THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 / 

 
 ARISTOCRACY.
 
 ARI STOCRACY 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 1888.
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1888, 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
 
 PS 
 
 lit 
 
 A 1/17 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IT is half-past ten on a dull November morning 
 at Ashwynwick* Park, the seat of the Marquis of 
 Oaktorrington,f in Hertfordshire. J 
 
 Ashwynwick is one of the show-places of the coun- 
 ty if, indeed, not of England and shares fairly the 
 local position of honor with Hatfield. The estate, 
 some twenty-odd thousand acres in extent, has been 
 in Lord Oaktorrington's family since the Conquest. 
 An ancestor, the first of the English line, one Brian 
 de Vesci, came over with William of Normandy, and 
 thereafter faithfully attending him "in his wars," as 
 the family chronicle put forth by Burke, that obliging 
 servant of the British aristocracy, hath it, was granted 
 the property by his royal master " in recognition of 
 his services." 
 
 There are some ill-natured rumors current that these 
 services consisted of those of valet and body-servant 
 to the conqueror, combined on occasion with the 
 
 * Pronounced Azzick. \ Pronounced Otton. 
 
 % Pronounced Harfudsheer. 
 
 1117735
 
 6 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 duties of cook. It was all, however, so long ago that 
 the family has had time to considerably improve its 
 condition. The house was built in the time of Queen 
 Elizabeth, during whose reign the head of the family 
 became a court favorite, and in due time was created 
 a baron by the Virgin Queen. Its massive gray, moss- 
 grown walls and ivy-covered gables of ancient days 
 are relieved by the plate-glass windows and gas-lamps 
 of modern times. It is a combination of past and 
 present both in its exterior and interior. It has a 
 picture-gallery, from whose walls scores of pointed- 
 bearded and villainous-countenanced men, and pink- 
 cheeked, immodestly decollete women, look down upon 
 you ; a banqueting-hall whose carved-oak wainscot is 
 lined with the armor of every knightly De Vesci who 
 fought under his sovereign's banner from Cressy to 
 Agincourt ; and a haunted room, in which the ghost 
 of the Sir Roderick de, Vesci who was beheaded by 
 Charles II on Tower Hill for treason, is wont to hold 
 high jinks as the fit seizes him just as it has a billiard 
 room, a sanitary system of drainage, and a gasometer. 
 The gardens, conservatories, and greenhouses cover 
 ten acres of ground, and the pleasure-grounds twice 
 as much more. The establishment is one of the grand- 
 est in the kingdom. There are between thirty and 
 forty servants, irrespective of gardeners and game- 
 keepers who, together, number as many more. In the 
 stables and coach-houses which form a quadrangle 
 round a paved yard, and resemble in their exterior a 
 pretentious human residence more than an equine 
 abode, are upward of thirty horses and a dozen car- 
 riages. And Ashwynwick is not Lord Oaktorrington's 
 only residence. He has, besides, two other country-
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 7 
 
 houses : Campsottin * Court in Bedfordshire ; and 
 Tewtorlock f Towers in Devonshire ; as well as a 
 town-house in Eaton Square. He is the fourteenth 
 baron (creation of Elizabeth, 1565), eighth viscount 
 and earl (creation of Charles I, 1642), and fifth mar- 
 quis (creation of William III, 1701) of his line, and 
 from rent-roll, coal-mines, pensions, and invested 
 money in the funds, is in receipt of the reputed in- 
 come of one hundred and twenty thousand pounds 
 per annum. So far as exalted rank, long line of an- 
 cestry, and the possession of large estates and this 
 world's goods are concerned, he is as fair a sample of 
 the five hundred and thirty-odd gentlemen who com- 
 pose the peerage of Great Britain as one could pick 
 out. 
 
 Breakfast has been over about a quarter of an hour, 
 and the Marchioness of Oaktorrington is seated at her 
 writing-table in her boudoir, reading again the letters 
 she had but hastily glanced over at the breakfast-table. 
 There is an air of solid comfort about the apartment, 
 rather than gilded decoration and display. The walls 
 and ceiling are not frescoed, and the furniture is plain, 
 unvarnished oak like that of the rest of the house, and 
 has with the title, jewels, plate, pictures, and wine in 
 the cellars been in the family a very long time. A 
 bright fire burns in the grate, and sheds a look as well 
 as a sense of warmth over the room. Without, a chill 
 November fog hangs about and clings to the leafless 
 trees and sodden turf, and dims the window-panes 
 into the resemblance of ground glass. The Marchioness 
 has taken one letter from an envelope with a foreign 
 stamp and postmark, and holds it long before her with 
 
 * Pronounced Capstan. f Pronounced Tellick.
 
 8 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 a look which began by one of vexation but has ended 
 in one of satisfaction. 
 
 While she thus sits let us have a look at her and 
 see what she is like. 
 
 Fat, red-faced, and waddling that doom of nine 
 tenths of British highborn matronhood, the other 
 tenth being thin, bony, and pinched she yet shows 
 in her arched eyebrows, thin nostrils, short, curled 
 upper lip, white, smooth forehead, small ears, and 
 delicately poised head on a neck which refuses to 
 grow short and fat with the rest of her body, those 
 indices of noble birth which are supposed to belong 
 exclusively and of natural right to the nobility, but 
 which as a matter of obstinate fact are found quite as 
 often, if not indeed oftener, among the so-called 
 " middle " classes. Did you have a real, personal 
 knowledge of all classes in England you would say 
 she had the body of a peeress and the face and head 
 of a had-been pretty woman of no class in particular. 
 Did you depend upon Bulwer Lytton, Disraeli, " Oui- 
 da," " The Duchess," and Miss Braddon for the 
 formation of your ideal you would think her face a 
 model of British high-born femininity, while her body 
 you would regard as a painful exception to the gen- 
 eral rule. However, though she may not satisfactorily 
 look it, the Marchioness of Oaktorrington is a repre- 
 sentative of the English aristocracy, and a pretty fair 
 one at that. Not only is she the wife of the Marquis 
 of Oaktorrington (which any costermonger's daughter 
 might be), and therefore an aristocrat by marriage and 
 position ; but she is the daughter of the Duke of 
 Tallyforward,* one of England's most ancient duces, 
 
 * Pronounced Telford.
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 9 
 
 and therefore an aristocrat by birth. She is verging 
 close upon fifty, and has been married to Lord Oaktor- 
 rington since she was sold to him for a jointure of six 
 thousand a year, a dower-house in Kent, an annual pin- 
 money allowance of a thousand pounds, the life-use of 
 the Oaktorrington diamonds, and a marchioness's coro- 
 net and title just eight and twenty years ago. The 
 Duke of Tallyforward, though of as ancient a family 
 and title as Burke or De Britt can produce, was yet what 
 is known in aristocratic parlance as a " poor duke," the 
 meaning of which was not that he was not a good speci- 
 men of England's first grade of nobility (mutual doubts 
 as to fitness never arising in the aristocratic breast) but 
 that he was the reverse of a rich one. His daughter's 
 dowry was not consequently large. Ten thousand 
 pounds it was (" Fancy ! and a duke's daughter," was 
 the comment of the day) so, though Englishmen of Lord 
 Oaktorrington's class seldom, if ever, are known to 
 marry where there is no money, his lordship, who was 
 then a youth of two and twenty in the Grenadiers, had 
 special reasons for taking to himself a wife, and there- 
 fore was pleased to let it be thought that he presented 
 the marvelous spectacle of an English peer marrying 
 for beauty's sake alone. Lady Julia Talbot's beauty 
 was of the sort which in its mere symmetry more than 
 regularity of feature was of a piece with two thirds of 
 the other girls out that season. There was the same 
 small head, the same straight nose, the same white 
 forehead, the same curled upper lip, the same pink 
 ears, the same half-closed eyes, the same square 
 shoulders, the same swelling bust, the same small, 
 round waist, the same vacant expression, and the 
 same frigid repellant manner in every girl he saw
 
 JQ ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 whether in ball-dress or habit, in Belgravian drawing- 
 room at night or in the Row of an afternoon. It 
 didn't matter which he chose. One would suit his 
 purpose as well as the other. " They are as like as 
 peas, all of 'em," he said to his friend Percy Van Sit- 
 tart of the Scots Fusiliers (the Duke of Cambridge 
 hadn't played the fool with regimental titles then). 
 " Don't seem to matter which I pick out, but marry I 
 must. The title and property must have an heir, so 
 one's as good as another for that, don't you know. 
 It's a bore to make up one's mind, though." 
 
 " Care for any of 'em ? " 
 
 " No. Not really. Must marry some girl, don't 
 you see ? " 
 
 " Toss up, why don't you ? " said Percy, produc- 
 ing his tossing guinea from a waistcoat-pocket. " Now, 
 then ; name two of the lot. Quick, don't think. 
 
 " Julia Talbot, Emily Walsingham ! " 
 
 " All right. Talbot heads, Walsingham tails. Here 
 goes. Hi ! It's Talbot. That settles it. Now, go this 
 very afternoon and propose, old chap." 
 
 And that's how it came about that Lady Julia Tal- 
 bot became the Marchioness of Oaktorrington. 
 
 In her eight and twenty years of wedded bliss, if 
 the artificial mechanical existence of a woman so mar- 
 ried can be denominated such, she has dutifully ful- 
 filled the function of maternity for which she was 
 selected, and has presented her liege lord with the fol- 
 lowing seven offspring: 
 
 (Place aux gentilhommes en Angleterre.) 
 
 Viscount Beyndour,* a lieutenant in the Life 
 Guards; aged twenty-five. 
 
 * Pronounced Banner.
 
 ARISTOCRACY. l j 
 
 . Lord Frederick-Fitzwhistle-Adelbert- James-De-la- 
 Crash-Vesey (the latter being the moderized family 
 name of the Oaktorrington marquisate), out upon a 
 Colorado cattle-ranch ; aged twenty- two. 
 
 Lord Bertie-Corn wallis - Boscawen - Berkeley-John- 
 Jervise - William - Vesey, an undergraduate at Christ 
 Church College, Oxford ; aged nineteen. 
 
 Lord Cecil-Somerset-Frederick- James- John-Spen- 
 cer-Digby-Henry-Vesey, a boy at Eton ; aged twelve. 
 
 Lady Mary-Victoria-Caroline-Frances- Vesey, plain 
 andflassSe, having passed through four London seasons 
 unasked ; aged twenty-seven. 
 
 Lady Edith-Maud-Alexandra-Emily- Vesey, a re- 
 production of her mother at the same age and, there- 
 fore, a beauty ; presented last season ; aged eighteen. 
 
 Lady Maud-Mabel-Hilda-Mary- Edith-Ponsonby- 
 Eliza- Vesey, a girl still in the school-room ; aged ten. 
 
 The marchioness still holds the open letter in her 
 hand when the marquis opens the door abruptly, and 
 walks in with a heavy, striding step. 
 
 George -Rupert -Cecil -Frederick, Baron Ashwyn- 
 wick, Viscount Beyndour, Earl of Campsottin, and 
 Marquis of Oaktorrington, is a tall, raw-boned man, 
 five years his wife's senior. He has short, red hair, 
 moustache and beard considerably shot with gray ; 
 cold, steely-blue eyes ; a large, sensual, and weak 
 mouth ; uneven yellow teeth ; a pug nose ; a receding 
 chin, which his beard is too close-cropped to conceal ; 
 a bright-red face and neck ; large, bony hands ; and 
 immense feet. In short, to look at him, he is about 
 the last man in the world that an uninitiated person 
 would expect to find a " lord." He wears a scarlet
 
 12 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 hunting-coat, denominated " pink " in sporting par- 
 lance ; a white scarf, with a silver horse-shoe pin stuck 
 in it ; a white, ribbed waistcoat ; white cord breeches 
 and top boots. On his head is a tall, black hat ; in 
 his left eye a rimless eyeglass ; and in his hand a 
 hunting-crop. 
 
 " Look here, Polly," he says, as he strides up to the 
 chimney-piece, and spreading his coat-tails, stands with 
 his back to the fire ; " I'm rather up a tree. Here's a 
 letter from Harborough, proposing himself for next 
 week ; says he'll fetch down a couple of hunters, and 
 evidently means to stay when he gets here. It's deuced 
 awkward, you know." 
 
 " Why ? " asks his wife, putting down her letter on 
 her lap, and looking at him impatiently. 
 
 "Why? That's a pretty question for you to ask. 
 Aren't the Bouveries coming on Tuesday ? You keep 
 a nice run of your guests, I must say. Well, you can't 
 have a man like that to meet them. They'd book it 
 the minute they saw him, and a delightful scandal we 
 should have. Humph ! As usual, not a word. You 
 irritate me." 
 
 " Isn't his Grace swell enough for the Bouveries ? 
 I should have thought so," and Lady Oaktorrington 
 shrugs her fat shoulders with a little more curl than 
 ever on her lip. 
 
 " No, he's not. I don't care if he is a duke ; he's an 
 out and out blackguard, as every one knows, and you 
 too." 
 
 " I ? I know nothing. I dare say the stories about 
 him are shamefully exaggerated." 
 
 " Exaggerated ? They're not half bad enough, as / 
 happen to know. Why he's to be made a co-respond-
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 23 
 
 ent for the sixth time in a day or two. It's all over 
 the clubs. Chandos-Peele is " 
 
 " So Lord Chandos has actually taken notice of her 
 ladyship and Harborough at last, has he ? Ha-ha ! 
 His obliquity of vision has been astounding." 
 
 " I tell you there isn't a greater scoundrel in the 
 kingdom." 
 
 "What, than Chandos Peele ? I thought he was 
 only a fool." 
 
 "You know quite well I mean Harborough." 
 
 " You seem to be on rather intimate terms with the 
 greatest scoundrel in the kingdom," her ladyship says, 
 with another little shrug. " Fancy your knowing a 
 scoundrel well enough to have him write and propose 
 a visit to you ! " 
 
 " I like that. You know as well as I do that I can't 
 cut a man in his position. I have to know him and be 
 civil to him, no matter what my private opinion may 
 be. And you know I want him to give Bertie a liv- 
 ing one of these days. He's got over twenty in his 
 gift." 
 
 " Yes, and eighty thousand a year, half a dozen 
 places, and a ducal coronet on his head. You seem to 
 forget Mary and Edith, my dear." 
 
 Whenever Lady Oaktorrington wishes to be very 
 impressive to her husband, or to give particular point 
 to her words, she always ends up with "my dear." 
 
 His lordship looks at her quickly. His eye-glass 
 drops like a shot, and his left eyelid quivers. It is his 
 sign of weakening. 
 
 " I see what you mean," he says, in a subdued voice. 
 " One forgets one's tiresome gals sometimes. Yes, yes, 
 you're right. I suppose we must have him."
 
 14 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 His wife relents, woman-like, the moment she has 
 won, and veers round like a weather-cock in a whirl- 
 wind. 
 
 "Oh, you needn't cry about it," she says. "If you 
 feel so awfully cut up about his meeting the Bouve- 
 ries, why, perhaps let me see his letter." 
 
 The marquis tosses it absently over to her. It falls 
 at her feet, and she stoops and picks it up, and reads : 
 
 " Marlbo rough Club 
 "Pall Mall, S. IV., 
 
 " Wednesday. 
 " My dear Otty : 
 
 "In response to your many pressing invitations expect 
 your humble servant, two nags, a groom, and valet by 4.16 
 train Tuesday. By -the -by, I saw What's this ?" 
 
 " Oh, I say ! " shouts the marquis, suddenly waking 
 up, and making a spring for the letter which his wife 
 puts quickly out of his reach, behind her back. " You 
 needn't mind reading that. It's only some chaff about 
 about a a horse at Tattersall's I didn't buy. Give 
 it to me." 
 
 "J mean to read this letter through, my dear," 
 Lady Oaktorrington says, in a self-possessed, deter- 
 mined voice. 
 
 The marquis turns with a smothered oath and 
 strides back to the hearth-rug like a sulky dog. " Read 
 it to yourself, then," he mutters between his teeth. 
 
 " By-the-by" continues the marchioness aloud, "/ 
 saw Val last night and she inquired most affectionately 
 after you, and said you were no end of fun on Saturday. 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 " Harbor o ugh"
 
 ARISTOCRACY. ! 5 
 
 " Hum ! Horse Tattersall's ! Wasn't it Saturday 
 that you had to go up to town in response to an urgent 
 whip from Lord Salisbury to be in your seat in the 
 Lords for an important division on the Irish Land Bill. 
 Parliament never sits on Saturday, does it ? " 
 
 Lord Oaktorrington does not answer. He gnaws 
 at his moustache, lets his eyeglass drop, puts it in his 
 eye again, and cracks the knuckles of each finger in 
 rotation. He tries to carry it off at last by whistling 
 a bar of " Oh, What a Surprise ! " without seeming to 
 notice the peculiar applicability of the song, but sig- 
 nally fails. 
 
 " Oh, don't worry about it," Lady Oaktorrington 
 says at last, after watching his discomfiture with mali- 
 cious composure. " It doesn't matter in the very least. 
 / don't care, I assure you. Here's the letter." 
 
 The marquis snatches it, tosses it into the fire, and 
 turns to go. 
 
 " Stay a moment." 
 
 "I can't. I shall be late," he answers, without 
 halting. 
 
 " Oh, come. I know better than that. I happen 
 to know where the hounds meet. I have the fixtures 
 in my looking-glass, there. If you look you'll see un- 
 der Tedworth 'Shernfold Gate, 11.30.' It's less than 
 a mile from the park gates, and you have an hour now. 
 Do you hear, my dear ? " 
 
 He comes back resignedly and, throwing himself 
 into a chair, says : 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 "Oh, I haven't a word to say about that letter. 
 It's about this, I'd like to speak to you. It's from 
 Freddy."
 
 16 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " More money, I dare say." 
 
 " No. He's coming home." 
 
 " Coming home ? What the deuce does he mean ? " 
 
 " I thought you'd be angry about it. But that's 
 not the worst, you'll think," and her ladyship smiles 
 grimly to herself as she thinks of the bombshell she is 
 going to explode in her husband's ears. " He's bring- 
 ing an American friend " 
 
 " What, here ? An American ? " and the marquis 
 jumps to his feet and walks up and down the hearth- 
 rug like a caged tiger at the Zoo. " No fear." 
 
 " I thought you'd say that. But unfortunately it's 
 not so easy as you think." 
 
 "And why, pray? Am I obliged to turn my house 
 into a bear-garden to suit the whim of a younger son ? 
 By Jove, I rather fancy not ! " 
 
 " Don't go on striding up and down that rug. 
 You'll wear it out." 
 
 The marquis pays no heed. " Do you hear, my 
 dear?" 
 
 He stops like a shot. 
 
 " Shall I tell you why," she asks, presently. 
 
 " Yes. Out with it." 
 
 " In the first place its quite absurd the hatred you 
 have for Americans. The prince has the greatest 
 admiration for them. You certainly can't set yourself 
 above him in that." 
 
 " Yes, I can. Why shouldn't I ? I don't care two 
 straws what Tummy does. I know he makes an ass 
 of himself over every Yankee girl with a pretty face 
 and a loud voice that comes to London. Their free 
 and easy manners suit his fastidious taste, I dessay. 
 It's only Yankee women, at all events, that he has any
 
 ARISTOCRACY. iy 
 
 thing to do with. He takes devilish good care to give 
 the men a. wide birth." 
 
 " Really, I rather fancy he was especially civil to a 
 Dr. Holmes last year." 
 
 " And who's that ? Fancy, too, having a doctor 
 to meet our friends on equal terms ! You'll be want- 
 ing me to ask my dentist down here next. People 
 blame Chamberlain and Bright and Bradlaugh and 
 Labouchere for trying to pull down the throne and 
 upset society, but its my opinion that Tummy's the 
 worst of the lot. Talk of Radicals " 
 
 " I have no wish to do that," interrupts Lady Oak- 
 torrington, with her Primrose Dame's nose in the air. 
 " One gets quite enough of that at every League meet- 
 ing. What I wish to say is : You can't refuse to do 
 what the prince does." 
 
 "Haw haw!" laughs the marquis. "Really? 
 I dessay now you'd like me to have a lot of Gaiety 
 charmers down from a Saturday to Monday ? " 
 
 " Gaiety charmers ? I don't quite understand." 
 
 " Oh, no, I dessay not. You never heard of Millie 
 Montague and Fanny Barron and Val ahem er er, 
 and and " 
 
 " Go on," says the marchioness as cool as you please, 
 but with a vindictive glitter under her half-shut eye- 
 lids. 
 
 "And er " flounders his lordship, " Maudie 
 Verschoyle, and and Hyacinthe Dameron. Better 
 have her down to meet Swansdale next time he comes." 
 
 " Are you quite done ? " asks his wife, haughtily. 
 " If so, don't you think we had better change the sub- 
 ject, and go back to Freddy's letter ? I'll read it, and 
 then you'll see why I think we must have his friend
 
 1 8 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 come here." It was Lady Oaktorrington's invariable 
 custom to go through the form of consulting her hus- 
 band in everything, just as it was to act upon her own 
 sole judgement afterward. 
 
 " Hotel Brunsivick, 
 
 "New York, Oct. 30. 
 " My dearest Mother : " she begins. 
 
 " Oh, cut all that," his lordship mutters, giving the 
 fire a vigorous poke to emphasize his words ; the result 
 being that his wife repeats even the date. 
 
 " / haven't written for an age because I didn't like to 
 tell you Fd left the ranch. Fact is, I couldn't stand it. 
 It's all very well you know eating pork and beans every 
 day for every meal, but when it comes to having to bunk it 
 with a cowboy ' Bunk it with a cowboy ' ? " repeats 
 the marchioness. " What on earth can he mean ? " 
 
 The marquis belongs to the Royal Yacht Squadron 
 and says, authoritatively : " A bunk is where you sleep 
 aboard ship, don't you know. I dessay he means he 
 had to sleep with a what did you say?" 
 
 " Cowboy." 
 
 "I'm blessed if I know what that is. Some atro- 
 cious Yankee slang, no doubt, that Freddy has picked 
 up. What a bore he'll be with it when he comes back. 
 But, never mind. Go on." 
 
 " But when one comes to having to bunk it with a coiv- 
 boy, why then, one seems suddenly to remember who one is, 
 don't you know. I was sure you and father would agree 
 with me when you thought it over, and so I let the time go 
 over without writing. I walked three and twenty miles 
 to Medicine Bow on tJie Union Pacific, and had just 
 money enough to take an emigrant ticket for New York.
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 19 
 
 The emigrant train didn't pass through till night, so I had 
 several hours to wail at the station. While I waited the 
 East bound express from California stopped for dinner, 
 and most of the passengers got out. Several stayed in the 
 train and had their dinner from their lunch-baskets, which 
 all overland passengers carry. " 
 
 "What a bore Freddy is?" growls the marquis. 
 " Who the deuce cares a penny farthing what the trav- 
 eling Yankees do ? Can't you cut all that rot ? " 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington makes no reply, but goes on : 
 " / was walking up and down, feeling painfully hungry, 
 when I saw a young man stick his head out of the win- 
 dow of one of the cars and signal to me. ' Look here,' he 
 said, ' would you mind getting me a coiiple of bottles of 
 lager in the saloon ? Here's a dollar. You can keep the 
 change? Fancy our Freddy ! " 
 
 "Fancy indeed ! " 
 
 " Of course I was only too glad to go. The change 
 was thirty- five cents about eighteen pence and I was just 
 upon the point of getting myself a glass of beer with ii 
 when I thought no, I won't." 
 
 " Bosh ! " from the marquis. 
 
 " Ifs not in accord with the American idea of my class. 
 No American would accept a tip like that for a neighborly 
 service, and while I'm here I'll be as good as they are 
 ' As good as they are ' ? I don't quite comprehend." 
 
 "No more do I," says the marquis. "It's some 
 republican, democratic rubbish he's picked up among 
 the Yankees. If he goes on airing such balderdash 
 here, I'll turn him out neck and crop." 
 
 " So I brought back the lager beer and handed him the 
 change with it. ' What, won't take it?' ' No, thanks ;' 
 I said. ' / think I'd rather not.' I was starving, too."
 
 20 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Ass ! Idiot ! " breaks in the marquis. " There's 
 universal equality for you ! Universal rot ! " 
 
 " ' Well, then, come in and have a glass of beer with 
 me, 1 he said. I couldn't refuse that, so in I got. He 
 had that part of the Pullman car called the drawing- 
 room ' ' 
 
 " More Greek," mutters the marquis. 
 
 " All to himself, and after the beer he asked me to 
 have something to eat, and the first thing I knew the train 
 started and carried me off. It was twelve miles to the 
 next station, which meant over half an hour, and by that 
 time we were such friends that he wouldn't let me go. I 
 told him the hole I was in, and he said not to mind, he'd 
 stake me till I got home. And so J've been with him ever 
 since. He has paid for everything for me, and actually 
 made me take money to spend for anything I wanted, and, 
 in short, has acted like a real prince to me" 
 
 "Sharp Yankee trick that. Of course I shall have 
 to pay up." 
 
 "You won't have to do anything of the sort, as 
 you'll see. Don't interrupt again. He is on his way 
 to Europe and has paid my passage in the ' Etruria ' with 
 him on Saturday when we sail. So what could I do? I 
 told him then who I really was. He had thought all 
 along that I was some commercial chap or other in dis- 
 tress" 
 
 " Likely," sneers the Marquis. " Trust those Yan- 
 kees to smell out a title." 
 
 " And Fve asked him to come and stay with us. I felt 
 sure you and father wouldn't object when you heard how 
 kind he was to me and who he is. He's the only son of a 
 'Frisco millionaire, one of the solid men, they call it here, 
 and he's such an awfully nice fellow, so good looking and
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 21 
 
 good mannered, and well educated in fact, he's fit for any 
 society. He is very shy and modest " 
 
 "Haw haw ! " laughs the marquis. " Fancy a Yan- 
 kee that ! " 
 
 " and I have persuaded him to come and see us at 
 once. He intended to go to Italy, but he'll come down with 
 me, and you may look out for us about Monday or Tues- 
 day week, and you must be sure to give him a warm re- 
 ception. I must now stop. My best Iwe to all. 
 " Your most affectionate 
 
 "Fred'kF. J. Vesey." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington puts down the letter, and, look- 
 ing up at her husband, says, " Well ? " 
 
 She has already quite settled in her mind about it, 
 but nevertheless goes through the usual form. 
 
 " Not to be heard of," answers the marquis. " Not 
 for a moment. Fancy a Yankee in my house ! A Yan- 
 kee adventurer from an outlandish place called 'Frisco ! 
 The name's enough to show what he is. I never heard 
 the like," he goes on, waxing more indignant ; " I shall 
 wire Freddy at Queenstown to say so." 
 
 " No, you won't. We shall have to let him come." 
 
 " Polly ! " 
 
 " Yes, I've thought it all over, and though I confess 
 I wasn't very keen about it at first, I've decided that 
 we must make some return for the young man's kind- 
 ness." 
 
 " Oh, let Freddy stand him a dinner at the Cri or 
 Metopole. That'll be enough. I'll pay for it. Tom 
 Fielding told me the other day he had a Yankee, who'd 
 done the civil to him in New York last year, come over 
 and hunt him up at his club. Fancy the cheek of that!
 
 22 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 So he asked him to dine at the Cri, or Gatti's, or the 
 Grosvenor Gallery, I forget which, and that quite satis- 
 fied the fellow, whom he's managed to dodge ever 
 since." 
 
 " But that won't do for us. We are not Tom Field- 
 ing. He hasn't any daughters, and we have." 
 
 " The gals again," sighs the marquis. 
 
 " If he's all Freddy says he is, we might do worse 
 for Mary." 
 
 " All Freddy says he is ? Are you quite so green 
 as that ? And even if he is, do you think I'd consent 
 to a daughter of mine marrying a Yankee ? No fear." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you would if he had lots of money. 
 What do you call Lord Rudolph Campbell's wife, and 
 Lord Sanduval's, and Sir George Castor-Paye's, and 
 Sir Henry Haskell's, and Captain Dodget's, and Colonel 
 Hayes-Wallet's? All Americans, every one, and all 
 heiresses into the bargain." 
 
 "Ah, yes; true. They are wives. That's differ- 
 ent. . But who ever heard of an English lady of our 
 class taking a Yankee husband ? " 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington is stumped for a moment, but 
 only for a moment. 
 
 " I see what you mean," she answers ; " but there's 
 nothing in it, all the same. It doesn't in the least sig- 
 nify that we've no one else's example to follow. We 
 can afford to set the fashion. I'm quite willing that 
 Mary or Edith should marry an American gentleman 
 if he has plenty of money." 
 
 " An American gentleman ! " exclaims the marquis, 
 derisively. " Whoever saw one ? Not I. There isn't 
 one of 'em that I've met abroad on the Continent that 
 isn't either a loud-voiced, inquisitive, bumptuous, self-
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 23 
 
 asserting auctioneer, or a supercilious, effeminate, 
 mincing barber." 
 
 " Well, we shall see what this one is like ; it's 
 worth having him down if only to satisfy one's curi- 
 osity ; and if, as I say, he is all that Freddy says, and 
 has lots of money, I shall be willing to let either of 
 the girls marry him, and so shall you, my dear." 
 
 The marquis strikes his colors at once. 
 
 " By Jove ! I shall be late ! " he exclaims, as the 
 stable-clock distantly chimes the quarter past, and, 
 without another word or further hindrance from his 
 wife, he strides from the room. 
 
 " Two large fish in sight," muses Lady Oaktorring- 
 ton, spreading note-paper before her. " Not exactly 
 what one might wish, perhaps, either of them. But 
 one can't pick and choose in these days, and, with 
 girls to settle, one mustn't forget the money. Yes, I 
 shall write to the duke to come, and Freddy shall have 
 a telegram of welcome for his friend awaiting him at 
 Queenstown." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HERBERT-Charles-Spencer-Henry-William-Colville, 
 Baron Bouverie, of the United Kingdom, and a bar- 
 onet, sits at breakfast in the breakfast-room of the 
 Army and Navy Club, euphoniously termed among 
 the aristocracy of the Army and Navy, who by a con- 
 catenation of fortuitous circumstances are enabled to 
 become its members (and by those who delight to 
 imitate them), " the Rag." 
 
 Lord Bouverie is an ex-officer of the Guards, hav-
 
 24 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 ing served for six months in a battalion of the Cold- 
 streams, just before the breaking out of the Crimean 
 War. He had fairly begun to like the perils and hard- 
 ships of a soldier's existence as they are typified in an 
 ensign's barrack life at the Tower, Windsor, and Chel- 
 sea, when his military career was terminated by his 
 having to sell out upon unexpectedly succeeding a 
 distant kinsman in the Bouverie title and estates. 
 
 " If it hadn't been for old Jack Bouverie coming a 
 cropper when out with the Pythcley at ninety-one, sir " 
 (to use his own words so expressed at least three 
 hundred and sixty-five times a year), " I should have 
 marched up the hill at Alma with the old regiment, 
 sir." 
 
 His friends know by this time that he then expects 
 some one to say : 
 
 " And marched down again, I hope ? " 
 
 Whereupon he will shrug his shoulders, and say 
 with a look of much consequence : " Ah, can't tell 
 you that, sir." If he doesn't get a chance to say this, 
 it puts him in a sulk for the rest of the day. 
 
 He is a short, stout, man with a red pudding face 
 adorned with mutton-chop whiskers cut in a straight 
 horizontal line from ear to mouth corner ; a bald head 
 on the crown, and longish dark hair at the back and 
 sides. He affects the military style as it prevailed in 
 the British army from Waterloo to the Crimea, and 
 wears a high pointed shirt-collar and black satin 
 stock ; a tightly buttoned blue frock-coat, with short 
 waist, long skirts, and tight sleeves buttoned at the 
 wrists ; buff trousers and straps, and a wide-brimmed 
 bell-crowned hat. In the street he never appears 
 without yellow chamois gloves, and a walking-stick
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 25 
 
 with a tassel. This gives him, he intends and thinks, 
 an air of the great Duke of Wellington. There is, 
 however, in him a deficiency of nose and chin, which 
 (were there not one or two other essential qualities of 
 Napoleon's conqueror unnecessary to mention also 
 lacking) considerably mars the resemblance to the 
 Iron Duke, and ruthlessly prevents it from being the 
 startling success it otherwise might be. 
 
 When Lord Bouverie parted with his ensign's com- 
 mission in consideration of the sum of six hundred 
 and fifty pounds, upon succeeding to the title, he 
 made in due course the orthodox, stereotyped, English 
 " marriage in high life." In short, he bought and paid 
 for an earl's daughter of the most approved pattern. 
 Tall, long-necked, small-eyed, haughty, cold, proud, 
 silent, and utterly indifferent to him, she had met him 
 at two balls and while staying at the Duke of North- 
 acres* for a week's hunting; and upon his declar- 
 ing his intentions in due form her father and mother 
 had told her she must marry him, and that was all 
 there was about it. The following week the formal 
 announcement that " A marriage is arranged and will 
 shortly take place between," etc., appeared in the 
 " Court Journal " and *' Morning Post," and thereupon 
 congratulations from relatives and friends poured in. 
 The world knew not that he had thrown over a pretty 
 brown-eyed girl, a clergyman's daughter down in 
 Devonshire, with whom marriage had now become 
 practically impossible ; and that she lavished all the 
 love of which her rule-curbed nature was capable 
 upon a certain handsome-faced curate of her father's 
 
 * Pronounced Nakes.
 
 26 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 rector. It would not have mattered if it did know. 
 That was thirty-odd years ago, and now " the Bou- 
 veries " as they are called the name of family and 
 title being the same consist, with father and mother, 
 of two sons and two daughters. 
 
 The eldest, the Honorable Percy, is keeping up 
 the military spirit of his father as a subaltern in the 
 Tenth Hussars, of which the Prince of Wales is colonel, 
 and at the present moment is stationed with the regi- 
 ment in India. 
 
 The second, the honorable John (called Jack), is a 
 young man of twenty-two who hopes to get into the 
 army, too. He has been up for his preliminary "exam " 
 three times and egregiously failed, notwithstanding 
 the fact that his father has paid a hatful of money 
 to " crammers." Jack is still with a tutor preparing 
 for another shy. The girls are the Honorables Emily 
 and Augusta. They are twins, but no more alike 
 than if they were not even sisters. Emily is dark, 
 rapid, slangy, horsey, and plain. Augusta is fair, quiet, 
 prim, and pretty. Both have perfect figures. Their 
 age is twenty-four. Voila les Bouveries ! 
 
 Lord Bouverie has drank his last mouthful of tea 
 and swallowed his last bit of sausage, and does not 
 know it, so busy has he been in reading his letters. 
 
 " What ! By Jove, I can't have breakfasted, can 
 I ? " he exclaims, as he contemplates the empty dishes 
 before him, and holds up the handle of the tea-pot 
 without extracting a drop from the spout. " Yet I 
 must. It's these confounded letters. I don't in the 
 least know whether I had kidneys or bacon. There's 
 not a vestige left on the dish to tell by. I'd smell my 
 plate and find out in that way, only there's that con-
 
 .ARISTOCRACY. 2 / 
 
 founded ass Bar-Sinister over there staring at me 
 through his eyeglass. Deuced bore that man is ! I'll 
 just ring and ask the waiter." 
 
 When he has done so, he wonders how he shall 
 worm it out of the man without a direct question. 
 
 " Oh, I say," as the waiter comes up ; "I shall want 
 some more " 
 
 He stops to let the waiter fill up the hiatus. He 
 does so by 
 
 "Yesm'lud." 
 
 " Some some you know, some " 
 
 "Yesm'lud." 
 
 "More ahem! confound it! bacon." 
 
 "Yesm'lud." 
 
 " Or, let me see. No. I'll have some more kid- 
 neys." 
 
 "Yesm'lud." 
 
 " Dash it no. I'll have some you know what 
 I had before." 
 
 " Yesm'lud." 
 
 His lordship grinds his teeth, with a scowl. It is 
 useless to go on like this. The waiter seems to know 
 but one word of the waiter-1 mguage, and that is 
 
 "Yesm'lud." 
 
 A happy thought strikes his lordship. The scowl 
 dissolves into a smile. 
 
 " Oh, I say. Bring me my order." 
 
 " Yesm'lud. 
 
 " Damn it man, don't you speak English ?" 
 
 "Yesm'lud." 
 
 " Then, go and fetch me my order. Now, I shall 
 know. Deuced clever dodge of mine that," and he 
 rubs his hands together, gleefully. Two minutes pass,
 
 28 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 and the waiter returns. " Now, then, where's the 
 order ? Urn ? Eh ? " 
 
 " Steward says he can't get it off the file, m'lud. 
 There's so many above it." 
 
 " Confound it all ! There's no help for it. I sup- 
 pose I must. What er what did I have just now ? 
 Urn? Eh?" 
 
 " D'no, m'lud." 
 
 " Don't know ? What do you mean, sir ?" 
 
 " 'Twas Robert Dodge that served yelludship." 
 
 " Dash it, sir ! Why didn't you say so before ? " 
 
 "Didn't ask me, m'lud." 
 
 " Don't be impertinent, sir, or I'll report you, 
 egad." 
 
 " Yesm'lud." 
 
 "Well, where's Robert Dodge? Send him to me." 
 
 "Yessm'lud." 
 
 "Hah! Now I'll be able to tell." More gleeful 
 hand-rubbing, which after three minutes changed into 
 impatient foot-stamping, until the waiter returns again, 
 alone. 
 
 " Well, sir, where's this William Gage ? '' 
 
 " Robert Dodge, m'lud." 
 
 " Well, confound it ! Robert Hodge, then." 
 
 " Dodge, m'lud." 
 
 " Dodge, then. Don't echo me, sir. Where is he ? " 
 
 "Gone 'ome, sir." 
 
 " Home ? " 
 
 " Yesm'lud. It's his turn off this afternoon." 
 
 "Afternoon? This is morning, sir. I shall cer- 
 tainly report your impertinence to the steward." 
 
 " Beg pardon, m'lud. It is ha' pas' twelve. There's 
 the clock just a goin' to chime, m'lud."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 2 9 
 
 Lord Bouverie looks up at the clock on the chim- 
 ney-piece, just as it chimes the half-hour. 
 
 " Why, bless me, so it is. And here's a letter from 
 Fairfield, my lawyer, asking me to be at his office in 
 Lincoln's Inn Fields at half-past eleven. What have 
 I been doing ? " 
 
 " D'no, m'lud." 
 
 "Stupid idiot! It's pretty clear to me that this 
 club is going to pot, employing such waiters. I'll just 
 go into the smoking-room and send Fairfield a tele- 
 gram to say I'm detained at home. Ah ! clever idea 
 that." He goes to the smoking-room, and fills up a 
 telegraph form. " By Jove, this won't do ! Dating it 
 Binstead when the post-mark will be London. Lucky 
 I thought of that in time." He tears up the telegram, 
 and hastily scribbles a note to say he only reached the 
 club at half- past twelve, and therefore, etc. He sends 
 this off by a commissionaire, and then goes and sits 
 down behind one of the window-curtains, lights up a 
 pipe, and looks over his letters, which he still holds in 
 his hand. 
 
 " I don't quite make out what Catherine means, I 
 got so puzzled by that tiresome waiter. The Delancy- 
 Veres have asked us to go to them for a week on Mon- 
 day, and as I hear that Harborough is to be there, we 
 must get out of going to Ashwynwick. Oaktorrington is 
 a/ways in town, noiu (you know the scandal we heard 
 from Lady Henry), so you had better keep out of his 
 way, and Fll write and say you've been unexpectedly ob- 
 liged to go to Paris, Brussels^ Vienna, Berlin any- 
 where at a moment's notice. Wire me, if this will do, 
 and say where I am to send you. Another telegram ! 
 Egad, I shall be ruined. I don't in the least know
 
 30 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 what she is driving at, but I dare say it's all right. 
 Catherine generally knows what she's about ?" 
 
 He goes back to the writing-table and taking 
 a form, addresses it to his wife, and writes, Yes 
 Paris. " It doesn't matter which I say, and Paris is 
 the easiest to get back from, if I'm not to stay away 
 long ha ha ! " He then returns to the window 
 again. He is in the act of scratching a fusee to re- 
 light his pipe, when he hears a vehicle stop at the 
 door. He puts up his eyeglass, and looks out. 
 
 "By Jove ! if it isn't no yes it is Oaktorring- 
 ton ! " he exclaims. " A pretty hole I'm in now. He's 
 sure to come here, first. Blundering idiot, what the 
 devil brings him here? I must hide myself some- 
 where." He gets up quickly and goes to the door. It 
 is too late. Lord Oaktorrington is just entering. "Ah, 
 Oaktorrington, how do ? " he says, forcing a smile. 
 " You're just the man I wanted to see. Come and 
 sit down here. Look here, waiter, fetch me a brandy- 
 and-soda." 
 
 When the waiter returns with the drink, and as 
 Lord Bouverie is paying him for it, Lord Oaktorring- 
 ton says : " Fetch me one, also. And look here a 
 cigar, as well." 
 
 Lord Bouverie drinks a long draught of his brandy- 
 and-soda while Lord Oaktorrington waits for his. 
 
 " Sorry we can't come to you on Tuesday," Lord 
 Bouverie says, as he puts down his glass on the table. 
 " Fact is, we've got some tiresome people coming to us 
 most unexpectedly, for a week. Proposed themselves. 
 Can't put them off, don't you know, because they've 
 got a lot of interest with the Duke of Cambridge. 
 Fitz-George is rather attentive to one of their gals,
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 3 Y 
 
 and I want to make use of it for Jack in case the tire- 
 some dog gets plucked again." 
 
 Before Lord Oaktorrington has time to answer, it 
 has suddenly occurred to Lord Bouverie that this 
 story won't tally with what he has telegraphed his 
 wife to say. " A deuced fine mess I'm in," he mutters 
 to himself. "Just excuse me a minute. I forgot I 
 had to wire to Jervise not to meet me with the trap 
 to-day. I won't be a second." 
 
 To the writing-table he toddles once more, and 
 sends the following telegram to his wife : Dont say 
 Paris or anywhere. Just met O. Told him Wynd- 
 hams were coming to us. IVrite that. 
 
 While he's away, Lord Oaktorrington smiles pleas- 
 antly to himself, as he mentally remarks : 
 
 " What luck ! Couldn't have happened better." 
 
 But when Lord Bouverie seats himself again be- 
 side him he says after a bit : *' I'm awfully sorry you 
 can't come. Harborough's coming for a week's hunt- 
 ing. One can't " 
 
 " What ? " exclaims Lord Bouverie. " Harborough 
 coming to you? Quite sure ? " 
 
 " Positively certain. Why, you wouldn't have 
 minded bringing your girls to meet him ? I never 
 imagined so, or I should have put him off. But as 
 you're not coming, it doesn't matter." 
 
 " Sure there's not some mistake ? " persists Lord 
 Bouverie, with a gasping face. " I thought he was " 
 
 " Mistake ? Here's his letter proposing himself." 
 
 "A nice mess Catherine's made of it," Lord Bou- 
 verie growls between his teeth. 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing. I was only saying I hoped Jervise
 
 32 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 would get my telegram before he started. By Jove " 
 (to himself), " I must think of some way out of 
 it." 
 
 They chat on in the usual commonplace fashion 
 for half an hour. At last Lord Oaktorrington does 
 the talking, and Lord Bouverie listens. He is think- 
 ing of " the way out." Presently a telegram is brought 
 to him. He tears it open, and reads : 
 
 Too late. Letter gone. Catherine. 
 
 He crushes it up in his hand and grinds his 
 teeth. 
 
 Lord Oaktorrington no more notices him than if 
 he were the Duke of York's statue on the monument 
 in Trafalgar Square. Lord Bouverie tries to steal 
 back to the writing-table unobserved. 
 
 " What ? Going ? " asks Lord Oaktorrington, be- 
 fore he has taken half a dozen steps. 
 
 " No. I've just had a telegram from from " He 
 can't think of who to say. 
 
 " Jervise ? " suggests Lord Oaktorrington. 
 
 " No. From Macdonald, asking me to go with him 
 in his yacht to Cherbourg next week. I'm just going 
 to say I can't go." 
 
 " Macdonald ? " says Oaktorrington. " Why, Mac- 
 donald's gone to America." Lord Bouverie pre- 
 tends not to hear, but silently curses his unfortunate 
 selection. 
 
 " Oh, by-the-by, Bouverie," Lord Oaktorrington 
 continues. " Talking of America. We've a Yankee 
 coming to us to-morrow." 
 
 " A Yankee ? To you ? My dear fellow, you can't 
 mean it ? " 
 
 " ' Pon my soul, I do, though."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 33 
 
 " He'll be blowing you up with dynamite if you 
 don't look sharp." 
 
 " No fear of that, I hope. He's a friend of Freddy's 
 the son of a Californian millionaire." 
 
 " Eh ? What ? Got a lot of money, of course ? " 
 
 " Rather. So Freddy says." 
 
 Lord Oaktorrington stops a waiter to order another 
 brandy-and-soda, and when he turns around again 
 Lord Bouverie is at the writing-table sending this 
 telegram to his wife : Harborough going to Ashwyn- 
 wick. O. just told me. Rich American, also. Must go 
 too. Write excuse to Delancy- Veres at once. Will man- 
 age the rest. 
 
 While he is writing, the Earl of Swansdale comes 
 in. He is a tall young man of thirty, with heavy, 
 sensual features, who had been in the Blues, for six 
 months, about nine years ago. He walks up to the 
 fire with a shambling gait, and throwing himself in an 
 arm-chair, rings the bell, and then looking over at 
 Lord Oaktorrington says, with a side nod : " Aw ! 
 How do ? " 
 
 Lord Oaktorrington nods back, and drinks his 
 brandy-and-soda in silence. 
 
 Lord Swansdale surveys his finger-nails for three 
 minutes, and then sings out : 
 
 " Oh, I say ! " 
 
 "Hello ! " answers Lord Oaktorrington. 
 
 " I forgot I've got something to say to you. I'm 
 going for a tour of the provinces with Hyacinthe next 
 week, and I want Val to belong to my company. She 
 told me to ask you." The marquis winces and turns 
 pale. Were he not so red already, he would turn that 
 color instead. He doesn't answer.
 
 34 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Do you hear what I say ? " Lord Swansdale shouts 
 in a loud voice that would have reached the ears of 
 every one in the room had there been any one except 
 Lord Bouverie. That nobleman turns sharply round, 
 sees at a glance there is something up, and immedi- 
 ately busies himself with writing out a series of tele- 
 grams to imaginary people, keeping his ears wide open 
 the mean while. 
 
 " I don't in the least know what you mean," Lord 
 Oaktorrington replies, with the glitter of suppressed 
 rage in his small eyes. 
 
 " Oh, I say ! What's the use of your humbugging 
 like that, and doing the goody-goody before an audi- 
 ence of one who knows all about it. So does every- 
 body, for that matter. Come, give me a straight an- 
 swer. Just say whether she can go, or not, that's all 
 I want. I shan't tell the missus," and he gives a coarse 
 laugh. " Now, then, yes or no ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Phoh ! What's your objection ? " 
 
 " I've answered your question. You said that was 
 all you wanted." 
 
 " Hyacinth's not good enough for her, I dessay," 
 sneers the earl. 
 
 " Well, no. I don't think she is." 
 
 "It's a damned lie ! " shouts Lord Swansdale. He 
 jumps from his chair, and swaggers up to Lord Oak- 
 torrington. 
 
 " Thanks, awfully. It's deuced lucky there are 
 none of the committee in the room." 
 
 " I don't care a damn for the committee. They 
 shouldn't stop my standing up for Hyacinthe any more 
 than you."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 35 
 
 ." It's a pity your poor wife isn't here." 
 
 " My poor wife ! Do you suppose I care a brass 
 farthing what she thinks ? " 
 
 " No. I don't believe you do. I think you prove 
 that every day of your life." 
 
 " And who gives you the right to preach ? An old 
 man like you, with a wife and grown-up children." 
 
 " Suppose we end this," says Lord Oaktorrington, 
 as the Duke of Harborough appears in the doorway. 
 " He'll hawk it about all over town." 
 
 " Well, will you let Val come ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll think it over, and 
 let you know to-morrow." 
 
