v.l 
 
 Delayed Paeint 
 
 Southern Branch 
 of the 
 
 University of California 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 Form L I -p"D
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below 
 
 Form L-9-15m-8,'26
 
 SABINA ZEMBRA
 
 ?o.
 
 SABINA ZEMBRA 
 
 ^ go\)ti 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM BLACK 
 
 /N THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 ^London 
 
 
 MACMILLAN AND 
 
 CO, 
 
 AND NEW YORK 
 
 
 1887 
 
 
 825iy 
 
 
 The ri^ht 0/ irnnsldtion is resenied
 
 Prlnttiihy K. .<v K. Ciark, Eilinhurgli.
 
 -4-12-4 
 V 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 ^ PAGE 
 
 **;- Sir Anthony ....... i 
 
 CHAPTER H 
 ^ Sabie ......... 14 
 
 $, CHAPTER HI 
 
 Walter Lindsay . . . . . -31 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 Fred Foster ....... 46 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 Ser Federigo's Falcon ..... 60 
 
 CHAPTER YI 
 To Brighton ....... 83
 
 VI /-, )\-//.- \-/v 
 
 r ii.\ I' I 1 K \ II 
 
 TACK 
 
 Hy tiik Shannon Shokk ... 92 
 
 l:ii.\i''ii:r viii 
 
 Thk Nkw Friendshit . '07 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 Rv THE Sea . . . 122 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 At THE Academy . . 136 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 \ Foreboding . . . . . '51 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 Flight . .166 
 
 CHAPTER Xni 
 Repentance .181 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 A Rose-Decorated Ball '97
 
 CONTENTS Vll 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 PAGE 
 
 An Alliance . . . . . . .212 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 A Betrothal . . . . . . .227 
 
 CHAPTER XVn 
 Preparations ....... 242 
 
 CHAPTER XYHI 
 A Wedding . . . . . -257
 
 SABINA ZEMBRA 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 SIR ANTHONY 
 
 On a certain Wednesday afternoon in March the bihiard- 
 room of the Waldegrave Club, Pall Mall, was the scene of 
 a remarkable occurrence. The Waldegrave, it may be said 
 parenthetically, is held in much veneration by our country 
 cousins as the headquarters of a great political party ; there 
 the chiefs of that party are supposed to meet and direct the 
 operations of a general election ; thither impecunious can- 
 didates look for the sinews of war ; and the honour of its 
 membership is understood to be the crowning glory and 
 reward of him who has wooed and won over to the cause a 
 doubtful constituency. All this may be so, or it may not 
 be so, but to the Londoner, and especially to the London 
 diner-out, the Waldegrave is chiefly known for its noble hall 
 and its stately galleries, its excellent cuisine and cellar, its 
 pleasant outlook into Carlton Gardens, and the proportions 
 and decoration of its library, which is far and away the 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 SAJUNA /.E.MliKA 
 
 most l)cauliful romu in luirDpc. As for the more modest 
 ajvarlment in which this remarkable occurrence took place, 
 no visitor is allowed to enter within its door, which may 
 accoimt for the rumour that the proceedings there arc not 
 always conducted with a dignity and repose befitting the 
 flime and name of so notable a club. Indeed it has been 
 atVirmed (but doubtless by political enemies) tiiat the pool- 
 players of the Waldcgravc, safe in the friendly secrecy of 
 that upper chamber, occasionally, and even frequently, 
 break out into mild revelry ; that derisive cheers overwhelm 
 the 'sniggler;' that groans of execration bring the 'fluker' 
 to open shame ; and that the timid and nervous player is 
 frightened out of his wits by a gentle remark that he has 
 ' missed the ball ! ' However, these stories are probably 
 not true ; the rancour of party strife is capable of inventing 
 anything ; and it would be a pity if the constituencies were 
 to believe that the NValdegrave is anything other than what 
 it really is — that is to say, a great and decorous political 
 institution. 
 
 On the afternoon in question, one of the members of the 
 club went up to the billiard-room, opened the door, and 
 went in, greeting pleasantly this one and the other of his 
 acquaintances as he passed them. He was a tall man, of 
 about sixty, handsome and well dressed, fresh-complexioned 
 and white-haired, of debonair look and bland expression, 
 and evidently very well pleased Avith himself. This was 
 Sir Anthony Zembra, senior member for one of the big
 
 S//i ANTHONY 
 
 manufacturing towns in the north ; a man of enormous 
 wealth ; a writer of pamphlets on currency, free trade, and 
 kindred questions ; an active and industrious politician, 
 who might fairly hope to be invited to join the Government, 
 in a subordinate capacity, one of these days ; and socially 
 — well, socially, the most detested man in London. But 
 how could he help that? No one could have explained 
 why he w^as so detested ; he himself did not know it ; nay, 
 it would have been impossible for him to grasp the idea. 
 Rich, handsome, bland of manner ; his wife a queen of 
 fashion ; his dinners quite famous for their excellence ; how 
 could he be detested? No, that was the last idea that 
 could have gained admission into Sir Anthony Zembra's head. 
 
 ' I will take a ball, marker,' he said ; for they were just 
 beginning a new game. 
 
 'Right, sir.' 
 
 The newcomer walked up to the little mahogany box 
 and deposited the shilling claimed by the pool ; then he 
 proceeded to get down his cue from its tin case. The 
 marker gave out the balls. 
 
 ' Red on white — yellow's your player.' The game had 
 begun. 
 
 ' What ball am I, marker ? ' 
 
 'Blue, Sir Anthony; the ball is in the pocket.' 
 
 ' Who plays on me ? ' 
 
 ' Mr. Herschell,' said the marker, naming the notoriously 
 best player in the club.
 
 SMJi/A.i / i:.u iiKA 
 
 Aiul now (Mvurrod thi.' inriclL-iU to wlii* li rclcrciicc lias 
 been made. 
 
 'Oh, look hero, thai won't lio at all,' cxclaimctl Sir 
 Anthony. ' Why, I shan't have a chance. That won't do. 
 Hcrschell, do you play on mc ? Well, I'm out ; I'm not 
 going to give you three lives for nothing.' 
 
 ' Vou may withdraw your ball if you like. Sir Anthony,' 
 obscr\ed the marker. 
 
 ' Why, of course I do. Mr. Herschell's too good for me.' 
 
 'The blue ball is withdrawn,' the marker said, shutting 
 up the three lives on the board ; and then he was about 
 to call the game when Sir Anthony interrupted him. 
 
 'Come along, marker, give me that shilling out' 
 
 The marker seemed surprised, but he said (juitc respect- 
 fully, ' No, sir, you can't have the shilling out. You may 
 withdraw your ball, but the shilling is in the pool ; you 
 can't have that back.' 
 
 'Oh, nonsense !' called out Sir Anthony, with a kind of 
 stormy good nature. ' Nonsense ! I haven't played. I'm 
 not in the game. Do you think I'm going to let them 
 play for my money ? Come, out with that shilling ! ' 
 
 The marker was helpless ; he could only look at the 
 other members in an appealing sort of way. And they 
 looked at each other ; for nothing of the kind had happened 
 in the club before — no, nor in any other club, most likely. 
 Then came muttered protests, some angry, some half- 
 ashamed.
 
 SIJ? ANTHONY 
 
 ' No, no ; you can't have the shiUing out — forfeited to 
 the pool — you joined in the game when you took a ball — 
 the rule of the game — the marker's quite right — you can't 
 interfere with the pool.' 
 
 * Oh, but can't I ? ' he said, with a good-humoured laugh. 
 ' Do you think I'm going to let you play for my money 
 when I'm not in the game ? — you thieves and robbers ! ' 
 
 And therewithal he jauntily went up to the mahogany 
 box and took out the shilling and put it in his pocket. 
 Then he proceeded to replace his cue in its case, and as he 
 walked to the door he shook his forefinger in a waggish 
 manner at the old gentleman whose superior skill had 
 induced him to withdraw from the game. 
 
 'You old rascal,' he said playfully, 'you thought you 
 were going to have an easy victim ? No, no ; not to-day, 
 thank you.' 
 
 They made no reply, no protest ; the magnificence of 
 the man's meanness, and of his self-complacency, was too 
 appalling ; when he had shut the door a kind of awestruck 
 silence fell over the room, and they looked at each other 
 in dumb amazement. 
 
 ' Green plays on yellow ! ' the marker called ; and this 
 awoke them from their trance ; and then, as the game went 
 on, there were questions asked as to the probable dimen- 
 sions of Sir Anthony Zembra's fortune, and the bigger the 
 figures the greater the disgust. But there was little said, 
 for the marker was within hearing.
 
 SABINA ZEMBKA 
 
 Meanwhile, Sir Anthony, suave, radiant, complaisant — 
 and certainly little drcamini,' that he had just conferred a 
 favour on some eight or ten of his fellow-creatures, in 
 giving them something they could definitely produce as a 
 reason for hating him — Sir Anthony, bland, smiling, and 
 debonair, went down through the hall of the club. Per- 
 haps the nod which he bestowed on his intimates had just 
 a touch of patronage in it ; but how could that very well 
 be helped ? His life had been all through so prosperous 
 and successful and satisfactory. His first wife had died as 
 soon as she grew middle-aged and plain ; his second was 
 good-tempered, except when he wanted the carriage in the 
 afternoon ; the Times printed his letters in leaded type ; his 
 digestion enabled him to eat even a House of Commons' 
 dinner with equanimity ; and his constituents believed him 
 when he told lies about previous engagements. The old 
 woman who sweeps the crossing at the corner of St. James's 
 Square curtsied lower to him than to anybody else, though 
 never a penny had he bestowed on her. In SL James's 
 Street the cabmen had to look out for him, not he for them. 
 He went out into the open thoroughfare with a charming 
 nonchalance, glancing neither to the left nor to the right. 
 And so, eventually, he made his way home, to a big house 
 in Lancaster Gate ; and he walked the whole distance, 
 for Lady Zembra had possession of the carriage, and 
 he did not care to spend money on a hansom. Be- 
 sides, his appearance was much admired (and he knew
 
 S/7^ ANTHONY 
 
 it) as he strode along Piccadilly and up through the 
 Park. 
 
 He let himself in with a latch-key. The house was very 
 quiet, insomuch that a faint murmur coming from the 
 schoolroom was distinctly audible. And as the door of 
 the room was open an inch or two, Sir Anthony thought he 
 might as well pause there and discover whether the governess 
 was doing her duty ; for this was one of the afternoons on 
 which nothing but French was allowed to be spoken ; and 
 it was Miss Renshaw's business to impose a fine of three- 
 pence for any lapse. However, everything seemed going 
 on well. Master Reginald (his father could hear) was 
 reading aloud a composition of his own. It was a descrip- 
 tion of the character and conduct of a dog belonging to a 
 public-house in the Bayswater Road — ' Un gros cJiien qui 
 appartiejit a tme niaison publiquc dans le Bayswater Road,' 
 was the youthful scholar's rendering, and apparently that 
 animal had not found much favour in the eyes of the nar- 
 rator. But presently other sounds smote the listener's ear. 
 A squabble had arisen somewhere. ^Voyez, voycz, made- 
 moiselle, il a fait pour mo7i dessin I ' ' Non, 7ion — ee 
 lietait pas vwi — 7ic mentez vous pas — -je voiis donnerai 
 — vous domierai — une boite si/r Poreiile ! ' Sir Anthony 
 thought this an opportune moment. He opened the 
 door and entered, and there was instant silence. But 
 he did not remonstrate or scold ; it was enough 
 that Miss Renshaw should see how his mere presence —
 
 8 
 
 SAB/NA ZEMIiRA 
 
 his presence, without a look or n word — could jiroduce 
 calm. 
 
 ' Have you looked through to-day's ncwspaiicrs yet, Miss 
 Renshaw ? ' said he, as he strolled up to the chimney-piece 
 and lifted therefrom a pass-book labelled on the outside — 
 ' Domestic' 
 
 ' Yes, Sir Anthony ; except those that came this after- 
 noon,' said the i)atient-looking, gray-faced young woman 
 sitting there. 
 
