looked so exquisitely pretty that little Jean 
 Philippeau went to all parts of the house to look at her. 
 He had been amusing himself too under his mask. He 
 had enjoyed the privilege of walking and talking with 
 several belles who would not have spoken to him with his 
 mask off. He was charmed at his own success. He had 
 talked French, which was the favorite device of those who 
 could speak it to mask the natural voice ; and he was riot 
 without a native Gascon wit and compliment which went 
 well. Indeed, the poor little snubbed mercantile French- 
 man knew how to intriguer better than most of the gay
 
 178 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 butterflies of fashion. But when he unmasked his fun was 
 ended, excepting so far as Marie's triumphs pleased him. 
 
 Supper was to her another famous success, for four 
 gentlemen followed her, sat near her, complimented her, 
 and were deeply interested in her adventures, or, we might 
 put it in plainer English, they were deeply moved in the 
 matter of making a fool of her. It is not a noble trait in 
 the character of fashionable men, but it is unfortunately a 
 not uncommon one, this union of strength against weak- 
 ness. The old story of Mephistopheles is told over and 
 over again, and, for an hour's laugh at the club, four men 
 had agreed to work upon the vanity of one silly and inex- 
 perienced woman. Of course Marie plumed, flaunted, 
 boasted, and tried to talk "society;" of course she was 
 deluded, pleased, and trapped. But was the game worth 
 the candle? Was it at all worth the one honest word with 
 which Jean Pierre came to see if she were ready to go 
 home? Was it at all worth one good-night kiss of that 
 golden-haired child who had admired "pretty mamma" in 
 her fancy dress? And yet, as Marie wrapped her cloak 
 about her after she got into the carriage, she hated the 
 little man by her side, felt for the photograph in her 
 pocket to assure herself of its safety, and had forgotten 
 that Pierre existed. 
 
 " It has amused thee ?" said her husband, kindly. 
 
 "Amused me! Oh, I wish I could go to a ball like that 
 every night of my life !" said Marie.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 179 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 THE morning after the ball was to Rose a sort of crisis 
 of destiny. How to act ? what to do ? that was the ques- 
 tion. Before her lay the appalling piece of paper thrust 
 into her hands by the mysterious mask. It bore the words, 
 " Herzog, No. East Broadway ; three in the after- 
 noon." That, then, was the address of the man who was 
 to tell her of her father's hiding-place. 
 
 Could it be that he was there himself the bold and 
 fearless Pascal Chadwick hiding in New York? thought 
 poor Rose. It was impossible. 
 
 Should she speak to her aunt that poor lady, so feeble, 
 trembling now under the pangs of heart-disease, her life a 
 matter of mere chance ? Rose felt sure that she should 
 kill her if she mentioned this dreadful rumor. 
 
 Miss Marjoribanks ? that was more possible ; yet her 
 heart revolted from the very idea of telling her former 
 governess anything which should compromise her father. 
 Perhaps, after all, it was a mere masquerading joke ; a cruel 
 one, no doubt. And yet who would know about these 
 other things? No, it could be no joke. That missive was 
 written by some one who knew Pascal Chadwick well. 
 This, then, was the reason why Sir Lytton Leycester had 
 not written to her. This, then, was coming in between 
 them her father. Should she write to Arthur Amberley; 
 he, so kind, so sensible, so much her friend. But no ; he 
 too was one of the injured. She walked her room in 
 agony, turning over as she did so some cards which lay on
 
 180 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 her table. One seemed to detach itself from the rest. 
 On it was written, "President Williams, Charpentier 
 College." 
 
 He was in the city ; he had called the day before. He 
 was at a neighboring hotel, with her young cousin, a girl 
 of her own age, whom she had never seen. She determined 
 immediately on her course of action. 
 
 Miss Marjoribanks was ill in bed with a sore throat. 
 Her aunt had left her room, but Rose proceeded to ask her 
 for the coupe, and told her she must go and see her uncle 
 and cousin. 
 
 " Of course," said Mrs. Trevylyan. " I meant to tell you 
 that they called yesterday." 
 
 When Rose reached the Park Avenue Hotel, she found 
 her uncle alone, reading his paper in his quiet parlor. His 
 ladies, he said, had gone out shopping. 
 
 " You look pale and worn, my dear," said he. " I fear 
 your New York winter has been too much for you." 
 
 Rose sat down by him and looked at him earnestly. 
 
 "Uncle, you promised to be my friend. Now I have 
 come to claim your promise." 
 
 She gave him in a clear, succinct way the story of 
 Hathorne Mack's persecution, the threats he had always 
 coupled with her father's name, the facts of her father's 
 silence, his having communicated with no one but Hathorne 
 Mack for many weeks, and she told him the story of the 
 masked ball and the mysterious communication. 
 
 "Why, Rose," said the president, "you are writing a 
 three-volume novel for my reading. Let me see your paper." 
 
 There it was. "Herzog, No. East Broadway; three 
 
 in the afternoon." 
 
 " Hum !" said the president. " I will call on the person
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 181 
 
 herein named not you, my dear. If it is a joke, a trap, or 
 a device of your poor father to see you, I shall be able to 
 reach all three. I wonder if Pascal would know me? 
 How does he look now ?" 
 
 Rose pulled a little gold locket out of her bosom, and, 
 opening it, showed her father's face in photograph. 
 
 " No," said the president. " Changed changed more 
 than I have. However, I could soon know him now. I 
 should know Pascal." 
 
 " But if it should be some agent he has sent, some of 
 our people we had a herdsman named Herzog if it 
 should be some one who would distrust you, and not tell 
 you the news my father has sent. Oh, uncle, let me go 
 with you," said Rose. 
 
 The president thought a moment. " Rose," said he, " it 
 occurs to me that there is more of a plot behind this mys- 
 terious mask than meets the eye. Now I have had to do 
 with a private detective here by the name of Decker, in 
 the case of a runaway student. He is a sort of creature 
 who has eyes all over him, knows everybody's secrets, 
 knows your history and mine better than we know it our- 
 selves, and who is, I think, Asmodeus in person. If you 
 do not mind, I will consult him." The president looked at 
 his watch, and saw that it was only twelve o'clock. " Shall 
 I send for Decker ?" said he. 
 
 " I dislike so much it might imperil papa," said Rose. 
 
 " No ; I will make you easy on that point. Decker will 
 not betray me or my friends; he may help us find your 
 papa, and release him from the toils of a villain." 
 
 It seemed hours before Decker arrived, yet the clocks 
 were striking one as he entered the room. Rose recognized 
 the man to whom Amberley had spoken the night before.
 
 182 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 He listened attentively to the story, smiled blandly, mentioned 
 one or two circumstances which Rose had forgotten, and 
 asked her a few questions about the stolen domino. 
 
 " There is a woman in this case," said he, nodding to the 
 president. " That always complicates matters. By the 
 way, miss, did you ever see this before?" and he took 
 out of his pocket a little silver arrow. 
 
 " Why, certainly ; it looks as if it were cut out of the 
 sleeve of my domino." 
 
 " I thought so, miss. Please give it back to me. This 
 is a very involved case, but interesting. Now our next 
 
 move is to pay a visit to ' Herzog, No. East Broadway ; 
 
 three o'clock.' Would you, sir, mind changing your white 
 choker for a black one, and putting on a rather shabby 
 tile?" The detective looked suggestively at the smooth 
 clerical hat which lay on the table near the president. 
 
 "What is your plan, Decker?" asked the president. 
 "We are working in the dark." 
 
 " You and I, sir, must be in that house when this young 
 lady enters, and she must go, apparently alone, and ask 
 for Herzog. You must be courageous, Miss Chadwick, 
 and seem to fall into the trap ; for trap I believe it to be. 
 You need not fear, for there will be a friend to you behind 
 every door. If you do meet your father, we shall be 
 dumb and blind ; if you meet somebody else, we shall have 
 our senses." 
 
 " What do you think this means, Decker ?" said the pres- 
 ident. 
 
 " I have three theories, sir. One is that it is a woman's 
 revenge, and that Miss Chadwick is to be made a subject 
 of blackmail; another is that perhaps her father is in 
 trouble, and wishes to see her ; the third is that a bold and
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 183 
 
 desperate game is being played to compromise her, in which 
 case, sir, you and I will be on hand." 
 
 " It is not like my father," said Rose. 
 
 " No, ma'am, it is not at all like Pascal Chadwick. I 
 know him well enough for that," said Decker. 
 
 " Courage, Rose," said the president, as he emerged from 
 his dressing-room in black cravat and disordered travelling 
 costume, his clerical respectability decidedly disguised ; 
 " we shall be there before you." 
 
 When Rose, dismissing her aunt's coachman, had en- 
 gaged a hired cab, and reached No. East Broadway, 
 
 she saw a large, rather shabby, but apparently well-filled 
 house, which seemed to her to have seen better days. It 
 had been a handsome house, and one day had harbored 
 a wealthy, aristocratic " old family," but it had gone down, 
 down, down, like the people who had owned it. Rose 
 alighted, and rang the bell tremulously. 
 
 " Is Mr. Herzog in ?" she asked. 
 
 " Yes, 'm," said the girl, grinning ; " he's in the third pair 
 back." 
 
 "Ask him to come down to see Miss Chadwick," said 
 poor Rose, feeling her voice desert her. 
 
 " He can't, he's lame," said the girl. " He said you was 
 to come up." 
 
 At this moment two or three roughs came out of a lower 
 room, and pushed against the girl, talking loudly, and smell- 
 ing horribly of beer and tobacco. 
 
 One came out after the others, and whispered to Rose, as 
 the servant's attention was thus distracted. She recognized 
 the voice of Decker. " Go up ; you are protected," he said. 
 
 She ascended those crazy and dirty stairs; she followed 
 'blindly the directions to the " third pair back;" she reached
 
 184 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 the landing. Oh, was she about to meet her father her 
 father? was he there in hiding, in disgrace? 
 
 " Come in," said a voice as she knocked. She entered, 
 and met Hathorne Mack. 
 
 Her first impulse was to scream ; her second one was 
 better ; it was to stand still, to summon all her self-posses- 
 sion, and to let him do the talking. 
 
 " You are a wise girl to have come, Miss Rose. You 
 have come to see your best friend." 
 
 " What news have you of my father ?" said she. 
 
 " Well, nothing except that he expects to hear from his 
 son-in-law and congratulates the young couple ;" and here 
 Hathorne Mack gave a hideous leer. " You've been playing 
 a losing game, Rose, a very losing game. You expected to 
 marry that English sprout ; now you see he was simply fool- 
 ing you, while Hathorne Mack is in earnest. Sir Lytton 
 Leycester is engaged to a young heiress at Manchester. 
 He needs money to take care of his estates ; he can't marry 
 you, now that Pascal has busted. Nobody for you but me, 
 Rose. Pascal is a dead-beat, and hiding out of sight down 
 in the Sandwich Islands. If you marry me, Rose, we'll 
 have him out, and we'll put him on his legs again ; that is, 
 if he ain't dead." 
 
 " So this is a part of your plot against me, is it ?" said 
 Rose. "You have decoyed me here to frighten me into 
 marrying you ?" 
 
 " Well, all's fair in love and war, you know, Rosie dear. 
 Take a chair, and let's talk all friendly. Now you see we're 
 as good as engaged, since you've visited me in my bachelor 
 apartments." And Hathorne Mack gave a triumphant laugh. 
 
 " I will never marry you !" said Rose, retreating towards 
 the door.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 185 
 
 Hathorne Mack stepped forward and locked the door. 
 
 " Now, Miss Rose, you will marry me, and here too. I 
 have got a parson all ready and a witness ; just you look. 
 There has been a witness to this visit of yours. I didn't 
 intend to be dishonest to you, but I guess you can't go 
 back into society and be the great belle you was, unless 
 you are Mrs. Hathorne Mack ; so just you take my hand, 
 and we'll get spliced. No screaming ; no no nonsense ; 
 it's all that's left to you now. Here there's another door 
 to this room ; this apartment communicates " 
 
 " I will appeal to the clergyman ; I will not marry you," 
 said poor Rose, now nearly at the end of her strength. 
 
 "It won't do you much good to appeal to my clergy- 
 man," said the brute. " Come out, Bacon." 
 
 The door opened, and President Williams entered with 
 Decker. 
 
 " So you are trying the bluff game on this young lady, 
 are you, Mr. Mack," said Decker, blandly. 
 
 " Blown, by Jove !" said Hathorne Mack, turning purple. 
 " Rose, you have ruined your father," said he, turning to 
 the poor girl, who was sinking to the ground. 
 
 " I do not know that," said another voice that of the 
 president of Charpentier College. "Rose, dear, let Mr. 
 Decker take you to your carriage. I will remain and hear 
 what Mr. Mack has to say. You are in no danger. Go 
 back to your aunt." 
 
 For once in his life, Hathorne Mack met a man who was 
 not afraid of him, and who could not be bribed. President 
 Williams had plenty of pluck behind his clerical waistcoat, 
 and he had no desire for railroad stock or for speculative 
 shares in any mining enterprise. 
 
 Yet Hathorne Mack still had one advantage. He was
 
 186 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 the only man (apparently) who knew anything about the 
 whereabouts or the fortunes of Pascal Chadwick. He 
 could still injure Rose. But he had been deceived, thwart- 
 ed, and exposed. He had been sold by one of his choicest 
 men. Decker had been "too many" for him. 
 
 "All's fair in love and war," said he, boastfully, to the 
 president. 
 
 "And you were saved by us from the commission of a 
 crime," said the president, thoughtfully. " Had it not been 
 that I wish to save my niece from scandal, I should have 
 preferred to allow you to hang yourself." 
 
 "The rope ain't woven yet that is to hang Hathorne 
 Mack." 
 
 " I don't know that, Mr. Mack," said Decker, just enter- 
 ing. " Did you ever see that ?" and he held out a little 
 silver arrow. 
 
 Hathorne Mack looked confused. " Has she turned too ? 
 Have you got hold of her ?" said he. 
 
 " Yes," said the detective, " we have got hold of her." 
 
 " Well, do your worst, then ; others will suffer more than 
 I shall." 
 
 " Whom did he mean by ' her ' ?" asked the president as 
 they descended to their carriage. 
 
 " I haven't the least idea yet," said the detective, laugh- 
 ing ; " but I shall know. There are a great many ' hers ' 
 in the world. I know a good many of them." 
 
 "We ought to keep track of this man," said the president. 
 
 " Track of him !" said Decker, laughing scornfully. 
 " Track of him ! I should think so. From this day, this 
 hour, he will be shadowed. Yes, he will neither lie down, 
 get up, go out, speak to man or woman, without my know- 
 ing it."
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 187 
 
 The president almost shuddered. " You make one feel 
 uncomfortable, Mr. Decker. Have you such power ?" 
 
 " A good deal of power. Mr. President, by the way, I 
 shall want to call on Miss Chadwick. Can 1 2" 
 
 " Of course you can," said the president. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 THE good president had forgotten nothing. Acting on 
 a judicious after-thought, he had sent Rose back to his 
 hotel to await his coming, and had written to Mrs. Trevyl- 
 yan that he should keep his niece to dine with her aunt 
 and cousin. 
 
 Rose kept up " with a brave white face," and found in 
 the serene, self-possessed manner of her new relatives a 
 sort of strength and peace. There was a wholesome quiet- 
 ness in the manner of Mrs. Williams a woman who had 
 suffered terribly from the loss of a son, as Rose afterwards 
 discovered, but who had made her personal sorrow " turn 
 the wheel of an unselfish activity " for the good of others. 
 Mrs. Williams was accustomed to young people ; she lived 
 as the wife of a president of a college should live, in close 
 maternal relation to the poor young fellows who had to 
 meet illness and disappointment as well as the gayety 
 and success of their rough-and-tumble life. Perhaps Mrs. 
 Williams was, in her way, quite as necessary to Charpen- 
 tier College as was the president. Then her cousin, a plain, 
 intelligent girl, who seemed to take Rose immediately to 
 her heart with a sense of ownership all, all was calming 
 and delightful.
 
 188 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 Not until the president started to walk home with his 
 niece was a word spoken of the scene which they had gone 
 through. 
 
 " He will never trouble you again, Rose," said her uncle, 
 speaking of Hathorne Mack. " He has made himself 
 amenable to the law. He is afraid of Decker, also of me. 
 It was amusing to hear the creature's disgust overflow. 
 ' Bluffed, by Jove ! and by an old fool of a clergyman,' 
 was his not too complimentary remark. I don't think I 
 looked like a clergyman ; do you, Rose ?" 
 
 " Now what do you think about papa ?" said Rose. 
 
 " That we must wait and hope. Hathorne Mack evi- 
 dently has suppressed and distorted what news he may 
 have. Pascal was always queer ; he did not ever write 
 regularly, did he, dear ?" 
 
 " No," said Rose. " It is a longer time now than " 
 
 "Well, dear, possess your soul in patience. I see you 
 are no coward. Go and lead your every-day life. Keep 
 your fears to yourself for Mrs. Trevylyan is a person of 
 shattered nerves ; it will not do to frighten her and pro- 
 vide yourself with ' those iron-clad joys which we call em- 
 ployments.' I am glad to hear that you study daily with 
 Miss What's her name ?" 
 
 " Marjoribanks the English call her Marchbanks," said 
 Rose ; " a former governess of mine." 
 
 "And what did I hear you telling Cornelia of your 
 teaching a little boy ?" 
 
 "Oh, Pierre! You know I was taken to Mrs. Phil- 
 ippeau's house when my leg was broken she is Mr. 
 Mack's sister and I received great kindness there. She 
 has a lovely child, Pierre, who was Miss Marjoribanks's 
 charge before they well, they quarrelled. Now he is
 
 A n*/N8PL ANTED ROSE. 189 
 
 very fond of me, and I love him, so he comes every day to 
 play at studying with me. It is really done, uncle, be- 
 cause I crave his innocent, pretty affection, and he I 
 fear that his mother well, I don't know. She does not 
 care for him as I should think she would." 
 
 " I should like you to shake off all these people, Rose, 
 but I cannot advise it now. Be prudent. We must keep 
 your name out of the newspapers ; and I can see no more 
 healthy work for you than to study yourself, and also 
 amuse yourself with this child. It shows a good heart, 
 dear. I like women who like children. Perhaps Mr. 
 Decker may call on you in a day or two. Be prepared 
 to see him come in as a book peddler, sent to you by me, 
 and talk to him about his books. You will know 
 why later. I declare I am becoming a play-actor !" And 
 the president readjusted his cravat and his glasses as 
 he rang Mrs. Trevylyan's door -bell, and left Rose at 
 home. 
 
 The next morning's breakfast found Rose treating 
 Pierre to orange marmalade and toast, while waiting for 
 her own breakfast of a chop and a potato, for he was sent 
 down early to enjoy a long, joyous morning with his dear 
 Rose. Miss Marjoribanks, wrapped in a large shawl, still 
 suffering from her cold, was making the tea. 
 
 At Mrs. Trevylyan's Pierre found sympathy and liberty, 
 the natural craving of childhood. He was a lovely, en- 
 gaging child, a natural gentleman, a sweet, gentle, confiding 
 creature, contradicting all the theories of hereditary traits, 
 unless Jean Pierre had had a noble great-grandfather. He 
 needed love, this child, as his lungs demanded fresh air, 
 and Rose gave it to him in amplest measure. 
 
 " How fond you are of that child !" said Miss Marjori- 
 13
 
 190 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 banks, almost wistfully, as she watched Rose dance him up 
 and down on her knee. 
 
 "Who would not be?" said Rose. "Oh, Pierre, you 
 shall go to Chadwick's Falls with me, and you shall have 
 a garden, and five , dogs and a pony, and rabbits to feed, 
 and a little mountain goat and a fawn !" 
 
 " Can we go to-morrow ?" asked Pierre. 
 
 " No, dear child ; but if you will study your spelling 
 while I am getting my German lesson, I will take you up 
 to see the little lions at the Park this afternoon." 
 
 Pierre was all attention to his blocks, and Rose devoted 
 to her German, with Miss Marjoribanks correcting an exer- 
 cise, when the bell rang, and the butler hastened to the 
 door. He came quickly back, followed by a gentleman, 
 who presented his own card and that of President Will- 
 iams. " The Rev. O. Tyler." Rose read it, and, trembling 
 all over, realized that the detective was before her. It was 
 almost impossible to see in this mild and sleek and meek 
 clerical gentleman the man she had met before. Fortunate- 
 ly for her self-possession, he offered his book to Miss Mar- 
 joribanks for inspection. It was one which caught her eye 
 immediately, being an improved method of teaching German. 
 
 " Just what you need, Rose," said she. 
 
 " Very well," said Rose. " I will buy it if you say so." 
 
 " But let me look at your other books," said the gov- 
 erness. 
 
 The Rev. O. Tyler had the most excellent and rare set of 
 educational helps under his arm which even the most en- 
 terprising firm could turn out. His conversation about 
 them was at once amusing, instructive, and at the same 
 time pathetic and poverty-stricken. He continued to 
 throw out side-lights upon his own need of selling all that.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 191 
 
 he could dispose of, remotely hinted at a wife and six 
 children, until Miss Marjoribanks decided upon a " Few 
 Lights of History," "Easy Method to Algebra," and 
 " Reading without Tears " for Pierre. 
 
 " I have not ray purse here," said Rose. 
 
 " Let me go and get it," said Miss Marjoribanks. 
 
 When she was well out of hearing, the Rev. 0. Tyler 
 took up the " Few Lights of History," and, as if reading, 
 softly remarked : " If you ever walk out with that little 
 boy, it would be well Park three o'clock. All is going 
 as I could wish." 
 
 When Miss Marjoribanks came back with the purse, and 
 Rose counted out what seemed to the Rev. 0. Tyler to be 
 a fortune apparently, Pierre, who had been enjoying these 
 helps to education, which were embellished by wood-cuts, 
 looked up slyly at the gentleman, and remarked, " You've 
 got a wig on." 
 
 The Rev. 0. Tyler smiled feebly, put on his hat, and 
 departed hastily. 
 
 Miss Marjoribanks, who had rather enjoyed this visit of 
 the book peddler, was deeply shocked ; and, in her admo> 
 nitions to Pierre reproving his childish frankness, failed to 
 observe that the hand with which Rose was writing her 
 German exercise trembled like a leaf. 
 
 " Pierre, you must never remark on personal appear- 
 ance ; that is very rude," said the governess. 
 
 "Your hair is red," said Pierre, by way of showing his 
 apprehension and obedience. 
 
 " What very beautiful, fashionable hair you have, 
 Ethel !" said Rose, who still relapsed into habits of early 
 intimacy. 
 
 Miss Marjoribanks smiled, not displeased.
 
 192 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 "Another note, miss," said the butler, who had already 
 brought in two or three. 
 
 " An invitation from Fanny Grey to be her bridemaid in 
 three weeks," said Rose. " How quietly she has managed 
 all this ! My first friend in New York, my constant good 
 friend, how well I remember her first greeting at Mrs. 
 Mortimer's, when I entered in that dreadful yellow bro- 
 cade !" 
 
 " You will accept, of course ?" said Miss Marjoribanks. 
 
 "I do not quite know yet. I must consult Aunt 
 Laura." 
 
 Not only Aunt Laura, but the president, approved of the 
 bridemaid project. The emotions which had chased them- 
 selves across her young heart of late had left Rose without 
 volition. She almost shrank from the business of getting 
 up a dress, and entering upon the gay and frivolous busi- 
 ness of being bridemaid ; but the president told her that 
 he wished it, and Aunt Laura almost commanded. 
 
 The president and Aunt Laura had had their confiden- 
 tial talk. 
 
 "We must amuse her, keep her mind off her father, 
 until we know more," said Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 " Yes ; I am glad this wedding has come in, particularly 
 as she has so much reason for anxiety," said the president, 
 evasively. "Tell me I heard something about the at- 
 tentions of a young English baronet do you think Rose 
 was impressed ?" 
 
 "All that happened while she was imprisoned at Mrs. 
 Philippeau's, and while I was imprisoned here," said Mrs. 
 Trevylyan. "He was certainly very fond of her, I 
 thought, but Rose is singularly reticent; of her deeper 
 feelings I know nothing. I only know that she is very
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 198 
 
 sweet, and the most improved person. She ' takes a 
 polish ' easily. Do you not find her improved and well- 
 mannered !" 
 
 " Yes," said the president ; " she pleases me. Bnt has 
 not the polish been applied rather too severely? I miss 
 some little excrescences of manner which I admired, and I 
 find her too pale and quiet. Are you not rubbing her 
 down too smooth I" 
 
 " Circumstances have been ' rubbing her down,' as you 
 express it, rather severely. She is of the impulsive- 
 tempered, and is born to suffer, also to recuperate, I hope; 
 but the dearest, truest, sweetest, most guileless nature. 
 You can hope for anything, everything, with such a char- 
 acter," said Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 " I long to get her to my quiet house in the country," 
 said the president ; " I want to see her eyes look as they 
 did when I first saw them. I want her cheek to come up, 
 and be round again." 
 
 " Rose has begun to live," said Mrs. Trevylyan. 
 
 Each of these two good people had his and her own 
 secret, each of them talked with half a confidence, and 
 they separated without any especial understanding, except 
 that Rose should be bridemaid. 
 
 It was a beautiful wedding, that of Fanny Grey and 
 Jack Long. All the world was there excepting the Hon- 
 orable Hathorne Mack : he had gone to Washington. 
 
 The bride had decreed that her attendants should come 
 in pink a fact which was attributed to her well-known 
 liking for Rose, to whom that color was becoming. Jack 
 Long gave all the bridernaids diamond lockets with his own 
 and Fanny's monograms interlaced, and Fanny's presents 
 filled two rooms, and required a man from Tiffany's to
 
 194 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 arrange them. She had ten lace fans, all alike, seventeen 
 pepper-casters, and nineteen card-receivers; ten sets of 
 oyster-knives, and twenty-two teapots. Fortunately, wed- 
 ding presents are now allowed to be exchanged ; else what 
 use for them ? Also, lamps by the dozen, and a number 
 of salts. Then came silver dinner-sets, diamond bracelets, 
 sets of choice porcelain, pictures, vases, mirrors, cam el' s- 
 hair shawls, necklaces, ear-rings, and inkstands. The pop- 
 ular and beloved belle had her share of the good things 
 of this earth. 
 