 " All right." 
 
 The Duke of Harborough joins them. He is a 
 small, slight man of forty, with a bald head, pale, parch- 
 ment face, a scrubby, dust-colored mustache, and 
 black-encircled, dissipated eyes. His elegibility as a 
 member of the "Rag" rests upon the slender basis of 
 a year's cornetcy in the Life Guards twenty-odd years 
 ago. 
 
 Lord Bouverie, on seeing him, immediately vacates 
 his seat at the writing-table, and toddles hurriedly for- 
 ward to meet him. 
 
 " What's the row ! " asks his Grace, looking from 
 one to the other. " I heard a deuced lot of loud talk- 
 ing, and you both look devilish excited." 
 
 Lord Oaktorrington answers quickly : 
 
 " It's only Swansdale and me have been having a 
 bit of a jaw about " (he says the first thing that comes 
 into his head) " the new army regulations changing the 
 names of regiments." 
 
 Lord Bouverie elevates his eyebrows, and drops his
 
 36 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 eyeglass in the movement. He smiles grimly, never- 
 theless, at the chance it gives him to hold forth. 
 
 " A more iniquitous system the Duke of Cambridge 
 never invented," he says, pompously. "It has de- 
 stroyed every vestige of esprit de corps that the abolition 
 of purchase left. Look at the cads there are in the 
 service now ! Every tradesman in London has a son 
 in the army or going in. Sandhurst is full of 'em. 
 When I think what the service was in my day, and see 
 it now, I positively hide my face with shame. Um ? 
 Eh?" 
 
 Neither Oaktorrington nor Swansdale say a word. 
 Neither of them have the least idea of what Lord Bou- 
 verie is talking about ; in fact, they know nothing of 
 the subject and its merits or demerits. 
 
 " Devilish unlucky shot of mine that," Lord Oak- 
 torrington says in an undertone to Lord Swansdale. 
 
 " Rather. He's the greatest bore out when you 
 start him on the army. It's all the old duffer can talk 
 about. Don't answer him ; that's the best way." 
 
 " Now, just look here ! Fancy this. He's turned 
 a lot of ordinary line battalions into Highlanders. 
 Put kilts and trews, egad, on Cornishmen and Welsh- 
 men and Irishmen. Did mortal man ever hear the 
 like ? Um ? Eh ? " 
 
 The duke walks over to the fire, and stands with 
 his back turned, warming his hands. The marquis 
 and earl go to different windows and look out. 
 
 Lord Bouverie pockets the snub good-naturedly. 
 He has grown from long experience not to mind such 
 trifles. 
 
 A short, weasel-faced man, with small rat-like eyes, 
 a long nose, receding chin, and the feet of a gorilla,
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 37 
 
 walks hurriedly into the room. He is Lord Bally- 
 hooly (an Englishman with an Irish title), an Irish 
 representative, peer, and a Government "whip." He 
 also holds, in payment for his services, the sinecure 
 office of equerry to the Queen, appointed thereto by 
 the prime minister. He has been sent post haste to 
 hunt up all the derelict peers he can find and fetch 
 them to the House to vote in an impending division of 
 great importance. 
 
 "What a find!" he exclaims. "Four, and all 
 us!" 
 
 All regard him with faces of disfavor, and the duke 
 says : 
 
 "What a confounded nuisance you are, Bobby! 
 This is the second time this week you've nosed me out. 
 By Jove ! there's no safety anywhere. Fancy follow- 
 ing a man here ! " 
 
 Lord Ballyhooly is accustomed to such welcomes, 
 and only laughs. 
 
 " It's devilish hard lines a man can't have any peace 
 in a club like this," growls Lord Swansdale. " This 
 isn't the Carlton. If a man goes there in the after- 
 noon and gets caught, it's his own fault. But here ! 
 Where the devil is a man to go ? " 
 
 " Fancy having to sit squatting on those benches 
 in a fusty atmosphere for an hour or more, listening 
 to some idiot spouting about some rubbishy bill or 
 other. By Jove ! I must decline for one," says Lord 
 Oaktorrington. " Besides, I've got an engagement." 
 
 " So 've I," adds Lord Bouverie. 
 
 " I'm awfully sorry to bother you," says Lord Bal- 
 lyhooly. "The chances are you won't have to stay 
 more than ten or fifteen minutes, and its a most im-
 
 38 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 portant matter for the Opposition to have as large a 
 majority as possible. It will be another black eye for 
 the grand old man." 
 
 " By Jove ! I wish I could give him a couple now," 
 observes Lord Swansdale, holding up a brawny fist 
 and smelling his knuckles. " Damned old scoundrel ! " 
 
 " What is it about ? " asks Lord Bouverie. " De- 
 ceased wife's sister? " 
 
 " Deceased wife's sister ! " laughs Lord Swansdale. 
 " That was passed last session. Even / know that." 
 
 " Last session ? I beg to differ with you. It was 
 two years ago," remarks Lord Oaktorrington. 
 
 " Two years ! Bosh ! More like four or five," 
 calls out the duke. " Wasn't it, Bouverie ? You know, 
 of course." 
 
 Lord Bouverie is about to say, " I'm blessed if I 
 know," but remembers in time his desire to please the 
 duke, and says, " Of course it was." 
 
 " As a matter of fact," Lord Ballyhooly explains, 
 " it was defeated the session before last." 
 
 " Defeated ! " cries the duke. " Didn't Tummy 
 vote for it ? What rubbish you are talking." 
 
 " That doesn't matter. The prince only has one 
 vote, like every other peer." 
 
 " Oh ! " 
 
 " Really ? " 
 
 " Fancy that ! " 
 
 " You surprise me ! " 
 
 " No," turning to Lord Bouverie, " this is the 
 second reading of the Franchise Bill." 
 
 "Oh, yes," proudly, "the bill to let policemen 
 vote. Why shouldn't they? " 
 
 " Let policemen vote ! " exclaims Lord Swansdale.
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 39 
 
 ' I'm not such an ass as that. There's not a greater 
 set of blackguards in the world than policemen." 
 
 Lord Oaktorrington has in mind a recent fisticuff 
 in Rotten Row, between the earl and Sir Charles 
 Chatfield, and remarks : 
 
 " No doubt you have good reasons for thinking so." 
 Lord Swansdale pretended not to hear. 
 
 " This Franchise Bill is going to let every one vote 
 women and everybody isn't it?" asks the duke. 
 " I shouldn't object to the women but damn it, if I 
 can go the men. Fancy your groom or footman 
 having a vote like yourself much they'd know about 
 it! Gladstone's in his dotage, without a doubt." 
 
 {the old blackguard ! " 
 the d d old traitor ! " 
 the infernal old idiot ! " 
 
 Lord Ballyhooly looks at his watch. 
 
 "We shall be late," he says. "You won't mind 
 coming at once? I'll just tell the hall porter to call 
 a couple of cabs." 
 
 "Beastly bore ! " 
 
 " Confounded nuisance ! " 
 
 " Rotten bother ! " 
 
 " Devilish hard lines ! " 
 
 " I expect we must," says the duke, looking at the 
 others. 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Must, I suppose." 
 
 " But, I say," says Lord Bouverie. " How's a chap 
 to vote ? Better know that before we go. Um ? Eh ? " 
 
 " Content, of course," answers the duke, senten- 
 tiously.
 
 40 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 "Fancy Bouverie not knowing," laughs Lord 
 Swansdale. " A nice law-maker he is. No wonder 
 the Radicals want to abolish us. It's fellows like him 
 who get us sat upon. Recollect we are all to vote 
 with the contents" 
 
 " No no no ! " cries Lord Ballyhooly, who has 
 come back to hurry them off. " You're all to go into 
 the non-content lobby. Mind, the -$v&-content lobby. 
 You won't forget ? " 
 
 There is a chorus of " Oh, no's," " Of course, 
 nots," etc., as the four born legislators go down the 
 steps and start in two hansoms for the House of 
 Lords. 
 
 "Cads are good enough to envy us our lot," re- 
 marks the duke, as he steps into his cab. "They 
 little know the hardships we have to endure." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE Marchioness of Oaktorrington and her two 
 daughters, the Ladies Mary and Edith Vesey, are sit- 
 ting in the drawing-room at Ashwynwick Park. They 
 are in reality awaiting with much inward anxiety and 
 expectancy the arrival of their son and brother Lord 
 Frederick Vesey and his American friend ; but the 
 perfection of their drilling in aristocratic restraint and 
 repression is such that, to even the scrutiny of a most 
 searching observer, there is nothing betrayed, in look, 
 movement, or act, which would give the impression that 
 their thoughts were occupied with anything beyond 
 the commonplace every-day occupations in which 
 they are engaged.
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 4! 
 
 The marchioness is doing some simple crewel- 
 work with a wicker work-table full of different colored 
 worsteds before her, Lady Mary is crocheting a crim- 
 son and yellow antimacassar, and Lady Edith is at 
 the writing-table, writing some letters for the evening's 
 post. The door opens, and the butler enters with a 
 letter on a silver waiter, the brickdust envelope show- 
 ing at a glance it is a telegram. Lady Oaktorring- 
 ton picks it up impassively, and says in a steady 
 voice: 
 
 " I hope it isn't from Freddy, to say his friend 
 can't come," while her heart beats one hundred 
 and twenty to the minute lest it bring some tidings 
 of accident, and her daughters scarcely raise their 
 eyes, though their breath comes and goes with trebled 
 rapidity. 
 
 " No answer," the marchioness says, quietly. She 
 waits until the butler withdraws and her daughters 
 look up with the faintest shade of inquiry in their 
 eyes : 
 
 " How tiresome of the Bouveries ! or rather Lord 
 Bouverie, for the telegram is from him," she tells 
 them. "They're coming, after all." 
 
 " Really ? " from Lady Mary. 
 
 " Oh ! " from Lady Edith. 
 
 "Yes. Here is what he says : Did not go to Paris 
 after all, so we shall be with you on Tuesday. Jack is 
 with us. 
 
 Lady Edith flushes scarlet at the four last words, 
 and stoops her head to address an envelope to some 
 one any one. Curiously enough she finds upon look- 
 ing at it that it reads : The Hon. John Bouverie, Bin- 
 stead Hail, Talstone, Warwickshire. Nature having
 
 42 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 in the two minutes' lapse been got under proper con- 
 trol again, she tears up the envelope with an air of 
 thoroughbred dignity and repose, and throws it into 
 the waste-paper basket. 
 
 "Jack is with us" repeats Lady Oaktorrington. 
 " I think I know what that means. One of Lord Bou- 
 verie's delicate hints. He wanted me to telegraph 
 back (for an answer was paid for), to invite Jack. It 
 will be rather a sell for him when he gets no reply. 
 Four Bouveries are enough at one time in all con- 
 science were there no other reasons." The last five 
 words she adds in a whisper, her voice at its loudest 
 being little more. They reach Lady Edith's little pink 
 ears as though blared through a thousand trumpets, 
 nevertheless ; and the blood comes back to her cheeks, 
 and her eyes flash resentfully. But neither she nor 
 her sister speaks. It is not their custom to mention 
 a man's name in their mother's presence or hearing. 
 There are not two more "properly" brought up girls 
 in England. Utter and complete silence reassumes her 
 sway. The ticking of the clock on the chimney-piece, 
 the dropping of a cinder now and then from the grate, 
 and the scratching of Lady Edith's pen, are the only 
 sounds to be heard. Presently Lady Edith puts down 
 a pen that has been idly scribbling her own name 
 over sheet after sheet of paper, and opens the telegram- 
 form case which lies on the table ; from this she stealth- 
 ily and slowly tears out a blank form and shuts up 
 the case again. She waits a minute and looks cau- 
 tiously over her shoulder at her mother and sister. 
 Both sit with eyes bent over their work. She takes 
 up her pen and quickly filling up the form as fol- 
 lows :
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 43 
 
 To Lord Bouverie, Army and Navy Club. 
 '(" I've heard father say he lived there.") Pall Mall, 
 London, S. W. We hope Mr. John will come with you. 
 Julia Oaktorrington. 
 
 blots it, folds it, and puts it in an envelope which she 
 addresses to The Postmaster, Hertford. Then she 
 places it carefully between the two letters she has 
 written for the post, slips out noiselessly behind a 
 screen and through an ante-room into the hall, drops 
 the three letters into the letter-box, and ere her mother 
 or sister have noticed her absence, is back in her seat 
 again with a smile of satisfaction and seemingly ut- 
 terly unconscious be the motive ever so harmless, 
 and the injury ever so trifling that she is guilty of 
 a crime punishable with penal servitude. She is hardly 
 seated when her mother looks up. 
 
 " Edith, my dear, I wish you would write a line to 
 your father for me ; your hand is so exactly like mine 
 that he'll never know." 
 
 "Yes, mother." 
 
 " You've written all your own letters, dear ? " 
 
 It suddenly occurs to Lady Edith that it will call 
 forth remark from her mother and sister (every trifle 
 of the sort being given undue weight) if she have no 
 letters to give the butler when he comes in to see if 
 there are any more for the post, after clearing the box 
 in the hall, and as she will be unable to account for 
 hers having been put into the box, she quickly decides 
 she must write another, and so answers : 
 
 "Just one more." 
 
 "Well, then, after that will do." 
 
 "Yes, mother."
 
 44 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 She hastily scribbles a few lines to a former gov- 
 erness, to ask the name of a German history she used 
 to read"(the book is on her bookshelf in her room), and 
 then says : 
 
 '* Now, mother." 
 
 " Who is your letter to, dear ? " 
 
 " Fraulein. I haven't written to the poor thing for 
 an age." 
 
 " How good of you, dear. And the others ? " 
 
 " Only Aunt Eliza, and and Emmy Bouverie." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington looks round sharply, with a 
 suspicious glance. 
 
 " Emmy Bouverie ! What on earth can you have to 
 write to her about ? She'll be here, to-morrow. Let 
 me see the letter." 
 
 " Oh, there, then, I'm sure I don't want to send it," 
 and Lady Edith tears up a sheet of the paper she had 
 been scribbling her name upon, and throws it into the 
 fire. 
 
 "You mustn't give way to such temper, Edith, my 
 dear. It's such very bad form." 
 
 " Yes, mother. I'm very sorry. What shall I say 
 to father ? " 
 
 " Oh, tell him the Bouveries are coming, after all, 
 and that he'd better come home at once to meet 
 them." 
 
 " Yes. Anything else ? " 
 
 " Let me see. Yes. " It is against the mar- 
 chioness's rule to speak to her daughters, or allow 
 them to speak to her, about men. " Say er oh, I 
 think I had best write it myself." 
 
 An idea of her own has suggested itself to Lady 
 Edith,
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 45 
 
 . " Nonsense, mother. Why should you trouble to 
 leave your work and comfortable place by the fire. 
 It's awfully cold out here, and too dark for you to 
 see." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington is very comfortable and is 
 nothing loath to stay. After all, what harm, just this 
 once? she thinks. 
 
 " Very well, dear. Tell him his Grace he will 
 know who I mean never came yesterday, and ask 
 him to try and see him and find out why. That is 
 all." 
 
 Lady Edith puts all these directions into proper 
 shape, and adds, before signing her mother's name 
 this time as her legal agent Also see Lord Bouverie, 
 and tell him we shall expect his son Jack with them. 
 
 When she reads the letter over to her mother she 
 carefully omits this, and has barely time to seal and 
 stamp it before the butler comes in with the tea-cloth 
 over his arm, a footman following him with the lamps. 
 
 " Dear me ! Five o'clock ? I had no idea it was 
 so late. Freddy must have missed his train. He 
 ought to have been here before this." 
 
 " There he is, now," says Lady Edith, as the front- 
 door bell rings a loud peal. 
 
 "I'm glad he's come in time for tea," says the mar- 
 chioness ; and after that, silence the silence of re- 
 pressed expectancy reigns for ten minutes. Then 
 Nature reasserts herself, and Lady Edith says : 
 
 " What a time they are coming in, to be sure ! What 
 can be the matter, I wonder ? " 
 
 Her mother looks reprovingly at her. 
 
 " My dear, you shouldn't excite yourself in that 
 way about what is very easily ascertained. Just ring,
 
 46 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 please. Oh, Dawkins, docs Lord Frederick know we 
 are here ? " 
 
 " Lord Frederick, m'lady ? " asks the butler, with a 
 bewildered look. 
 
 " Yes. That was him who rang just now ?" 
 
 " No, m'lady ; that was Lord Beyndour, m'lady." 
 
 "Oh? was it?" 
 
 "Yes, m'lady. He's gone to his room, m'lady." 
 
 "Very well, that will do." 
 
 " How awfully tiresome," cries Lady Edith, as 
 soon as Dawkins shuts the door after him. " What 
 on earth brought him, of all people ? He'll spoil 
 everything." 
 
 "Really, my dear, I don't quite understand you. 
 Spoil everything ? Spoil what ? " 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington is herself quite as vexed as any 
 one at her eldest son's unexpected arrival. But she is 
 too well-bred to show it. 
 
 " Why, the Bouveries' visit, of course. What else 
 could I mean ? You know what Beyndour is." 
 
 " You mustn't say such things of your brother, 
 dear. As for spoiling the Bouveries' visit, Lord Bou- 
 verie will be only too enchanted at having his girls 
 meet him. Not that it will do them the least good. 
 We have higher views for him than one of them." 
 
 Lady Edith knows quite well what she means, but 
 she doesn't say so. 
 
 " Poor Beyndour," says Lady Mary. " I call it a 
 shame of Edith." 
 
 " Do you really ? Well, then, let us see how he'll 
 get on with Freddy's American friend. I'll warrant 
 he insults him in some way or other. There's one 
 comfort, Ja " She catches herself in time and com-
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 47 
 
 pletes the sentence, " Jack's a match for him," in her 
 mind. 
 
 " Really, Edith, I must ask you to stop saying such 
 things," Lady Oaktorrington says, while she thinks how 
 will she ever manage to keep peace while Lord Beyn- 
 dour stays, and wishes it were possible to stop Lord 
 Frederick in transitu. 
 
 They drink their tea in silence for another ten min- 
 utes, when the door is thrown open with a rush and a 
 bang, and in walks Viscount Beyndour. He is his 
 father's counterpart, save in age, gray hairs, and the 
 absence of beard, a thick, red mustache being his 
 only " hirsute appendage." He says : 
 
 "How do, mother Mary Edith?" and kisses 
 each in turn on the lower tip of both ears. Then he 
 goes and stands on the hearth-rug, with his back to the 
 fire, and, putting his glass in his eye, sticks his hands 
 in his trousers' pockets, and looks down at his boots 
 without another word for five minutes or more. 
 
 " Won't you have some tea, dear ? " his mother asks, 
 at last. 
 
 "Oh! Thanks, awfully." 
 
 " I thought you were above tea," says Lady 
 Edith. 
 
 Both her mother and sister look at her and shake 
 their heads. Her brother frowns and doesn't deign to 
 reply. 
 
 " Beastly tepid stuff ! " he exclaims, as he tastes his 
 cup and then empties the contents into the slop-basin. 
 " Curious thing, one always gets iced-tea out of season 
 here." 
 
 " I'm so sorry," cries Lady Mary, in great distress ; 
 " I forgot to put on the cosy."
 
 48 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Let me ring and have some more hot water," sug- 
 gests his mother. 
 
 " No, thanks. I don't care for water, either cold 
 or hot, as a beverage. 
 
 " Some more tea made, then ? " 
 
 " Pfah ! What rubbish you talk, mother," he an- 
 swers, turning his face to the fire. 
 
 " I'm so very glad to see you, dear," the mar- 
 chioness says, after a prolonged pause. No answer. 
 " I hope you'll be able to stay with us longer than you 
 did the last time." 
 
 " Got only a fortnight's leave," he replies. " Only 
 stay a day or two." 
 
 Lady Edith almost bites a piece out of her cup, with 
 repressed joy. 
 
 " Harborough's asked me to go and shoot at Bea- 
 schamp, Thursday." 
 
 " Harborough ? Why his Grace wrote to say he was 
 coming here." 
 
 " Oho ! " thinks Lady Edith. " That was the ' his 
 Grace ' father's been sent after. Fancy ! " 
 
 "When?" asks Lord Beyndour. 
 
 "Yesterday." 
 
 " Here, now ? " He turns round from the fire with 
 a grin (one can't call it a smile) beginning to develop 
 in his face. 
 
 " No. Why, he didn't come ! " 
 
 Lord Beyndour breaks into a loud laugh. 
 
 "So I thought. He's not such a fool as that. 
 Fancy Harborough coming here ! Haw haw ! " 
 
 " Really, my dear, I don't quite see what you mean ! " 
 
 "Now, just look here. What the deuce would 
 bring him here ? Answer me that. Here ! "
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 49 
 
 He looks at his mother for the first time since they 
 began to talk, and finds her with a crimson face. He 
 puts up his glass to regard her more closely, and then 
 winks to himself. 
 
 " The Bouveries are coming to-morrow," says Lady 
 Mary. 
 
 "Gals, too?" 
 
 " Yes, I believe so." 
 
 " Not that ass, Jack, I hope ? " 
 
 " No, indeed," answers the marchioness, who has 
 had time to get back her self-possession. Lady Edith 
 smiles to herself. 
 
 " Any one else coming ? " 
 
 "Yes, indeed, there is," cries Lady Edith. "Fancy 
 our forgetting to tell him all this time." 
 
 " Well, who is it ? Come come ! " 
 
 " Freddy." 
 
 " Freddy ? Freddy who ? There are millions of 
 Freddies." 
 
 " Your brother, my dear," says his mother. 
 
 "What the deuce is the good of playing the fool 
 with me like this ? You know as well as I do Freddy 
 is out in the States." 
 
 " He was, dear. But he's in England now, and we 
 expect him to arrive at any moment. He ought to 
 have been here an hour ago. Indeed, we thought it 
 was him when you came." 
 
 " And do you mean to say father's been such an 
 idiot as to let him come home ? Why, he only went 
 there a few weeks ago." 
 
 " My dear, the poor boy's been away six 
 months." 
 
 " Rubbish ! It seems like yesterday that he went. 
 4
 
 50 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 Fancy chucking away a lot of money like that. What 
 a beastly row father made when he had to pay up my 
 racing bets for me last year. I'll back it wasn't half 
 as much." 
 
 " He's bringing an American friend with him," ob- 
 serves Lady Edith, with a sly twinkle in her eyes. 
 
 " What ? " Lord Beyndour draws himself up to his 
 full height and knits his brows. " Fetching a Yankee 
 here ? " Then he bursts out again into a loud laugh. 
 " Now, I know it's all a beastly lie." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington winces. " Pray, dear, don't be 
 so uncivil. It is all quite true." 
 
 "All I can say is, then, I'm devilish sorry to hear 
 it. Fancy a red republican, dynamiter in this house. 
 We shall be having Labouchere and Bradlaugh next, I 
 dare say. What can father be thinking about ? " 
 
 " Freddy says he's so very nice." 
 
 "As if Freddy was a judge! Have you ever had 
 the sublime delight of meeting an American? " 
 
 " Of course, my dear." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Why, Lady Ru " 
 
 "I'm not talking of women. I mean men." 
 
 "N no, dear, I think not." 
 
 " So I thought. If you had, you'd never allow one 
 inside your doors. I suppose you don't know they all 
 chew tobacco, and don't in the least mind where or 
 when they spit. Fancy the carpets ! " 
 
 "I'm sure this one doesn't. From what Freddy 
 says, he's too much of a gentleman." 
 
 " Gentleman ?" with a sneer. "Wait till you see. 
 By Jove ! Just look here ! I'll back that's the reason 
 Harborough hasn't come."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 5 ! 
 
 "Nonsense, dear. His Grace certainly lives in too 
 glass a house to " 
 
 "To throw stones. I knew you'd say that. No 
 more he should at us. But, Americans are different. 
 They're no better than shopkeepers. Fancy compar- 
 ing Harborough with them ! By Jove, you'll be asking 
 Tummy down the first thing one knows, to meet Jesse 
 Collings and Chamberlain, and wondering he doesn't 
 come on account of his goings on ! I dare say you 
 and this Yankee will hit it off capitally. You should 
 leave the Primrose League at once and join the Radi- 
 cals." 
 
 " Don't be rude, dear," is all his mother says. 
 
 "Freddy says he's awfully rich," remarks Lady 
 Edith in an undertone. 
 
 Lord Beyndour wheels round sharply, and stares at 
 his sister. 
 
 " Eh ? What ? Rich, is he ? Hum ! " and various 
 ideas and fancies of a monetary character flit rapidly 
 through Lord Beyndour's brain. " Rich, eh ? Of 
 course, it's easy to say that. But who knows ? " 
 
 " Freddy." 
 
 " Freddy ! What rot ! How does he know ? All 
 I can say is you don't get me civil to the fellow by any 
 such rubbish as that. I'll back he's a humbug." 
 
 "We shall soon be able to tell, dear," says Lady 
 Oaktorrington, as the front-door bell rings out another 
 peal. Two minutes later Lord Frederick Vesey walks 
 into the room, alone.
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FREDDY'S greeting to his family is at once hearty 
 and astounding. From his own and most other people's 
 standpoint it is natural and sincere ; from theirs, over- 
 whelming and vulgar. He dashes up to his mother 
 and sisters and gives each in turn a warm embrace 
 and a kiss straight on the mouth before they know 
 where they are. 
 
 " Well, I am glad to get home again ! " he exclaims 
 in a loud voice which makes his mother flinch and his 
 brother frown. " Not that I don't like America, for I 
 do ; but its real nice to see you all again. See ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear," answers his mother, faintly, slowly re- 
 covering from his onset. " I'm sure we must all be 
 glad you've left that horrid country," and she looks 
 meaningly at Lord Beyndour, who elevates his eye- 
 brows and shakes his head. 
 
 "Horrid country? You mustn't call it that. It's 
 a grand country, and I mean to go back. How hand- 
 some you are looking, mother, and I don't think I ever 
 saw Mary look so pretty or Edith so Well, I de- 
 clare, if she isn't the prettiest girl I've seen for ever so 
 long! " 
 
 In accordance with aristocratic canons of good 
 form a woman's looks or personal appearance are never 
 even alluded to--to herself ; that is, before other peo- 
 ple. Lady Oaktorrington and her daughters wince, 
 exchange glances, and look down. Though he has 
 been but six months away, Freddy has thrown off the 
 shackles of family restraint, and seems to have posi- 
 tively forgotten the common ethics of his class. What
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 53 
 
 thoughts pass through his mother's head it is not diffi- 
 cult to conjecture. She looks the picture of downcast 
 humiliation, while his sisters, who ever take their out- 
 wardly appearing cue from her, wear serious, shocked 
 faces. Lady Edith's eyes, however, dance merrily 
 despite her somber countenance, and the corners of 
 her mouth twitch upward at times, and refuse to be 
 kept down. Lord Frederick is no fool. We may see 
 presently that he is weak from the pernicious unreality 
 and narrowness of his early teachings; but by nature 
 he is quick of perception, and in beginning to feel and 
 recognize the old familiar chill of repression and arti- 
 ficiality he recollects the rule he has broken. Six 
 months ago he would have felt snubbed, sat upon, dis- 
 graced, and humbled. But his little glimpse of the 
 world beyond the narrow confines of class, and the 
 strict limits of family, has opened his mind consider- 
 ably, and made him independent and unyielding. He 
 waits a moment longer for some response, and then 
 turning away with a smile of pity, for the first time is 
 aware of his brother's presence. Before Lord Beyn- 
 dour, without changing a muscle of his face, can get 
 further than 
 
 " How do, Freddy ? " 
 
 Freddy grabs him by the hand with a grip of iron, 
 and slaps him on the back with a resounding whack : 
 
 "Why, old chap, whoever thought you were here," 
 he shouts. " And how are you ? " 
 
 " All right, thanky," answers Lord Beyndour, civil 
 of word, but rude in tone and impatient in gesture, 
 wriggling his shoulder away and striving to withdraw 
 his hand. " D don't do that, I say. You'll break 
 my fingers." Lord Frederick drops his brother's hand
 
 54 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 and turns away. He feels hurt, but he won't show it. 
 " It's only their way their old cussed way poor 
 things," he says to himself. " I used to be that way 
 myself. Well, mother, you haven't said three words 
 to me, and as for Mary and Edith, they seem to have 
 lost their tongues since I went away. Still no word ? 
 It's a pity I came back." 
 
 " Hear hear," grunts Lord Beyndour, from the fire 
 to which he has wheeled an arm-chair wherein he sits 
 with his back to everybody. " I say, Edith," looking 
 over his shoulder without moving. " Is that the Hert- 
 ford News on the table near you ? It is? Then just 
 chuck it over to me. I want to see where the Tarn- 
 brook meet to-morrow." 
 
 " Crown and Castle Inn, eleven fifteen," says Lady 
 Mary. " I know. I copied it out this morning." 
 
 In common with the passte maidens of her sister- 
 hood who are approaching antiquity, if there be one 
 subject whereby to strike a responsive chord in the 
 heart of Lady Mary Vesey it is hunting, unless horses 
 yield their single exception to dogs. Her whole being 
 is bound up in both, her whole existence flows in the 
 two channels, canine and equine. Every farthing of 
 her yearly allowance which she can shave off her other 
 expenses goes to hunters, habits, saddles, whips, and 
 dogs. If she is not buying or selling a hunter (of which 
 her father allows her stable room and " keep " for two) 
 she is going up to town to try on a habit or be meas- 
 ured for a saddle. When she is not consulting a vet., 
 she is advertising or rinding a place for a groom. She 
 hunts three times a week, attends every hunt ball, and 
 goes up to all the dog-shows at the Crystal Palace. 
 She has four hunters (two of which she maintains out
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 55 
 
 of her own pocket), six saddles, as many bridles, a 
 dozen " crops," and a groom of her own. Her room 
 is decorated with racks of whips, spurs, "masks," 
 brushes, and "pads." Her inkstand is a horse's hoof 
 that of a favorite hunter who broke his fetlock-joint 
 while leaping a double ditch with her and had to be 
 shot her paper-knife's handle a fox's pad. Of dogs 
 she has ten a Danish boar-hound, a collie, a black 
 retriever, two dachshunds, two fox-terriers, a black 
 French poodle, a white bull-dog, and a pug. The 
 boar-hound, one dachshund, one fox-terrier, the bull- 
 dog, the poodle, and the pug sleep in her room. 
 " Shall you hunt to-morrow ? " she asks, getting up 
 and seating herself in a low chair by Lord Beyndour's. 
 
 " Yes. Want to go along? " 
 
 " I am going." 
 
 " Let you ride ' Jemima ' if you like." 
 
 " You didn't fetch her down with you ? I thought 
 she'd just had a foal." 
 
 " No. That was ages ago." 
 
 " A colt ? " 
 
 "No. Filly, just like herself, not a bit like its 
 papa." 
 
 " How jolly ! " 
 
 " Give her to you if you like." 
 
 " Thanks awfully. How good of you. Then I may 
 ride Jemima ? " 
 
 " Yes. I said so, didn't I ? " 
 
 Meanwhile Freddy stands silent, an unwilling, un- 
 conscious listener. At last he sits down and picks up 
 a magazine. He has read about four lines when Lady 
 Oaktorrington speaks : 
 
 " Oh, won't you have some tea, dear ? I'm afraid
 
 56 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 it's cold. Mary, dear, ring for some fresh tea for 
 Freddy." 
 
 Lady Mary doesn't hear, or pretends not to. 
 
 " Tea for me ? " Freddy answers. " No, thank you 
 kindly. I've not tasted tea since I don't know when. 
 Men never drink tea where I've been, at all events, not 
 at this time of day." 
 
 " Oh, don't they ? Really ? Fancy that ! " 
 
 " Go in for something stronger, I'll back," sneers 
 Lord Beyndour, in an undertone, for a moment inter- 
 rupting his narrative to Lady Mary of how he " came 
 a cropper " last week when out with the Garth hounds. 
 
 " Perhaps they do," Freddy says, quickly. " It 
 can't signify much to you what they do." 
 
 " I'm not so cock sure *of that ; I hear we're to 
 have one of 'em staying with us, thanks to you." 
 
 " Oh, by-the-by, Freddy," says Lady Oaktorring- 
 ton, thankful for a chance to ask what she has been 
 aching to do since Lord Frederick's arrival, the con- 
 trolling proprieties of high life holding her in check. 
 
 " Isn't your American friend coming after all ? " 
 
 " Coming? " says Freddy. 4< He's here now." 
 
 " Here now, dear ? Why doesn't he come in ? " 
 
 " Oh, he asked to go to his room first and make 
 himself tidy." 
 
 "Haw haw haw, O ho ho!" laughs Lord 
 Beyndour. " I never heard that Yankees went in for 
 washing before." 
 
 " Surely he can't be all this time doing that," says 
 Lady Oaktorrington. 
 
 " I dare say the poor chap is a bit shy about com- 
 ing in alone and is waiting for me. I forgot all about 
 him. I'll just go and see."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 57 
 
 V How dreadfully disimproved dear Freddy is," 
 Lady Oaktorrington says as the door closes on Lord 
 Frederick. 
 
 " He's simply unbearable, and wants a deuced good 
 snubbing. I dare say he thinks he's quite as good as 
 I am, with his new republican ideas." Lord Beyndour 
 replies, getting up to toast his back again. 
 
 " I thought I detected a slight twang ! " her ladyship 
 adds. " Did you ? " 
 
 " A slight twang ! By jove, a slight t-.vang ! That's 
 too good. I never heard a worse one. Fancy one of 
 us with a Yankee twang ! And you a Primrose dame." 
 
 " Oh, my dear, don't speak of it. What are we to 
 do? He'll soon lose it, with us, I hope." 
 
 k< Not with this Yankee pal of his to coach him on 
 the other tack. Of course, he's picked it up from 
 him." 
 
 " I'm afraid I've made a great mistake in letting 
 him come. Your father was so against it. But," sud- 
 denly recollecting, "he may not be so pronounced. 
 He's very rich." 
 
 Further discussion is stopped by the entrance of 
 Lord Frederick accompanied by his American friend. 
 
 " Mother," Lord Frederick says, leading his friend 
 forward. " Let me introduce Mr. Philip Allen." 
 
 Mr. Allen is a middle-sized young man of eight and 
 twenty; neither thin nor fat, but compact and wiry. 
 He has close-cropped brown hair, brown eyes with 
 long, thick, brown lashes, and a small brown mustache. 
 His features are small, clear-cut, and handsome, espe- 
 cially in profile ; his complexion is pale, his teeth very 
 white, and he has strikingly (to an English eye) small 
 hands and feet. On the bridge of his nose he wears a
 
 58 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 pair of tortoise-shell-rimmed double eye-glasses, and he 
 is clad in a dark, small-checked, tweed traveling suit, 
 a dark blue necktie with white spots being knotted in 
 a sailor's loop round his neck. 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington rises (as do both of her daugh- 
 ters) and receives him with a gracious smile of wel- 
 come. 
 
 " I am so glad to see you, Mr. Allen," she says, 
 kindly, " not only to welcome you to England, but to 
 thank you for your great kindness to Freddy, who has 
 told us how good you have been to him. Lord Oak- 
 torrington is in London, but on his return to-morrow 
 he will add his welcome and thanks to mine." 
 
 She has been studying up this little speech all the 
 afternoon, and now that she has spoken it, fears she 
 has left something out. 
 
 " Don't mention it, my lady," says Allen, with a 
 graceful bow. " I'm sure I am only too pleased to 
 have been of any service to him." 
 
 " Of service to me ? I should rather think you 
 were," puts in Freddy. " And look here, old chap," 
 he whispers, as he sees Lord Beyndour smother a laugh 
 and nudge Lady Mary. " Don't ' my lady ' mother. 
 I ought to have told you. It's not necessary." 
 
 " Let me introduce you to my daughters, Mr. 
 Allen," and the marchioness presents him to Lady 
 Mary and Lady Edith, both of whom shake his hand 
 stiffly, as they look straight before them and say noth- 
 ing. " And now my eldest son, Lord Beyndour. Now 
 you know every one." 
 
 Lord Beyndour looks at him out of the corner of 
 his eye, gives his hand an up and down pump-handle 
 shake, says :
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 59 
 
 ** How de do ? " drops it, and stands mute, gazing 
 at the opposite wall. 
 
 The dressing-gong for dinner opportunely breaks 
 in upon the awkwardness of the situation. Lord Beyn- 
 dour is the first to go. He leaves the room without a 
 word, followed by his mother and sisters in silence, 
 Freddy and Allen bringing up the rear. In the hall 
 they linger a moment, lighting the hand-candles, but 
 no word is spoken. 
 
 " What do you mean by snubbing me like that? " 
 Allen asks, as he and Freddy go up the stairs after the 
 others have gone. " I thought I was doing the thing 
 in fine style." 
 
 " So you were, old fellow. But equals when talking 
 informally to each other drop the titles. Of course, 
 with servants and tradespeople, and others of that sort, 
 it is different. They never address a person of rank 
 informally." 
 
 " Then I'm not -to call your father ' my lord ' ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Nor your sisters ' my lady,' either? " 
 
 "I should hope not. Don't forget. (I pity him 
 if he does)." 
 
 J< Nor your brother ' my lord ' ? " 
 
 " What, Beyndour ? Not for worlds ! ' 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 TWENTY minutes later Lady Oaktorrington, in a 
 shimmering purple satin gown, and shivering red neck 
 and shoulders, descends to the drawing-room. She 
 is followed almost immediately by her two daugh-
 
 60 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 ters, and the three sit in dignified, well-bred silence, 
 in the semi-darkness of a recently-replenished and 
 smoldering coal-fire, for five minutes, when Lord 
 Beyndour rumbles in rubbing his hands with the cold. 
 He makes straight for the hearth-rug, edging in 
 front of his mother and sisters, and, spreading the tails 
 of his dress-coat to the fire, adjusts the single stud of 
 his expansive shirt-front. 
 
 "What a rotten fire ! " he growls presently. " Ugh ! 
 No hunting to-morrow, Mary. It's freezing hard, 
 Stevens says." 
 
 " How tiresome ! I'm afraid I must have Snowball 
 in my room to-night. She'll freeze in her kennel, poor 
 dear." 
 
 " Had her puppies yet ? " 
 
 " No, the darling." 
 
 "Have her in, then, by all means." 
 
 A sudden burst of flame from the igniting coals 
 illumines the room. " Hello ! Isn't every one here ? " 
 
 "Only me and Mary and Edith." 
 
 " I say, what a duffer ! Did you see the bowing 
 and scraping? And 'my lady,' too ! O, haw-haw ! " 
 
 " Such a dreadful twang, too ! No wonder Freddy 
 has picked it up," ventures Lady Mary, personalities 
 being her third pet topic when she can't have either of 
 the other two. 
 
 " But just consider, dears, how few advantages he 
 must have had," says the marchioness, in a pleading 
 tone. " How can we expect him to be like us ? He 
 does his best, no doubt, poor fellow. One can't help 
 being sorry for him. Considering his rough life and 
 associations, he is quite wonderful, I think. One 
 mustn't forget that."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 6t 
 
 "And that he is so rich," says Lady Edith, in the 
 quietest, most unsuggestive voice imaginable. 
 
 " Quite so, dear. His money will enable him to 
 improve himself, by putting improving influences and 
 associations within his reach. It is really our duty to 
 do what we can to help him on." 
 
 " What a great thing it is to have money, isn't it ? " 
 Lady Edith asks of no one in particular as she looks 
 absently into the fire. " If this Mr. Allen hadn't it I 
 expect it wouldn't matter what became of him." 
 
 "Really, Edith, I don't know where you get such 
 ideas," her mother says sharply. " I must ask you 
 not to talk so. You are too young to understand 
 such things." 
 
 " Edith's got to talking awful rubbish lately, I'm 
 afraid," observes Lord Beyndour. " Little girls should 
 be seen but not heard." Lady Edith's eyes flash and 
 the blood rushes up to her forehead, but she says 
 nothing. " What the deuce is keeping them ? I dessay 
 it's Yankee manners to be late for dinner. I should 
 strongly advise you, mother, to go in if they're not 
 down when the gong goes. Who wants to bet he 
 doesn't dress ? I'll lay ten to one in ponies he comes 
 down in 'dittoes.' " 
 
 Before the wager can be taken, were there any 
 one in the room to say " Done," the subject of Lord 
 Beyndour's solicitude enters the room as the gong 
 sounds. 
 
 " By Jove, I was right ! What a hatful of money I 
 should have won ! " 
 
 " I have to apologize, Lady Oaktorrington, not only 
 for being so late," Allen says, "but for appearing at 
 dinner in these clothes." Lord Beyndour performs an
 
 62 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 elaborate attack of coughing. " The fact is, my port- 
 manteau has not yet arrived from the station." 
 
 " Too large an order," Lord Beyndour whispers to 
 Lady Mary. " I'll back he's got no evening clothes. 
 Curious for a rich man, isn't it ? " 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington says " Really. It doesn't 
 signify," and they go in to dinner, Allen arming the 
 marchioness last. 
 
 Freddy joins them in the hall also in morning 
 dress. " I thought I'd keep Allen in countenance," 
 he explains. " My boxes haven't come either." 
 
 " I daresay you find England very different from 
 America, Mr. Allen," Lady Oaktorrington says after 
 the removal of the soup, during which course not a 
 word has been spoken at the table. 
 
 Allen is nearly stunned by the originality of the 
 question, but asks : 
 
 " In what way do you mean ? There are so many 
 ways." 
 
 " Oh, socially. You have no society to speak of. 
 How can you, where everybody is equal ? It must be 
 dreadfully rough er for a refined person like your- 
 self (she adds as an emollient). Freddy wrote to us 
 all about those dreadful cowboys." 
 
 Allen smiles to himself as he thinks of New York, 
 Boston, Philadelphia, New Orleans, Baltimore, Wash- 
 ington, and even his own San Francisco society being 
 called "rough," and thought to be infested with cow- 
 boys. 
 
 " I hardly think our society is quite as bad as that," 
 he says, unhuffily. " We have, of course, no class dis- 
 tinctions " 
 
 " Your cook's as good as you are, and all that sort
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 63 
 
 of thing, I suppose, eh," says Lord Beyndour from 
 the bottom of the table. " You have your doctor to 
 dine with you, and you let your daughter marry your 
 dentist." 
 
 Allen looks at him straight in the eye until he 
 stops. He then turns away without a word of reply 
 and goes on speaking to Lady Oaktorrington. 
 
 "As I was saying, we have no class distinctions, 
 and no titles except military, naval, judicial, or clerical 
 ones. But that does not in the least interfere with our 
 society or prevent its being organized and maintained 
 on as solid and lasting a basis as yours in England." 
 
 " Rubbish ! " grunts Lord Beyndour in an under- 
 tone, looking at the butler for an approving glance. 
 
 " I can't at all understand it," says the marchioness, 
 with a doubting shake of the head. " I don't see how 
 it is possible." 
 
 "Ask Freddy about it," growls Lord Beyndour, 
 rudely. "He knows, I should think." 
 
 Allen looks quickly at him as he flushes red, and 
 bites his'lip. 
 
 "Indeed I don't," answers Freddy. "I know 
 nothing about it." 
 
 "What awful rot! Haven't you been in the 
 States ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have ; but only in Kansas and Colorado 
 that is, to stay. I saw nothing of society there." 
 
 "Of course not. That's just what mother says," 
 and Lord Beyndour gives a sneering sniff. 
 
 " I don't at all mean that. You quite misunder- 
 stand me. I mean I saw nothing of society there 
 because " 
 
 " There wasn't any to see, haw-haw ! "
 
 64 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Yes, there was. I simply didn't go into it. That's 
 why I saw nothing of it." 
 
 " Oh ! " incredulously. 
 
 "I was on a cattle-ranch all the time, as you 
 know." 
 
 " My good fellow, I know nothing of where you 
 were. We have only your word for it," and Lord 
 Beyndour glances at the butler and then at one of the 
 footmen who is handing him some vegetables. " You 
 may have been in the moon for all we know." 
 
 Allen looks thunderstruck at such insulting lan- 
 guage from brother to brother. Lady Oaktorrington sees 
 the look, and fears she has let things go too far. 
 
 " I'm afraid Mr. Allen won't understand your 
 chaffing, my dear. He is not serious, you know, Mr. 
 Allen. You don't chaff one another in the States, I 
 dare say. 
 
 Allen feels decidedly on edge. "I really can't say 
 what they do in the other States. I should imagine 
 they did say rude things to each other under the cloak 
 of chaff, as you call it, in New York, for New York is 
 sadly addicted to Anglomania at present. But in 
 California why, I've seen pistols drawn for much less 
 than that." 
 
 " What ? Between brothers ? " 
 
 " No, not between brothers, for I never heard one 
 brother talk so to another in my life before." 
 
 He looks straight at Lord Beyndour with a steady, 
 unflinching eye as he says this. His lordship turns 
 very white, drops his eyes, and sulks in silence for the 
 remainder of dinner. 
 
 Allen feels uncomfortable. His irritability has 
 given way to a sense of shame at having lost his tern-
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 65 
 
 per at another person's table. There is an awkward 
 pause. Lady Oaktorrington makes a face to Lady 
 Mary to speak to him. 
 
 " Do you like dogs ? " Lady Mary asks. It is the 
 first word she has spoken since they sat down, and 
 they are now among the " savories." 
 
 " Yes, I do out-of-doors," he answers, without in 
 the least knowing how he is treading on her toes. 
 
 " Oh ! Then you don't like them," she says, stiffly. 
 
 " Indeed I do. I've got two dogs myself that I 
 wouldn't part with for a good deal." 
 
 She softens a bit. "What are they ? Fox-terriers, 
 turn-spits, pugs, or what? " 
 
 " They're hunting-dogs." 
 
 " Oh, really ! Then you hunt. I'm so glad ! " and 
 Lady Oaktorrington smiles and nods approval of her 
 daughter's animation. 
 
 " It's very good of you to care, I'm sure. I do a 
 good deal of hunting every season." 
 
 " Fancy ! I had no idea you hunted in the States. 
 Perhaps you'll come with us to-morrow. How awfully 
 jolly ! " 
 
 Allen doesn't know what to make of her sudden 
 loquacity. It seems almost painful in its abruptness. 
 He has no idea where they are going, but says not- 
 withstanding : 
 
 " Thanks. I shall be very glad." 
 
 " That's capital. I shall lend you a mount." 
 
 " A mount " he asks. " Oh, how stupid of me ! I 
 see what you mean now. You are going out fox-hunt- 
 ing?" 
 
 "Yes, of course," she says. "Don't you hunt 
 foxes in America ? " 
 5
 
 66 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 "We have no foxes to hunt in California. The 
 nearest approach to a fox we have is the vagrant 
 coyote. Your brother knows the animal, for they have 
 him in Colorado, too." 
 
 " Kiotee ? What an odd name ! Then you hunt 
 it?" 
 
 " Say, Vesey. Fancy hunting a coyote ! " 
 
 Freddy joins him in a laugh, whereat Lady Mary 
 gets huffy, and says something to her sister. 
 
 " I think it's rather a shame," Lady Edith answers, 
 being her virgin effort at audible conversation. 
 
 Allen hasn't the faintest idea what she means or 
 refers to, but on glancing over at her sees she is look- 
 ing with a very meaning expression at him. It sud- 
 denly dawns upon him how very pretty she is. "What 
 a fool I have been not to have noticed her before," 
 he thinks ; " where have been my eyes ? " He imme- 
 diately takes a deeper interest in her remark, and 
 wonders with a dull sort of pain in his heart and a 
 tingling of his temples if she can have meant anything 
 derogatory to him. " Does she mean that I ought to 
 be ashamed of myself ? What for ? Oh, yes, for 
 speaking so at her brother. It was awfully rude. What 
 must she think of me ? Yet, why should I care what 
 she thinks? " He gazes with increasing admiration at 
 her while these thoughts rush like lightning through 
 his head, and each second he is conscious that he does 
 care more and more what she thinks. "I must do 
 something to reinstate myself. But what ? Speak to 
 him civilly. That will please her, no doubt." 
 