 And of these desultory paragraphs that he was now 
 scanning with much complacent interest, who could guess 
 at the authorship ? Perhaps the paticnt-cycd young person 
 who had that morning carefully clipped them out of the 
 various journals, and pasted them in the pass-book, had also 
 herself inspired them, or even written them out, for the 
 information of provincial editors? At all events, they 
 showed a remarkable familiarity with the comings and 
 goings of the Zembra family, and also a kind of pathetic 
 assumption that these, and the smallest details about them, 
 must be of keen interest to the British public. Here are 
 some of them : 
 
 ' Lady Zembra and Miss Florence Zembra will shortly 
 leave Lancaster Gate on a visit to Lord and I^ady Peters- 
 field at their beautiful place near Marlow.' 
 
 ' At the marriage of Miss Emily Vere and Colonel 
 I>angley last week, the costume of Master Reginald Zembra, 
 who was dressed as a page of the linic of Henry VIIL,
 
 S/J^ ANTHONY 
 
 was much admired. The design of the costume, we under- 
 stand, was presented to Lady Zembra by a distinguished 
 Academician.' 
 
 'The Chapel Royal, St. James's, was on Sunday last 
 crowded to excess to hear a sermon by the Bishop of 
 Truro. Lady Zembra and her daughters were among the 
 congregation,' 
 
 ' At the Drawing-Room held by the Princess of Wales 
 on Thursday, no costume was more remarked and admired 
 than that of Lady Zembra. Her ladyship wore a train 
 from the shoulder of crimson Lyons velvet, lined with pink 
 merveilleux and trimmed with clusters of pink and crimson 
 ostrich feathers, tied with ribbons of the same colour. 
 Her bodice was of pink merv, over a petticoat of the 
 same material, draped with embroidered crepe de Chine, 
 and finished at the bottom with handsome chenille fringe.' 
 
 ' Sir Anthony and Lady Zembra and the Misses Florence 
 and Gertrude Zembra were present at the lecture given 
 by Dr. Felthurst on Wednesday at Princes Hall, Picca- 
 dilly. Her ladyship formed quite a distinct figure among 
 the assembly, although merely unostentatiously occupying a 
 seat with her husband and daughters in the body of the hall.' 
 
 But all these were as nothing to the description of a 
 children's fancy-dress ball given the week before by a 
 sister-in-law of Sir Anthony's, at which all the Zembra 
 family (except one, whose acquaintance wc shall make by and 
 by) appeared to have been present; and very pretty and
 
 SAJi/.V.i ZEMJiKA 
 
 nice were the thinj^s whii Ii the faithful chronicler had to say 
 about every one of them. Ii must have been a gay scene, 
 according to this flattering account ; every one looked at his 
 or her best ; the costumes were charming ; Lady Zxmbra 
 was especially admired as Marie Antoinette ; and Sir 
 Anthony Zembra, as a courtier of the time of George II., 
 was a most picturesque and striking figure. It was a great 
 success in short ; and never had the ballroom at the Red 
 House, Campden Hill, presented so beautiful a sight as 
 when the children were ranged in two long rows to dance 
 ' Sir Roger de Coverley.' 
 
 Well, Sir Anthony was thus pleasantly engaged in study- 
 ing the social impression produced by the various members 
 of his family, when he was somewhat rudely interrupted. 
 There was an unusual noise outside. Then the doors were 
 flung wide open, and there entered hurriedly a tall young 
 lady, who was very pale, but had sufficient firmness in the 
 look of her clear-cut and beautiful face. 
 
 ' Miss Renshaw,' said she quickly, ' will you take the 
 children upstairs ? I want this room. Take them to the 
 night nursery.' 
 
 'What's this, now?' Sir Anthony said, at once startled 
 and angry at the sudden interruption, 
 
 'There's a man hurt,' his daughter answered him 
 quietly ; but her fingers were quick enough in removing the 
 things that lay strewn on a couch there. ' They're bringing 
 him in.'
 
 S/Ji ANTHONY 
 
 'What?' he exclaimed agahi, and still more angrily; but 
 there was a shufifling of footsteps outside, and the immediate 
 answer was the appearance of a number of men, who were 
 slowly and with difficulty carrying an apparently inanimate 
 body along the passage. 
 
 ' Sabina, what is this ? who is this ? ' 
 ' I don't know, papa. ' 
 She was busy with many things. 
 
 ' Then what do you mean by bringing him in here ? God 
 bless my soul, what are you about ? Send him to a hospital! 
 I say he must go to -a hospital. Here, my men, what are 
 you doing ? Who told you to bring the man in here ? He 
 
 must go to the hospital ' 
 
 ' The young lady, sir,' one of the men said. 
 'Sabina, what is this?' her father again angrily de- 
 manded. ' I will have none of your Whitechapel nonsense 
 here. Are you going to turn the house into a public 
 shambles?' 
 
 But Sabina had made her preparations during these few 
 seconds. She caught her father's arm for a moment with 
 a gesture of entreaty. 
 
 ' Papa, I cannot send him to a hospital. This is all my 
 doing. I am to blame for the accident — and — and there is 
 
 no time to be lost — why, common humanity ' She 
 
 turned to the footman, who was standing helplessly by, 
 ' Willis, run downstairs and fetch mc a basin of water and 
 a sponge and some cloths ; and send for Doctor Hunger-
 
 la S.I/i/.VA ZEMBRA chap. 
 
 ford — lU), Mi. Ilungcrford, I mean — the son — and Icll him 
 to come at once. And you — yes, bring him in now — but 
 gently — gently — the head a little higher up — yes, that will 
 ilo' — and when they had got him laid on the couch, she, 
 with her own fingers, and swiftly and dexterously too, undid 
 his necktie, and removed his collar, and opened his waist- 
 coat : it was clear to the most ignorant of the bystanders 
 that this young lady knew very well what she was about. 
 
 But as for Sir Anthony? Well, Sir Anthony stood 
 looking on for a second or two very much exasperated. 
 But what could he do ? He could not summon a police- 
 man and have the whole pack of them thrust into the street ; 
 it was his own daughter who had had the man brought in ; 
 and, moreover, she said she was responsible for the accident; 
 and it would not look well to quarrel with her before these 
 people. He wished the wounded man was at Jericho ; but 
 he did not want to have these rude folk stare at him for 
 what they would doubtless consider his inhumanity. But 
 he was very angry with his daughter ; and then again, he 
 did not like looking at a head and neck that were bedabbled 
 with blood ; and the doctor would have more unpleasant 
 business when he arrived ; so, on the whole. Sir Anthony 
 thought he might as well retire from the scene, only he 
 was growling and grumbling to himself as he passed up- 
 stairs about the midsummer madness of young women who 
 nowadays went out and got themselves trained as nurses 
 at the East London Hospital.
 
 S/H ANTHONY 13 
 
 On the writing-desk of his study there was lying a pass- 
 book labelled outside ' Political ; ' and apparently his 
 private secretary had done for him what the governess did 
 for Lady Zembra and the family. As he glanced over these 
 paragraphs — ' Sir Anthony Zembra, we understand, has con- 
 sented to take the chair at the next meeting of the Statistical 
 Society ' — ' Sir Anthony Zembra has given notice that on 
 Thursday next he will ask the Secretary of State for the 
 Home Department,' etc. — ' Sir Anthony Zembra was present 
 last evening at a dinner given at the official residence of 
 the Prime Minister in Downing Street ' — ' We understand 
 that it is the intention of Sir Anthony Zembra's constituency 
 to entertain him at a public banquet in May next ' — ' The 
 remarkable speech on the Land Question which Sir Anthony 
 Zembra delivered in the House of Commons last week is, 
 
 we understand, to be issued in the form of a pamphlet ' 
 
 as he read these and many similar paragraphs, Sir Anthony's 
 brow cleared, and his face resumed its ordinary pleasant and 
 complacent expression, for he was glad to have his merits 
 recognised, and he rather liked to contemplate himself in 
 the mirror of the public press.
 
 cHArri:R u 
 
 .SABIE 
 
 Saijina Zembra — Sabie, her intimate friends called her; 
 and they seemed rather proud of displaying this familiarity; 
 indeed, many of the women-folk down Kensington way, if 
 you mentioned the name of Miss Zembra, would say, with 
 a kind of air of distinction, 'Oh, do you mean Sabie?' as 
 
 if Sabie belonged to them and to them alone Sabina 
 
 Zembra was a tall young woman and fair ; of upright car- 
 riage and well-poised neck ; with a clear, pale complexion, 
 light brown eyes that were soft and benignant, and light 
 brown hair that burned gold in the sun. She was twenty- 
 five, though a dimple in her cheek when she laughed made 
 her look younger, and hinted that she was light-hearted 
 enough ; on the other hand, her ordinary expression was of 
 an almost maternal gentleness and generosity. The bland- 
 ness that in her father was begotten of self-sufficiency, 
 became in her the blandness of grave goodwill ; she looked 
 as if kindness was a natural instinct with her ; as if she 
 liked seeing the people around her being made happy. 
 But even this cannot wholly explain the extraordinary affec-
 
 CHAi'. II SAB IE 15 
 
 tion that women seemed to have for this woman ; they 
 would cling around her when she entered a room and pet 
 her with pretty names ; and would send her flowers on any 
 birthday or other excuse ; and would treasure her letters, 
 and show them, and say with a touch of pride : ' Oh, Sabie 
 has just been writing ; isn't she the dearest and sweetest 
 girl in the world?' 'I hope Sabie will never marry,' was 
 the constant cry of her chief companion and friend (who, 
 poor lass, had not much in the way of pretty looks to boast 
 of). ' Just think what her goodness, and her beauty, and 
 her loving disposition mean to so many people ; and think 
 of her going and throwing all that away on a man!' Of 
 course the men professed to laugh at this widespread and 
 ridiculous infatuation ; and declared that Miss Zembra was 
 a woman's woman, and nothing more ; but at the same time 
 it was observed, on the rare occasions on which Miss Zembra 
 was to be found at an evening party, that these hostile critics 
 were not nearly so careless of her society as in common 
 consistency they ought to have been. 
 
 Sabina did not live with her father. On a certain im- 
 portant occasion Sir Anthony had taken her to task and 
 spoken his mind clearly. 
 
 ' Understand me once for all, Sabina,' he observed in a 
 more than ordinarily sententious way. ' I am not in the 
 habit of wasting words. What I say I mean to be final. 
 Now, while you were merely busying yourself about In- 
 dustrial Homes and Training Ships, and things of that
 
 SAfilNA ZKMnKA 
 
 kiiul, I did not object ; no, nor did I mind your visiting 
 this or that poor lanuly, where you knew the ciicunistances, 
 and knew there was no inleclion. Hut this new fad is 
 ijuile dificrcnt. NVhat will liappcn after you come out of 
 the hospital ? Vou are not going in for six months' train- 
 ing for nothing.' 
 
 ' Papa,' she broke in, ' 1 must do something — you don't 
 know how dreadful idleness is.' 
 
 ' I know that I don't hear your sisters complain,' he 
 retorted. 'They seem to have enough to fill the time.' 
 
 ' Yes, but they care for quite different things,' she said ; 
 and then she added, with the slightest of demure smiles 
 hovering about her mouth, 'besides, they're ashamed of 
 me. Mamma says I'm a dowdy ; and it's quite true. I 
 don't care for fine dresses, and driving in the Park. And 
 then, you see, papa, I shouldn't mind playing the pari of 
 Cinderella — I shouldn't mind it at all, for Cinderella had 
 plenty to do and knew she was of some use ; but I know 
 you wouldn't like that. You wouldn't like me to become 
 one of the maids and sweep the kitchen.' 
 
 ' Sabina, this is not a joking matter,' Sir Antliony ob- 
 served shortly. ' Let us return to common sense. When 
 you leave the East London Hospital a trained nurse, what 
 then ? I know very well. You will be more than ever in the 
 slums ; you will be for ever in the slums ; and coming and 
 going between them and this house. Well, now, that I 
 cannot permit. It would not be right and just to the other
 
 II SAB IE 17 
 
 members of my family to subject them to such a continual 
 risk of infection. It is not to be thought of 
 
 'Then do you want me to clear out, papa?' she said 
 frankly. 
 