 And as the charming troop of bridemaids entered the 
 church, who so lovely as Rose? She and Harriet Am- 
 berley came first, and many an eye rested on her graceful 
 figure and lovely face. Of whom did she think as she 
 knelt at the altar railing ? Of whom, as she heard those 
 solemn sounds ? Ah ! wedding bells, wedding bells, how 
 loud you ring ! how far away your music sounds ! What 
 is there in the dying cadence as the echo dies away that is 
 sad sad? Why do we always weep at a wedding? And 
 now to those who were gayest of the gay as they sur- 
 rounded that fair bride, why did there come a presage of 
 calamity ? 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 MEANTIME a dead man lay with his unseeing eyes open 
 to the sky. 
 
 While his name was on the lips of hundreds, while one 
 anxious heart was beating aloud for news of him, Pascal 
 Chadwick lay at the foot of a high bluff, dead. 
 
 He had not been to the Sandwich Islands at all. He
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 195 
 
 had gone out to quell an insurrection in one of his 
 mining camps, wandering on, as was his wont, to see to 
 one or the other of his many interests, telling no one of 
 his plans. The nomadic instinct includes secretiveness. 
 A Western pioneer, like an Indian, tells no one where he 
 is going, for the best of reasons he does not know him- 
 self. 
 
 The ocean dashed up not far distant, and the dreary 
 cliffs looked out upon a desolate coast, as the dead man 
 kept his solitary watch. The snow had come, and had 
 covered up the dishonor of decay. The remote stars, keen, 
 brilliant, and unsympathetic, had mirrored themselves in 
 those glassy open eyes. The sun had risen, but not to 
 warm him. There he lay. Was it murder? 
 
 And now came a group of miners with swinging step 
 around the corner of the bluff. It was a high scarp of 
 rock, that seemed to end the mountain range ; and as the 
 man who first turned its sharp edge advanced, he sang in 
 a hoarse voice the refrain of a melancholy little Spanish 
 song. He was wrapped in a bright-colored scrape, and 
 was followed by a rough group of fellow-miners. 
 
 " Hola !" said one ; "Jose has stumbled." 
 
 " Yes, and over a dead man !" said the others. 
 
 " Bad luck to our new lead, that," said another. " Bad 
 luck ! bad luck !" 
 
 A dead man was not such an unusual thing for these 
 Mexican miners to find in their pathway, but the event had 
 generally a fresh personal interest. A man whom they had 
 not stabbed or killed was something remote or unpleasant 
 to them. They did not like it that way. 
 
 " He has been dead a long time," said Jose, rising from 
 his knees with an expression of relief.
 
 196 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " Feel in his pockets," said another. 
 
 There were found a watch, a silver cigar-box, a miniature 
 case, a little money, and some blotted papers. It was grow- 
 ing dark, and Jose was hungry. He was a good-hearted 
 ruffian, but he was feeling more impatient for his supper 
 just now than anything else. He was the leader of his 
 troop, and desired a reputation for generosity ; so, to save 
 time and to gain favor, he said : " Here, Pedro, here, 
 Manuel, here, Sancho, Miguel, take these coins. I will 
 keep the watch and the miniature case. This was an im- 
 portant man ; he will be inquired for." (Jose had yet 
 an eye to business.) And the Mexican disposed of the 
 contents of the dead man's pockets with true Spanish 
 splendor. 
 
 " But, capitan," said Pedro, who was of a superstitious 
 turn of mind, " we shall not have good luck if we do not 
 bury him and put a cross over his grave." And Pedro 
 clutched at the rosary which lay in his belt next to his 
 Spanish knife, sharp on both edges. 
 
 " No, not now ; wait until after supper," said the cap- 
 itan. 
 
 A fire was built, and the salt pork fried, even within a 
 few rods of the body lying stiff and stark. They had 
 turned their backs upon it, but Pedro looked nervously 
 over his left shoulder. As the steam arose from the boil- 
 ing pot of chocolate, Pedro watched its shape curiously and 
 fearfully to see if it took on the form of a man or beast, 
 and, as it separated into two distinct columns, he said the 
 credo and trembled. 
 
 " This was murder," said he. 
 
 Suddenly there came from the chaparral behind them 
 the wild cry of the coyote, always a fearful sound.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 197 
 
 " Cararaba !" said the superstitious Pedro. 
 
 All these men, fearless as wild wolves before a real dan- 
 ger, ready to plunge their sharp knives into a living foe 
 or friend, if that might be necessary were afraid of that 
 poor piece of unburied clay. Death asserted its terrors. 
 
 Pascal Chadwick had ever been an " ugly customer" to 
 meet in the dark ; he was even more terrible now as he lay 
 there unconscious, a mere silent, disorganized mass of mat- 
 ter, soon to be absorbed again into great nature's labora- 
 tory. These coarse miners, these courageous brutes, were 
 superstitious. They were afraid of those disembodied 
 spirits who, according to their inherited belief, followed 
 and watched over the dead. Particularly were they afraid 
 of that malevolent spirit who came up to care for those 
 who had met with a violent death. They were on the eve 
 of a new enterprise, and this incident foreboded failure. 
 
 " But," said Manuel, " we can give him good Christian 
 burial, and carve a cross on the rock, and I have an extra 
 rosary, which I will hang up over the grave." 
 
 " It is well," said the capitan, gravely. " After supper 
 you shall cut two metal buttons from his clothes, and look 
 at the back of his neck to see if the spine was severed. So 
 strong and big a man as that, if murdered, was struck from 
 behind. Then we will say some prayers over him ; that 
 will avert the bad luck." 
 
 As the moon rose over the dashing waves of the sea, and 
 whitened the great mountain-side, the torches of the miners 
 were seen to cast a red light on a new-made grave. 
 
 The body had been carefully examined by the men, had 
 been wrapped in a scrape for a shroud, and Pedro, with 
 his sharp knife, severed a lock of hair from the scalp. 
 The two metal buttons were detached from the rags of an
 
 198 A TRANSPLANTED, ROSE. 
 
 outer garment, and Manuel, who was a bit of a penman, 
 scratched the date and a sort of description on a greasy 
 parchment which he carried with him. 
 
 " This man will be inquired for," said he. 
 
 Jose, meantime, half sung, half chanted, his melancholy, 
 sad refrain, and Pedro knelt and repeated aves and credos. 
 Ignorant, superstitious, and brutal, the half-savage faces 
 for a moment were lifted to heaven with that true spirit of 
 humiliation and of prayer which comes to all men in the 
 presence of Death. Who shall say that there is no God ? 
 Who shall say that an appeal to Him is not the first in- 
 stinct in joy, in sorrow, and in fear? As surely as does 
 the child appeal to its mother, does the heart of man turn 
 towards the unseen Father of all. Pascal Chadwick bad 
 Christian burial, although no church, no cathedral, opened 
 its doors to him. The low foreign speech, the half-articu- 
 late chant, the burning torches, the solemn thud of the 
 spade all, all reiterated " bell, book, and candle ;" and, 
 call it superstition or call it piety, there were fervent 
 prayers said over that poor bit of clay. And they piled a 
 cairn of stones to protect that unknown grave from the 
 coyote. Manuel hung his rosary on the rock, and carved 
 a rude cross on its imperishable wall a mural tablet 
 which should outlast the centuries. Then the miners took 
 up their line of march. Two hours more by the light of 
 the moon they tramped before they reached the camp to 
 which Capitan Jose was leading them, which was over the 
 high mountain, away from the sea, and down into the val- 
 ley again, where, after crossing a dry gully, they expected 
 to find gold. The camp-fire they had left behind them 
 flickered awhile, as if it were the flame on an altar ; then, 
 blown into a sudden flash by a passing zephyr, it rose in
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 199 
 
 successive flames. A ship out at sea sighted it, and won- 
 dered at this light-house on an unknown shore; and the 
 stars and the moon saw it, but gave no answering sign. 
 The ocean sang on that ever-unceasing requiem, as the 
 flame flickered and went out, " Ashes to ashes, dust to 
 dust." Such was the burial service of one whose faults 
 and whose virtues and whose record had now passed away 
 from the judgment of men up to that judgment which, 
 let us hope, is more just and more merciful than that of 
 earth. 
 
 " Sister," said Arthur Amberley to Harriet, as they sat 
 by their pleasant wood fire one cool evening in the spring, 
 " what did I hear you say about going to Europe ?" 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Mercer wants me to go over to her for the 
 London season ; but I have concluded that I will not go. 
 I cannot leave you, you know." 
 
 " Well, Hatty, you had better go. I feel very much like 
 trying a Western trip. I want to go out and shoot a little." 
 
 " But is this the season ?" said Harriet. Arthur hemmed 
 and hawed and hesitated. 
 
 " No, dear, it is not. I will not try to deceive you. I 
 am about to do a foolish thing I am going to try to find 
 Pascal Chadwick." 
 
 " Oh, Arthur, then this is a serious affair of yours. You 
 love Rose." 
 
 " Perhaps I do, Harriet perhaps I do ; but she does not 
 love me, so don't be apprehensive of a wedding. I am not 
 ashamed to tell you that I want to serve her, and yet not 
 be known as serving her. Perhaps, too, I want to serve 
 the cause of truth and justice and law and order. Jack 
 Townley, who has known these people about Pascal Chad-
 
 200 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 wick so well, had a visit from a herdsman named Herzog, 
 who had some strange news for him. This man had fol- 
 lowed Mr. Chad wick for some hundred miles, and then lost 
 sight of him near a mining camp, since when nothing has 
 been heard of him. The man has been here, and had seen 
 Hathorne Mack, who had turned him off contemptuously. 
 He then called on Jack, and told him of his fears and sus- 
 picions. We both fear some foul play. If you go to 
 Europe, I have determined to find out something about 
 this matter. I shall go out to the mining grounds, and 
 look around ; I have some money out there which I ought 
 to be looking after, too." 
 
 Harriet came over and put her two arms around her 
 brother's neck. " Do you know you are a good old fel- 
 low, Arthur ? You come nearer some of those ideal men, 
 Tristram and Lancelot and Arthur great King Arthur, 
 your godfather than any man I know. But will you not 
 run some terrible risks out in that savage wilderness ?" 
 
 "No, Harriet, I am not such a hero as you think ; I am 
 already regretting my linen sheets, my morning tub, my 
 good breakfasts ; I am already loathing the fried pork and 
 the horrible bread of the wandering mountaineers. Nurse 
 me through all the dyspepsias I shall acquire in the desert, 
 my dear, and you will become Auslaga, Elaine, Elizabeth 
 of Hungary, and all the noble women who waited on your 
 mythical heroes." 
 
 " You are always half suspicious of your own nobility, 
 Arthur. How I wish that men who pretend to virtue had 
 half your reality ! What can I do for Rose ?" 
 
 " She must soon know of this dreadful probability," said 
 Arthur. " I fear from her pale face that it has been whis- 
 pered to her. Decker, a detective whom I have some
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 201 
 
 knowledge of, tells me that she has been the victim of 
 some plot of a villain, from which he has tried to extricate 
 her, and in his mousing way he has found out that Pascal 
 Chadwick has probably been murdered. There are some 
 mysterious complications, and Decker says that he detects 
 a woman's malice in the affair of the masquerade ball. 
 You know two strange men entered her box, one in my 
 domino, or one like it, and her domino was stolen." 
 
 " I saw her double, then," said Harriet. 
 
 " You know we kept the dominos very close." 
 
 "Yes, but Sidonie Devine saw mine," said Harriet. 
 " You know how she dislikes Rose." 
 
 Arthur Amberley paused a moment, and thought. " I 
 hardly accuse Sidonie of this particular outrage," said he. 
 " I think a more vulgar hand has been at work. I wonder 
 if Mrs. Philippeau could have connived at such a monstrous 
 piece of cruelty ?" 
 
 " You know she is Hathorne Mack's sister," said Harriet. 
 
 " Yes. I wish I could reach that man's throat !" said 
 Arthur; "and yet he keeps out of harm's way, and is 
 making himself so necessary to all the Wall Street men." 
 
 " How detestable that such a man can be endured !" 
 
 " Yes, and permitted to ruin a young life. Harriet, help 
 me to help Rose, and our brother-and-sister love will have 
 a new and sacred significance." 
 
 " We are one in this, as in all things, Arthur," said Har- 
 riet, calmly. 
 
 " I may trust you fully to keep my secret ?" said Arthur. 
 
 "Yes. I have kept several for you," said Harriet, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Do not let any one suppose I am Quixotic and 
 generous. Do not allow any one to suppose that I am
 
 202 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 going out to find Pascal Chad wick. I have no other ad- 
 vice to give you," said Arthur. 
 
 " I shall go to see Rose at once." 
 
 " Do, and find out, as only a woman like you can, how 
 much she knows, how much she fears, how much she 
 suffers. Let her know, Harriet, that she has friends. You 
 can say that whenever she will see me I am at her com- 
 mand. Oh, Harriet, what cannot a good woman say and 
 do, when she is free from the egotism, the selfishness, the 
 corruption of this world ?" 
 
 " Shall I prepare her for the worst ?" asked Harriet, ig- 
 noring the compliment. 
 
 "I think she ought to know that we all fear that her 
 father has been killed. And, Harriet, something tells me 
 that, after what I fear she has been told to suspect, the 
 news of his death will not be the worst news." 
 
 "Why, what do you mean?" 
 
 " From what Decker told me, I suspect that she has been 
 told that her father is in disgrace, and hiding away from 
 justice." 
 
 " Oh, what a dreadful world we live in !" said Harriet, 
 shuddering, as she looked around her comfortable parlor. 
 
 " Yes, dear ; it is not all shut in behind these crimson 
 curtains, this world ; but perhaps we can get out and help 
 save here and there a waif."
 
 A TRANSPLANTED KOBE. 203 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 HATHORNE MACK had heretofore had his own way in 
 things, as we have seen. He had now been thwarted in 
 the dearest wish of his life "thwarted by a beggarly par- 
 son." He knew that he had attempted a great crime, and 
 that he was henceforth to be " shadowed," watched, and, 
 as he expressed it, "bothered." 
 
 But, whatever were his faults, cowardice was not one of 
 them, when he came to other matters than love. He had 
 helped to make the laws of his country, and he accordingly 
 felt little or no respect for them. He knew that he should 
 be " let alone " if he only left Rose her freedom, and her 
 uncle his own way. He was not afraid of punishment. 
 
 "They have more to lose than I have by exposure," 
 reasoned the Honorable Hathorne Mack. 
 
 Still he was miserably, dangerously angry angry as a 
 bull-dog is angry, snarling, and desirous of wreaking his 
 anger on somebody. Alone, he paced his room like a caged 
 tiger, not knowing quite what to do next. Ill-mannered, ill- 
 conditioned, and di.^'usted, the Honorable Hathorne Mack 
 was not a pleasant object to look upon. 
 
 " I wonder if that red-headed fool went back on me ?" 
 said he to himself. "She's fond of me, and could not help 
 being jealous. But I do not think she would dare. I know 
 too much about her, and the plot she laid for Pascal. Yet 
 I never trusted a woman before. I don't believe in them." 
 
 If the Honorable Hathorne wanted an object on which to 
 vent his wrath, it was forthcoming. A low tap at the door.
 
 204 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " Come in," said he, sulkily. 
 
 Rebecca Marjoribanks, closely veiled, stood before him. 
 " The game is up," said she, taking a chair, and quietly un- 
 tying her bonnet-strings. 
 
 " What do you mean ?" said he. 
 
 " There has been a detective at the house, disguised as 
 a book peddler," said she. " He thought I did not see his 
 false beard and his wig. It was well enough done, but I 
 have seen too many of them. What has happened here ?" 
 
 It was a skilful piece of fencing for the next half-hour, 
 but the woman's wit conquered. Hathorne Mack had to tell 
 her everything. She grew pale as he went on, and clinched 
 her hands. 
 
 " You have botched this business, Rebecca," said the 
 man, brutally. 
 
 "And you have lied to me," said she, under her breath. 
 
 "I told you I meant to marry the girl," said Mack. 
 
 " But you said you would not use force ; you promised 
 that you would respect her youth, and win her fairly," said 
 the governess. 
 
 " You are a pretty one to talk about fairness !" said the 
 man. 
 
 " Don't taunt me," said she, calmly. " I told you that, 
 base, criminal, and low as my life has been, pursued by 
 want, followed and deceived, the victim of treachery, as I 
 have been, I have one soft spot in my heart my love for 
 that girl. Do I not know how pure and good she is? 
 Have I not heard her prayers and her innocent confessions ? 
 Have I not seen the purity I early lost blossom in her clean 
 soul? Have I not deliberately stolen her lover's letters 
 and her heart's best hope away from her, to make her will- 
 ing to be your wife, suffering as I did it all the pangs of
 
 A TRAXSPJ.AXTE1) ROSS. 205 
 
 my own early disappointment, all to serve you, and have I 
 not seen her constant and patient to the end ? Hathorne, 
 I have been true to you, true to my promise ; but I made 
 a condition, which you have violated." 
 
 " Where are the letters ?" asked the Honorable Hathorne 
 Mack, interested. 
 
 Miss Marjoribanks drew from her pocket a bundle of un- 
 opened English-postmarked letters, and handed them to 
 Mack. Strange to say, as he took them, and essayed to 
 break a seal, something stopped him. What is there in that 
 mysterious look of a seal which protects our written secrets ! 
 How few, even the basest men, like to open a letter ad- 
 dressed to another! 
 
 " Well, you are sure you have not let her receive one of 
 the fool's letters ?" he asked. 
 
 " No. She thinks he has not written." 
 
 44 1 don't want to read his flummery, then," said Mack, 
 as he threw the letters into a drawer. " Now, Rebecca," 
 said he, as she fixed him with her steady yellow-brown eyes, 
 " I suppose you want money. You want to be paid : un- 
 successful agents always do. Now, how much ?" 
 
 " Nothing, Hathorne. You must marry me. I have left 
 Rose, Mrs. Trevylyan, respectability everything. The de- 
 tective is on my track. I have to fly again, and now you 
 must protect me. It was not my fault that I failed; it 
 was the girl's irrepressible aversion. She hates you. I 
 love you. Marry me." 
 
 " Marry you !" said the brute. 
 
 " Yes, marry me. I have served you faithfully. The 
 scheme has failed. If you anger me, I have a dreadful 
 revenge to take. I know the whole secret of Pascal Chad- 
 vrick's journey to the Pacific coast. I know your share in 
 
 14
 
 206 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 a certain midnight encounter. Your kennel hound has 
 played you false." 
 
 *' You cannot and shall not escape to tell it," said Ha- 
 thorne Mack, reaching out his burly hand towards her throat. 
 
 But the woman was cool. "I am not afraid of you, 
 Hathorne," said she. " I posted a letter before I came 
 here which told where I was coming. It was to a distant 
 city, but it will come into the hands of the police in three 
 days: you had better not murder me." 
 
 " You are a deep one," said he, with a sullen look of 
 admiration ; " you always were ;" and he gave her some- 
 thing almost like a caress. It was one of the mysteries of 
 this woman's character that she could not stand tenderness. 
 She melted at once, and kissed the hand which had been 
 raised to strike her. 
 
 " Oh, Hathorne ! Hathorne ! marry me, and love me, and 
 no slave shall serve you better. I am the only creature in 
 the world who loves you like a dog, or a horse, or any 
 other unreasonable creature. Nothing of regret, nothing of 
 penitence, shall ever weaken me if I am your wife. Discard 
 me, and I am a dangerous foe dangerous alike in my 
 cruelty and in my weakness." And the poor creature knelt 
 and clasped his knees, weeping bitter tears. 
 
 It was true, she did love this coarse, strong, hard villain. 
 He was very unlike the other men on whom she had prac- 
 tised her arts. He was illiterate, ungraceful, and unrefined, 
 and yet the accomplished, refined, wicked English governess 
 loved him. It was a sincere feeling; therefore it was re- 
 spectable, in its way. 
 
 Hathorne Mack looked in the fire silently. Here was 
 a coil about his feet for which he was not prepared. He 
 looked down at the woman who still sobbed and knelt be-
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 207 
 
 fore him. She was haggard ; there were black lines about 
 her eyes ; her magnificent red hair was loosened and fell 
 about her figure that figure which he had condescended 
 to admire, and it was supple and gracious. He thought of 
 Rose, and a shudder stole over even his broad frame, and 
 shook him. 
 
 " She hates me, that girl," said he ; " she might stab me 
 in the night but so, for that matter, might you." 
 
 " You used to love me, Hathorne," said the governess. 
 " I have always loved you, and I always shall. I have been 
 true to my promise, even trying to win you another woman 
 my own pet lamb, my child almost. I have borne the 
 most terrible ill-usage from you, and I love you still. Is 
 not that worth something ?" 
 
 She felt as if she were rolling a stone up hill, but she 
 was doing it well. 
 
 An unexpected ally came to help her : it was the church 
 clock striking three. She started to her feet. " We have 
 no time to lose," said she. "Rose has walked to the 
 Park, and I suspect to meet the detective. We must be 
 away from here when they return." 
 
 The woman's nature, thoroughly evil from the training 
 it had received, yet not foully false at the core, dreaded of 
 all things to meet Rose again ; whatever should happen, she 
 meant to be far enough away from her. 
 
 " They cannot do anything to us," said Mack, after a 
 moment's thought. 
 
 " They can arrest me," said she. She was too skilled in 
 the arts of escape to risk anything. She was too coura- 
 geous to be cowed by outward circumstances. " Marry me, 
 and then I cannot testify against you," said she, using her 
 last argument.
 
 208 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 The Honorable Hathorne Mack looked at her with an 
 expression in which anger, disgust, and admiration were 
 strangely blended. He proceeded to his desk, took out 
 money and papers, and threw into its deeps poor Sir Lytton 
 Leycester's package of letters, locked it, and moved towards 
 the door. "Have you a carriage at the door?" said he. 
 
 " Yes, and my portmanteau," said she. 
 
 " Pack mine for three days," said he. She did so, with 
 a neat order and celerity which he even paused to admire. 
 " Where is your parson ?" said he. 
 
 " Out of the city five miles. You know Morton Cottage, 
 where we once passed a few weeks ?" 
 
 " You have arranged it all, have you ?" 
 
 " No, Hathorne ; it arranges itself ; but I have baffled 
 pursuit and inquiry for a few days, for I have left my 
 papers in apparent confusion, and when the police examine 
 them to-morrow they will believe I have gone to Europe. 
 We shall gain time." 
 
 Wrapping his warm fur-lined coat about him, and lock- 
 ing his door, the Honorable Hathorne Mack stole down 
 the stairs silently after his captor. When they entered the 
 carriage they scarcely spoke. She knew too much to engage 
 him in conversation at once ; he was not in the mood for it. 
 
 It was quite dark when they reached Morton Cottage, in 
 one of the loneliest suburbs of New York. A light burned 
 in the little parlor of the clergyman's modest mansion, and 
 he started up himself to answer the bell. 
 
 It was a strange marriage, and the only witness was a 
 half-blind negro whom the clergyman called in from the 
 kitchen. And yet it was as solemn and as binding as any 
 that is celebrated in church or in grand salon before admir- 
 ing friends. The words were there, the great vow was taken
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROBE. 209 
 
 which it is a mortal sin to break. A sullen, angry man, a 
 dishevelled and trembling woman, two people bound by 
 hate as well as love, took on their soiled lips those conse- 
 crated words, and promised to love, obey, protect, and 
 cherish so long as they both should live. And the clergy- 
 man, accustomed, by the way, to "join together strange 
 beasts," looked at them askance as he said, " Whom God 
 hath joined together let no man put asunder." 
 
 They drove away in the darkness, nobody cared where. 
 
 " Lady's left her handkercher, sir," said the black man, 
 picking up something white on the rectory floor. 
 
 " Let me have it," said the clergyman ; and he locked it 
 up in his desk. " That pair will be inquired for, if I am 
 not mistaken," said he, as he wrote down the date of the 
 marriage, and the feigned names which this precious pair 
 had given him. 
 
 It was late the next day before Mr. Decker wandered 
 down to look at the rooms of the Honorable Hathorne 
 Mack. A half-sleepy, half-drunken fellow slouched past 
 the prim Mr. Decker. Even then and there Mr. Decker 
 shunned the appearance of evil, and seemed to be repri- 
 manding the man. 
 
 " Left yesterday at half-past four with red-haired wom- 
 an," said the tramp, slouching onward. 
 
 Then Mr. Decker forgot his primness, and started on a 
 run. Rebecca Marjoribanks had baffled him. It was not 
 the first time, by the way. He was absolutely breathless as 
 he reached Mrs. Trevylyan's door. The stately servant who 
 answered the summons had never seen a more anxious face 
 than that of Mr. Decker. 
 
 " Is Miss what do you call 'em governess at home ?" 
 said he.
 
 210 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " No, sir ; she left town for a few days yesterday after- 
 noon to visit a relative in Princeton, sir. She have a very 
 bad sore throat, sir, and was afeard of giving of it to the 
 family, sir; so she took quite a sudding determination to 
 leave, with a carpet-bag, for a few days, sir," said the man, 
 glibly repeating the parting injunctions of the departed 
 governess. 
 
 " Foiled, by Jove !" said Mr. Decker. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 WHILE this little drama was being enacted on the one 
 side of the house, Rose and Pierre, with the German nurse, 
 had walked off to the Park. It was their greatest pleasure 
 to have a long stroll together, and to visit the little lions 
 was to Pierre rapture indescribable. 
 