 Lady Edith's big gray eyes have fluttered down to 
 her plate the moment she finds his riveted upon her', 
 and the faint little tinge of soft pink in her cheeks has
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 6/ 
 
 deepened into a bright red which burns itself into 
 neck, forehead, and ears as well. She toys with her 
 grapes a minute, and then steals a little upward glance 
 over at him. He is still looking at her, and well, I 
 suppose most of us know how it makes our hearts 
 bump about inside when we see a pretty woman if we 
 be a man, or a handsome man if we be a woman, re- 
 garding us with a look of admiration which we only 
 can detect. Lady Edith is a natural woman, notwith- 
 standing that she is an artificially-trained member of 
 the British aristocracy, and for the first time in her 
 life she feels her heart beat with the (to others) 
 well-known thump that is invariably the preface, if 
 not the initial chapter of "the old, old story." She 
 looks up again. His eyes are still upon her, and by a 
 sort of intuitive instinct she knows that her mother is 
 smiling her approval. A sense of extreme shyness 
 takes possession of her, and quickly becomes positive 
 torture. Her very helplessness, as it were, suddenly 
 reacts into self-possessed strength. She is angry angry 
 with her mother very angry with him. As her anger 
 comes, her shyness (its sole cause) departs, and with 
 it (for the moment) every tender sentiment vanishes 
 from her breast. She knows what her mother means 
 by smiling she has seen her do so before and she 
 will show her for the dozenth time that she is not to 
 be influenced in that way except in the opposite direc- 
 tion. As for him How dare he stare at her so boldly 
 and impertinently, and draw her mother's notice upon 
 them both ? No doubt Beyndour is enjoying the scene 
 hugely and will make it an unceasing subject of chaff 
 to her, and a topic to discuss when she isn't present. 
 She dared not look lest she should see him laughing.
 
 68 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 Ooph ! She could tear him all to pieces. With one 
 blow she will shatter them both. With one stone her 
 two birds shall fall to the ground. Allen sees all these 
 emotions come and go in her expressive face, and reads 
 them, alas, poor fellow ! as man is prone to read a 
 woman's eyes He unconsciously closes his a moment 
 and the quick beating of his heart and the delicious 
 sense of exhilaration which seems to bubble forth with 
 every throb and suffuse his whole being, tells him that 
 he is, to put it as mildly as possible, very happy. 
 Dozens, ay, hundreds of girls in his own country has 
 he flirted with and made love to in the most approved 
 fashion, on staircases at balls, in conservatories at 
 receptions, in secluded corners at weddings, on the 
 veranda at Del Monte, in drives to the Cliff House, in 
 rides in the park, and on every possible occasion, in every 
 possible spot out of doors or in. There is not a society 
 girl in 'Frisco who does not know " handsome Phil " 
 to her cost, so far as the heart-ache goes. Engaged, 
 or reported to be, a dozen times, to as many different 
 types of femininity, he still remains free and heart- 
 whole. Out of every skirmish he has returned scath- 
 less ; out of every battle he has come without a scratch. 
 Never before has he been conscious of the sensations 
 which, now affect him. As if impelled by some hidden, 
 unbidden power, resistless as an avalanche and as 
 sudden as the lightning's flash, the words rise to his 
 lips : "She shall be my wife." 
 
 Call it the love of the eye, if you will, it is none the 
 less deep, none the less real. 
 
 Love dawned in man's heart ere character was 
 formed, mind cultivated, accomplishment invented, 
 education dreamed of, rank crested, or money coined.
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 69 
 
 And so it thrives in man's heart still, for it is the true, 
 the real, the disinterested, the unsordid love of Nature 
 after all. 
 
 As he whispers the words to himself with a curi- 
 ously fixed conviction of their certain fulfillment, he 
 opens his eyes and looks at her again. Her anger has 
 at that moment reached its climax. Her new-found 
 heart has rushed back into its iron-bound case of 
 worldliness ; she is an aristocrat once more, and her 
 mother's own daughter. Her eyes flash, her teeth are 
 set hard, and her voice trembles beneath its thin coat- 
 ing of haughty defiance. 
 
 " Have you no ladies in America, Mr. Allen ? I 
 should fancy not." The words are hardly out of her 
 mouth when she would give worlds to have them back. 
 
 Lord Beyndour bursts into a paroxysm of laughter 
 and thumps the table with his knuckles. Freddy looks 
 at his mother and then at Lord Beyndour, and says : 
 
 " Mother, how can you ? " 
 
 But Lady Oaktorrington gives no sign of emotion. 
 She only says in a low voice : " Scenes are such bad 
 form, my dear." 
 
 Lady Mary might as well be in the moon from any 
 token of interest she displays in matters mundane 
 beyond the peeling of her forced hot-house peach. 
 
 As for Allen, he turns red to the roots of his hair, 
 and then grows quickly pale. Indignation and resent- 
 ment gleam from his eyes for a single second, and then 
 give place to a surprised, deprecating look. He is 
 about to reply in that spirit when a side glance shows 
 him the marchioness's (seemingly) complacent indiffer- 
 ence, and her son's continued hilarity. 
 
 " I I really hardly know how to answer such a
 
 ; ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 question. If you mean ladies of title, I say, certainly 
 not. If you mean by ladies, women of refinement, 
 culture, accomplishment, mind, grace, heart, delicacy 
 of sentiment, integrity, honor, and virtue, I say most 
 assuredly, yes. So far as the qualifications of a lady 
 are concerned, birth is quite a secondary consideration 
 in America. Is it the only essential requirement in 
 England ? " 
 
 Though spoken to Lady Edith, his words are solely 
 intended for and directed at Lady Oaktorrington and 
 Lord Beyndour ; but no sooner are they uttered, and 
 the gratification of speaking them past, than Allen ex- 
 periences with terrible retributive force the unerring 
 punishment of ill-judged haste unavailing regret. He 
 is conscious that, however unwarrantable and lacking 
 in the first principles of hospitality has been the be- 
 havior of his entertainers, his conduct as a guest ac- 
 cepting their food and shelter has been equally atro- 
 cious. Not only has he overstepped in one sudden 
 stride the limits of the common proprieties of polite 
 society, but he has oh, spirit of chivalry within him ! 
 measured lengths with and treated with rudeness 
 a woman. He feels that he has not merely disgraced 
 himself but his country. His sense of degradation and 
 humiliation is deep, and his eyes once more seek those 
 of her whose displeasure, if not loss of respect, he is 
 confident he has incurred, that he may look, if he can 
 not speak, the contrition he feels. He has expected 
 to find indignation and disgust written in her every 
 feature ; but great is his relief, supreme his joy, to find 
 she is regarding him with a soft, regretful gaze, that 
 says as plain as words can speak, " I am so sorry, oh, 
 do forgive me."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 7! 
 
 Naturally no one replies to the question which forms 
 the terminal point of his remarkable speech. An awk- 
 ward constrained silence ensues, which is broken by 
 Lady Oaktorrington rising with her daughters from the 
 table. 
 
 " I think I shall go, too," Lord Beyndour says, and 
 follows his mother and sisters to the door. 
 
 Allen holds the door open for them, and as they pass 
 out Lady Oaktorrington smiles kindly at him, and says : 
 
 " Don't let Freddy keep you too long. We shall 
 expect you in the drawing-room very soon." 
 
 He needs no appeasing or mollifying, yet while he 
 is grateful for the kind, unresentful speech which 
 smooths over much that had seemed awkward and 
 difficult for him in the immediate future, he can not 
 but wish that the marchioness's " soft word " had been 
 spoken sooner. 
 
 " Look here, old chap," Freddy says, as soon as 
 the door is shut " Sit down and have a glass of wine. 
 And don't you bother about this little tiff." 
 
 " I'm awfully ashamed of myself," Allen answers. 
 " I don't know what to do about it. I ought to apolo- 
 gize to your mother, of course." 
 
 " Nonsense, man. You'll do nothing of the sort. 
 You were quite right to stick up for your country, and 
 it's a deuced shame for Edith. But mother will give 
 her a good rowing for it, don't you fear, when she gets 
 her alone." 
 
 " I'm sure I hope she won't. I don't in the least 
 mind her, and it was most absurd of me to get angry 
 about such a trifle. It's your brother who riles me. 
 He's got such an irritating, insulting manner, and it 
 was his fault that I said what I did."
 
 72 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Oh, he's a beast. He goes on that way with every- 
 body who is not one of his own particular pals. It's 
 not only you. He's cordially hated about here. You 
 see, he's the eldest son, and everything will belong to 
 him some day, so he gives himself airs in advance. 
 Like enough, he'll clear out to-morrow. I hope he 
 will. Sure you won't have anything more? Well, 
 then, let's go to the drawing-room." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WHEN Lord Frederick and Allen get to the draw- 
 ing-room, Lady Oaktorrington and her daughters are 
 having tea. The marchioness and Lady Mary are in 
 arm-chairs on each side of the fire, with their cups in 
 their hands, while Lady Edith sits far away by herself 
 on the end of a sofa in a distant part of the room. 
 Lord Beyndour is nowhere to be seen. 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington beckons Allen to a chair be- 
 side her : 
 
 " I have been giving Edith a good scolding for that 
 rude, silly remark of hers to you," she says, in a con- 
 fidential undertone. " I refrained from noticing it and 
 reproving her at the time, because I didn't wish to 
 draw the attention of the servants to it more than it 
 was already. One can not be too careful what one 
 says or does before servants. She is very much 
 ashamed of herself, as you may see." 
 
 " I am so sorry you should have said anything to 
 pain her," Allen replies, and his heart aches at the 
 thought. " It was really too absurd cf me to get so
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 73 
 
 cross about it, and I am the one \vho should feel 
 ashamed." 
 
 " It was really too absurd of her to say such a thing. 
 Why, we know loads of American ladies. There is 
 Lady Rudolph Campbell, and Lady Sanduval, and 
 Mrs. Alfred Dodget, and Lady Haskell, and a score 
 of others, all countrywomen of yours, and most charm- 
 ing ones they are. Ladies in America ? The idea of 
 such a question ! " 
 
 Her ladyship's indignation would strike Allen as 
 more sincere and consistent, did he not remember her 
 own slurring observations about American society 
 within a couple of hours. It is pretty evident to him 
 that for some reason she has thought it advisable to 
 take the opposite tack all of a sudden, and his belief 
 in that respect is in no way lessened when she adds : 
 
 " You mustn't mind Beyndour. What he says and 
 does seems uncivil, I dare say. But he doesn't mean 
 them. It's only his way only chaff." 
 
 "Indeed. Where is he?" 
 
 " He said he'd go for a pipe to the smoking-room, 
 and then go to bed, as he was very tired." 
 
 It is a quarter to ten by the chimney-piece clock. 
 
 " He's an invalid, is he not ? " 
 
 " An invalid ? Dear me, no. What made you think 
 that ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know exactly. I seem to have got 
 the idea somehow." 
 
 After that Allen lets the conversation flag, and 
 finally, after a pause of three minutes, he gets up and 
 saunters over to Lady Edith's sofa. She is leaning 
 back with her eyes shut, but opens them as he ap- 
 proaches.
 
 74 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Oh, you mustn't come over here," she says, quick- 
 ly, in a low voice, " and talk to me by myself." 
 
 " And why not, pray." 
 
 " Mother won't like it." 
 
 " If that's the only reason, I'm willing to risk her 
 displeasure." 
 
 " Oh, please go back. It's not our way in England, 
 I assure you." 
 
 " But it's our way in America my way, at all 
 events." 
 
 " That doesn't matter. We're not in America." 
 
 " I wish to Heaven we were." 
 
 " I'm sure I don't. Will you go, please ? There's 
 mother looking." 
 
 " Is she, really, for a fact ? " 
 
 " Yes, she is. She'll be awfully cross with me. 
 She's given me one scolding already to-night on your 
 account, and I don't want another." 
 
 " Yes, I heard about it. I'm so awfully sorry. I've 
 come to ask forgiveness." 
 
 " I think you ought to, indeed. Aren't you going? 
 It's most unkind of you to stay when I ask you not." 
 
 " Is it? I am unkind sometimes, people say." 
 
 " Oh, will you go ? " 
 
 " No, I won't. There." 
 
 " Not when I ask you ? Won't you do what I 
 ask?" 
 
 " N yes if you ask anything else." 
 
 " I hate to have men talk to me. I never let them." 
 
 " But you will me." 
 
 " You ? " with haughty disdain. " Of all people ! " 
 
 Allen is an old hand in the business, and he knows 
 as well as most men, how much value to place on what
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 75 
 
 he calls " female preliminary skittishness." But some- 
 how this last remark rather staggers him. A man 
 will stand a good deal of rebuff if his self-love isn't 
 touched. 
 
 " Can she really mean it ? " he asks himself, as the 
 first flush of wounded pride fades out of his face. His 
 self-love is not so badly hurt that it can not come to 
 his rescue. " No ; how could she ? I'll try again. 
 Thanks for the compliment." 
 
 " What compliment ? " 
 
 " Then you didn't intend it for one?" 
 
 " If it was for you, certainly not. Please go." 
 
 " I ought to feel very proud." 
 
 " What of, pray ? " 
 
 " Your good opinion of me." 
 
 " If that's all you have to be proud of, I'm afraid 
 you " 
 
 " Then you have a good opinion of me ! Thanks, 
 a thousand times." 
 
 " There ! I saw mother look over and frown. 
 She's in an awful rage." 
 
 As a matter of fact Lady Oaktorrington has been 
 taking in the scene through the side of her eye with a 
 smile of satisfaction. It is all one to her which of her 
 daughters it is to be, and she has already settled that 
 Lady Mary shall fall to the Duke of Harborough. 
 
 " Do you hear me ? Mother's in an awful rage 
 with us." 
 
 " Is she ? I hope she'll soon recover." 
 
 " How you try me ! If you were an Englishman I 
 shouldn't have to ask you twice." 
 
 " I've no doubt of that. They are awfully behind 
 the times in this sort of thing, American girls say."
 
 76 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " What sort of thing ? I don't know what you 
 mean." 
 
 " Don't you ? How queer ! " 
 
 " Oh, now you're talking rubbish. I wish you'd 
 go. I was so comfortable before you came bothering 
 over here." 
 
 " Oh, very well, then. I'll go," and he makes the 
 slightest step backward. 
 
 " I'm so glad," she says, with her tongue, but in 
 pleading eyes and quivering lips, never did woman 
 more plainly look " stay ! " 
 
 Allen's heart gives a great big throb and a bound 
 into his throat. Without a word, he seats himself 
 quickly on the sofa beside her. 
 
 " Oh, please don't do that. That's worse than ever. 
 Get up, please. See, mother is complaining to Freddy 
 about it. There'll be an awful row, you'll see. You 
 don't seem to understand." 
 
 " No, I confess I don't. I've heard of English 
 mothers being strict with their daughters, but I didn't 
 think it went to the length of forbidding their being 
 spoken to by a gentleman in their own house, with 
 their mother close by. Is she afraid I'll carry you off, 
 eat you up, before her face and eyes ? I do not won- 
 der," he adds, softly, while a tender look creeps into 
 his eyes, " that she should consider my temptation to 
 do either so great as to be almost impossible to with- 
 stand." 
 
 " If you talk like that I must go away myself. Oh, 
 dear, I know they are talking about us, for I just saw 
 them both look over here." 
 
 "He is really very nice," Lady Oaktorrington is 
 saying to Freddy, "and we must not let Beyndour
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 77 
 
 quiz him any more. I'm so glad you brought him, 
 dear. He seems quite taken with Edith. She might 
 do worse." 
 
 " Do worse ? I should think so. His father's got 
 I don't know how many millions." 
 
 " Does he depend solely on his father ? Has he 
 no money of his own ? " she asks, quickly, as a shade 
 crosses her features. 
 
 " I don't really know. I suppose so. Sons don't 
 have regular settled allowances in America as they do 
 here, but their fathers give them what they want, and pay 
 up their bills, and all that. They generally start them 
 in some business give 'em the capital to begin, don't 
 you see. Allen doesn't seem to be in any business 
 that I ever heard him mention. But you see he's an 
 only child, so it isn't likely his father will want him to 
 work at anything. He's got no one else to leave his 
 money to." 
 
 " How do you know these things, my dear ? " 
 
 " What things ? American usages ? " 
 
 " No, no. About this Mr. Allen's means, and his 
 father's money." 
 
 " How do I know them ? " Freddy asks, not with- 
 out some suddenly raised inward misgivings himself. 
 " Why, if you come to that, I don't know anything, ex- 
 cept what I've heard." 
 
 " What ! Hasn't he ever said anything about 
 them himself? " and Lady Oaktorrington's voice, held 
 in check through fear of being overheard, attains the 
 shrill treble of a bargaining fishwife. " What then 
 made you suppose his father was so rich ? " Her 
 breath comes and goes with suppressed anxiety as she 
 awaits the answer.
 
 78 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Eh ? A man I met in the train told me, a man 
 from California, who knew all about the Aliens." 
 
 " And is that all you had to base your your assur- 
 ance upon in bringing him here? A nice state of 
 affairs, truly ! A man under our roof by our own in- 
 vitation, that we positively know nothing about, and 
 who, for all we know, may be a penniless chimney- 
 sweep." 
 
 " He looks like a chimney-sweep, doesn't he ? " 
 Freddy answers, quietly. " No, he's not that." 
 
 " Well, an adventurer of some sort, a nobody with- 
 out a farthing in his pocket, and nothing to his name 
 but the clothes on his back, and a glib tongue in his 
 head. Your father was right. He was all against his 
 coming. And so was Beyndour. What shall we do ? " 
 
 " Nothing. Let things remain as they are. I'm 
 morally certain you'll find he's all right. You see, I 
 got into the American way of looking at things while I 
 was there. They don't care for mcney as we do. If 
 a man's clever and behaves himself, and pays his way 
 that's enough for them. They don't run about fussing 
 to know what money he's got before they are civil to 
 him. Certainly Allen is all that. He's clever, he be- 
 haves himself, and he has paid his way not only his 
 own, but mine, since I met him. Don't forget that. 
 He must have money to do that. Just wait. Don't 
 act in haste and repent at leisure. I'll tell you what 
 I'll do. There's a man who came over in the " Etruria " 
 with us who was a great swell on board. He was from 
 San Francisco, and he's at the Metropole. He's sure 
 to know all about the Aliens, and I'll just run up to 
 town to-morrow, and find out from him. In the 
 mean time "
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 79 
 
 "I'll stop that at all events. Edith dear, it is past 
 eleven. Come, dear." 
 
 "Didn't I tell you?" Lady Edith says, as she 
 catches a glimpse of her mother's face, and believes 
 she is offended at her for having been conversing with 
 Allen. " I knew how it would be." 
 
 " Good night, Mr. Allen," Lady Oaktorrington says, 
 in such an icy tone and with such a frosty look that 
 Allen thinks Lady Edith was right after all. 
 
 He fancies, too, that Freddy is rather awkward and 
 preoccupied with him as they have a brandy-and-soda 
 and a cigarette together in the smoking-room before 
 going to bed. 
 
 "What curious people these aristocrats are ! " he 
 says to himself. " Imagine any one being offended at 
 a trifle like that ! " 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington lies awake on mental pins and 
 needles, wondering how she shall ever be able to hold 
 up her head again before the marquis if he finds it 
 out. " But why need he find it out ? " she asks herself 
 as the clocks strike three. " How can he find it out 
 unless I tell him ? Shall I ? I must think about it 
 to-morrow." 
 
 The last words that Lady Edith says before she 
 drops asleep are those which she has been saying to 
 herself all the evening : " What a fool I was to send 
 that telegram ! " 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 NEXT morning Lord Frederick breakfasts before 
 any of the others are down, and goes up to town by an 
 early train on his mission of inquiry, leaving as a rea-
 
 80 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 son for his hasty departure that his father had tele- 
 graphed to him to meet him in London. As not only 
 the Bouveries, but several other guests arrive at Ash- 
 wynwick, Lady Oaktorrington has not as much time 
 to sit and brood over what she is pleased to regard as 
 the "misfortune which has befallen the family," as she 
 otherwise would have had. She nevertheless devotes 
 every moment she can spare to a mental rtsumJ of the 
 pros and cons of the case as they suggest themselves 
 to her. A dozen times does she go over the same 
 ground and arrive at the same conclusion, only to 
 begin again, follow out the old course of reasoning, 
 and reach the identical determination once more, viz., 
 to wait until she hears from Freddy and not to say a 
 word about it to Lord Oaktorrington when he comes 
 home. 
 
 " It will be no use to tell him," she argues. " It 
 would only make a row, and I should never be able to 
 hold my own with him again. It will be dreadfully hard 
 to wear the mask of civility to this man Allen, believing 
 him all the time to be an impostor. But if difficult now 
 when I only suspect his worthlessness, how will it be 
 when I know it, should Freddy return with an adverse 
 report, for even then it must be kept a secret from my 
 husband. Was ever woman tormented so ! " 
 
 There is a formal, chilling, silent breakfast. The 
 overnight's frost having broken into a southwest wind 
 and drizzling rain, Lord Beyndour and Lady Mary 
 come to the table in " pink " and habit, eat in silence 
 (beyond a few interchanges of sentiment on horses, 
 etc.), and depart hurriedly for the meet at the Crown 
 and Castle Inn. Lady Oaktorrington though polite is 
 cold and monosyllabic in her replies to Allen, the only
 
 ARISTOCRACY. gj 
 
 one who tries to talk. He gets no more encourage- 
 ment from Lady Edith, who, under her mother's eye, 
 never oversteps the constrained decorum of the high- 
 life breakfast-table. 
 
 Breakfast over, Lady Oaktorrington says : 
 
 "Edith, come to my room with me. There are 
 several invitations to answer," and Allen, who learns 
 by the merest accident that Freddy has gone to town, 
 is left solitary and alone to his own devices. It is true 
 that the marchioness hesitates half-way up the stairs 
 as she thinks of the plate there is about in the dining- 
 room. Beyond that she gives no thought to the for- 
 lorn condition in which she leaves her stranger guest. 
 On one pretext or another she keeps Lady Edith with 
 her all the morning, the arrival of Lady Henry Tolle- 
 mache, who comes, accompanied by her maid, just 
 before luncheon, driving over from the station in 
 a fly covered with boxes, causing the first inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 Lady Henry is a " Frisky " of the most approved 
 pattern. She is young (about seven and twenty), 
 pretty, and bright as a new sixpence ; always dressed 
 in the latest fashion, and thoroughly self-possessed. 
 
 " I have no patience with shy women," she fre- 
 quently says. " But fancy a shy man ! Ach ! / don't 
 know what the word means." 
 
 And she is right. She doesn't. She is the daugh- 
 ter of a Yorkshire baronet, and the wife of a clerk 
 in the Foreign Office, who is withal a younger son of 
 the fabulously rich Duke of Westmoreland, a peer who 
 doesn't believe in idle sons, notwithstanding his wealth, 
 to his credit be it spoken. 
 
 Lord Henry Tollemache is a young man of fashion, 
 6
 
 82 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 one year his wife's senior, good-looking, loquacious (as 
 all Foreign Office understrappers are), and fast. One 
 year after marriage he decided to go his own way and 
 let his wife go hers, and he has kept his word. That 
 she has gone her way almost to the jumping-off point, 
 is no secret. How far beyond that no one knows yet. 
 As a matter of fact the number of times she has been 
 upon the threshold of the divorce court she can not 
 count upon the fingers of both her little, well-shaped 
 hands, and people say it is only a question of time 
 when she gets dragged inside the door. In the mean 
 time she is asked and goes about here, there, and 
 everywhere a welcome guest in every house worth 
 visiting in England. They have a house in town her 
 husband and herself ; in Hill Street, Mayfair, it is ; a 
 little bijou of a house. But it is let most of the year, 
 and she and Lord Henry seldom meet except by the 
 merest chance at a ball in town during the season, or 
 at a country-house during the winter. Lady Henry 
 knows every one worth knowing, many of her closest 
 and dearest friends never having seen her husband, 
 and is full to the brim of the slang, gossip, and scandal 
 of the hour. Lord Henry and she have about three 
 thousand a year between them, counting everything ; 
 and there are some ill-natured old dowagers with 
 marriageable daughters fast approaching spinsterhood, 
 who will tell you that her dress must cost double that, 
 and look a large-sized? when they add : "Where does 
 the rest come from ?" 
 
 But all the same, though she is cordially hated by 
 women she is ardently admired by men. That she is 
 considered an addition of great value to every house 
 party is shown by the number of invitations she re-
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 83 
 
 ceives ; and that she is altogether a charming person 
 is the verdict of every one who meets her. 
 
 "So good of you, dear Lady Oaktorrington," she 
 tells the marchioness after the first interchanges of 
 greeting. "I am always so very happy here. I've 
 just come on from the Stanvilles' Wixstead Abbey, 
 you know and though they had no end of things 
 going on all over the shop from morning till night, 
 don't you know, and two men for every woman (sotto 
 voce^ the correct thing, you know), yet it was most 
 awfully slow and dull. They're going to have ' Tum- 
 my ' down next month, and have grand doings, and 
 perhaps then it will be more lively. They asked me 
 to meet his Royal Highness, but I don't think I shall 
 go. One doesn't care to go, don't you know, without 
 the princess. One can't, in fact. You see, the Stan- 
 villes are so awfully new. The old chap only got his 
 peerage during the summer, and they say he began life 
 as a pawnbroker's clerk, and got on to be a great 
 money-lender in the city. You'd be surprised to hear 
 the swells he has yet in his books, for he keeps on the 
 business, they say, under a different name. That's the 
 way he got his peerage, you know. I won't mention 
 names, of course, but two members of the Cabinet owed 
 him such a lot of money, and they threatened to resign 
 unless he was made a peer. You see they squared 
 their bills in that way. I call it shameful, don't you ? " 
 
 Lady Henry stops at last to breathe. 
 
 " One isn't surprised at anything in these days, 
 my dear," says Lady Oaktorrington. "But fancy 
 the prince staying with such people ! " 
 
 " Oh, he goes wherever he's sure to get good drinl: 
 and meet pretty women. I expect any day to hear
 
 84 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 he's visiting Poole, the tailor, or Cross and Blackwell, 
 or Marshall and Snellgrove. It's only a matter of 
 proper bait for the hook they throw." 
 
 " It's too bad of him. How can he expect us to 
 keep up the dignity of the higher classes when he does 
 such things ? " 
 
 "How, indeed? By-the-by, I hear you have an 
 American staying with you." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington gives a start at being brought 
 thus suddenly back to a subject which she had for the 
 moment forgotten. 
 
 " Oh, yes. A friend of Freddy's." 
 
 " How awfully jolly. I think Americans are such 
 capital fun, don't you know. They say such odd 
 things, and seem so pleased with everything. It's as 
 good as going to Moore and Burgess's Minstrels to 
 meet one, don't you think ? " 
 
 " I really can't say. I never met one before. That 
 is to say, a man." 
 
 "I was going to say I thought you knew Lady Ru- 
 dolph Campbell. Of course you do. Isn't she awfully 
 sweet, and she dresses so well." 
 
 "How on earth, dear, did you know we had an 
 American here ? " Lady Oaktorrington asks, after 
 casting about in her mind unsuccessfully for a 
 clew. 
 
 " Oh, let me see. Yes. Lord Bouverie told me. 
 I met him at the Saturday Pop." 
 
 " Really ? Tiresome old fool, how did he know ? " 
 she adds to herself. 
 
 "He's awfully rich so he said." 
 
 " Y yes, I believe so." 
 
 " What ? Don't you know ? "
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 85 
 
 An idea fraught with much relief to her distressed 
 mind suddenly strikes the marchioness. 
 
 " Oh, of course he is. I was only joking. He's 
 immensely rich." 
 
 " I thought you must be. And nice, too, is he ? " 
 
 " I think so. But you can find that out for your- 
 self at luncheon." 
 
 "And that reminds me. I must go and get ready." 
 
 " That's not a bad idea," Lady Oaktorrington says 
 to herself, as five minutes later she follows Lady Henry 
 up the stairs and goes to her boudoir in search of 
 Lady Edith. She is not there. The marchioness rings 
 the bell, and orders her maid to tell Lady Edith she 
 wishes to speak to her. In five minutes the woman 
 comes back and says : 
 
 " Lady Edith is not to be found, m'lady. She 
 must have gone out." 
 
 " Gone out ? " 
 
 " Yes, m'lady." 
 
 " Send Lady Edith's maid, Scovill, to me." 
 
 When Scovill comes she knows no more than any 
 one else, except that her young mistress's hat, walking- 
 boots, and sealskin jacket are missing. The conclusion 
 is, therefore, irresistible that Lady Edith has gone out. 
 But where ? And why ? Never before has Lady Oak- 
 torrington known her to do such a thing unattended. 
 
 " It all comes of having this this Yankee advent- 
 urer in the house ! " she exclaims, throwing herself 
 into a chair, when Scovill is gone. " He has been 
 undermining her principles already with his independ- 
 ent, rubbishy, democratic ideas. Fancy, before the 
 servants! What must they think? I can't make a 
 scene by sending after her. But just wait ! "
 
 86 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 No sooner has Lady Oaktorrington gone down to 
 receive Lady Henry Tollemache than Lady Edith, for 
 the first time released from her mother's eye since 
 breakfast, walks to the window of the boudoir and 
 looks out. The rain has stopped, and broken clouds 
 are flying across the sky before a fresh, warm, south 
 wind. Every now and then the sun peeps out, throw- 
 ing long shadows across the grass-lawn beneath the 
 window, and changing the dingy rain-drops which 
 hang upon the outer sash into sparkling diamonds. 
 The sparrows chirp gleefully in the ivy, and a venture- 
 some thrush or two hop hither and thither in search of 
 the worms which come up in earthy circles to the sur- 
 face of the lawn every minute. As she looks out it 
 seems a sin to be stewing in-doors on such a day, she 
 thinks, and she feels as though a breath of out-of-door 
 air would do her head good, for it has been aching 
 badly ever since breakfast. She watches Lady Henry's 
 fly drive away down the avenue until it is lost in a 
 distant turn, and she wishes she was the driver any- 
 body who has his liberty. 
 
 " If I had any one to go with me," she says. " Yet 
 why shouldn't I go alone ? What harm ? I know 
 mother will be dreadfully cross about it if she knows. 
 But need she know ? " She sees the figure of a man 
 walking slowly up the avenue. "Who can it be?" 
 Her heart begins to beat faster. " Yes, I really believe 
 it is him" At that moment one of the under-garden- 
 ers crosses the lawn with a lawn-mower. " I'll just 
 run out and speak to Bridges about planting those
 
 ARISTOCRACY. g/ 
 
 bulbs from Carter's. There can surely be no harm 
 in that." 
 
 In three minutes she is dressed and out upon the 
 crunching gravel of the drive. The under-gardener 
 has vanished. 
 
 " How tiresome of him ! " she says. " I can't go 
 back now. Perhaps he has gone this way." 
 
 Taking a side-path to avoid passing the drawing- 
 room windows, she gains in a roundabout way the iron 
 gate which opens from the grounds about the house 
 into the avenue, and lets herself out. Not a soul is to 
 be seen, nor a sound to be heard except the cawing of 
 the rooks as they circle about the bare tops of the 
 lime-trees. She walks on and on and on, at every 
 step thinking she hears an approaching footfall, at 
 every turn expecting to see an advancing figure. She 
 gets within sight of the lodge, and knows she is almost 
 a mile from the house. She looks at her watch. 
 Quarter past twelve. She must retrace her steps 
 at once or she will be late for luncheon, and her 
 mother know what she has been doing. A carriage 
 drives up to the lodge-gates and waits to be let in. 
 Whoever it is will see her as they pass, and that 
 would never do. Leaving the avenue she runs 
 quickly across the grass until she gains the friendly 
 shelter of a clump of deodaras, and sits down, out 
 of breath, to rest herself upon a bench under their 
 branches. 
 
 " How unlucky I am ! First to have been foolish 
 enough to come out, and then not to see er Bridges, 
 and last of all to be driven over here by that tiresome 
 carriage. I wonder who it is ? " 
 
 She becomes conscious of the smell of tobacco-
 
 88 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 smoke, and before she can realize what it means, Allen, 
 hat in hand, is standing before her. 
 
 " This is a surprise. I would add what we say in 
 America and observe that ' mother will be pleased," 
 but that I know the opposite sentiment to pleasure 
 would be hers could she view this interesting scene." 
 
 He stands smiling as the bright color which her 
 recent exercise has brought into her cheeks fades 
 slowly away before his gaze. 
 
 " I I really upon my word, one doesn't know 
 where to go to avoid you one is safe nowhere." 
 
 This is what she says to him after coming out to 
 see er Bridges, the under-gardener. 
 
 He is really rebuffed at last. The events of the 
 morning have in no way sweetened his temper. Not 
 only have they had a dampening effect upon his spirits, 
 but they have made him peculiarly sensitive to further 
 indignity from these people whether affected or not. 
 He is tired of this incessant dissimulation, if such it 
 be ; and if it be unassumed it is time he accepted it 
 at its true value. In either case he would go. He 
 turns upon his heel without a word and walks away. 
 He has not taken a dozen strides when he hears: " Mr. 
 Allen ! Don't go, please." .In a moment he is by her 
 side again. He stands waiting for her to say some- 
 thingone, two, three minutes they seem hours. She 
 sits complacently looking down at the ground. At 
 last he says, 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 She looks up with a start. 
 
 " What you here ? I thought you had gone." 
 
 He grinds his teeth with very vexation. 
 
 "Why, you called me back."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 8 9 
 
 " Did I ? When ? " 
 
 "Just this moment. How can you go on like 
 this?" 
 
 "Like what? I don't understand you." 
 
 "You know perfectly well what I mean." 
 
 " I'm sure I do not. I really thought you had gone. 
 Why don't you go ? " 
 
 As he turns quickly from her he sees in her eyes 
 the look of the night before. The same pleading, un- 
 happy, yearning look, as she bends slightly forward 
 and puts up one hand in silent supplication. What is 
 he to do? He is a man who thinks he understands 
 women as well as most men. He has certainly had 
 experience enough to make him a fair judge. He has 
 always known just what to do with them, but this time 
 he acknowledges himself nonplussed. The conscious- 
 ness of his superior strength and her weakness the 
 recollection that he is a man and she a woman in 
 short, his innate spirit of chivalry, comes to his aid, 
 and molds his will. He will obey her. 
 
 As she sees him waver and remain, the old, placid 
 look of indifference comes back into her eyes ; but he 
 heeds it not. 
 
 " I know you wish me to remain," he says, hoarsely, 
 " although you do not say so. Stay ! Hear me out. 
 For no other woman on earth would I do so for no 
 other woman on earth would I submit to be treated in 
 this childish fashion." 
 
 In the frame of mind in which he is, he gives un- 
 due weight and importance to what at any other time 
 would seem the veriest trifles. What man does not 
 remember how it is when the glamor is on him? 
 Allen at last finds himself in the plight in which it has
 
 go ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 heretofore been his experience to see, and his pleasure 
 to leave the other party. In fine, the boot is on the 
 other leg this time, and would that a certain score or 
 more of American girls, who for his sake are wearing 
 gowns of the willow pattern, were here to see. 
 
 " You do not answer you do not speak. Have 
 you nothing to say ? " 
 
 She looks up with a face of utter unconcern, though 
 (did he but see it) there is a happy, restful, satisfied 
 light in her eyes, underneath the mask she shows him. 
 
 " No. What should I say ? " 
 
 " Something anything only speak. Let me hear 
 the sound of your voice." 
 
 At that moment the wind wafts to them the " three- 
 quarter " chimes from the clock in the stable-tower. 
 
 " Dear me ? It is a quarter to one. We shall be 
 dreadfully late for luncheon as it is, and won't mother 
 make a row ! " 
 
 " She is likely to do that in any event ; it doesn't 
 matter how long we are." 
 
 " Indeed it does to me. And look ! Another 
 shower is coming up and I've no umbrella. I must 
 really go at once. Oh, no no no," as Allen starts 
 on beside her. " You mustn't come. Fancy what 
 would be said ! I believe my mother would turn me 
 out of the house if I was seen walking with you." 
 
 Unaccustomed to the strict usages of the English 
 aristocracy, and judging everything by the customs of 
 his own country, Allen takes this speech as a fresh 
 insult. He flushes scarlet to the roots of his hair. 
 
 "And what have I done, pray, that it would be 
 such an overwhelming disgrace for you to be seen 
 walking with me ? " he asks in a trembling voice.
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 9 ! 
 
 " Done ? Nothing. What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean that there must be some reason why you 
 refuse to have me walk with you. I know there is, but 
 what it is I no more know than the Czar of all the Rus- 
 sias. I can not at all understand it. I have come to your 
 house as an invited guest, and am received with much 
 cordiality by your mother. I have not been in the 
 house twenty-four hours before I am treated with the 
 most barefaced, indecent, brutal, aristocratic rudeness 
 rudeness so studied and high-toned in its display that 
 it is difficult to lay hold of it, and say just what it is. 
 But I know it. I see it. Your mother is as different 
 to me as two women can be. She bade me good-night 
 like an iceberg last night, and she never spoke a word 
 to me at breakfast this morning, except to answer in 
 'Yeses,' and ' Nos,' and 'Ohs,' and 'Reallys/ what- 
 ever I said to her. Your brother and sister go out 
 hunting after asking me to join them ; Freddy goes to 
 London without saying a word to me, and you are 
 afraid to walk with me. What does it all mean? 
 Something. But what that something is I am as igno- 
 rant of as " 
 
 " The Czar of all the Russias," she cries, laughing 
 at his vehemence. Instead of being angry, her use of 
 his former simile to fill the present hiatus seems to 
 strike his fancy, and he joins heartily in her laugh. 
 
 " I wonder you are not too much out of breath to 
 laugh after that tirade," she says. " I'm afraid you 
 are dreadfully sensitive. You imagine people are rude 
 when they are not. You wouldn't want people to be 
 hugging and kissing you all day, would you ? " 
 
 " That would depend so much on who the people 
 were. I only expect to be treated with common
 
 9 2 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 civility. Why, I tell you a good average American 
 Indian would be ashamed to behave to a stranger as 
 your mother is behaving to me without the faintest 
 cause." 
 
 " Oh, your disgraceful conduct in the drawing-room 
 last night is sufficient cause. I told you how it would 
 be. You forget that." 
 
 " I don't believe it nor do you. Now, you will 
 pardon me, I know, if I say this : I am not a fool " 
 
 " I suppose I must forgive you for saying that," and 
 she laughs again. " It's natural you should think so." 
 
 " Oh, no, don't turn everything I say into ridicule," 
 and he is getting ready to mount his high horse again. 
 " I am serious. What I mean is this : Your mother 
 at first was all for my talking to you last night, and 
 this morning she is just the other way." 
 
 He is afraid he has gone too far, and he watches 
 her face narrowly to catch the first sign of indignation 
 it may show. Instead of that, as if by the touch of 
 some magician's wand, it turns from an expression of 
 levity to one of stern, settled obstinacy. The word 
 " rebellion " is written in large letters over every feat- 
 ure. 
 
 " Are you sure of this ? " she asks, in a quiet, serious 
 voice. 
 
 " Positive." 
 
 " Why didn't you tell me before ? " 
 
 " How could I ? I had no chance." 
 
 She thinks to herself a minute or two, and bites her 
 lips nervously. Then she says : 
 
 " You may walk home with me. Come."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 93 
 
 LADY EDITH and Allen, both occupied with their 
 own thoughts, walk on side by side across the grass 
 and among the park trees for some minutes in silence. 
 Each is following out a train of thought, and Allen is 
 the first to arrive at a conclusion. As they leave the 
 grass and step into the broad roadway of the avenue, 
 he stops short. 
 
 " I don't think I shall go any farther with you," he 
 says, decisively. " It is better not." 
 
 " What ! After begging me to let you, and my giv- 
 ing in to please you ? So like a man ! You're afraid 
 of the consequences," and Lady Edith gives a slight 
 sneer. 
 
 " Yes, I am for you." 
 
 " Oh, pray don't think of me." 
 
 " Yes, I must. I didn't quite realize the situation 
 in all its bearings at first ; but I see now what it would 
 bring upon you. No ; for the sake of ten minutes 
 more alone with you I can not subject you to the con- 
 sequences of what it would entail. I am not so ut- 
 terly selfish." 
 
 " Nonsense. I don't mind. At all events, you can 
 walk on as far as the iion gate. We shan't be seen 
 from the house until we get there, if we keep close un- 
 der the trees on this side." 
 
 There is more silence as they walk on, and then 
 Allen' says : 
 
 " Yes, I've made up my mind. I shall go at once." 
 
 " Oh, we're not half-way to the gate yet." 
 
 " I mean leave here leave the house."
 
 94 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 As he says this, and before Lady Edith can answer, 
 the rumble of wheels comes from the direction of the 
 house, and before they have time to escape to the 
 grass again and get out of sight behind a tree, a one- 
 horse fly rounds a bend and comes toward them. As 
 it turns out it is the carriage which Lady Edith saw at 
 the gate, returning empty after leaving some one at the 
 house. 
 
 " This is most opportune," Allen continues. " I 
 shall keep it to take me to the station." 
 
 " You are not in earnest ? " she asks, quickly. 
 
 " Indeed I am." 
 
 " Going to run away and leave me to face it all 
 alone ! That is your idea of manliness, is it ? " 
 
 " No, it is not. But my going will so gratify your 
 mother, that she will quite overlook your being late 
 for luncheon and unable to account for it." 
 
 " Oh, I shall be able to account for it, no fear." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " I'll tell her I turned on my ankle getting over a 
 stile. It will be rather a bore, though, having to keep 
 up a limp for the rest of the day, but there is no way 
 else." 
 
 Allen is regarding her with eyes full of wonder and 
 regret. He is no " prig " ; there is no man less one, 
 as his rousing Saturday-night stag-parties in Frisco 
 can amply testify. He doesn't mind or question what 
 a woman is if she be but truthful. That is his one 
 hobby, his single requirement in woman given, of 
 course, that she be fairly, reasonably well-looking to 
 start with. 
 
 " Pray don't say that," he says, earnestly. 
 
 " Why not ? "
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 95 
 
 " Because it is not true." 
 
 " Rubbish ! Who is to find out ? Who will know ? " 
 
 " Yourself." 
 
 It is neither Allen's custom nor inclination to preach. 
 He is one of the last men in the world to lay down 
 rules for anybody except himself, and he has never 
 cultivated the habit of inveighing against vice or ex- 
 tolling virtue. But it is doubtful if a sermon, couched 
 in the most elaborate diction, and embellished with the 
 most ornate verbiage of some acknowledged ecclesi- 
 astical light of the Established Church, could have ap- 
 pealed more eloquently and directly to Lady Edith's 
 sense of right than this single, earnestly-spoken word. 
 She reddens and bites her lip, and looks confused, as 
 the monition goes straight home to her heart. But the 
 taint of worldliness, the baneful influence of a life of 
 daily association with high-bred artifice and dissimula- 
 tion, where self-interest is the paramount, if not only 
 sentiment, taught and fostered and encouraged by fre- 
 quent example, is too deeply rooted in her nature to 
 be shattered by one blow. She is not to be won over 
 by a word. 
 
 " Dear me, how particular we are to be sure ! I 
 am sure I can not see the faintest harm in shielding 
 protecting one's self against injustice." 
 
 " By just means yes. But is deception just ? " 
 
 " Yes. Under some circumstances." 
 
 " You are a sophist, and I do not wonder. The 
 life of the average English aristocrat is one of sophis- 
 try, pure and simple. In everything he does his con- 
 clusion is drawn from false premises ; he finds a jus- 
 tifiable reason and excuse for the most mean and petty, 
 the most dishonorable and unprincipled actions. His
 
 96 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 sole aim and object in life is the conservation of him- 
 self as an individual member of a certain class and 
 through him of that class in the aggregate. To this 
 end it matters not what he does, so long as he can jus- 
 tify it on the ground of class custom, usage, mainte- 
 nance, or protection. He is always doing (or willing to 
 do) evil that good may come in the cause of his class." 
 
 " I'm afraid you'll think me very stupid, but I can't 
 quite follow or understand all you say. You see, I 
 have never heard anything we do questioned or criti- 
 cised by any one." 
 
 " No. I dare say not. Not even in the pulpit. 
 The clergy know too well on which side their bread is 
 buttered, to have them admonish the nobility of their 
 faults." 
 
 " I expect you are quite right. I really never 
 thought about it much. One sees every one do just 
 the same. But, of course, when one looks at it prop- 
 erly, it must be all wrong." 
 
 " It is all wrong, and it is the easiest thing in the 
 world to fall into such ways one's self without being 
 aware of it. Now, I myself, with all my talk, was 
 going to do a mean, dishonest thing, a minute ago, cal- 
 culated to deceive and .mislead. I have changed my 
 mind ; I will walk on with you to the house. And then 
 but I declare if the fly hasn't driven past and gone 
 without my knowing it." 
 
 " I don't wonder," Lady Edith says, with a smile. 
 " I saw it while you were talking." 
 
 " How unkind of you not to tell me or stop it for 
 me." 
 
 " I am not such a f fussy person as to interrupt 
 people when they are talking."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 97 
 
 Allen smiles to himself. " Of course, I can have 
 one sent for. They'll be too glad to get rid of me, I 
 should think. There's a train at 3.27 I can just catch. 
 I know, for I've looked it out in Bradshavv." 
 
 " You are very silly," Lady Edith says, after a long 
 pause, as they walk on. 
 
 " Because I am doing what is straightforward and 
 honest in walking home with you ? " 
 
 " No. Because you are going away. Would 
 would you stay if I asked you begged of you to ? " 
 
 They have all but reached the gate of the iron fence 
 that incloses the grounds about the house from the 
 park-land, and she stops, and turning, places her hand 
 upon his arm. In her eyes is the old pleading look, 
 while tears tremble upon their lids. A flush of ex- 
 citement suffuses her cheeks, and her lips, half open, 
 disclose the tips of the whitest teeth. To Allen (with 
 all the circumstances combining to make it so) it is 
 the loveliest face his eyes have ever rested upon. The 
 climax of a passion, which has been growing steadily 
 in his heart, is reached sooner than even he expected. 
 His heart beats, and his temples throb with the sudden 
 ecstacy of love, which seizes and takes possession of 
 him. He is about to answer in words of intensest love 
 and devotion when prosaic destroyer of his short- 
 spanned bliss ! a voice sounds behind them, and a 
 striding, lumbering step comes quickly on. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " HELLO, Sissy ! Fancy you being out like this ! " 
 The new-comer is a tall, raw-boned youth with 
 short, sandy-brown hair, and a smooth, sunburned,
 
 98 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 shiny face. He wears a check tweed jacket and 
 knickerbockers, long, coarse brown-yarn stockings, 
 and thick-soled shooting-boots. In his hand is a stout 
 ash walking-stick, on his head a small tweed cap, and 
 in his mouth a short briarwood pipe. He strides up 
 to Lady Edith, grasps her by the hand, and stoops 
 down and kisses her on the cheek before she can col- 
 lect her wits to speak. Allen's first impulse is to knock 
 the fellow down for his astounding behavior, and he 
 has sprung toward him with that intent, when Lady 
 Edith stays his uplifted arm : 
 
 " Bertie, of all people ! What on earth brings you 
 home ? I thought your vacation didn't begin till just 
 before Christmas." 
 
 Her surprise is not unmixed with vexation as she 
 says this vexation for the future as well as for the 
 present. 
 
 " No more it does," the youth answers, a grin slowly 
 taking the place of the frown with which he has been 
 regarding Allen. " The fact is, a pair of confounded 
 bull-dogs hauled me up for smoking in the street yes- 
 terday, and this morning the blackguard old proctor 
 sent me a polite note saying I was to pay him six 
 or seven bob. ' No fear,' says I, and I hooked it 
 home the first train. Beastly jolly sell for the proc- 
 tor." 
 
 " Father will be very angry, I'm sure." 
 
 " Can't be helped. Don't catch me chucking money 
 away like that, to keep the jolly dons in old port. But 
 I say," lowering his voice, " Who's this duffer? Never 
 saw him before." 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon. How stupid of me ! 
 Mr. Allen, my brother Bertie."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 99 
 
 Allen looks at the youth a moment and mutters to 
 himself: 
 
 " Another brother ! " and then puts out his hand, 
 which the other " pump-handles " in sulky silence. 
 