 ' Yes, if you will persist in this folly.' 
 
 Well, she was a little bit startled, for a girl does not like 
 being turned out of her father's house. On the other hand, 
 her relations with her stepmother, Lady Zembra, and her 
 half-sisters, Florence and Gertrude, had never been of the 
 most satisfactory kind ; not that they quarrelled, but that 
 their modes of life and opinions and aims were so en- 
 tirely different. So the ugly duckling was about to fly 
 away. 
 
 ' Of course,' continued Sir Anthony, ' the whole thing is 
 fooUsh from the beginning. It is simply ludicrous for a 
 young woman of your education and position to turn 
 herself into a hospital nurse, when you can get dozens 
 of women, of more hardened nerve, who could do the 
 work ever so much better. But we've argued out that 
 question before. I suppose you don't intend to change 
 your mind ? ' 
 
 Surely his tone was unnecessarily hard, considering that 
 he was turning her out of the house. 
 
 ' Papa,' she said, ' I — I think I am doing what is right ; 
 but — but you might make it a little easier for me. It won't 
 be holiday work.' 
 
 ' If it is not the greatest happiness of the greatest 
 VOL. I. C
 
 iS .s.l/i/A.t /J-.ANih'A 
 
 numbor.' Sir Antliony cdiitimicd calmly, ' il is al least the 
 safety of the greatest inunher that 1 have to consider. And 
 I have thought the matter over. I am jjrepared to allow 
 you ^300 a year ; that is ample maintenance, for you 
 don't spend much on yourself. I have no doubt you will 
 easily find some quiet respectable family, where there are 
 no children to be put in danger, who will receive you as a 
 boarder, if go you must ' 
 
 A sudden, happy light leapt to her eyes — those eyes in 
 which 'her thoughts lay clear, as pebbles in a brook.' 
 It had occurred to her that she could confer a kindness ! 
 Even in being thrust forth from her father's house, her first 
 thought was that there was a chance of doing a friendly 
 turn to certain folk she knew. 
 
 'The Wygrams, papa,' she said eagerly. ' Do you think 
 they would take me ? \'ou know they are not very well 
 off; Mr. Wygram never succeeds in any of the competitions 
 now ; and this might be a little something, if they were not 
 offended. Oh, I know they would take me. Why, Janie 
 spends half her time with me, now ; I should be quite at 
 home there ! ' 
 
 ' That will be for yourself to decide,' said Sir Anthony. 
 
 And so it was that Sabina went to serve her six months 
 at the East London Hospital. It was not at all romantic 
 work. Occasionally, of course, she had her moments of 
 exaltation ; in crossing from the nurses' dormitory, in 
 the strange silence and darkness of a winter morning.
 
 II SABIE 19 
 
 and looking up to the vast, immeasurable skies, with 
 the stars throbbing palely and distant, she would some- 
 times repeat to herself, as with a kind of ineffable 
 
 longing — 
 
 Break up the heavens^ Lord ! and far 
 
 Thro' all yon starlight keen. 
 
 Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star. 
 
 In raif?tent white and clean. 
 
 But there was little time for self-communing during the 
 continuous labour of the long day ; nor was she much given 
 to pitying herself in any circumstances ; it was the suffering 
 of others that moved her, and here there was plenty of that, 
 only too obvious, all around her. Moreover, she was a 
 particularly healthy young woman ; and she could bear 
 fatigue better than any of her sister non-professionals, al- 
 though when they got away to supper about half-past eight 
 or nine, and all of them pretty well fagged out with the 
 day's work, they used to joke her about her sleepy dis- 
 position. It was rumoured, moreover, that one or two of 
 the medical students who came about had cast a favouring 
 glance on this pretty, tall, benignant-eyed nurse, who looked 
 so neat and smart in her belted gown and apron and cap, and 
 that they paid a good deal more attention to her than to the 
 patient whose condition she had to report to the doctor. 
 But Sabie was impervious to all that kind of thing. It was 
 only when she was with the other nurses at night that the 
 dimple in her cheek appeared, and that she showed herself 
 — as long as her eyes would keep open — blithe and friendly
 
 SAr^JNA /.EMBRA CHAP. 
 
 and nu-rry-hcartotl. I'crhaps she was only a woman's 
 woman, after all. 
 
 The long period of probation over, Sabina went to live 
 with the Wygrams, a family who by dint of sore pinching 
 still managed to occupy an old-fashioned house in Kensing- 
 ton Square that was endeared to them by its association 
 with other and better days. Mr. Wygram had been at one 
 time an architect in a fair way of business, and may have 
 saved a little money then ; but the capable partner in the 
 firm died ; things went badly somehow ; and now the old 
 gentleman, who was as industrious as ever, kept working 
 away at competitive drawings, each time more and more 
 confident that he was about to carry off the prize, and never 
 doing so, but sometimes securing a few pounds by way of 
 compensation. However, old Mr. and Mrs. ^^'ygram were 
 great favourites in the artist world of London ; and very 
 distinguished people, indeed, might be found together in 
 the scantily-furnished and rather melancholy drawing-room 
 — at an evening party, that is to say, with tea and darkly 
 suspicious sherry and cake to crown the festivities. And 
 what joy filled the heart of their only daughter, Janie, 
 when she learned that her beloved Sabina was coming to 
 live with them ! Now there would be no risk of their 
 chance evenings being dull ; now there would be attraction 
 and entertainment enough for all the world ; and she would 
 be accounted somebody among the young men — for that 
 she could secure them, if she chose, an introduction to
 
 II SABIE 21 
 
 Sabie ; and she would take off Sable's cloak when she came 
 in, and get tea for her, and sit by her with their arms inter- 
 twined, and have her all to herself. In short, the arrange- 
 ment came to work very well all round. The sum paid by 
 Sabina for her board and lodging (though this was a covert 
 transaction) was a certain addition to the finances of the 
 establishment ; Mrs. Wygram could be her chaperon when 
 there was need ; and Janie was her constant companion 
 when she 'went about doing good.' For that was her 
 occupation in life — as many a poor family down in Chelsea 
 knew ; and it came natural to her ; and she was as busy 
 and as content as the day was long. Then they had quiet 
 evenings in the old-fashioned drawing-room ; and the plain- 
 featured, wistful-eyed Janie played very well ; nor was she 
 vexed when she looked round and found that her poor 
 tired Sabie (who was very unconscionable in this respect) 
 had dropped into a httle snooze \ and sometimes they had 
 a game at whist, too ; and sometimes a few young people 
 would drop in, and they would have a pretence of supper, 
 and a bit of a carpet dance. But always these young people 
 — and especially the young men — treated Sabina with a cer- 
 tain deference. It was not that she was in any way socially 
 their superior, for that was not the case ; the Wygrams had 
 a very excellent circle of friends and acquaintances. It was 
 rather something in her manner that distinguished her from 
 them. One would almost have taken her for a young and 
 gentle-eyed matron looking on — not without sympathy and
 
 SAH/NA ZEMBRA OUAP. 
 
 pleasure — al tlio amusements of those boys and girls. She 
 enjoyed llieir nK-rrhncnl as much as ihcy did ; and her 
 laugh was ready and ([uite youthful and joyous when any 
 thing ridiculous happened ; but ordinarily there was a kind 
 of serious sweetness and grave kindliness in her eyes that 
 seemed to keep her a little bit apart. She preferred to be 
 a spectator — but surely a friendly one. 
 
 Of course she occasionally went up to see the family al 
 Lancaster Gate, when she could solemnly assure them she 
 had been near no infectious case ; and it was on one of 
 those visits that there occurred the unfortunate accident 
 already referred to. She had chosen a Wednesday after- 
 noon, knowing that her father would be early home from 
 the House of Commons ; but when she got to Lancaster 
 Gate she found he had not arrived ; Lady Zembra and 
 Florence and Gertrude were out driving ; the children were 
 busy in the schoolroom. The only living thing to welcome 
 her was the Httle spaniel Busy — an old friend and ally of 
 hers ; and it occurred to her that, to beguile the tedium of 
 waiting, she might as well take the dog for a bit of a run 
 along the Bayswater Road and back. He was nothing 
 loth, it may be guessed ; and so she opened the door and 
 they went down the steps and made for the front pave- 
 ment. 
 
 What next occurred may take some minutes to tell, but 
 it seemed to her to happen all in one wild second. 
 
 ' Now come here, Busy, you keep close to me,' she had
 
 n SAB IE 23 
 
 said on leaving the liouse ; for she knew the habits of the 
 spaniel kind, and that this one delighted in nothing so 
 much as scampering about in the open thoroughfare — amid 
 cabs and omnibuses and carriages — and always with his nose 
 down as if he expected to flush a pheasant in the middle 
 of the Bayswater Road. Busy paid heed to his mistress 
 so long as she spoke to him ; the moment they had reached 
 the pavement he was off — careless of anything that might 
 be coming along. She angrily called to him to come back — 
 he turned in his scamper, but still with his nose down — 
 and, alas ! at the same instant she knew, rather than saw, 
 that some one on a bicycle, approaching at an alarming 
 speed, was almost on the dog. 
 
 ' Look out ! Take care !' she cried. 
 
 Now, no doubt the bicyclist had seen the little spaniel; 
 and it is also possible that Busy might have got out of 
 harm's way unaided ; but at all events her sudden cry 
 seemed to startle this young fellow, who was coming 
 along at such a rate, and probably from gallantry as much 
 as anything else he swerved sharply from his course, to 
 make quite sure of missing the dog. Unhappily, at this 
 precise spot there was a little heap of gravel, used for 
 scattering over the wooden pavement, lying by the roadway ; 
 and apparently the bicycle caught on some of the pebbles ; 
 the next thing she saw was some terrible object hurling 
 through the air and striking heavily against the kerbstone, 
 wliere it lay motionless. The blood forsook her face, but
 
 24 SABINA ZEMBKA ( iiap. 
 
 her coiirai;c was firm enough ; she was at liis side in a 
 moment, tr)'ing to raise his head ; and then a few bystanders 
 came hurrying up, and slie besought tliem lo carry him 
 into her father's house. U'hite as her face was, she seemed 
 cahii and collected ; there was an air of authority about 
 her ; they did not even suggest the hospital. Nor, it must 
 be confessed, did she pay much heed to her father's 
 remonstrances; her hands were full of work — work that she 
 knew; moreover, Sir Anthony almost immediately retired, 
 grumbling. She was left alone to deal with the wounded 
 man, a maid assisting her, for the footman Willis had 
 rushed off to summon the surgeon. 
 
 'Pore young gentleman ! — pore young gentleman !' the 
 maid kept saying; and was rather inclined to look on in a 
 feebly commiserating attitude; but her pale-lipped young 
 mistress had no time for mere pity. 
 
 ' Catherine, get some calico — cjuick ; and cut it into 
 strips, and put them into cold water — look alive !' 
 
 For there was a bad scalp-wound on the side of the 
 young man's head, and she had to stanch the blood, and 
 thereafter bind the cold wet bandages round it. He lay 
 in a heavy stupor, only that once he murmured the words 
 ' cherry blossom,' and, busy as she was, it seemed i)athetic 
 to her that he should ' babble o' green fields.' And then, 
 when she had bandaged his head, she passed her hands 
 lightly over his neck, and back, and shoulders, and pretty 
 well satisfied herself that there was no serious fracture or
 
 II SABIE 25 
 
 dislocation : nevertheless she was anxious that the surgeon 
 should appear forthwith. 
 
 She was moistening her patient's lips with cold water 
 when he drew a long breath and slowly opened his eyes. 
 He looked at her with a kind of mild wonder, and then at 
 the room around him ; then he seemed to recollect. 
 
 ' That was a nasty one,' he managed to say. ' Did I 
 hurt the dog?' 
 