 Many of her fashionable friends saw Rose as she walked 
 and chatted with Pierre, and thought her a very deep, deep 
 girl. 
 
 " How she does affect the quite too innocently natural, 
 does she not?" said Sidonie Devine. "She is quite too 
 too, isn't she ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Morella ; " all that is gotten up for 
 Jack, you know. She is sure to meet him out at the 
 Park. All the young men are going out just now for 
 their afternoon ride, and she knows walking gives her a 
 color." 
 
 Rose walked on unconscious of criticism, full of deep 
 and troubled thoughts, and only half answering Pierre's 
 questions.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 211 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Rose ?" said Pierre. " You 
 are not so pleasant as you are sometimes." 
 
 " I was thinking of myself, Pierre," said she, apologeti- 
 cally, "and people are never pleasant when they are think- 
 ing of themselves." 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't think of yourself. I wish you 
 would tell me a story," said Pierre. 
 
 " Well, once there was a man," said Rose. And then 
 she began to think with terror of the Honorable Hathorne 
 Mack. 
 
 "Well, what did he do?" said Pierre. 
 
 " Well, he said he would meet us up by the animals," 
 said Rose, her mind travelling off to the detective. And 
 then she corrected herself, and said, " I cannot tell you 
 a good story to-day out of my head, but I will repeat to 
 you the ' Pied Piper of Hamelin.' " 
 
 So, as they were in the midst of that delightful story of 
 the rats, they reached the home of the larger quadrupeds, 
 and forgot their small deer. 
 
 Rose was in the midst of an eloquent description of the 
 tiger, his habits and his bloodthirsty proclivities, when a 
 man came sauntering along carelessly. 
 
 "You dropped your handkerchief, miss," said he, re- 
 spectfully, and he handed her a fine white handkerchief. 
 
 She was about to refuse the gift, when a second look 
 told her that Decker stood before her. 
 
 " Look at the initials in the corner, and tell me whose 
 they are. This handkerchief was found in the pocket of 
 the domino." 
 
 Rose looked and read " R. E. M." in embroidered capi- 
 tals. Just as she had done so she looked up, and saw Jack 
 Townley looking at her from another part of the room.
 
 212 A TRANSPLANTED ROBE. 
 
 "Thank you," said she, with ready composure, to the 
 detective, who looked now like a quiet man of fashion. 
 " I suppose I dropped it at the door." 
 
 The detective melted into thin air, and disappeared. 
 
 Jack Townley had seen Rose blush, and a curious sus- 
 picion took hold of him. " Is she nothing but a universal 
 coquette ?" said he. 
 
 But Rose took the hand of Pierre, and walked on to the 
 lions, nodding to Mr. Townley as she did so. 
 
 " I saw you come in, and I took the liberty of following, 
 although my horse does not like the odor of these gentle- 
 men," said the young beau, as he tapped his riding-boot. 
 
 "I did not expect to meet ajeunesse doree in here," said 
 Rose, laughing. " Pierre and I have it all to ourselves 
 generally," said she. 
 
 " I feared a man was speaking to you who had no right 
 to," said Jack, rather foolishly, " so I came over to offer 
 my protection." 
 
 "Only somebody picked up my handkerchief," said 
 Rose. 
 
 Now Jack Townley looked into the pure face of Rose, 
 and knew instinctively that she was not telling him the 
 whole truth. His wide experience of women had taught 
 him that there are two kinds of innocence one that is 
 absolutely ignorant of evil, and therefore always suspected ; 
 another, with the clearest possible knowledge of its exist- 
 ence, and yet with a horror and contempt of it. He had 
 admired the freshness and ingenuous delicacy of this girl's 
 mind. It always impressed him, but to-day he began to 
 doubt it Was she a dissembler, as good an actress off the 
 stage as she was on it ? He knew how dangerous to a 
 young girl in New York was the innocent ignorance of the
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 213 
 
 first sort, and, although it was none of his business, Jack 
 determined to say a word or two. 
 
 " That man should have handed you the handkerchief 
 without speaking to you," said he. 
 
 Rose turned towards him, and read the thought in his 
 eyes. 
 
 " I am destined to do the wrong thing and to be mis- 
 understood in New York," said she. " If any of our 
 friends saw me in here with you, they would say I had 
 come to meet you ; so let us walk out." 
 
 There was so much dignity in her mood as she took the 
 child's hand and led him away from the little lions, that 
 Jack Townley bowed, and absolutely blushed. 
 
 " I have a message for you, Miss Rose a message from 
 Sir Lytton Leycester. May I give it to you here ?" Rose 
 allowed Pierre to pull her back to the dear neighborhood 
 of the little lions. " He asks why you have forgotten him," 
 said Townley. 
 
 Now came the deep torrent of blood up to her face. 
 He had not written her a word he whose whispered 
 words had been so sweet, he whose love had seemed so 
 true and he had sent her this insulting message ! 
 
 " Tell him that I have had every reason to forget him," 
 said she, proudly drawing herself up. " That is my mes- 
 sage to Sir Lytton." 
 
 The skies looked gray and cold as she walked home 
 with Pierre. Her laughter was forced and unnatural, and, 
 dropping him at his own door, she walked home to have 
 an hour of sad meditation before dinner. 
 
 She was to go to a large dinner that evening, and Martha 
 came in to dress her. 
 
 " Your aunt would like to speak to you, miss," said she,
 
 214 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 as Rose stood before her, all radiant in a white grenadine 
 with violets. 
 
 Rose went into her aunt's bedroom, and was shocked to 
 see how ill Mrs. Trevylyan looked. 
 
 " Are you worse, dear aunt?" said Rose. 
 
 " I fear I am, dear not so well ; but don't be anxious. 
 How perfectly that dress fits you ! Rose, did you know 
 that Miss Marjoribanks had gone for a few days to Prince- 
 ton ? She tells ine she fears that she has the diphtheria ; 
 and she was very good to propose going." 
 
 Something struck Rose as with an arrow. The handker- 
 chief! the initials! She had forgotten the incident in the 
 hurry and the agitation which followed. Kissing her aunt 
 good-night, she ran up to her own room again, and took 
 out the handkerchief from the pocket of her ulster, where 
 she had thrust it. " R. E. M." There was no doubt of it. 
 She well remembered seeing Miss Marjoribanks carry such 
 fine handkerchiefs with beautiful French embroidery. 
 
 She went to the dinner, as many a belle goes to a dinner, 
 hiding a trouble in her heart. Was Marjoribanks a traitor ? 
 Was she mixed up in this dreadful business ? It was hard 
 to believe it, for she had always so protected her against 
 Hathorne Mack. How strange it seemed to her at the 
 dinner ! Every one was talking of Hathorne Mack. 
 
 " Oh, he is very rich, as riches go. He has just bought 
 a silver mine," said young Shepherd. 
 
 " I see that he is in Washington to-day," said Browne. 
 " Buying a senator, I suppose." 
 
 " Oh, what are you thinking about ?" said another. " He 
 has been on 'Change all day. See the Evening Rover. 
 It is full of his operations." 
 
 " A clever man, and an honest man, that," said Shepherd.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 215 
 
 " An honest man !" said a voice down the table. " I 
 take issue there. I have my doubts about that transfer of 
 the silver mine." 
 
 " Don't speak them, if you have," said Shepherd. " He 
 is too rich to be criticised." 
 
 " He is very charitable," said Mrs. Mortimer. " He has 
 given me a thousand dollars for my ' Home for One-armed 
 Plasterers.' " 
 
 " Oh, that is very noble !" said Sidonie Devine. 
 
 "Yes, so generous!" said Mrs. Morella. " And we like 
 his dear little sister so very much pretty little Mrs. Phil- 
 ippeau. Louisa Rigton was rather down on her at one 
 time, and said she had known her at school, where she was 
 not at all liked ; but now Louisa Rigton is hand and glove 
 with her, and insists on her name being everywhere. I 
 think she is to give her influence to the ball for the One- 
 armed Plumbers, by the way, which is a much better 
 charity, you know ; for plumbing is so very much less 
 healthy than plastering, Mrs. Mortimer." 
 
 " I think," said Jack Townley, " that you are getting the 
 brother and sister pitted against each other, are you not ?" 
 
 " It was so good of the Honorable Hathorne Mack to 
 educate that sister. He is a model of the domestic virtues 
 is he not, Miss Kose ?" asked Mr. Shepherd. 
 
 As this talk floated around her, Rose thought of the 
 scenes through which she had lately passed. She thought 
 of the selfish wrotch who had traded on her fears and on 
 her love for her father. She realized how wonderful a 
 thing was the tragedy and comedy of society, and how 
 truly the fight was behind masked batteries. And she sat 
 and laughed and ate and talked, covering up the grief that 
 consumed her. For now the conversation took up Sir
 
 216 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 Lytton Leicester, and with its usual accuracy society dis- 
 cussed him. 
 
 " I hear that he is engaged to his cousin, a great heir- 
 ess," said Shepherd. 
 
 " Oh !" " Ah, indeed !" said everybody. 
 
 " I knew that long ago," said Sidonie Devine. " He 
 told me he thought he ought to marry her : their estates 
 join." 
 
 The exceeding bitterness that maketh the heart sick had 
 now fully seized upon Rose, and she was glad to hear her 
 hostess give the signal for rising. Yet she had made no 
 sign, and not even the sensitive cheek spake the feelings 
 which came crowding to her heart. Doubt and dread are 
 the precursors of despair ; we can bear any certainty better 
 than an uncertainty. Rose had entered the dreadful realm 
 of suspense. 
 
 "When she went home she slept little. All the story of 
 Marjoribanks was beginning to unfold itself. This person, 
 all propriety and gentleness, full of kindness, this teacher 
 of youth, was, then, a traitor, a fiend in disguise, who had 
 been using the most dastardly and barbarous of all dis- 
 guises in order to do what ? That as yet Rose could not 
 understand. There was no tangible motive, no possible 
 solution, to her mind. 
 
 The shadows began to creep over the young girl's mind, 
 and sleep came to her relief. The next day brought Mr. 
 Decker, and later a warrant came which enabled him to 
 search the papers of Miss Marjoribanks. As we know, 
 she had thrown him off the track, and although he sus- 
 pected that she had had other and ulterior motives of gain 
 and of plunder, it was enough to make him forever ashamed 
 of himself that he had not caught her on the one count
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 217 
 
 of the surreptitious change of dominos, the visit to the 
 ball, and of her various past misdemeanors. She had 
 disappeared, and the world, although it might find the 
 Honorable Hathorne Mack, would have some trouble in 
 ever finding again Ethel Marjoribanks. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 A TEAR had passed, June had come at Charpentier, and 
 the students were enjoying the prospect of vacation. The 
 great days of final examination were approaching ; the lord- 
 ly Seniors, who felt sure of their own standing, were walk- 
 ing along in groups under the elms, and lifting a respectful 
 hat to the passing beauties. 
 
 Charlie Alvord, whom all expected would be the first 
 man, was strolling along with a friend from New York, 
 Eastman Jones, who had come up to pay him a visit. 
 Two young ladies passed them, one in deep mourning. 
 Charlie Alvord raised his hat, and Eastman Jones, raising 
 his, gave a curious glance at the maiden in black. 
 
 " That is as sweet an apparition as I have seen in Char- 
 pentier," said he "the one in the little cloak and black 
 hat. Who is she ?" 
 
 " That is Miss Rose Cbadwick," said Charlie Alvord, 
 " the president's niece, and the despair of undergraduates. 
 Isn't she a beauty ? She came here last summer. It seems 
 she has had a great deal of trouble. Her father was mur- 
 dered out West, and the news was suddenly broken to her 
 aunt, his sister, and she died. This young lady was alone 
 with her at the time, and suffered a great shock. Then
 
 218 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 she has been disappointed in love, I believe. Miss Will- 
 iams told me she had had a great deal of trouble. But 
 they are very kind to her, and she is a perfect angel, we 
 think." 
 
 " Oh, I remember ! My sisters knew her in New York 
 society. She came from the West a perfect greenhorn, 
 and dressed queerly. I know my sisters said that she was 
 making a sensation, and that she had such a number of 
 admirers. Among them, a Lord Somebody and an old fat 
 Californian, the Honorable Hathorne Mack." 
 
 " He has got all her father's money, they say, and I 
 think President Williams is trying to get some of it away 
 from him for her." 
 
 " What a history ! and what a sweet, sad, troubled face ! 
 Charlie, would it be in bad taste for us to walk back and 
 see it again ?" said Jones. 
 
 " Oh no. I have the honor to know both ladies. Per- 
 haps we will join them, and I will introduce you," said 
 Alvord. 
 
 They walked up, crossed a rustic bridge, met the beaux 
 and belles of Charpentier walking in the warm twilight, 
 retraced their steps, and met Rose and her cousin. Charlie 
 Alvord joined them, was well received, and introduced his 
 friend. 
 
 " Miss Williams, may I present my friend Mr. Eastman 
 Jones? a law pill from Harvard, a man sighing for his. 
 first cause ' thou great first cause, least understood,' you 
 know. Miss Chadwick, good-evening. Allow me." So, 
 with truest generosity, Charlie took Miss Williams, who 
 was only a quiet, modest, and sufficiently agreeable girl, 
 leaving the beauty to his friend. 
 
 Rose was strangely changed by her year of sorrow. Her
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 219 
 
 face had been one of expectancy, of hope. " Beauty with 
 a future " had been written on it. Now it was beauty 
 with a past. There was a depth, a lovely tenderness of 
 expression, a drawn-down corner to the mouth, which did 
 not hurt its rosy fulness. The tall, slender figure had 
 filled out a little, for youth and health must improve its 
 conditions, no matter what the mind suffers. She was 
 gentler than of yore, and the voice and pronunciation had 
 reached even what Professor Paton called perfection. 
 
 "I think I have heard my sisters speak of you," said 
 Mr. Jones. " They used to meet you at Mrs. Mortimer's." 
 
 " Oh yes," said Rose, a little color rising in her cheek, 
 above the black frills of her collarette. " How are they 
 now ? I have scarcely heard of New York for a year." 
 
 " And you have passed it in this village, the last year ?" 
 asked the young man. 
 
 " Yes, in this blessed village. Is it not a lovely spot ?" 
 said Rose, sadly. 
 
 " It is enchanting ; this broad street, these trees, and 
 such superb forests in the neighborhood, and these rapid, 
 tumultuous streams bursting out everywhere. You like the 
 country, Miss Chadwick ?" 
 
 Rose turned upon him a pair of eyes which went to the 
 heart of the "law pill," as his friend irreverently called 
 him. " I love it ; it has brought me peace," said she. 
 
 From that moment Eastman Jones was her slave. As 
 he looked into that sad face he felt an irresistible longing 
 to serve her. He had found his " great first cause." He 
 loved her at first sight; he loved her unconscious sweet- 
 ness, her sacred sorrow, her wounded youth, and her 
 womanhood. He did not say all this to himself, he only 
 felt a certain bewilderment, out of which soil this flower of
 
 220 A TRANSPLANTED ROSB. 
 
 devotion was to grow ; and when Miss Williams turned, and 
 invited them home to tea, he felt that he walked on the air. 
 
 It had been a year of consolation, of quiet study, of a 
 learning of homely duties, of contact with the plain, sim- 
 ple, elevated thought of a quiet student household, in the 
 best strata of American life, to Rose. 
 
 After her aunt died, all the beautiful house, all Mrs. 
 Trevylyan's money, went back to Mr. Trevylyan's family, 
 and Rose was left without a home, and penniless. Pascal 
 Chadwick's affairs were in the utmost confusion. Hathorne 
 Mack owned everything. He had appeared in Wall Street, 
 at his showy lodgings in Fifth Avenue, as if nothing had 
 happened; no one whispered of the episode of Rebecca 
 Maijoribanks. If any one knew of it, it was Decker, and 
 he was not apt to spread reports until he was ready. All 
 that Rose knew was that she had nothing, and he had all ; 
 that her uncle and aunt put their good arms about her, and 
 took her to their quiet, frugal country home. 
 
 President Williams had known how to treat the wounded 
 creature. He and his wife left her to nature and time, and 
 they threw in " those iron-clad joys which we call employ- 
 ments." She had been allowed to weep her fill, then to go 
 off for long walks in that pure balsamic air under the pines, 
 to where the partridge- berries gleamed in the green moss, 
 and where the pine cones lay in fragrant heaps, where the 
 ferns sprang in graceful profusion ; to the top of hills from 
 which she looked upward into illimitable blue, or down on 
 the peaceful industry of a well-ordered, quiet community, 
 where the farmers led a life of comfortable industry, proud 
 of their nearness to Charpentier College, ambitious to send 
 their sons to its fountain of learning, and hoping that they
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 221 
 
 might there learn to be let us say it reverently the Lin- 
 coins and the Garfields of the future. 
 
 It was the greatest contrast, this life, to the wandering, 
 homeless, and nomadic life of her youth. It was again a 
 contrast to her New York life. Never in all her troubled 
 and changeful existence had the girl known this life of 
 " plain living and high thinking." She watched her aunt's 
 economies in housekeeping, the neat, tasteful, frugal, well- 
 ordered table, with surprise. The village ethics of polite- 
 ness and etiquette amused her in spite of herself. She saw 
 the questions of precedence, of calls, and invitations, re- 
 duced to microscopic smallness, but still in their way a 
 parody of the larger city life, and. fashion, a word which 
 she hoped that she had heard for the last time, was as 
 often on the lips of those ladies who came in to her aunt's 
 tea parties as it had been in New York on the lips of poor 
 Mrs. Philippeau. 
 
 But her uncle, as soon as the sudden storms of weeping 
 were over, as soon as the wild grief which tore her young 
 heart could be assuaged, put her at her books. In her 
 black gown, in which she looked like a young nun under- 
 going a novitiate, she spent many a quiet, strong hour of 
 the severe winter studying Greek, Latin, and mathematics, 
 giving her uncle every day new food for his favorite hobby, 
 " the higher education of women." 
 
 " Why, she beats the boys all to pieces," said he to his 
 wife, in the privacy of the conjugal bedroom ; " she could 
 take the first honors." 
 
 " Oh, now, Mr. Williams, don't make her work too hard, 
 and ruin her health and beauty," said his wife, who was 
 not an advanced person. " I want her to go back into the 
 
 world and marry well." 
 
 U
 
 222 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 " My dear," said the professor, glancing at a basket of 
 his own stockings, which were most beautifully darned, 
 " every woman is not born to be a perfect wife, as you 
 were." 
 
 " Well, they should be trained to the profession of being 
 a wife," said Mrs. Williams. 
 
 " That is true ; but if we leave Rose, who is a person of 
 remarkable gifts, to brood over her troubles, she would go 
 mad," said the president. 
 
 " I know, dear; I know you are very wise ; and I have 
 wished sometimes, as you know, that / could have cared 
 for study. It might have helped me more " 
 
 A few bright tears fell on the president's stockings, and 
 the presidential hand wiped them away from the dear old 
 familiar eyes. 
 
 "We must not strike those solemn, tender chords, 
 Elizabeth," said he, firmly, thinking of his dead boy the 
 boy of promise, the student, the thinker, the young man 
 of overwrought brain, the victim perhaps of a too great 
 ambition. " I shall not force her, dear, to study ; and do 
 yon make her like yourself, a lovely practical woman. I 
 see every day an improvement in her. She is so coherent, 
 and to the purpose. She is far more developed than I had 
 supposed. I believe that Rose is the better for this year 
 of hard study. Remember what she has suffered ; and re- 
 member, too, how fragmentary her education had been. 
 Then if I can save nothing from the wreck of Pascal's 
 fortunes, she must support herself. She would make a first- 
 rate teacher." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Williams ! that lovely girl a teacher! I want 
 her to be an elegant woman of the world," said the wife. 
 
 The president sat down, and laughed at his wife. " My
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSS. 223 
 
 dear," said he, " permit me to say that you women are all 
 alike. You are just like that excellent Mrs. Trevylyan, who 
 was so superior to fashion, and yet she wanted Rose to be 
 a ' woman of the world.' " 
 
 Mrs. Williams had her own mother-wit to help her, and 
 she liked, as any good wife would, to get the better of the 
 president in an argument. " Do you think Charlie Alvord 
 will be a country parson ?" said she. 
 
 " No, no ; he is born to be a statesman and a politician. 
 Charlie is a natural leader, an orator " 
 
 " Do you think Edward Mackintosh would make a good 
 schoolmaster?" 
 
 "Why, no. Elizabeth, what are you talking about? 
 Edward is to be a man of affairs ; his mind is comprehen- 
 sive. He will govern great enterprises, and be the head 
 and front of railroads, banks, insurance companies, etc." 
 
 "Do you think Peter Champlin would make a good 
 soldier ?" 
 
 " No, no. Peter was born to be a schoolmaster, and he 
 will make an admirable one." 
 
 " Well, my dear," said his wife, " women are born with 
 the same diversity of intellect. I was born to be a domes- 
 tic, home-loving wife and mother; our daughter was born 
 to be a teacher ; our Rose was born to be a leader of 
 society and a woman of the world," said Mrs. Williams. 
 
 The president looked at his wife with an expression of 
 dismay. " Elizabeth," said he, " have you been studying 
 casuistry?" 
 
 " No, dear ; I don't know what that means. But I have 
 common-sense, I hope." 
 
 " Elizabeth, you are a great woman," said the president. 
 " But poor Rose is to try to be a governess. She wants
 
 224 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 to begin immediately. See, I have this funny letter from 
 a little Frenchman in New York. Do read it." 
 
 " President Williams : 
 
 " SARE, I have the honor to wish serve Miss Rose Chadwick, 
 whom my rascal brother in the law Hathorne Mack do cheat. She 
 have write to me she like teach my leetle boy, who love her mooch. 
 My wife say she love Miss Rose, and make her welcome to Saratoga 
 the July prochain. I give Miss Rose what she want of monies, and 
 all the honor and respect which I for her feel is too mooch for my 
 words. Excuse the english of my hand. 1 can spik your nobie 
 language, but when I write him the idiotisms troubles me. The 
 time for the mails begins to come, so I sends my respects to Miss 
 Rose, and Pierre her sends one thousand kisses. 
 
 " I am, noble sare, your very humble servent, 
 
 " JEAN PIERRE PHILIPPEAD." 
 
 In talking with Rose, Mrs. Williams found that the girl 
 was determined to take this position. 
 
 " I know these people well, dear aunt," said she. 
 " Marie is silly, but she is neither cruel nor vicious. Her 
 husband is the best-hearted little man in the world ; Pierre 
 is the dearest child. If I must work for my living, could 
 I go where I would be happier than with them ? Of 
 course I must meet sorrow, mortification; a different 
 position will bring with it, of course, many a rub; but I 
 feel sure that nothing can shock or harm me further. My 
 year with you has given me such different ideas of what 
 life is that I can bear anything. Let me at least go and 
 try." 
 
 " You shall, my dear, if you will promise me that, if the 
 shoe hurts, you will cast it from you, and come back to 
 me." 
 
 " Dear, dear woman, I will," said Rose.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 225 
 
 XXX. 
 
 IT was summer summer at Saratoga, that full and hap- 
 py and gay watering-place and the most serene, satisfied, 
 and fashionable young married belle was Mrs. Philippeau. 
 She had brought up horses and carriages and servants, a 
 superb toilet from Worth, and also Ludley, the silent, 
 superior, and mysterious waiter whom Jack Townley had 
 called " perfection " as he answered the bell. 
 
 Marie had written to Rose an affectionate and, for her, 
 very admirable letter, explaining that she had quarrelled 
 with her brother, had found out things she did not like in 
 his conduct, and assuring Rose that while with her she 
 would never be troubled by his presence ; and she had so 
 sincerely seemed to desire the companionship of the young 
 girl, not in any patronizing spirit, but as a favor to her- 
 self, that Rose felt that her privilege of rejoining the child 
 she loved would be unaccompanied by any disagreeable 
 loss of dignity or self-respect. 
 
 And, to do Marie justice, there was no bad feeling in 
 her heart towards Rose. She had the very uncommon vir- 
 tue of being good-natured towards another pretty woman. 
 So that her own vanity was gratified, and her social appe- 
 tite appeased, Marie was gentle and good to all about 
 her. 
 
 From her employers, therefore, Rose received nothing 
 but kindness. From little Jean Philippeau she received 
 the courtesy of a gentleman and the protection of a father. 
 He seemed always to be trying to put himself under her
 
 226 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 feet, and she finally said to him, "Dear Mr. Philippeau, 
 do not be so kind to me ; you break my heart." 
 
 And the good little man, seeing the tears in her eyes, 
 said in his innermost soul that women were strange beings. 
 
 Mrs. Morton Birnie, the lion-hunter, and the universal 
 friend to everybody, was at Saratoga. So was Mr. Wal- 
 ters, who had been so effete in his languor. So was Mrs. 
 Mortimer, Sidonie Devine, and Mrs. Morella; Jack Long 
 and his pretty wife ; and Eastman Jones, who had passed 
 several days with his friend at Charpentier, using every 
 moment to the best advantage so far as seeing Rose was 
 concerned, and also putting himself in possession of all the 
 facts concerning Hathorne Mack and the mysterious death 
 of Pascal Chadwick which the president had chosen to tell 
 him he too was at Saratoga, and very agreeable he made 
 himself. This young Harvard man was a new sensation 
 to Rose. He happened to be unknown to fashion a fact 
 which did not seem to trouble him, while it left him very 
 free to walk with Rose and Pierre, to sit with her at the 
 farther end of the piazza, where occasionally she was to be 
 seen, in her black dress, quietly reading. 
 
 Mrs. Morella and Sidonie had looked in her face blank- 
 ly, and had passed her by as if she were an utter stranger. 
 She understood now what Mrs. Philippeau had meant by 
 being " cut." Mrs. Mortimer was very kind, but cool and 
 patronizing, and moved her off immeasurably far by a 
 manner which was as icy as ice, and as hard as a diamond. 
 Jack Long and his wife (Fanny Grey) treated her with the 
 same cordiality and friendship as of yore. Mr. Walters, 
 however, also " cut her dead," and said to Sidonie Devine 
 that he had always thought her vulgar. 
 