 " I say, what are you doing out here like this ? " 
 Bertie asks his sister, as he drops Allen's hand and 
 turns away. " It's uncommonly strange, isn't it ? 
 Who's this chap ? It isn't possible that he's staying 
 here ? " and he gives Allen an impertinent look over 
 from head to foot. " Looks like a foreigner." 
 
 " How rude you are, Bertie ! I'm positively 
 ashamed of you," Lady Edith whispers, as she sees 
 Allen flush with anger and knows he must have over- 
 heard. " Yes, he is staying here. Why shouldn't he ? " 
 
 " I'll back the gov'ner's away," Bertie says, with a 
 meaning wink. 
 
 " You may consider yourself lucky that he is. I 
 don't think you'll stay long after he returns." 
 
 " Two to one in half-crowns on it. Come, do you 
 take me ? " 
 
 Lady Edith does not answer, but turns to Allen 
 and says : 
 
 " We shall never get home like this," and walks on 
 with him beside her. 
 
 " By jove, no. You don't shake me off like that. 
 I'm not quite so green," and Bertie, with another wink 
 and a knowing nod, strides on by her other side. 
 
 " After all, perhaps it's just as well, if not better," 
 Lady Edith muses. " His coming will distract mother's 
 attention from us, and she will think I have really been 
 with him. Happy thought ! I will be civil to him 
 and get him to say so." She is about to broach the sub- 
 ject to Bertie, when Allen's recent warning comes back
 
 100 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 to her. No she won't. She will begin being honest, 
 straightforward, and truthful from that moment. Allen's 
 words have borne their first fruit already. 
 
 As they come in sight of the house a telegraph mes- 
 senger passes them going away. 
 
 " I hope it isn't anything bad," Lady Edith says, 
 very pale ; " I never can see a telegraph messenger 
 without being anxious and nervous until I know what 
 he is fetching. Do hurry on. Perhaps father is ill." 
 
 With a heart beating from a now double source she 
 runs up the steps followed closely by Allen. 
 
 " Now for it," he says, as the first person they en- 
 counter is Lady Oaktorrington, telegram in hand, 
 standing just inside the open drawing-room door. He 
 braces himself, and is about to shut his eyes to receive 
 the first outburst, when, before he can do so, Lady 
 Oaktorrington comes forward with a beaming smile 
 and outstretched hands : 
 
 " Mr. Allen Edith. I am so glad to see you 
 together. Had I known that you were with her, Mr. 
 Allen, I should have been spared much anxiety. You 
 naughty girl to go out without telling me," and she 
 shakes her finger good-naturedly at her daughter. 
 Allen and Lady Edith exchange puzzled glances. In 
 their state of mingled bewilderment and satisfaction of 
 mind at the unexpected and unaccountable turn affairs 
 have taken, they have time to do that. 
 
 " I must apologize for being so late," Allen begins. 
 
 " Oh, yes, mother, I'm afraid we're awfully late for 
 luncheon." 
 
 "It doesn't signify in the least. We have come 
 out, but everything is being kept hot for you. Will 
 you please ring the dining-room bell, Mr. Allen, when
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 1O I 
 
 you go in? I hope you'll find something to eat," and 
 the marchioness smiles again graciously. 
 
 In the revulsion of feeling from anxious anticipa- 
 tion to relieved realization, which Lady Edith has just 
 experienced, she has quite forgotten her fears about 
 the telegram. She sees it in her mother's hand. " Any- 
 thing unpleasant, mother ? " she asks. " I was afraid 
 father might be ill, or that there had been some acci- 
 dent on the railway or in the hunting-field." 
 
 " No, my dear," her mother says, soothingly. " It's 
 only a telegram from Redfern to say the jackets have 
 been sent off. Hadn't you better go and have some 
 food. You must be very hungry." 
 
 " What on earth can it all mean ? " Lady Edith says 
 to Allen as they wait in the dining-room for the dishes 
 to be brought in again. " It is past my comprehen- 
 sion." 
 
 " And mine," Allen replies. " She is not like the 
 same person." 
 
 They have grown upon a very familiar footing, these 
 two, in their short acquaintance, without seeming to 
 be aware of it. 
 
 " I can't help thinking," Lady Edith says, presently, 
 " that it might be that " she stops short. 
 
 " That what ? " 
 
 " Oh, never mind, now. Perhaps I'll tell you some 
 other time. By-the-by, what's become of Bertie ? I 
 had quite forgotten him." 
 
 " Not a very direful disaster if you had," Allen says, 
 with a trifle of impatience in his voice. " I fancy he 
 is old enough to look out for himself. In my opinion 
 the less a girl sees and thinks of her brothers the bet- 
 ter after they're grown up."
 
 102 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 "Do you? Why?" 
 
 " Oh, they are always in the way, loafing and idling 
 about I am talking only of England, mind, for in 
 America all your three brothers would be in some busi- 
 ness, or have some occupation that would keep them 
 busy away from home." 
 
 " My three brothers ! I've got four." 
 
 " Great Scott ! another ! " 
 
 " I'm sure you ought not to find so much fault with 
 them. If it hadn't been for Freddy we should never 
 have met." 
 
 " True. And for that one reason I forgive them 
 everything else. You want to know what became of 
 Bertie? I will tell you. When we came to a path 
 near the iron gate he left us abruptly and turned into 
 it. I saw him." 
 
 " Do you mean just inside the iron gate on the 
 left ? " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "Oh, that is the short cut to the stables. He's 
 gone to have a chat with the stable-boys." 
 
 " Humph ! " and Allen, with a facial contortion 
 evincing much inward irritation, drops his eyeglasses 
 off his nose. Luckily they are attached to a slender 
 silk cord and do not come to grief. " Do you know 
 the more I see of the English aristocracy the more in- 
 explicably inconsistent, the more extraordinarily self- 
 contradicting do they appear to me to be. We Ameri- 
 cans are blamed and abused for our * universal equality 
 notions ' as you call them and are twitted with call- 
 ing our servants ' help,' and with being on equal terms 
 with them. You do this " 
 
 " I'm sure I never said anything of the sort."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 103 
 
 " I mean you collectively. I say you do this with 
 one breath, and with the other you go to your stables 
 and have a familiar chat with your grooms and stable- 
 boys, and see no harm in it. Stay I make no point 
 of its being intrinsically wrong. It's harm depends on 
 the sort of people these grooms and stable-boys are. 
 They may or may not be advantageous companions 
 for young gentlemen. The chances are they are not. 
 It is not because they are grooms or stable-boys, but 
 because especially in England association with such 
 people, as you commonly find them, is not likely to im- 
 prove a youth's mind. Otherwise, there can be no 
 actual harm. But it is not that I am thinking about. 
 It is the glaring inconsistency of the thing on the part 
 of people who despise us for not having our servants 
 say ' sir ' and ' ma'am ' to us every two minutes, and 
 who at the same time associate with their own servants 
 on a far more familiar footing than we do with our 
 ' help.' All I can say is, if you do these things you 
 have the right neither to criticise us, nor to exclude 
 from your intimate acquaintance anybody on the mere 
 ground of class." 
 
 Allen stops and rearranges his eyeglasses to look 
 at her. 
 
 " Why do you wear those things ? " she asks. 
 
 Allen is rather put out by her seeming indifference 
 to his remarks : 
 
 " Why does a miller wear a white hat ? " 
 
 " Then you wear them to keep your eyes warm ? 
 What an extraordinary reason ? " 
 
 " Oh, you always turn everything I say into ridi- 
 cule." 
 
 The entrance of the butler and a couple of footmen
 
 IO4 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 with their luncheon puts a stop to further conversa- 
 tion save of the most conventional character be- 
 tween them. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE Bouveries arrived before afternoon tea in a 
 formidable family party of five father, mother, two 
 daughters, and, much to Lady Oaktorrington's surprise 
 and ill-concealed vexation Jack. 
 
 Lord Oaktorrington still remains in town. He is 
 detained by important political events, he writes to his 
 wife by the evening's post. An important division on 
 the Ground-Game Bill is expected to-night, he goes on to 
 say, and Salisbury has made it a personal favor, my re- 
 maining. I have an especial reason for wishing to please 
 him, as you know he has eight livings in his gift, and one 
 must think of Bertie. Besides, should the Government be 
 defeated, her Majesty will send for Salisbury at once, 
 and /:e has hinted his intention to offer me a seat in the 
 Cabinet as Lord Privy Seal, or the Lord- Lieutenancy of 
 Ireland, whichever I like. I expect to get home to-mor- 
 row, but in any event I shall not be kept much longer, as 
 Parliament must be up in a day or two, now" 
 
 11 1 don't believe a word of it," is Lady Oaktorring- 
 ton's comment, as she throws her husband's letter down 
 on the table. " It is only another excuse." 
 
 As a matter of fact, Lady Oaktorrington is wrong. 
 Though the marquis has cried wolf so often without 
 just cause that when at last he means it his cry is dis- 
 credited, this time (with one exception) his statement 
 is quite true. The single exception is, however, but a 
 mistake, and a minor one to him. The measure under
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 105 
 
 discussion in the House of Lords is the Local Govern- 
 ment for Scotland Bill, the Ground-Game Bill having 
 been passed three years before ! It is really all one to 
 Lord Oaktorrington. To him it doesn't matter in the 
 least what the measure is, so long as he knows which 
 way he is to vote. As for the marchioness, her knowl- 
 edge of politics and political history dates but from her 
 enrollment as a Primrose League dame by the Hert- 
 ford Habitation a year ago, and consists chiefly of a 
 hazy, indistinct, but nevertheless bitter hatred of 
 Gladstone, and of Mr. Joseph Chamberlain the accred- 
 ited leader of the Radical party. 
 
 She takes up the marquis's letter once more, and 
 reads it through again. 
 
 " No. Just as I thought. Not a word about Har- 
 borough. The man I wanted hasn't come, and the 
 man I didn't want has. I can't understand it." She 
 is in a complaining humor, with no one to complain to. 
 It is dull work growling to herself, and she misses her 
 husband, who is her usual safety-valve in that regard. 
 She has no confidences with her daughters, and her 
 sons, with the exception of Freddy, are too unsympa- 
 thetic to listen to her five minutes without yawning in 
 her face. In her extremity she turns for comfort to 
 Lady Henry Tollemache. They are all in the draw- 
 ing-room at five o'clock tea that is to say, tea is over, 
 and everybody is sitting about the room talking in 
 couples. Lady Bouverie, a tall, thin, vinegar-faced 
 woman, whose distinguishing characteristics are huffi- 
 ness (called sensitiveness by herself) and family pride, 
 is conversing in whispers with Lady Mary, on what 
 subject it is difficult to conceive, for they have not one 
 thought in common. However, as their lips move oc-
 
 IC>6 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 casionally, it is presumable they are saying " something 
 or other about something." Lord Bouverie is talking 
 to Allen, Lord Beyndour to Emily Bouverie, and Lady 
 Edith to Jack, while Augusta Bouverie sits alone and 
 crochets. 
 
 " I don't know what you'd think of it," Lady Oak- 
 torrington begins, as soon as she sees everybody set- 
 tled, and makes sure there are no listeners, "but to me 
 it is a most unheard-of thing." 
 
 " What is, dear Lady Oaktorrington ? " asks Lady 
 Henry, all ears in a moment, thinking she is on the 
 threshold of some startling scandal. " Pray tell me. 
 It shall go no further, I assure you." 
 
 "Why, having a man come uninvited to your 
 house." 
 
 "Who has done that?" Lady Henry asks, looking 
 round questioningly at the male guests, so as to shape 
 her answer accordingly. " The American gentleman ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ! " 
 
 " It's rather like them, you know. They do that 
 sort of thing among themselves, don't you know, and 
 think they can introduce their customs among us. I 
 was told a curious thing about a Yankee the other day, 
 by-the-bye, which is rather Apropos. You know the 
 Delancey Veres, of course. Well, Lady Charles and 
 her maid were coming home from Cannes, and were 
 crossing from Boulogne to Folkestone. On board, as 
 usual, were a lot of Americans. One of them, a lady, 
 noticed Lady Charles was looking rather ill, don't you 
 know, and, seeing her sitting on deck, where she went 
 for the air, supposed she had no cabin. So she went 
 up to Lady Charles, introduced herself as Mrs. Gen- 
 eral, or Judge, John T. Spaulding, of New York, or
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 ID/ 
 
 Cincinnati, I forget which, and insisted upon Lady 
 Charles going down to her cabin, where she and her 
 husband, a fearful snob, had a couple of bottles of iced 
 champagne, and made her drink some. Poor Lady 
 Charles was all alone, don't you know, except her 
 maid, and was afraid to refuse for fear of a scene, 
 these people were so pressing. Indeed, they wouldn't 
 take any refusal, and the general, or judge, actually 
 came up and assisted Lady Charles down the compan- 
 ionway with his arm round her waist. Just fancy ! " 
 
 " How dreadful ! Why didn't she send for the cap- 
 tain ? " 
 
 " Poor thing, I expect she never thought of that, 
 she was so bewildered. She goes about very little, 
 don't you know, and it was her first journey abroad." 
 
 " What a mistake traveling alone like that ! It 
 shows how dangerous it is." 
 
 " It does indeed. But that is not the worst part of 
 my story." 
 
 " I suppose the champagne was drugged, and they 
 robbed her," suggests Lady Oaktorrington. 
 
 " Oh, not quite so bad as that," smiles Lady Henry. 
 " They kept with her all the way to Charing Cross, 
 forcing themselves into the same compartment in the 
 train, and were actually almost carrying her off in the 
 cab with them to the Langham Hotel, when luckily 
 her footman appeared and rescued her. She says they 
 never rested till she gave them her name and address 
 she was shrewd enough to give them false ones and 
 gave her a pressing invitation to visit them in New 
 York or Chicago I wish I could remember which it 
 was as if she would ever go to the States, and actual- 
 ly invited her maid, too ! "
 
 108 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " How disgraceful ! " 
 
 " Lady Charles tells me poor Oilman acted so well 
 about it. She never answered or took any notice of 
 them." 
 
 " How clever of her ! " 
 
 " Yes, wasn't it ? And such a sell for them, not 
 finding out who Lady Charles was. I dare say they've 
 been passing their time trying to find the " Duchess of 
 Yorkshire " at " 45 Regent Square (that's the name 
 and address she gave them there's no such title, as 
 you know, and no such square, ha, ha !), and will go 
 back to America and say all sorts of uncivil things of 
 the English nobility in consequence. But you haven't 
 told me who came without being asked. It can't be 
 Lord Bouverie ? " 
 
 The marchioness shakes her head. 
 
 " Oh, no, of course not. Then it must be Jack 
 Bouverie. Don't you think I ought to have been a 
 man and gone to the bar ? You don't mean to say 
 Jack did such a thing as that ? Shan't I give him a 
 jolly good rowing." 
 
 " I certainly beg you won't. I've told you in con- 
 fidence." 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course ; I forgot. Poor Jack," Lady 
 Henry says to herself, " I wonder why you weren't 
 asked ? Ah, yes, of course," and she shuts her left eye 
 slowly after regarding Allen for a second or two. 
 " One eye is enough to see that. Of course, this Amer- 
 ican gentleman I forget his name ah, yes, Allen. I 
 suppose, of course, he's awfully rich. They all are, 
 don't you know in England." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington doesn't quite catch the last 
 two words, but there is something in Lady Henry's
 
 ARISTOCRACY. IO9 
 
 face which makes her heart drop down bump ! into 
 the soles of her shoes. 
 
 " Why, what do you mean ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing. He's very rich, isn't he ? Oh, yes, 
 I remember, you told me he was to-day." 
 
 " Yes, he is," Lady Oaktorrington answers, buoying 
 up her drooping spirits, and fortifying her doubting 
 heart (as one often does) by the self-deceiving assump- 
 tion of firmness. 
 
 " Oh, you know, of course." There is ever so 
 slight an emphasis on " know," and the marchioness 
 is now enough on the alert to detect it. Her heart can 
 not drop any further, but she gets a choke in her voice 
 as she answers : 
 
 " Y yes we know." 
 
 She thinks of Freddy's telegram in her pocket, and 
 wishes she might have another look at it to make as- 
 surance doubly sure. She has not had time to read it 
 once all the afternoon, since she got it, and then she 
 only glanced hurriedly over it. 
 
 " Because," Lady Henry goes on, " one hears such 
 odd things, sometimes, of the way they impose upon us 
 in England by their pretended wealth. Now, only 
 the other day But it can not interest you or be 
 a propos of your friend, so I " 
 
 " Oh, do tell me, I beg of you, dear Lady Henry," 
 Lady Oaktorrington says, with anxious eyes. " I should 
 so like to hear." 
 
 Lady Henry smiles cruelly behind her handker- 
 chief, and reels off as she spins : 
 
 " It's not very much. Only this : Sir Charles Heath- 
 cote, who has lately been over to the States, fell in with 
 an American on board the steamer coming home. A
 
 1 10 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 most agreeable, pleasant, well-mannered fellow he was, 
 Sir Charles says. They occupied the same stateroom, 
 and became very great friends. I forget the name of 
 the young man, but at all events he seemed to have 
 plenty of money to chuck about, and was a great favor- 
 ite with every one on board. They traveled up to- 
 gether from Liverpool to London, and had a compart- 
 ment together It was at night, and Sir Charles fell 
 asleep, and didn't wake up till they got to St. Pancras. 
 Sir Charles there bid his new friend good-by, the young 
 man saying he was going to stay at the Grand Hotel. 
 Well, to make a long story short, next morning Sir 
 Charles found his pocket-book was missing, with a 
 couple of hundred pounds in it in circular notes. Poor 
 chap, even then his suspicions weren't aroused, and he 
 posted off to the Grand Hotel to tell his American 
 friend his loss, and, would you believe it " 
 
 " The young man wasn't there, had never gone 
 there," the marchioness suggests between quick gasps. 
 
 " Half right and half wrong. He had been there, 
 but had left by the early morning Tidal for Paris. He 
 left a note for Sir Charles, to say he had been tele- 
 graphed for by his brother, but would return in a few 
 days. And fancy, Sir Charles swallowed the thread- 
 bare excuse, and is anxiously awaiting his return ! / 
 should have communicated with the Paris police with- 
 out a moment's delay, shouldn't you ?" 
 
 " Y yes, dear, I should," the marchioness answers, 
 absently, staring straight before her. 
 
 " So one can't be too careful, don't you know, can 
 one ? " 
 
 " N no, dear, I suppose not," and Lady Oaktor- 
 rington's eyes rest thankfully on Jack. " How glad I
 
 ARISTOCRACY. ! r i 
 
 am no2u that he is here," she thinks. " How silly I 
 was to speak of it. 
 
 " I can't get over Jack's behavior," Lady Henry 
 says, after a short pause. " I think I really must give 
 him a good rowing," and she rises from her seat. 
 
 " Not for worlds, dear. I beg of you not," the 
 marchioness implores. " Do, pray, sit down again. I 
 want your help about something. I'm in a tangle about 
 how I'm to send them all in to dinner. You see, I of 
 course must take Lord Bouverie, and Beyndour Lady 
 Emily, and that will leave only Jack Bouverie or or 
 this American gentleman for you, dear Lady Henry. 
 I'm so very sorry." 
 
 " Oh, I don't mind in the least," Lady Henry says, 
 airily. " Pray don't trouble about me." 
 
 " We expected that Lord Alfred Pictou and Montie 
 Vereker, whom we've asked to stay, would be here 
 to-day ; and the Duke of Harborough actually wrote 
 and proposed himself for yesterday, and he " 
 
 " Harborough coming here ? " and Lady Henry's 
 voice shows much agitation. " You you never told 
 me," and she gives a mental stamp with her foot. 
 
 " I didn't think of it. Why, my dear, you don't 
 mind meeting him, do you ? I thought, of all people " 
 
 " Oh, it's not that. But never mind. Which, then, 
 am I to have, Jack or the Yankee ? " 
 
 " Whichever you like." 
 
 " Oh, give me the Yankee, by all means." 
 
 Lady Henry watches the marchioness's face nar- 
 rowly as she says this, and sees, by the look of relief 
 which comes into it, that both her stories have taken 
 root already. 
 
 " Thanks so much, dear," Lady Oaktorrington an-
 
 II2 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 swers. "That will leave Jack for Mary, and the 
 Bouverie girls will have to go in by themselves with 
 Edith. It's all settled so nicely, although I wish I had 
 some other men." 
 
 The words are hardly out of her moufh when the 
 door is thrown open, and the butler announces 
 
 " The Duke of Harborough ! " 
 
 As the name lings out through the room Lady Oak- 
 torrington, every thought of her now unsettled plan 
 merged in but one of supreme satisfaction, and beam- 
 ing with smiles, rises quickly and goes to meet his 
 Grace ; Lord Bouverie stops in the middle of a long 
 dissertation on the Queen's regulations for the army 
 in his day, with which he has been regaling Allen, and 
 toddles forward with a fawning grin ; Lady Bouverie 
 gives a slight start, but instantly lapses back in bolt- 
 upright placidity ; Emily Bouverie screws up her mouth 
 and winks at Lord Beyndour, who takes not the faint- 
 est notice ; the other three girls sit demurely oblivious 
 as all properly brought up young ladies should under 
 all circumstances ; Lady Henry turns as red as she can 
 under her powder, and looks a curious mixture of an- 
 noyance and pleasure ; and Allen, with a face of utter 
 and silent amazement, glances quickly ever at Lady 
 Edith. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LADY OAKTORRINGTON'S plan of sending in her 
 guests to dinner receives a further disruption by the 
 arrival, just before the dressing-gong goes, of the 
 Honorable Montague Vereker. Montie Vereker, by
 
 ARISTOCRACY. l j 
 
 which name he is best known, is a younger son of Vis- 
 count Hampstead. He is a " young man about town," 
 as the phrase goes, who, on an allowance of four hun- 
 dred a year from his father, manages to live well, dress 
 well, have chambers in Bennet Street, St. James, to 
 belong to three or four swell West End clubs, and to do 
 the London season every summer, and a round of coun- 
 try-house visits every winter. Besides amusing him- 
 self he does nothing. It is not that he has not brains 
 enough and natural ability enough with which, if set 
 going in the right direction and through the proper 
 channels, he might accomplish by work something to 
 do him credit and honor ; but simply that his educa- 
 tion and bringing up have fitted him for nothing but 
 aristocratic (though economical) idleness. He goes to 
 two or three balls a night from May to August, seldom 
 misses Epsom, Ascot, or Goodwood the Derby and 
 Cup days never and is generally to be found at San- 
 down and Newmarket. He is a swimmer '' in the 
 swim " if any man is, and is, in short, a fashionable 
 idler. He is young about six and twenty and 
 though, except on account of his rank, not considered 
 an " eligible," and then only by the title-seeking par- 
 ents of some trade-made heiress ; he is one of a large 
 army of useful and ornamental, though comparatively 
 impecunious, young gentlemen in aristocratic London 
 society, who can dance, flirt, talk fluently the gossip 
 and small talk of the hour, and who make the "men" 
 at every entertainment during the season, from state 
 balls at Buckingham Palace to "small and early" 
 dances in Belgravia and Mayfair. He is eminently 
 safe on the marriage question. He was never known 
 to commit so vulgar, ill-bred, and altogether unaristo- 
 8
 
 II4 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 cratic an error as to fall in love ; and such a thing as 
 entertaining a serious idea of any of the dozens of girls 
 with whom he dances, flirts, and gossips from one year's 
 end to the other, has never entered his head. He 
 knows better. It is his utter neutrality which obtains 
 and retains for him the entree to the best houses, and 
 gives him unlimited and free access to the society of 
 young girls, who from other men of less circumspect 
 habits and equally light purses, are guarded by lynx- 
 eyed papas and mammas as from the approach of raven- 
 ing wolves. He is an authority on everything fashion- 
 able, from the last figure introduced in the cotillion to 
 the latest cut of trousers or style of shirt-collar ; and 
 has at his fingers' ends all the scandal and tittle-tattle 
 of the hour, from the whispered name of the co- 
 respondent in the next divorce case before Sir James 
 Hannen or Sir Charles Butt, to all the minor legacies 
 in the will of every rich maiden aunt or bachelor uncle 
 in the kingdom. He is a fund of information on every- 
 thing considered useful in society but nowhere else. 
 So long as he cultivates the qualities which at present 
 distinguish him, and observes a strict adherence to the 
 rules and regulations which they entail, so long will 
 he never want a dinner to eat or a bed to lie upon 
 from the fathers and mothers of girls needing partners 
 at balls, and a helping hand generally to make not only 
 their coming out a success, but their going through a 
 second season a possibility. He has assisted a dozen 
 or more girls to good marriages, and one of these days, 
 when he finds his social power and prestige on the 
 wane, and his grip upon society loosening, he will think 
 of marriage himself, and will select the heiress of some 
 title-hunting city magnate of obscure origin but pletho-
 
 ARISTOCRACY. H 5 
 
 ric bank account, or retired millionaire brewer who 
 began life on sixpence ; and in the dowry he gets with 
 his wife will find ample amends for red hair, freckles, 
 vulgarity, and ^-dropping. 
 
 The proper adjustment of the niceties of the scale 
 of precedence which controls the British aristocracy 
 as by a rod of iron, and which is never more strictly 
 observed than in the sending of guests in to dinner, is 
 a science in itself ; and if a thorough knowledge of all 
 the intricacies and ramifications of rank can entitle her 
 to the honor, Lady Oaktorrington may justly be called 
 a scientist. But she has nothing on the present occa- 
 sion to test her skill in this respect. The rank of each 
 guest is too clearly defined to admit of any question. 
 There are no conflicts arising out of similar titles, no 
 claims of superiority that can not be seen at a glance 
 without consulting the peerage for creation dates. She 
 herself will, of course, go in last with the Duke of 
 Harborough, Lord Beyndour will take in Lady Bou- 
 verie first, then Lord Bouverie will follow with Lady 
 Henry Tollemache, and after them will come Montie 
 Vereker and Lady Mary. Up to this point it is all 
 plain sailing with her. After this her troubles begin. 
 And her troubles consist of but one difficulty, and that 
 lies in the answer to the question of not where, but 
 with whom she shall send in Allen. As an American 
 gentleman he is legitimately and logically the peer of 
 any man. If the status of a man in his own country 
 be the criterion, no one should outrank an American 
 in any other. Unfortunately, this is not admitted in 
 England (at all events among the aristocracy), where 
 all Americans must take rank with English " misters " 
 who have no title, if indeed Americans are allowed to
 
 u6 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 have any rank at all. But it is not Allen's rank or 
 right of position which troubles Lady Oaktorrington's 
 rnind. Where he ought to be placed never enters her 
 head. If that were all she would soon come to a de- 
 cision. As a matter of fact she believes (in common 
 with her class) that as an American, and because he is 
 an American, he should yield precedence to every 
 Englishman present, and be content to be sent in the 
 last of her guests. To do this she would not hesitate 
 if it becomes necessary upon her settling the real diffi- 
 culty in her mind with whom she shall send him. The 
 duke's coming has dislodged Lord Bouverie from his 
 place of honor with her, and makes it imperative, much 
 to that lady's disgust, that he should be allotted to 
 Lady Henry Tollemache, the next lady in order of 
 rank. That leaves Allen free, and who his partner 
 shall be partakes very much of the character of a 
 dilemma. In fact, two dilemmas stare the marchioness 
 in the face. She doesn't want Lady Edith to have 
 him, and she does. The new doubts which Lady 
 Henry's tales have raised in her mind support the 
 negative of the proposition, while Freddy's telegram 
 takes the affirmative side In the one case she should 
 shield her daughter from his attentions ; in the other, 
 she should not throw any obstacle in his way. If he 
 doesn't take in Lady Edith he must Emily Bouverie, 
 and Emily Bouverie is about the last girl on earth in 
 whose way she would throw any young man on whom 
 she had an eye for either of her daughters. This is 
 dilemma No. i. Then, if she doesn't let Allen take 
 in Lady Edith, there is but one man left for her to go 
 with, and that is Jack, and Jack is almost, if not quite 
 (in her mind), as bad as Allen may be. There is
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 117 
 
 the difference of the present and the future between 
 them. 
 
 " I can't send Jack in with his sister," she reflects. 
 " That would be simply outrageously bad form. And 
 yet I must if I don't let him go with Edith. What 
 shall I do ? " This is dilemma No. 2. 
 
 She is still in doubt when she goes up to dress for 
 dinner. While her maid is dressing her hair, she gets 
 her first fair chance to read Freddy's telegram again. 
 It reassures her immediately, and she decides at once 
 in Allen's favor on all points. She reads the telegram 
 once more : 
 
 " Treat him civilly. He is all right, of course" 
 
 This is all it says. 
 
 She reads it again, and the warm sense of security 
 and satisfaction about her heart quickly falls in tem- 
 perature. As no doubt most of us have experienced, 
 the more she studies and reads and thinks, the more 
 uncertain does she feel. By the time she has read and 
 weighed the words half a dozen times they bear a 
 totally different construction from that which she put 
 upon them at first. Freddy has seen no one, it is evi- 
 dent, and has really found out nothing, and his tele- 
 gram is no more than a mere opinion based upon no 
 further information concerning Allen than that with 
 which he went away in the morning. 
 
 " Oh, dear me, yes," she cries to herself. " Of 
 course, shows that. I know Freddy's " of courses." 
 They're always meant to bolster up some real doubt 
 in his own mind which he finds easier to dispose of by 
 two self-assuring words, than by the trouble of an in- 
 vestigation. Fancy my forgetting this ! And yet, per- 
 haps I am wrong and he does know. It's all the fault
 
 U 8 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 of these tiresome telegrams ; they never make anything 
 clear. But I dare say I shall hear from Freddy to- 
 morrow. In the mean time I shall follow his advice, 
 so far as I can. I'll be civil to him, but I'll be on the 
 safe side about Edith. She shall go in with Jack. 
 Jack's a gentleman at all events, and though he may 
 not have the money we want, would not do anything 
 dishonorable. That's all settled. But I wish I could 
 see my way to avoid sending the other in with Emily 
 Bouverie. Augusta I shouldn't mind. She's so dull." 
 
 The first person she meets on entering the draw- 
 ing-room is Bertie. Her delight is unbounded. " So 
 good of you, Bertie, dear, to come so cleverly to my 
 rescue," she smiles, as he walks sheepishly up to her, 
 expecting from her the displeasure at his unwarranted 
 absence from his college which his father would have 
 shown ; " I don't in the least know what I should have 
 done with poor Augusta Bouverie, but for this. Thanks, 
 dear, so much," and she accepts a dutiful kiss from 
 the truant on each cheek. " You must take in Emily 
 Bouverie mind. He shall go with Augusta. I hope 
 he'll enjoy her society." 
 
 And so, when dinner is announced, Allen has the 
 satisfaction of seeing himself placed below every one 
 else, and given as his companion the lady whose rank 
 is the lowest of the entire company. And this, while 
 the highest position and greatest honor is graciously 
 bestowed upon a man whose name and fame as the 
 most immoral profligate of the British peerage are 
 thanks to the American press as well known publicly 
 in the United States as they are privately in England.
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ALLEN'S naturally quick temper is sorely tried by 
 this exhibition of (to him) aristocratic flunkeyism. He 
 can forgive the slight insult to himself, if it be not in- 
 tentional ; but he can find no excuse for the homage 
 done to a man so degraded as the Duke of Harborough. 
 He does not know that the strict rules of precedence, 
 which to the English nobility are as the laws of the 
 Medes and Persians, demand this social elevation of a 
 duke, libertine though he be, above the heads of his 
 fellow-men who rank below him; and that to none 
 save a prince would he yield precedence. Accustomed 
 as he is to see only men of merit and brains, ability 
 and valor/given place in his own country, he contem- 
 plates the spectacle with a sense of humiliation that 
 he should be obliged to be even an unwilling assistant 
 at so degrading a ceremony. With brows knit and 
 teeth set hard he takes his seat, a latent fire in his eye 
 telling that he but waits his opportunity to give vent 
 to his feelings in some wholesome expression of opinion 
 on the shallowness of monarchical institutions, and all 
 the empty follies which they entail upon the people 
 who are so weak as to be ruled by them. A sweet 
 and sympathetic smile from Lady Edith, who sits op- 
 posite, does much to mollify him ; and after a somewhat 
 prolonged silence, during which he eats his soup in 
 mechanical abstraction, he turns to Augusta Bouverie. 
 
 To begin a conversation with a person with whom 
 one has no interests in common, of whose tastes, pre- 
 dilections, opinions, and views one is totally ignorant, is 
 not an easy task for any man at a dinner-table espe-
 
 I20 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 cially. The first remark must partake of the forced 
 abruptness of a question, as to the answer to which 
 you are utterly indifferent ; or else of the lugged-in- 
 by-the-head-and-shoulders character of a comment on 
 some passing event, which comes into your head Apropos 
 of nothing at all. You only speak because you must 
 speak, because you are expected to talk about some- 
 thing, or be put down for a dolt and a fool ; and while 
 the sound of your voice seems to you harsh, discord- 
 ant, choky, and unnatural, you are conscious that sev- 
 eral pairs of ears besides those possessed by the person 
 you are addressing, are wide open to listen and criti- 
 cise and quiz your every utterance. To a shy man 
 the position is one of untold misery. Fortunately for 
 himself, as well as those with whom he is thrown in 
 contact, Allen is not shy. Never was a man less so. 
 But were he afflicted with this painful, and, in his own 
 opinion, unmanly malady of sensitive diffidence, the 
 resentful humor he is in would temporarily overcome 
 and cure it. There are plenty of things that he would 
 like to say, and would say, but that his inward sense 
 of delicacy and refinement holds him in check. He is 
 not usually at fault for something to say at any and all 
 times, but now he seems unable to think of anything. 
 His companion in no way suggests a topic. She sits 
 bolt upright in her chair, with her hands folded in her 
 lap, and her eyes demurely bent down, contemplating 
 the table-cloth immediately in front of her. Through 
 the corner of his eye Allen sees Lord Beyndour mak- 
 ing signs to Emily Bouverie to look at him ; he is dimly 
 conscious, for he dares not trust himself to look, that 
 they are both laughing over some mutual joke of which 
 he is the subject ; his ears grow hot and his forehead
 
 ARISTOCRACY. I2 j 
 
 flushes red. He dashes at the first thing that comes 
 into his head : 
 
 " Do you admire Irving? " 
 
 " I I don't know who you mean," with a slight 
 blush. 
 
 " Why, Henry Irving " still a look of oblivion 
 " the actor." 
 
 " Oh ! " with a start. " I don't know anything 
 about actors that is, real ones. We have private 
 theatricals at home, sometimes." 
 
 " Do you take part in them ? " 
 
 " Me ? Oh, dear, no. But Emmy and Jack do." 
 
 " But you go to the theatre, don't you ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " If I lived in London I should go almost every 
 night." 
 
 " We don't live in London. We live in Warwick- 
 shire." 
 
 " Why, your father spoke to me before dinner about 
 his house in London." 
 
 " Yes, that's our town-house. We don't live there. 
 We only stay there in the season." 
 
 This seems to Allen much like a distinction with- 
 out a difference. 
 
 " And you never go to the theatre. I thought Eng- 
 lish people were so fond of the theatre." 
 
 " I expect you are thinking of the middle classes. 
 We don't care for the play." 
 
 " Then you have never seen any of Shakespeare's 
 plays ? " 
 
 " Dear, no. Mamma wouldn't let us see them ; 
 they're too dreadful." 
 
 Allen adjusts his. eyeglasses to look at her.
 
 122 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Are you serious ? " he asks, after a minute of silent 
 inspection. 
 
 " Yes. Quite." 
 
 " Don't you know that Shakespeare's plays are the 
 grandest, most superb writings in the English language ; 
 and that he is acknowledged to be the greatest of Eng- 
 lish poets ? " 
 
 " No, I'm sure I don't. I know nothing at all about 
 him, and mamma would be awfully shocked if she 
 thought I did." 
 
 Allen is thunderstruck, and regards his companion 
 with eyes of honest pity. 
 
 Lord Bouverie has been watching the pair with calm 
 satisfaction, while carrying on a determined struggle 
 with Lady Henry for the exclusive use and possession 
 of the personal pronoun I. . At the same time he con- 
 trives to catch enough of their conversation to tell its 
 drift. Both eyes and ears warn him that everything is 
 not going on as swimmingly as he would wish. He 
 leans forward in front of Lady Henry, who separates 
 him from Allen. 
 
 " I'm afraid, sir, that Augusta's ideas do not agree 
 with your own about something," he says, with a smile 
 to Allen which merges into a frown as he catches his 
 daughter's eye. " You are talking of Shakespeare ? 
 Pray don't mind anything she says. She knows posi- 
 tively nothing about him." 
 
 "So she tells me. And I confess I am surprised. 
 In America we have the greatest veneration for him. 
 I thought it was the same here in England." 
 
 " I'm sorry to say I'm rather ignorant myself about 
 him. I believe there's an actor in London who, under 
 the patronage of Lady Burdett-Coutts, has been doing
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 123 
 
 some of his plays lately. I'm sorry to say I've not 
 seen them." 
 
 " Sorry ? " exclaims Lady Henry. " I'm sure if 
 you'd been with me you would be sorry. You know 
 Berkeley Villiers ? I thought you did. He's gone on 
 the stage, you know, and Henry Irving, whose real 
 name, by-the-by, is John Brodribb, it seems was origi- 
 nally a clerk in the city in an insurance company's 
 office of which Berkeley's father was a director. So 
 Irving engaged him for very small parts at his theatre, 
 and one night last summer he sent me an order for a 
 box with a note begging me to go and see him act. 
 Just to please the poor fellow, don't you know, I went. 
 It was one of Shakespeare's plays ' Romeo and Juliet ' 
 I think there is such a play, isn't there ? " and she 
 looks at Allen for enlightenment. 
 
 " I believe I have heard of a play of that name at- 
 tributed to Shakespeare," Allen answers, dryly. The 
 sarcasm is, however, quite thrown away. 
 
 " Thanks. I thought you'd know you Ya Ameri- 
 cans know everything. I never saw such people. 
 Well, as I was saying, I went to see this play, and of 
 all the dull, trashy, tedious, vulgar productions as it 
 was. I don't think I ever saw anything more utterly 
 absurd. Men were fighting with their swords out every 
 two minutes, somebody was taking poison every three, 
 and such rubbishy stuff as the people talked ! Love- 
 making it was, nauseous and vulgar from beginning to 
 end. Now, fancy a man being such an utter idiot as 
 to talk to a woman like this, and fancy her putting up 
 with it ! I remember it especially because its silliness 
 made a great impression upon me. Romeo talks to 
 Juliet under her window late at night imagine any
 
 I2 4 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 lady going in for such things and says, ' Would I were 
 a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek ! ' 
 Just fancy that ! It's positive drivel, and about on a 
 par with the rubbishy stuff in the railway-stall novels 
 which my maid pores over all day long. It's just the 
 sort of thing she would like to have said to her by her 
 young man in Fortnum and Mason's shop." 
 
 " I quite agree with you, Lady Henry," shouts Lord 
 Beyndour, from the bottom of the table. " Shake- 
 speare writes most awful rot. The other night I went 
 for something better to do to see Irving as Shylock 
 in I forget the name of the play. Shylock is a Jew, 
 and he lends a merchant a lot of money, and takes 
 as security a pound of the poor chap's flesh. If Gilbert 
 or anybody else put such stuff as that into their plays 
 in these days they'd be hissed off the stage in no time. 
 Shakespeare, indeed ! The Jews in the City want bet- 
 ter security than that nowadays. Try 'em and see." 
 
 Allen elevates his eyebrows to Lady Edith, and 
 turns to Lady Henry. 
 
 " Do you hunt ? " he asks. 
 
 " Rather, when my friends are good enough to 
 mount me. I'm too poor to have horses of my own. 
 And you ? But of course not. You Americans sneer 
 at our hunting, don't you ? " 
 
 "Do we?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, you know you do. You see, you are not 
 fond of sport as we are." 
 
 " Possibly not, if you limit it in that way. We 
 certainly don't care much for such mechanical sport 
 as fox-hunting." 
 
 " I won't listen to you, you shocking heretic. 
 Fancy calling our dear hunting a mechanical sport ! "
 
 ARISTOCRACY. ^5 
 
 " What else is it ? You preserve the animal you 
 hunt from all harm until you want to use him, and in 
 the mean time he's devastating farmyards and doing 
 no end of damage. Then the sport is so dreadfully 
 uneven. There's one poor solitary half-tame fox with 
 no means of defense but his heels, pitted against say, 
 a hundred horsemen, and as many dogs. What dan- 
 ger is there in it except to the fox, and what skill is 
 required ? It is danger and skill that make sport." 
 
 " What ! No danger in riding straight across 
 country ? I never heard such a man ! " 
 
 " Yes, perhaps in riding straight. But who ever 
 rides straight ? Did you ever see any one ? I'm 
 sure I never did. People make for every gap and 
 open gate they can find, and ride along the roads." 
 
 "Oh, that's to save their horses. I'm sure that's 
 right enough." 
 
 " Perhaps it is. But it isn't riding straight, all the 
 same." 
 
 " Oh, you only talk like that because you're an 
 American. If you were an Englishman, you'd hunt, 
 never fear." 
 
 " Perhaps I couldn't afford to have any horses of 
 my own." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington and Lord Beyndour catch, all 
 but the first word of this speech, and exchange 
 glances. Lady Henry sees an opportunity to find 
 out something she has been anxious to know before 
 wasting any ammunition upon Allen, for she has men- 
 tally selected him for a victim, should events recom- 
 mend and justify it in her estimation. 
 
 "What bosh!" she exclaims. "All you Ameri- 
 cans are so awfully rich. Aren't you ? "
 
 I2 6 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington pays no heed to something 
 the duke is saying to her, but sits breathless awaiting 
 Allen's reply : 
 
 " I I really I can't answer for all my country- 
 men. Some of them are very wealthy, I dare say. 
 Vanderbilt, for instance, and Jay Gould and Gordon 
 Bennett and Mackay. But they are only four." 
 
 " Oh, come, you know you yourself are said to be 
 enormously rich ? " 
 
 "Am I ? People talk without book sometimes.'' 
 
 Lady Henry grows desperate. 
 
 " Well, aren't you ? " 
 
 "What? said to be enormously rich? I don't 
 know. You say so." 
 
 " Oh, no ; you know quite well what I mean. 
 Aren't you awfully rich ?" * 
 
 Allen winces and reddens, at the point-blank ques- 
 tion, and his disgust at the grossness of its personal 
 character is doubled as he becomes vaguely conscious 
 that everybody is silently listening for his answer. 
 
 " You must pardon my declining to answer," he 
 says, stiffly. "There is nothing I detest more than 
 discussing myself at any time, and especially for the 
 edification of a whole dinner-table." 
 
 " By Jove ! if he hasn't shuffled out of it. I 
 thought he would," mutters Lord Beyndour to him- 
 self but loud enough for his neighbors to hear. " He's 
 afraid to lie before so many people, of course. I say 
 mother ! Freddy ought to feel proud of himself, don't 
 you think ? " 
 
 The marchioness who hasn't this time caught Al- 
 len's answer owing to an inopportune remark from the 
 duke, replies by a puzzled, questioning look, whereat
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 127 
 
 Lord Beyndour shuffles his feet under the table in a 
 temper, and says : 
 
 " By Jove, she can't think of anything but Har- 
 borough." 
 
 " I'm not going to have such an answer as that," 
 Lady Henry says, with a little laugh, fearful of having 
 gone too far in her rudeness to a man whose evasive 
 reply to her questions she is woman enough of the 
 world to know is better proof of his riches than if Me 
 openly declared the fact to her. She must try and 
 make up for it, she thinks, and for the first time it 
 dawns upon her that Allen is "awfully good-looking." 
 Not that that fact would have had much weight with her 
 had she not now felt morally convinced of his wealth. 
 She throws into her eyes all the suggestive power that 
 can come from half-closed lids veiling upward turned 
 pupils, and says in a soft, cooing voice, that dozens of 
 men have known to their cost : 
 
 " You must tell me some other time soon, all to 
 myself. Promise me, won't you ? I shan't tell any one. 
 I never tell any one anything not even my hus- 
 band," and she opens her eyes for one second and 
 shoots a glance full of meaning at Allen. He is not the 
 man to misunderstand her. No man knows woman 
 and her ways better than he. He is conscious of a 
 slight quickening of his heart-beats, and sense of sud- 
 den heat in his temples as she speaks, for she is really, 
 by candle-light, a very pretty woman. 
 
 " You will tell me ? " she persists. 
 
 " Certainly I will," he answers in a low voice. " But 
 it must be under the condition you mention, you must 
 be alone. And " He looks up and catches Lady 
 Edith's eye. She is looking at him with her great big
 
 I2 8 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 soft gray eyes full of wonder and reproach. He colors 
 and stops short. 
 
 "And what? what else? Oh, I'm afraid you're 
 wasting your time if that is your game. She's en- 
 gaged to be married." 
 
 " Yes ? And to whom ? " 
 
 " To the man she's sitting next and with whom she 
 came into dinner Jack Bouverie " this in a whisper, 
 for Lord Bouverie 's ears are wide open. 
 
 " I should hardly have fancied he filled her ideal." 
 
 " Girls in these days are not allowed such incon- 
 venient impediments to matrimony as ideals, my dear. 
 We find our ideals after marriage, not before. Some 
 of us find them and some don't. I'm still looking for 
 mine," and the old look comes into her eyes. " Per- 
 haps I shall find it sooner than I thought." 
 
 "And do you mean to say, she is really engaged to 
 that young man ? Are you sure ? It has not been 
 formally announced ? " 
 
 " No, not yet. But they have been engaged for 
 more than a year, I know. Lady Oaktorrington, told 
 me. There ! will that satisfy you ? But you mustn't 
 breathe a word of it to any one for it is a secret yet. 
 But there. How tiresome ! Lady Oaktorrington is 
 putting on her gloves. You won't stay long, promise 
 me and," in a low whisper, "come to me directly you 
 can. I've got something I particularly want to say to 
 you." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 WHEN the ladies retire, Allen is left to the tender 
 mercies of Lord Bouverie, in whose demeanor to him 
 he notices a marked change. The old warmth of
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 I2 9 
 
 manner, and glaringly apparent desire to ingratiate 
 himself with the rich stranger by overdone attentions 
 and forced interest takings have vanished, and in their 
 place he finds cold and distant civility. After a few- 
 interchanges of words of the most commonplace char- 
 acter, during which Lord Bouverie gives indisputable 
 evidence of a wish to listen to, if not join in, the talk 
 of the others, Allen lets the conversation drop, and sits 
 silent and alone among his own conflicting thoughts. 
 No one utters a word to him, no one takes heed of 
 his presence, and the only part he takes in the assem- 
 bly is to mechanically pass on the decanters as they 
 come his way in their periodical circuits of the table. 
 
 " I say Monty ; heard anything of Bazzy, lately ? " 
 asks Lord Beyndour. 
 
 " Who ? Bazzy Paget ? " 
 
 " Urn." 
 
 " No, only that he's gone to the dogs, neck and 
 crop." 
 
 " The devil ! you don't mean it ?" 
 
 " I do it mean it, though. He's been tumbling 
 downhill fast enough the last two years for anybody 
 to expect it, I should think." 
 
 " Tumbling downhill isn't going to the dogs, though, 
 is it ? " remarks the Duke of Harborough, dictato- 
 rially. " Not quite, at all events," and Allen thinks he 
 ought to be an expert on such matters. " I knew he'd 
 got awfully in debt, and heard whispers of his having 
 to leave the army on account of a little affair with his 
 colonel's wife. But that was before he came into the 
 title more than six months ago. I thought the title 
 cured all that." 
 