 ' Oh no, you did not,' Sabina said quickly. ' Pray 
 don't think of that. I am so sorry. It was all my fault. 
 I should not have called to you — I am so sorry.' 
 
 ' Oh, don't trouble about me,' he said, with a faint kind 
 of smile — for the shock and loss of blood had weakened 
 him. ' This isn't my first cropper. There are no bones 
 broken, I suppose ' 
 
 ' I think not — I think not,' she said eagerly. ' And 
 there will be a surgeon here directly.' 
 
 'But whose house is this?' he asked — it was all that he 
 dared to ask. 
 
 ' Sir x^nthony Zembra's,' Sabina answered, and she added 
 without embarrassment : ' I am his daughter. It was my 
 little dog that made the mischief — or rather, I did myself 
 I do hope you are not seriously hurt.' 
 
 'Hurt? No, no — don't you bother. I shall be all 
 right,' he said. 
 
 He was a fairly good-looking young fellow of some six 
 or seven and twenty, with clear blue eyes, curly but short-
 
 a6 SAJiJ.V.l ZJ£MliKA chap. 
 
 cropped hair of a reddish yellow, and a healthy pink and 
 white complexion that had got a wash of sun-tan over it. 
 Clearly he had lived much in the oi)en air; and his frame 
 seemed wiry and vigorous, with not an ounce of spare fat 
 on it anywhere. As for guessing at his profession or call- 
 ing or social status, that was not easy, seeing that he was 
 clad in a bicycling suit ; but his manner was well enough ; 
 and he seemed good-natured. 
 
 Suddenly he uttered a little involuntary exclamation, 
 and bit his under-lip. 
 
 'What is it?' she said instantly. 
 
 ' My knee — and I hardly moved it — oh, thunder !' 
 
 The pain in his face was obvious ; and he was about to 
 make some effort to raise himself, when she caught him, 
 and caught him firmly. 
 
 ' No, no ; you must not move on any account — it ma)- 
 be serious — you must lie perfectly still till the doctor 
 comes.' 
 
 ' Yes, but when is he coming ? ' he said, with a touch of 
 impatience. ' If I have broken my leg, I want to know. 
 You don't understand what that would mean to me.' 
 
 ' You have not broken your leg,' said she calmly, ' but 
 you may have injured your knee.' And then she added, 
 without any false shame or hesitation, ' If you like, I will 
 see what harm is done and tell you. I know about these 
 things ; I have been in a hospital. Or if you would rather 
 wait, I am sure the doctor will be here in a few minutes.'
 
 II SAB IE 27 
 
 ' Oh, of course, I will wait — I could not think of 
 troubling you,' he said instantly. 
 
 ' And in the meantime I will make a splint,' said she, 
 ' just in case it should be necessary. Catherine, run and get 
 me some cotton wool.' 
 
 She went to the table, tore the cover off one of the 
 children's drawing-books, and cut a strip of the thick paste- 
 board about three inches wide, and over a dozen long ; and 
 she was in the act of swathing the improvised splint in 
 cotton wool when the young surgeon arrived. Everything 
 she had done he approved of; but he was not surprised; 
 he was well aware of Miss Zembra's qualifications. Then 
 came the examination of the knee ; and that was simple 
 enough, for he had merely to unbuckle the knee-band of 
 the knickerbockers ; but the next moment he had grown 
 grave. Sabina had withdrawn a step or two ; her assist- 
 ance was not needed. 
 
 ' What is it, doctor?' the young man said, noticing that 
 look. 
 
 'Well, I'm sorry to have to tell you that you've dis- 
 located your knee-cap, and there's a bad bruise beside. 
 Miss Zembra, I haven't brought anything with me — your 
 man met me in the street ' 
 
 Sabina came forward. 
 
 ' Here is a kind of a splint,' she said, 'and I think there's 
 enough calico here for a figure-of-eight bandage — if that 
 will do in the meantime— — '
 
 as SAfi/NA ZEMBRA chap. 
 
 'Ill the inc.mtiinc tlial will di) cxrellciuly, iiiuil I run 
 home and get some things.' 
 
 ' lUit. doctor,' the young man on the couch said, and 
 he was rather pale now, partly from loss of blood, no 
 doubt, but also partly from anxiety, ' what does all this 
 mean ? Is it really so bad ? You don't mean that I'm to 
 be laid up with a splint ? Why, how soon — how soon, 
 now, shall I be all right again? Not long, surely!' 
 
 ' I don't wish to alarm you,' the surgeon said in reply, 
 ' but I ought to warn you that it is a rather serious case, 
 and that the greatest care will be wanted. Even then it 
 may be months before you can put your foot to the 
 ground.' 
 
 'God bless me, you don't know what you're saying !' the 
 young man cried faintly, and very white his face was now. 
 
 ' I'm afraid I do,' the surgeon said quietly. 
 
 The other remained silent for a second or two; then he 
 said, with a kind of forced resignation, ' When can I be 
 taken to my own rooms ?' 
 
 The doctor turned to Sabina. 
 
 ' It is a serious case,' said he, ' I would not advise his 
 removal, if your people would not mind letting him have 
 the use of this room, for a few days even.' 
 
 'Oh, but they must; of course they will,' Sabina ex- 
 claimed eagerly. ' Oh, you don't know, doctor ; it was all 
 my fault that the accident happened ; I am more grieved 
 about it than I can say ; I cannot even think of it ; and
 
 11 SAB IE 29 
 
 what we can do we must do; but how can I ever atone for 
 such an injury?' 
 
 ' The young lady had nothing to do with it,' said the 
 maimed man ; but he had to hold his breath now, for the 
 surgeon was about to put his knee in the splint. 
 
 By and by, when the doctor was giving a few parting 
 directions to Sabina (who had already installed herself as 
 nurse, the maid Catherine assisting), and promising to be 
 back shortly, the young man on the couch called to him in 
 rather a faint voice : 
 
 ' Doctor !' 
 
 'Yes?' 
 
 ' I wish you would do me a favour, will you ?' 
 
 ' Certainly.' 
 
 ' When you are out, will you go to a telegraph-office 
 and wire to the Duke — the Duke of Exminster — that I 
 shan't be able to ride Cherry Blossom for him in the Grand 
 National? It's hard luck, it is. Twenty times have I 
 dreamt of lifting the old horse over Valentine's Brook. 
 Don't forget — the Duke of Exminster — he's at Helmsley 
 just now. Well, it's hard luck ; I knew the horse. 
 Nobody else can do anything with him but myself I 
 could see us over the ditch and rail fence near the bridge 
 and fairly in the line for home. Poor old Cherry Blossom 
 — it's very hard luck.' 
 
 ' And from whom shall I tclegrapli ? ' the doctor said 
 gently.
 
 30 .N.//./.\./ /h.MBRA 
 
 'Oil, my name, you mean? I'rcd Foster, I'.ury Street; 
 the Hiike knows.' 
 
 Sahina hail left the room for a minute or two, and so 
 remained undeceived as to the mistake she had made about 
 his having ' babbled o' green fields.' But that was not 
 of much account, perhaps, ^\■hat was of more account, 
 at least to one very tender heart, was that poor Janic 
 Wygram was now to be deprived for many a long day 
 to come of the society and companionship of her beloved 
 Sabie.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 WALTER LINDSAY 
 
 It is rather a sorry thing in these times to have to speak of 
 a man who is in love ; for in the eyes of most people — 
 especially of the young men of the day — he seems to be 
 considered a sentimental jackass ; unless, indeed, the woman 
 he is in love with should happen to be a married woman ; 
 and then the whole situation becomes intelligible, and even 
 something to be mildly envied. However, Walter Lindsay 
 was in love, and very much in love ; and not with a married 
 woman ; but with Sabina Zembra. 
 
 ' Poor fellow,' Janie Wygram would say to her mother ; 
 ' I do believe he is the most wretched man in this country ; 
 and yet you would think he had everything that a human 
 being could wish for. Good-looking — well, I call him most 
 distinguished-looking and handsome ; with pleasant man- 
 ners, a favourite everywhere, every woman anxious to have 
 him at her house, and people beginning to speak of him as 
 almost if not quite the first landscape-painter in England ; 
 with a splendid career before him ; with plenty of money, a 
 beautiful house, and heaps of friends; and then his family
 
 SAIUNA ZEMliKA 
 
 — well, no woiulcr he is a little proiul of the l.iiulsays of 
 Carnryan, and of the oKl tower overlooking the sea : just 
 think of all that, mother, and yet I know it is worthless to 
 him just because he cannot have Sabie's love — and Sahic's 
 love he never will have in this world.' 
 
 ' Don't be so sure,' the mother would answer. 
 *Ah, but I know,' the plain-featured gray-eyed Janie 
 would continue (and she seemed rather to like talking about 
 Miss Zembra). ' I know the only way to win Sabie's love ; 
 it's through her pity. If you're poor, or ragged, or suffer- 
 ing — and look to her for help — that is the only way. Then 
 her eyes grow soft. But why should^ she pity Mr. Lindsay, 
 or take any interest in him ? He has everything the world 
 can give him — handsome, famous, with plenty of money 
 and plenty of friends — how should he appeal to her pity ? ' 
 * Don't you say that he is miserable ? ' 
 Janie smiled a little — but not out of malice. 
 ' She doesn't understand that kind of misery. No, nor 
 that kind of love either. If you speak to her of that kind 
 of love, she only laughs and turns away. Sabie will never 
 marry — never.' 
 
 ' Don't be so sure,' the mother would repeat : she had 
 seen more things happen than her daughter had. 
 
 ' Ah, but I know. And why should she marry ? Doesn't 
 she see how great a delight she can give to so many people ? 
 And it's so easy for her, mother. She has only to smile 
 and look pleased, and people are grateful. When she
 
 Ill WALTER LINDSAY 33 
 
 comes into a room, it's like bringing sunlight ; everybody's 
 face brightens up. I wonder,' continued Janie Wygram, 
 rather wistfully, ' if beautiful people know how thankful they 
 should be for their beauty ? I wonder if they know how 
 easy it is for them to make friends — and to be kind ' 
 
 ' I wish you would stop talking about her,' her mother 
 would probably interpose at this juncture. ' She has made 
 a fool of you.' 
 
 ' And you, mother ? You don't see much in Sabie ? 
 Well, it's a shame to speak of her as if it was only her 
 beauty. It's her goodness. She's " better than she's 
 bonny " — if that is possible.' 
 
 ' She has got a stanch champion, anyway.' 
 
 One afternoon the young artist whose name was intro- 
 duced so frequently in their repeated conversations was in 
 his studio, up Ladbroke Grove way, and he was seated at 
 an open piano, though he was not playing. He was a man 
 of about eight and twenty or thirty, tall and spare, pale of 
 face, with perfectly coal-black hair, and black eyes that 
 were contemplative rather than observant — at least they 
 were so at this moment. The studio was a large and 
 handsome apartment, hung with tapestry, and stored with 
 all kinds of bric-a-brac, that spoke of Spain, and Tunis, and 
 Egypt mostly, though there was a nondescript and pic- 
 turesque variety and confusion prevailing throughout. 
 Damascus-ware jugs, old violins, bits of Italian embroidery, 
 Indian swords, eighteenth century ale-jugs, Sheraton chairs, 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 SAIi/NA ZEMHRA 
 
 pictures franictl and unfrainctl, photographs of popular 
 actresses, wooden piiK^s, sheaves of brushes, books, stray 
 music, invitation cards, Persian rugs, Rhodian dishes, tennis 
 balls, cigar boxes, Syrian silks, all were flung together any- 
 how ; but besides these ordinary paraphernalia of a modern 
 studio, there were certain ' properties ' more particularly 
 wanted for the landscape artist's special work — a great mass 
 of freshly-cut golden-blossomed furze, a sheaf of dried bul- 
 rushes, the stem of a birch tree with its hanging silvery 
 flakes, and ever)'where bunches of early spring flowers stuck 
 carelessly into pots. And yet there was a kind of harmony 
 in all this entanglement of things ; they seemed appropriate ; 
 perhaps the sombre grayness of the afternoon had its efifect. 
 And perhaps, too, that had its effect on the mind of the 
 young man sitting at the piano. When he put his fingers 
 on the keys it was in a musing kind of way ; and the chance 
 bits of Mendelssohn or Chopin that he absently played 
 seemed to come unsought for, as if it were his memory that 
 was speaking to him. Sometimes his fingers rested idle ; 
 and then the silence was almost painfully distinct ; for the 
 studio was separated from the house by a strip of garden, 
 and there was not even the ticking of a clock to be heard. 
 He played one or two little waltzes by Mozart — curiously 
 quaint and simple and melodious. He hummed to himself, 
 as he touched the notes, Lillo's 
 
 Ritorna cJCio t'amo, mio prima sospir. 
 