 " The trouble with Rose," said Mrs. Mortimer to a group
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 227 
 
 of friends, " has always been vulgarity. She has a vulgar 
 soul. Poor Laura Trevylyan tried to believe that she was 
 a refined person, but she never was a certain vulgar pret- 
 tiness, a certain vulgar coquetry, a certain paysanne fresh- 
 ness, et voila tout. Oh, what I suffered from that girl 1 I 
 really believe that she is happier now than she ever was, 
 and if she could go to the second table with the maids 
 and valets, I dare say she would be better pleased. She 
 cannot take a polish." 
 
 ("Sweet creatures, women !" whispered Dicky Small- 
 weed to Jack Townley, as they overheard this speech, 
 made by Mrs. Mortimer with matronly sweetness and vir- 
 tuous enunciation.) 
 
 Rose found herself deserted by women, but the young 
 men came to talk to her even more than she wished. 
 It was one of the desagrements of her position, and she 
 begged of Marie to excuse her from coming to the great 
 table and public piazza. But Marie wanted her help : 
 she wanted her to tell her who people were, and how to be- 
 have in an emergency in the very unsettled condition of 
 American watering-place etiquette. 
 
 " And then you look so well in black !" said Marie. 
 
 Poor Rose ! She seemed to herself to have become a 
 thousand years old, to have always lived, to have passed 
 her career, and now to be philosophizing upon it. She 
 felt that all the machinery of society had been laid bare, 
 that she saw behind the veil. All the world seemed to 
 have dropped a mask that she might look on and see how 
 hideously insincere the whole thing could be. 
 
 Her year at Charpentier, following the fierce and sud- 
 den grief of losing both her father and aunt, had given 
 her time for thought She had ripened like a tropical
 
 228 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 fruit which feels the sudden stimulus of heat, thunder- 
 storm, tornado, and then quiet. What had been confused 
 became clear. She had learned to philosophize. She was 
 no doubt somewhat morbid and bitter; but who could 
 blame her? And, unknown to herself, she was still grow- 
 ing better and stronger every day. 
 
 One thing troubled her. She saw that Marie was flirt- 
 ing dangerously with Jack Townley. She longed to speak 
 to her about the evil appearance the thing had in that 
 public atmosphere, but she did not dare. It was not her 
 place to lecture her employer. 
 
 One thought bitterly oppressed her the fear that her 
 father had wronged Sir Lytton Leycester in their business 
 relations, and that he had dropped her in consequence. 
 There came back to her his confession of poverty, and his 
 other and better confession of his admiration and respect 
 for Pascal Chadwick. Oh, had he trusted him too far ? 
 
 She had gone down to the lake one fine morning with 
 Pierre to give him and herself the pleasure of a ramble, 
 perhaps a fishing expedition, when to her surprise she saw 
 Eastman Jones paddling towards the shore in his wherry. 
 He immediately landed, and asked her if he could be of 
 service. 
 
 " I did not know you were a boating man," said she, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Miss Chadwick, such is fame ! Here stands before 
 you the stroke-oar of the finest crew Well, I beg of you 
 to be overcome with confusion when I tell you that Yale 
 stands in awe of my oar, Princeton blushes, and Colum- 
 bia envies. Now allow me to hire a convenient boat and 
 to take you and Master Pierre and attendant maiden out 
 for a fish."
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 2^9 
 
 Rose accepted, and they had a charming voyage around 
 the wooded shores of Saratoga Lake. She liked this young 
 man, and he had something to tell her. 
 
 " Miss Chadwick," said he, as they landed for a little 
 stroll on the wooded shore, " I have had a letter from a 
 friend of yours." 
 
 Her heart sank. Could it be from Sir Lytton ? " Who 
 a friend of mine ? Alas ! I have so few." 
 
 "A warm one in Mr. Arthur Amberley. Here is his 
 letter." 
 
 Poor Arthur ! He, like most devoted friends, had been 
 forgotten. 
 
 " So you have been writing to him, have you ?" said 
 Rose, after reading the letter. 
 
 " Yes. Your uncle, the president, put me in communi- 
 cation with him, and you see that he accepts my proffered 
 services. You know I am a young lawyer without busi- 
 ness. I long for a whetstone on which to sharpen my un- 
 tried wits. It seems to me that this coil in which you 
 are enveloped, the almost apparent villany of Hathorne 
 Mack, the mysterious circumstances attending your father's 
 death Dear Miss Chadwick, if you will accept my ser- 
 vices without fee or reward, if I have your permission to 
 join Mr. Amberley in his search for facts in this case, I 
 shall be your eternal debtor." 
 
 " I cannot imagine why you wish to, Mr. Jones. My 
 only hope has been that all might lapse into oblivion." 
 
 " There you are wrong, Miss Chadwick," said the em- 
 bryo Erskine. "Your father's character will be cleared 
 by inquiry." 
 
 Something in Rose's face told him that he had trodden 
 on forbidden ground. He was sorry, but it was too late.
 
 230 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 And yet the nerve, although wounded, responded correctly. 
 It might hurt, but it must be done. 
 
 " If I thought that men would think better of my dear 
 father " said Rose. " And yet he was never careful that 
 men should think well of him. Mr. McPberson said that 
 he was his own only enemy." 
 
 " I believe it, Miss Chadwick. I shall, then, go imme- 
 diately to New York, and see Decker, who has some very 
 important evidence. I shall write to Mr. Amberley ; and 
 perhaps you will allow me to write to you ?" 
 
 " Oh, how can I thank you ? What an ungrateful girl 
 I have been to distrust human friendship !" 
 
 " Come, Rose ! I have caught a perch !" shouted Pierre. 
 
 " We must go home, then, and have him broiled," said 
 Rose. 
 
 As the little party approached " Myers's," with Eastman 
 Jones shouldering his oars, and Pierre proudly dangling 
 his fish, while the German Gretchen followed with shawl 
 and cloak, Rose, tired, flushed, and exhilarated by a new 
 hope, they met Mrs. Morella, Sidonie, Mrs. Mortimer, Wal- 
 ters, and Dicky Smallweed, with a newly arrived French 
 attache from Washington, who had come down to eat an 
 early dinner. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer looked politely shocked; the others 
 sneered. Only the French attache said, " Who is the 
 handsome woman with the fine color?" 
 
 Strangely enough, none of them could recollect her name. 
 
 That evening, on the hotel piazza, Mrs. Mortimer sweet- 
 ly whispered in the ear of Mrs. Philippeau : " My dear, 
 you must try to teach your governess propriety. Really, 
 we met her to-day under the most compromising circum- 
 stances."
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 231 
 
 " Oh, why should she not flirt with that Harvard man ?" 
 said Marie. " He might make her a good husband." 
 
 The next morning, as Rose sat reading in her quiet par- 
 lor, Pierre having gone with his papa to drive, a knock at 
 the door roused her from her study. It was Ludley, the 
 waiter, who brought a package in his hand. 
 
 " Well, what is it, Ludley ?" said Miss Chadwick. 
 
 " A hawf ul secret, miss ! Hair we halone ?" 
 
 Rose started up, thinking he had been drinking ; but 
 he had not. 
 
 "Go on, Ludley," said she. "What have you to say?" 
 
 " Miss Chadwick, miss, T was the friend I may say han 
 'umble hadmirer of a woman who 'as done you han haw- 
 ful wrong. I refer to Hethel Marchbanks, mum. She 
 hand I comes from the same place in Hingland, miss, 
 hand halthough she is my superior in heddication, she 
 hain't in birth. I knows hall about 'ef, miss, hand hoften 
 carried letters from 'er to the 'On. 'Aythorn Mack, whom 
 I think she's married. Well, miss, hafter she heloped 
 from Mrs. Trevylyan's, I got a letter from 'er, hand she 
 sent me to a desk in the hapartments of the 'On. 'Aythorn 
 Mack. There I found a bundle of letters, miss, directed 
 to you, hand sealed with the hemblazonment of a noble 
 family has I well knows. Hinstead of sending them to 
 Hethel, I 'ave saved 'em for you, miss ; hand my conscience, 
 miss, won't let me save them no longer. A-seeing of you 
 in your black gown, looking so sorrowful, 'ave touched my 
 'eart, miss. 'Ere is the letters." And Ludley gave her 
 the suppressed letters of Sir Lytton Leycester. 
 
 There they were, fond and true, fond and true. He had 
 never been faithless; he had loved her, and had told her 
 so. The woman whom in their innocent folly they had
 
 282 A TRAtfSPL ANTED BO8K. 
 
 recommended to Mrs. Philippeau as a governess had stolen 
 them at the bidding of Hathorne Mack, and partly, no 
 doubt, from a feeling that Sir Lytton was making a fool- 
 ish entanglement for himself in wooing this American 
 girl. No matter what her base motives, she had done it. 
 
 As she read them, one wild and uncontrollable impulse 
 possessed Rose. She must telegraph to London at once ; 
 she must let Sir Lytton know of this dreadful crime. She 
 must tell him that she at least had loved, sorrowed, doubt- 
 ed, wept, and had been thus cruelly wronged. She reflect- 
 ed a moment. Jack Townley knew of Sir Lytton's ad- 
 dress ; she would ask him where he could be most speedily 
 reached. 
 
 Jack Townley was reading the morning paper and smok- 
 ing a cigar, as the little note, hastily penned, reached him. 
 He walked around the splendid Versailles - like interior 
 square of the United States Hotel until he reached Mrs. 
 Philippeau's cottage. 
 
 Rose put the question hurriedly, " Tell me how I can 
 most easily reach Sir Lytton Leycester ; I must telegraph 
 him immediately." 
 
 Jack Townley looked at her in surprise. " What a curi- 
 ous coincidence !" said he. " I have just received a letter 
 from him. He says, 'Off to-morrow for Zululand with 
 the Prince Imperial, to fight, and perhaps to die, for Eng- 
 land.' " 
 
 " Has he married his cousin yet ?" asked Rose. 
 
 " No, I imagine not, from this," said Jack.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 233 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 ARTHUR AMBERLEY had learned much by his Western 
 journey much of the utmost importance as bearing upon 
 the future of Rose. He had become entirely assured of 
 the villany of Hathorne Mack, but could not as yet quite 
 reach the legal evidence necessary either to arrest or hang 
 that gentleman, although he felt sure that he deserved the 
 latter treatment. 
 
 A powerful politician, a mover in Wall Street, a man who 
 held the fortunes of thousands in his hands, Hathorne Mack 
 was a hard man to handle. At most, Arthur Amberley only 
 expected to accumulate enough evidence to make him dis- 
 gorge some of the money which he knew belonged to Rose. 
 It was with surprise and pleasure that he received the letters 
 and visits of Eastman Jones a young lawyer burning for 
 fame, full of youth, energy, leisure, and with plenty of mon- 
 ey for his immediate uses. Such a man was a very rare 
 combination. 
 
 " He has been galvanized by Rose," thought Arthur Am- 
 berley, after talking to him. Indeed he had galvanized 
 indeed. 
 
 It was decided between them that Eastman Jones should 
 go West, find, if possible, some Spanish miners who had 
 seen or heard of Pascal Chadwick, and who had some relics 
 of him, and in that way try to complete the chain of evi- 
 dence which Decker was forging in New York. Also, a 
 shepherd or herdsman who had been in the employment of 
 Pascal Chadwick, and who had appeared in New York about
 
 234 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 the time of the masquerade ball, must be found. So must 
 the governess, if possible. 
 
 Meantime Rose went on teachiug little Pierre and nurs- 
 ing her new sorrow. The thought that Sir Lytton might 
 never know that she had been deprived of his letters was a 
 tantalizing pang. 
 
 Fortunately for her, Mrs. Carver was in Saratoga, in a 
 quiet cottage in the village, painting away at her photo 
 graphs. Mrs. Carver understood Tart de tenir salon, and 
 often of an afternoon the gay people of the hotel gathered 
 to enjoy a cup of tea on her bumble piazza. Of a morning 
 she received no one but her sitters, and Rose, who had be- 
 come a great favorite of hers. To her Rose went with her 
 story of the letters to her alone and asked her advice. 
 
 "You must write to him at once, my dear," said Mrs. 
 Carver. " Write to London. The letter will reach him 
 some time. Zululand seems far off, but people get their 
 letters. Wait and hope. But write to him, and keep on 
 writing." 
 
 When she had a little leisure Rose went to Mrs. Carver 
 to learn painting, and Mrs. Carver sketched her pretty figure 
 and head as she leaned over her work. These were her 
 happiest hours. Mrs. Carver had suffered ; she had known 
 great reverses ; she was glad to comfort and to strengthen 
 the young heart, called on as it was to endure so much. 
 
 Meantime Marie Philippeau was making a sensation. 
 She had decidedly risen, before leaving New York, by her 
 patronage of the balls and entertainments in behalf of the 
 " one-armed plasterers," and had had a complete social 
 success. The flirtation with Jack Townley now became 
 marked, and was getting decidedly complicated with an- 
 other between herself and the French attache.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 235 
 
 M. De la Marche was a model young Frenchman, with an 
 "air noble" and a waxed mustache. He bad come to 
 America quite fired with a desire to see those pretty and 
 silly young American married women of the doubtful world, 
 which still was the fashionable world, of whom he had seen 
 many specimens in Paris, and whom, with their prettiness 
 and extravagance, want of dignity, and utter vulgarity of 
 mind and heart, he found " great fun." 
 
 One morning Marie had come down in the most airy of 
 white foulard negligees, all fluffy with lace, to find her 
 Frenchman waiting to breakfast with her. Jack Townley 
 was also walking up and down the piazza, in full expecta- 
 tion of doing the same. 
 
 " Madame est servie," said Ludley, coming out of the 
 dining-room, and bowing low. 
 
 " Allow me !" said M. De la Marche, offering an arm. 
 
 Jack Townley lounged along slowly behind the pair, and 
 entered the dining-room, pulling his mustache. So it bad 
 come to this, had it ? The foolish little coquette whom he 
 had raised from the dust was playing off the Frenchman 
 against him ! Ah ! Jack Townley, did you not know that 
 if you help to raise an obscure lover of fashion up to the 
 point where she would be, she always turns and rends you ? 
 
 Mrs. Philippeau was conducted to her own particular 
 table by the two men, the lofty head-waiter bowing before 
 her. Her own servant, Ludley, stood behind her chair. 
 To hear these two attempt to speak French put De la 
 Marche into a fit of the toothache. 
 
 " Apportez ma vine, Ludley ; ma propre vine il reste au 
 boug demi dans la bouteille," said Marie.' 
 
 " Oui, madame, certangmong," responded Ludley. 
 
 They never indulged in French before poor Jean Pierre ;
 
 236 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 but then be was not often present. Marie was the envy of 
 the wbole roomful of people, the observed of everybody, as 
 she blushed and flirted with M. De la Marche, particularly 
 as Jack Townley sat and glowered. 
 
 "He is jealous absolutely jealous lady-killing Jack," 
 said Mrs. Morella. " I am so glad ! Jack is growing old. 
 His hair is very thin on the top of his head. He ought to 
 stop flirting. I told him last year he was getting too old 
 for it." 
 
 " How perfectly absurd she is, trying to be fast !" said 
 Sidonie Devine, looking at Marie. 
 
 " You will sing to us after breakfast will you not ?" 
 asked Marie of the Frenchman. 
 
 "Oh yes, if you wish it. Where? in your parlor?" 
 
 " I have asked Mrs. Carver to come over and hear your 
 lovely tenor voice, and also two or three ladies to come in," 
 said Mrs. Philippeau, as she rose from the breakfast, refus- 
 ing Jack's arm as she passed him, and walking out of the 
 crowded dining-room on the arm of the other admirer. 
 There were those who thought that the little married flirt 
 was doing it pretty well. 
 
 Rose was summoned from the nursery to play M. De la 
 Marche's accompaniments, and Mrs. Carver had walked 
 over in her cool lilac muslin and broad Leghorn hat. She 
 was fond of music, and her French did not discourage M. 
 De la Marche. They soon began chatting. The gay and 
 indolent ladies crowded into Marie's pretty parlor. Pierre 
 was allowed to come in, and placed picturesquely near his 
 little mamma's chair. Marie's star was at its perihe- 
 lion. Rose, after talking over the music with M. De la 
 Marche, struck the notes of a little French song ; and he 
 sang:
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 287 
 
 " Certain ement j'aimais Clairette ; 
 Mais dois-je mourir de chagrin 
 Quand peut-etre une autre conquete 
 Peut me venger de son hymen!" 
 
 Then Jack Townley sang the most delicate little love-song 
 in English ; and both men had passionately gazed at 
 Marie as they sang, though, indeed, they were bound to 
 do this. 
 
 " What a success she is having this summer !" whispered 
 Mrs. Mortimer to Mrs. Morella. " I give her just six 
 months no, nine ; then she will go down go out. She 
 has no staying power." 
 
 Then they urged Rose to sing, but she declined, and 
 motioned to Pierre to come away for his lessons. 
 
 " Go, Pierre, bong gar$ong" said his mamma, rising and 
 kissing him gracefully* 
 
 Just then Dicky Smallweed entered with the papers in 
 his hands. 
 
 " Bad news of a friend of ours," said he. " Sir Lytton 
 Leycester badly wounded in the last engagement." 
 
 " Oh, how dreadful !" said everybody ; and they crowded 
 around to hear all the details of that dreadful Zulu en- 
 gagement, where so many of England's bravest and best 
 fell at the bloody hands of savages. 
 
 Mrs. Carver alone looked at the door out of which Rose 
 was going. She saw by her sickening pallor that she had 
 heard the dreadful news, and she followed her. Rose sank 
 on the nearest sofa, leaning her head back on Mrs. Carver's 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Be strong and brave ; hope for the best. It is dread- 
 ful, but fight bravely," said Mrs. Carver, opening her dress 
 at the throat. 
 
 16
 
 233 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 "I cannot; I am not as brave as you are," said poor 
 Rose, feebly. 
 
 Physical weakness overcame her, and she passed into 
 the temporary oblivion of a fainting-fit, perhaps only too 
 short. Poor little Pierre was frightened, and ran back into 
 the parlor to tell his mother that his dear Rose was dying. 
 So, in spite of all Mrs. Carver's care, the gay and heartless 
 crowd came in to look at the unconscious girl as she lay 
 on the sofa. They were all kind enough; one gave her 
 smelling-salts, another threw water in her face, another 
 fanned her. 
 
 " It is the heat," said Mrs. Carver. 
 
 " She heard about Sir Lytton, and she fainted," said 
 Mrs. Morella. 
 
 " Yes, she always had a foolish fancy that he meant to 
 marry her," said Mrs. Mortimer. "Poor girl!" 
 
 " She could not have been such a fool, could she !" said 
 Sidonie. 
 
 These words seemed to pierce "the dull cold ear of 
 death," and to produce an instantaneous and powerful 
 effect. Rose opened her eyes, and started to her feet. 
 For some minutes she stood perfectly motionless, abso- 
 lutely incapable of either speech or movement ; then, des- 
 perately arousing herself, she gazed before her. Some 
 internal tremor seemed to shake her frame as she looked 
 around the room. Then, extending her hand to Mrs. 
 Carver, she said, 
 
 " I am quite recovered, except that I cannot see very 
 well. Will you lead me to my room?" 
 
 Marie was quite provoked at Rose for thus having run 
 off with all the glory of her morning by fainting so inap- 
 propriately. She determined to tell Jean Pierre when he
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 239 
 
 came up on Saturday night that she must dismiss Rose, 
 for she took too many airs, and also that she had flirted 
 early in the season with a young Harvard man, to Mrs. 
 Mortimer's great disgust. 
 
 Meantime the French flirtation went on fast and furious, 
 and in the off moments Jack Townley sulked and swore 
 or objurgated Marie. Occasionally they made up, and 
 were friends. 
 
 M. De la Marche had a mastery of the fine art of flirta- 
 tion in all its branches. He knew very well that Marie was 
 only cultivating him to add to her own fashion ; that she 
 really liked Jack Townley much better ; that she watched 
 the latter in all his moods. Still the Frenchman enjoyed 
 her good breakfasts, her pleasant parlor, and her fine horses. 
 She did not economize on half-bottles of wine with him. 
 No; the choicest vintages that he chose to call for were 
 brought to him, and put down on poor Jean Pierre's bill. 
 He was of a frugal mind, M. De la Marche, and paid for 
 his wines and cigars by compliments and suave words and 
 great expression of eye coin alone in which he was rich. 
 Meantime Rose kept her room for a few days, Mrs. 
 Carver insisting that she must. The tears of the young 
 do not blister the eyes, as do the tears of those to whom 
 misery is an established fact. They to whom sorrow is a 
 new thing weep and recover ; and Rose was not to die yet. 
 These bitter tears began to take the form of a luxury as 
 she lay in her quiet bed in the least noisy part of the great 
 hotel. The springs of emotion were being sounded and 
 touched merely that the garden of her heart should be the 
 better prepared for the flowers of joy and happiness. A 
 timorous little step came in to throw back the shutters, 
 and to let in the sunlight, and to put a soft little hand on
 
 240 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 her hot brow. And as Pierre bathed her forehead, and 
 prattled to her in his fresh childish voice, her eyes grew as 
 clear as crystal, and her smile came back, feebly at first, 
 but later on it grew more like itself. 
 
 " O you slender little figure ! O you clustering curls ! O 
 you dear boy !" said Rose, kissing the child. " If you only 
 knew what you are to me, Pierre !" 
 
 Pierre heaved a sigh of deep delight. " Do I make 
 your headache better? I wish we could go far away from 
 here into one of those countries where the fairies live. 
 They never had headaches there did they, Rose ?" 
 
 " No, Pierre. There is a land where there are no head- 
 aches and no heartaches. If we are good, we shall go 
 there." 
 
 " And will you sing to me, and shall I sing to you ? 
 And will you love me?" 
 
 " Yes, Pierre, always." 
 
 In their passionate, childlike faith in each other, the 
 young girl and the child passed away from the sorrows of 
 the present and the mysteries and annoyances which even 
 began to cloud the spirit of the neglected child passed 
 away into cloud-land, story-land, the land of legend, of 
 fable, where all the men are brave and all the women hon- 
 orable. It was far away from Saratoga, that land. A 
 simple old-world creed did not prevail at that fashionable 
 watering-place. 
 
 It seemed to Rose, as she told Pierre the stories, that 
 four gray walls opened, and that she saw a beautiful lime- 
 tree walk, roses and lilies, a stately English house and a 
 beautiful Gothic chapel, and that a noble, familiar, and be- 
 loved face looked at her with a bridegroom's joy ; and, wild 
 as the vision was, it gave her comfort.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 241 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 WHEN Jean Pierre came up from New York, he walked 
 in all his railroad dust and disarrangement directly to the 
 dining-room. There sat Marie at her little table with M. De 
 la Marche alone, flirting to her heart's delight. He ap- 
 proached the table and looked at her with angry eyes. 
 
 " Come here to me at once," said he, in a tone which she 
 had never heard before. " I have ze sometings to say." 
 And as he spoke he knocked his knuckles on the table. 
 
 " Why, Jean !" said Marie, shocked and frightened. " Do 
 not speak to me in such a manner." 
 
 " I shall spiks as I like. Come to me." 
 
 Marie rose, trembling, bowing to M. De la Marche, who 
 found time to whisper to her, " This is some treachery of 
 your governess." 
 
 When the married pair reached their parlor, Marie turned 
 to look at her angry spouse. 
 
 " So you have made ze fools of yourself," said he ; and 
 he produced a paper from his pocket in which the whole 
 story of her life her flirtations, and her airs and graces, her 
 attitude towards the Frenchman was carefully written out. 
 
 "This is not my fault," said she, feebly. "This is some 
 work of Rose Chadwick. Now I insist on her leaving. 
 I have not liked her recently." 
 
 "Leaving!" shouted Jean Pierre. "Yes, she is leaving. 
 What news do I bring? She is a great heiress. Mr. Am- 
 berley has got her ze silver mine, and your brother, he von 
 d cheat and villain, Marie."
 
 242 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 In addition to the article in the paper, some one had 
 written to the little Frenchman an anonymous letter about 
 Marie's flirtations; and the poor little man, who considered 
 a French diplomat as being of all men the gayest, most 
 dangerous, and most fascinating of tempters, the man most 
 certain to betray domestic peace, had grown jealous. 
 
 Ashamed as she was of his ill-breeding, Marie could not 
 but observe that this arrival of a jealous husband added to 
 the picturesqueness of the scene, and that it made her as 
 much or more of a heroine than was Rose, whose great good- 
 fortune had been noised through the house immediately. 
 
 " It is a pity that it could not have come before Sir 
 Lytton Leycester was shot all to pieces," said Mrs. Morti- 
 mer, kindly. " Perhaps he might have been induced to 
 marry her." 
 
 " Well, I think it would be handsome to ignore all we 
 know against her, and go and congratulate her don't you?" 
 said Mrs. Morella, who always took the bull by the horns. 
 
 Fanny Long had not waited for either good or bad fort- 
 une to befriend Rose. It was not her fault that the claims 
 upon her time and attention had in a measure separated 
 them. Never did she or that pleasant fellow her husband 
 ignore or neglect Rose, and now, when they heard of her 
 good-fortune, they were the only people whom she would 
 see. 
 
 " What are your plans, Rose f ' asked Mrs. Long, who was 
 shocked to see how changed and haggard Rose looked. 
 
 " Mrs. Carver has promised to become my friend and 
 chaperon," said she. " I must go immediately to New 
 York to thank Mr. Amberley, and to attend to my business. 
 There is much that needs my personal superintendence. 
 Then I shall go back to Chadwick's Falls, nor leave there
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 243 
 
 until every shadow is cleared from my dear father's name 
 and memory. Oh, the saddest of my sorrows is this I 
 sometimes have doubted him myself !" 
 