 " I dare say the title may have hushed up the little
 
 130 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 scandal you mention, but it didn't pay his debts. 
 He'd anticipated every farthing of ready money there 
 was in bank, and the estates wouldn't stand another 
 ha'penny on mortgage, so there he was. Even the 
 succession tax was paid by his uncle. I met him com- 
 ing out of the Rag one afternoon last month, and he 
 told how up a tree he was, and that he thought of 
 sending in his papers to sell " 
 
 " Pardon me one moment, Vereker," says Lord 
 Bouverie, who has been waiting his chance. " Not to 
 sell, my dear fellow. Purchase was abolished in let 
 me see seventy-two, no, seventy-one. You can't sell 
 what you've not bought. Um. Eh ? I remember 
 once " 
 
 " It doesn't signify in the least," Vereker replies, 
 curtly, knowing what they will be treated to if prompt 
 measures are not adopted. " My belief is that Bazzy 
 Paget went into the Blues in seventy, before purchase 
 was abolished " 
 
 " Well, then, of course " 
 
 " Er er it doesn't signify in the very least, my 
 dear Lord Bouverie. I believe I said so. Where 
 was I ? Oh, yes. He said he was thinking seriously 
 of going out to America " 
 
 " Fancy Bazzy Paget on a cattle-ranch ! " laughs 
 Lord Beyndour, whose sole ideas of America are asso- 
 ciated with his brother Freddy. 
 
 " Cattle-ranch ? No fear, my dear boy. Cattle- 
 ranching wasn't his little game. He thought he'd go 
 over and pick up a Yankee heiress, with a million's 
 worth of plating over her twang." 
 
 Allen turns crimson, and the veins in his temples 
 stand out like knotted whipcord with suppressed anger
 
 ARISTOCRACY. j^! 
 
 as he sees Lord Beyndour look over at him and laugh 
 to himself. Jack Bouverie and Bertie exchange winks, 
 and cough pointedly at each other. 
 
 " Oh, for one just one of the boys, Al Freeman, 
 Joe Spaulding, Ed Billings, or any one of them, to 
 back me and see fair play, and I'd tackle the whole 
 lot of them, duke and all ! " groans Allen, helping 
 himself to some grapes to appear indifferent. " Why, 
 oh, why, did I ever come among them ? Why, in- 
 deed ? " and his thoughts flow into a different 
 channel. 
 
 " Poor chap," says the duke. " Fancy being 
 driven to that extremity." 
 
 " By-the-by, talking of Yankee heiresses, have 
 you seen Haskell's wife ? " 
 
 " No, I haven't. Have you ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have. I met her " 
 
 " Stop a bit," interrupts the duke. " Is that the 
 girl from 'Frisco? If so, I can tell you something 
 about her. But go on, Vereker, I'll wait." 
 
 " I met her and Sir George staying at the Charter- 
 ises up in Yorkshire last winter. I believe she's got 
 two millions and a small foot, but there it stops." 
 
 " Oh, I say now," shouts the duke, " draw it mild, 
 Vereker. I happen to have seen her myself and she's 
 deuced pretty." 
 
 " Tastes differ. She said ' yes sur ' to me when I 
 spoke to her first, but when we got ' bettur 'quainted ' 
 as she called it, her favorite form of acquiescence in 
 any of my observations were ' that's so,' ' you bet 
 you,' and ' I should remark.' I stopped counting the 
 ' guesses ' after the first ten minutes." 
 
 " Oh, come now," exclaims the duke. " That's too
 
 , 3 2 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 large an order. I've met loads of Americans myself, 
 and though I should be deuced sorry to be so hard 
 put as to have to take one to wife, they don't talk like 
 that. Give the devils their due." 
 
 " That's just what I am doing. I'm telling you ex- 
 actly the sort of woman Haskell's Yankee wife is. 
 They call her ' the mustang ' up in Yorkshire." 
 
 " And more shame for them, is all I can say ! " ex- 
 claims Allen, quickly, unable longer to restrain his 
 tongue. " I don't know what you may think about 
 it yourselves, but to a foreigner like myself, such a 
 remark applied to a lady is simply atrocious. English 
 chivalry must, indeed, have gone to the dogs if it 
 ever existed, which I begin to doubt when it can 
 permit any man, I won't say gentleman to call a lady 
 ' a mustang.' " 
 
 The men look from one to the other thoroughly 
 taken aback, for a minute. Then Lord Beyndour 
 sneers and tries to laugh, while Lord Bouverie wakes 
 up from a doze, and asks : 
 
 " What's the row ? Urn. Eh ? " 
 
 The duke is about to say something disagreeable, 
 from the look in his eye, when Vereker, with a very 
 pale face, thinks discretion the better part of valor, 
 and says, with a pacificatory smile to Allen : 
 
 " What harm ? I don't in the least know what a 
 mustang is. I had a sort of idea it meant a fairy, 
 or " 
 
 " Oh, ho ho ho ! Ha ha ha ! " shouts Lord 
 Beyndour in an explosion of laughter. " That's too 
 good. A fairy ! oh, ho ho ho ! " 
 
 " Or a foreign princess, or something of that sort," 
 proceeds Vereker, as soon as he can make himself
 
 ARISTOCRACY. j^ 
 
 heard. " I thought it was something complimentary, 
 at all events." 
 
 " Fancy sucking up to him like that ! " says Lord 
 Beyndour to the duke. " He needs a devilish good 
 snubbing for his impertinence." 
 
 " I'll give him one presently," the duke answers. 
 " Just wait." 
 
 " I'll tell you what a mustang is," Allen says, "and 
 you'll see how complimentary it is. It's a half-bred 
 Mexican horse, half-broken, half-wild." 
 
 "It may not be complimentary," says the duke, 
 "but I call it damned appropriate." 
 
 Allen rises quickly from his seat. 
 
 " I have assumed that I was addressing myself to 
 gentlemen," he says, hoarsely. " Am I to understand 
 that I have been wrong ? I happen to have the honor 
 of knowing the lady, and were it not so, she is a coun- 
 try-woman of my own. As she is a friend, a country- 
 woman, and a woman, may I ask you to refrain from 
 further comment upon her in my presence ? " 
 
 " Certainly of course we didn't know," explains 
 Vereker, who is a man of some knowledge of the 
 world outside the radius of English aristocratic soci- 
 ety. " Pray sit down." 
 
 " Perhaps you'll allow me to speak, Vereker," 
 scowls the duke, " our answer to you, is this : Mr. 
 what's his name? " aside to Lord Beyndour. 
 
 " I'm blessed if I know," Lord Beyndour answers 
 with a grin. 
 
 " Well, then, our answer to you, sir, is this : We 
 propose to talk upon any subject we see fit, without 
 any dictation from you. If you do not like it you
 
 I<34 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 "Retire. Which I most assuredly shall do." And 
 Allen leaves the table and walks out of the room, 
 without a voice or hand to stay him. 
 
 " Beastly cad ! " exclaims Lord Beyndour, as soon 
 as the door is shut. " It serves mother right for ask- 
 ing him here." 
 
 " Who is he ? " asks the duke. 
 
 " A Yankee friend of Freddy's he picked up on 
 his journey home." 
 
 " It's deuced lucky the servants had left the room," 
 remarks Lord Bouverie. " Um ? Eh ? " 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ALLEN goes directly to his room. He finds a fire 
 burning brightly in the grate and candles lighted on his 
 dressing table. He draws an arm-chair up to the fire, 
 lights a cigarette, sits down, and tries to think. There 
 is a feeling of warmth and comfort about the room, an 
 atmosphere of noiselessness and dried lavender that 
 fills his brain with a sense of repose, and seems to chide 
 him for his ill-temper. After all, these people do not 
 treat him so badly. Perhaps he has been too exacting ? 
 No, he has not. It has been one insult after another 
 heaped upon him. Who wants their candles and their 
 fire? He will blow out the one and extinguish the 
 other with the water-jug in two minutes. Yet stay. 
 They don't know that his room is so comfortable. It -> 
 isn't them he has to thank for it. It is only the work^\P V 
 of the servants in anticipation of a good tip when he^jN - 
 goes away. Money, again ! But can one blame them 
 with their betters setting them the example ? *>
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 135 
 
 " Now, then, what am I to do ? " he asks himself, 
 as he breaks his reverie to light a fresh cigarette. " I 
 can't stay here after this, and I won't, unless some 
 apology is made to me, arid that isn't a likely thing to 
 happen. There isn't anything for me to do. None 
 of them will fight. It's against the law they tell you. 
 A nice law that enables a man to insult another with 
 impunity ! They simply shield themselves behind a 
 law of their own making for their own protection. No 
 wonder England is become a bear-garden ! Yes, I 
 must go. The fact of the matter is I ought never to 
 have come here. I wish I hadn't for many reasons. 
 I should never have seen her. Not that it can matter 
 now. Who would have thought her such an arrant 
 little coquette ? And such a man to oust one ! Is it 
 true ? Can it be true ? Yes, it must be. Everything 
 confirms it. What a fool I have been ! I, who have 
 gone through fire a score of times unsinged. How 
 lucky I didn't commit myself this morning. And how 
 I cursed her brother for interrupting me. Poor chap, 
 I ought to feel deeply grateful to him for it. It was a 
 narrow escape. What would Fanny and Carrie and 
 Kittie and Jennie and Lou and Syb and Hattie and 
 Nellie and Minnie say if they were to hear of it. I 
 could never live in 'Frisco again." 
 
 He smiles to himself at the thought, but his smile 
 fades away as he studies out some problem imbedded 
 in the red coals, and his cigarette burns away into a 
 long, crisp ash between his finger-tips. 
 
 " Is it not all a yarn of this Lady Henry Tollemache ? 
 It is clear what her game is, and she may only have in- 
 vented it all to serve her own ends. I ought to feel 
 immensely complimented, of course, but all the same,
 
 ! ^6 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 I should like to know for sure. How can I find out ? 
 Ask her. Tax her with it. But when? My only 
 chance is to-night, for I must go as early as I can 
 to-morrow morning. How I hate going down among 
 them again ! Yet, I suppose I must. Shall I get a 
 chance to speak to her, with this fellow Jack hanging 
 about her ? More than likely not. I'll tell you what 
 I'll do. Yes, that's the way." 
 
 He seats himself before the writing-table and writes 
 Accept my congratulations. I hope you will be happy. I 
 go to-morrow morning. Oh, how COULD you ? " 
 
 " Now, the next thing is, how to get it to her ? It 
 would require the sleight of hand of a skilled conjuror 
 to pass it to her before all those eyes. I must find 
 some way." He folds the sheet and puts it into an 
 envelope, and has just done so when there is a knock 
 at the door. 
 
 " Please, sir," says one of the footmen, " his lord- 
 ship sent me up to say as how if you wanted to smoke, 
 sir, there was a smoking-room. Every one's been 
 wondering where the smoke came from, sir, and her 
 ladyship's in a great way about it, sir." 
 
 " I'm so awfully sorry. It was very stupid of me. 
 I quite forgot. Just open the window. And here's 
 a trifle for your trouble," putting half a sovereign into 
 the man's palm. 
 
 " Yes, sir. Hope no offense, sir. Young master's 
 orders, sir," says the servant, touching his forehead at 
 every second word. 
 
 " No, no. That's all right. See here. I want a 
 note delivered unknown to any one in the house. Can 
 you do it for me ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 137 
 
 " Mind, it's not so easy as you think. It's for a 
 lady." 
 
 ''Lady Henry, sir? Not the first time, sir," and 
 the footman grins. 
 
 " Oh, isn't it ? Well, it's not for Lady Henry this 
 time. It's for Lady Edith. Think you can manage it ? " 
 
 " Certain sure I can, sir. If you please, sir he 
 he beg your pardon, sir. I be keeping company 
 along with Lady Edith's own maid, sir. I'll get her 
 to slip it to her young missus, no fear, sir." 
 
 " To-night ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir, when her ladyship goes to her room." 
 
 " All right," and Allen puts another half-sovereign 
 with the letter into the man's hand. 
 
 " Thanky, sir." 
 
 " And now, I suppose, I must go down. This con- 
 founded smoking will be another thing to face. How- 
 ever, it can't be much worse," and Allen goes down to 
 the drawing-room. Self-possessed as he is, it takes a 
 good deal of nerve to open the door and go in. As it 
 is he stands for a minute or so with his hand on the 
 door-handle before he can get courage to turn it. He 
 is received in silence. Lady Oaktorrington is talking 
 to Lady Bouverie, Lady Mary is telling Augusta Bou- 
 verie all about her dogs, and Lord Beyndour and Emily 
 Bouverie are whispering and laughing together on a 
 distant sofa. Lord Bouverie is fast asleep in an arm- 
 chair. The others are nowhere to be seen. He walks 
 over to a table, picks up a photograph-album, and sits 
 down. As he turns over the pages of princes, dukes, 
 marquises, and all the grades in the peerage down to 
 honorables, he catches a scrap now and then of what 
 his neighbors are saying :
 
 138 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Yes, I can smell it quite strong," Lady Bouverie 
 says. " Fancy a young gentleman in our day smoking 
 in the house ! " 
 
 " Ah, yes, but then one so seldom met foreigners, 
 my dear Lady Bouverie." 
 
 This has clearly been said in a loud tone purposely, 
 for the voices become almost inaudible again. 
 
 Presently he hears Lady Mary say : 
 
 " Oh, they've gone to the billiard-room," and in 
 two minutes he is out in the hall on his way there 
 himself. 
 
 Lady Edith and Jack are playing against Vereker 
 c.nd Bertie. 
 
 He makes straight for Lady Edith, who at the 
 moment is standing alone just having made a stroke. 
 She turns very pale as she sees him coming, and, he 
 thinks, looks annoyed. 
 
 " I had no idea you added this to your other ac- 
 complishments," he says, trying his best to smile and 
 look at ease. 
 
 " No, it's Jack's turn," she says, in answer to Ber- 
 tie, and then looks at Allen. 
 
 " What did you say ? " she asks, with her brows a 
 trifle puckered. 
 
 " It doesn't matter in the least. I came to say " 
 
 "What? what? Don't look like that at me here 
 before the others." 
 
 " I think I shall say good-night, now, as I'm 
 going" 
 
 Bertie looms up along side. " My turn ? " and 
 Lady Edith goes to the table. She has some wonder- 
 ful luck considering that her cue shakes as much as it 
 does, and makes a good break. When at last she
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 139 
 
 misses and comes back to her former place, Allen is 
 gone. 
 
 As Allen turns to go, a different door from that at 
 which he entered opens, and the Duke of Harborough 
 comes in fastening a spray of stephanotis in his button- 
 hole. The doorway is nearer to him than the other, 
 and in his anxiety to get out of the room as quickly as 
 possible, Allen makes his exit by it. Instead of in the 
 hall, as he expected, he finds himself in a narrow ante- 
 room, the far door of which stands ajar. He walks on 
 and enters a small, cosy" apartment. In the grate a 
 fire of glowing coals casts a rosy hue over the room, 
 the effect being enhanced by a lamp on the table, with a 
 rose-colored shade. Standing by the fire is Lady Henry 
 Tollemache. Allen's humor at the moment of leaving 
 the billiard-room is one which pretty nigh verges on 
 desperation. Not alone is he now convinced that Lady 
 Edith's engagement to Jack Bouverie is true, but he 
 feels like some hunted animal, only too glad to obtain 
 succor and comfort at the hands of any one. In his 
 present frame of mind the " any one " in his case is a 
 very pretty woman, a trifle rouged, perhaps, and made 
 up as to the eyes ; but in that light, and under those 
 circumstances, with all the fascinating adjuncts of the 
 female toilet as it can be expressed in full evening 
 dress, she seems a veritable houri. She looks up and 
 greets him with a smile. 
 
 " What a time you have been ? " she says. " I 
 waited for you in the drawing-room, for ever so long, 
 and at last thought you were not coming, and had 
 gone to bed." 
 
 Her kind words when every one else is cold and 
 cruel, is the finishing touch. For the moment, he is
 
 140 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 (or feels as though he were, which amounts to pretty 
 much the same thing) madly in love with her. With- 
 out a word, he steps forward and grasps her gloved 
 hand. 
 
 " Not now," she says, quickly disengaging it, with 
 a slight reproving frown. " You've not told me what 
 you promised." 
 
 *' What ? " Allen asks, hazily. " I haven't told you 
 what ? " 
 
 Lady Henry puts her foot impatiently on the floor. 
 
 " Oh, you remember what I asked you at dinner." 
 
 His face clouds. 
 
 " Never mind that now. Don't let us mix such 
 sordid thoughts " 
 
 " But you must tell me at once," she answers, seri- 
 ously. " I dare not stay here a minute longer. Any 
 one is likely to come upon us at any moment, and 
 just fancy what people would say ! " 
 
 " Who cares for people ? " says Allen, grandly. 
 
 "/do. Oh, no, no, no! You mustn't lock the 
 door. We should be in a pretty trap then. Fancy 
 such a thing ! I ought to be awfully angry with you." 
 She looks really annoyed for a moment, and then says, 
 with a smile. " I'll forgive you if you tell me." Allen 
 does not reply. " Will you tell me, or will you not ? " 
 she asks, impatiently. 
 
 " Why do you want to know ? " 
 
 " Why do you object to tell me ? " 
 
 In the midst of the fascination which spurs him on, 
 Allen is conscious that he is making a fool of himself. 
 His better sense tells him this. Yet, manlike, the 
 glamor is on him, and he does not hesitate. 
 
 " Do you wonder that I should want you to like
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 141 
 
 me only for myself? " he asks, with a hoarse tremu- 
 lousness in his voice that is such old and well-known 
 music to Lady Henry's ears that she smiles inwardly 
 as she looks at him with her most winning pout. 
 
 " No. But suppose I should be very mercenary 
 most women are, you know, though they pretend 
 they're not you'd have to tell me then, wouldn't 
 you ? " 
 
 " Um ! Yes ; I suppose I should." 
 
 Lady Henry's mental powers of perception are 
 sufficiently keen to let her see in this answer all the 
 information she wants. Her heart gives a great bound 
 of joy. She puts the hand she had drawn away on to 
 his, and says in a soft, cooing voice. 
 
 " I do like you so much. How happy I could be 
 if " She pauses and looks down. 
 
 " If what ? " Allen asks, quickly. " You had an- 
 other husband ? I've " 
 
 " No," she answers deliberately, shrugging her 
 rounded white shoulders. " Marriage makes no dif- 
 ference, I think, except that it changes one's name. 
 It's not that." She gives a little sigh and bites her 
 lips. " I'm in a good deal of trouble about some- 
 thing. You won't mind if I tell you ? You have 
 such kind, sympathetic eyes." 
 
 " Pray tell me what it is," he says, earnestly. 
 "Perhaps I may be able to help you out of it." 
 
 Her eyes brighten at his words and the smile 
 comes back to her lips. 
 
 "Yes, you could," she says, slowly. 
 
 " You could" and she puts a sweetly smiling em- 
 phasis on the word. " But how can I expect a 
 stranger "
 
 142 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Pray don't call me that," he cries, eagerly. " In 
 more ways than one the word grates upon me.". 
 
 " I won't then, dear oh, what on earth am I say- 
 ing ! What must you think of me ? " 
 
 "Shall I tell you?" Allen exclaims, hotly. "I 
 will. That you are the most charm " 
 
 " Stop ! stop ! I can't hear another word. It's 
 most awfully unfair. Wait till you hear what I am 
 going to tell you. Know, then, that I've you are 
 sure, you won't mind my telling you ? " 
 
 " No, no. Quite sure. Do go on." 
 
 " Well, then, you must know that " (a long pause be- 
 ginning with a serious face and tearful downcast eyes, 
 but ending with a beamingly hopeful upward glance) 
 " I've I've overdrawn at my banker's. There ! I'm so 
 awfully ashamed," and she covers her face with her 
 hands. 
 
 " Nonsense. Is that all ? " Allen says, gently 
 taking down her yielding fingers from her eyes. 
 " That's easily remedied. I shall be only to hap " 
 
 "Oh, thank you so very much," she cries, breaking 
 away from him. " I knew you'd understand about it. 
 You Americans are so quick to see one's meaning. 
 Englishmen are so awfully dense, don't you know, 
 when there's a question of money." 
 
 " Are they ? I should hardly have thought so. 
 But you must tell me how much you " 
 
 " Not to night. I'll tell you to-morrow. What's 
 that ? Voices ? Hush ! " 
 
 They listen in silence awhile, but no sound reaches 
 them save the chimes of the hall clock. " Eleven ! 
 I must go back to the drawing-room at once. No, 
 no; you mustn't come with me. That would never
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 143 
 
 do. I shall go by this door alone and you can re- 
 turn to the billiard-room by that. Or else you must 
 wait here till you are sure every one is gone to bed, 
 and then come out through the drawing-room. Good- 
 night." 
 
 "Just wait one minute," Allen says, in an eager 
 voice, then stops short, and fumbles with his watch- 
 chain. 
 
 " Well, what do you want ? " 
 
 " I I can't can't you give me a bit of this ? " 
 and he touches the bunch of stephanotis in her cor- 
 sage. 
 
 " Not for worlds ! " she exclaims, covering the 
 flowers with both hands. " Another time I will per- 
 haps but not to-night. Don't ask me." 
 
 " I saw the duke with one as he came into the 
 billiard-room from here a few minutes ago. You 
 gave him cne." 
 
 Her eyes flash for a moment as she mutters some 
 words of vexation to herself; and Allen has sense 
 enough left to see he has made an unwary speech. 
 
 " Did I ? " she asks, in as careless a tone as she 
 can command. " I don't remember in the least. But 
 even if I did which I don't admit, mind that would 
 be a good reason why you should not want one, also, 
 wouldn't it ? " 
 
 Allen thinks a minute to get her point well into his 
 head, and then says, rather sulkily and disappointedly : 
 
 "Yes. I suppose so." 
 
 She turns to go. " One minute more," he says, 
 recovering some of his usual courage as if by an effort 
 " I dare say you'll think me foolish, silly." 
 
 She shakes her head.
 
 144 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " I'm sure I shan't do that," she whispers, sweetly. 
 " Why should I ? You are far too kind." 
 
 "Well, exacting, any how. I won't ask for the 
 flower; but I do want something you have worn 
 something that has touched you." 
 
 Half an hour ago he would have quarreled with 
 his best friend had he predicted such a scene for him 
 as this with any woman but one. In less than half 
 an hour hence he will realize the degradation of his 
 treason and awake from his fleeting and self-enmeshed 
 enthrallment. He is but a mortal at best, and Nemo 
 mortalium omnibus horis sapit, 
 
 Lady Henry is about to smile contentedly to her- 
 self behind her fan at his words. They speak such 
 unconditional surrender to her charms ; such unquali- 
 fied success in her " plan of campaign." But there is 
 a look in his eyes which, experienced as she is in 
 such scenes, fairly frightens her. She takes a step 
 backward and hurriedly holds her pocket-handker- 
 chief up to him. " Will this do ? You can give it to 
 me to-morrow. Now, really, good-night, or I shall 
 lose my character." She glides quickly away through 
 the doorway and is gone. 
 
 Allen stands waiting a few minutes, the handkerchief 
 held tightly in his hand. He puts it up to his lips. 
 It breathes the same delicate perfume which seems to 
 pervade the atmosphere when she is present, and in 
 obedience to the influence of the instant he is about to 
 kiss it, but something tells him not. He rolls it up 
 quickly, and puts it in his pocket. He feels triumph- 
 ant, and yet a trifle ashamed when he lets himself 
 think. But reflection is a mental operation fraught 
 with too much pain to him just then not to have him
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 145 
 
 seek relief in physical activity. He can wait no 
 longer standing idly there, so he retraces his steps 
 through the anteroom to the billiard-room door. He 
 hears the click of balls within and hesitates. What if 
 she be there still ? How can he play the spaniel in 
 her eyes by coming back? And how can he have 
 the heart to enter her presence -fresh from such a 
 scene as that in which he has just played so recreant 
 a part. His treason is beginning to dawn upon him 
 already, and he feels as though he could not meet her 
 eye without a flush of honest shame. Yet, there is no 
 other way. He must face the ordeal. He opens the 
 door and to his intense relief finds it is only the duke 
 and Bertie having a game together. All the others are 
 gone. He walks quickly through and out by the other 
 door into the hall, utterly unheeded by the players. 
 The drawing-room door is standing open. All is 
 dark and silent within. He lights his candle and 
 goes up-stairs ; and as he passes through the main cor- 
 ridor on his way to the bachelors' wing where his room 
 is, he sees lying on the mat just outside one of the 
 bedroom-doors a spray of stephanotis. " Hello ! 
 That's a nice way the duke treats her flower, and she 
 refused me one. I'll have this any how even though 
 it does come second hand," and he picks it up. 
 " She'll wonder how I got it when I show it to her 
 What? Eh? Is this the duke's room? And why, 
 I left him down in the billiard-room. Faugh ! " 
 With a face of loathing he flings the flower to the 
 other end of the corridor. 
 
 10
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " MUST you really go ? " Lady Oaktorrington asks, 
 freezingly, as Allen comes into the breakfast-room next 
 morning before prayers, ere any other guest is down. 
 The marchioness always reads prayers for the servants 
 when her husband is away, and consequently has to be 
 on hand earlier than other people. " And you won't 
 stay and have breakfast ? " 
 
 " I shall lose my train, if I do, thanks, very much. 
 I can get a bite in the refreshment-room at the station 
 that will last me until I get to London. Good-by. I 
 must thank you for your generous hospitality and 
 kindness." 
 
 " Oh," is all Lady Oaktorrington can say. To 
 do her justice she is inwardly ashamed, but dis- 
 cipline will not let her say so. " Good-by." And 
 she gives Allen two fingers to shake. He is out in 
 the hall where the butler and footman are helping 
 him on with his ulster, when the marchioness fol- 
 lows him. 
 
 " Oh will you be so good as to send your your 
 bill, don't you know, for what we owe you for Freddy 
 to our lawyers, the Messrs. Fairfield and Jenkinson, 
 Lincoln's Inn Fields, and they will settle it. Allen 
 does not answer. He dare not trust himself to speak ; 
 but turns without a word and leaves the house. As he 
 is stepping into the fly which his friend the footman 
 has procured for him from Hertford, the latter says to 
 him. " In the inside breast-pocket of your ulster, sir, 
 you will find a letter. Thanky sir." 
 
 And the fly goes lumbering down the avenue.
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 147 
 
 Ere the wheels have performed a dozen revolu- 
 tions Allen has the letter open in his fingers. 
 
 I don't know wJiat you mean, it says. If any 
 one has told you that I am engaged to be married to any 
 one, it is false. I thi;ik I can guess wJw told you. It is 
 so like her. If you get this in time, which I hope and 
 pray you may, I beg and implore you not to go, until I 
 see you at all events. If not, write to me at Lord Hart- 
 worths where I am going on Saturday to stay for a week. 
 The address is Willesden Manor, North Allerton, 
 Bucks. On no account write to me here. 
 
 Allen's first impulse is to stop the fly and go back. 
 But before he can get the window down, the sober 
 second thought comes to him and says No. " I 
 would face the whole lot of them again, and put up 
 with any fresh indignity they could concoct, for her 
 sake," he thinks. " I don't care a button for that. 
 But in the first place, I can think of no possible ex- 
 cuse to make that would not eventually involve her ; 
 and in the second, I can not meet that woman again. 
 Oh, how could I have been such a fool ! When I 
 think of last night I feel positive degradation." 
 
 So he drives on to the station, and in two hours is 
 walking up the steps of the Hotel Metropole. 
 
 At precisely the same moment another fly drives 
 up to the door at Ashwynwick, and Lord Frederick 
 Vesey gets out. He goes at once to his mother's 
 boudoir where he knows he will find her. 
 
 " You got my telegram ? " he asks, after the usual 
 double-cheek kissing. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And acted upon it, I hope." 
 
 " To tell you the truth, dear it was so vague, that
 
 I4 8 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 I didn't know what to do. Here it is. Look at it 
 yourself." 
 
 " Vague ? Can anything be clearer than treat him 
 civilly ? " 
 
 " I dare say. But he is all right, of course, was so 
 indefinite and unsatisfactory. I knew you had heard 
 nothing new. And besides other circumstances have 
 occurred to shake me first, some things Lady Henry 
 told me, and then something Beyndour and I over- 
 heard him say himself at dinner about not being 
 able to afford something or other. After that Lady 
 Henry asked him outright if he wasn't awfully 
 rich " 
 
 " How disgraceful ! " 
 
 " and he refused to tell her." 
 
 " Poor chap ! I can imagine the sort of life you've 
 led him." 
 
 " Then again I expected a letter from you this 
 morning and you never wrote." 
 
 " Where was the good when I was coming myself? 
 I must go and smooth it over with him as best I can. 
 Of course, you've been abominably rude to him. I 
 can see that." 
 
 " Why, why, dear, you haven't ascertained that he 
 is all we thought ? " 
 
 " All we thought ? Just wait till you hear. When 
 I got up to town I went to see the man from the 
 steamer, and found he had left the night before for 
 the Continent. I didn't know what to do, When I 
 suddenly thought I couldn't do better than go and 
 ask Fairfield's advice. He said the best thing to do 
 was to write to the English consul at San Francteco. 
 I told him we couldn't wait all that time five weeks
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 149 
 
 it wouM take for an answer. So he said then he'd 
 cable." 
 
 " Cable, dear ? What's that ? " 
 
 " Telegraph. Don't you know there is a tele- 
 graph-cable to the States." 
 
 " I'm sorry to say, dear, I " 
 
 " Well, never mind. He said he'd cable at once, 
 and might get the answer by night. It was tedious 
 work waiting in town, for London's as empty as it 
 can be. By-the-by, I met father. At least, I saw him 
 in a hansom out in St. John's Wood. He didn't see 
 me. Well, I waited and waited, and thought it safer 
 to send you the telegram I did, for Fairfield said he 
 had, he thought, heard the name of Allen in connec- 
 tion with some enormous American railway transac- 
 tions on the Stock Exchange. I went to their office 
 a dozen times at least, but there was no answer. 
 
 " How tiresome for you, dear ! " 
 
 "At last, about nine o'clock at night, it came. 
 Fairfield, who'd stayed at his office on purpose, sent it 
 to me at once. Here it is." Freddy unfolds a long 
 sheet of paper. " I'll read it : 
 
 " 'Philip Allen s father is one of the richest men in 
 California. Philip is an only child* 
 
 " It was an expensive job cost three pounds for 
 both telegrams." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " 
 
 " It was well worth it, though." 
 
 " I'm not thinking of that. What on earth are we 
 to do?" 
 
 " Do ? Why ? Come, don't worry over it, mother," 
 Freddy adds, kindly, struck by her face of abject mis- 
 ery. "I'll soon square it off with him, never fear.
 
 ISO 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 He's an awfully good chap." And he starts for the 
 door. 
 
 " Stay, dear. I'm sorry to say you can't do that. 
 He's gone." 
 
 " Gone ? " 
 
 "Yes, dear. He left this morning." 
 
 " The devil ! Oh, a nice mess you've made of it ! 
 It serves you right." 
 
 " Oh, dear, don't say that. I acted for the best. 
 I must think of Mary and Edith." 
 
 " And a nice way you've thought of them ! 
 Hunted away the best match Edith will ever get. If 
 this doesn't cure you of your money-worshiping, I 
 don't know what will. Yes, money-worshiping, for it's 
 nothing else. Unless you know a man has plenty of 
 money you are not decently civil to him. It doesn't 
 matter what he is ; it is only what he's got. You 
 needn't look so cross. Ycu know it is perfectly true. 
 For my part, I'm utterly sick and tired of this inces- 
 sant money, money, money, and I'm ashamed of hav- 
 ing had anything to do with this telegraphing to 
 America about Allen ; I wouldn't have had if you 
 hadn't forced me into it." 
 
 "You really mustn't say such dreadful things, dear. 
 You know I only want the girls to be comfortable 
 when they marry." 
 
 " Comfortable ? It certainly takes a lot of money, 
 in your eyes, to make 'em comfortable." 
 
 " I know, dear, you don't at all really mean what 
 you are saying. So I sha'n't be angry with you." 
 
 " Don't I mean it, though ! I tell you I'm ashamed 
 to belong to the English aristocracy. You profess to 
 think only of rank and family. But let the son and
 
 ARISTOCRACY. Ijj 
 
 heir of a Jew pawnbroker come among you and you'll 
 welcome him with open arms, and lead up your daugh- 
 ters to him to choose one of them, whereas, the son of 
 what society chooses to consider a poor nobleman, is 
 watched and snubbed and insulted in every conceiv- 
 able fashion." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington sits silently and passively sub- 
 missive to this long harangue. It is not that she sees 
 one word of truth in what her son says she is too 
 dyed-in-the-wool an aristocrat to admit the possibility 
 of the aristocracy's fallibility in any of its rules, customs, 
 or actions. But, unable to answer his assertions were 
 she inclined to do so, she knows it will shorten the 
 discussion if she says nothing. 
 
 " Well, dear," she asks, when Freddy has finished. 
 " Can't you suggest something ? Can't we get him to 
 come back ? Won't you go after him ? " 
 
 " Me ? By Jove, I should be ashamed to look 
 him in the face. Besides, he wouldn't come." 
 
 "Nonsense, dear. He'll be only too glad. He 
 was immensely taken with Edith, I could see:" 
 
 " I know he was. What an awful pity it is ! 
 She'll never get such another chance." 
 
 " Yes, she will, if you'll go after him. You'll do it 
 for her sake, I'm sure." 
 
 " It will do no good. You don't know the spirit 
 of these Americans. I do. They are a deuced sight 
 more like noblemen than we are." 
 
 At any other time Lady Oaktorrington would have 
 flounced out of the room in high dudgeon at such a 
 speech. But now she is willing to submit to anything 
 in order to gain her point. Freddy is the only one 
 who can persuade Allen to return, she feels confident.
 
 I5 2 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " I'm sure you can get him tack if you try. Fol- 
 low him at once, without any delay. I'll get Edith to 
 write him a nice little letter for you to give him. 
 She shall put off her visit to Willesden, and 111 
 give you a check for a hundred pounds if you suc- 
 ceed." 
 
 O fallible and inconstant man ! O unerring, un- 
 varying potency of gold ! 
 
 Like mist beneath the rays of the noonday sun, 
 Freddy's objections vanish ; his eloquent condemna- 
 tion of the power and influence of money among the 
 aristocracy (with which the air is scarce done rever- 
 berating) is forgotten. He is an aristocrat once more, 
 and his mother's true son. 
 
 "All right," he says. "Give us the check, and 
 111 do my best. No one has seen me arrive except 
 Dawkins and Wilson," he adds, entering into the scheme 
 with a will. " At least, I saw no one as I came in. I 
 can square it with them right enough not to tell. No 
 one need see me go. I can slip out through the con- 
 servatory, and get to the stables without meeting a 
 soul." 
 
 " There's no one about except Lady Henry and 
 Edith. All the others are gone to the meet at Upton 
 Grange." 
 
 " All right, then. Let them think Allen ran up to 
 town to meet me in fact, you can tell people so if 
 they ask and when we come back together it will look 
 all proper." 
 
 " Capital ! " says the marchioness. " How clever 
 you are, dear. Then you feel confident you will bring 
 him back with you ? " 
 
 " Double the check and I'll swear to it."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 153 
 
 One hour later Lord Frederick Vesey is speeding 
 up to London again as fast as the Great Eastern Ex- 
 press can carry him to Liverpool-Street Station. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "Bv Jove! Where's the Yankee?" asks Lord 
 Beyndour, as the house party meet for the first time 
 at tea, " Keeping up his sulk, is he ? " 
 
 " I never saw a fellow with such cheek," says the 
 Duke of Harborough. " Fancy ordering us to shut up 
 about some Yankee friend of his, because, forsooth, 
 she was a woman a ' laydee,' I beg his pardon." 
 
 " They should have heard you shut him up," adds 
 Lord Bouverie. " It was the neatest thing I've seen 
 in an age, Harborough. Um ? Eh ? I remember once 
 when my battalion was in " 
 
 " Ahem er let me see," interposes Montie Vere- 
 ker. " Who was it ? Oh, yes, to be sure. Haskell's 
 wife. He flew into a rage because I said she was called 
 4 the mustang ' up in Yorkshire, and a mustang is only 
 a sort of horse they have in the States." 
 
 " Fancy being angry at being called like a horse ! " 
 exclaims Lady Mary. " I should consider it a com- 
 pliment." 
 
 " I should call it deuced hard lines on the horse," 
 says Lord Beyndour. 
 
 " When did all this occur ? " asks Lady Oaktorring- 
 ton, anxiously. " In the smoking-room ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear, no. He never shows his face in the 
 smoking-room. He's a cut above that," Vereker an- 
 swers, holding out his cup for some more tea.
 
 154 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Prefers his own room," says Jack. 
 
 " Do you know I once knew a chap like that in the 
 Ninth Lancers," begins Lord Bouverie, helping himself 
 to some bread and butter. " It was in '53, and we" 
 
 " Ah er no, it wasn't in the smoking-room," 
 Vereker goes on. " It was in the dining-room after 
 you had gone, Lady Oaktorrington." 
 
 " And you were all rude to him ? " 
 
 " By Jove, the boot was on the other leg," exclaims 
 the duke. " He was confoundedly rude to us. It was 
 just like a novel or a play. When I told him we should 
 talk about whoever we liked, he got up, put his hand 
 in his breast, and said, ' Then, I shall retire ' " 
 
 " No, no. ' A?-ty-urr,' " shouts Lord Beyndour. 
 " Give it the proper pronunciation." 
 
 "All right," says the duke, holding his nose be- 
 tween his finger and thumb. 'Then, gentlemen, I 
 shall re-ty-urr,' and out he stalked." 
 
 " Ha ha ! Capital ! " cries Lord Bouverie. " You're 
 as good as Corney Grain, Harborough. It's a pity 
 you're not obliged to go on the stage. Um ? Eh ? 
 By-the-by, do you know Tindal of the Seventh Hus- 
 sar's? He's an out-and-out good mimic. He com- 
 manded the regiment in " 
 
 "Oh?" 
 
 " Did he, really ? ' 
 
 " Fancy ! " 
 
 " Never ! " 
 
 " Yes, and" 
 
 "Oh, look here!" shouts Lord Beyndour. "Did 
 you see that duffer Kerr-Jones, come a cropper?" and 
 the sporting people fall to talking of the run they have 
 had with the Chill-will hounds.
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 155 
 
 " Tell me, dear Lady Oaktorrington," Lady Henry 
 Tollemache asks, in a low voice ; " where is Mr. Al- 
 len? I haven't seen him all day. I'm afraid he's 
 gone away. Yes, I see it in your face. He has. How 
 low of him ! " she adds to herself, as she thinks of last 
 night. 
 
 " Yes, dear. He went up to town this morning to 
 keep an engagement he had with Freddy." 
 
 Lady Henry's face falls, but revives with a dawn of 
 new hope in her eyes, as she whispers : 
 
 " He's coming back again ? " 
 
 " Oh, of course. He and Freddy are coming to- 
 gether to morrow." 
 
 " I'm so glad. We must do our best to make it up 
 to him as much as we can for the shameful way he's 
 been treated, poor fellow." 
 
 " Ye es," Lady Oaktorrington says, dubiously, 
 scenting danger in the encouragement of any extra at- 
 tention on Lady Henry's part. " N no. I wouldn't 
 just yet, if I were you. It might look too marked. 
 Better leave it to me." 
 
 " Shall I, indeed, you old she fox," is Lady Henry's 
 mental reply, as she answers aloud : 
 
 " Oh, certainly, if you wish it." As soon as she 
 can, Lady Oaktorrington takes Lord Beyndour into a 
 corner, and shows him the San Francisco telegram. 
 His lordship emits a low whistle. 
 
 " The deuce ! We have made a jolly mess of it, 
 haven't we ?" 
 
 " I should think you had. If it were not for Har- 
 borough being mixed up in it I should be excessively 
 angry." 
 
 " Oh, come, now. I don't think you have been so
 
 !56 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 overpoweringly civil to him yourself. You needn't put 
 it all on us." 
 
 " I think you might have prevented it." 
 
 " You see, I didn't know about this," and Lord 
 Beyndour gives the telegram another look over. " Of 
 course, there can be no mistake?" 
 
 " Impossible." 
 
 " I'm awfully sorry. But I'll square it with him, 
 never you fear. I'll go and begin sucking up to him 
 at once. Where is he, I wonder ? " 
 
 " In London. Hush ! He's coming back. And 
 you must get Harborough to be civil to him." 
 
 " May I show him this ? " 
 
 " Good heavens ! No. That would show us up, 
 don't you see." 
 
 " So it would. But divil a bit will he believe me 
 without." 
 
 " Try him and see. Tell Montie also. But you 
 needn't mention it to Lord Bouverie. He'll only bore 
 him all day long with attentions for the sake of his 
 girls, if you do." 
 
 "Rather hard on the old chap, though, don't you 
 think ? He's only followed our lead in being cold to 
 the American. You can't blame him." 
 
 " Nasty, mercenary old thing ! It will be such a 
 sell for him when he finds later on the mistake." 
 
 " Oh, don't you fear. He's not such an old ass as 
 that. He'll pretty soon twig our change of manner, 
 and trim his sails to suit." 
 
 " At all events, let him stay in the dark as long as 
 possible. And now," Lady Oaktorrington says, com- 
 ing forward : " Won't some one help me about this 
 Primrose meeting. I have to preside at the first meet-
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 157 
 
 ing of our habitation to-morrow, and I don't know 
 in the least anything about it all. I depended on Lord 
 Oaktorrington telling me." 
 
 " Haven't you got a book ? " asks Montie Vereker. 
 
 " Yes, I have. But it doesn't tell one anything. It 
 assumes one knows everything, when one knows noth- 
 ing. I want to know such lots of things I hardly know 
 where to begin. For instance, what are the principles 
 of the Conservative party ? It's the Conservative party 
 that the Primrose League belongs to, isn't it? " 
 
 " Most decidedly," Lord Bouverie answers, pom- 
 pously. " It was founded by Lord Beaconsfield, and 
 he was a Conservative." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I forgot that. It's kept up in his honor, 
 of course. How silly of me! But, the principles of 
 the Conservative party, what are they?" 
 
 " I'm blessed if / could tell you one, let alone the 
 lot of 'em if there are any " says Lord Beyndour. 
 " Except that it's against old Gladstone." 
 
 " And supports Lord Salisbury," adds Lord Bou- 
 verie, grandly. " That's quite sufficient. Um ? Eh ? " 
 
 " But what do they mean by calling it the Consti- 
 tutional party ?" 
 
 "Because it upholds the Constitution," says the 
 Duke of Harborough. I should think any fool could 
 tell that." 
 
 " Upholds the Constitution ? What Constitu- 
 tion ? " 
 
 "The Constitution of the Primrose League," re- 
 plies Lord Bouverie, with a sweep of his hand. " Um ? 
 Eh?" 
 
 "I fancy it means the Constitution of England," 
 suggests the duke, humbly dismounting from his high
 
 158 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 horse as the road becomes more difficult. " England's 
 got a Constitution, hasn't it? " 
 
 " Upon my word, I couldn't tell you. I d'say it 
 has," answers Lord Beyndour. 
 
 "Yes, I think it must have," adds Montie Vereker, 
 with one eye shut and the other gazing into space. 
 " Else what do they mean by talking of the Constitu- 
 tional party ? " 
 
 " Why don't you ask mamma," says Emily Bouverie. 
 She's a dame. So are Augusta and I, for that mat- 
 ter ; but we know nothing about it at all." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington looks inquiringly at Lady Bou- 
 verie, who has been sustaining a well-bred, aristocratic, 
 self-conscious silence while the talk has gone on. In- 
 deed, her words could be almost counted on one's 
 fingers since she has been at Ashwynwick. 
 
 " Can you tell me anything ? " the marchioness asks. 
 
 Lady Bouverie looks startled either from overween- 
 ing shyness at having attention drawn to her, or from 
 the novelty of being addressed. 
 
 " I I am sorry to say that I can't," she whispers. 
 " I've been to one or two meetings, but there- was never 
 anything explained to us." 
 
 " It doesn't really matter, I should think," says Lady 
 Henry, " so long as you get people to vote for the Con- 
 servative candidates at elections. That's really all 
 you've got to do if you're a dame. You haven't had 
 an election here ? No. Well, we had one the other 
 day at Lord Grafton's where I was staying. No one 
 said anything about such boring stuff as principles and 
 constitutions. We just bought a lot of things at the 
 shops, and gave the village people a grand treat with 
 buns and tea for the women, and bread and cheese
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 159 
 
 and beer for the men. Everything was decorated with 
 primroses, don't you know, and there was a large 
 portrait of Lord Beaconsfield framed in laurel-leaves 
 out on the lawn. Of course, there were a lot of leaflets 
 sent down from London to be distributed, showing up 
 the villainy of Gladstone and Chamberlain." 
 
 " Oh, pray don't mention that dreadful man's name 
 again," cries Lady Oaktorrington. " He wants to de- 
 stroy the Church and plant atheism in England in its 
 place, I hear." 
 
 " So does John Bright, the old square-toed, psalm- 
 singing scoundrel," says the duke. " He and Cham- 
 berlain want to abolish us, too. A nice pair, truly ! " 
 
 " I wonder they are not put in the Tower," says 
 Lady Oaktorrington, " or beheaded or something. 
 The Queen is far too lenient and forgiving." 
 
 " I quite agree with you," says Lord Bouverie, sol- 
 emnly. " I wish / were on the throne. You'd see a 
 different state of things in England then, I can assure 
 you." 
 
 " I haven't a doubt of it," assents Lady Oaktor- 
 rington, unconsciously. "You were telling us, Lady 
 Henry, about Lord Grafton's, when I'm afraid I inter- 
 rupted you." 
 
 " Oh, there isn't much more to tell. We got no 
 end of people to vote our way. I know that was the 
 chief thing in fact, the only thing thought of. The 
 Radical man was defeated by an immense majority. 
 I assure you, there's not the least necessity in knowing 
 anything about politics or things of that sort. You 
 must know how to get men to vote for your candi- 
 date." 
 
 " Hear hear ! " shouts the duke and Lord Beyn-
 
 !6o ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 dour in a breath. " And you needn't be overscrup- 
 ulous as to the use of palm-oil," adds his Grace. So 
 long as you're not found out, of course." 
 
 " Or intimidation," says Montie Vereker. " Threat- 
 en to withdraw your custom from a Radical trades- 
 man, and he becomes a Tory on the spot. They're 
 awful blackguards, Radical tradesmen. How they 
 hate saying ' sir ' to one or touching their hats. Yet 
 they do it to get your custom." 
 
 " It's that dreadful worship of money among the 
 lower classes," bemoans Lady Oaktorrington. " I oft- 
 en wonder some of them are not afraid." 
 
 " Shocking, isn't it ? " assents Lady Henry. " Why 
 can't they be like us, for instance ? I believe they'd 
 most of them sell their souls for a check, or the hope 
 of one." 
 
 " It's fortunate they are that way," bursts out Lady 
 Edith, no longer able to contain herself, "or the 
 Primrose League wouldn't be of much service, would 
 it?" 
 
 " Edith, my dear, I beg of you not to express your- 
 self in that way. You are too young to comprehend 
 such things," her mother says with a soft voice but a 
 face full of daggers. 
 
 "I'm afraid she's getting rather ahem er re- 
 publicanized," Lord Bouverie remarks, sotto voce, to 
 Lady Henry. " I wonder at her mother having 
 such a person as that er Yankee man here. Um ? 
 Eh?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, a great pity, it is. I wonder, too." 
 
 " You see Lady O. is so confoundedly fond of 
 of money, she'd have any one here who had it." 
 
 "Yes, I'm afraid you're right."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. l ^ l 
 
 " But the best of the joke is, the fellow's an im- 
 postor a starving beggar." 
 
 " Is he ? You don't mean it ? " 
 
 "Why, didn't you hear what he said at dinner last 
 night?" 
 
 " Hardly. It was after we had left the room." 
 
 " Ach ! I don't mean then. Don't you remem- 
 ber what he said about his working every day in 
 America ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course. I forgot." 
 
 " That's enough, I should think. Urn ? Eh ? " 
 
 " Oh, quite. Dear Lady Oaktorrington," she 
 whispers as the marchioness passes her, " do rescue 
 me from this dreadful old bore. Ask me to sing, or 
 anything." 
 
 At that moment Dawkins comes in with a telegram 
 on a silver waiter, and hands it to Lady Oaktorring- 
 ton. 
 
 There is utter silence in the room while she reads 
 it, and mental notes are taken of every expression that 
 flits across her features. 
 
 " Nothing unpleasant, I hope?" asks Lady Henry, 
 to the delight of every less audacious person in the 
 room. 
 