 But by and by this languid and careless occupation
 
 Ill WALTER LINDSAY 35 
 
 ceased altogether \ he sat for a little time plunged in a 
 vague reverie ; and then, as with an effort, he rose, shut the 
 piano mechanically, and turned to face the empty studio. 
 This seemed to bring him to his senses somewhat. 
 
 ' It's a queer world,' he said to himself 
 
 And yet he seemed irresolute. He took up a wooden 
 pipe, but almost immediately put it down again ; then he 
 went and stood in front of the unfinished landscape that 
 was on the easel. It was a large water-colour drawing — 
 an evening scene ; the spire of a village church rising dark 
 into the golden glow of the sunset sky ; a river stealing in 
 shadow underneath a grove of dusky elms ; empty meadows 
 with a pearly gray mist rising from them. It seemed to 
 suggest silence, and remoteness, and perhaps a trifle of sad- 
 ness too, for the day was dying away in the west, and the 
 velvet-footed night coming stealthily over the land. But 
 what a time and a place for lovers ! There were no figures 
 in this landscape ; he had intentionally left it without any 
 sign of life ; it seemed secret and sacred at this sad hour ; 
 there was not even a swallow skimming over that still- 
 flowing stream. But what, now, if some veiled and hooded 
 maiden were to appear out of the golden glow beyond and 
 come swiftly with timid footstep along by the hushed 
 meadows and the whispering reeds ? Could the gracious 
 heavens be so bountiful — on some such evening as this — 
 in the coming years — and she, the one maiden in all the 
 world, be actually there, and he hastening towards her
 
 36 S.IB/X.l ZEMBKA ohap. 
 
 with wiUlly lioating heart? l''asily could he recognise her 
 figure fiir away ; there was hut the one. And then the un- 
 tying of tlie liood — and the beautiful tender eyes benignant 
 — Sabina ! 
 
 ' If I were on my deathbed,' he said to himself, ' the 
 image of that woman would come between me and my 
 grave.' 
 
 But what had Sabina done that he should be angry with 
 her ? If he chose to make a fool of himself about a woman 
 (he said to himself), that was none of her fault. And so, 
 as the afternoon was dreary and uncomfortable, and not 
 conducive to work, and the studio very silent and lonely, 
 and the associations of this picture rather melancholy, he 
 thought he would go away and seek for some society some- 
 where. And whose ? ^^'hy, Janie ^Vygram's, to be sure — 
 if haply he might find her at home. If not the rose, she 
 was near the rose ; and she would have something to say 
 to him about Sabina. 
 
 He put on his hat and overcoat — and also a pair of 
 gloves, for artists have abandoned their Bohemian manners 
 and customs nowadays, and he was about to pay an after- 
 noon call. And as he walked away over Campden Hill 
 Road, and so down into Kensington, how was it that his 
 eye instinctively sought out any tall woman that he could 
 see in the distance ? It was very unlikely that accident 
 should bring Sabina in his way. And yet the remote 
 possibility was always there ; and it lent an interest to all the
 
 III. WALTER LINDSAY 37 
 
 neighbourhood of Kensington ; and it had become an un- 
 conscious habit with him to look far ahead with this half- 
 defined hope always present with him. And then, again, 
 where the High Street narrows there is an abundance of 
 shops; and there mammas and daughters congregate, passing 
 by the windows slowly ; and if by chance he were to find 
 Sabina in that throng! In especial there was a florist's shop 
 that was of interest to him ; for Sabina, when she came 
 round that way, generally called there to carry home some 
 flowers for Mrs. Wygram, who herself could not well afford 
 such luxuries. However, on this particular afternoon (as 
 on many and many another one) his half-intentional 
 scrutiny was fruitless ; and so he turned down Young Street 
 and made for the Wygrams' house in Kensington Square. 
 
 Janie was upstairs in her mother's room ; she saw him 
 come along the pavement. 
 
 ' There's Mr. Lindsay, mother.' 
 
 ' You must go down, then, and make some excuse. I 
 can't see him in this state ; besides, I'm busy.' 
 
 ' Oh, I can entertain him well enough, mother,' the 
 younger woman said. ' You've only to talk to him about 
 Sabie.' 
 
 Of course, it was not Mr, Lindsay who introduced that 
 subject when these two were seated in the dusky drawing- 
 room. Oh no; Mr, Lindsay talked about theatres, and 
 new books, and music; and when Miss Wygram incidentally 
 mentioned that Sabie was spending that afternoon with her 
 
 8251H
 
 38 S.l/,'/X.l /.EMIiRA 
 
 people at l-incastcr Ciatc, he did not say anything at all. 
 Nay, when Miss Wygrani (who was a kind-hearted creature) 
 would insist on talking about Sabic, and the good she was 
 doing, and her kindness, and her gentleness, and her courage, 
 and all the rest, he listened respectfully, it is true, but did 
 not betray much interest 
 
 '()f course she has her faults,' said Janic. 
 
 'Oh, indeed,' said he (tliinking himself very running). 
 ' Well, now, it would be something to hear of them. As 
 ever)' one has nothing but praises for Miss Zembra, it 
 would be quite refreshing to hear unkind things said of 
 her.' 
 
 Janie winced. That she should be tliought capable, even 
 in jest, of saying unkind things of her dearest ? Neverthe- 
 less she continued : 
 
 ' Oh yes, she has faults, and plenty,' she said cheerfully. 
 ' How could one love her if she were perfect ? Faults, oh 
 yes. For one thing she is a little too anxious to have every 
 one fond of her. She can't bear that any one should be 
 quite indifferent about her. She likes to be well thought 
 of. I don't know that it is exactly vanity — for it is not her 
 appearance she thinks of — it's herself that she wants people 
 to like. And more than that, she insists on it. If an ill- 
 conditioned brat of a boy will have nothing to say to her, 
 you will see her deliberately neglect the whole of the family 
 until she has won him over in spite of himself. Or an old 
 woman. Old women are sometimes cynical. They distrust
 
 Ill WALTER LINDSAY 39 
 
 pretty eyes. Then you should see Sabie. Oh, she is a 
 hypocrite — an out-and-out hypocrite. But that is the one 
 thing she cannot bear — that anybody should be quite in- 
 different about her.' 
 
 'So far,' said he, 'Miss Zembra's faults don't seem to be 
 very serious. Some people would call them virtues. I 
 don't think it is much against a woman — and particularl)- 
 a young woman — that she should wish to be thought well 
 of It seems to me quite natural. And as for wishing 
 people to be fond of her, surely that is natural too ! The 
 strange thing to me is that she should experience any 
 difficulty.' 
 
 She knew he would come to Sabie's defence — knew it 
 perfectly when she began. And she thought she would 
 reward him ; she had observed his eyes wandering occa- 
 sionally towards a photograph that stood on the mantelpiece; 
 she went and fetched that. 
 
 ' This is the last that has been done of Sabie ; do you 
 think it like?' 
 
 He took the photograph in his hand. 
 
 ' Like ' he said, after a second. ' Why, it's herself — 
 
 her very self ! And so natural and simple the whole thing 
 — and so good-natured she looks.' 
 
 'Would you care to have it?' she said, with an air of 
 indifference. She meant him to understand that she could 
 have as many photographs of Sabie as she chose. 
 
 He looked up quickly and eagerly.
 
 40 S.^/f/.V.■( ZEMHKA 
 
 ' May I have it ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes, if you care for it. I have plenty of others. 
 Only a studio is such a public place — people come strolling 
 in, and you would have to explain that it was I who gave 
 it you." 
 
 ' But do you think I would have it lying about ? I can 
 assure you, no. If I may have it I will lock it away as my 
 greatest treasure.' 
 
 'Oh, but you must not say such things,' said Miss 
 Janie, laughing. 'And about the studio, Mr. Lindsay, I 
 hope you did not think it rude of us going in the other 
 day?' 
 
 ' It was the most awful piece of bad luck that ever hap- 
 pened to me that I should have been out,' he answered. 
 ' And Mrs. Reid not to have offered you tea ! She's a 
 dreadfully stupid woman, that woman.' 
 
 'But I suppose she was so frightened by our boldness,' 
 said Miss Janie. ' You see, it was such a temptation. Sabie 
 had never been in a studio before. And then mother 
 happened to be with us ; and it was really her doing ; for 
 when Mrs. Reid said you were not at home, mother said : 
 " Oh, that's all right ; we'll go and rummage over the place." 
 And Sabie said: "Oh, he's so good-natured, he won't mind." 
 And you should have seen how interested she was — especi- 
 ally in the embroider}' ; and she wondered who could have 
 taught you to pick up such things. Yes, and the picture — 
 you should have heard what she said-. '
 
 Ill WALTER LINDSAY 41 
 
 'But which one?' he said quickly; it was all music to 
 his ears. 
 
 ' The one on the easel — you know — the one with the 
 church and the trees and the river — the evening one ' 
 
 'Did she like that?' 
 
 * Oh yes ; you should have heard. And when Sabie 
 likes a thing, she tells you.' 
 
 ' Miss Wygram, would you do me a very, very great 
 favour?' said he. 'Do you think you could get her to 
 accept it ?' 
 
 'What?' 
 
 'That picture. Do you think Miss Zembra would take 
 it ? I should be so glad if she would. It is a fair exchange. 
 I have her portrait. Do you think she would take that 
 drawing, if I finished it and had it framed for her?' 
 
 'But what would she do with it?' Miss Janie said ; she 
 was a little bit frightened, thinking she had said too much ; 
 and she knew that Mr. Lindsay's pictures fetched very large 
 prices, for water-colours. 
 
 ' Why, she might hang it up in her room, if she cared 
 anything for it at all. Or over there — she might hang it 
 there — and it would be hers all the same. Do you think 
 you could induce her to accept it — if it was framed, and 
 made a little more presentable?' 
 
 ' Oh no, no, no, Mr. Lindsay,' Miss Janie said earnestly. 
 ' It's bad enough for a parcel of strangers to go into an 
 artist's studio '
 
 4^ SAlilXA ZEMliKA CUAi-. 
 
 'Strangers !' said lie. 
 
 ' lUit til plunder him as well, simply hcrausc y<ni lia]ii)cn 
 to say you like a particular picture ' 
 
 'Hut you don't know,' he broke in. 'Why, you don't 
 know what pleasure it would give me if Miss Zembra would 
 only take that picture. It's nothing. It's a foolish kind 
 of thing. Hut if she sees anything in it — if she would 
 take it ' 
 
 ' I'm sure she would not,' said Miss Janie promptly ; 
 ' and I know I should get into sad trouble if she discovered 
 that I was the cause of your making so generous an offer. 
 But — but — now, shall I be frank with you?' 
 
 ' Yes ; but be frank in this way. I will give you the 
 picture, and you will hang it up in her room,' said he. 
 
 ' Oh no ; how could that be ? But — but — if you would 
 make a small sketch of it — something that would not cost 
 you too much trouble — I'm sure she would be glad to have 
 that.' 
 
 'Are you sure she would take it ?' he said eagerly. 
 
 ' I'm sure she would be very, very much pleased to have 
 it,' said Miss Janie frankly. ' But you see how it is, Mr. 
 Lindsay ; it's difficult for people who are not artists to 
 accept a valuable picture. It's all very well for artists, who 
 can repay in kind.' 
 