 Now let us go for a moment to Zululand. The hospital 
 was full of wounded men, some of them dying, some better, 
 but full of pain ; some of them well enough to sit up and 
 play at cards, and one or two out walking in the soft warm 
 air under the catalpas. One, with a military air, shading 
 his eyes with his hand, went limping up and down; and 
 as he reached the iron gate at the end of the long walk, and 
 looked out upon the gravel, flower-pots, and dog-kennels 
 which filled the open space beyond, uttered a sigh, al- 
 most a groan, as he saw the postman depart, having left 
 him nothing. 
 
 He turned to take his place at one of the little round 
 tables, at which sat Colonel Bouvier, the most impressive of 
 old soldiers. With his piercing gray eye, white mustache, 
 and clean-shaved chin, Colonel Bouvier always seemed to 
 be ready for parade. His oaths were many, his subjects of 
 conversation varied, his courage enormous, and his voice 
 like that trumpet which it is said will wake the dead. But 
 as he welcomed the handsome young officer who dragged 
 his feeble limbs towards him, and as they prepared for the 
 dejeuner which they usually ate together, Colonel Bouvier 
 had only kind words. 
 
 " Well, Sir Lytton, pray come in. The sun is so hot 
 that it will do you no good. Not a letter yet ! I think 
 the orderly who comes to us from headquarters forgets 
 some of them." 
 
 " I do not know why I expect one so wildly," said Sir 
 Lytton. " I dare say they think me dead in England, and
 
 244 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 I have no right to expect one from anybody. Bat lately I 
 have had no hour of quiet ; every morning I begin to think 
 I shall receive a letter, and I never get one. Is it a part of 
 hospital suffering ?" 
 
 " Well, yes, I think it is, Sir Lytton. It was so when I 
 was young, particularly if there was a lady in the case, and 
 at your age there always is a lady in the case." 
 
 "I admit freely, colonel, that there was a lady in the 
 case, else I should not be here. But if you want to hear 
 more, we must wait until we are alone." 
 
 " I do want to hear more," said the old colonel, in a 
 sympathetic voice, and his words were siugularly energetic 
 and expressive. " I believe in presentiments," said he, as 
 he went on with his breakfast. 
 
 An excellent listener did the old colonel prove. Inter- 
 ruptions never put him out. He spent all his snatches of 
 leisure with Sir Lytton, and heard all that he had to say 
 about Pascal Chadwick, Rose, the unanswered letters, the 
 fell shadow of Hathorne Mack, which came across the nar- 
 rative in such a way that the old colonel read the story 
 between the lines. 
 
 " You are the victim of a plot, my dear boy. Why did 
 you not go over to America and see all about it ?" 
 
 " Well, I had not the courage," said Sir Lytton. 
 
 " That sounds well from the leader of our forlorn hope 
 at Rourke's Drift," said the colonel. 
 
 " I was afraid I should find out that her father had 
 deliberately cheated me," said Sir Lytton. 
 
 " Well, that is not a pleasant sort of a father-in-law. 
 Come here, Tristan." And the colonel greeted with favor 
 a long-tailed, fluffy, superb cat, which jumped up into his 
 lap.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 245 
 
 " I am always listening for a distant sound, and strain- 
 ing for a coming hope," said poor Sir Lytton. " I suppose 
 this wound in my head makes me nervous." 
 
 " Try this novel ; it is very good. Cherbuliez, that 
 clever Frenchman " 
 
 " I cannot read. My head is constantly aching so that 
 I can scarcely see." 
 
 " Play with the cat, then." 
 
 " Oh, dark days cruel times of sorrow and suspense ! 
 would I had died of my wound !" said the poor fellow. 
 
 Sir Lytton had not been left for dead on the field, as re- 
 ported. Wherever he appeared he had always inspired 
 courage, and when he fell his faithful soldiers could fight 
 no more. They carried him off to a place of safety, where 
 he had revived, been put in hospital, and was now slowly 
 recovering. A bullet had been taken out of his thigh ; a 
 sabre-thrust in the arm was curing itself; a blow on the 
 head would get well in time. But what of this wound in 
 the heart ? 
 
 " A letter will be his only salvation," said Colonel Bou- 
 vier, as he watched his flushed face as the orderly came 
 and went empty-handed. 
 
 Sir Lytton took the advice of Colonel Bouvier, and 
 played with the cat. 
 
 One morning, as he was sitting on one of the long rows 
 of wooden-backed chairs in front of the iron gate, he heard 
 the grounding and presenting of arms, and the sharp ring 
 of a horse's hoof. Suddenly all the hot sand and the 
 arid landscape changed. He saw his own green England; 
 he saw the lime-tree avenue, and heard the song of the 
 meadow-lark ; he saw his own stately house, and the pretty, 
 old gray chapel where all the Leycesters were married;
 
 246 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 and a face, a beautiful beloved face, with dark eyes and a 
 heightened color, seemed to be looking into his. A moment 
 more, and the orderly bringing letters came into the court, 
 and there was one for Sir Lytton. 
 
 The revulsion of feeling threw him into a fever. Hope 
 deferred had never been more cruelly changed into hope 
 passionate, yet utterly without power of movement. He 
 had been aroused from a stupor by hearing the colonel's 
 voice, which sounded like thunder; every word made an 
 echo. 
 
 " Ah ! he was a noble, intrepid fellow, a good rider, a 
 fine military seat, and the courage of the devil !" said the 
 colonel. " I never saw anything like the impetus of that 
 attack. Ah, such force, skill, certainty ! His word of 
 command was like a volley of musketry. And yet I 
 thought him but a holiday soldier ! God forgive me ! 
 And now a letter from a girl has killed him !" 
 
 " No, sir," said the surgeon, " he is not dead." 
 
 "No, colonel," said Sir Lytton, faintly, " I am not dead," 
 and he handed him feebly a little sketch of a young girl 
 in black leaning over a table, and apparently engaged in 
 painting. It was Mrs. Carver's sketch. She had put it in 
 the letter which Rose had left her to post. 
 
 " Aha !" said the colonel. " A good back, a neat waist, 
 a perfect profile, good hair yes, my dear fellow, I would 
 live for her. Is this the fair American ?" 
 
 " Yes, colonel." 
 
 "Well, Sir Lytton, I should sleep to-night, if I were 
 you." 
 
 There were hours of concentrated thought and of silent 
 prayer ; there were groans of anguish ; there was many a 
 long physical struggle. But the day came when in a trans-
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 247 
 
 port for England, with other officers and men, a sad and 
 debilitated handful, stood Sir Lytton, looking over the 
 dreary waste of waters, as he thought of one young girl 
 who might welcome him home. 
 
 Meantime this long delay left Rose without news of her 
 letter or its reception for many months. She was using 
 these months partly in a visit to her old home at Chad- 
 wick's Falls, where the faithful McPhersons kept watch 
 and ward. Eastman Jones had preceded her, and had 
 arranged all the papers of the murdered man. There she 
 found a number of her own unopened letters, and a num- 
 ber of others in the well-known hand of Sir Lytton. The 
 letters of Hathorne Mack had stopped at a certain date 
 a circumstance which the young lawyer considered of im- 
 portance. 
 
 Mrs. Carver, who accompanied her, could not but be 
 struck with surroundings which were so unfamiliar and so 
 grand. The magnificent scenery, the wildness, and the 
 barbaric magnificence which had marked the past life of 
 the dead Pascal Chadwick, the vineyards, the herds, the 
 flocks, the illimitable acres, all of which now were indis- 
 putably hers, made Rose seem a sort of Tartar princess. 
 But she was too sad amid her conflicting memories to stay 
 long, and as soon as she had possessed herself of certain 
 facts she left Chadwick's Falls to take up her residence in 
 New York. 
 
 As a young heiress, living in her own house, with Mrs. 
 Carver for guide, philosopher, and friend, with every ad- 
 vantage that two years of mingled contact with the world, 
 study, suffering, and experience could give her, Rose en- 
 tered upon a life which was so different from that which 
 had bewildered her at first that she could scarcely believe
 
 243 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 that it was the same city which she had once entered upon 
 with her inexperience and tremors. 
 
 Artists, men of letters, thoughtful men and women, 
 people who had lived and were living useful lives, began 
 to group around her. She found that one needed only to 
 pass a magnet over New York to draw out all that was best 
 and most dignified in every society. She was a personage 
 now. The culture which the old president had insisted 
 upon had not fallen on unfruitful soil. 
 
 It was not only the picturesque and unusual fate that 
 had followed her which made Rose interesting. She had 
 never lost her original charm of spontaneity, because she 
 had never known of it. She was absolutely free from 
 self - consciousness. Nor had all the sorrow and shock 
 which had befallen her injured her beauty. It was of 
 that order which improves with time, and which grows 
 finer as it gains more expression. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Bur what of Arthur Amberley ? 
 
 It was a singular meeting which took place between 
 Rose and her devoted friend when she first met him after 
 his great service to her. He seemed to her to have grown 
 twenty years younger. And she seemed to have become 
 another woman, older, more mature, a sad, quiet, beautiful 
 creature, who looked into his eyes as his equal. As we 
 never say what we wish on occasions of great feeling, Rose 
 could think of nothing better to remark upon than, " Why, 
 Mr. Amberley, how young you look !"
 
 A TRANSPLANTED BOSS. 249 
 
 Perhaps, although it was an awkward speech, and one 
 which Rose blushed for afterwards, she had not made her- 
 self altogether unacceptable. 
 
 Perhaps Arthur Amberley knew that, to a very young 
 girl, a man of his years had seemed far older than he was. 
 Perhaps he had reached that period when to be told he 
 was looking young was not unpleasant. At any rate, to be 
 thanked by her for his long work in her behalf, to see the 
 expression in those radiant eyes, was not as disagreeable as 
 it was exciting. The truth was this, the two now stood on 
 a more equal plane. Had it not been for their power of 
 branching off and talking about Harriet, they would have 
 been embarrassed occasionally. For after the dull details 
 of business were ended ; after Amberley had unfolded his 
 budget; after he had told her that he believed that 
 Hathorne Mack had instigated the murder of her father; 
 that he had certainly tried to steal all his property ; after 
 they had talked over Rebecca Ethel Marjoribanks and her 
 complicity in Mack's crimes then they would get to 
 more agreeable topics, and Rose would say, "I do not 
 know, dear Mr. Amberley, why you have done all this for 
 me !" And then Arthur would ask her, " Do you know 
 why every one works for you?" and the situation would 
 grow embarrassing, and they would both stammer and 
 blush, and then Arthur would begin to talk about Harriet 
 again. 
 
 Matters were in this perilous way, when, if poor Sir 
 Lytton could have put his head in at the parlor door, he 
 would have had reason to fear that Arthur was making 
 very great strides towards winning the heart of Rose, when 
 a letter from Harriet gave them the most wonderful, inter- 
 esting, and valuable news.
 
 250 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 She was going to be married ! The dear, plain Harriet 
 was about to make a most excellent match. One Captain 
 Mortlock, a retired officer of the navy, with money, family, 
 position, had had the good luck to win Harriet. 
 
 " We are neither of us very young or very handsome," 
 Harriet wrote ; " but we are as much in love as if we were 
 both." 
 
 " Dear Harriet," said Rose, " that is news to make one 
 happy! I hope Captain Mortlock is good enough for 
 her." 
 
 " I hear that he is an admirable fellow, Rose ; and now, 
 as Harriet elects to be married in London, I must go over 
 to give her away. Won't you and Mrs. Carver go too ?" 
 
 " London ! No," said Rose ; " not even to Harriet's 
 wedding." 
 
 A deep flush followed these words, and Arthur Amber- 
 ley's heart sank down like a plummet of lead. Amberley 
 had not dared to think over or to question the matter of 
 Sir Lytton ; nor had Rose, with all her frankness, told him 
 the story of the recovered letters. That part of Miss Mar- 
 joribank's history rested with Ludley, Mrs. Carver, and her- 
 self. 
 
 " Mrs. Philippeau and Jack Townley are making great 
 fools of themselves in Paris, I hear," said Arthur Amber- 
 ley, very suddenly. 
 
 "Oh! has he joined her there?" said Rose. "I am 
 so sorry ! Mr. Philippeau and Pierre came to see me be- 
 fore they left for France, but Marie did not. I could not 
 bear to part with Pierre : he clung to me to the last." 
 
 "Yes, I know you were great friends. I am sorry for 
 poor Jean Pierre. His wife had not head enough for a 
 fashionable career; and that episode of the French attache
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 251 
 
 at Saratoga seems to have driven Jack Townley from 
 trivial flirtation into a mad love affair. Ah ! dear Miss 
 Rose, what fools love makes of us all !" 
 
 " Certainly such love as*that," said Rose. 
 
 " Rose," said Arthur Amberley, turning suddenly pale, 
 " there is a love of which I must speak a love which is 
 not mad, which does not make fools of us. It is a noble 
 and a generous emotion, I am sure ; for it can stand dis- 
 appointment, and can bear rejection. It is my love for 
 you. Now tell me, could you love me, and be my wife? 
 or do you love another ?" 
 
 His mouth was firm ; as he stopped he closed it with a 
 grave and steady sweetness, but his face was pale. It 
 moved Rose to the quick to see this man, strong, worthy, 
 and self-contained, agitated before her : she the little, igno- 
 rant Western girl, who had been humble and pitiable be- 
 fore him ; she who had looked up to this noble, true, good 
 friend ; she who owed him so much. 
 
 "Oh! Mr. Amberley." 
 
 It was all she could say, and she covered her face with 
 her hands. 
 
 " No more, dear Rose. I read it all," said Mr. Amber- 
 ley, after a moment's pause. " I have only myself to 
 thank for this ; but that, you know, does not for the mo- 
 ment add to the delights of a man's self-reproach. I fell 
 in love with you very early in your career, and I should 
 have known that I was too old and too dry for the bloom' 
 ing Rose ; then I hoped that, if you did not love me, you 
 might respect and like me. My love for you is not a 
 fancy : it is one of those strong, overmastering passions, 
 one which makes me almost forgive Hathorne Mack for 
 all his villany. It has mastered me in spite of myself. I
 
 252 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 cannot tear it away. It has grown into a desire to serve 
 you, and in that way it has now found vent, Rose, in a 
 few useless words. Eastman Jones will lay before you the 
 result of our joint work. You are rich. Your father's 
 name is cleared. Sir Lytton Leycester enters into a large 
 fortune through your father's efforts in his behalf. He is, 
 with you, the joint owner of the silver mine. All this we 
 shall be able to prove. Now tell me, do you love him ?" 
 
 Rose sat trembling before him like a guilty creature. 
 "Oh yes! Forgive me, Mr. Amberley, but I do love 
 him." 
 
 "Forgive you, Rose! Yes. But it was necessary for 
 me to tell you that I too loved you. Now what are your 
 relations to Sir Lytton ? Does he love you ?" 
 
 And then Rose told him the story of the intercepted 
 letters, her long waiting, the silence of Sir Lytton. 
 
 Arthur Amberley walked to the window, and looked out 
 upon the hurrying crowd which swept up and down Fifth 
 Avenue. Perhaps for a moment he asked himself if any 
 one of these were suffering what he suffered. Yet he con- 
 quered ; he turned to Rose. 
 
 " The silence of Sir Lytton is to be explained. So help 
 me God, dear Rose, I shall find out everything for you ; 
 and now I ask one reward " 
 
 He pushed the beautiful hair away from her forehead, 
 and, stooping, kissed it as a brother might. But Rose, 
 looking up to him with radiant gratitude, unspeakable re- 
 spect, and friendship, rose from her chair. "Arthur 
 Amberley," said she, "true, faithful, and dear friend, take 
 this, and this," and, throwing her arms about his neck, she 
 kissed him on either cheek. 
 
 " A little more of this would reward a man for a great
 
 A TRANSPLANTED BOSK. 353 
 
 deal," said Amberley, returning to his old scoffing way to 
 hide his deep feeling. " Rose, do you remember Leigh 
 Hunt's lines about ' Jenny kissed me ? ' " 
 
 Their eyes met, and a glance in which each read the 
 other's love and loyalty passed between them. He took 
 her hands in both of his. 
 
 " One kind deed you can do : always call me Arthur," 
 said the rejected lover. 
 
 " Yes, Arthur, always." 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Carver entered the room. " You 
 can converse with more than one woman at a time, can 
 you not ?" said she, with ready tact, for she saw that some 
 exciting conversation had transpired. 
 
 " Yes," said Amberley. " I was just telling Miss Rose 
 that all female faults were virtues carried to excess, and we 
 got into a fight over it. I say that women talk better 
 when alone with men. She desires a crowd, and says I do 
 not appreciate woman's talents and fascination and powers of 
 conversation. I say that her ' social anxiety ' ruins her when 
 in company, and that her mind loses its power to work 
 vigorously. Now leave her alone with her enemy, man, 
 and she talks well ; she makes the man talk well that is, 
 tolerably. In society she increases the amount of talk, but 
 she dilutes the quality. To which Miss Rose says no." 
 
 " I said nothing of the kind, nor did he," said Rose. 
 
 " Women dread taciturnity ; they consider a pause as 
 fatal ; they are deficient in the graceful talent of listening. 
 Men have no difficulty in remaining silent, but no woman 
 can do so gracefully ; they consider silence as synonymous 
 with bad manners. They talk from amiability in society, 
 having nothing to say. Now when alone with a man a 
 
 woman always talks well," Arthur rambled on, 
 
 17
 
 254 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 "I think I had better leave, then," said Mrs. Carver, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Mr. Amberley is spinning an imaginary conversation 
 out of his brain," said Rose ; " he is not telling you one 
 word of the truth. Now I shall leave you, and I leave my 
 character behind me." 
 
 Rose escaped to her room, and Mrs. Carver and Arthur 
 had a long talk about Sir Lytton. Neither of them knew 
 yet what were his present feelings towards Rose, or indeed 
 if he were alive or dead ; but both had the welfare of their 
 beloved girl so intensely at heart that it should go hard but 
 they found out. 
 
 " That is a pearl brought from afar," said Arnberley, as 
 he mused over the morning's adventures. " There are few 
 such." 
 
 " There are many such, Heaven bless them !" said Mrs. 
 Carver, " and the best of you men may well kneel before 
 them as before the presence of a superior divinity." 
 
 "Here come some of the opposite sort," said Arthur, 
 still looking out of the window. 
 
 "Mrs. Morella's carriage stops the way. She is no 
 divinity, no pearl brought from afar. She has some dis- 
 agreeable news, I am sure," said Mrs. Carver. 
 
 " Excuse Miss Chadwick, then," urged Arthur. 
 
 " Mrs. Morella is inside the door, and I must see her," 
 said Mrs. Carver. 
 
 Mrs. Morella was full of news. " Did you know that 
 Jack Townley and Mrs. Philippeau had run away together, 
 and all Paris is in a turmoil ? She pretended to drown 
 herself, and a bundle of her clothes was found on the 
 banks of the Seine, but she and Townley were tracked to 
 Italy. Her poor little husband ! I dare say he will suffer;
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 255 
 
 but he was a very vulgar little man, not at all her equal. 
 For my part, I felt very sorry for Marie. And do you 
 know it has come out that Hathorne Mack was secretly 
 married to that horrid red-headed governess of hers? And 
 how Miss Chadwick must feel when she reflects that she 
 had such a person about her !" 
 
 " Miss Chadwick has known the latter fact for months," 
 said Arthur Amberley. " You know it was part of a con- 
 spiracy to cheat her out of her very large fortune." 
 
 " No, I did not," said Mrs. Morella. " Why, isn't life 
 dreadful ! And to think of Jack Townley ! Well, I sup- 
 pose Marie will get a divorce and marry him, and then 
 they will hate each other forever afterwards. Is Hathorne 
 Mack ruined ?" said Mrs. Morella, pausing to breathe. 
 
 "I should say he was; but no man ever knows when 
 Hathorne Mack is ruined," said Amberley. " He is like 
 that California poison-oak which dies down in one branch, 
 and then puts forth as another plant. He is concealing his 
 straits by a judicious economy just now, I believe." 
 
 " And that creature, he does not mean to acknowledge 
 her as his wife, does he ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, Mrs. Morella. You will be calling on her next 
 year." 
 
 " Bah ! Mr. Amberley, there must be an end even to 
 your joking." 
 
 " Well, well. Would you like a new piece of news 
 brand-new news?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed. You are engaged to Miss Chadwick; 
 everybody says so." 
 
 "No such good luck. But Harriet is the fortunate 
 member of our family. Mrs. Carver, tell Mrs. Morella that 
 Harriet is going to marry the Duke of Nocastle, and is in
 
 256 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 a fair way to succeed to the English throne." And so, 
 bowing and smiling, Arthur Amberley took his leave. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 IT has been said of women that their social instincts, 
 when kept within due bounds, constitute them " the sun- 
 shine of life ;" but when allowed to run riot amid all the 
 possibilities of society, will transform them into " a raging 
 fire." It is the truth that the fashionable women who in 
 these days exercise the greatest influence in arranging life, 
 and compelling society to be what it is, do hunger perpetu- 
 ally for excitement and a round of gayety. Their physique 
 is not quite equal to this strain ; hence they grow ill-nat- 
 ured, and after the " flagging of the flesh " comes the unquiet- 
 ness of the spirit. If a man cannot keep up to all this, a 
 heartless woman of the world taunts him with the fact that 
 he is allowing his youth to depart, that he is growing old. 
 She stimulates his amour propre, calls him rusty, says he 
 needs shaking up. Hence society gets to the point where 
 the excessive influence of gay married women and of 
 younger men, where aggravated ostentation and rivalry, 
 are constantly felt and deplored by the more quiet, sensi- 
 ble, and elderly men. No one can say that these leaders 
 of the gayest set cherish very lofty ideals of life. They 
 prefer the looks of things to the thing itself ; they prefer a 
 flirtation to a love affair ; above all things, they love eclat. 
 They are quite inconsequent. Hence come the great 
 surprise and the very severe shock with which such a 
 woman as Mrs. Morella hears that a Mrs. Philippeau has
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 257 
 
 done so foolish a thing as to run away with a Jack 
 Townley. 
 
 To Mrs. Morella " appearances " had been inculcated as a 
 virtue from her earliest childhood ; no matter what she did, 
 so that les convenances were observed. To poor, low-born 
 Marie Philippeau, " appearances " were things of which she 
 had heard little. 
 
 " Society puts the premium on the lie " so says a mod- 
 ern cynic. None of these women wished to hear the truth. 
 They did not wish for disgrace or the legitimate conse- 
 quence of their own acts. To do them justice, there was 
 never very much heart in their love affairs ; they were all 
 done to be seen of other women. 
 
 With poor Marie Philippeau, perhaps, the crime, analyzed 
 in the crucible, was not so great as a course of prudent 
 deception would have been. She threw away a world of 
 which she knew little for a feeling which for the moment 
 was sincere. But her conduct was a greater injury to so- 
 ciety than that of many a more wicked woman. It cuts 
 with a two-edged sword either way into the safety of so- 
 ciety when a woman breaks her marriage vow. And no 
 people were more severe than those who should have pitied 
 the weak and foolish victim of a weak and foolish ambition 
 their own victim, in fact. No one particularly blamed 
 the man whose selfish vanity had wrought this woe. The 
 utmost that could be said was that Jack Townley had been 
 a fool, and that he had forgotten his social position ; for 
 how could he fight so low a man as Jean Pierre Philip- 
 peau? 
 
 And for him, this honest, sincere, and humble soul, there 
 was no voice of pity but the one which spoke in the heart 
 of Rose. She felt as she did in the first hour of her suffer-
 
 258 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 ing over her mutilated limb sick, faint, and overwhelmed. 
 Had that unlucky accident of hers led to all this? She 
 remembered now how her girlish fancy had found Jack 
 Townley all that was delightful and fascinating ; how she 
 had suffered over his early snobbery and his inconstancy. 
 She well remembered how he could look in a woman's eyes 
 and charm her heart away, and how she had thought him 
 the soul of honor he who could enter that house to so 
 fatally dishonor it. And she pictured poor Jean Pierre 
 and little Pierre weeping together over "little maman." 
 Ah ! that was the cross on the dome of Marie's disgrace. 
 
 Kose was now the successful, courted woman of fortune, 
 the idol of the hour ; that brilliant vision of a world at her 
 feet had come to pass. And yet what a murky reality it 
 all was ! The bitterness of Marie's disgrace poisoned every 
 draught: that household whose every act she had known 
 so well ; that foolish, kindly, vain little Marie, who in her 
 way was lovable, and who was Pierre's mother. It would 
 haunt her, do what she would. Then hope would come, 
 and build air-castles ; they went up mountains high, these 
 castles, all based on one letter which did not come. 
 
 Arthur Amberley had gone to England, and his fine tonic 
 was missing. Mrs. Mortimer said at Mrs. Freely's ball that 
 Rose Chadwick looked very well in half-mourning. " But," 
 said she, " she cannot disguise her regrets that, after all, 
 she has not caught Arthur Amberley." 
 
 So much does the world know of our real life. Rose was 
 a person who kept her troubles, whatever they were, locked 
 in her own bosom, and no one knew why she wore so sad 
 and so troubled a face. She drew her woes closer around her 
 than a mantle, and if she was sorrowing over poor Marie's 
 disgrace, or over the silence of Sir Lytton, no one knew it,
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 259 
 
 not even Mrs. Carver. She had a great talent for silence 
 where her feelings were concerned. But the world crowns 
 him or her who conquers it, and Rose had conquered the 
 world conquered it by not caring for it longer and so it 
 came and laid itself at her feet. Every ring at her door 
 brought a friend or a begging letter, an invitation or a con- 
 gratulatory address, or thanks for some splendid benefac- 
 tion to a hospital or a church. For the young heiress was 
 religious and good, and she enjoyed the power of giving. 
 That at least could never be taken away. 
 