 " Oh, no. It's only from Freddy, to say he's going 
 to keep Mr. Allen in town with him for a few days." 
 
 What the telegram says is : 
 
 Allen wont come. Is going on the Continent, and 
 has asked me to go, too. /'// stick to him. 
 
 Freddy. 
 
 II
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 / can not tell you how sorry I was not to come back 
 with Freddy (Allen writes from Paris to Lady Edith at 
 Wiltesden Manor), especially after your sweet little note 
 which he brought me. It was a sore trial for me to re- 
 fuse, but I thought it best for more than one reason to do 
 so. What those reasons are, I will tell you some day. 
 In the mean time I am very, wretched. Everything 
 seemed to go wrong when I was with you. I wanted to 
 tell you something, but I never was able to get a chance to 
 speak t& you alone, and what I wished to say had to be 
 spoken to you alone. There was only that one day that 
 happy, happy day, how I cherish its memory in my heart 
 of hearts ! only that one day, and even then just as I was 
 about to tell you, your brother interrupted me. I feel that 
 I must tell you now, for I can not bear this suspense any 
 longer. You won't think me presumptuous if I tell you 
 now. It is so much easier to write it than speak it. I 
 love 
 
 Lady Edith reads as far as this, and then with a 
 heart that seems to leap within her, crushes up the let- 
 ter in her hand and thrusts it into her pocket. She 
 feels as though she must run away and hide herself 
 somewhere. A vague idea that the eyes of every mor- 
 tal she knows have been peering over her shoulder 
 while she read and are now staring at her takes pos- 
 session of her. She covers her face with her hands 
 and leans her elbows on the table in front of her. Yet 
 she is sitting alone in her room at Willesden Manor, 
 even her maid having been dismissed by her half an 
 hour ago, on the plea of being too sleepy to have her
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 163 
 
 hair brushed so that she might read .Allen's letter, 
 which had come by the evening post, and which she 
 had found on her dressing-table when she came up to 
 bed. A thousand conflicting thoughts rush through 
 her mind, while her temples throb in unison with her 
 heart-beats. A sense of shame takes possession of 
 her, and quickly grows into resentful anger. How 
 dare he write to her so ? What right has he to take 
 this advantage of her permission to him to write to 
 her ? Yet was it not rather a request on her part ? 
 She had really forced him to write, and he had fairly 
 paid her out by by insulting her. Is it not a low 
 way of retaliating upon her for the treatment he had 
 received from her mother and brothers ? If so, is it 
 manly of him ? He can not be serious. It is impos- 
 sible that he can be sincere. He has not known her 
 long enough to justify the sentiment he professed. It 
 is preposterous. 
 
 "And yet ," (ah ! the comfort of an "And yet " 
 who has not felt it's temper-soothing, anger-softening, 
 disappointment-curing, hope-inspiring power?) "And 
 yet, why may it not be as he says ? " her heart whis- 
 pers to her as she thinks, and her resentment cools. 
 " It is not impossible," she cries, clinging to the glim- 
 mer of happiness that suddenly illumines her soul. 
 " Why should he not 1 like me ? I am not hideous." 
 Slowly her hands come down from her face, and she 
 looks in the glass before her and blushes. " And why 
 should it be presumptuous in him to to love me 
 there, I've said it ! " Her heart goes thump, thump, 
 thump, up to the top of her head, and the blood tingles 
 in her very finger-tips, as the born and tutored aristo- 
 crat oozes out through them and Nature takes its place
 
 X 64 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 in her being. She takes the letter from her pocket 
 and goes on reading it. 
 
 " I love you, Edith darling" 
 
 A sense of sudden overpowering ecstasy seizes her. 
 She seems to be lifted from her chair and to be float- 
 ing in the air. She clasps her hands together in a 
 paroxysm of delight and murmurs : 
 
 " He loves me he loves me ! / love you, Edith 
 darling. Let me read it a thousand, thousand times. 
 You are not angry with me, for telling you ? Would 
 that I could feel that you did not hate despise me for it. 
 Oh, that you could know the happiness it gives me to tell 
 you ! Will you write me ever so short a letter to tell me 
 you are not angry with me, and if after this you care to 
 see me again, tell me so, and I will come at once. I feel 
 that I' must see you again once more before I go home." 
 Her soul sinks within her as she reads these last 
 words. All her new found happiness fades and van- 
 ishes away. A lump rises in her throat and a sharp 
 pain, as though from a dagger, pierces her heart. 
 
 " Before I go home before I go home," she re- 
 peats. " Oh, that, must not be, if word of mine can 
 hinder it." 
 
 She seats herself quickly at her writing-table, and 
 takes up her pen. Though her heart would tell him 
 in burning language, could it speak, the words that lie 
 hidden within it, she can not with her hand impart 
 them to paper. It is doubtful, if, were he here, she 
 could get her lips to express the thoughts which fill 
 her mind. A dozen times she puts the point of her 
 pen on the paper, but further than that it will not 
 move. Altered as she is in thought and feeling, when 
 called upon to act, the old teachings of high-born re-
 
 ARISTOCRACY. ^5 
 
 straint and aristocratic repression still hold dominion 
 over her. She can not write as she thinks. She must 
 then only write as her but yet partially conquered 
 tyrant will let her : 
 
 My dear Mr. Allen (the " My " is a great conces- 
 sion from the enemy) : 
 
 " Thanks very much for your letter, which I need 
 not answer now. I ant sure my father and mother will 
 be delighted to see you if you will come to England again. 
 I shall not be at home for at least a fortnight, as I have 
 one other place to stay at after leaving here. So, pray, do 
 not come while I am not at home. You must not think of 
 going home without seeing us again. I hope Freddy is 
 well and enjoying himself. I fancy he is sure to do the 
 latter. Believe me, 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 Edith M. A. E. Vesey. 
 
 " It is hardly the sort of letter to satisfy a man who 
 feels as I do," Allen says, on reading it the next even- 
 ing in Paris. " It is cold, distant, and formal. But 
 it is only so on the surface, for underneath I can read 
 in everything she says all that I need to know. She 
 is not angry with me or she wouldn't have written, 
 and she bids me come by telling me to postpone my 
 return while she is away from home. Though the 
 chill of aristocratic ' form ' pervades every pen-stroke, 
 beneath the thin coating of artificial ice the limpid 
 waters of reality reveal themselves. I am not thank- 
 ful enough. What if she hadn't written at all ? "
 
 l66 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE snow lies deep upon the ground at Ashwyn- 
 wick this December morning, and a leaden sky droops 
 low over the cheerless landscape without. The leaf- 
 less trees stand out grim and bare like dim skeletons 
 against a vast expanse of white ; icicles hang from the 
 window-sashes ; and but for the fire which blazes bright- 
 ly upon the hearth of Lady Oaktorrington's boudoir, 
 and exhales a genial warmth throughout the room, the 
 window-panes would be crusted with frost. It is the 
 first real snowfall of the season, and hunting is stopped 
 for the nonce. Parliament after an autumn session 
 protracted beyond a point almost unheard of in the his- 
 tory of that august body has at last been prorogued, 
 and Lord Oaktorrington, unable to find further "just 
 cause or impediment " to his return home, has been 
 compelled to come back from town. There being 
 nothing for htm to do out-of-doors, he is passing the 
 morning in his wife's society. 
 
 " I see by the ' Morning Post ' that Lord Argen- 
 ton has bought Tillotson Towers, the Delancy- Veres' 
 place in Devonshire," says Lady Oaktorrington. " Who 
 on earth is Lord Argenton ? I certainly never heard 
 of him before." 
 
 " You certainly never did," answers Lord Oaktor- 
 rington, curlly, without raising his eyes from the letter 
 he is reading. 
 
 "Pray, be good enough to explain what you mean," 
 says Lady Oaktorrington. " I thought I knew every 
 man in the peerage." 
 
 " You'd have to live at Salisbury's elbow to do
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 I6 7 
 
 that. He's full as bad as Gladstone when it comes to 
 increasing us." 
 
 " Don't go on talking in riddles. I asked you who 
 Lord Argenton is, and I shall be glad to have you an- 
 swer my question." 
 
 " If you want to know who he is, I shall be obliged 
 to tell you Lord Argenton. If you desire to know 
 who he was that is a horse of quite another color ! " 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington frowns and tosses her head. 
 
 " I'm in no humor for joking," she says, impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 " I assure you, it's no joke far from it," says his 
 lordship, making a face. " It's too nauseous a subject 
 for joking." 
 
 " How long do you intend to keep up this ridicu- 
 lous harlaquinade ? " Lady Oaktorrington asks with 
 a pitying sneer. " You do it so very badly." 
 
 " Do I, really ? Then you'd best not encourage 
 me." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington regards him with mute sur- 
 prise. Every time he stays any length of time in town 
 by himself, he comes home more independent of speech 
 and less afraid of her. But other times have been 
 bagatelles mere patches on this one. Some counter- 
 influence to her own is, of course, at the bottom of it. 
 She is not slow to guess the source, and guessing with 
 a woman's brain, jumps to the inevitable female con- 
 clusion, and puts the saddle on a woman's shoulders. 
 
 " Have you been outbid for a horse at Tattersall's 
 this time, too, that you are in such a vile humor ? " 
 she asks, pointedly, fixing her eyes to meet his point- 
 blank when he raises them. 
 
 " Eh what the deuce do you mean ? " he says,
 
 !68 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 quickly, looking up, but dropping his glance again 
 like a shot bird before hers. " Who who's talking in 
 riddles now, I should like to know ? You want to 
 know who Lord Argenton was, eh ! " he adds in such 
 a tone of incipient surrender that Lady Oaktorrington 
 smiles to herself at the bull's-eye her chance shot has 
 made. " He was John Grubs, the Birmingham 
 brass-founder. Salisbury's just made him a peer, to 
 spite Chamberlain, people say. It is hardly the use 
 you'd expect him to make of the House of Lords, is it ? 
 The fact is the peerage is going to the dogs neck and 
 crop, and I say with Chamberlain, the sooner we're 
 abolished the better." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington, happily for the tranquillity of 
 her aristocratic temper does not hear the concluding 
 words of her husband's speech, so immersed is she in 
 her own thoughts. 
 
 " He's rich, of course ? " 
 
 "Rich ? Rather. A couple of millions at least." 
 
 " Any sons ? " 
 
 " Yes ; two I believe. One's in the Blues with 
 Beyndour. Haven't you ever heard him laugh at 
 Jacob Grubs, and call him a howling cad ? Fancy, the 
 Honorable Jacob Grubs ! Salisbury has a lot to an- 
 swer for." 
 
 " Salisbury ? " says the marchioness, with a look of 
 sudden awakening. " Then he's got back into office 
 again ? " 
 
 " Yes, he has," grumpily. 
 
 " I thought he was going to make you something in 
 the Cabinet, or Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, or some- 
 thing." 
 
 "So did I," says Lord Oaktorrington, feelingly.
 
 ARISTOCRACY. ify 
 
 " And so he promised ahem before the division that 
 turned out Gladstone. But, bless you, he's like every 
 one else. Now, he says he'll give me one of the vacant 
 Garters." 
 
 " That will be something, at any rate," says Lady 
 Oaktorrington, in a " half a loaf is better than no bread " 
 voice. " I should rather have liked to go over to Ire- 
 land, though. It would have given poor Mary a chance, 
 don't you think? By-the-by, has this Lord Lord 
 (looking in the paper) Argenton has he any daugh- 
 ters, do you know ? " 
 
 " Yes, one that I know of. She was presented at 
 the last drawing-room. I remember your laughing at 
 the name, and wondering how Lady Bouverie could 
 present such a person." 
 
 " Did Lady Bouverie present her ? How tiresome ! 
 It was for Jack, of course; one can see that now. 
 Fancy one's degrading one's self like that ! " and Lady 
 Oaktorrington holds up her hands. " Tillotson joins 
 Tewtorlock, doesn't it?" 
 
 " Yes, it does. More's the pity," says the marquis. 
 " If it wasn't entailed I'd sell it like a shot." 
 
 " Sell it ? Indeed, you should do nothing of the 
 sort. We must stay there next winter," Lady Oaktor- 
 rington says, decisively. 
 
 " What on earth has got into you now? " Lord Oak- 
 torrington asks, in amazement. " Stay at Tewtorlock ? 
 We haven't stayed there for twenty years. Fancy the 
 damp ! You can't be serious." 
 
 " Fancy not staying there with these rich people 
 next door to us ! You forget" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know the girls. But I thought you 
 had Harborough selected for Mary."
 
 I/O 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Oh, I've given that up. He wouldn't so much as 
 look at Mary while he was here. You couldn't drag 
 him away from Lady Henry " 
 
 " Lady Henry? And do you mean to say you were 
 such a fool as to ask her here with Harborough ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid I was," Lady Oaktorrington says, hum- 
 bly. " It was a great mistake." 
 
 " In more ways than one," his lordship says, sotto 
 voce, knitting his brows; "as I'm afraid you'll find out. 
 What fools women are ! And what about the Yankee ? 
 I thought he was allotted to Edith. Another failure 
 there ? " 
 
 " Not exactly," and then Lady Oaktorrington gives 
 her husband a fairly correct account of Allen's visit, 
 ending up with the information received from San 
 Francisco. 
 
 " You have made a charming mess of it ! " Lord 
 Oaktorrington exclaims. 
 
 " That's what Beyndour says. But he's coming 
 back. I've had a letter from Freddy this morning 
 from Florence saying " 
 
 " Freddy in Florence ? I thought he was out in 
 the States." 
 
 " How can you be so silly ? " You knew quite well 
 he was coming home before you went up to town. I 
 read you his letter " 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes. To be sure. And the Yankee is a 
 friend of his. Of course. How stupid of me." 
 
 "You needn't be angry at his coming home. I as- 
 sure you he has been most useful." 
 
 " I'm not angry," Lord Oaktorrington says. " On 
 the contrary I'm confoundedly glad. I'll tell you why. 
 I've got a letter here from Harborough in which he
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 171 
 
 says he'll support any candidate I may put up for the 
 Bridgeleigh vacancy made by curiously enough this 
 same man Grubs's elevation to the House of Lords. 
 It's awfully good of him, for Bridgeleigh belongs to 
 him, and it will be a walk-over. I'll let him have 
 Freddy." 
 
 " Freddy, dear ? Isn't he too young and inexperi- 
 enced to be a member of Parliament ? " 
 
 " He'll know enough to follow Smith into the right 
 lobby when there is a vote on anything, and that's all 
 we want. It's all the most of us do in the Lords. It 
 will strengthen me with Salisbury wonderfully," he 
 adds, reflectively. 
 
 " I'm so glad, dear. And it will be another advan- 
 tage for Freddy with this Lord Grubs's daughter, don't 
 you see," and Lady Oaktorrington smiles benignly at 
 the happy thought. *' It will be so nice to be suc- 
 ceeded by one's son-in-law at Bridgeleigh. How 
 charmingly it all happens ! One could almost fancy 
 one was reading a novel, dear, couldn't one ? " 
 
 The sunshine of his wife's smiles is a temperature 
 in which Lord Oaktorrington is not wont to bask. It 
 is not that he cares for the warmth of marital congeni- 
 ality. The effect is more of comfort than bliss, and 
 while he enjoys the novelty of it, his pleasure is rather 
 negative than positive in the absence of the jar and 
 contradiction to which he is commonly accustomed in 
 her company, rather than in the presence of anything 
 likely to especially gratify him. 
 
 " Yes," he answers, restfully ; " so one could if 
 everything else went so swimmingly. This contre- 
 temps with the Yankee rather spoils the harmony of 
 the scene."
 
 1/2 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " We shall soon put that right," Lady Oaktorring- 
 ton says, hopefully. "He and Freddy will be here 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " But Edith is not at home." 
 
 " She is coming home to-morrow, oddly enough." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 PHILIP ALLEN'S second arrival at Ashwynwick Park 
 is a gratifying contrast to the first. 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington meets him in the hall with both 
 hands extended, and a smile of sweetest affection illu- 
 mining her aristocratic countenance. 
 
 u So charmed we are to see you back again, Mr. 
 Allen," she says, in her softest voice. " This time I am 
 delighted to say my husband is here to add his wel- 
 come to mine," and she leads Allen to the drawing- 
 room, where he is met at the door by Lord Oaktor- 
 rington. 
 
 " I am most pleased to see you here, Mr. Allen," 
 his lordship says, with as warm and tight a grasp of 
 the hand as he is able to give any man. " I was so 
 awfully sorry to miss your last visit to us, and to have 
 to defer for so long my thanks to you for all your kind- 
 ness to my son Freddy. Pray accept them now." Hav- 
 ing said this neat little speech without miss or blunder, 
 Lord Oaktorrington thrusts quickly into his pocket the 
 small piece of paper on which it had been written out 
 for him by the marchioness the night before, and being 
 left to his own mental resources without coach, sticks 
 his glass in his eye and surveys his guest with a silent 
 though friendly smile.
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 173 
 
 Even Lady Mary, at a prearranged signal from her 
 mother, emulates the weather in a " universal thaw," 
 and comes forward to greet him. 
 
 " You must really come out hunting with us this 
 time," she says, after as warm a shake of the hand as 
 she can muster up. " We shan't let you off again. You 
 shall ride polo ; and and I've got a new dog to show 
 you." 
 
 Allen is about to say that he does not remember 
 having seen the old ones, but tact stops him in 
 time. 
 
 " It is all very absurd," he tells himself, " this mar- 
 velous alteration. I can't at all make it out. It is 
 another phase of aristocracy, I suppose, whose ways are 
 quite beyond me. If it makes them happy I don't 
 care. Let by-gones be by-gones." So he says to Lady 
 Mary, politely : 
 
 " You're very kind. I should like to see him of a)l 
 things." 
 
 "He is such a dear," Lady Mary goes on. "A 
 darling skye, with not an eye to be seen for love or 
 money." 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Allen, come and sit down here. You 
 must be dreadfully cold after your long drive," Lady 
 Oaktorrington says, placing an arm-chair for him at 
 the fire. " Edith, don't you see Mr. Allen ? " 
 
 Lady Edith has been standing pale and motionless 
 near the chimney-piece, a silent witness of what to her 
 appears to be nothing less than her family's degrada- 
 tion. 
 
 "Oh, how can they? How can they?" she says 
 to herself again and again, as some fresh piece of 
 flagrant toadying exhibits itself. " Can they not see
 
 174 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 that he must notice it ? I am most awfully ashamed. 
 What must he think of us all ? " 
 
 In the midst of these painful reflections her mother's 
 words jar upon her. Is she, too, to be dragged for- 
 ward to pay him court upon compulsion? Must she, 
 also, humiliate herself in his eyes with the others? 
 No, she will not be a party to such barefaced money- 
 worshiping. Rather will she go to the other extreme. 
 As Allen comes up to her she puts out her hand and 
 says, stifly : 
 
 " How do you do ? " without so much as looking 
 at him. 
 
 To Allen, who has come all the way from Florence, 
 full of happiness and hope, her greeting is a glass of 
 cold water in his face. After the first impulse of anger 
 as it comes upon a sudden and unexpected blow, he is 
 conscious of a sense of great weariness. He is heartily 
 sick and tired of her meaningless caprice ; he is worn 
 out with the artificiality of manner which, without the 
 slightest warning, and without apparently the faintest 
 reason, she is wont to assume to him ; he is jaded past 
 endurance with the never-ending obstacles to an under- 
 standing between them, or which she is forever throw- 
 ing in his path with seemingly no object whatever but 
 the gratification of a spirit of natural and heartless 
 coquetry. 
 
 " After all, is the game worth the candle ? " he asks 
 himself. " Is such a girl worth a minute's anxiety on 
 the part of any man ? No." 
 
 For the moment he is sensible of that delicious feel- 
 ing of relief which comes to all men upon their deliver- 
 ance from the despotic thralldom of love for one woman. 
 It matters not whether their fetters are broken by their
 
 ARISTOCRACY. ^5 
 
 own will or against it ; or whether their freedom is gained 
 by their rude awakening from a delusion, or by the 
 discovery of unworthiness in the object of their affec- 
 tions, the effect is always the same ; the return of a 
 light heart, buoyant spirits, and a good appetite. 
 
 As Allen turns from Lady Edith without another 
 word, he is in full and joyous possession of these three 
 concomitants of happiness for just twenty seconds. 
 Then he looks up at her. In her eyes is the old yearn- 
 ing, pleading look, the dumb show of self-reproach, re- 
 pentance, and love. Down flops the flag of independ- 
 ence with a run, and snap-snap go the shackles of 
 slavery on wrist and ankle again. He is about to 
 speak when Lord Oaktorrington walks up : 
 
 " Glad to say it's thawing. We're going to shoot 
 the Wampstone coverts to-morrow. Fetched a gun ? " 
 
 " No," Allen tells him. " I'm sorry to say I haven't." 
 
 " Oh ! Don't shoot, perhaps. You Ya a hem 
 Americans don't care much for sport, I dare say." 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know why you people in England 
 should think so, but I constantly hear that said. It is 
 altogether wrong. If there is anything in it, it is that 
 our ideas of sport differ from yours. We don't hunt 
 foxes, stags, and hares on horseback, and we don't have 
 covert shooting. W r ith us the preservation of game 
 (except as protected by law) is the exception. With 
 you it is the rule. But we have plenty of wild game 
 to shoot, and plenty of what we call sport in hunting 
 and shooting it in its wild, uncultivated state." 
 
 " Oh ! Really ? " But d'ye mean to say you have 
 no gamekeepers, or people like that, on your estates to 
 feed the pheasants, and shoot cats and stoats and things ' 
 like that, don't you know ? "
 
 i;6 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " I don't know what they may have in the Eastern 
 States, now," Allen says, with a smile. " I dare say that 
 Anglomania has imported gamekeepers as well as foxes. 
 But out West a gamekeeper would be mobbed." 
 
 " How do you keep poachers off your property? " 
 ,"We have no poachers. At least, we don't con- 
 sider men who shoot on our land such. Everybody 
 shoots over everybody else's land indiscriminately, by 
 a sort of common consent. The privilege is never 
 abused. Besides, every one doesn't shoot as in Eng- 
 land. Men, as a rule, are too busy, too much engrossed 
 with business and their occupations and professions to 
 pass their time with shot-guns in their hands. They 
 only shoot when they have the time to spare." 
 
 " Oh ! Do do you shoot, by chance ? " 
 
 " I ? Well, I should say I did. Somewhat," and 
 Allen smiles to himself when he thinks of his regular 
 September and October campings-out in Marin and 
 Humboldt Counties, and among the Mount Diablo foot- 
 hills, and Gabilan Mountains of the Coast Range ; and 
 his December and January " duck hunts " among the 
 Carquinez terles, and the head-waters of the bay. 
 
 " Oh ? Not a great deal ! I'm sorry, because you'll 
 find it rather dull work here by yourself, when we're 
 out to-morrow." 
 
 " I shall be very glad to go out with you. I dare 
 say Freddy can fit me out with a gun." 
 
 " Oh, I can lend you a gun if that's all ; I've half a 
 dozen. But but don't you think if you're not ac- 
 customed, don't you know to ahem you know 
 what I mean why, you may find it awkward, don't 
 you see. All the fellows I've asked are devilish good 
 shots, you know."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. ^j 
 
 " I dare say I shan't be able to hit anything," Allen 
 answers, dryly. " But I shan't mind that. One must 
 learn, mustn't one ? " 
 
 '* How confoundedly tiresome of him," Lord Oak- 
 torrington says to his wife, who at that moment calls 
 him away. " He insists on coming out shooting to- 
 morrow. Of course, he can't shoot, and will make an 
 infernal guy of himself." 
 
 " Never mind that, dear," Lady Oaktorrington re- 
 plies. " You must humor him, for Edith's sake. And 
 now, dear, let us come away and leave them together." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " HAVEN'T you one kind word to say to me ? " Allen 
 asks, after waiting several minutes for Lady Edith to 
 look up. She has seated herself near a window, and 
 is trying to unravel a skein of floss-silk. 
 
 " One kind word ? " she replies. " About what, 
 pray ? " 
 
 He walks over and sits down beside her. 
 
 " Let me hold that for you," he says. " You'll never 
 manage it alone." 
 
 " Why not ? I've done hundreds." 
 
 " But you'll fail this time. See if you don't. I'm 
 sure you will." 
 
 *' I'm sure I shan't." 
 
 A long pause, during which she winds off about a 
 yard of silk. 
 
 " Why don't you go out-of-doors for a walk, or any- 
 thing," she asks. 
 
 " Because I prefer being here with you." 
 12
 
 i;8 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Englishmen don't sit in-doors with women on a 
 fine day like this." 
 
 " I'm not an Englishman, as I've told you before." 
 
 " Then Americans do, I suppose." 
 
 " Like ladies' society ? Yes. I don't think Eng- 
 lishmen, so far as I have seen, care much for ladies 
 at any time." 
 
 " Don't they ? Why ? " 
 
 " Oh, you must ask them that. I can only guess 
 why ? " 
 
 " There ! That is the first time I've heard you use 
 that word. I thought you " 
 
 " Oh, I know. You thought I'd say ' I guess ' every 
 minute or two before you met me. Come, confess." 
 
 " I really don't remember. I don't think I thought 
 at all about it." 
 
 Allen bites his lips. 
 
 ''Pardon my presumption, please," he says, stiffly. 
 
 " Don't be huffy. You Americans are so awfully 
 touchy. You are always taking offense at something." 
 
 " Are we ? I don't think you have any right to say 
 that of me. I'm sure I've stood a good deal of rough- 
 ing lately." 
 
 " Of what ? " 
 
 " Roughing." 
 
 " What's that ? " 
 
 " I guess that's another Americanism." 
 
 " Is it ? I never heard the word except applied to 
 what is done to horse's shoes in frosty weather. You 
 don't mean that, do you ? " 
 
 " Well, harsh treatment insult, if you will." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " Here."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 179 
 
 " Here ? By whom, pray ? " 
 
 " Oh, everybody yourself among the number." 
 
 "Me?" 
 
 " Yes, you. And I've stood it all for for your 
 sake." 
 
 " For my sake ? I don't quite understand." 
 
 " Yes, you do. You know quite well what I mean. 
 I I told you in my letter " 
 
 " Please don't speak of that letter. I was very 
 angry with you for writing so to me." 
 
 " Were you ? " 
 
 "Yes, I was." 
 
 " Are you still ? " 
 
 "What? Ye oh, dear me, what a tiresome knot. 
 I shall have to break it." 
 
 " Let me try." 
 
 Allen takes the silk from her, and in doing so gives 
 her hand a little squeeze. 
 
 " You mustn't do that. I don't like it." 
 
 " What? Undo the knot for you ? " 
 
 " No. What what you did just then." 
 
 " What did I do ? " 
 
 " You know very well. You hurt me very much." 
 
 " Did I ? Then let me kiss it and make it well. 
 There ! " 
 
 " How dare you," pulling her hand away and jump- 
 ing up. " I never had such a thing done to me in my 
 life." 
 
 " I'm awfully glad to hear it. Please sit down 
 again. I promise I won't do it " 
 
 " No Englishman no English gentleman would 
 do so." 
 
 " English gentlemen are awful muffs, then."
 
 jgo ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " They know how to behave to ladies, if that's what 
 you mean." 
 
 " They don't know how to behave to ladies. That's 
 what I mean. Pardon me if I say so, but I never saw 
 such rude, uncivil, gauche, ill-mannered men with 
 women in my life as are what you call English gentle- 
 men. Why, they treat women like cattle. Such a 
 thing as sentiment for a woman never enters their 
 heads. They only marry for money ; love is not only 
 unprofitable in their eyes, but vulgar. I don't suppose 
 an English gentleman ever in his life told a woman 
 whom he wished to marry that he loved her." 
 
 <; I don't know, I'm sure." 
 
 " I'll bet none ever did to you." 
 
 "I should hope not," drawing herself up. "Cer- 
 tainly not, until he had asked my father's consent." 
 
 " Oh, that's the formula, is it ? The artificial, me- 
 chanical, stony-hearted, aristocratic formula. And 
 must I go through the empty, meaningless form?" 
 
 " You really must excuse me, Mr. Allen. I forgot 
 I have some letters to write for the post." 
 
 She rises and walks rapidly toward the door. Allen 
 stops her half-way. 
 
 " You shan't go until you answer me one question. 
 I shall never get such another chance as this, and I've 
 frittered away too much time already. It is something 
 I must know before I go back to America, and I sail 
 from Liverpool on Saturday." 
 
 Lady Edith starts visibly, and changes color. 
 
 " You are not going really ? " she says. " You 
 only say that to make me stay." 
 
 " Indeed, it's too true. I've told you already that 
 I loved you."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. jgj 
 
 She catches her under-lip with her teeth and looks 
 down at the floor, while her breath comes and goes 
 quickly. 
 
 " I now ask you to be my wife. You do not an- 
 swer. Is it yes, or no ? You refuse me." 
 
 She stands silent and still, her eyes still bent upon 
 the carpet at her feet, and her fingers twitching nerv- 
 ously as they clasp each other. 
 
 "At least, say good-by to me, for I must leave 
 this house at once," he says, in a voice hoarse with 
 emotion. 
 
 She looks up at him, and the old pleading look is 
 in her half-closed eyes, the old supplicating gesture in 
 her quickly raised hand. 
 
 " Don't go," she murmurs, softly. "You must not 
 do that." 
 
 In an instant his arms are about her, holding her 
 firmly to his breast. 
 
 " My darling, I will take that as your answer, and 
 seal it thus." 
 
 She puts her hands up to her face, but before she 
 can get them there he kisses her lips. 
 
 She gives a little sigh as the blood comes rushing 
 back into her cheeks, and says : 
 
 "I feel so ashamed. What must you think of 
 me ! " 
 
 His only answer is to kiss her again. 
 
 " Oh, let me go, please. I hear some one coming." 
 
 Allen releases her, and they stand listening a mo- 
 ment or two, but no one comes. 
 
 "I'm so awfully happy," Allen says. "I could 
 dance and sing for very joy. All my troubles are 
 over now."
 
 jg2 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 A shade crosses Lady Edith's features. 
 
 "I'm afraid they have only just begun," she says, 
 shaking her head. " Marriage with us is a more diffi- 
 cult matter than you think." 
 
 " Difficult ? Why, every difficulty is past. Unless 
 you mean to take back your consent Do you mean 
 that ? " 
 
 " No. I wish it all lay with me. It would be easy 
 then." 
 
 " I don't understand you. It does all lie with 
 you." 
 
 "There's father." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense. I'll make it all right with him." 
 
 " And mother." 
 
 "I shan't have any difficulty with her." 
 
 " Don't be too sure. Are you quite certain you 
 won't mind if they ask you a lot of questions ? " 
 
 " Of course. But what can they want to know ? I 
 can tell them I love you very dearly, and will take 
 good care of you, and do my best to make you happy. 
 What more can they want than that ? That should 
 satisfy any father and mother." 
 
 She shrugs her shoulders. 
 
 " Not fathers and mothers of our class." 
 
 "Oh, I see," Allen says, quickly, with a sudden 
 cloud on his brow. " I'm not good enough, I suppose. 
 Yes, I forgot that." 
 
 " No, no, no. It's not that. It's something else. 
 I'm afraid you have made a great mistake in liking me. 
 It will never answer." 
 
 " Never answer ? What on earth can you mean ? " 
 
 " I know it will annoy you the things they will ask 
 you."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 183 
 
 " No it won't. I shan't mind anything, when I 
 think it is for your sake, dear." 
 
 <l I wish I felt sure. You will promise me, then, 
 that you won't mind ? " 
 
 " Yes, I promise." 
 
 " Well, then, see them at once. The sooner you 
 get it over the better. I hear them coming now. I'll 
 run away by this door like a great coward, and leave 
 you to do battle alone." She stops a second in the 
 doorway, says, " You won't mind ? " and shuts the door 
 after her, as Lord and Lady Oaktorrington enter the 
 room. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 " WHAT, alone, Mr. Allen ? " the marchioness asks, 
 with a disappointed face, while her eyes visit quickly 
 every nook and corner of the room. " I I thought 
 Edith was here. How tiresome of her," she whispers 
 to her husband. 
 
 " By Jove, yes, the little minx," he grunts back. 
 
 " She was here," Allen says. 
 
 " For long?" 
 
 " It seemed to me but a few seconds," he answers, 
 with a meaning smile, hoping thus to crack the ice at 
 least. Neithsr the marquis nor marchioness see it. 
 They only mutter : 
 
 " So like her" and "Isn't it?" to each other. 
 
 " I'm afraid you must find it very dull," Lady Oak- 
 torrington says, after a moment or two's whispered 
 conference with her husband. " I can't make out 
 where Freddy has gone."
 
 1 84 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 Lord Oaktorrington smiles behind his hand. 
 
 Freddy has received strict orders to keep out of 
 the way, and is at the present moment engaged in for- 
 warding his two-hundred-pound check to Coutts & Co., 
 to be placed to his credit. 
 
 " Lord Oaktorrington will take you a drive in his 
 phaeton after luncheon. Won't you, my dear ? " 
 
 His lordship says : 
 
 " Oh, yes. Delighted," aloud, and " Blow it all ! " 
 to himself. 
 
 " Like to have a look about the place ? " he says 
 to Allen. " Seen the stables ? " 
 
 " No, I haven't." 
 
 " Come along, then." 
 
 " I should like to have a few words with you both, 
 first," Allen says. " It won't take long." 
 
 Lord and Lady Oaktorrington exchange glances. 
 It can't be possible, they think, that he can mean any- 
 thing about Edith, so soon as this. 
 
 " Oh, certainly," Lady Oaktorrington says, with a 
 hopeful smile, notwithstanding. " I wonder what it 
 can be about. Sit down, my dear," to her husband. 
 
 " I am not surprised at your feeling wonder," Allen 
 goes on, " for I have known her " 
 
 At the sound of the personal pronoun, Lady Oak- 
 torrington gives a slight cough, and elevates her eye- 
 brows at the marquis. He replies by a wink. 
 
 " Such a short time." 
 
 Allen pauses. 
 
 " Yes ? " says Lady Oaktorrington, bowing gra- 
 ciously. " Pray go on." 
 
 " I don't generally find it awkward or difficult to 
 say what I mean," he continues. " But I confess to
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 I8 5 
 
 considerable hesitancy in speaking to you on this 
 matter." 
 
 " How infernally long-winded these Yankees are ! " 
 mutters the marquis to himself. " Why can't the fel- 
 low speak plain English ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes. Pray tell us. It is some trouble Freddy 
 has got into I'm afraid," Lady Oaktorrington says. 
 
 " I'm blowed if I pay another farthing for the beg- 
 gar, if that's it," growls the marquis. 
 
 " It hasn't anything whatever to do with your son," 
 Allen answers. " I will not waste words further. Know, 
 then, that I love your daughter " 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington straightens up with dignified 
 astonishment. " Really. This is indeed a surprise, 
 Mr. Allen. And may I ask which one ?" 
 
 " Edith, if I may call her so." 
 
 " Edith? Why, you have scarcely exchanged two 
 words with the child. You can not be serious." 
 
 " Indeed I am." 
 
 " Pray go on." 
 
 " Of course, you must know what next I would say. 
 I ask your consent yours and Lord Oaktorrington 's 
 to to " 
 
 " To your speaking to her ? " kindly helps out the 
 marchioness. " I hardly know what to say. I really 
 know so little about Edith. She is so secretive and 
 silent, and never confides in me, poor dear. Her affec- 
 tions may be engaged elsewhere, and " 
 
 " I can answer for that," Allen says, proudly. " I 
 know they are not." 
 
 " Oh, you do ? And pray how do you know ? Who 
 has told you? " 
 
 " Herself."
 
 !86 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " The deuce ! " exclaims the marquis. 
 
 " Herself ? " echoes Lady Oaktorrington, drawing 
 back and knitting her brows. " And do you mean to 
 say" you have spoken to her already ? " 
 
 " Why, of course." 
 
 " And engaged her affections without first asking 
 our permission? " 
 
 " I'm very sorry, but " 
 
 " Really, Mr. Allen, this is most unheard of. Such 
 a thing never happened with us before. What would 
 all our relatives say, were they to hear of it ! " 
 
 " I'm sure I can not see that you should be so 
 offended," Allen says, in a hurt tone. " Perhaps you 
 consider it a presumption on my part to aspire to the 
 hand of " 
 
 " Oh, no, no, not that, not that. Pray don't think 
 that, Mr. Allen," Lady Oaktorrington cries, seeing that 
 she may be carrying family dignity a trifle too far. 
 "Of course, it is a great compliment." Allen bows, 
 while she elevates her eyebrows at her husband, who 
 replies by a grimace. 
 
 " I assure you I consider the honor all on my side." 
 
 " It's very good of you to say so, I'm sure," Lady 
 Oaktorrington says, graciously. " Of course, you don't 
 understand our ways. You can't be expected to. But 
 in England a gentleman of our class never dreams of 
 approaching the subject of love with a girl without first 
 declaring his intentions to her parents." 
 
 " Does he not, indeed ? " says Allen. " It's a pity 
 the rule is not followed out as strictly after marriage 
 and the husbands of pretty wives accorded the same 
 right," he adds, to himself. " There would be fewer 
 divorces, then."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 I8 7 
 
 There is another pause. 
 
 "Well," says Lady Oaktorrington, " I suppose, then, 
 you mean that you want our consent to " 
 
 " Our marriage. I'm sure you will have no objec- 
 tion. I dare say I may have no rank, but I love her 
 truly and dearly, and I'll be very good and kind to her 
 and take such care of her." 
 
 " Then you've actually proposed to her and been 
 accepted without our knowing anything about it." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Although mutual glances of satisfaction are imme- 
 diately exchanged between Lord and Lady Oaktor- 
 rington, her ladyship thinks it incumbent upon her as 
 an upholder of aristocratic propriety and decorum to 
 display her high-bred indignation. She is now quite 
 safe, she thinks, in doing so. 
 
 " Really, Mr. Allen, you must pardon me when I 
 tell you that you have been guilty of a gross breach 
 of etiquette. We, don't allow our daughters to be 
 treated as our footmen treat their sweethearts." 
 
 Allen's eyes flash. 
 
 " It's a pity you don't," he says, before he can stop 
 himself. "There would be less artifice about them, 
 and more nature, if you did. But let us forget all 
 about that," he says, good-humoredly, fearing he has 
 jeopardized his happiness by what he has said. " I'm 
 very sorry, and I won't do it again," he adds, with a 
 smile. " I can't say more than that. I may feel, then, 
 that I have your consent ? " 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington looks at her husband and 
 nods. He nods back. " 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so," she says. " I suppose so." 
 
 " Oh, thank you so very much. It is very good of
 
 1 88 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 you. You have made me very happy. I'll go at 
 once and tell her." 
 
 l< Come," he thinks to himself. " They are not such 
 dreadful ogres after all." 
 
 " Wait a moment," says Lady Oaktorrington, as 
 Allen is making for the door. " Not quite so fast, 
 please. There are one or two conditions, you know." 
 
 " Rather," acquiesces the marquis. 
 
 " Yes ? What ? " Allen asks, with a surprised face. 
 
 "We must know about your affairs, don't you 
 know." 
 
 " Oh, of course," says Allen, lightly. " That's all 
 right. You needn't have any fear about them. I 
 don't think I shall experience much difficulty in keep- 
 ing a wife handsomely. I suppose that's all you want 
 to know." 
 
 Lord Oaktorrington laughs outright. 
 
 " Is it, indeed ? " he says. " I think we shall want 
 to know a little more than that." 
 
 "Recollect," says Lady Oaktorrington, "that we 
 know positively nothing about your means your 
 ahem your money, don't you know." 
 
 " Quite true," says Allen. " No more you do. 
 Nor about my family at home and my relations. I 
 haven't got much of either. Only a father, a couple 
 of uncles, one aunt, and " 
 
 "Oh, we don't care about them," says Lady Oak- 
 torrington, impatiently. " We want to know about 
 your money." 
 
 " Don't you think he'd better go up and see Fair- 
 field ? " suggests the marquis. " It's an awful bore 
 for us." 
 
 " Who's Fairfield ? " asks Allen.
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 189 
 
 " Our lawyer our family solicitor," answers Lady 
 Oaktorrington. 
 
 "What have I to do with him? Must. I get his 
 consent, too ? " 
 
 " Yes, in a measure. If he's not satisfied with 
 your money-matters, we can not give ours." 
 
 " But you have given it." 
 
 " Oh, come," says the marquis. " We're only wast- 
 ing time bandying words about it. You may evade 
 telling us, but he'll get it out of you, never fear." 
 
 " Get it out of me ? " says Allen, quickly, " I don't 
 comprehend." 
 
 " You don't comprehend anything, it seems, un- 
 less you want to," replies the marquis, standing up. 
 
 " Hush, my dear," says Lady Oaktorrington, and 
 the marquis sits down again. " There's no good in 
 quarreling over it ; and perhaps we can do without Mr. 
 Fairfield's assistance for the present, if you will tell us, 
 Mr. Allen, what your income is, and what your means 
 and prospects are." 
 
 " I have no fixed income," says Allen. 
 
 " What ? " cry the marquis and marchioness in a 
 breath. 
 
 "Father gives me all the money I want. He's 
 never refused me a cent a penny yet." 
 
 " Then you have no means of your own ? " 
 
 " Yes, I've got ten thousand dollars invested in a 
 quartz-mine." 
 
 "How much is that in our money?" asks Lady 
 Oaktorrington with returning confidence. 
 
 "About two thousand pounds." 
 
 " Good heavens ! That's only about How much 
 dear ? "
 
 IC p ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Sixty pounds a year at three per cent," says the 
 marquis. " Our butler has more than that. Just 
 fancy ! " 
 
 " Really, I am surprised at you, Mr. Allen, expect- 
 ing us to give you one of our daughters, with no 
 more than that." 
 
 " Yes, but I know father will give me something 
 regular. He's the director of two or three railroads, 
 and will get me put in as secretary on one of them. 
 That will give me a fine salary. Besides, he'll build us 
 a fine residence to live in, and I know, if I manage 
 him right, he'll give us all the money we shall want to 
 live upon." 
 
 " Then you are really and actually dependent upon 
 your father for everything, and have nothing but in- 
 definite prospects ? " says Lady Oaktorrington. " Of 
 course, you can't settle anything on Edith ? " 
 
 " Settle ? No, of course not. But what need to 
 settle anything. Father will leave me everything. In 
 fact, General Hodge, his attorney, told me in confidence 
 the old man made his will that way. Won't that be 
 enough ?" 
 
 " It's very uncertain and indefinite. He might 
 change his mind and revoke his will at any moment. 
 Wouldn't he settle something on your wife ? " 
 
 Allen shakes his head. 
 
 " I should dislike to ask him. He's very crotch- 
 ety about such things, and his great fear is that some 
 one should marry me for money. It would spoil all 
 to ask him to settle any money. He wouldn't under- 
 stand it." 
 
 " Don't you have marriage settlements in Amer- 
 ica?"
 
 ARISTOCRACY. l g l 
 
 " I never heard of one, there." 
 
 " Does he know of your wish to marry our daugh- 
 ter? " 
 
 "Yes. I've written to tell him." 
 
 " Then he must know the necessity of some settle- 
 ment being made." 
 
 " It is about the last thing to enter his head. He 
 is not a very great believer in marriage, at best, and 
 of all things he detests most is a marriage for money. 
 My mother married him when he was a poor man, 
 struggling for his living." 
 
 Lord and Lady Oaktorrington again exchange 
 glances. 
 
 " Fancy not getting money with such a low connec- 
 tion ! " thinks one. 
 
 " Talk of the degradation of the peerage after 
 this ! " thinks the other. 
 
 " You haven't said anything to him about money, 
 then ? " asks Lady Oaktorrington. 
 
 "Not a word. I know better than that. He'd 
 be against my marrying at all. I know if we leave it 
 as it is it will be all right. I know I can manage 
 everything." 
 
 " Oh, we could never agree to that," says the mar- 
 chioness, decisively, with a haughty stare. 
 
 " No fear," mutters the marquis. " We're not 
 quite so green as that." 
 
 " You see," Lady Oaktorrington continues, " it 
 is not as though we could give Edith much our- 
 selves." 
 
 " I don't want anything," replies Allen, quickly. 
 "I want nothing with her, and nothing but her." 
 
 " Oh, of course we should settle something upon
 
 I 9 2 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 her. It can't be a great deal, for we haven't it to 
 give." 
 
 Allen opens his eyes in amazement. 
 
 " No doubt you think it strange," Lady Oaktor- 
 rington goes on. " But all the estates are strictly 
 entailed, and go to our eldest son. Then from what 
 remains we must first provide for our other three 
 sons." 
 
 " Three ? " says Allen. " I only know of two." 
 
 " You've never seen Cecil. He's at Eton, you 
 know, and only comes home for the holidays. Then, 
 after them, come our three daughters." 
 
 " Three ? " repeats Allen. " Is there a third ? " 
 
 " Yes, Maude. You've not seen her either. She's 
 in the school-room still." 
 
 " Oh, at school. I didn't know." 
 
 "No, not at school," replies Lady Oaktorrington, 
 contemptuously. " Fancy our sending one of our 
 girls to school ! She has a governess, of course." 
 
 "Where is she?" 
 
 " Where ? Why, here, of course, where should 
 she be ? " 
 
 " And I've never seen her ? " asks Allen. " Is 
 she an invalid ? " 
 
 " Indeed, no. Girls in the school-room are not 
 likely to be seen by any one. You wouldn't be likely 
 to see her until she comes out." 
 
 " Poor thing," says Allen. Has she much longer 
 to stay in in " he is all but saying "her prison," 
 but tactically substitutes, " the school-room." 
 
 " Only seven or eight years." 
 
 " And does she never go out of the house ? " 
 
 " Of course she does with her governess."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. ! 93 
 
 "And do you mean to say you never see her 
 either ? " 
 
 " Really, Mr. Allen, you show a marvelous inter- 
 est in the child. Certainly, I see her at least twice 
 every day. I go to the nursery when she has her din- 
 ner, and look in to say good-night when she goes to 
 bed." 
 
 " Have all your daughters been treated like that ? 
 Edith, too ? " 
 
 " Exactly like that," Lady Oaktorrington answers, 
 stiffly. " You seem to disapprove of our way of bring- 
 ing up our girls." 
 
 " I must say it's awfully artificial and unnatural," 
 Allen replies, candidly. 
 
 " You are quite satisfied with Edith, however ? " 
 
 "Yes, I am, I admire her more than ever now. 
 What a lot of character she must have ! " 
 
 " Suppose we go on with what we were talking 
 about. I say we can only give Edith a few thousand 
 pounds." 
 
 " And I say I don't want a farthing with her." 
 
 "Then, all the more reason is there that you 
 should make some settlement upon her. Now, to be 
 plain, as you can't do so yourself, your father must. 
 Otherwise, we must decline your offer." 
 
 " But don't you see, can't you see, dear Lady Oak- 
 torrington," Allen urges. " that I can't ask him." 
 
 4< Skittles ! " says the marquis, " you must, if you 
 want Edith. You must communicate with him at once, 
 and on his answer depends our consent." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington rises, and Lord Oaktorring- 
 ton, like an unchained dog, makes a break for the 
 door. 
 
 13
 
 194 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Stay a moment, please," Allen says. " I will do 
 as you wish, but I honestly tell you I fear the conse- 
 quences. I shall cable to father at once. A letter 
 would take too long. Have you a telegraphic blank 
 a form, you call it here ? Now, then." 
 
 He seats himself at the writing-table, and takes up 
 a pen. As he is about to begin, he pauses and thinks 
 for a minute or two : " You are quite determined not 
 to allow her to marry me unless I do this ? " he asks. 
 
 " Quite," says the marchioness. 
 
 " Rather," observes the marquis. 
 
 " And you wont allow her to marry me in the way 
 I suggest ? " 
 
 " Decidedly not." 
 
 " No fear." 
 
 " Would she marry me herself without their con- 
 sent," he asks himself. " She is of age. No, this 
 would never do. It would cause a scandal that she 
 could never face. It will be time enough to think of 
 that if this fails." He takes up the pen again and 
 writes rapidly : 
 
 " Will you settle dollars on my wife ? " 
 
 He hands the form to Lady Oaktorrington, and 
 says : 
 
 " I have left the sum blank. Be kind enough to 
 fill in what you think right." 
 