 'Then you think there is nothing in w'inning approval 
 — there is nothing in being able to gratify a friend?' said 
 he.
 
 Ill WALTER LINDSAY 43 
 
 ' Oh yes ; if every, one was as pretty as Sabie, I could 
 understand it,' she rejoined. ' But even in her case ' 
 
 And then he grew bold. 
 
 ' Now I am going to tell you something,' said he, ' and 
 to ask of you the greatest favour I ever asked of anybody. 
 Have you heard of Borella, the new baritone ? No ? Well, 
 he has only sung at one or two houses, privately, as yet ; 
 but he is something wonderful, I assure you ; the quality of 
 his voice is perfectly marvellous, and the skill with which he 
 adapts it to a small room just as marvellous, too. Well, he 
 is coming to my studio Thursday next week, in the evening; 
 and there will be a few young people there ; and there will 
 be a little music, and a little supper, and so forth ; and I was 
 wondering if your mother and you would be so kind as to 
 join the little party. You see ' 
 
 ' I think I know,' interposed Miss Janie, with a smile ; 
 and although she was not pretty, she could look friendly 
 and amiable on occasion, and she had a little sympathy 
 with this unhappy young man. ' I think I know. You 
 would like mother to go up in the afternoon, and have 
 a little chat with Mrs. Reid about the supper, and the 
 arrangement of the flowers, and so forth .? ' 
 
 ' Would she be so kind ?' 
 
 ' But as for me,' said Miss Janie demurely/ what use should 
 I be? Well, would you like me to bring Sabie with me?' 
 
 He lowered his eyes to hide their anxiety. 
 
 ' Do you think Miss Zcmbra would care to come up for
 
 44 SJ/iAVA ZEMBKA cuai-. 
 
 even half an luuir?' said he. ' I'.orclla is a very good- 
 natured fellow ; he told me tliat if he ranic at all it would 
 be to sing for my guests. I think she would he pleased. 
 I am sure she would be jileascd.' 
 
 ' lUit that's not the way to put it when you're talking 
 about Sabic. The question is — Can she do a kindness to 
 anybody?' 
 
 * I should consider it more than a kindness,' he said in 
 rather a low voice. 
 
 ' Oh, I'll bring Sabie along,' Miss Janie said cheerfully. 
 
 ' Will you ?' he said. He looked up. ' It is a promise, 
 mind. And you know. Miss Janie ' (for he permitted him- 
 self this familiarity on rare occasions), ' I am going to insist 
 on your taking that sunset sketch as a present from me. 
 Oh yes, you must. When I have offered anybody any- 
 thing, then it is no longer mine.' 
 
 ' But, good gracious, Mr. Lindsay, what should I do 
 with such a valuable picture?' said Miss Janie, frightened 
 again. 
 
 ' It will become valuable if you accept it,' said he gently. 
 'And there is the very place to hang it, over there; and if 
 Miss Zembra would care to have a little replica of it, I 
 should be very happy to do that for her at any time.' 
 
 He rose and took his hat. 
 
 ' I will send your mother a little reminder note about 
 Thursday next week,' said he. ' And I hope you won't 
 forget your promise about Miss Zembra.'
 
 II r WALTER LINDSAY 45 
 
 'Oh, I'll bring Sabie along,' was the confident answer. 
 * Good-bye.' 
 
 Dark had fallen over Kensington now ; but for him the 
 gray melancholy that hung about the dismal streets was 
 filled with all kinds of brilliant and happy visions. Sabina 
 was coming to his little party ; and now the question was 
 as to what he could do and plan and contrive for the enter- 
 tainment of this radiant visitor. Neither Mrs. Reid nor 
 Mrs. Wygram, to begin with, was to be entrusted with 
 the supper arrangements ; he would go forthwith to a 
 famous confectioner and bid him do his best, sparing 
 neither cost nor trouble. And he would call on the great 
 baritone, and make sure of him. Then, whatever Covent 
 Garden could produce in the way of flowers would make 
 that one night sweet and memorable ; with this proviso, 
 that while the florist might exercise his fancy as he pleased 
 with regard to the little bouquets or button-holes placed on 
 the table for the guests, he — that is to say, the host him- 
 self — would reserve for himself, and for himself alone, 
 the devising of the bouquet that Sabina would find await- 
 ing her !
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 I'RLD FOSTKR 
 
 An angr)- man indeed was Sir Anthony Zenibra when he 
 found that the stranger who had been thus unceremoniously 
 thrust into his house promised to be a fixture there, at 
 least for a considerable time. And naturally he was im- 
 patient to know who he was; but he would not ask Sabina; 
 he made his inquiries of Dr. Hungerford, plainly intimating 
 the while that as likely as not this unwelcome guest was a 
 common swindler, and all the fuss about the hurt knee 
 part of a scheme of robber}', 
 
 ' He would be an enterprising burglar who would get 
 himself smashed about like that on purpose,' said the young 
 surgeon, laughing. ' Anyhow, Sir Anthony, it will be many 
 a day before he is able to run away with anything. And I 
 will say this for him : he tries to make as light of his 
 injuries as may be — especially if Miss Zembra is within 
 hearing, and talks quite contentedly about the whole affair. 
 He has pluck, at all events ' 
 
 *Yes, yes; but — but — God bless my soul, I want to know 
 who he is! Who is he? What is he?' Sir Anthony demanded.
 
 FRED FOSTER 47 
 
 'Well, I think I should call him, speaking generally, a 
 sporting character,' the surgeon answered. 'At least I 
 can't make out that he has any occupation besides riding 
 steeplechases, backing horses, playing billiards, and so forth ; 
 but his interest in such matters seems to be of an all-round 
 character. He offered to lay me six to four on Oxford for 
 the boat-race.' 
 
 ' Professional conversation ! ' Sir Anthony said. 
 
 ' My fault, at all events,' the young surgeon said promptly. 
 ' Well, it is neither that race nor any other that he'll be 
 present at for many a day to come, poor fellow.' 
 
 ' What I want to know is,' observed Sir Anthony, coldly, 
 ' when you mean to remove him from this house. I don't 
 see that we are responsible for the accident in any way 
 whatever ; and really to have one's domestic arrangements 
 upset in this fashion, on behalf of a stranger, is perfectly 
 absurd. Common humanity? Common stupidity! When 
 is this gentleman jockey, or whatever he is — " gentleman 
 jock " is the phrase, isn't it ? — when is he going to clear out 
 of my house?' 
 
 ' Well, now. Sir Anthony,' the surgeon said, ' I would beg 
 of you not to hurry his removal. I would rather not run 
 any risk, unless you have imperative need of the room. 
 I daresay everything will go on well ; his constitution seems 
 to be a sound and healthy one ; and as soon as it is fairly 
 safe we will have him taken away — but not to his own 
 rooms, I hope. Bury Street, St. James's, is not a very
 
 SAliJ.VA ZEMBKA 
 
 cheerful place for a iii.m who will have to he on his back 
 for the next month or two. I don't know what iiis moans 
 are ; but if he could afford to go to Brighton — if he were 
 to get a front room on the King's Road or the Marine 
 Parade, that would be more lively for him. And then on 
 a fine day he might be wheeled down the i)icr on a stretcher, 
 and get the sea air and the sunlight into his blood.' 
 
 ' I cannot say that I feel called upon to concern myself 
 about the young man,' obser\'ed Sir Anthony, in his lofty 
 manner, 'although one naturally wishes him a speedy 
 recovery In the meantime I shall be glad to have the 
 use and freedom of my own house again at the very earliest 
 opportunity.' 
 
 Lady Zembra, for her part, flatly declined to allow the 
 maid Catherine to be for ever dancing attendance on the 
 sick-room ; and as Sabina could not do everything herself 
 — and as, moreover, she could not wholly neglect certain 
 charges of hers down in the Chelsea district — she got in a 
 trained nurse to help her, defraying the cost out of her own 
 pocket. But she herself spent a large portion of each day 
 in the invalid's chamber ; and she would bring him news- 
 papers and illustrated journals and books, and would sit 
 amiably chatting with him to lighten the tedium of this 
 enforced confinement. Fred Foster, it must be confessed, 
 was not much of a reader ; when he had glanced at the 
 latest betting for the Lincolnshire Handicap, and seen how 
 Cherry Blossom stood for the Liverpool Grand National,
 
 FRED FOSTER 49 
 
 he was content to put the evening paper aside, and would 
 rather talk, to Sabina, in a timid and respectful and grateful 
 way. And yet he spoke cheerfully, too, for he would not 
 have her think he was fretting overmuch ; and as they 
 became better friends he was quite frankly garrulous about 
 himself, and his experiences, and companions, and pursuits. 
 It was a new world, this that was being opened to her ; 
 and yet it was interesting in a fashion ; for she was a friendly 
 and sympathetic kind of creature, and accustomed to meet- 
 ing diverse people, who all had their own way of life. And 
 there was a sort of good-natured cynicism and saturnine 
 honesty in this young man's talk that was in a measure 
 attractive ; and he seemed to have seen a good deal of the 
 world for one of his years. 
 
 But it was when he told her all about his home in Buck- 
 inghamshire, and the old people there, that he pleased her 
 most. It appeared that he was returning from a visit to 
 them (having sent on his portmanteau by rail) when he met 
 with the smash in Bayswater Road. His father, he told 
 her, had a good many years ago laid out his last penny on 
 property down Amersham and Missenden way, in the ex- 
 pectation of a railway being made along the valley ; but the 
 railway never came ; land would not sell at all ; farms were 
 letting badly; and times were not as they used to be. Still, 
 that seemed a comfortable home that he talked about ; and 
 Sabina, sitting in this silent room and listening with friendly 
 interest to his idle discourse, could see for herself the big, 
 vol.. I. K
 
 V /AVA* / /I'MnKA 
 
 old-tasluoned, rcil-brick house froiilini; the road ; \\ row of 
 tall elms outside ; inside the low, wide hail, with iis pillars ; 
 rambling corridors and rooms with caseniented windows ; a 
 spacious garden behind ; and, busy in the vineries, an old 
 gentleman in velveteen coat and gaiters, with a velvet cap 
 and tassel on his head, a jiair of shears in his hands, and 
 not far away from him a long clay pipe. 
 
 ' Hut it's the Mater,' he would say (and he was fond of 
 returning to this point, and Sabina liked to hear him speak 
 in this fashion), — ' it's the Mater has been my stand-by 
 through thick and thin ; and whatever happens to me, I 
 know I've got one friend. \\'cll, you see, the governor has 
 been rather inclined to cut up rough with me from time to 
 time, and no wonder, for I have been an idle wretch ; I 
 mean, the only things I can do well don't seem to bring in 
 much coin, and I daresay I have been a disappointment 
 to him. But the old lady is my stanch friend through 
 everything. And mind, I don't mean only in the way of 
 money. No, no. You see, Miss Zembra, a man who has 
 had a little experience in turf affairs, and mixed himself up 
 in that kind of life — well, I don't suppose that he can have 
 the highest notions about human nature, and be too ready 
 to believe in people ; but it's a very capital thing for him if 
 he knows that somewhere or other — no matter where, but 
 somewhere — there is one human being that is just as good 
 as gold. I suppose, now, at my age, my one perfect human 
 being should be a young woman, not an old one — a divinity
 
 FRED FOSTER 51 
 
 and angel about eighteen or twenty. Well, I've never met 
 any of that kind ; I've never met any girl even fit to be com- 
 pared to my mother. It isn't ribbons, and scents, and a 
 dogcart and a pair of ponies driven tandem, for her ; she 
 doesn't think what she can get out of you ; it's what she 
 can do for you, that she thinks of; she's just as good as 
 gold, she is.' 
 
 ' And I hope and am sure you will always think so,' 
 Sabina said. ' But why should you have disappointed your 
 father?' 
 