 And she enjoyed her horseback rides, and as she rambled 
 in the Park she would recall all the delicious days of the 
 past, go and admire the swans sailing on the water, remem- 
 ber what Sir Lytton had said as he looked over the blue 
 of the distant prospect, and how he had pointed out the 
 shadows on the lake. Fountain had a successor now, but 
 never a rival. She rioted always in the beauties of nature, 
 but somehow the landscape seemed to need primroses and 
 hawthorn. She wished that an English pheasant would 
 troop through the grass. Do not think Rose was unpatri- 
 otic. No; a woman's country is the country where her 
 lover lives. 
 
 Rose tried the blandishments of the Dorcas Society, and 
 studied up the question of High and Low Church. She 
 knew all the details of the turmoil and trouble between 
 High and Low and Broad. She read the History of the 
 Popes. Mr. Christmas, the rector of St. Sebastian's, thought 
 she was going over to Rome, so devout did she become, so 
 fond of the holy seasons and the hours of prayer. The sub- 
 lime, the mysterious, the unknown, the Consoler of woes, 
 the long-sought, the much-needed Father ! To Him conies 
 every waiting and sorrowing woman soul, nor care they
 
 260 \ TRANSPLANTED R08K. 
 
 much at what altar they kneel. But to Roe the air seemed 
 filled with lifeless emanations. The breath of the spirit 
 had not yet come. 
 
 And then she tried literature. She had thought once or 
 twice of putting her thoughts on paper, and she sat down 
 and wrote a little story. It was a great pleasure while it 
 lasted, and she put into it some of her secret, sacred, best 
 thoughts. It was a record of a part of her heart-history, 
 delightful and pathetic to herself : as she read it over, it 
 seemed good better than the generality of short stories 
 which she read. She signed it with a nom de plume, sent 
 it to a famous magazine, and in a few weeks waited for it 
 at Station G with almost a guilty sense of pleasure. It 
 came, and the legend within was, " Returned, with thanks." 
 She did not know that she could be so miserably disap- 
 pointed; that she had built so much on this frail bridge 
 which she had thrown from her own heart out to that dear, 
 invisible, and beloved public of readers who are to the au- 
 thor such friends friends whose hands he will never take, 
 eyes into which he will never look, hearts which he will 
 never clasp to his own, yet held by such close filaments, 
 dearer and closer than many a brother! Who does not 
 (who writes) love these impersonal friends, and long to 
 reach them ? 
 
 The joys of authorship were denied to Rose. She had 
 to learn that there is an apprenticeship to this trade as to 
 all others, and that even to the rich the gates of the pub- 
 lisher open as hardly as those of the city that could not 
 let the camel in. 
 
 Had she been starving and in a garret, she might, too, 
 have failed. An anxious eye and a seedy garb do not al- 
 ways open the door, but the pressure of necessity does
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 261 
 
 sharpen the wits and nib the pen : there is no doubt of 
 that. We are not always responsible for our failures or 
 our successes, but the trade of the writer is one which, 
 stimulated by necessity, does grow large and real to the 
 worker. There would be no victory were there no obstacles 
 to overcome. 
 
 Meantime a great excitement was coming to her in the re- 
 turn of Eastman Jones, who wrote her the following letter : 
 
 "Mr DEAR Miss CHADWICK. Behold me fresh and flushed with 
 victory. You know that there was a link in the chain wanting to 
 perfect our case against Hathorne Mack. I have secured it. 
 
 "After going off on several vain quests, I finally found the man 
 Herzog, who put me on the track of certain Spanish miners, who 
 were said to have boasted of having buried a man whose pockets were 
 full of gold. It is not an easy thing to track a Spanish miner ; but 
 fortune did for me what my own acumen could not do. 
 
 " I had gone up to the silver mine, and was looking about me, 
 when one dull evening I sat out on a felled tree, looking at the sunset. 
 Suddenly I heard a man chanting in Spanish what sounded like a hymn 
 to the Virgin. It is not a common sort of music in this wild place, 
 and it attracted me. I walked towards the sound, and found a miner on 
 his knees. I waited for him to rise and to stop singing, then advanced. 
 
 " ' Is your name Jose* Sanchez ?' I asked, for Jose Sanchez was the 
 man I wanted. 
 
 " ' No, master ; my name is Pedro ; but my chiefs name is Jose 
 Sanchez.' 
 
 ' ' ' Could I speak with him ? I have a large sum of money for him,' 
 said I. 
 
 " ' Ah, yes ! who has money for Jose* has speech with him. Does 
 the signer play at cards ?' 
 
 " ' Yes,' said I 'a quiet game sometimes.' 
 
 " ' Caramba . r> said Pedro. ' No quiet games for Jose'.' 
 
 " ' Well,' said I, ' where does Jos play to-night?' 
 
 " 'I will show the signer,' said Pedro. 
 
 " When we reached the cabin of the great Jose', I saw a picture
 
 262 A. TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 worthy of Velasquez or Murillo. Imagine a swarthy group of Span- 
 ish miners around a long low table, on which stood silver and pewter 
 mugs, bottles, jugs, and brass pots, while over their heads swung a 
 lamp which might have been stolen from some church. The man 
 Jose had a red handkerchief tied around his head, a very handsome 
 pair of black eyes looked out from under this picturesque head-gear, 
 and his belt was stuck full of pistols, knives, etc. As I entered he 
 looked up for a moment, then went on with his game. He was los- 
 ing, and in a bad temper. I paused and watched the game. He 
 staked his last dollar, and then pulled out from his pocket a handful 
 of small articles of gold and silver, and from his breast a gold minia- 
 ture case, which, as he threw it on the table, sprang open, and I saw 
 your picture ! Yes, you, Miss Rose, your very self. His antagonist 
 grumbled, and called for higher stakes. This was my opportunity. 
 I begged of Captain Jose five minutes' conversation, and promised 
 him a hundred dollars a minute if he would comply with my request. 
 He needed the money sadly at that crisis, as a fellow named Miguel 
 had cleaned him out completely. The end of all this was that I be- 
 came possessor of the miniature, and of the papers, which are of the 
 greatest importance, and which include a letter from Hathorne Mack. 
 They were taken, dear Miss Chadwick, from your father's dead body, 
 which I afterwards identified by two buttons which Pedro had kept, 
 and which he cut from the coat." 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 THE toils were closing around Hathorne Mack. He was 
 losing his hold on the life which he had attempted to con- 
 quer. He began to be compelled to explore the subterra- 
 nean chambers of his own heart. There he found Murder, 
 Cruelty, Treachery, and Deceit. He had tried the game 
 of the midnight assassin at arm's-length. He had, with 
 a stroke of the pen and with money judiciously invested,
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 263 
 
 planned to stab and kill (while he stayed in New York and 
 Washington and bought and sold stocks and men and wom- 
 en) a man who had been his trusting, faithful friend : if 
 he did not drive home the knife himself, he had known 
 very well who did. He had tried to deceive society and 
 God. He had tried to win a woman. He had been 
 foiled in all three, let us hope. 
 
 One woman still clung to him, although he did not often 
 attempt to deceive her even with a kind word. He became 
 dependent upon her, afraid of her; she -was necessary to 
 him that was enough for her. Adversity makes us court 
 people sometimes to whom we are indifferent in the hour 
 of prosperity. The internal poison of fear brought out an 
 eruption of humility on the surface of the man's manners ; 
 he began to crouch and tremble, and to call himself a 
 " wronged man," and he railed at Fate, in good set terms, 
 when alone with his wife. The order, the watchword, the 
 essence of nature is to defend one's own actions to one's 
 self ; and it is not strange that in this world, where justice is 
 not always strong-handed, it was almost impossible to bring 
 home to Hathorne Mack the true reward of his crimes. 
 He had cunningly evaded the law ; he had covered up his 
 tracks ; he had so involved Pascal Chadwick in an admis- 
 sion here and a power of attorney there, that Arthur Am- 
 berley could only frighten him into restoring Rose her prop- 
 erty; he could only make him disgerge he could not 
 quite hang him yet; nor could any of the three men 
 Decker, Eastman Jones, or Amberley go on 'Change and 
 denounce him, nor did they wish to tell (and Hathorne 
 Mack knew this) of his 'efforts to force Rose to marry 
 him. 
 
 It was, however, most important evidence against him
 
 264 A TRANSPLANTED ROSK. 
 
 that Eastman Jones had found in the possession of Joa6 
 Sanchez even one of his own letters. 
 
 It was at this crisis of his affairs that a complication arose 
 which made it necessary for him to call on Miss Sidonie 
 Devine. He had invested some money for her, which had 
 turned out very well, and she was grateful. It must be re- 
 membered that up to this moment, although society had 
 heard rumors against Hathorne Mack, it knew no facts ; and 
 Sidonie Devine, whatever she knew or did not know, was 
 remarkably gracious to the somewhat wounded lion. In- 
 deed, so gracious that Hathorne Mack went away very 
 much elated, and determined to call on Genealogy Arling- 
 ton, as he was called a man who knew all the old family 
 secrets, relationships, and intermarriages of all the old fam- 
 ilies. 
 
 " Who are the connections of the Devines ?" asked Ha- 
 thorne Mack. 
 
 " Oh, all the best families of New York," said Geneal- 
 ogy, firing up. " You see, her mother was a Tubbs good 
 old Revolutionary stock and her grandmother was a 
 Nobbs, related to the famous Tory family, and her great- 
 grandfather was a signer of the Declaration ; and on her 
 father's side they were all aristocrats. There were the Car- 
 rots, very rich, and the Elands of Bond Street very musi- 
 cal people, and always pompous. Oh, I suppose Sidonie 
 Devine has more cousins and relations than any girl in 
 New York, and she feels it too feels her blood." 
 
 " They would all stand by her if she married, wouldn't 
 they ?" asked Hathorne Mack. 
 
 " Yes, if she married well. Money, you know money 
 is what they want, these old aristocrats, and no matter 
 who brings it ; that is not so much matter."
 
 A THAJfSPLASTED ROSK. 265 
 
 Hathorne Mack had many irons in the fire besides the 
 silver -mine and poor Pascal Chadwick's stolen fortune. 
 He had a possible fortune in one more adventure which he 
 was manipulating. He saw plainly that Sidonie Devine 
 was, for some inscrutable reason (probably the tombstone 
 reason), determined to encourage him. 
 
 " By Jove ! I'll do it !" said he to himself, as he thought 
 of all his mortifications, and the immense moral support 
 which such a wife one connected with the Tubbses, 
 the Nobbses, the Carrots, and the Elands would be to 
 him. 
 
 There was one obstacle in the way that red-haired 
 woman, to be sure, and that service and the clergyman 
 at Harlem. But that could be arranged, he thought. 
 
 It is to be remembered that one of Miss Marjoribanks's 
 precautions had been to write a letter which in three days 
 should reach the police, defining her whereabouts and her 
 intended visit to Hathorne Mack's rooms on a certain day. 
 This was a false step, and one which she had deeply de- 
 plored. Her precious husband had taunted her with it 
 more than once. 
 
 For the past of Rebecca Ethel Marjoribanks was not one 
 which bore looking into too closely. There had been a 
 diamond robbery in England ; there had been an inquiry at 
 Scotland Yard ; there had been one or two crimes here, 
 not to speak of the outrageous complicity with Hathorne 
 Mack in his attempt to marry Rose. 
 
 So from place to place, from disguise to disguise, the 
 poor creature was being driven, the inevitable Decker upon 
 her track all the time. She had great skill, enormous tal- 
 ent, a thousand wiles, devices, and arrangements by which 
 she baffled pursuit. She taught school in Jersey City, in a
 
 266 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 meek and proper manner passing Decker a hundred times 
 (a pretty, dark-haired widow she was now), and Decker de- 
 clared, as he thought of her, that she was the hardest bird 
 to catch that he had ever seen. Although she kept up a 
 correspondence with some of her old pals, no one knew 
 of her real whereabouts but her vile husband, Hathorne 
 Mack, and he turned traitor. 
 
 A letter was dropped into a lamp-post box ; that was 
 all. 
 
 Decker was in waiting for the pretty school-mistress on 
 the wharf when the ferry-boat landed ; but, alas ! she did 
 not come. No; Hathorne Mack had played a double 
 game. He only wished to frighten her out of the country. 
 Other letters had been written to her by one of her supposed 
 friends, her spies and accomplices. She was a country- 
 woman carrying eggs as she passed Decker, who she now 
 knew was watching for her. She was thus far deceived 
 into falling into Hathorne Mack's trap. She became aware 
 that the police had tracked her. It did not require much 
 persuasion or much money to get rid of her; and Ha- 
 thorne Mack saw her off for Australia with a lighter heart 
 than he had dared to hope for. 
 
 With what promises of following her, with what bribes, 
 with what cunning hints of a life in California, which one 
 day might be peaceful and happy, did he smooth her 
 path, we shall never know. But no sooner was she gone 
 than there came one of the surprises and the wonders of 
 modern history which so often come to people who are 
 watching the great game of human cards. Hathorne 
 Mack was engaged to Sidonie Devine ! The public men- 
 tioned to each other that unpleasant rumor of his marriage 
 to the governess, etc.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 207 
 
 " Oh, that never was a marriage, you know," said Dicky 
 Small weed, who heaved a sigh of relief as he heard that 
 Sidonie was really engaged. He had feared he might have 
 to marry her himself ; she had always been so very per- 
 emptory with him, and he was so afraid of her. 
 
 Arthur Amberley was in Europe when this extraordinary 
 engagement was announced; the people who knew most 
 of Hathorne Mack were, all but Rose, away 5rom New 
 York ; her lips were sealed. 
 
 "You can and must eongratulate her when you meet 
 her, because she is your old, old enemy, you know," said 
 Mrs. Mortimer, who still kept up a sort of half-intimate 
 hatred with Rose a state of feeling which would describe 
 almost all the fashionable friendships of the day. 
 
 " No, never," said Rose. " That I cannot do." 
 
 Harriet was safely married. The only sincere regret 
 that accompanied her to the altar was that Rose was not 
 at her side. But Sir Lytton Leycester was in London, and 
 showed his pale face at the wedding - breakfast. Both 
 brother and sister were shocked at the ravages which 
 wounds and fever had made. 
 
 " It is my fear that when she sees me she may not love 
 me," said Sir Lytton to Arthur Amberley, after a long 
 talk, in which that excellent friend had made it all right 
 with him. " How does she look ? my love ! my life ! " 
 said the poor fellow, covering his face with his hands. 
 
 " More beautiful, more noble, more attractive than ever," 
 said Arthur, bravely. " And, my dear boy, she loves you 
 so well that, had you come home without a leg or an arm, 
 she would have insisted upon marrying you. Now that 
 you are only a well-born young English baronet, a famous 
 soldier, and made interesting by wounds, she may decline.
 
 268 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 It would be like the folly of the well born and bred young 
 American girl, as depicted by contemporaneous novelists," 
 said Arthur, smiling. 
 
 " Are you sure she loves no one else ?" asked the lover. 
 
 For a moment a shadow came over the clean-cut, rather 
 sallow, and calm face of Arthur Amberley. 
 
 " Quite sure," said he. 
 
 " I did not know but this young Eastman Jones, this 
 young lawyer of whom I hear so much, this fellow who 
 has been of such inestimable value to her, and remotely 
 to me, in finding out about that silver-mine I did not 
 know but that he might have found a place in her heart," 
 said Sir Lytton, with a touch of the old hospital despon- 
 dency upon him. 
 
 " No," said Arthur Amberley, " I think not." And in 
 spite of the knife which was turning round in his heart, Ar- 
 thur Amberley's keen sense of the ridiculous took a new re- 
 freshment as he thought how entirely ignorant Sir Lytton 
 was of the real power behind all this apparent help, which 
 had unravelled for him and for Rose the tangled web of 
 their mingled destiny. 
 
 " The Cunarder sails on the 2d," said Arthur, looking 
 at Sir Lytton. 
 
 " I have already taken my passage," said Sir Lytton. 
 
 " I thought so I thought so," said Amberley. 
 
 Sir Lytton Leycester told his lady mother that he was 
 going over to marry an American girl if she would have 
 him. Tellisor House was wrapped in gloom over this 
 dreadful announcement. They had observed, not without 
 satisfaction, that Sir Lytton had ceased to watch for let- 
 ters from America before he left for Zululand. And yet 
 they were not hard-hearted women, the mother and sisters.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 269 
 
 Rebecca Ethel had not found them so when skies clouded 
 for her. No ; they were simply true to their birth, their 
 antecedents, and their prejudices. 
 
 And, truth to tell, the American women they had seen 
 had not been of the most attractive kind young married 
 women, living away from their husbands, trying to attract 
 the notice of the gay men in London, and especially of the 
 Prince of Wales ; young and beautiful women, extremely 
 careless of their reputations, and girls wandering alone over 
 the Continent, with extraordinary ideas of freedom, chap- 
 eronless, utterly devoid of reverence for les convenances 
 such were the American women whom Lady Leycester 
 had seen. Also another type, which we sometimes see at 
 home. 
 
 " I do not wish to hurt your feelings, my dear son," 
 said Lady Leycester ; " but this is my idea of an American 
 woman. I have read it in a book, but it entirely describes 
 that strong-minded Mrs. Sproale whom I met at Nice: 
 ' She invades the market-place, she storms the Forum, sho 
 directs the stage, she controls art, she arranges morals, she 
 prates metaphysics, she rules philosophy, she directs poli- 
 tics, she is everywhere in season and out of season ; she is 
 rampant in the house; she is turbulent out of it; she 
 usurps the public parlor and the billiard-room; she is 
 thoroughly at home at the gaming-table at Monaco ; she 
 smokes, and she is intolerable.' " 
 
 " Yes, mamma, I should think she would be. I have seen 
 Englishwomen who answered that not too flattering de- 
 scription. Do you suspect me of marrying such a woman ?" 
 
 " We have heard that when Miss Rose Chadwick first 
 arrived in New York she excited much ridicule by her want 
 of table manners," said one of his prim sisters. 
 
 18
 
 270 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 Perhaps the "lingering influence of a chivalric educa- 
 tion" caused Sir Lytton to blush for his sister. Perhaps 
 one or two recollections came back. But whether they did 
 or not, he simply said, "If I have the happiness to bring 
 home a wife, I trust you will all treat her well." 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 MRS. CARVER had a touch of romance in her elderly 
 disposition, and she had determined, after Arthur Amber- 
 ley had telegraphed her that Sir Lytton was coming to 
 America, that he and Rose should meet under somewhat 
 romantic circumstances. 
 
 She had persuaded the young heiress to take a country 
 place on the Hudson River, one of those of which some 
 always stand empty and waiting for an occupant. She 
 had pretended that she, good woman, needed the fresh air, 
 the ever-lovely prospect, the summer morning, and opening 
 flower, and shading tree, that amethyst range of mountains, 
 that imperial sunset, the belongings of the great river she, 
 Mrs. Carver, must have these. Rose had thought of going 
 to Newport. Saratoga was too full of sad memories; it 
 would not do to go there again, where she had been with 
 poor disgraced Marie. No. Would not Newport do ? 
 
 Mrs. Carver was gently inexorable. " A house for June 
 and July, dear Rose, on the Hudson, if you wish to please 
 me. Let Newport come later." 
 
 It touched Mrs. Carver to the quick to see how listless 
 Rose was, how she yielded to this change of plans as if 
 nothing troubled her further.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 271 
 
 " La joie fait peur" said Mrs. Carver to herself ; " are 
 we not managing this thing too much ? Would it not be 
 better to allow her to go on alone, and let it all happen in 
 a natural way ? No; I have committed myself, and I must 
 trust to good fortune now. It has always deserted me 
 when I courted it for myself, but never when I wooed for 
 a friend." And the generous woman heaved a sigh as she 
 thought of the lost fortune arid the faithless friend, the 
 absence of that sort of secondary Providence which had 
 always watched over Rose. 
 
 " No one got back for me my lost silver-mine," thought 
 Mrs. Carver. " Here these two young people have only 
 been asked to exist, and to accept everything. Yet they 
 have had their sorrows." 
 
 Rose was delighted with Swanswick, where she found 
 herself ensconced, looking out on the bright and noble 
 river. Her horses, her pony-phaeton, her model servants, 
 had all preceded her. She loved the spot from the first 
 moment of landing from the Mary Powell. The early 
 morning found her up and ready to bathe in all the glory 
 of sunrise ; the wind and the sunshine greeted their young 
 sister ; a long and picturesque mountain ramble on Black 
 Manfred, her blooded and beautiful horse, followed over 
 the hidden ways that revealed themselves; the splendid 
 appetite for lunch which she brought home ; the evening 
 drive in the phaeton with Mrs. Carver to hear the music 
 of the band at West Point all enraptured her. She had 
 been " below tone," and this was a judicious tonic. And 
 when came the starlight night, with a crescent moon hang- 
 ing over the tip of the mountain, with the sound of rippling 
 water and the peerless summer weather all combined, Rose 
 fell on Mrs. Carver's neck and said :
 
 272 A TRANSPLANTED KOBE. 
 
 " Ah, you have worked a spell more powerful than that 
 of ' mystic graces and of woven hands ' you have brought 
 back my happiness." 
 
 " Be careful, Rose," said Mrs. Carver. " Happiness is a 
 dangerous guest. Receive him calmly." 
 
 " I thought ' Happiness ' was a woman," said Rose. 
 " Why do you say ' he ' and ' him ' ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I always say ' him ' and ' he ' when I am 
 uncertain. Our English genders are so particularly vague." 
 
 And Rose recognized by the untaught instincts of wom- 
 anhood that there was something behind Mrs. Carver's 
 sweet, low voice, something in the look of her eyes, which 
 she had never before felt or seen. Her heart gave a great 
 leap, and her pulses beat fast and irregularly. Her blood 
 jumped in her veins. 
 
 But speech was never easy to her when she was moved. 
 She sat quite still, and held Mrs. Carver's hand, and looked 
 at the river and the sky, and hoped and dreamed. Happy 
 Rose! 
 
 Several days passed in this paradise brought Rose to her 
 finest bloom. 
 
 " declare, Rose, you have a color such as you first 
 brought from Chadwick's Falls !" said Mrs. Carver. " If I 
 should paint it, how excessively unnatural it would look !" 
 
 " You mean that I am blowzy ! I know you do." 
 
 "No; but I would not ride to-day. Go and sit with 
 your book and work down in the glen. I will come in 
 half an hour." 
 
 " Very well. I will wait for you." 
 
 Rose took her parasol, her garden-hat, her favorite vol- 
 ume of Mrs. Browning, and her little dog Pippa, and 
 wandered down to her pretty garden-seat in the glen. It
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 2*73 
 
 was so silent and lonely that for a moment she paused and 
 looked about her. 
 
 "Rather a dangerous place in which to meet a tramp," 
 thought Rose. 
 
 She began reading the " Lady Geraldine's Courtship," 
 and lost herself in the fascinating measure, until Pippa 
 gave an alarmed bark. 
 
 " A tramp !" thought Rose, dropping her book. 
 
 Two or three hurried steps, a broken bough, a trampled 
 flower, a bird flying frightened from the nest, and a man 
 stood before her whom she did not know. 
 
 "Rose!" said a voice which awoke all the echoes of the 
 past. 
 
 " Sir Lytton !" 
 
 He took her hand ; there had always been something in 
 the touch of that hand wholly unlike that of any other. 
 
 " Rose, I have come for you. Do you still love me ?" 
 
 An hour later the lovers sat alone together, happy, iso- 
 lated, to all intents and purposes alone in the universe. 
 The great fiver went rippling on, making music for them ; 
 the boughs watched their solitude, nor permitted an in- 
 truder to see. Birds alone knew what they said, and Pippa 
 had considerately gone to sleep. 
 
 " And you doubted and feared, Rose ?" said Sir Lyt- 
 ton. 
 
 " No matter now," said she. " There is no one like you 
 in the whole world. Surely it is not wrong to love you, 
 as I do, with all my heart and soul. Do you think it is 
 unpatriotic ?" 
 
 Her face, which was thrown back to look at him better, 
 was as beautiful as the face of Aphrodite. 
 
 " No, dear Rose. Unpatriotic ? Why, what can be bet-
 
 274 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 ter than that America should reconquer England in this way 
 once more? It is simply Yorktown over again." 
 
 They felt safe now. They could joke and laugh. The 
 first great pang and pain of happiness was past. The silent 
 breathless embrace, the almost inarticulate vow, the moment 
 when existence seemed too full that had been bridged over. 
 
 The river went on lapping and gurgling and beating 
 with lazy murmur against the rocks at their feet ; the boats 
 went silently up and down. The puffing steamer alone 
 broke the intense quiet as the lovers talked, and explained, 
 and supplied the missing links. 
 
 The dreadful story of Miss Marjoribanks ; their own early 
 youthful error in recommending her to Marie ; Marie's own 
 sad fate, on which they touched but lightly; Hathorne 
 Mack and his persecutions; the tragedy on the Pacific 
 coast ; the long story of suffering and suspense in Zululand 
 all had to be told; and with what dear and precious 
 interruptions, as hand clasped hand and lip met lip ! 
 
 Their voices fell to a softer cadence, and almost into 
 silence, when a strain of music floated over their heads, 
 now loud, now low, now rising high, now dying away, but 
 thrilling and full of majesty. It idealized life into that 
 poetry and romance which wait for all lovers. 
 
 " ' I am never merry when I hear sweet music,' " said Sir 
 Lytton, " and that recalls Zululand. What is it?" 
 
 " Some military exercise at West Point," said Rose. 
 " What time can it be ?" 
 
 " I have done with time," said the happy lover. " Don't 
 ask." 
 
 " Mrs. Carver will be frightened. She will expect us at 
 lunch." 
 