 Lord and Lady Oaktorrington read it over to- 
 gether, and confer in an undertone. 
 
 " We don't know anything about dollars," Lady 
 Oaktorrington says, handing the paper back to Allen. 
 "Can't you put it in pounds." 
 
 " If you will say how much in pounds you want, it 
 will be sufficient," Allen says, " I can turn it into dol-
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 195 
 
 lars. Talk of the heathen Chinese buying their 
 wives ! " he thinks to himself. " And these people 
 are the cream of civilized Europe ! I feel as if I were 
 bargaining for a horse." 
 
 Lord and Lady Oaktorrington have a whispered 
 conference, while Allen is left to his own thoughts. 
 
 " We think," says Lady Oaktorrington, at last, 
 " that thirty thousand pounds would be right." 
 
 Allen takes the paper with a sarcastic smile. 
 
 " Is that all ? Why that is only a hundred and 
 fifty thousand dollars. You ought to have said a 
 million while you were about it. Father would give it 
 quite as willingly." 
 
 He can not keep back a sneer as he says this. 
 These English aristocrats will, he finds, stand any- 
 thing for money. 
 
 " Eh ? What ? " says the marquis, all alive in a 
 minute. Then in an audible whisper to the marchion- 
 ess : " I told you you didn't make it high enough. 
 You were a fool not to double it." 
 
 Allen looks at him with a face full of repugnance 
 and disgust, but the glitter of gold is too strong in the 
 marquis's eyes for him to see it. 
 
 " Never mind. This will do," he says, folding up 
 the paper. " And now, how can I get this sent ? It 
 ought to go at once." 
 
 " I'll drive you in to Hertford myself," Lord Oak- 
 torrington says, ringing the bill. 
 
 As Allen goes to his room to make some prepa- 
 rations for the drive, he meets Lady Edith on the 
 stairs. 
 
 " I'm afraid you've had a dreadful time of it," she 
 says, with a white face and wide open eyes as she
 
 196 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 studies his features for a clew to the result. " It has 
 all gone wrong. I feared it would." 
 
 " No, indeed, it hasn't," he answers, with a smile. 
 " It has gone right enough. Not, perhaps, exactly in 
 accord with my views, but " 
 
 " Oh, I know. There's been a lot of trouble about 
 money." 
 
 " What of it ? You are worth every bit of it." 
 
 " Every bit of what ? The money ? " with a depre- 
 cating look. 
 
 " No : the trouble." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 LORD OAKTORRINGTON'S shooting-party assembles 
 next morning at eleven. It consists of six guns : him- 
 self, Freddy, three neighbors viz., the Earl of Went- 
 worth, his son the Honorable Percy Knollys (pro- 
 nounced Knowles), and Sir Herbert Wemyss (pro- 
 nounced Weames) and Allen. 
 
 " I don't know if you understand breechloaders," 
 Lord Oaktorrington says to Allen, pointing to the gun 
 he has lent him. " I dare say not. But I've given 
 directions to one of my keepers to stay by you, and 
 he'll show you how it works." 
 
 " Thanks," Allen replies, with a smile. " I think 
 I shall be able to manage." 
 
 "Much cover shooting in the States?" the mar- 
 quis asks, as they walk along. 
 
 " None at all that I ever heard of," Allen tells him. 
 
 " What ? " exclaims Lord Oaktorrington. " Then, 
 of course, you know nothing about it. Perhaps you'd
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 197 
 
 batter not come, you know. It's awfully difficult and 
 sharp work, and unless you understand it, you'll find 
 it very stupid and dull. I should strongly advise you 
 to go back." 
 
 " No, thanks," says Allen, carelessly. " I expect 
 to make a fool of myself, but I shan't mind." 
 
 " I shall, though," groans Lord Oaktorrington to 
 himself. " What an ass I was to lend him the gun. 
 It will be the joke of the county for a month. Look 
 here, then, if you will persist in coming, let me 
 give you a few hints. When we get to those trees 
 over there we shall stand round them about twenty 
 yards apart. The beaters will go in and drive out the 
 pheasants. As the birds fly out we pot 'em, don't you 
 know. You must be careful not to shoot at another 
 fellow's bird, and always fire low. Of course, you 
 know, you must only shoot at birds on the wing." 
 
 " Really ! " says Allen, " you don't mean it ? " 
 
 " Deuced lucky I told him," thinks the marquis. 
 
 " Then I mustn't shoot at a bird sitting ? " Allen 
 asks. " I shall never hit one flying, I'm afraid." 
 
 " I shouldn't try. Suppose you just look on at 
 us to-day, and next time you'll know how to do it 
 yourself." 
 
 " I can't think how you can have time to aim at a 
 flying bird," Allen goes on. " I should think it 
 would be impossible to hit one." 
 
 " Wait until you see," says Lord Oaktorrington, 
 proudly. " We'll show you." 
 
 They reach the cover, a clump of leafless trees 
 some two hundred yards in circumference with a 
 thickish undergrowth of bushes, and the party ranges 
 itself around it without loss of time. Allen, who in-
 
 198 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 sists on " having a try," is placed in a wide vacancy, 
 the distances between the other men being lessened 
 to give him the extra room. 
 
 " Devilish clever dodge of mine, that," thinks 
 Lord Oaktorrington. " And mind, Smith," he says to 
 one of the keepers, " that you stick close by him, and 
 see that he gets on all right. He's rather inexperi- 
 enced. You understand ? " 
 
 "Yesm' lud," the man replies, touching his hat. 
 " He do look different, that's true. I'll lay a tanner 
 he knows more than he lets on," he adds to himself. 
 
 On Allen's right is Lord Wentworth, a pompous 
 old gentleman with a red face and gray whiskers ; on 
 his left, Sir Herbert Wemyss, a downy-faced boy with 
 long legs, a narrow chest, a thin neck, and an eye- 
 glass. Lord Oaktorrington has put himself as much 
 out of harm's way as possible on the other side. 
 
 The beaters set to work vigorously with voice and 
 stick, and presently a babel of tongues bursts forth. 
 
 " Mark cock to the right ! " 
 
 " Mark cock to the left ! " 
 
 " Mark cock forward ! " 
 
 " Mark right ! " 
 
 " Mark left ! " 
 
 " Mark forward ! " 
 
 Allen who is nearly stunned by the noise, and be- 
 wildered by the conflicting announcements, then hears 
 six double shots follow each other in quick succession. 
 A cock pheasant flies straight up from the left, giving 
 a sort of aerial start as Lord Wentworth discharges 
 both barrels into space after him, and keeps on past 
 Allen. As the bird's head and neck cross Allen's 
 front, he raises his gun lightly, and fires. The bird
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 I 99 
 
 seems to explode a bunch of feathers in the air, turns 
 head over heels, and drops with a thump at Allen's 
 feet. 
 
 " By cricky ! " says the keeper behind him. " I 
 knowed he was the right sort." 
 
 Lord Wentworth and Sir Herbert Wemyss imme- 
 diately approach each other : 
 
 " My bird," says Lord Wentworth, motioning to the 
 keeper to pick it up. 
 
 "Aw. Beg pardon," says Sir Herbert, adjusting 
 his eyeglass. " I was on the point of making a similar 
 remark myself, don't you know. Eh ? " 
 
 " What ? Do you mean to say you claim it ? 
 Nonsense. It was my last shot that fetched him 
 down." 
 
 " Awfully sorry, don't you know, but I was the first 
 to fire. I saw him stagger, and timed him to fall about 
 here." 
 
 " If you will excuse me, my lud, and you too, Sir 
 Herbert," says the keeper. " But this be this here gen- 
 tleman's shot. I see's him shoot the bird with my 
 hown heyes." 
 
 " Don't be impertinent, sir," answers Lord Went- 
 worth, " or I shall at once complain to your master." 
 
 " I never heard the like," says Sir Herbert Weymss. 
 " I shall certainly speak to Lord Oaktorrington about 
 you, sir." 
 
 " I hopes no offense, my lud," the keeper begs. 
 " This gentleman hisself will say the " 
 
 " Oh, never mind," says Allen, with a laugh. " It 
 doesn't matter in the least. I have no doubt the bird 
 belongs to both of you." 
 
 By this time the entire party have come together,
 
 200 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 and discuss the claims of both parties, ending by allot- 
 ting it to Sir Herbert." 
 
 " We all know a pheasant will carry a charge of 
 shot five minutes before he falls," decides Lord Oak- 
 torrington. 
 
 " Of course, if Sir Herbert fired the first shot, and 
 saw the bird, as he says, stagger, why, of course, the 
 bird must be his." 
 
 " I never heard such awful rubbish," shouts Lord 
 Wentworth, with flashing eyes. " Fancy any one abid- 
 ing by it ! I shall go home at once. It's useless to 
 waste cartridges here." 
 
 "Oh, pray accept the bird," Allen says to Lord 
 Wentworth. 
 
 " Accept the bird ? " exclaims Lord Wentworth. 
 " What do you mean, sir ? The bird is mine, not yours 
 to give." 
 
 " Well, have it so. Don't let us waste any more 
 time haggling over it. It isn't worth it." 
 
 " And pray, sir, who are you ? " Lord Wentworth 
 demands, in an angry tone. " Your face is unknown 
 to me." 
 
 " I dare say it is," says Allen, impatiently. " So is 
 yours to me." 
 
 " Come, come," shouts Lord Oaktorrington. " Let 
 us end this squabble. I quite agree with Mr. Allen 
 that it is not worth it. We are losing the best part of 
 the day." 
 
 Lord Wentworth turns away, muttering, and the 
 party return to their stations. But not another pheas- 
 ant can the beaters scare up. 
 
 " I thought as much," Lord Oaktorrington says. 
 " The birds have all taken themselves off while we have
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 2OI 
 
 been jawing. We'll just have time before luncheon 
 for a try at the covers on the home farm. Come 
 along." 
 
 " Bosh ! " says Lord Wentworth, to Sir Herbert 
 Weymss. " The fact is the Ashwynwick preserves are 
 not what they used to be. They're gone to pot. Small 
 wonder, too, when ' pot hunters ' are let loose over 
 them," and he looks vindictively at Allen. 
 
 " I quite agree with you," says Sir Herbert. " I 
 expect he'll be giving us a load of shot to carry home 
 before the day is out. Did you ever see such an ass ? 
 Fancy trusting him with a gun ! Who is he? " 
 
 41 No idea. Oaktorrington's tailor, no doubt." 
 
 The home farm covers are productive of but two 
 more pheasants, one of which falls to Freddy's gun, 
 the other to Allen's. 
 
 " It's rather late in the season," Lord Oaktorring- 
 ton says, apologetically, to Allen, " and the birds are 
 wild." 
 
 "Hear that?" asks Lord Wentworth of Sir Her- 
 bert, elevating his eyebrows. " If it was me, I'd dis- 
 charge my gamekeeper on the spot, or shut up shop at 
 once. Late in the season ! Ha, ha ! " 
 
 " Don't catch me here again," replies Sir Herbert. 
 
 " I should hope not," says Lord Wentworth. 
 
 The party then wends its way across an open 
 meadow to the agent's lodge, where luncheon is pre- 
 pared. Allen is rather disappointed at not meeting 
 the ladies, whom he has heard make it a custom in 
 England to come out and join the shooting party at 
 luncheon. He says as much to Freddy. 
 
 " Oh, that's only in September and October, when 
 the partridges and pheasants are fresh, and the weather
 
 202 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 warm," Freddy tells him. "It's too far on for that 
 sort of thing now, don't you know." Everybody's tem- 
 per is better after a plentiful meal of Irish stew and 
 copious draughts of home-brewed beer, with bread and 
 cheese and a mouthful of Scotch whisky to end up with. 
 But there isn't much better luck in store for anybody. 
 An hour and a half's more shooting results in but four 
 more pheasants and one hare. So, at three o'clock, 
 the party breaks up, and Lord Oaktorrington, Freddy, 
 and Allen walk slowly and silently home. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE first person Allen sees as he enters the hall 
 and is about to go up to his room to change his clothes, 
 is Lady Edith. She is standing just within the door- 
 way of the library, the door of which she holds a few 
 inches open. Her face is pale and her eyes wide open 
 and anxious. She beckons silently to Allen, and he 
 follows her into the room. 
 
 " It's come," she whispers, hoarsely. " I've had 
 such a time of it keeping it from mother and Mary. 
 They don't know it's arrived, for I waylaid the mes- 
 senger in the park. I thought this the safest place to 
 keep it, for no one ever comes near this room." 
 
 Allen looks puzzled a minute, and is upon the point 
 of saying " What ? " when she goes quickly to one of 
 the bookshelves, takes down a large volume of Bacon's 
 " Essays," and from between the leaves draws out a 
 sealed envelope. 
 
 " Here it is," she says, and hands Allen a telegram. 
 " Oh, dear, I'm so frightened for fear it won't be all
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 203 
 
 right. Stop ! Don't open it yet. Just wait a moment 
 till I get my breath." 
 
 Allen turns the brick-dust envelope over and over 
 in his fingers, not without a fast beating heart him- 
 self. 
 
 " Nonsense," he says, as steadily as he can. " Bet- 
 ter know as soon as possible. It may be all right." 
 
 " May ? " she cries. " Thenjw* only think it may ? 
 Oh, dear, what shall we do ? " 
 
 " Do ? Why read it, of course. But look here," 
 suddenly. " Hadn't I better open it before your father 
 and mother ? They will suspect something crooked if 
 I don't." 
 
 " No, no, no. Suppose your father won't consent ? 
 I believe they'd tear you in pieces." 
 
 There is an earnest honesty in her voice that makes 
 Allen stare. 
 
 " Are you serious ? " he asks. 
 
 "Serious?" she says, bitterly. "I should think I 
 was. I know them better than you do." 
 
 " I thought I knew them pretty well," Allen says ; 
 "but I had no idea they were as bad as that." 
 
 " It's safer not to try. Come, you may open it 
 now," she says, putting both hands over her heart. 
 " I'm not overstrong here, the doctor says, but I am 
 quite ready." 
 
 " Poor child," Allen says, putting his arm about her. 
 " What have I been thinking of not to have noticed 
 how dreadfully you look. Come, dear, don't take it 
 so much to heart. We don't know that my father won't 
 give me the money. And even if he did refuse " 
 
 " Oh, don't even suggest such a thing," she cries. 
 " I believe it would kill me."
 
 204 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Why should it, dear ? You could marry me all 
 the same. You are of age. Wouldn't you ? " 
 
 Lady Edith shakes her head slowly. " I couldn't 
 go against their wishes." 
 
 " What ? " A quick suspicion darts into his heart ; 
 he drops his arm from about her, and takes a step back- 
 ward. "And are you, too " 
 
 " No, no ! You misunderstand me quite. Indeed, 
 it is not that. In our class, in our rank, we never 
 marry except as our parents wish. Oh, I see you do 
 not believe me." Allen is silent. " What can I do to 
 convince you?" 
 
 " Marry me at all hazards," he says, quickly. " Stay. 
 I do not mean at once. I only ask your promise to do 
 so ; and that, only after I have tried every fair means 
 to get your father and mother's consent. That is not 
 so much. Will you promise ? " 
 
 A gleam of sunlight comes into her face, like the 
 sudden beam which darts forth from a dark and storm- 
 riven cloud, and illumines for the nonce, what before 
 was dark and desolate. 
 
 " I will ! There ! Are you satisfied ? " 
 
 He takes her in his arms, and holds her to his heart. 
 
 " I am, darling quite. And now, we can read the 
 telegram with less fear and trembling. At worst it will 
 be but a question of time." 
 
 His fingers do tremble, nevertheless, as he tears open 
 the envelope, and unfolds the paper within : 
 
 Not by a jugful. Come home, is all it says, but it is 
 enough for Allen. 
 
 " I don't understand," says Lady Edith, who reads 
 the obscure sentence with him. " It is some joke, 
 isn't it ? "
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 205 
 
 " I wish it were," Allen says, with a sigh. " Oh, 
 no, it is only too clear to me. It means this : that I 
 must go home without delay not because I am or- 
 dered, but because I see it is the only thing to do. I 
 am not disappointed. I knew he would answer so." 
 
 " He refuses, then," cries Lady Edith, bursting 
 into tears. " And and you must go away, all those 
 miles ? Oh, I can never let you do that." 
 
 " But, my darling," says Allen, " I must. Don't 
 you see it is the only thing to do ? I must do as he 
 bids me if I wish to please him, and never fear but I 
 shall be able to win him over. I must and I shall." 
 
 " But you won't stay long ? You will come back ? 
 Oh, promise me you will. I did not know how much 
 I loved you. I can not bear the thought of your going 
 away from me." 
 
 " Say that again and again to me, dearest. It turns 
 our misfortune into a happiness for me. But for this 
 I should not have known your love. That makes up 
 for every disappointment," and he holds her closer to 
 him. "And now," he says, presently, "I suppose I 
 must go and tell your father and mother." 
 
 " Oh, dear, what shall you tell them ? " Lady Edith 
 murmurs through her tears. " It seems all so hopeless 
 when one thinks of them." 
 
 " No, darling. Remember what you have promised 
 me. I shall tell them this : The reply is not so satis- 
 factory as I hoped, but that I can make it all right by 
 going back." 
 
 " I'm so afraid they will be rude to you." 
 
 " I shan't care if they are. The happiness of the 
 future will make ample amends for any unhappiness in 
 the present. Let us think of that."
 
 206 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 When Allen tells Lord and Lady Oaktorrington of 
 his father's answer, couched in the modified terms he 
 has thought best to use, they are at first inclined to 
 show their resentment to him in a manner more marked 
 than by mere rudeness. After the first flash of ill- 
 temper and chagrin fades away, they take a philosophic 
 view of the situation, and see that Allen's return to 
 America is the best, nay, the only, thing to be 
 thought of. 
 
 " Even if he doesn't succeed, it will get him out 
 of Edith's mind for I really believe the child is silly 
 enough to have feeling in the matter and that is 
 something to hope for, if he hasn't any money," Lady 
 Oaktorrington says, complacently, as she and the mar- 
 quis talk it over together. " I have sometimes thought," 
 she adds in a whispered undertone, as if the walls had 
 ears to hear the treason to her class principles, " that 
 perhaps we are making a mistake in adhering so strongly 
 to the settlement, if there is so much difficulty. One 
 forgets the consul's telegram." 
 
 Lord Oaktorrington is already weary of the whole 
 subject, and is only too willing to dispose of it as easily 
 as possible. 
 
 "Yes, suppose we do relax our demands give 
 up the settlement," he says. " Have no more 
 bother." 
 
 " And yet," says the marchioness, converted back 
 again as much by her husband's ready acquiescence, 
 as by the family considerations which arise in her mind, 
 " what would our relations say ? " 
 
 "Oh, bother them." 
 
 " It's easy to say that. But they have too much to 
 leave to make us indifferent to them. Not a farthing
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 207 
 
 should \ve get from anybody, if we broke through our 
 family custom." 
 
 " Yes, I expect you are right," says Lord Oaktor- 
 rington, won over the instant money is suggested. 
 "You generally are." 
 
 " I know I am," Lady Oaktorrington replies. " Yes, 
 he must go." 
 
 And so on the following Saturday Allen sailed in 
 the " Umbria " from Liverpool for New York. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 IT is the height of the London season. Town was 
 never fuller ; society never gayer ; the summer sky 
 never brighter; the season never better; Parliament 
 never livelier. 
 
 " The Marquis and Marchioness of Oaktorrington 
 and the Ladies Mary and Edith Vesey have ar- 
 rived at 999 Eaton Square from Ashwynwick Park, 
 Herts, for the season," announced the "Morning 
 Post " in its columns of " Fashionable News," on the 
 ist of May, and at 999 they are still. 
 
 On this particular June afternoon the inmates of 
 the said mansion are scattered. Lord Oaktorrington 
 is either at the Carlton Club in Pall Mall, a Horse 
 Show at Islington, Tattersall's, or (the odds on the 
 last) smoking cigarettes and shipping shandygaff with 
 Miss Valerie Trefusis of the Gaiety Theatre in the 
 honeysuckle-covered summer-house of a neat villa 
 near Lords' Cricket-Ground in St. John's Wood 
 Road; Lord Frederick Vesey, who is now M. P. for 
 Bridgeleigh, is playing in a cricket-match, at Hunting-
 
 208 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 ton Oval, for his county against the " Players " ; Lady 
 Mary and Lady Edith have gone to a garden-party at 
 Marlborough House under the chaperonage of their 
 aunt the Duchess of Kensington ; and Lady Oaktor- 
 rington, kept indoors by a slight cold (of her own 
 manufacture) caught at Ascot on the cup day last week, 
 is sitting at her writing table in the drawing-room. 
 
 " My father has consented at last" she reads aloud 
 to herself for the dozenth time from a letter she holds 
 open in her hand, " to do all that you wish. I shall 
 leave at once for England, and take the first steamer 
 from New York I can get. At latest I should be with 
 you the end of this month, after which there need be no 
 further delay in the marriage. I am anxious it should 
 take place at once. I shall let you know by cable of my 
 sailing from New York. It's curious we haven't 
 heard, for there are only two days of June left," she 
 says, putting down the letter to consult the framed 
 calendar before her. " I hope there can be no new 
 trouble." Even as she speaks the butler enters with a 
 telegram on a silver waiter. It is from Allen, dated 
 Queenstown. 
 
 Have just arrived here, it says, Will be in Lon- 
 don Thursday evening. No time to cable from New 
 York. Everything all right. 
 
 " Thursday ? That's to-morrow. Dear me, what 
 a relief it is to have this business arranged at last ! " 
 Lady Oaktorrington says, leaning back in her chair, 
 and folding her hands in her lap. "And to get Edith 
 so comfortably settled, with Maud coming on so fast ! 
 Fancy two pass/e girls for next season ! It is not 
 quite the match I should have chosen for her, but one 
 can't pick and choose in these days like our mothers
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 209 
 
 used. He's as good as Grubbings the brewer's son, or 
 young Caper the pickle-maker's nephew, and they've 
 each married a duke's daughter within the month. 
 Dear me, no. He's most gentlemanlike and present- 
 able, I'm sure. What a sell it will be for the Bouver- 
 ies ! How I wish I could let them know. Yes, I 
 think I am quite safe in doing that now." 
 
 She reads the letter and telegram over again, put- 
 ting special emphasis on My father has consented at 
 last to do everything you wish and everything all right ', 
 to reassure herself, and then takes up her pen and 
 writes : 
 
 A marriage is arranged and will shortly take place 
 between Lady Edith Vesey, second daughter of the Mar- 
 quis and Marchioness of Oaktorrington, and Mr. Philip 
 Allen, of San Francisco, U. S. A. 
 
 She copies this, signs her name at the bottom of 
 each, addresses one to the " Morning Post " and the 
 other to the " Court Journal," rings the bell, and dis- 
 patches them to catch the afternoon post for the even- 
 ing's delivery. She has barely done so when Lady 
 Henry Tollemache is announced, followed shortly by 
 Montie Vereker. 
 
 " Gone to Marlborough House, have they ? " Lady 
 Henry says. "I'm sorry now that I didn't go. But 
 really Tummy's parties are such dreadful crushes that 
 no one sees your frock however swell it is ; and then 
 they are so awfully mixed, don't you know. Fancy 
 Henry Irving and Toole were at the last I'm told. I 
 think that is carrying things a trifle too far, don't 
 you ? " 
 
 " I hope I'm not disloyal, dear, in saying so," says 
 Lady Oaktorrington, "but I'm not surprised at any- 
 14
 
 2io ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 thing the prince does. It's a great pity he doesn't 
 take a real interest in something useful. The army, 
 for instance." 
 
 " He does. He's a field-marshal and I don't know 
 how many colonels of regiments," says Montie Vereker. 
 
 " Is he really ? " 
 
 " Oh, by-the-bye, I hear that Beyndour is going 
 out to the Soudan with the Camel Corps. Awful hard 
 lines to be dragged away in the middle of the season 
 like that, isn't it ? " 
 
 " It's a great shame, I think, the way men of rank 
 who go into the army are expected to rough it like 
 common people," says Lady Oaktorrington. " It's all 
 Lord Wolseley's fault, of course. He is a Radical, and 
 hates people whose titles are older than his. So he 
 has got up this Camel Corps as a special thing for 
 noblemen, and he's had it put into the papers in such 
 a way that they can't refuse to go into it. It was his 
 doing sending the Blues and Life Guards to Egypt. 
 Just fancy ! Regiments that hadn't left London since 
 Waterloo. I call it shameful. Don't you ? " 
 
 " Of course, I do. I'm sure he'll ruin the army if 
 he goes on. He'll drive gentlemen out of it." 
 
 " That he will. I know Beyndour was on the 
 point of sending in his papers a week or two ago, and, 
 several of his brother officers, as well as other men in 
 the Household Cavalry, were going to do the same, 
 when this Camel Corps was announced. Of course, 
 they couldn't leave then without all sorts of things be- 
 ing said about them, like what was said of the poor 
 Duke of Cambridge in the Crimea." 
 
 " What was that ! " asks Lady Henry. " That was 
 before my time."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 211 
 
 " That he showed the white feather by coming 
 home on sick-leave in the most important part of the 
 campaign. They said he shammed illness to get 
 away." 
 
 " The beasts ! Because he was a royalty of 
 course." 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 " One can hardly blame them sometimes," says 
 Vereker. "Now look at Connaught. The Queen 
 wouldn't let him expose himself to any danger that 
 time at Tel-el-Kebir. He was kept safely in the line 
 of reserves, by her orders." 
 
 " But mightn't the reserves have been called upon," 
 suggests the marchioness, loyally. 
 
 " They weren't, as a matter of fact ; and no doubt 
 Lord Wolseley knew they wouldn't be. Of course, as 
 I say, you can't blame people after that for talking." 
 
 '* But don't you think it's rather hard upon the 
 Duke of Connaught ? He had to obey the Queen's 
 orders." 
 
 " Oh, yes, it's very nice to put it in that way. It's 
 awfully jolly, though, to be a prince whose mother's 
 a queen." 
 
 " Betty's a lady and wears a gold ring, 
 And Johnny's a drummer and drums for the king," 
 
 sings Lady Henry. "By-the-by, talking of princes, 
 reminds me. They say Tummy had a most awful row 
 with the princess the other night because he danced 
 four times running with Miss Chancellor. Their voices 
 could be heard at the Marlborough Club having it out." 
 " How dreadful ! " cries the marchioness. " And 
 who is Miss Chancellor, pray? An actress?"
 
 212 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Actress ? No. You don't know who Miss Chan- 
 cellor is ? You can't mean it. Why, she's the new 
 beauty." 
 
 " I thought the young person they call the Jersey 
 Lily was," says Lady Oaktorrington. 
 
 " What, Mrs. Langtry ? Oh, she's done for herself 
 by going on the stage." 
 
 " Chancellor, did you say ? " asks the marchioness. 
 "Chancellor? I'm sure there is no peer with such a 
 family name." 
 
 " Oh, dear, no. She's not 
 
 ' English, you know," 
 
 sings Lady Henry. She's an American." 
 
 " Oh, I say, Lady Oaktorrington ! " Vereker calls 
 out suddenly, keeping his eye on Lady Henry, who 
 turns all sorts of colors. " Whatever became of that 
 hum that American gentleman you had staying with 
 you last year? " 
 
 " Do you mean Mr. Allen ? " Lady Oaktorrington 
 asks, drawing herself up. 
 
 " Yes. That was his name. Is he in England still, 
 do you know ? " 
 
 " No, he's not. But he soon will be. We expect 
 him to-morrow night." 
 
 " I'm so awfully sorry," Lady Henry says, rising 
 hurriedly, " but I've done a most awfully silly thing. 
 I've actually forgotten an engagement. I promised to 
 go to tea at Lady Darrell's, and I shall just be able to 
 get there before it's too late, if I start at once. You'll 
 forgive me for running away like this, I'm sure, dear 
 Lady Oaktorrington. By-the-by, are you going to the 
 Argenton's ball to-night ? Yes ? How awfully jolly.
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 2I 3 
 
 They're dreadfully new, I know coronet smells of 
 paint, and all that, of course but they give awfully 
 swell balls, don't you know. Good-by." 
 
 " Poor thing," says Montie Vereker, as Lady Henry's 
 footsteps fade away down the broad staircase. " She's 
 irrevocably up a tree this time, I'm afraid. What! 
 You haven't heard ? Why, it's all over the clubs. Even 
 " Truth " had a very broad hint last week." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington is as fond of a bit of scandal 
 as any one, for all her straight-laced ways before the 
 world's eyes. She pricks up her ears immediately. 
 
 " Pray tell me what it is." 
 
 " I'm rather afraid it's an awkward tale to recite in 
 a lady's hearing," Vereker goes on. " But if you don't 
 mind " 
 
 " Oh, no, I shan't mind in the least, only hurry, for 
 I expect Mary and Edith in every minute. Pray go 
 on." 
 
 " Well, then, they say that Lord Henry has begun 
 proceedings for a divorce that is, the papers are not 
 filed in court, but they have been made out at his 
 solicitor's for some time, waiting to find the where- 
 abouts of one of the co-respondents." 
 
 " Then there are more than one ? How dreadful ! " 
 
 " Yes. Harborough " 
 
 " Oh, really," and there is a gleam of satisfaction in 
 Lady Oaktorrington's eyes. " One can't be surprised, 
 can one ? " 
 
 " No one can't. But you will be astonished when 
 I tell you that the other is just guess if you can I'll 
 give you three chances." 
 
 " Lord Swansdale ? " 
 
 " No."
 
 214 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Sir Charles Chatfield ? " 
 
 " No. Once more." 
 
 " Colonel Delancy-Vere ? " 
 
 " No. It's your American friend Mr> Allen." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington starts forward in her chair 
 and puts up both her hands, while the blood recedes 
 slowly from her face and leaves her pale and wan. 
 
 " Impossible," she gasps. 
 
 " Not a bit of it. t Only too true. And that's not 
 the worst of it. But fancy your not having heard ! 
 Lord Oaktorrington and Beyndour must have known 
 it ages ago." 
 
 "They never tell one anything. Oh, I can't be- 
 lieve it. She only met him that one day at Ashwyn- 
 wick." 
 
 " It seems that that was quite enough. Lady 
 Henry is no dawdler, you know, and I believe 
 Americans are not given to being over slow on such 
 occasions." 
 
 " You don't mean to say that she had the audacity 
 while under our roof to " 
 
 " I'm afraid I do." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington falls back in her chair, her eyes 
 close, and her hands drop limp on her lap. Were it 
 not for the quivering eyelids Vereker would think she 
 had fainted. He is about to ring, but waits a minute 
 to make sure. 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington's eyes open again, slowly, and 
 she whispers, "Go on." 
 
 " There isn't much more to tell. It's the usual 
 thing servants. Lady Henry quarreled with her maid, 
 and then the maid went straight to Lord Henry. Har- 
 borough, it appears, he didn't mind so much. It's such
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 2I 5 
 
 an old story with him, and as a co-respondent he's 
 rather threadbare. But he couldn't stand the Ameri- 
 can that was too much for his sensitive nerves. The 
 evidence, I believe, is pretty conclusive, one of the chief 
 corroborating circumstances being that Lady Henry's 
 pocket-handkerchief an elaborate lace one was 
 found in the pocket of Allen's dress-coat by the foot- 
 man who brushed his clothes. He bagged it at once, 
 and gave it to Lady Henry's maid as a present from 
 himself. She twigged it all in a moment, and has kept 
 it ever since. Then, among Lady Henry's letters, 
 which she received at Ashwynwick, and which her 
 maid regularly opened, was one inclosing, in a blank 
 sheet of paper, a check on Smith, Payne, and Smith's 
 bank for two hundred pounds. He thought himself 
 awfully sharp in not writing to her, but the check can 
 always be proved at the bank." 
 
 " Of course, it will all come out in the papers," cries 
 Lady Oaktorrington aghast, as she thinks of her two 
 letters gone to the post. " What a fool I was," she 
 thinks, " to be so hasty ! But it may not be too late 
 to stop them." 
 
 She makes a dash at the bell and rings it. 
 
 " I wonder what the deuce is up now ? " thinks 
 Vereker. 
 
 " Yes, m'lady, George posted them directly," the 
 butler tells her. 
 
 She throws herself into a chair. " What am I to 
 do ? What is to be done ? " she inwardly exclaims, 
 twisting her fingers together. " Poor dear Edith ! Oh, 
 what a fool I was ! I ought to have known better than 
 to rely on a foreigner. How disgraceful of him ! Of 
 course, it is not true ? " she asks Vereker, who has been
 
 2i6 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 watching her narrowly, and thinks he can guess the 
 cause of her perturbation. 
 
 "Ah, only too true, I'm afraid," he says, with a 
 cruel glitter in his eyes. " Of course, that's the reason 
 she wasn't asked to Tummy's garden-party. I could 
 hardly help laughing outright when she said she didn't 
 care to go." 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean about her. I mean about Mr. 
 Allen." 
 
 "Didn't you see her confusion and haste to get 
 away when you said he was coming to-morrow ? She 
 thinks it will all come out now." 
 
 " Yes of course of course," Lady Oaktorrington 
 cries, in piteous tones. 
 
 " You seem to take your friend's difficulty a good 
 deal to heart," Vereker says, carelessly. 
 
 " I do." A sudden thought brings salve to her 
 wounds. " I wish we could get him out of it. Is 
 Lord Henry in town ? " She leans forward eagerly 
 with the look of a drowning man, who thinks he sees 
 a straw within reach. 
 
 " Yes. I saw him at the opera last night." Then, 
 after a pause. " You are thinking of interceding with 
 him in behalf of your friend ? It will be quite useless, 
 I assure you. Between you and I, his real object is to 
 get money. He doesn't care a farthing about his wife's 
 honor, and all that sort of thing. He's most awfully 
 hard up, as everybody knows, and he thinks to get a 
 lot of money out of this American, who is said to be 
 very rich." 
 
 " All the better," thinks Lady Oaktorrington, smil- 
 ing to herself. " I shall try, at all events," she tells 
 Vereker.
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 217 
 
 " I'm sure I don't wish you joy of the effort," he 
 says, getting up to go. " Believe me, it will be fruit- 
 less. I know Lord Henry better than you do. Good- 
 by." 
 
 " What a fool that young man is, to be sure," Lady 
 Oaktorrington observes, as she seats herself at her 
 writing-table again. " I had no idea he was so dense." 
 
 " Of course, the old gal means to buy him off," 
 Montie Vereker remarks, as he calls a hansom and 
 drives to Lord Henry's chambers in Piccadilly. "It 
 doesn't take more than half an eye to see that. I'll 
 just go and give the poor chap the straight tip to make 
 the figure as high as he can." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 " LORD HENRY TOLLEMACHE ! " announces the 
 butler next morning at 999 Eaton Square, and a fash- 
 ionably dressed young man walks into the morning- 
 room where Lady Oaktorrington is seated alone. 
 
 Lord Henry is tall, slight, and would be handsome 
 but for the words dissipation and late hours written in 
 big letters all over his face, from his dark-encircled 
 eyes to his puffed-out, twitching under-lip. Lady 
 Oaktorrington hardly knows him, except by sight, and 
 has not exchanged a dozen consecutive words with 
 him in her life. 
 
 " Pray be seated," she says, composedly. " I hope 
 you will pardon my having taken the liberty of asking 
 you to call here, but I knew of no other way of meet- 
 ing you without delay, and time is of the utmost im- 
 portance to consider."
 
 2i8 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 Lord Henry's manners, like those of most of the 
 young men of the day, are not satin-surfaced. 
 
 " Urn," he grunts, putting down his hat, stick, and 
 gloves on the table among Lady Oaktorrington's 
 worsteds, and then lying back in an arm-chair and 
 placing one leg over the other. " I hope you won't 
 keep me long." 
 
 "Not five minutes if we can agree. You know, 
 I dare say, or can imagine why I wished to see 
 you." 
 
 " Haven't the ghost of an idea," he says, yawning, 
 and putting up his hand, not to cover his mouth but 
 to shield his left eye while he winks it. 
 
 " That's unfortunate. I shall only have to detain 
 you longer." 
 
 " Worse luck for me." 
 
 " You won't mind my speaking plainly about your 
 wife ? " 
 
 " Not a bit. Say what you like." 
 
 "Well, then, I've heard you intend to to " 
 
 "Bring a suit for divorce? Yes, I do. I've put 
 up with Georgina's little playful ways long enough. 
 She's been playing the fool for five years, now." 
 
 "I hear among others you intend to make a 
 friend of ours a co-respondent ? " 
 
 " Who ? Harborough ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Fitzwilliams ? " 
 
 " No. Mr. Allen." 
 
 "Oh, the Yankee. Yes, I do. And by Jove, I 
 mean to make him pay up. I like the fellow's cheek, 
 truly." 
 
 " I suppose nothing would induce you to leave him
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 2I 9 
 
 out," and Lady Oaktorrington puts the shadow of a 
 stress upon " nothing." 
 
 Lord Henry looks quickly at her and then away. 
 
 " What ! No fear. I expect to get more damages 
 out of him than all the others put together." 
 
 " Then it's a mere matter of money with you? " 
 
 " Yes, of course. What else should it be ? You 
 don't suppose I'm doing it for fun. I hope I'm not 
 such an ass as that." 
 
 " How much do you think you are likely to get ? " 
 
 " Don't know. Depends on how many fellows there 
 are, don't you know," and Lord Henry looks like a 
 professor of mathematics elucidating a problem in 
 algebraic equations. " The more there are the more 
 there'll be." 
 
 " I mean from this Mr. Allen. The evidence is not 
 positive against him." 
 
 " Not positive ! I only wish it was so sure against 
 the others. The jury will give me two thousand pounds 
 at least, so my lawyer tells me. He says juries are 
 particularly down upon Americans nowadays." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington elevates her eyebrows at the 
 sum, but says nothing for a minute or two." 
 
 " You would be glad to get even one thousand, I 
 dare say ? " 
 
 " Um. Don't know." He looks at her to see how 
 much further he'd better go, but only meets a placid, 
 unreadable expression and a cold, indifferent eye ! 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Because I thought, perhaps " she stops and looks 
 down at the floor. 
 
 " Perhaps, what ? That half a loaf was better than 
 no bread ? Not when I'm sure of the whole loaf," and
 
 2 2 o ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 Lord Henry slaps his glove across the palm of his hand 
 to emphasize the two last words. 
 
 " I think it is rather a case of a bird in hand, et 
 cetera," says Lady Oaktorrington, calmly. " Now, I'll 
 tell you what, Lord Henry. Lord Oaktorrington and 
 myself are most anxious that our names should not be 
 drawn into a public controversey in the divorce court. 
 We do not want Ashwynwick made the scene of your 
 wife's indiscretions. She was our guest at the time, 
 as was also this Mr. Allen. I suppose the fact that she 
 was receiving our hospitality would have no weight 
 with you in abstaining from " 
 
 Lord Henry jumps up from his seat, and kicks 
 down his trousers legs. 
 
 " Do I look daft ? " he asks. " Am I going to 
 chuck up a lot of money for any such rot as that ? I 
 didn't want you to ask her to stay with you. It's no 
 obligation to me. A charming pair you asked to meet 
 her, too ! Harborough and this Yankee ! I suppose 
 I'm to blame for that." 
 
 " We won't discuss that," Lady Oaktorrington says, 
 quietly. " Nor waste any more time beating about the 
 bush. I will be plain. If you leave this Mr. Allen 
 out of your divorce suit, and not bring us and our 
 house before the public in such a disreputable light, I 
 will give you a check for a thousand pounds." 
 
 Lord Henry's eyes sparkle. 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " Now this minute here is my check-book. Will 
 you consent? Yes, or no ? " 
 
 Lord Henry stops to wonder, just five seconds, if 
 he can't do better, and then says : 
 
 " Ye es. Give us the check."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 221 
 
 She inserts the sum in a check already signed, tears 
 it out of her book, and hands it to Lord Henry. 
 
 He takes it, turns it over and back again, examines 
 it, and scrutinizes it in every part. " Hadn't you bet- 
 ter cross it ? Ransom, Bouverie & Co. Thanks." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington rings the bell. 
 
 " Show Lord Henry Tollemache out, please." 
 
 Lord Henry flushes red with anger. His eyes flash 
 and glitter, and his lips mutter something that sounds 
 only like a sullen hiss. He raises the check in both 
 hands, and his fingers and thumbs clutch at the edges 
 as if he were about to tear it in two. But he doesn't. 
 He thinks of the piles of blue enveloped " midsummer " 
 bills that lie upon his table ; he remembers how he has 
 promised Dolly Vernon of the " Avenue " a Continental 
 jaunt when the season is over and he recollects the 
 various and many things that can be done with a thou- 
 sand pounds, and his rage cools with their contempla- 
 tion. 
 
 " By-the-by, Lady Oaktorrington," he says, while 
 he deposits the check in his waistcoat-pocket, and 
 slowly draws on and buttons his glove. " Have you 
 seen the " Morning Post " ? There are some odd mar- 
 riage announcements worth reading. Ta-ta ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 ALL London is at the Duchess of Kensington's 
 ball. That is to say, all London west of Regent Street 
 and south of Piccadilly, and of that, those only who 
 are " in the swim " of the highest society. 
 
 Kensington House is one of the grandest residences
 
 222 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 in Park Lane, and one of the finest town-houses in 
 London. Yet the crowd is so vast that even the great 
 wide hall and broad staircase are thronged with people. 
 The ball-room is the immense picture-gallery of the 
 mansion, from whose walls the bewigged and beruffed, 
 the bepowdered, berouged, and bepatched ancestors of 
 the Molyneuxes (such being the family name of the 
 Kensington dukedom) in slashed doublets and armor, 
 short-waisted frocks and bust-displaying gowns, look 
 down in silence upon the equally decolletd dresses and 
 somber male evening attire of the present day. Here, 
 crammed together in standing rows of three and four 
 deep round the walls, and in a mass of surging, jost- 
 ling, pushing, elbowing, hustling, and bumping, other- 
 wise dancing, humanity in the center, are some of the 
 greatest people in the land. 
 
 It is long past twelve, and the Marquis and Mar- 
 chioness of Oaktorrington and Lady Edith Vesey have 
 only just arrived from a reception at the Russian 
 Embassy. 
 
 Allen, who has been waiting and watching for them 
 for the last half-hour, feeling rather a fish out of water 
 during the tedious operation, meets them in the hall. 
 
 " How awfully late you are ! " he says. " I thought 
 you would never come. They are playing a waltz in 
 there, so don't waste a minute more out here than you 
 can help. Let me see your card." 
 
 Lady Edith, unaccustomed to such enthusiasm, can 
 not help showing in her face and voice the irritation 
 it causes her. People on all sides have stopped con- 
 versing, or turned their heads from looking elsewhere 
 to take note of them. 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't talk so loud," she sa,ys, irri-
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 223 
 
 tably. " I suppose you mean my programme," and 
 she gives it to him. 
 
 " I suppose I have the right to take you into the 
 room, now ? " and he offers his arm. 
 
 " Take me into the room ? I don't know what you 
 mean. Pray put your arm down at once. People 
 don't go into ball-rooms arm-in-arm in England. At 
 least, we don't. I must go with mother." 
 
 " Come, Edith," her mother says at that moment, 
 giving Allen a slight bow and smile of recognition. 
 
 Lord Oaktorrington, having stopped to speak to 
 some one in the crowd, the marchioness goes on alone, 
 followed silently by Lady Edith, Allen making his way 
 after them. 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington formally introduces Allen to 
 her sister, the Duchess of Kensington, whose sole re- 
 mark is a stiff " How d'ye do ? " and they pass on into 
 the ball-room to make way for others pressing from be- 
 hind. They stand among the crowd in silence for a 
 time. Allen is the first to speak. 
 
 " Are we going to stick here like this all night ? " 
 he asks, with some impatience in his tone. " Don't 
 you intend to dance ? " 
 
 Before Lady Edith can answer, a small fat man 
 with a bald head, short reddish beard, heavy droop- 
 cornered eyes, and a smirking smile, followed by a 
 couple of other men with brass buttons on their coats, 
 passes by through the crowd which makes obsequious 
 way for him, the gentlemen bending their heads, and 
 the ladies courtesying low. 
 
 Allen thinks he recognizes the human impersona- 
 tion of dozens of photographs and woodcuts he has 
 seen, but is not sure.
 
 22 4 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Who is that swell ! " he asks. 
 
 " How rude of you not to bow ! " she says, crossly. 
 The aristocrat has grown strong within her in this in- 
 tensity of her own sphere, and she can't keep down a 
 sense of humiliation which creeps over her at^ the 
 thought of what seems to her at the moment her mis- 
 alliance. All about her are dukes and marquises and 
 earls, duchesses, marchionesses, and countesses by the 
 score, and lords and ladies by the gross, all of whom 
 have, as has she, each infinitesimal rule of aristocratic 
 form and ceremony at their fingers' ends, and with 
 whom not to be au fait of which would mean social 
 degradation. And here beside her stands her affianced 
 husband, a man who is as ignorant of these things as 
 is a chimney-sweep or a costermonger. She has never 
 realized before, as she does now, the downward step 
 she has taken. For the moment she is ashamed of 
 herself, ashamed of Allen, and her vexation grows as 
 she reflects upon her position. She almost hates him 
 for the instant as she looks at him, all unconscious of 
 her ire, poor fellow, and says, sharply : 
 
 " If you can't behave properly, I must beg of you 
 to leave us. It's fortunate mother didn't see you, 
 though dozens of others did." 
 
 Allen looks at her in amazement. 
 
 " I I don't know what you mean," he stam- 
 mers. 
 
 " Why didn't you bow to the prince ? I'm so 
 awfully ashamed of you." 
 
 " Was that the Prince of Wales ? How was I to 
 know ? " 
 
 She groans inwardly. 
 
 " Fancy marrying a man who doesn't know the
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 225 
 
 Prince of Wales when he sees him ! " she thinks. 
 " How can I ever go on with it ? " 
 
 <l Ought I to have bowed to him ? " he asks. " I 
 didn't know." 
 
 " Of course you ought." 
 
 " O, come, there's no need to make such a fuss 
 about it," he says, a trifle ruffled at her tone. " How 
 can I be expected to know these things ? I'm an 
 American. You seem to forget that." 
 
 " I wish I could forget it," she answers, quickly. 
 " Unfortunately, you give me no chance to do so." 
 
 The color comes to his face with a rush, and his 
 lips compress tight. 
 
 " I wonder at myself standing this sort of thing so 
 humbly," he says, hoarsely, in a low voice. " I wouldn't 
 from any one else." She does not answer. "As I 
 seem to annoy you so, perhaps I had better go. Good- 
 night," and before she can stay him by word or look 
 he has vanished in the crowd. She would follow him 
 if she dared, but the very " form " which she has been 
 invoking for his condemnation forbids. No sooner is 
 he gone than the inevitable reaction that ever attends 
 unkindness to those we care for self-reproach and 
 unavailing regret sets in with mighty force. 
 
 " What a fool I am ! " she cries aloud to herself. 
 " I'm so awfully sorry, now. What could have made 
 me so unkind ! I believe I have the most ungovern- 
 able, abominable temper on earth. And how good and 
 patient he was ! Can I ever make it up with him ? " 
 
 " Can I have a glance at your programme, Lady 
 Edith ? " says Monde Vereker. " I hope you've some- 
 thing left for me. By Jove ! What ? I'm lucky. Mr. 
 Allen has positively left one valse free. Oh, I beg your 
 15
 
 226 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 pardon. I believe I must offer my congratulations, 
 et cetera, et cetera. Eh ? " 
 
 " Thanks very much," Lady Edith answers, look- 
 ing down at her gloves. 
 
 " I'm sure I hope you'll be very happy," he goes 
 on ; " though to tell you the truth, I'm blessed if you 
 look so at this moment. What is the matter? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing," she says, looking up and forcing 
 a smile. " Nothing at all." 
 
 " I'll back there is, though," he says to himself. " No 
 wonder, having to marry a cad like that. I'm surprised 
 at her father and mother. Oh, the curse of gold ! By- 
 the-by, Lady Oaktorrington. Who do you think I saw 
 a minute ago? Lady Henry." 
 