 ' Well, you see, my wares don't fetch a big price in the 
 world's market,' said he, and there was an odd kind of 
 simplicity in his self-disparagement. ' What am I to do ? 
 I can ride a horse ; and I've even been complimented at 
 times for a niceish bit of mouth-touching. And I play a fair 
 game at billiards. And I'd back myself at a pigeon-match 
 even against the Claimant, and that is saying something ' 
 
 'Pigeon-shooting?' she said — there was the least trace 
 of surprise in her tone, and that of itself was a compli- 
 ment. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon — I shouldn't have mentioned that,' 
 he said, laughing a little. ' Sentiment has changed. But 
 don't you believe the nonsense that is talked about pigeon- 
 shooting, either, Miss Zembra. It used to be the most 
 fashionable thing going ; it isn't now ; and why ? Because 
 it's easy? Because it's merely slaughter? Not a bit ; it's 
 because it's too difficult — and a score is kept. If you put
 
 «;3 Srl/i/.V.4 ZEMBKA 
 
 a man into a lu)t ci»incr at a pheasant-shoot and let hhn 
 hla/c away, ht'll make a bag somehow, and nobody » ounts 
 the misses ; it's diflercnt in an open field, with a crowd of 
 lashionable peoj^le looking on, and the reporters with their 
 note-books just behind you. Did you ever hear of the 
 Lords and Commons pigeon-shooting match at Hurlingham? 
 Xo ; before your time, I suppose. And before mine, too, 
 rather; but I've seen the score; and if you look at that 
 score you'll find how it was that pigeon-shooting ceased to 
 be fashionable. People always turn their backs on what 
 they can't do. You don't like to have all your lady-friends 
 looking on while you show what a duffer you are ; and you 
 don't want to have tlie score in the newspapers next day. 
 Then don't you believe the stories about the maiming of 
 the pigeons either ; that's all newspaper nonsense. Do you 
 think they'd get a single man to lay a sovereign if anything 
 like that were allowed ? No, no ; and of course the betting- 
 men back the pigeon ; they know he'll play fair ; they may 
 not be sure about the noble sportsman ; but they know the 
 bird will try to get away if he can. You can't " pull " a 
 pigeon.' 
 
 However, he saw by the expression of her face — and 
 ' in her hazel eyes her thoughts lay clear, as pebbles in a 
 brook ' — that this was not a wholly grateful subject ; and he 
 got away from it. She was far more pleased by his descrip- 
 tions of the morning gallops, before breakfast, on Epsom 
 Downs ; and he spoke rather wistfully about them ; and she
 
 FRED FOSTER 53 
 
 thought it a pitiable thing that he should be lying here, help- 
 less. But whether he spoke wistfully or cheerfully, all the 
 way through these chance conversations there ran an innocent 
 assumption that she must be interested ; and she did become 
 interested, without hardly knowing why. For one thing, he 
 talked about horses with a genuine enthusiasm ; and she 
 grew to sympathise in his admiration of skilful riding ; and 
 could almost understand how Jem Robinson burst into tears 
 of vexation when he found he had been tricked by the lad 
 Twitchet ; and she was sorry for Fordham when she was 
 told how Sam Rogers had served him the same turn. It 
 was a new world to her ; and there were plenty of strange 
 characters in it, and striking incidents, and moving histories. 
 She grew almost familiar with its physical aspects ; when he 
 described the Grand National course, she had to construct 
 in her imagination the successive thorn-fences and hurdles 
 bushed with gorse, and Beecher's Brook, and Valentine's 
 Brook, and the Water Jump, and then again the hurdles on 
 the straight way for home. Cherry Blossom was now at 
 1 1 to 2, and still first favourite ; and how could she help 
 hoping the horse would win, seeing that this young man, 
 who seemed so good-natured, and cheerful, and patient, 
 under his grievously bad luck, was so obviously anxious 
 about it? 
 
 The Duke of Exminstcr called on P>ed Foster to see 
 how he was getting on ; and very sorry was that young 
 gentleman that Sabina happened to be out.
 
 54 SABIAA ZKMliKA OHAP. 
 
 * Vcr)' sorry,' he said ; ' I should like you to have mcl, 
 if just for once, the very straiL;hlest man that ever had any- 
 thing to do with the I'.nglish turf — the very straii;htest, and 
 all his life through, too. I wonder who ever heard of him 
 "readying" a horse and running it out of form so as to 
 scoop the big handicap afterwards ' 
 
 ' But is it so unusual to find an honest man on the turf?' 
 Sabina asked. 
 
 He did not answer; he only said evasively, and a little 
 grimly, ' Horse-racing is a great game ; and it has got to 
 be played different ways.' 
 
 Now, as has already been said, the training that Sabina 
 had voluntarily undergone had taught her a wide catholicity 
 of sympathy ; and she had long ago got rid of any Phari- 
 saical notion that because a certain way of life is right for 
 this or that person, it is necessarily so for all. This kind of 
 life that he described, if it did not appear to be informed 
 by any lofty purpose, or to be exerting any beneficial in- 
 fluence on others, was nevertheless apparently joyous and 
 merr}', and so far it was distinctly well; while it was certainly 
 not one whit more selfish than the lives of the vast majority 
 of the people — highly respectable and praiseworthy people 
 — whom she saw around her. Perhaps there was a trifle 
 too much luncheon-basket in it ; and there was a pretty 
 continuous popping of champagne-bottles ; but on the other 
 hand that was probably the handiest way of celebrating 
 victories ; and, for the rest, there seemed to be a consider-
 
 IV FRED FOSTER 55 
 
 able amount of good comradeship and generous help for 
 the unfortunate in this set that he described. Nay, when 
 she began and told him a little of how she spent her own 
 time — what her occupations were, and so forth — he said he 
 was quite ashamed of himself; and wondered what she 
 would think of him, who could but talk of horses, and 
 hounds, and partridges, and tennis courts, while she was 
 engaged in such unselfish and noble work. 
 
 ' But then,' said he, looking at her, ' there are not many 
 like you.' 
 
 'What do you mean?' she said. 
 
 * Oh, I can't tell you to your face,' he answered gently ; 
 and then an unaccustomed flush mantled in the pale and 
 beautiful forehead ; and she turned quickly aside to get for 
 him his lemon-juice and soda-water, which was the beverage 
 allowed him at this time. 
 
 On another occasion he said, ' You know, it's awfull) 
 good of you, Miss Zembra, to bother yourself about me, 
 and to come and chat with me now and again ; and you so 
 busy. But I have remorse of conscience ; I have indeed. I 
 really must ask you not to let me take up so much of your 
 time — there are so many others who have better claims.' 
 
 ' Perhaps you forget how you came to be here at all,' 
 said Sabina. 
 
 ' Oh, but you must put that out of your head,' he 
 insisted. ' You were in no way responsible for the accident. 
 Anybody's dog would have brought about the same thing.
 
 56 SA/i/JVA /.EMHKA 
 
 (.)r ralhcr, it was my own slupiiiily thai did it; fur I should 
 have scon the httlc heap of gravel. Or rather — and this 
 is tlie truth — it was a piece of pure bad hick. I've come 
 a cropper many a time before ; but this time, by pure bad 
 luck, I chanced to hit the kerbstone. Well, why should 
 you consider yourself responsible for that ? However, you 
 must not think me ungrateful for all your goodness to me ; 
 and I have been wondering whether you wouldn't let me 
 take a little part in what you are doing. I mean,' he 
 added, with a touch of half-amused embarrassment, ' you 
 might bring me luck — that is, supposing Schiller were to 
 win the Shipley Hall Handicap on Tuesday next, would 
 you accept a ten-pound note for distribution among your 
 poor people ? ' 
 
 * Oh yes, certainly, if you care to give it me,' said Miss 
 Zembra promptly; she had long ago ceased to be squeamish 
 about such matters. 
 
 'It's rather a shabby offer, isn't it, to make it con- 
 ditional ? ' he continued. ' But every loose farthing I've 
 got I've put on that horse ; and if I were out and about 
 now I'd sell my boots, I believe, and clap everything on ; 
 for it's as good as a moral, so the Duke says. And then 
 there's the glory — you see, I own a si.xth share in this 
 
 horse ' 
 
 Miss Zembra had taken up the evening paper; she 
 wanted to know something about the animal that was 
 perhaps to win ten pounds for her.
 
 FRED FOSTER 57 
 
 The Derby Meeting,' he said. 'The Shipley Hall 
 Handicap.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, here it is,' she said. ' Schiller, 4 to i against. 
 That does not look promising, does it ? ' 
 
 'Promising enough. I wish it was 20 to i. I know 
 the old horse will pull it off for us this time, though it 
 isn't a big thing. We can't all be dukes.' 
 
 ' But with regard to the ten pounds, now,' said Sabina 
 rather diffidently ; ' I am afraid I accepted heedlessly.' 
 
 ' Oh, a bargain's a bargain,' he said, with much cheer- 
 fulness ; ' and I think you'll find by next Tuesday afternoon 
 that Schiller has landed you that ten-pound note for your 
 pensioners : the money might go a worse way.' 
 
 It may be said generally that he bore this imprisonment 
 with really remarkable fortitude, the more so that, when 
 Sabina was absent, the other members of the household 
 did nothing at all to relieve his solitude. Lady Zembra 
 was so kind as to make inquiries about him from day to 
 day of the nurse; and Sir Anthony would ask an occasional 
 question of the doctor; but it was very clear that their 
 solicitude was prompted solely by their desire to know 
 when he was going away. In these circumstances, Sabina 
 did what she could to keep him amused; and gave him as 
 much of her time as was possible; and in this way she came 
 to know his history, even from his boyhood's days, in a 
 curiously intimate fashion. He liked to talk; he was grate- 
 ful to so gentle and considerate a listener; for, indeed, in
 
 S8 SAL'/.y.l /.EMBKA OllAP. 
 
 her attitiulc tow.mls liiin llicrc was an almost maternal 
 kindliness aiul patience and sympathy. One would 
 scarcely have remembered that, as a matter of Hict, he 
 was a couple of years older than she was. He talked to 
 her as if he knew she would pass no harsh judgment when 
 he made confession; and also as if he was sure beforehand 
 that she would like well enough to know all about his first 
 pistol, and his adventures with his pony, and his bird- 
 stuffing, and his various scrapes at school, and the gradual 
 way in which in after life he became associated with the 
 sporting world. She got to understand all about his some- 
 what strained relations with his father; his dependence 
 on his mother, and his abundant gratitude towards her; 
 his general habits of life; his opinions of particular men; 
 his manner of looking at the tricks of fickle fortune. More- 
 over, through all this self-revelation there ran a vein of 
 sarcasm that gave it piquanc)^ His judgment of people 
 and things was shrewd and sharp; so was his judgment of 
 himself; and there was a kind of innocent saturnine 
 honesty about him that amused her, and attracted her at 
 the same time. 
 
 ' If I had broken my neck that time I pitched on the 
 pavement,' he said, on one occasion, ' I suppose I should 
 have had to give an account of myself. Well, I should 
 just have said this : " Lord, there are some would tell you I 
 was a very good sort of fellow; but I know I've been rather 
 a bad sort of fellow; only, I was just what you made me.'"
 
 FRED FOSTER 59 
 
 And it was hardly her business to point out to him that 
 this theory of moral responsibility — or irresponsibility — 
 was of a primitive and unworkable character. One thing, 
 finally, was certain; this man interested her; and Janie 
 Wygram had maintained that, so far, Sabina had never 
 shown herself interested (in Janie's sense of the phrase) 
 in any man.
 
 CHATTER V 
 
 SER FEDERIGO S FALCON 
 
 Naturally Janie Wygram regarded with anything but 
 favour the young man who was thus claiming so much of 
 her beloved Sabie's attention; and her jealousy of him 
 made her all the more determined that Sabina should go 
 to Walter Lindsay's party. 
 
 'But why should I go?' Sabina said quite good- 
 naturedly. ' Some people are interested in such things, 
 but I am not. Standing about among a lot of half- 
 strangers and trying to talk about things that arc quite 
 indifferent to you ' 
 
 ' Oh, but Sabie, you don't know,' her friend said ; ' it's 
 not like that at Mr, Lindsay's. They're small parties, and 
 there's no one asked who isn't either clever, or pretty, or 
 remarkable in some way; and there is every kind of free- 
 dom and amusement and merriment. You will find no 
 old people there at all except mother, who is to play 
 duenna for all of us.' 
 