 " Lunch ? Why, Rose, look at the sun. The meal that
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 275 
 
 she expects us to must be dinner. Rose, Mrs. Carver and 
 I are confederates. She planned this meeting for me." 
 
 And then Rose found out what a friendly set of traitors 
 she had about her. That "Swanswick" was only one of 
 many plots. And how she thanked them all as the first 
 days of betrothal and perfect peace came and went ! These 
 are days which teach souls their own value. Teach men 
 and women their own great value, and every day they will 
 strive to make themselves more valuable, more worthy of 
 happiness. 
 
 Rose was glad of this beautiful solitude, and this absence 
 of gay crowds. She had wrestled too long not to be glad 
 of quiet. She had stood mentally with hands clasped over 
 her heart, trying to still its tumultuous beatings. She was 
 not at fault that now her whole nature sang aloud for joy. 
 He was living ! he was safe ! he was here ! But she did 
 not forget that the tempest had swept over the land and 
 felled the mighty tree. Neither of them forgot Pascal 
 Chadwick, who had lived, suffered, worked, who had given 
 his life, that they might be rich, prosperous, happy. 
 
 " I loved him. I knew him well before I ever saw you," 
 said Sir Lytton. 
 
 " It was the first thing to make me love you that you 
 praised him," said Rose. 
 
 Sir Lytton's face grew radiant. " I knew I was right," 
 said he; "an unerring finger pointed you out to me. I 
 looked through your eyes down into your soul at once, 
 and I found it pure." And he folded her to his breast, 
 giving her a kiss which lasted long; his love for her was 
 unspeakable. " I am not worthy of you, Rose. Your gen- 
 erosity carries you away. Divine womanly compassion and 
 love what will they not do for us men !"
 
 376 A TRAtfSPl ANTED ROSE. 
 
 " Oh !" said Rose, lost in wonder. " And yet you knew 
 me when I was so ignorant and awkward. What in the 
 world makes you love me so?" 
 
 " Rose," said he, " no man knows why he loves any wom- 
 an. I might give you a number of reasons, and still fall 
 short of the truth. He only knows that he does love her." 
 
 Mrs. Carver had feared that Rose was too much in love, 
 that Sir Lytton was to be utterly master of the situation. 
 But their first quarrel came too soon to allow her to be 
 long under that delusion. Sir Lytton wanted Rose to go 
 to England to be married in the old family chapel. 
 
 " Oh, Rose, I have seen it in my dreams !" said he. And 
 he told the story of h-is spiritual presentiment in Zululand. 
 She told her vision of the chapel. 
 
 " But I shall not be married there," said Rose. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, it is your duty. All the wives in our 
 family come there to be married," said Sir Lytton. 
 
 " I shall not be one of them " 
 
 " Oh, then, you do not love me ! Well, all this has been 
 a mere abstraction, and I must give you up." 
 
 " Yes, and go home to England without me," said Roae, 
 with solemnity. 
 
 " Oh, Rose ! after all we have suffered 1" 
 
 " Yes good-by. I never will be married anywhere but 
 at Chadwick's Falls." 
 
 " Rose," said Sir Lytton, " I do not love lightly. I can- 
 not give you up; but I must be married to you in that 
 stone chapel." 
 
 " Lytton," said Rose, " I am not to join hands with you 
 in any meaningless, formal, fashionable marriage ceremony. 
 My duty is clear. We are to be married at Chadwick'a 
 Falls, where my own dear missionary bishop heard my first
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 277 
 
 catechism, where he confirmed me with the young Indian 
 girls, where my father knelt and worshipped, and where he 
 lived. If you leave me, it will be barbarous ; but I shall 
 go there. You can go back to England alone. I shall 
 never go to England except as your wife." 
 
 There was something in the sound of that word as she 
 pronounced it which seemed to thrill Sir Lytton to the 
 heart. 
 
 With a feeble attempt at masculine guile, which is a 
 poor thing anyway, and always detected by a woman, Sir 
 Lytton tried to hide his defeat behind the name of duty. 
 He murmured something about her father's memory, some- 
 thing about duty. 
 
 "It would, perhaps, be a tribute to an honored memory," 
 said Sir Lytton. " But really I do not know what my family 
 will say." 
 
 " But if you care more for your family than you do for 
 me!" 
 
 " Oh, my dear Rose, it is such a beautiful old chapel ! 
 It dates from the days of Edward the Third." 
 
 "And the little church at Chadwick's Falls is so very 
 new and so very ugly ! But, Lytton, we will be married 
 there, you know." 
 
 " Yes, dear how soon ?" asked Sir Lytton, anxious per- 
 haps to obtain the marital power over this strong-minded 
 young woman. 
 
 Mrs. Carver never felt alarmed again lest this wife should 
 be too subservient to that husband. America held her own.
 
 278 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 THE next month saw Swanswick filled with people in- 
 vited in judicious groups by Mrs. Carver. She knew very 
 well " what the world would say," and she knew also how to 
 give the world a hint. It should see the young Western heir- 
 ess at home ; it should see how the inexperienced and igno- 
 rant girl had improved ; how she finally mastered etiquette, 
 learned the formulary of polite society ; how she had gained 
 all this surface polish without injuring the solid gold which 
 was the foundation of her character. 
 
 And they were allowed to hear, these visitors, many 
 an argument between Mrs. Carver and Rose as to the 
 expediency of being married at the far-off Chadwick's 
 Falls instead of in New York, at Swanswick, or, as Sir 
 Lytton urged, in England at his little chapel near Tellisor 
 House. 
 
 But Rose received valuable aid from two unexpected re- 
 inforcements. Arthur Amberley came home, and formed 
 a segment of the party, which also contained Mrs. Morti- 
 mer. He expressed himself delighted with the Chadwick's 
 Falls arrangement. 
 
 " Let him take you from your own place, dear Miss 
 Rose," said he. 
 
 " I rather wondered at your wishing to rake open those 
 ashes again, Arthur," said Mrs. Mortimer to him, later. 
 "Why arouse all that talk, particularly as Hathorne 
 Mack is so rehabilitated by his engagement to Sidonie De- 
 vine, and the enormous rise in Brandy Gulch ? Remember,
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 279 
 
 he has his side of the story to tell, and half of society and 
 all of the McBrides will believe his version." 
 
 Arthur Amberley was not so much under the influence 
 of this lady as he had once been, and he did not answer 
 with his old suavity. 
 
 " We shall be very glad to have those ashes raked open, 
 Mrs. Mortimer, for we have a very live coal in them for 
 Hathorne Mack." 
 
 " Hum !" said Mrs. Mortimer to a lady near her ; " Arthur 
 Amberley must have had a great deal of money in Pascal 
 Chadwick's hands." 
 
 Another advocate for the Western marriage was the 
 President of Charpentier College. He and his wife were 
 delighted to stand in loco parentum to their dear Rose, 
 and did not mind the inconvenience of the journey quite 
 as much as Mrs. Carver did. 
 
 So Eastman Jones, who had become the landlord of the 
 Chadwick homestead for the time, received the reward of 
 all his devotion to Rose by being allowed to arrange for 
 her marriage to another man. 
 
 He and Arthur Amberley stood in the same rather try- 
 ing attitude of chivalrous and unpaid devotion, without 
 bearing any other relationship to each other. But the 
 younger man found his reward in the great case which he 
 was unravelling, and in the many curious coincidences which 
 always reveal themselves as we cut transversely into the 
 ideas, schemes, and unfinished theories of another man's life. 
 It seemed to him, from the first visit of Sir Lytton Leyces- 
 ter, that Pascal Chadwick had striven to intertwine his in- 
 terests with those of Rose. Nothing could be more certain, 
 singular, marked, and curiously joined than were the fort- 
 unes of the two. Together their interests in the great
 
 280 A TRANSPLANTED ROBS. 
 
 silver-mine ; together their joint ownership of lands, stocks, 
 herds, and all that Pascal Chadwick left; together they 
 could make a fight against Hathorne Mack, which either 
 alone would have found almost impossible. 
 
 Eastman Jones had the generosity of youth, and he 
 wrote all this to Rose. It gave the last added leaf to float 
 on her full cup. But these were things apart from all that 
 the world saw. 
 
 The world found Sir Lytton changed. To the people 
 who had known the gay and laughing young baronet he 
 was more silent and reserved, and a graver man ; for his 
 doubts, his fears, his hard experiences, had altered and 
 aged him. They saw that with Rose alone did he come to 
 his old cheerfulness. His caresses were few, his words of 
 endearment carefully repressed; but his eyes eloquently 
 told of feelings deeper than words a love which, starting 
 in the sun, had been rooted in adversity and trouble ; feel- 
 ings which had come to their full noble growth through a 
 long, painful probation. There was a silent expression of 
 determination and trust on the faces of both these young 
 lovers which struck all observers. There was no longer 
 a passionate fitfulness; and although occasionally, when 
 Rose appeared in a white morning dress and a moss-rose 
 in her corsage, there would be an expression of the ortho- 
 dox lover rapture on his face, Sir Lytton controlled him- 
 self under these trying circumstances, and behaved like the 
 delicate, reticent, manly Englishman that he was. 
 
 Those were precious moments when Sir Lytton and his 
 beloved could steal off for a ramble on horseback, or a walk 
 in the soothing shadow of the woods. The little dog kept 
 watch and ward against intruders meantime. 
 
 " What does Mrs. Carver mean by insisting upon all
 
 A TRAK8PLAWTED ROSE. 981 
 
 these guests ?" asked Sir Lytton, rather crossly, one morn- 
 ing. 
 
 " I don't know," said Rose, laughing. " She always 
 talks about ' what the world will say.' I suppose she wishes 
 to show them that I am not beguiling you by unholy arts, 
 or marrying you against your own consent. She wants 
 them all to think that you are a 'marvellously proper 
 man,' and I the 'sweetest lady-bird that ever was wooed 
 and won.' " 
 
 Sir Lytton kissed away the ripple of a smile which had 
 always been one of the charms of a certain mouth, and 
 then demanded, in good terse English, " who cared for the 
 opinion of the world ?" 
 
 "Oh, I do," said Rose. "Just imagine! I have to 
 please all your sisters and your lady mother." 
 
 Sir Lytton smiled as he thought of the bright picture 
 which his beautiful young wife would make in that long 
 oaken chamber at Tellisor House. He thought how the 
 high-born dowagers would sit in the oriel-window and gaze 
 at her, and how difficult it would be to pick a flaw in 
 voice, accent, figure, face, or " deportment." 
 
 " Rose, dear," said he, " I think you have lost a charm 
 you are grown so like other people. The tender, tremu- 
 lous, sensitive loneliness, the unconscious sweetness, the 
 blushing awkwardness, with which you won me that first 
 evening, are all passed away. Could you not get them 
 back again?" 
 
 "Shall I pull over the epergne and spill the claret for 
 you again, Sir Lytton, when 'I am introduced at Tellisor 
 House ?" said Rose. 
 
 " I wish you would." 
 
 Then followed some " blissful brevities," and Sir Lytton
 
 282 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 fell seven fathoms deeper in love ; and if the rich red flush 
 on the cheek of the transplanted Rose paled or deepened, 
 he breathed a prayer that it might ever glow, as roses always 
 do, the brighter in the atmosphere of his own England. 
 
 Meantime the engagement of Hathorne Mack to Sidonie 
 Devine was the theme at Newport. The diamonds were 
 splendid, the settlements enormous. The family said, 
 " Oh, you know there was a great deal of talk about his 
 having attempted to cheat Miss Chadwick, who has caught 
 Sir Lytton Leycester (I hear he is very much broken down 
 by his wounds, by the way) but wait till you hear his 
 story," etc., etc. 
 
 And Hathorne Mack was still the " important factor in 
 the development of the West;" he was the owner of an 
 immense number of stocks. Brandy Gulch had risen won- 
 derfully ; he was a member of the lower house; he helped 
 to make his nation's laws ; he was a " rough diamond ;" he 
 had sterling traits; he was, to some minds, still the coming 
 decillionaire. 
 
 Asmodeus had not unroofed that house where Ethel 
 Marjoribanks had knelt and wept and conquered; it had 
 not revealed the scene in the clergyman's little room at 
 Harlem. Decker had not spoken ; President Williams re- 
 mained silent. Why, we shall see later. 
 
 Mrs. Morella had heard mmors ; so had everybody. 
 Who can follow a society story? There are too many of 
 them to follow. They are never told twice alike, and they 
 are sure to be wrong. And it was so probable that the 
 "Rose Chadwick faction should manufacture a set of 
 stories which would be disadvantageous to the Sidonie 
 Devine faction." 
 
 Ah, it had got round to that, had it ? How curiously
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 283 
 
 the whirligig of fate changes its spots ! No wonder that 
 the poet sang, 
 
 "Good-by, proud world; I'm going home; 
 Thou'rt not my friend, I am not thine; 
 Good-by to Flattery's fawning face ; 
 To Grandeur, with his wise grimace ; 
 To upstart Wealth's averted eye ; 
 To supple office, low and high ; 
 To crowded halls ; to court and street ; 
 To frozen hearts and hasting feet ; 
 To those who go and those who come : 
 Good-by, proud world; I'm going home" 
 
 when he listened to the idle, false, and foolish commen- 
 taries upon character, when he observed the illogical and 
 wretched subterfuges by which worldlings seek to apolo- 
 gize for their " change of base." 
 
 Hathorne Mack was playing a bold game, and for the 
 moment boldness won. It always does. Goethe never 
 said a wiser thing than when he made this couplet: 
 
 "What you can do, or think you can, begin it: 
 Boldness hath genius, power, and magic in it. " 
 
 The fact that the stylish and fashionable Sidonie Devine 
 had accepted him introduced him anew to the innermost 
 circle of exclusive fashion. Every one of the aristocratic 
 relatives put their scruples in their pockets, and found 
 Hathorne Mack " charming." Even those who knew more 
 of him than the rest of the world were silenced by his 
 audacity. Could it be possible that he was able to escape 
 all punishment, all exposure, and to marry this fashionable 
 girl, and to enter for life the best " inner circle" ? Other 
 men had done it as heavily handicapped as he. So Arthur 
 Amberley well remembered; but, after a careful study of
 
 284 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 his own duty in the matter, he went to Sidonie's nearest 
 friend, and put that gentleman in possession of all that he 
 knew. All that he gained by this was a little delay, for 
 Hathorne Mack had anticipated him, and was ready for him. 
 
 The wedding had been put down for August, but it was 
 postponed to October 7. And it so happened that it fell 
 on the very day which, after much arranging and circum- 
 locution, had been fixed upon for the wedding of Rose and 
 Sir Lytton.. 
 
 Asmodeus had on that day to look down on two very 
 different scenes. The little town of Chadwick's Falls was 
 gay with the unexpected lustre of a wedding. The great 
 rambling house where Pascal Chadwick had lived was 
 buried in its mass of fragrant bushes, vines, and tangled 
 verdure. Dogs and ponies, carriages and horses, dashed 
 up the walks; groups of gayly-dressed New-Yorkers and 
 slouched-hatted Westerners stood in groups, awaiting the 
 advent of the bride. 
 
 No one needed a prettier subject for a picture than that 
 little church of four stone walls and its accessories. It did 
 not deserve the dispraise which Rose had given it. It had 
 no pretensions to age or to architectural graces, but it was 
 mantled with vines, and as it stood against a clear blue 
 sky, with the snow-capped mountains for its distant back- 
 ground, it was not unlovely. An endless grand prairie 
 reached out for hundreds of miles before it, while around 
 its near neighborhood crept up the industries and the 
 houses of the little settlement which Pascal Chadwick had 
 made. And in the church one stained-glass window, 
 erected to his memory by his daughter, told the world that 
 the murdered man was not forgotten. Its varied colors 
 fell upon her as she stood at the altar pledging her troth.
 
 A TRANSPLANTBD ROSE. 285 
 
 Her whole delicately rounded figure was one living, breath- 
 ing statue of joy and happiness, although the eyes were 
 full of dew-drops. 
 
 Arthur Amberley was best man. The President gave 
 her away ; the faithful Mrs. Carver and her friends sat and 
 wept in true maternal fashion. Jack Long and his wife 
 had come on to the wedding, and a number of young 
 American ranckeros, and English buffalo -hunters, and offi- 
 cers of the army and their wives, helped to fill the scene. 
 
 Sir Lytton was the model English bridegroom, and was 
 married with a severe gravity, which fell off at the wed- 
 ding breakfast. 
 
 "It is a wedding in a garden," said one of his friends, 
 as they looked throxigh the rich dark green of the rhodo- 
 dendrons. 
 
 " But, Lytton, you do not intend to bury yourself here, 
 do you ?" asked another. 
 
 "No. Lady Lytton Leycester has never seen Europe; 
 we intend to leave for the Continent in a month, and next 
 spring will see us in England," said the bridegroom, look- 
 ing not too unhappy. 
 
 And then came the rice and the slipper, and the four 
 horses, and the coachman with white favors, and away 
 drove the happy pair, out into the unknown land of matri' 
 mony. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 FAR, far away, out at sea, with a dagger in her heart, a 
 wasted, guilty, and bitter memory behind her, Ethel Mar- 
 joribanks wept alone in the darkness. 
 ' 19
 
 286 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 It was a long, hard dream, a bitter experience, a dread- 
 f ul fate. She had had little else in her poor life, this woman 
 of many gifts, of much culture, of great natural cleverness. 
 Those who believe in " luck " would have found much to 
 help them to believe in the story of this woman. Reality, 
 hard facts, a sad following of evil fortune, a worthless 
 father, a broken-hearted mother who died young, a lover 
 who deceived all that before she was twenty. Then to 
 win the hard bread of a daily governess! then a knowledge 
 of her own self-reliance, quick ability to decide in emer- 
 gencies, a certain power which she found always telling in 
 her favor; then a great fascination, for she was pretty in 
 those days a fascination which she never entirely lost; 
 then the " sentirnentalism" of character which Rose had so 
 justly characterized all were against her. 
 
 She was one of those clever women who are only not 
 quite clever enough ; one of those wicked women who are 
 not wicked enough. Something good in her came always 
 to defeat her. Had she been worse, she would have done 
 better for herself. 
 
 And now where was she going? A bitter feeling of 
 jealousy told her that Hathorne Mack wished to get rid of 
 her ; that he had traded on her fears. 
 
 "Jealousy is a passion which eagerly seeks that which 
 has caused us to suffer;" she went over in her mind the 
 thousand things which in her hurry and fright she had 
 overlooked, and which now convinced her that she was 
 foolish to have left him. 
 
 Her past would not bear scrutiny, that she knew, but as 
 Hathorne Mack's wife she had a stronghold which she ought 
 not to have relinquished. All the answer that she got was 
 that melancholy surge against the ship's side. The ocean,
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 287 
 
 unsympathetic and cruel, moaned and bore her on towards 
 far-distant Australia. Some days she thought she should 
 go mad, but the habit of self-control was strong with her. 
 She began to observe her fellow-passengers, to be observed 
 by them, and to exercise, unwontedly, some of her old fas- 
 cination. 
 
 " It's fine weather, miss," the captain would say to her, 
 as she raised her head from her hands, and looked out on 
 the waves. And she would respond, and, all perversely, 
 smile and show a set of fine teeth. Then the mate would 
 come along and speak kindly to her, and ask if she was 
 getting over her seasickness. And two or three women 
 and their little children drew up near her, and, all unknown 
 to themselves, told her that her old power had not left her 
 she was still attractive. 
 
 Perhaps these more reasonable and comforting thoughts 
 might have, in time, won her from herself. Perhaps, had 
 she been allowed to go on with that homely company to 
 a new land, Ethel Marjoribanks might have lived a good 
 and useful life might have been won to another and an 
 honorable future. Who knows ? 
 
 But her luck was ever against her. One afternoon she 
 noticed that the mate, Mr. Terry, who was a broad-faced, 
 honest, calm personage, looked at her with a mingled ex- 
 pression of confidence and alarm. As he passed her he 
 said, " We are to have a storm : can you keep the women 
 and children quiet?" 
 
 " I will try," said she, and she looked her gratitude that 
 he should expect it of her. 
 
 A gale came up, and raged all day and night. The wind 
 howled, the skies were leaden, the sea looked like pea- 
 soup, the billows ran mountains. There was a deep, hollow
 
 288 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 roar, and all the timbers creaked. Everything fell, every- 
 thing was broken. Ethel found herself kneeling on the 
 cabin floor clasping a child to her breast. It was a little 
 girl who had played with the tassels of her cloak a pretty 
 child, whose mother was shrieking in another part of the 
 ship. Then came a darkness a darkness so pitchy that 
 she could not see the golden gleam of the child's hair ; 
 then a mighty bang and blow ; then a disjointed murmur, 
 hurrying men, weeping women, angry oaths, a great rush 
 of water, a surging and uncertain motion, a groaning, 
 splitting, creaking, rattling noise something struck her, 
 and she lost consciousness. 
 
 When she regained it she was floating on the water, still 
 holding the child in her arms. She was so utterly bewil- 
 dered that she hardly realized that a strong arm was hold- 
 ing her up, that the voice of Terry was in her ears, urging 
 her to try to live, to keep quiet, and to catch at a spar if 
 she could. Cold and terrible was the water, and to the 
 miserable woman life then looked warm and sweet and de- 
 sirable. What would she not give for one hour of that 
 dreadful life which had but lately seemed so unendurable ! 
 She never knew what happened, how Terry got her and the 
 child into a boat, where she found two men and the captain. 
 
 The sea and the wind went on in their mutual commo- 
 tion. Neither relaxed a moment. The survivors in the 
 boat saw their great ship go down ; they felt the faint, 
 sickly sense of despair as they heard groans and shrieks 
 above the gale ; they saw spars and timbers and pieces of 
 furniture from the ship go by them, and then they were 
 swept far away, a waif on the bosom of the great deep. 
 
 And still she held the child close to her breast a little 
 alien child, whose name she did not even know. Then
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 289 
 
 came the reaction stillness, calm, and corresponding faint- 
 ness, hunger, and thirst. The men had each a flask of 
 spirits ; Terry put his to her lips. The cordial revived her ; 
 and a better cordial, the child the little child put its 
 still warm hand up to her cheek. 
 
 A sense of terror overcame her. " Why was I saved, 
 and this child's mother lost ?" said she. 
 
 " Perhaps God has need of you," said Terry, raising his 
 bruised tarpaulin from his head. 
 
 " I, who asked for death who longed for it !" said the 
 poor woman. 
 
 " You must live God wills it ; live for the child," said 
 Terry. 
 
 The horrors of shipwreck did not haunt these people 
 long. They were picked up by a homeward-bound vessel 
 and taken to New York. Before they reached that port 
 every man was Ethel Marjoribanks's slave. She had that 
 curious quality, she could bear the worst discomforts with 
 courage. She began to encourage the others, before there 
 even was need of it. 
 
 She saw Terry looking at her with his chin in his hand, 
 his great honest eyes calmly reading her face ; she knew 
 that she could trust him. "When they were on the home- 
 ward voyage, she told him enough to insure his help and 
 his care. She told him that she was a hunted creature, 
 and that she was the wife of a worthless husband. 
 
 The honest sailor gave a sigh. " Do you know, marm, 
 the captain said I was making a fool of myself about you. 
 Well, perhaps I was ; but if you are a married woman, and 
 in trouble, I'll help you.'* 
 
 And he did. He helped her to secrecy, to quiet, to a 
 respectable lodging, where she passed for the mother of
 
 290 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 the child. Who read or cared or knew of the identity of 
 the poor creatures who were saved from the wreck of that 
 Australian ship ? Certainly not Hathorne Mack. 
 
 She needed money, she must have it ; poor Terry could 
 not furnish her with that. She had one means of getting 
 it. Around her neck, secured by a strong chain, hung the 
 diamond ring with which Hathorne Mack had once sought 
 to affiance Rose the ring which had been thrown against 
 the looking-glass, to the unending fear and trembling of 
 poor Jean Philippeau. She must sell that, and to do it 
 properly she must make herself look respectable. She 
 would then find out what Hathorne Mack was doing. 
 
 Her landlady lent her some modest, decent clothes, in 
 which she dressed herself before starting for the grand 
 counter of a fashionable jeweller. She knew but too well 
 how dangerous it was to go to any other. A reduced lady 
 can take her diamonds to Tiffany to sell. It is not sus- 
 picious ; it is often done. But to go to a pawnbroker or 
 an inferior house Rebecca Ethel Marjoribanks knew too 
 much for that. She was skilled in the arts of disguise, as 
 we have seen ; she could " make up " for any part ; even 
 her landlady did not know the quiet, elegant, slender lady, 
 who left her house for a momentous bit of shopping. 
 
 It was a large, fine diamond, and she must make up a 
 good story, which she did. While she was bargaining, and 
 before the sale was completed, a party of ladies came in to 
 buy wedding presents. 
 
 " I must give Sidonie something handsome," said Mrs. 
 Morella. " I suppose a diamond ring will be the best. 
 Would you give that ? I am tired of silver." 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Mortimer, " a ring is always a judicious 
 present."
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 291 
 
 And they looked and admired. " Mrs. Hathorne Mack 
 must have something handsome," said Mrs. Morella. 
 
 " Oh yes, very handsome. They say that he has given 
 such splendid black pearls." 
 
 " When is the wedding to be ?" asked one of the ladies. 
 
 " The 7th of October," said Mrs. Morella. 
 
 The quiet lady moved off, motioning to the shop-keeper. 
 He waited upon her at a different counter. 
 
 " Offer this jewel to them at a price so low that they 
 will be tempted to buy it. Tell them it is from the box 
 of a countess who must sell her jewels," said she. Before 
 she left the shop the transfer was made, and the money 
 was in her pocket vengeance and hatred and rage in her 
 heart ; and the ring was on its way to Sidonie Devine. 
 
 The arrangements for the wedding were all made, and 
 the Hon. Hathorne Mack was going round in his coup6 to 
 call on his fiancee. She was in high spirits, and showed 
 him the wedding presents. 
 