 " What here ? " 
 
 " Fact. Didn't you tell the duchess ? " 
 
 " No. I wish I had. I thought every one knew. 
 So you told me." 
 
 " I'm afraid I drew it a trifle too strong if I said 
 that. You mustn't go too much by what I say. I 
 sometimes make mistakes you know," and he grins, 
 elfishly. " By-the-by, you've squared it with Lord 
 Henry, I hear," he adds, in an undertone. 
 
 "Who told you?" 
 
 " She, herself, just now. She was in great glee over 
 it, and said she'd like to come and thank you. She 
 evidently thinks you did it for her sake." 
 
 " I hope she'll do nothing of the sort. I should 
 be very rude to her. Why, Edith, where is Mr. 
 Allen ? " 
 
 " Gone home," says Lady Edith, shrugging her 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Gone home ? " echoes Lady Oaktorrington.
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 22/ 
 
 " At least, I suppose so. He said ' good-night,' 
 and went away." 
 
 " I'll bet a fiver he's here still," Vereker whispers 
 to Lady Oaktorrington. " And I'll back I could tell 
 exactly where he is at this moment." 
 
 " Do you really think you could find him ? " Lady 
 Oaktorrington asks, anxiously. " Oh, would you, Mr. 
 Vereker ? And tell him I wish to see him. I should 
 be so much obliged to you." 
 
 " All right," says Vereker, taking his leave. " I 
 shall be only too glad," he adds to himself, " to show 
 the fellow up, if I can. She'll have ten thousand pounds 
 at least. Four hundred a year isn't a bad addition to 
 one's income." 
 
 In a quarter of an hour he returns. 
 
 " Just as I expected," he tells Lady Oaktorrington, 
 in a whisper. " He's with Lady Henry on the stairs. 
 Did you ever know such brazen effrontery ? I think 
 you may safely give me this valse" he says, turning to 
 Lady Edith. " He won't claim it, you know, if he's 
 gone home." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 As Allen abruptly leaves the ball-room if his con- 
 dition of mind and feeling is not quite, it is at least 
 verging upon, that which he experienced on quitting 
 the billiard-room at Ashwynwick on the night of his 
 adventure with Lady Henry Tollemache in the ante- 
 room. Although he may not be, as he was then, in- 
 dignant and resentful, he is hurt to the quick, humili- 
 ated, and disappointed. He feels that it must be quite
 
 228 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 impossible that any woman who really cared for him 
 could treat him so cruelly ; yet his regard for her to 
 whom he has given the one love of his life has not 
 abated one jot. He still loves her as he has ever,done 
 since first he said to himself "She shall be my wife." 
 But it is with a fixed conviction that she does not care 
 for him in return. The torture of unrequited love 
 gnaws at his heart ; and with brows knit and eyes 
 cast down he leaves her, never daring to look up lest 
 he should see the old pleading expression in her face, 
 and be brought to her feet again in unmanly submis- 
 sion to what he is now satisfied is nothing more than 
 the heartless acting of a coquette, but which he knows 
 will conquer him again as it has done before. He has 
 not taken a dozen paces before he begins to realize 
 that he is behaving foolishly, if not unmanly. She is 
 only a woman after all, he argues, and it is unmanly 
 for a man to take serious offense at what a woman says 
 or does. He should be above it. Did he follow his 
 impulse he would return at once. With that intention 
 he looks back and sees Montie Vereker at her side in 
 earnest conversation, and she smiling upon him. Man- 
 like, he contrasts her ungracious treatment of himself 
 with this, and all the old feelings return with redoubled 
 force, a shade of resentment mixing itself with them. 
 
 " I'm a weak simpleton," he says to himself, as he 
 pushes on again through the crowd. " If she can smile 
 upon others, why should not I do likewise ? But I 
 know no one here. That's where she has the advan- 
 tage of me. No doubt she knows this, and feels quite 
 safe in letting me go from her without a word." 
 
 He reaches the grand staircase, and his onward 
 path is checked for the moment by some new arrivals
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 22 9 
 
 coming in. While he stands waiting, he feels a sharp 
 tap on his shoulder from behind, and hears a woman's 
 voice say : 
 
 " Mr. Allen, aren't you going to speak to me ? " 
 
 He turns, and sees Lady Henry Tollemache, sitting 
 on the stairs half a dozen steps u$>, in the act of draw- 
 ing back her fan over the railing of the banisters. 
 
 Every recollection connected with her rushes into 
 his brain like the shock of an electric battery. His 
 first impulse is to pretend not to hear, and get away 
 as quickly as possible. But the incoming tide wedges 
 him in tight and immovable against the casing of the 
 stairway, and again her voice reaches him. 
 
 " Oh, come, now, I shan't let you treat me so shab- 
 bily. I insist upon your speaking to me." 
 
 His nearest neighbors regard him with looks of 
 blank surprise. It is becoming almost a scene. He 
 must answer her if only to avoid one. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he says, with a serious face. 
 " How do you do ? " 
 
 She thrusts out a little white-gloved hand through 
 the banisters for him to take. 
 
 " Do come up here and sit down a moment. There's 
 room beside me. I have something I particularly wish 
 to say to you." 
 
 The eyes of every one are upon him a man refus- 
 ing to sit beside a woman at her own request ! That 
 is how it appears in plain English. Can he, as a man, 
 as an American, allow such a stain to remain upon his 
 gallantry ? 
 
 " I'll come as soon as I can," he says, and edges 
 round by slow degrees to the lowest step. When there, 
 for a moment the thought comes to him to dash out
 
 230 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 through an opening before him left by the fat figure 
 of an incoming dowager. He hesitates, and the space 
 closes up again. It is too late. 
 
 " How slow you are ! " comes the voice again to 
 him, and the people still look. There is nothing else 
 for him, so up he ^goes, receiving many ill glances 
 and muttered imprecations from the couples he dis- 
 lodges in his passage. 
 
 " I've been so anxious to see you," she says in a 
 low, whispering voice, as he sits down beside her, " to 
 thank you for " 
 
 " Pray don't refer to that," he says, quickly, and 
 he feels his temples grow hot. " I should like to for- 
 get about all that." 
 
 "AM?" and she gives him a half-closed eyelid 
 volley. 
 
 He would like to say, emphatically, "Yes," but he 
 knows he will feel like a prig if he does, and certainly 
 be thought one by her. He can't stand that. So he 
 looks at her, and shakes his head. She is looking her 
 best. Her gown of light blue satin fits her like a glove 
 about her creamy shoulders and small waist ; diamonds 
 sparkle on her soft and undulating neck, on her white, 
 rounded arms, and in her hair. One little blue satin 
 foot, with an inch of open-work stocking over the 
 arched instep, peeps out from beneath her short skirt, 
 and a subtle perfume, as from a jasmine -covered 
 bower on a moonlight night in June, exhales itself from 
 her person, and lulls the senses into a delicious repose. 
 Allen is conscious of the charm that takes possession 
 of him, and, being only a man after all, he is glad he 
 is here. 
 
 " Oh, by the by, I must con "
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 231 
 
 Allen puts his fingers on his lips : 
 
 " Not now, please." 
 
 "What! Another forbidden subject? What are 
 we to talk about ? " 
 
 "Anything," he says. "Tell me who all these 
 dreary people are. You know everybody." 
 
 " Dreary people ? " she echoes. " Don't you know 
 that those are some of the smartest people in the king- 
 dom ? " 
 
 "Are they? I shouldn't have thought it. They 
 look so painfully unhappy, so stiff and formal and 
 subdued. Are all balls in England so so depressed 
 as this ? " 
 
 "Aren't American balls like this? " she asks. 
 
 " I should be sorry for them if they were," he tells 
 her. " We may not have such grand people at them, 
 but there is a life and spirit, a lightness and airiness, 
 of jollity, geniality, and bonhommie about an American 
 ball that I do not notice here. Your balls are like 
 everything else that is aristocratic. They are suffused 
 by such an atmosphere of repression and restraint that 
 Nature can not draw breath at them." 
 
 " I like jolly, cheerful people," she says, brighten- 
 ing up. " I'm sure I should like America. Don't you 
 think I should get on there ? " 
 
 " I have no doubt about it. I should think you 
 would get on anywhere." 
 
 " Thanks," she smiles. " It does one good to be 
 appreciated sometimes." 
 
 " But tell me who all these people are," Allen says, 
 thinking it safer to check the drift the conversation 
 has taken at once. " I'm most anxious to know." 
 
 "Shall I ? Very well, then, let us begin."
 
 232 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 A second little blue satin foot joins the first, and, 
 resting itself caressingly upon it, shows three inches 
 more of stocking about a trim and slender ankle. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 " Do you see that tall, handsome, well-preserved, 
 Frenchy woman ? " Lady Henry begins. " The one 
 in crimson satin and a tiara of diamonds. She was a 
 beauty once though you'd hardly think so. She's the 
 Duchess of Liverpool. I'll wager Marly is not far 
 off. Yes, there he is going up to her now. Look ! 
 That thin, long-faced, man with a red beard and a 
 funny straight nose. You must know who he is, surely, 
 if you've been in the House of Commons." 
 
 " Do you mean Lord Marlington ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course you know the scandal about him 
 and the duchess ?" 
 
 " No, I don't." 
 
 " Oh, no one ever thinks of inviting one without 
 the other to stay anywhere. He won't go without her 
 or she without him. Like love birds, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Hasn't she got a husband ? " asks Allen. 
 
 " Yes ; I'll show him to you presently. I saw him 
 not five minutes ago." 
 
 " Is that he near her ? " 
 
 " Near her ? No, indeed. That's the last place 
 you'd find his Grace. Oh, there he is talking to Char- 
 lie Beresford. You know his curly brown hair and 
 dancing eye, of course." 
 
 " Yes, I've seen him. Is that fat, red-faced man 
 with the white hair and beard, the duke ? "
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 233 
 
 " Yes ; that's his Grace of Liverpool." 
 
 " He doesn't look as though he cared much." 
 
 " Nor does he. Funny, isn't it?" 
 
 " It's rather too serious to be funny," says Allen, 
 thoughtfully. " There would be some shooting over 
 it in California. The lowest man in America wouldn't 
 put up with what one of your highest appears to enjoy 
 in England. It's marvelous to me." 
 
 *' But, you see, we don't go in for shooting about 
 things as you do in America. We get damages in the 
 divorce court. Make the other chap pay up, don't 
 you know." 
 
 " Treat it as a mere matter of money," says Allen. 
 
 " Exactly. Those who dance must pay the piper. 
 It's the best way." 
 
 " Then why doesn't the duke go for his lordship's 
 pocket at once." 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure. I expect he's waiting to 
 let the damages accumulate," says Lady Henry, in the 
 most matter of fact way. " But we are missing loads 
 of people jawing like this. There ! Look at that 
 funny, thin, dried up, old lady with the odd fluffy 
 white hair standing out round her head, near the 
 ball-room door. Do you see ? That's Sophia, Count- 
 ess of Newberry." 
 
 "She is a queer-looking old creature, for a fact. 
 But, what of her ? Is she carrying on a game with " 
 
 " Hardly," and Lady Henry gives him a pat with 
 her fan. " She's over eighty. Yet, do you know, 
 she's the most sought after guest in the kingdom, and 
 goes everywhere. There's no one Tummy likes to 
 have at Sandringham so much as her." 
 
 " Why, I wonder ? "
 
 234 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Oh, she's so bright, and witty, and says such 
 amusing things in an old - fashioned quaint way. 
 Tummy likes to be amused." 
 
 "Tummy is the Prince of Wales, isn't he ? " , 
 
 " Hush ! Yes. You musn't talk so loud or you'll 
 be up for high treason." 
 
 " Shall I ? Why you all call him that ? Yes, and 
 the Queen ' Judy ' and ' Mrs. Brown ? ' " 
 
 " I dare say we do. But we don't shout it out at 
 the tops of our voices. I should hope we were too 
 loyal for that sort of thing." 
 
 " Then your loyalty consists in keeping your dis- 
 loyalty secret ? " 
 
 " Eh ? I don't understand." 
 
 " It doesn't matter. I know the meaning of ' Judy ' 
 and ' Mrs. Brown,' but ' Tummy ' what is it ? " 
 
 " Do you mean to say you don't know ? " and Lady 
 Henry looks at him incredulously. " Nonsense." 
 
 " Haven't the faintest idea." 
 
 " Why, it's what children call their their do you 
 know. It refers to his waist." 
 
 " Oh, I see," laughs Allen. " How stupid of me 
 not to have guessed it ! But I say," he hurries on as 
 he sees a twinkle in her eye at the sound of his na- 
 tional word ; " who is that little old weather-beaten 
 man talking to old Sophia ? " 
 
 " Old Sophia ? Don't be disrespectful," and she 
 raps his knuckles with her fan. " That's no less a per- 
 sonage than Sir Billy Buckle odd name, isn't it ? 
 He's near eighty, if not quite. I believe he was in 
 the navy with Nelson or somebody. He's an admiral 
 now, and is another of Tummy's pals, and goes with 
 him everywhere, from the Derby and Newmarket to
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 235 
 
 Cowes and the Engadine or the Riviera or Cannes 
 or Homborg, or wherever he goes to recuperate every 
 year after the season. He does all sorts of grotesque 
 things to amuse the prince. Last year at Cowes he 
 dressed himself up as an old French woman with 
 short skirts and danced the can-can. Wonderful, isn't 
 it, for an old man like that ? " 
 
 " Rather undignified though, don't you think? " 
 
 " Oh, you Americans are so awfully goody-goody 
 on the surface." 
 
 " Are we ? " 
 
 " Yes, and devils underneath." 
 
 " I'm glad there's some good in us even though it 
 be but a skin. I don't think we, as a nation, hold a 
 monopoly of one of the characteristics you mention. 
 There, for instance, is an Englishman who isn't even 
 goody-goody as you call it on the surface. He's 
 bad all through." 
 
 " Who do you mean ? " she asks, quickly. 
 
 " Does my description fit so many of these these 
 gentlemen, that you can not tell which I refer to ? 
 Ha ha ! I am not surprised. I meant the Duke of 
 Harborough." 
 
 " Is he here ? " she asks, turning as pale as she can 
 under her rouge. 
 
 " Where ! " 
 
 " There, by the fireplace. I don't wonder you 
 ask. He's hardly the sort of man one would look for 
 in the highest society, is he ? " 
 
 "He is a bad lot," she answers, dreamily. "But 
 he's a duke." 
 
 " There's no shield like strawberry-leaves. But 
 where is he ? I don't see him."
 
 236 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " He's gone into the ball-room." Lady Henry 
 gives a sigh of relief. " I'm so glad. I was afraid he 
 was coming here." 
 
 " He had better keep out of my way," Allen says, 
 fiercely. " I've determined to insult him as grossly as I 
 can wherever I'm able to do so without infringing 
 the rules of hospitality. I should just like to catch him 
 in the street once." 
 
 Lady Henry smiles delightedly. 
 
 " This t's a compliment," she says, to herself. " Of 
 course, he knows." Then aloud to Allen. "You 
 mustn't be so jealous. I'm sure I don't care a straw 
 for him," and she half shuts her eyes again. 
 
 Allen opens his wide in wonder and looks at her. 
 
 " Jealous ? " he says. " I don't know what you 
 mean ? " 
 
 " Don't you ? " coyly. " I think you do. But 
 never mind now, we'll talk about it another time. 
 Dear me, we are missing a lot of swells. There's Lord 
 Salisbury that bald-headed man with the short neck, 
 lumpy shoulders, and long, thick beard. He's stopped 
 to speak to Lord Epsom that big, smooth-faced man. 
 They say he's seldom sober." 
 
 " Who ? Lord Salisbury ? " 
 
 " No, you silly ! Lord Epsom. That's really the 
 reason he left the Cabinet. The little pale chap with 
 prominent eyes and curled-up mustache, is the brilliant 
 but erratic Randy- Pandy." 
 
 " Yes, I know him." 
 
 " Oh, of course you must. He married a country- 
 woman of yours. There she is beside him. How 
 awfully pretty she is, so refined and intellectual. They 
 say she's been the making of him."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 237 
 
 " Do you know," says Allen, " that you are the first 
 Englishwoman I've ever heard praise her. Why is 
 it ? " 
 
 " Jealousy, my dear. With all my faults, I hope 
 I'm above such pettiness as that. How odd ! Here 
 comes Lady Sanduval, another American lady. You 
 know her, of course ? " 
 
 " No, I do not. I only know she was Miss Rodriguez, 
 of New York. I never saw her before. I thought she 
 was pretty." 
 
 " Ah, yes, poor thing, so she was once upon a time. 
 But she has a brute of a husband. No wonder she's 
 gone off in looks." 
 
 " Is that he with her ? That big, coarse-looking 
 fellow with red hair. He looks like a beast." 
 
 " Dear me, no. He goes nowhere. He's cut. That 
 man with her is Lord Weston, the Duke of Grasmere's 
 eldest son." 
 
 " Do you mean the man who married a a " 
 
 " Femme du pave"! Yes. When his father suc- 
 ceeded to the dukedom, he offered her a lot of money 
 to let him get a divorce from her, but she was much 
 too clever. She's the Countess of Weston, and will be 
 Duchess of Grasmere some day. Charming, isn't it ? " 
 
 "Yes, it does rather knock noblesse oblige into a 
 cocked hat. Hello, here's a pretty woman. Who is 
 she ? " 
 
 " That pretty ? You should see her close by. She's 
 painted disgracefully, and she's only two or three and 
 twenty. She's the Duchess of Ulster Lady Irene 
 Dunmore that was. That tall, awkward fellow, with 
 the big mouth and funny eyebrows is Lord Swansdale. 
 He's the manager of a traveling theatrical company."
 
 238 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Yes, I know. He's been out to America with 
 what's her name ? " 
 
 " Hyacinthe Dameron. Has he, really? I don't 
 see any more. Oh, yes. That dark man with the 
 shrewd face, and short, dark whiskers, is Mr. Chamber- 
 laine." 
 
 " What ? You don't mean Chamberlaine, the Radi- 
 cal member of Parliament ? He here ? " 
 " Yes. Why not ? " 
 
 " When I was in England six months ago he was 
 detested by the nobility, and looked on by them as the 
 most wicked and dangerous man in England." 
 
 " Was he ? He's a lion now in society. He has 
 behaved so well on the Irish question and deserted 
 Gladstone." 
 
 " I fancy his desertion of Gladstone is what really 
 won you Conservatives over. How you hate that man ! 
 And yet I've never found one of you able to explain 
 why." 
 
 " He's been the ruin of England." 
 
 " I'm sorry to hear England is ruined. I didn't 
 know it before." 
 
 "Oh, you know what I mean. He would ruin Eng- 
 land if he could." 
 
 " But why ? What has he done ? 
 
 " Oh, lots of things. But don't bother about poli- 
 tics. You're an awful bore." 
 
 " Yes, that's what you all say. When you have no 
 answer you call a man a bore." 
 
 " Never mind. There's Mr. Gladstone now. Talk 
 of the D., etc." 
 
 " Where ? Do you know I've never seen him." 
 
 " Not much loss. But there he is ; and actually
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 239 
 
 bowing to Lord Salisbury and Lord Salisbury to him, 
 as if they were the greatest friends." 
 
 " Do you mean that little man with the large head 
 and tremendous shirt collars ? " 
 
 " Yes. that's the old scoundrel. You can't mistake 
 him." 
 
 " He looks different from his pictures when you 
 see him in evening dress. I should hardly have known 
 him." 
 
 " I don't think it signifies much what he has on. 
 He's the same old villain still." 
 
 " How dreadfully severe you are. I suppose you 
 learn all that from the Primrose League." Lady Henry 
 sniffs and turns away her head. " And who is that 
 smooth-faced man talking to him with the features of 
 a low comedian ? " 
 
 " Lord Rosemary. That's his wife behind him 
 that fat, coarse-looking Jewess. She was a Miss Op- 
 penheimer, and had a couple of millions. It was a 
 question of her or the bankruptcy court when he mar- 
 ried her. He chose her" 
 
 " I think I should have preferred the bankruptcy 
 court," Allen says, after a long look. 
 
 " I don't see any one else, Lady Henry says, pres- 
 ently. "If we were in the ball-room we could see 
 a lot more. What a lovely valse they are playing 
 now. It's ' Dorothy,' isn't it ? Don't you like a 
 valse ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do," Allen says, studiously ignoring the 
 gentle hint. 
 
 " Oh, by-the-by," Lady Henry says, after waiting 
 a couple of minutes to see if he intends to ask her. 
 " I quite forgot to ask. Is Edith here ? "
 
 240 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " Yes, she is or rather was," Allen replies, with a 
 serious face. " Why ? " 
 
 " I thought I saw her through the ball-room door 
 just now dancing with with er with " she stops 
 to bow to some one in the crowd below. 
 
 " With whom ? " demands Allen, quickly. 
 
 " Eh ? Oh, with Jack Bouverie. I was wrong, 
 wasn't I, in telling you she was engaged to him. But 
 everybody thought so. It must be awfully nice to have 
 a girl throw over another fellow for one, isn't it ? Jack's 
 awfully poor, you know." 
 
 " I thought you never went in for spiteful remarks," 
 says Allen, warmly. " You know she was never en- 
 gaged to Jack Bouverie." 
 
 " Oh, she has told you so, has she? Of course, it 
 must be true, then." 
 
 " Hello ! " exclaims Allen, looking at his watch. 
 "Would you believe it? It's half-past two." 
 
 " Is it possible ? " she answers, with a yawn. " I 
 thought it was much later." 
 
 "Good-night," Allen says, getting up. "Thank 
 you very much for telling me who all these people 
 are," and without waiting for a reply he pushes on 
 down the stairs, and in five minutes is out in the street 
 looking for a hansom. 
 
 " It seems to me," he says to himself, as he lights 
 a cigarette, and the cab rolls on up Piccadilly past the 
 high iron railings of the Green Park, whose trees be- 
 gin to stand out in the gray dawn. " It seems to me 
 that I quarreled with every one I spoke to."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 341 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 LADY OAKTORRINGTON, after much deliberation 
 and self-consultation, decides not to say anything to 
 Lady Edith of Monde Vereker having seen Allen with 
 Lady Henry on the stairs. 
 
 " It will only cause unnecessary trouble and delay, 
 fending and proving," she argues. " It is not as if 
 we wanted a ground for withdrawing from the mar- 
 riage. On the contrary, it is our duty now to turn a 
 deaf ear to everything. It has gone too far to retract 
 now if we wished, which we don't. The marriage 
 must take place, and as soon as possible." 
 
 Lady Edith, happy in her ignorance of any cause 
 for quarrel between herself and Allen save what has 
 been of her own sole capricious and self-willed manu- 
 facture, is ready and anxious to ask his forgiveness 
 and be friends again as soon as he shall make his ap- 
 pearance. She has left a sleepless pillow, wet with 
 many a self-reproachful tear, to scribble a little note 
 to send him in case his coming should be tardy, and 
 forgoes her regular morning's canter in the park that 
 she may not miss him when he arrives. 
 
 The morning wears on ; the chimney-piece clock 
 in the morning-room, where she and her mother are 
 sitting, chimes the quarter-hours relentessly from half- 
 past ten to twelve o'clock, and still is there no sign of 
 Allen. The birds have ceased their carolings in the 
 square beneath the rays of the noonday sun, and the 
 open window admits nothing but vertical heat and the 
 scent of the boxed mignonette which decorates the sill, 
 with an occasional rumble of wheels or tock-tock of 
 16
 
 242 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 horses' hoofs upon the pavement below. Within, no 
 sound save the spasmodic scratching of Lady Oak- 
 torrington's quill-pen, as she attends to her daily cor- 
 respondence, and the monotonous ticking of the clock 
 breaks the silence which has reigned in the apartment 
 for an hour. 
 
 As the clock's muffled gongs chime the quarter- 
 past, Lady Edith, unable to restrain her feelings 
 longer, throws down the crewels with which she has 
 been pretending to work, and, with a long drawn sigh, 
 gets up and walks to the window. 
 
 " What a fidget you have grown, Edith ! " Lady 
 Oaktorrington says, impatiently, looking up from a 
 polite and untruthful excuse she is endeavoring to 
 frame in answer to a dinner invitation which she does 
 not deem it advisable to accept. " It is impossible to 
 express one's ideas with you in the room." 
 
 " I'm sure I haven't moved before for over an 
 hour," Lady Edith answers. " I wish I had gone with 
 Mary, now. I forgot it was the meet of the Coaching 
 Club," and she thinks how she has wasted a whole 
 morning away. 
 
 " I'm sure I wish you had. Pray be quiet until I 
 get this tiresome thing written. Here, amuse yourself 
 reading these letters of congratulation," and Lady 
 Oaktorrington points to a large pile of letters. 
 
 " Thanks, I'm rather tired of them. They are all 
 alike. ' Hope she'll be happy,' and all that sort of thing." 
 
 "They ought all to be answered at least, those 
 likely to give presents ought. I've marked them," and 
 Lady Oaktorrington goes on with her letter. " There ! 
 that will do," she says, presently, putting down her 
 pen with a sigh, after first carefully wiping it. " Dear
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 243 
 
 me ! it's just half-past twelve. By-the-by, dear, what 
 can have become of Mr. Allen ? " . 
 
 " I can't imagine. I suppose he's huffy with me." 
 
 " Huffy with you, dear ? " Lady Oaktorrington ex- 
 claims. " I think it is you ahem er I think it is 
 your way to imagine people are huffy with you. He 
 surely has no reason to be huffy with you. You gave 
 him none ? " 
 
 "Yes, I did," and Lady Edith thereupon tells her 
 mother of her behavior to Allen at the ball. 
 
 " How silly of you ! Of course, that is why he 
 doesn't come. We must send Freddy after him," and 
 the marchioness rings the bell. 
 
 Before the bell can be answered, the door opens 
 and Freddy walks in. He has an excited, flushed look 
 in his face, and holds in his hand an open letter. 
 
 " I go after him ! " he exclaims, in reply to his 
 mother's request. " I don't think you'll want him here 
 again when you hear this. It came by first post, but 
 I've only just got up. It is from Fairfield. Listen : 
 
 "My Lord : We have this moment received the in- 
 closed letter, and deem it our duty to at once apprise you 
 of its contents, being assured that you will communicate 
 them to your family without delay. 
 <l We have the honor to remain, 
 
 " Your lordship's obedient humble servants, 
 
 " Fairfield 6 Jenkinson. 
 
 " Here is the inclosure : 
 
 "II. B. M. Consulate, 
 
 " San Francisco, June \$th. 
 
 " Gentlemen : Referring to a short correspondence by 
 cable between us of last November, in respect to the Jinan-
 
 244 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 cial condition of Mr. Samuel Allen of this city, I have 
 thought proper to now advise you of the fact that there are 
 at present serious rumors rife, and apparently with much 
 solid foundation, that the monetary affairs of that gentle- 
 man are in a most unsatisfactory state. Owing to the 
 failure of some gigantic mining-stock speculations in which 
 he has of late been engaged, he is ciirrently reported to be 
 on the verge of bankruptcy. 
 
 "Regretting that I am obliged to so scon negative the 
 favorable statement previously made by me in regard to 
 his finances, and trusting that it may not be too late to pre- 
 vent any disagreeable consequences, 
 
 "/ have the honor to be, gentlemen, 
 ''''Faithfully yours, 
 
 " Robert Heath, H. B. M. Consul. 
 
 "There ! What do you think of that? Aren't we 
 the most unfortunate people on earth ? " 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington has stood silently clutching 
 the back of a chair, her face working nervously, and 
 her eyes moving rapidly from side to side, as if seeking 
 for some spot on which to rest them. 
 
 " What are we to do ? " she says in a strange, chok- 
 ing voice. "What are we to do? Oh, the dreadful 
 disgrace ! We shall be the laughing-stock of every- 
 body. Fancy, the Bouveries ! I could go down 
 through the floor for very shame." She hides her face 
 in her hands, and sobs pitifully. " It is our own fault 
 for having anything to do with such a person for de- 
 scending from our rank and position." 
 
 "No, it is nobody's fault but mine," Freddy cries. 
 " You have to thank me for introducing the blackguard 
 into the house. I admit it. I was carried away by
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 245 
 
 the infernal republican notions I got from living six 
 months in that confounded country. But, never fear, 
 I'll make it all right. I shall give him a piece of my 
 mind that will bring him to his senses. It is not too 
 late. The scoundrel ! " 
 
 Lady Edith has been standing pale and motionless 
 as a statue, her hands clasped before her, and her eyes 
 closed. 
 
 At her brother's last words she opens her eyes and 
 looks at him, her lips trembling with emotion, and a 
 flush of indignation burns in each cheek. 
 
 " How dare you call him that ! " she cries. " How 
 dare you ! What has he done to warrant or justify 
 it ? It is not his fault if his father should have been 
 unfortunate in his speculations. Say that the marriage 
 must not take place ; say that I can not marry him, if 
 you will! It is me, only me, on whom the blow will 
 fall. If I can bear it, that is all you need consider. 
 But don't abuse and vilify him, and call him outrageous 
 names behind his back. You are a coward to do so." 
 
 *' Hoity-toity ! Did you ever ? Who's calling names 
 now, I should like to know ? " Freddy exclaims. " Cow- 
 ard, indeed ! I should tell him the same to his face, 
 and I will. I wish he were here this minute." 
 
 The words are barely out of his mouth when the 
 butler enters. 
 
 " Mr. Allen is in the drawing-room, my lady," he 
 says. 
 
 " Now," cries Lady Edith, triumphantly, " we shall 
 see if you will." 
 
 "Oh, of course," stammers Freddy, "you think it 
 is devilish fine for you to say that. Why should I risk 
 myself alone with the fellow ? Those Yankees carry
 
 246 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 knives and pistols, and think nothing of stabbing or 
 shooting a man." 
 
 " How dreadful ! " cries Lady Oaktorrington, run- 
 ning over and putting her arms about her son. " You 
 shall not go near him, dear. I shan't let you." 
 
 " By Jove, no, I'll not see him alone, I'm not such 
 an ass ; sneer away, as much as you like, Edith. Dis- 
 cretion is the better part of valor. I'll send a message 
 to Beyndour to come at once and see fair play." 
 
 " Hadn't you better have father, too, and telegraph 
 to Oxford for Bertie ? " sneers Lady Edith. " I dare 
 say you could get Cecil up from Eton ; the more the 
 better. But why not have in a couple of policemen to 
 protect you ? Or, better still, get Beyndour to fetch 
 up a troop of the Blues with him to stand guard in the 
 street." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington regards her daughter with 
 blank amazement. 
 
 " Are you bereft of your senses, Edith? " she asks. 
 " I have never heard you talk so in my life." 
 
 " I know you haven't. But I am tired of holding 
 my tongue and being kept down and repressed and 
 restrained. I'm sick of this artificial, unreal life." 
 
 Lady Oaktorrington holds up her hands with a look 
 of genuine consternation. " Oh oh oh ! " she cries. 
 
 " Yes," goes on Lady Edith, " and I mean to speak 
 my mind in future. I'm no child to be kept in lead- 
 ing strings forever. And I'll stand up for the man I 
 love " 
 
 " How dreadfully vulgar ! " cries the marchioness. 
 " Fancy a child of mine talking of love ! Faugh ! It 
 is like maids with sweethearts." 
 
 " It strikes me you are deuced ungrateful," says
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 247 
 
 Freddy. " It's only for your own good, after all, that 
 we care a farthing about it." 
 
 " It is so very good of you," Lady Edith answers, 
 sarcastically. " I shall, however, act as I think best 
 myself." 
 
 " What ! " exclaims Lady Oaktorrington. " With- 
 out considering your father's or my wishes ! " 
 
 Lady Edith makes no reply. 
 
 " I suppose you mean you'd marry him all the same 
 whether he had money or not?" says Freddy. 
 
 " Yes, I would and I mean to." 
 
 " By Jove ! not with my consent." 
 
 " Your consent ? And pray, by what right do you 
 assume to consider your consent at all necessary? " 
 
 " By the right of a brother. Oh, you may sneer 
 and shrug up your shoulders. It is natural I should 
 wish you to be properly and comfortably married." 
 
 " Really ? " laughs Lady Edith. " Much you'd care 
 whom I married, or what chances there were of my 
 comfort if there was only plenty of money to be got." 
 
 " Well, I shan't agree to your marrying this fellow, 
 at all events. That's flat." 
 
 " I really wish you had something of your own to 
 think about," Lady Edith retorts. " Some occupation 
 that would keep you from busying yourself about other 
 people's affairs. Idle brothers are a curse to any 
 girl." 
 
 " Go on ; insult me as much as you like," cries 
 Freddy, goaded by her word?. " It won't do you any 
 good. Now, look here. If you don't get money to 
 live on from him you must get it from us." 
 
 " Oh, that's where the shoe pinches, is it ? I ought 
 to have known as much. The more money I marry
 
 248 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 the less will have to be drawn from your share or 
 vice versa. Is that it ? " 
 
 "Well, what of it?" asks Freddy, braving it out 
 with a little bluster. " It's natural. Every one for 
 himself." 
 
 " Then why say it is for my sake, when it is really 
 for your own that you make all this trouble and diffi- 
 culty ? And now, just let me ask this question. Why 
 shouldn't / expect you to marry a lot of money, so that 
 I should have more coming to me in consequence ? 
 Answer me that." 
 
 " But you see, my dear child," explains Lady Oak- 
 torrington, coming to Freddy's rescue. " It is differ- 
 ent with Freddy and you. Freddy is a son, and you 
 are only a daughter. Sons must always be thought of 
 first. We can't alter the rules of our class to suit 
 you." 
 
 " And why must sons be considered before daugh- 
 ters ? " pursues Lady Edith, with the laconic directness 
 of a skilled cross-examiner. She is almost surprised 
 at herself as she goes on, and did she take time to 
 realize her position, would strike her flag in ignominy 
 before the shocked and haughty eye of her mother, 
 and become the subservient slave of aristocratic rule 
 and custom once more. But she does not let herself 
 think. Impelled by a latent power within her, held in 
 check for many a long year, but which has at last found 
 vent, she hurries on, with flashing eye and command- 
 ing voice, as if inspired to her own emancipation from 
 the shackles of custom and caste. 
 
 " Really, dear, your tone and bearing are most un- 
 seemly," her mother says, grandly. " I must really 
 leave the room if you continue this."
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 249 
 
 " You evade my question ! You can not tell me. 
 I thought so." 
 
 " Can I not, indeed ? It is because sons retain the 
 family name, and daughters who marry don't. One's 
 name must always be kept up," and the marchioness 
 draws herself up proudly. 
 
 " And is it possible, mother, that you would let such 
 a consideration as that govern or influence you in the 
 disposition of any money you had to leave?" Lady 
 Edith looks at her searchingly. " Would you treat me 
 so?" 
 
 " Most assuredly," answers Lady Oaktorrington, 
 with an unflinching mien, and an eye as cold as Wrangle 
 Island. " Why should I care to what degradation and 
 poverty the name of Allen sank ? One must think of 
 one's own." 
 
 " But I am your own ! " 
 
 " Not when you marry." 
 
 "Without money," adds Lady Edith. "But sup- 
 pose I married a duke or a millionaire, what 
 then ? " 
 
 " What ? Oh, of course er you know circum- 
 stances alter cases," and the marchioness smiles com- 
 placently as if she had said the cleverest, most original, 
 and most consistent thing in the world. " But, my 
 dear child," she goes on, with a serious face. " Pray 
 stop this quarrelsome tone with your brother. Of 
 course, you can not mean what you say. I know you 
 must feel wounded and crushed at the news, so I for- 
 give you. But we must now think seriously of the 
 position we are in. It is very trying to be made a 
 spectacle of before the world, but, of course, your mar- 
 riage with this Mr. Allen must be broken off at once."
 
 250 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 Lady Edith's decided reply is stopped by the entrance 
 of the butler : 
 
 " If you please, my lord," he says, addressing 
 Freddy. " Lord Beyndour has gone down to Twick- 
 enham on his coach, and won't be back till to-night." 
 
 " Confound it ! " says Freddy. " I forgot the meet. 
 Is Lord Oaktorrington in?" 
 
 " No, my lord." 
 
 As soon as the butler withdraws, Lady Edith laughs 
 outright. 
 
 "What are you laughing at?" demands Freddy, 
 with a savage voice and threatening action. 
 
 "At the opinion that blackguard, that scoundrel, 
 up-stairs would have of you, if he knew how frightened 
 you were of him." 
 
 " I don't care tuppence what he thinks." 
 
 " Evidently, or you would have at least offered to 
 pay him wfiat you owe him. Perhaps you had better 
 now. He may need it." 
 
 Freddy does not answer, and the marchioness affects 
 not to hear. 
 
 " Luncheon's on the table," announces the butler. 
 
 " What are we to do ? " says Lady Oaktorrington. 
 " I suppose we must ask him. It really won't signify.' 
 
 " Not with me, you don't," says Freddy. " I shall 
 go and have luncheon at my club." 
 
 " He's not likely to fetch his knife or pistol to the 
 table with him, is he?" asks Lady Oaktorrington, in 
 innocent alarm. " Because if " 
 
 Lady Edith laughs out again, and Freddy grinds 
 his teeth. 
 
 A footman appears at the door with a letter. He 
 passes it to the butler, who hands it to Freddy.
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 251 
 
 " What's this ? another letter from Fairfield. More 
 about this this " he tears the letter open and reads : 
 
 "My lord: 
 
 " We have this moment received the inclosed cable dis- 
 patch from the J3ritish Consul at San Francisco, and 
 hasten to send it and its What's this ? its welcome 
 intelligence to you. Where's the inclosure ? Here 
 it is : 
 
 " Rumors false. Allen has daubled his fortune" 
 
 " By Jove ! What an escape ! " He throws the 
 papers to his mother, and sinks into an arm-chair. 
 Then he jumps up quickly again. " What must he 
 think being kept alone so long ? What must the serv- 
 ants think?" he whispers to his mother. "I must 
 go up and apologize at once." 
 
 " Hadn't you better send for Beyndour ? " is on 
 the tip of Lady Edith's tongue, but she refrains. All 
 her ill feeling vanishes before the happiness which 
 comes to her in the thought not only that her marriage 
 can now be one of peace, but that Allen's position is 
 reinstated in the eyes of the world. 
 
 "I wish he knew how I stood up for him," she 
 thinks. " But it does not matter, now." 
 
 " Come, Edith, let's make it up," Freddy says, 
 stopping on his way to the door to kiss her cheek. 
 " I've been in a beastly temper, and didn't mean what 
 I said." 
 
 " Stay a minute, dear," Lady Oaktorrington says, 
 in an undertone, putting her hand on Freddy's arm. 
 Then aloud to no one in particular, though her eyes 
 regard and her words are intended for the butler and 
 footmen who stand in the hall : " Mr. Allen, did you 
 say ? Is he here ? Oh, dear me yes. I had quite
 
 252 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 forgotten him, poor fellow. I shall go myself and 
 fetch him down. I am quite ashamed of what he 
 must think." 
 
 " I should have been here earlier," Allen says with 
 an apologetic glance at Lady Edith as he seats him- 
 self at the luncheon-table ; " but I have been detained 
 by a cablegram from my father which has been dodg- 
 ing me backward and forward, between my bankers in 
 the city and the Metropole all the morning. I only 
 got it ten minutes ago that is, ten minutes before I 
 came here," he adds with a smile. 
 
 " Nothing unpleasant, I hope," suggests Lady Oak- 
 torrington, while a shade crosses her face. What if 
 the rumors are true after all ? Or, worse still, what if 
 his father forbids the marriage now that he is so rich? 
 Are her torments never to cease ! 
 
 " No not very," Allen answers, with a slight 
 twinkle in his eye, as he hands the telegram to Lady 
 Edith : 
 
 " Read it, please." 
 
 Prepared for any new misfortune which the omi- 
 nous brown paper may have in store for her, Lady Oak- 
 torrington sits with clasped hands before her, while 
 Freddy tries to look as unconcerned as he can. Not 
 without some misgivings herself Lady Edith unfolds 
 the telegram and reads : 
 
 " You can double the settlement, and draw on me for 
 five thousand dollars for a present." 
 
 " So very good of him ! " exclaims the marchion- 
 ess, with a radiant smile, as soon as she gets her 
 breath. " What a very charming person your father 
 must be, Mr. Allen ! " 
 
 " That's the proper sort of a guv'nor ! " shouts
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 253 
 
 Freddy, in high glee, as he adds to himself, "we cer- 
 tainly shan't have to give her anything now." 
 
 "Another small wedding at St. Peter's, Eaton 
 Square," says the many readers of the " Court Jour- 
 nal," as six weeks later they scan the "Marriages in 
 High Life," and immediately fall to reading the ac- 
 count of which the following is a full, true, and cor- 
 rect copy : 
 
 " On Thursday, by special license, at St. Peter's, 
 Eaton Square, Lady Edith Vesey, second daughter of 
 the Marquis and Marchioness of Oaktorrington, was 
 married to Mr. Philip Allen of San Francisco, U. S. 
 
 " Long before the hour named for the ceremony 
 three o'clock a large and distinguished congregation 
 of the relatives and friends of Lord and Lady Oaktor- 
 rington assembled in the church to witness the solem- 
 nization of the marriage rites. At three o'clock pre- 
 cisely the bridegroom arrived, accompanied by his best 
 man, Mr. Sanford Van Vleet, of New York, and took 
 his position at the chancel screen gate. Almost imme- 
 diately afterward the bride with her father, attended 
 by six bridesmaids and preceded by the choir singing, 
 'The voice that breathed o'er Eden,' walked up the 
 central aisle to the altar-rails, and the service be- 
 gan. The bride was given away by her father. The 
 ceremony, which was choral, was performed by the 
 Lord Bishop of Hertford, assisted by the Very Rev. 
 Lord Basil Herbert, Dean of St. Boniface and the 
 Hon. and Rev. Harold Trefusis, Rector of Ashwyn- 
 wick. 
 
 " The bridesmaids were Lady Mary and Lady Maud 
 Vesey (sisters of the bride), Lady Hilda Willoughby,
 
 254 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 Lady Ethel Willoughby and Lady Mabel Talbot (cous- 
 ins of the bride) and the Hon. Beatrix Fitzhardinge. 
 They were dressed in short frocks of pink cashmere, 
 with shoes, stockings, and bonnets to match, and each 
 wore a gold medallion locket with the monogram V 
 and A in brilliants, the gift of the bridegroom, and 
 carried bouquets, also his gift. The bride was dressed 
 in white satin profusely embroidered with seed pearls, 
 and trimmed with old family lace lent by the Marchion- 
 ess of Oaktorrington and the Duchess of Kensington 
 for the occasion. She wore a tulle veil fastened with 
 three diamond stars, the gift of the bridegroom's 
 father. 
 
 "After the ceremony, the bridal party adjourned to 
 the vestry where the marriage registry was signed, and 
 then drove to Lord Oaktorrington's residence in Eaton 
 Square where a magnificent wedding breakfast was 
 served, by Messrs. Pirrini and D'Olier of South Aud- 
 ley Street. Only a few of the immediate relatives and 
 intimate friends of the bride's parents were invited to 
 the breakfast. At half past four, Mr. and Lady Edith 
 Allen departed amid a shower of rice for St. Pancreas 
 station, en route for Liverpool, from which port they 
 sailed for New York on Saturday in the Cunard 
 steamer ' Umbria.' 
 
 " The wedding-cake was supplied by Messrs. Izzard, 
 of Bond Street, and the bridesmaids' frocks were 
 made by Mile. Eugenie Baisse of Regent Circus. 
 
 " The wedding presents were both numerous and 
 costly, and among many others included the fol- 
 lowing : 
 
 " An India shawl, a copy of ' Some More Leaves 
 from my Diary in the Highlands ' and her photo-
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 255 
 
 graph (laughing) with autograph, from her Majesty the 
 Queen ; a turquoise and gold bracelet from the Prince 
 and Princess of Wales ; a pair of silver muffineers from 
 the Marquis of Salisbury ; a silver-mounted riding- 
 whip from the Duke of Harborough ; a silver-mounted 
 dressing- and traveling-bag from the Marquis of Oak- 
 torrington ; a point-lace handkerchief and ivory-han- 
 dled umbrella from the Marchioness of Oaktorrington ; 
 a carriage-clock from Viscount Beyndour ; a silver- 
 gilt paper-knife from Lord Frederick Vesey ; a silver- 
 gilt inkstand from Lord Bertis Vesey ; a brass-mounted 
 plush blotting-book and envelope-case from Lord Cecil 
 and Lady Maud Vesey ; a tea-cosy from Lady Mary 
 Vesey ; a pair of silver napkin-rings from the Duchess 
 of Kensington ; an oxydized silver paper-weight from 
 the Duke of Kensington; a pair of oxydized silver 
 spill-holders from the Ladies Hilda and Ethel Wil- 
 loughby ; a hand-painted photograph-frame from Lady 
 Mabel Talbot ; a pair of antique brass snuffers from 
 the Hon. Beatrix Fitzhardinge ; a silver-topped smell- 
 ing-bottle from Lady Henry Tollemache ; a China 
 plaque from Lord and Lady Bouverie ; a carved oak 
 wall-bracket from the Hon. John Bouverie ; a hand- 
 painted fan from the Hon. Emily Bouverie ; a robe-de- 
 nuit case from the Hon. Augusta Bouverie; Tenny- 
 son's poems from the Hon. Montague Vereker ; a 
 diamond necklace and three diamond stars from Mr. 
 Samuel Allen (father of the bridegroom) ; a diamond 
 and sapphire bracelet, diamond locket, and solitaire 
 diamond earrings from the bridegroom ; a set of gold 
 and diamond bangles from Mr. Sanford Van Vleet ; 
 a diamond and ruby gypsy ring from Mrs. Leonard 
 P. Norris ; opal and diamond bracelet from General
 
 2 5 6 
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 Simon Jackson ; a complete set of household silver 
 from Senator James D. Smith ; a half-hunter keyless 
 lady's repeater, with monogram and crest on the back 
 in brilliants from Colonel Livingston, United States 
 Army ; a hall-clock and aneroid combined from the 
 servants at Ashwynwick and Eton Square ; a silver 
 tea-service from the tenants of the Ashwynwick es- 
 tates ; a set of silver side-dishes from the tenants of 
 the Campsottin estates ; and a set of silver teaspoons 
 from the tenants of the Tewtorlock estates." 
 
 As the steamer " Umbria " drops slowly down the 
 Mersey, crosses the bar, and then with full speed heads 
 down channel, Philip Allen and his bride stand on the 
 hurricane deck and watch the fast-receding shores of 
 England. 
 
 "It all seems like a happy dream," Allen says, 
 " from which I fear every minute to awake." 
 
 " And I shall not feel quite secure," Edith replies, 
 "until we pass Queenstown. Father or mother or 
 Freddy may be there to take me back again." 
 
 " They can't do that now, dear. They couldn't if 
 they would. No earthly power can take you from me, 
 now." 
 
 " Are you quite sure ? " 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " Then I am perfectly happy," and she nestles her 
 face against his shoulder. 
 
 As the good ship rounds Holyhead, and the bold 
 and rocky Anglesean promontory gradually shuts 
 out from view the low line of British coast beyond,
 
 ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 257 
 
 Allen, in the silence of his heart, speaks his valedic- 
 tory : 
 
 " Farewell, O great and glorious land ! on the vast 
 and far-reaching dominions of whose sovereign the 
 sun never sets ; on whose national escutcheon history 
 has left no stain ; whose victorious flag has never 
 known defeat ; whose record among the nations of the 
 earth is one long unbroken story of integrity, morality, 
 courage, religion, civilization, liberty, and progress ; 
 whose watchwords are magnanimity to the weak and 
 helpless and resistance to the defiant and strong ; 
 whose guiding star is freedom, farewell ! And, O 
 grand and mighty kingdom, where rank means worth 
 and nobility merit, to whom do you owe all your great- 
 ness, all you have done, achieved, gained, won, be- 
 come, and are to-day, in science, literature, art, com- 
 merce, manufactures, and trade, either in peace or in 
 war your lords or your commons, your people or 
 your aristocracy ? " 
 
 17
 
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