 " They are very handsome first class," said Hathorne 
 Mack, weighting the silver soup-tureen. 
 
 " And see how generous Mrs. Morella has been look at 
 this superb diamond ring ! It is one a Polish countess 
 sold at the jeweller's only the other day, and she bought 
 it for me. See what a peculiar blue and gold setting 
 and what a superb stone !" 
 
 A sudden, violent rush of blood to the head, a black 
 darkness over everything, and the Hon. Hathorne Mack 
 clutched at a chair. He thought that accursed ring was 
 on its way to Australia. How well he knew it ! How he, 
 in his passionate love for Rose, had had her initials care- 
 fully and minutely enamelled in blue on gold there they 
 stood out, " R. C.," looking him full in the face !
 
 C92 A TRANSPLANTED EOIK. 
 
 " Where did you get this where did it come from f* 
 said he, wildly. 
 
 " I told you," said Sidonie, in an alarmed voice. 
 
 " Give it to me I must find out about it." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Mack, how very strangely you behave !" 
 said she. 
 
 The entrance of a third person restored Hathorne Mack 
 to a temporary calmness, and his bride was too prudent to 
 carry on the discussion. 
 
 There were papers to sign, and the various arrangements 
 for the wedding. Best men and lesser men came in. All 
 was busy confusion, and Sidonie, after one or two anxious 
 looks towards her lover, to see if he really were going off in 
 an apoplectic fit, calmed down and became the busy bride 
 again. 
 
 She was to be married at the most fashionable church 
 in New York ; it would be crowded to repletion. She 
 " should not see him again until they met at the altar," 
 she said playfully, as she kissed his purple cheek. 
 
 " Let me take the ring," said he, hoarsely. 
 
 " No," said she, " I shall keep it ;" and she did. As she 
 put it on, a thrill ran up her finger. " I wonder what is 
 the matter with it," said Sidonie. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 THK Metropolitan Church had never held a more fash- 
 ionable, gay audience. Asmodeus, who had just been 
 looking at Rose Chadwick's simple, pretty wedding in 
 the little stone church with its background of snow moun-
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 298 
 
 tains, thought with one of his habitual sneers that there 
 was more fashion at Sidonie's, after all. 
 
 The bride, her attendant vestals, and the ushers were all 
 there. The organ played the Wedding March, a stout 
 figure appeared near the rail of the chancel, and Dicky 
 Smallweed rushed into the waiting-room to tell the bridal 
 cortege that it was time to move on. 
 
 Ten bridemaids, all with deferent-colored rosebud bou- 
 quets, followed the six ushers. Every one rose to look at 
 the bride, as in magnificent array she marched up, on her 
 father's arm, to the altar. 
 
 The clergyman descended to greet her. But where was 
 the bridegroom ? She cast one hurried look to right and 
 left; so did the best man, who retreated to the vestry to 
 find his friend. Alas, not there ! 
 
 "He has fallen in a fit," whispered Sidonie to her 
 father. 
 
 Every one rose, sat down, trembled, and felt the cold 
 perspiration start to the brow. 
 
 There was no Hathorne Mack. The stout figure who 
 had seemed to be that honorable gentleman was the sexton, 
 who bore so strong a resemblance to him that Dicky had 
 been deceived. 
 
 They waited an eternity. It was five minutes only, but 
 it seemed years. And then the bride fainted, or seemed 
 to faint, under the pressure of the greatest insult which 
 can be put upon a woman. She was carried into the ves- 
 try-room, her friends following her. The great crowd 
 dispersed, every one with a theory. The fear that an 
 accident had occurred was the favorite one, as they whis- 
 pered behind their hands. 
 
 And, indeed, Hathorne Mack was for once guiltless; for
 
 294 A TRANSPLANTED ROBS. 
 
 he lay, a lifeless mass of human nothingness, floating on 
 the tide, as it surged to and fro in the North River. 
 
 He could not come, he could keep no more engage- 
 ments; he had stepped off in the darkness into that fast- 
 running current, hiding disgrace and exposure in the flood 
 which tells no tales. 
 
 It was a nine days' wonder to the world, but to Decker it 
 was but the consummation of the plot which he had been 
 weaving, with the addition of one piece of testimony which 
 he had not expected that of Ethel's reappearance. 
 
 When Hathorne Mack left Sidonie, after the episode of 
 the ring, he had gone to his own rooms to be confronted 
 by the sight of his wife. Decker was there, and with him 
 the clergyman of Harlem, with the dropped handkerchief 
 marked R. E. M. 
 
 Another man was there Herzog, who knew all about the 
 disappearance of Pascal Chad wick. At the sight of this 
 man Hathorne Mack grew pale. Decker held in his hand 
 the papers which had been found on the dead body of his 
 victim. One glance sufficed. 
 
 " A pleasant little family party," said the Hon. Hathorne 
 Mack, as he looked around him, and his old sneer settled 
 on his mouth. They did not watch him very closely ; per- 
 haps they did not care where he went, as he left his rooms 
 at midnight. It was not their business to send round to 
 the fashionable bride who was to await him at the altar. 
 Indeed, Decker spent no more time on him, but went off to 
 hunt up another case, and Herzog had vanished into dark- 
 ness too. Only one faithful woman watched and waited 
 in her humble hiding-place thinking, as she curled the 
 golden hair of the rescued child over her fingers, that per- 
 haps he might come to her again for comfort and for
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 295 
 
 succor. And it was only from the paper which she bought 
 in the street that she knew what had become of him he 
 had not even thought of her. 
 
 Taking one poor little hand in hers, Ethel Marjoribanks, 
 too, vanished into darkness. Perhaps God had sent her an 
 angel unawares in this child whom she had saved from the 
 deep sea, who should lead her out of the mesh of a guilty 
 life. 
 
 Sidonie Devine had been warned Arthur Amberley had 
 seen to that. But, with the mingled audacity and self- 
 assertion of her character, she had chosen to act on her 
 own wisdom. She believed, for she had seen it done be- 
 fore, that an old family, a large family, a family with a 
 recognized name, could carry an illiterate, a vulgar, a low- 
 born man along, if he had money. Hathorne Mack had 
 told her his own story his own way, no doubt, and that 
 she had chosen to believe. 
 
 Now that he was dead, no concealment was either neces- 
 sary or possible ; and a book was opened and read, in 
 which many living characters figured, who did not at all 
 relish the expose. Therefore Sidonie Devine received very 
 little or no sympathy she did not ask it. 
 
 Meantime Sir Lytton took his fair bride to foreign parts. 
 She had lived a long life in her twenty-one years; her 
 mind had come in contact with much that ripens and im- 
 proves ; it was a mind, too, of no common order. No 
 English girl of her age and position could have had the ex- 
 perience she had had nor would any "parent or guard- 
 ian" wish to expose an innocent heart to the burden of 
 grief, sorrow, suffering, and hope deferred which had been 
 the portion of Rose ; but it had ripened without withering 
 her.
 
 296 A TRANSPLANTED ROBK. 
 
 "She is certainly very different from other people," 
 thought Sir Lytton, who tried occasionally to look at her 
 with other than a lover-husband's eye. 
 
 He thought, perhaps, that at home they would find her 
 too quick, too independent, too vehement; perhaps in Eng- 
 land she would not seem so gracious: unconsciously he 
 dreaded his mother's criticism. He lingered as long as he 
 could in the pleasant business of showing Europe to his 
 young wife. 
 
 And she wished that it could last forever, this wandering 
 from land to land, and this dream of fair cities ; this f ol- 
 lowing-up of Romeo and Juliet, Portia and Viola. Her 
 old days at Chadwick's Falls, her dreams over her books, 
 her lonely long hours with Shakespeare, were all coming to 
 pass. She thought how she had lived there, perfectly un- 
 expectant, unaware of the net which circumstance, past, 
 present, and to come, was weaving about her. But her 
 father, who had seemed so absent, so queer, so neglectful, 
 had been working for her, and had been thinking oh, 90 
 tenderly ! of the future of his little girl ! 
 
 And with the faithful eyes of a tender husband Sir 
 Lytton watched his young wife, and strove to save her 
 from all shock and sorrow. He hoped, above all things, 
 that she would not meet Marie Philippeau or Jean Pierre, 
 or in any way be annoyed and troubled by the recurrent 
 trials of the past. So far as he could temper or humanize 
 the bitter wind which must blow on everybody, he deter- 
 mined to do it. He would be the second Providence to 
 this woman to whom he had given his name. She had 
 shown sometimes, by a word spoken in sleep, that months 
 of hard trouble, fear, and shame, and sorrow had passed 
 over her 1 They should not come again. And one nama
 
 A TRANSPLANTED KO8E. 297 
 
 she could not speak without tears it was that of littla 
 Pierre. 
 
 Sir Lytton heard that Marie Philippeau and Jack Town- 
 ley had been seen at Baden, at Nice, at Trouville, at Monaco. 
 Both had boldly entered that half -world which accepts 
 such a lawless couple. Marie's beauty was highly extolled, 
 and the gay world of the gamblers greeted her with loud 
 acclamations. But of such a couple as this there was al- 
 ways a warning note, and Sir Lytton drew his young wife 
 away from scenes which had no temptation for either of 
 them. 
 
 Together they wandered down into the beautiful scenery 
 about Orleans, together they went to see the feudal chateaux 
 of France ; together they traced Diana de Poitiers at Che- 
 nonceaux, and read up the legends of Blois and Amboise ; 
 then they wandered into rural France, and saw the spring 
 come on in soft tender green. They went up Philip Ham- 
 erton's " unknown river," and watched the sprightly water 
 gleam and caught the tone of the wavelets. They sketched 
 together, and put in here a stunted willow, there a droop- 
 ing birch, then " tufted bights of bottom growth," and the 
 dank green verdure of a pool with lilies in it. And then 
 they would look at each other and sketch in familiar feat- 
 ures, and then laugh at their own folly. 
 
 What is amenable to foresight ? How could Sir Lytton 
 have foreseen what was to come to pass amid this sylvan 
 paradise ? Looking over the blue river, yet unvexed by 
 storm or turbulence, over green pastures filled with cattle, 
 over the picturesque peasantry, he felt that Rose was safe 
 from even a regret, and so one day he told her that he 
 must leave her for a day or two, to attend to some busi- 
 ness which his prolonged absence had caused to accumulate.
 
 298 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 It was their first separation, and they looted forward to 
 it with almost tragic solemnity, and then laughed again at 
 themselves. 
 
 " Ob, Lytton !" said Rose, " with my novels and guide- 
 books, and my embroidery, and with Barbe, my maid, I 
 shall be quite happy, and not know that you are gone 
 but do come back soon !" 
 
 " Don't walk too far, dear," said Sir Lytton. " Leave 
 the mountain-walk until I return." 
 
 And so with tender leave-takings the young couple part- 
 ed for two days. 
 
 Barbe, who was to the manner born, was an excellent 
 cicerone for the short expeditions which Rose chose to 
 take around the little hamlet where they were spending 
 the week. Rose, a true daughter of the country, loved 
 the freedom, the solitude, and the picturesque novelty of 
 the whole thing. 
 
 It was one of Fate's sordid arrangements that she should 
 happen to wander into the little cemetery one afternoon 
 alone. She looked at the crosses, at the yellow and black 
 wreaths of immortelles, and read the inscriptions, as the 
 young even read them, with a sort of poetic pleasure. 
 When we are gay and happy, we love to toy with grief. 
 
 As she passed down a little valley she saw a grave cov- 
 ered with violets, and at the foot of it lay a man stretched 
 at full length, as if asleep she advanced and read, 
 
 CI GIT 
 
 PIERRE PHILIPPEAU. 
 
 Before she could finish the long inscription, the man had 
 sprung to his feet. He turned upon her the wildest, most 
 awful face that she had ever seen. For a moment he gazed
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 299 
 
 at her without a word, and she looked at him. Her heart 
 was beating so loud that she could hear it, yet she did not 
 stir. Pale, with hair white, standing up all over his head, 
 Jean Pierre Philippeau gazed at her with the wild glare of 
 a maniac ; then a softer expression came into his face. 
 
 " It is ze Mees Rose, dear child, come for poor leetle 
 Pierre ! I give him leetle dog, leetle cat, everyting, but 
 he could not stay ! Oh, Mees Rose ! he cry for you, for 
 ze leetle maman. No, I never speak her name again ! Oh, 
 Mees Rose ! why you break ze looking - glass ? it mean 
 death it mean death to mon Pierre !" 
 
 Rose shook in every limb, but she was inspired to do 
 the best thing. 
 
 " Pierre dead ! my Pierre ?" said she, sobbing, and she 
 knelt on the sod, and clasped the cross in her arms. 
 
 " That is good. You weep, Mees Rose. I cannot weep ! 
 My eyes burn. I see ze little boy cry all time, ' Papa, give 
 me water, give me cool, give me ze food.' I see him 
 die of fever, here in my own town, where I bring him 
 for ze fresh air, when zat black-hearted Jaques Town- 
 ley ah !" 
 
 And poor Jean Philippeau sank on the ground, foaming 
 at the mouth. The touch of that cross, the prayer she had 
 uttered, the memory of the child she had loved, had given 
 Rose strength and power to speak. She went to the little 
 brook near the cemetery, and filled her hat with fresh 
 water ; bringing it back, she knelt by her poor old friend, 
 and bathed his head with her wet handkerchief, and talked 
 to him in sweet, tender voice. 
 
 " Look up," said she, " look up at that sky. Pierre 
 is there watching us ; pray to God to comfort you and 
 to sustain you. No mortal man can keep his child from
 
 300 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 dying look at these other graves ! Pierre was only lent 
 to us, and we can only weep and pray." 
 
 " Ah, ze poor Mees Rose ! it was always a kind leetle 
 heart," said poor Jean Pierre. " I ml pray vil you 
 pray ?" 
 
 And together, kneeling on that violet sod, the two, who 
 had loved Pierre so well, prayed that they might in some 
 better world see his face once more. 
 
 XL. 
 
 IT was not strange that, when Sir Lytton came back, he 
 should have given Barbe a scolding for letting her young 
 mistress wander off into the graveyard. 
 
 Rose, although not " born to the noble privilege of 
 weariness," was easily shaken, and the interview with poor 
 Jean Pierre had given her a terrible shock. She lay on 
 her sofa, quite unable and unwilling to rise. 
 
 " Take me home, dear," she said, finally, amid her sobs ; 
 " take me to our quiet, healthy English home. I shall get 
 strong there." 
 
 Perhaps it was well for all parties that the young Ameri- 
 can wife reached her English home a somewhat more gen- 
 tle and dependent being than was her nature, needing care, 
 and deeply needing the loving devotion of the most chival- 
 rous of men. 
 
 Lady Leycester was propitiated. There was nothing of 
 the strong-minded or the pert American manner in this 
 grateful girl, who responded to the courtly morning ques- 
 tion of her mother-in-law, " / hope you are better ?" with
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 301 
 
 that smile and dewy kiss which had once almost reached 
 the worldly heart of Mrs. Mortimer. 
 
 The sisters, too, large women, with good, resolute, well- 
 marked features, and long teeth (they were plain replicas 
 of their handsome brother), with lady-like voices, and the 
 most delicious pronunciation and accent, were unexpectedly 
 agreeable to Hose. She wished that she felt as strong as 
 they looked. They were soon friends, talking of their 
 dogs and horses. 
 
 But Rose had brought home a fever from the pretty 
 little French valley, and it was a long time before she 
 walked through her own house with the alert step of its 
 mistress. 
 
 She came to look at the beautiful views with the eyes 
 of a convalescent, finally, and by that time they all loved 
 her, these thoroughbred English women ; they had made 
 her part and parcel of themselves. 
 
 With her husband's arm around her she stood on the 
 balcony, looking over towards the masses of green beyond 
 the Moorland Height. She saw the leafy elms spread a 
 carpet of thick shadow over the lawn ; the " roses red " 
 mounted, in emulation with a honeysuckle, up to the very 
 stone balustrade on which she leaned. It was all hers 
 hers to live with, enjoy, and adorn. 
 
 Sir Lytton held her close to his heart. Her illness had 
 been a disappointment to him, for he was full of all sorts 
 of feudal intentions of breakfasting with the tenantry, and 
 flower-bedecked arches, and the pride of showing off his 
 beautiful young wife, in all the glory of the early days of 
 marriage. 
 
 He felt that her entrance on her new home had been so 
 sad that it would always bring a home-sick feeling to her. 
 
 20
 
 302 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 But it was bis exquisite happiness to see her soon riding at 
 his side, to find that she could walk, even with his sisters, 
 and to hear her raptures over the lordly pheasant trooping 
 through the grass, and to behold how pleased she was with 
 the rural beauty of England, even to the flaunting wild 
 poppy which filled the fields. Tellisor House struck her 
 as the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, as indeed it 
 was. She often scolded Sir Lytton, in good set terms, 
 that he had permitted her to have her own way, not in- 
 sisting on her being married in that " lovely, tumble-down 
 gray chapel," with its brasses in the floor, memorials of 
 the old Crusaders ! So much for the fairness of woman ! 
 Shortly after all these romantic interludes, however, came 
 the true girlish, womanly, foolish desire to go up to Lon- 
 don to the gayeties of the season, and to see Harriet. 
 
 Just to think, Harriet, her dear, best friend, was in Lon- 
 don, and the lawn-tennis, the archery, the riding must give 
 place for a time to theatricals, balls, presentations at Court, 
 and all the dinners of all London ! 
 
 Rose had a toilet from Worth in some of those un- 
 opened trunks which now began to be remembered, and 
 Sir Lytton had given her his famous family diamonds, 
 which became her admirably. 
 
 It was well for Rose that her love for Sir Lytton, and 
 his for her, had been revealed to her with a sharp distinct- 
 ness by their mutual trials, for she now saw him under 
 circumstances which might have made her feel a certain 
 humility and a consciousness of her own shortcomings. 
 But he believed in her so intensely, loved her so devotedly, 
 that she was never to experience that recoil. He was 
 proud of her, too ; she was glad to see that. 
 
 "Well, mamma, what do you think of her?" he asked
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 303 
 
 of Lady Leycester, as Rose stood dressed for her first draw- 
 ing-room. 
 
 "Perfect, my son, perfect. I would not have her 
 changed in a single particular." 
 
 Harriet had grown handsomer for being married, Rose 
 thought ; or else beauty did not seem to be so important 
 in London as it was in New York. 
 
 Harriet's quiet manner, her good sense, her lady-like 
 breeding, all told in London. She was delightfully happy 
 in her quiet way, and charmed to see Rose. She was of 
 infinite service to her, in advising and arranging the deli- 
 cate shades of etiquette required by her own and Sir Lyt- 
 ton's position. In a society so accurately defined as that of 
 England these things are more easily learned than with us. 
 
 "I shall never learn when to say 'your Grace' and 'my 
 Lord,' etc.," said Rose, with a little of her old confidence 
 in Harriet. 
 
 " Oh yes, you will ; and if you make mistakes they will 
 like your piquancy," said Harriet. 
 
 " Lytton will never tell me what to do ; he is so atro- 
 ciously pleased when I make a blunder!" said Rose to 
 Harriet. 
 
 And so our heroine danced and smiled and dined 
 through her first London season with an ever-increasing 
 success. And she sang, too, at the grand Musicale of the 
 Duchess of No-Castle, and her voice had the freshness and 
 clearness which only very young voices have. They were 
 surprised to hear how well she could sing, and the Misses 
 Leycester remembered poor Rebecca Ethel. And all her 
 dresses were commended those latest Paris fashions as 
 the tall and comely figure and graceful mien set them off, 
 
 " Oh, Harriet ! do you remember the brilliant brocade
 
 304 A TRANSPLANTED BOSK. 
 
 at Mrs. Mortimer's ?" said Rose, as she looked at herself, 
 in a gray silk with gray bonnet and plume, and long black 
 gloves, one rose alone giving her a bit of color. 
 
 "Yes, you looked like a beautiful paroquet in that, 
 Rose," said Harriet. 
 
 " Clothes have a great deal to do with one's happiness," 
 said Rose, thinking of the agony of that evening. 
 
 " What an ignoble sentiment !" said Sir Lytton, coming 
 in at the close of this council of war. 
 
 It was amid ices and sandwiches and claret-cup, at a 
 garden-party, that Rose came unexpectedly upon an old 
 friend. 
 
 It was Jack Townley, with handsome face, bold eyes, 
 and confident air, who, hand and glove with the young 
 swells about him, touched his hat to the young beauty, 
 the toast of the season, Lady Lytton Leycester ! The in- 
 evitable years, the experiences of life, had written a few 
 lines about Jack's eyes, still he looked very much the same. 
 
 " Stylish man, your countryman !" said a young captain 
 to Rose. 
 
 The young man had an honest, simple face, and he 
 looked with wonder at the sudden aversion, disgust, and 
 anger which was depicted on the face of his pretty neighbor. 
 
 " Mr. Townley has just come from China, I believe," 
 said the captain. 
 
 " I wonder where he has left her" thought Rose, dream- 
 ily, as she remembered the parlor in Fifth Avenue, and th 
 cemetery in the little French village. But no one asked 
 for her. 
 
 "These Americans never seem to like each other," said 
 the young captain to his friend Mellish, as they criticised 
 Lady Lytton Leycester, and pronounced her " good form."
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 305 
 
 " I would not bow to Jack Townley to-day," said Rose 
 to her husband that evening after the garden-party. 
 
 " It would not be wise, dear," said he, " the world does 
 not exclude him." 
 
 " Then I shall be unwise," said she. 
 
 It hurt Jack Townley very much to be so decidedly cut 
 by Rose. He was not accustomed to it. He had seen 
 this girl first ; he had known the wild rose in the Western 
 wilderness. He had recognized all her beauty and charm 
 then. Had he been certain about Pascal Chadwick's fort- 
 une he would have married her, he reflected, then and 
 there, for if he had ever been in love it was with her. 
 But he had allowed Hathorne Mack to sow doubt and dis- 
 trust, and on the evening of the famous Masquerade he 
 had believed what Mack had whispered in his ear, and the 
 next day parted with his interest in the silver-mine. He 
 had seen Rose in her awkward moments, in her hour of 
 sorrow, in her days of tribulation ; but he had never ex- 
 pected to see her as he saw her now, with that look upon 
 her face of perfect happiness, without a shadow to dim 
 the brightness of hope, or a past experience which could 
 embitter or make her fearful of the future. The priceless 
 illusions of youth had been brushed away to make room for 
 a destiny more rare and perfect than any of which she had 
 dreamed. No more radiant outlook for the future could a 
 woman have than that which opened before Rose ; and as his 
 critical eye swept over the details of dress, demeanor, and 
 attitude, he felt that Rose had conquered them all. 
 
 But the deadly aversion which marked her expression as 
 she looked at him ! It remained to haunt him like a curse. 
 Had he only known, had he been a little wiser, he might 
 have gathered this flower, and have saved his soul one
 
 306 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 
 
 dreadful stain of guilt and sin ; there would have been one 
 home less dishonored. But Sir Lytton Leycester had been 
 the lucky man he had got it all. 
 
 He saw the once ignorant girl, who had rushed across 
 the room at Delraonico's to speak to him, now a queen of 
 society. 
 
 Truly, society is fearfully and wonderfully made ! How 
 complex are its functions ; how delicate its organization ; 
 but how feeble are its instincts ! How little does it recog- 
 nize and estimate involuntary action at its real value ! what 
 mistakes we all make in it what tricks our brains play us 
 sometimes ! 
 
 Whatever Jack Townley thought of society just then, 
 however, was lost in the immense disgust with which he 
 thought of himself. 
 
 The self-reproaches of an unsuccessful snob must be 
 most bitter; for he had not been true to his own party 
 himself. His old friend Harriet refused to bow to him ; 
 so let us hope that, spite of his bold eyes and somewhat 
 defiant manner, the Lady-killer is receiving his reward. 
 
 Society, as we have read, admits no obstacles to the de- 
 mands of its all-comprehending activity ; it accepts no re- 
 fusals ; it stands forward in its force as a recognized public 
 necessity; as a valued public right it knocks imperiously 
 at all doors it calls on the whole world to come out and 
 participate in the universal mob ; and then it takes the 
 liberty of rejecting many, of eating its own words, and of 
 going back on itself, and no one knows who, or what, or 
 where " Society " is. It is a great impersonal power, a 
 Juggernaut, whose wheels either elevate or crush us, as the 
 power within decides; who wields that power, and by 
 what right, nobody can tell.
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROSE. 307 
 
 " Society " scarcely ever has a virtuous fit, but when it 
 does it is very terrible. Some rather innocent scapegoat 
 is usually selected as the victim for the sins of the people. 
 But Rose, our heroine, has done with all these problems. 
 She has drawn one of the prizes in life's lottery, and she 
 has risen to the top of the wheel without losing character 
 or self-respect. 
 
 And now has come to her a dearer study the ideal of 
 Home. The national type of Home in England (not the 
 modern fashionable one) is a high one. The national sen- 
 timent of Home is a beautiful one. The son collects his 
 scattered sisters under his roof; his family duties are pre- 
 eminent when he marries. If his mother retires to her 
 dower-house, he is still the guardian and friend to her, as 
 when she was the mistress of the great house. 
 
 Sir Lytton is not one of those Englishmen who write 
 " No Admission for Strangers " on the lintels of his house. 
 He and his American wife have much of the broad, genial 
 American hospitality enamelled on their true English solid 
 comfort. 
 
 And Rose, who had never known what a " home " meant, 
 clasped those old stone walls with all the tendrils of her af- 
 fectionate nature as closely as does the ivy, and, like that, 
 she every year adds a more tender grace, a fresh perennial 
 charm, to the dignified English home. " You are a great 
 compliment to my skill as a gardener, my ' Transplanted 
 Rose,' " says her husband to her, as he touches with caress- 
 ing hand a lovely and blooming cheek. 
 
 THE END.
 
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