 ' No, no, Janie,' Sabina said ; ' I should most likely 
 be tired by that time of night, and you wouldn't want a
 
 CHAP. V SER FEDERIGOS FALCON 6i 
 
 kill-joy to come in among a lot of young folks amusing 
 themselves.' 
 
 ' But you can't help going, Sabie, dear,' her friend said 
 insidiously. 
 
 ' Indeed. And why ?' 
 
 ' Not when I tell you that you will confer a great kind- 
 ness on several people, and on two in particular. That is 
 enough reason for you, Sabie.' 
 
 Sabina laughed; it was a dexterous piece of flattery. 
 
 'But who are the two people in particular?' she asked. 
 
 'Mr. Lindsay is the one, and I am the other.' 
 
 ' Then I will go to please you,' Sabina said, in her frank 
 and generous way; and forthwith the glad -hearted Janie 
 made swiftly for her own room to send a little note to Mr. 
 Lindsay, informing him of the joyful news. 
 
 As the eventful evening drew near, the little Mrs. 
 Wygram assumed a more and more important air ; for she 
 had undertaken to superintend the domestic arrangements 
 for the young artist; and she was in all his secrets; and 
 very earnest were their confabulations together. But one 
 afternoon she came home looking rather puzzled. 
 
 'Janie,' she said to her daughter, 'what is it about a 
 falcon ? ' 
 
 ' What falcon, mother ? ' 
 
 ' I don't understand at all ; but twice to-day he has said 
 the same thing ; you see, I was remonstrating with him 
 about his extravagance ; and really the way he is going on
 
 6» SABINA ZRMBRA «iiai'. 
 
 is absurd ; oh, I assure you. there is nothinj; in Covent 
 Clarden half good enough ; I l>eheve he woulil telegraph to 
 the Hr.i/ils if tliere was time to get bat k the things. \\'ell, 
 I was saying how absurd it was, and tiiat people did not 
 c.\i>cci such entertainments at a bachelor's house ; and then 
 it was he saitl, " I wish there was nothing left but my falcon." 
 And then again he said, " lUit when is the falcon to be 
 brought in ? " And when 1 asked hiiu what falcon, he only 
 laughed and turned to something else.' 
 
 •Mother,' cried Janie, 'don't you know? Don't you 
 know the old Italian story ? ' 
 
 The mother looked as puzzled as ever. 
 
 ' Why, it has been told a hundred times. It was about 
 a young gentleman of Florence who wasted all his wealth 
 in giving entertainments to please his lady-love, but she 
 did not care for him ; she married some one else ; and he 
 went away into the country, very poor, and having nothing 
 left him but his pet falcon. Then by and by she became 
 a widow ; and she was living in the country, too ; and her 
 little boy fell sick, and nothing would do but that he must 
 have the falcon that he had seen flying over the neighbour- 
 ing garden. So she went with another lady to the house, 
 and there was her former lover, and he was greatly dis- 
 tressed that there was nothing in the house he could have 
 cooked for them, for she had said that she would eat some- 
 thing. Do you understand now, mother ? He bade his 
 sen-ant go quickly and strangle the falcon — the last of all his
 
 V SEN FEDE Rico's FALCON 61, 
 
 possessions — and that was cooked and brought in and set 
 before them. And then, of course, when the lady made 
 her request about the falcon, he had to confess what he had 
 done in order to entertain her ; and she was so much struck 
 by his generosity that she fell in love with him, and married 
 him. Have you never heard the story ? The young gentle- 
 man's name was Federigo ; and the lady's Monna Giovanna. 
 And you may be sure that was what Mr. Lindsay meant, 
 mother ; and very certain I am that he would be content 
 to part with everything he has, and to sacrifice pet falcon 
 and everything else, if that would only win him his Monna 
 Giovanna.' 
 
 ' And who may she be ? ' the mother said demurely. 
 
 ' Oh, of course, you don't know, mother ! It would 
 never enter your head — not for a moment — that it was our 
 Sabie who is Mr. Lindsay's Monna Giovanna.' 
 
 ' What fools men are ! ' the mother sighed. 
 
 ' They may or they may not be ; I don't know,' the 
 daughter said valiantly; 'but I do know that if I were a 
 man I should consider myself a fool if I were not in love 
 with Sabie.' 
 
 And at length the great evening arrived ; and everything 
 had been done that the most anxious consideration could 
 think of; and all that was wanting now was the presence of 
 Sabina to irradiate the feast. As a matter of fact, she and 
 Mrs. Wygram and Janie came rather late ; all the others 
 had assembled, and were idling away the time in the studio,
 
 04 SABINA ZEMBRA chai-. 
 
 laughing niul joking aiul rxaminii^i; the skcl< lies ; l»iil Waller 
 Lindsay was in the I'roiU «>f the house, i)y himself, and 
 rather ner\x)usly waiting. 'I'hcn there was the noise of a 
 cab ; the gate bell was rung ; and the next moment he was 
 outside and down through the little garden, just in time to 
 receive them. This was rather a dusky thoroughfare ; and 
 the yellow gas lamps gave but little relief ; but it seemed 
 to him that when Sabina stepped out on to the i)ave- 
 ment — so tall and queenly she was, and yet with such a frank 
 and generous good nature in her face — that there was some 
 kind of moonlight around. He had eyes only for her ; he 
 was a little bewildered ; she seemed something radiant — 
 here in the dusk. 
 
 'It is very kind of you to come,' he said; but he did 
 not know what he was saying. 
 
 He accompanied them into the house ; could this beau- 
 tiful creature know how great a favour she was conferring 
 by merely stepping within the door ? And she smiled so 
 graciously on the little maid who asked them to go into the 
 improvised cloak-room : did she know that that too was 
 a kindness? — that she could so easily make friends with 
 her winning looks and her gentle manner ? But at this 
 moment Janie Wygram hung back from her companions, 
 and said to him, in a half-whisper, ' Is the falcon being 
 cooked ? " 
 
 ' There is no such luck for me,' said he ; and then 
 he added quickly, ' but do you tliink, now, that Miss
 
 V SER FEDERIGO'S FALCON 65 
 
 Zembra could be prevailed upon to take away some little 
 trifle as a souvenir? There are all kinds of things in the 
 studio — if you found her interested in any of them, could 
 you give me a hint — anything, no matter what — anything 
 
 in the house ' 
 
 ' I don't know,' said Miss Janie ; but she could not add 
 another word then, for she had to follow her companions 
 into the cloak-room. 
 
 Forthwith he sent word to have supper served as soon 
 as possible ; and when these new guests reappeared he 
 would have them remain in the drawing-room. He seemed 
 to forget the others whom he had left in the studio. It 
 was Sabina whom he wanted to look at these sketches, and 
 medallions, and miniatures, and what not ; and so anxious 
 was he to interest her, and so strangely did the magic of 
 her presence affect him, that his fingers were not so steady 
 as they might have been. 
 
 'Why, your hand shakes,' she said (for she was rather 
 blunt-spoken on occasion). ' What is it ? Too much Arts 
 Club at midnight?' 
 
 It was a cruel speech, though it was not meant cruelly. 
 How could he explain to her what it was that made his 
 hand a trifle unsteady ? Or how could he say to her that 
 he would willingly never enter within the doors of the Arts 
 Club again, if she but expressed the slightest wish on the 
 subject ? 
 
 'But your other friends, Mr. Lindsay?' said Mrs. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 S.-l/{/X.-l /./WfBh'.t 
 
 W'ygram, who fonsidorcd licrscif rcsponsil)lc for llic proper 
 conduct of tlic procccilings. ' Sliould \vc not go into the 
 studio?" 
 
 • Oil no,' said he ; ' they're all rii;ht. l5orella is there ; 
 he will keep them lively enoui;h.' In fact, they could hear 
 the sound of a piano in the distance. ' That is another 
 thing I wanted to warn you about, Miss Janie. Don't you 
 keep insisting on encores. Borella is the best fellow in the 
 world, but he is rather noisy, and he likes to monopolise 
 the piano. Now when he wants to go, let him go ; and 
 then we shall have a nice quiet evening by ourselves.' 
 
 Of course, Miss Janie knew very well it was about 
 Sabina he was thinking ; perhaps she might not like too 
 hilarious an evening ; for there was something grave and 
 serious in her manner, even with all its gracious sweetness. 
 
 Then came the butler (he was a butler only at night ; 
 by day he was an old -man model, and favourably known 
 throughout the studios for his prominent nose and shaggy 
 eyebrows : it should be said, moreover, that his ability in 
 both capacities was marked, and thai he could decant a 
 bottle of port just as well as he could pose as an ancient 
 Highland cateran, or a scowling miser, or a smiling grand- 
 papa) to say that supper was served ; and Mr. Lindsay 
 escorted these three guests into the dining-room. It was 
 a clever little scheme. 
 
 'Miss Zembra,' said he, ' will you take this scat, if you 
 please? Mrs. Wygram has been so kind as to offer to take
 
 V SER FEDERIGO'S FALCON 67 
 
 the other end of the table — she can see that things are 
 going on rightly — and — and the servants understand ' 
 
 It was a clever little scheme ; for now, without fear of 
 any mistake, Miss Zembra would be seated next him, and 
 on his right hand also ; and there awaiting her was the 
 bouquet he had himself designed for her ; while Mrs. 
 Wygram, instead of being annoyed at not finding herself in 
 the place of honour, considered herself promoted to the posi- 
 tion of mistress of the feast. Janie Wygram smiled to herself, 
 but said nothing ; and with a light heart Walter Lindsay 
 went away to summon his other guests from the studio. 
 
 It was a pretty scene at that supper-table when they 
 had all come in and taken their places — the shining silver 
 and the Venetian glass ; the shaded candles shedding a 
 soft roseate glow on the cover ; the abundant flowers ; the 
 baskets of fruit ; the faces of the young men and maidens 
 growing blither as the talk became more and more animated. 
 And if there was a trifle too much noise in the neighbour- 
 hood of the blackavised baritone — who was telling very, 
 very old stories in half- intelligible English, and laughing 
 boisterously at the same — well, that was all the more con- 
 venient for any of the quieter folk, who perhaps had their 
 own little sentences (timid and hesitating, and hardly 
 daring to say all that might be said) to communicate to 
 each other in their small, separate sets. Walter Lindsay 
 was not sorry to be able to murmur a word or two unheard 
 by the general crowd, even if there was no particular secret
 
 (^ SAR/NA ZEMHKA « lui'. 
 
 to be conveyed ; il was sotuething that he aniUl speak to 
 Sahina, as it were, alone. And tlien she was looking so 
 beautiful this evening — so calm, and bland, and com- 
 plaisant ; and the gracious outline of her neck, as she bent 
 forward a little to listen, was sonicihing to steal one's heart 
 away. Her stepmother had saiil she was a dowtly in her 
 dress. \\'ell, on ordinary busy days she generally wore a 
 tight-fitting gown of brownish-gray homespun, with a jacket 
 to match ; and her brown felt bonnet was serviceable 
 enough ; and if you had met her in Kensington High Street, 
 or in Cromwell Road, you would have thought little of the 
 costume, though perhaps her stature, and her gait, and the 
 set of her head might have attracted a brief notice. But 
 to-night there was naturally something different. She wore 
 a dress of pale blue Indian silk, with a fichu of faintly 
 yellow lace coming round the neck and bosom ; and for 
 sole ornament, where the fichu met the gown, there was a 
 bunch of real forget-me-nots. Walter Lindsay looked at 
 these from time to time. What falcon would he not have 
 sacrificed to gain possession of any one of them ? 
 
 And yet he had a little score to settle with her. If any 
 other person had told him that he had a shaky hand, he 
 would not have heeded much ; besides such was not the 
 case, for although he had the artist's temperament, and 
 was exceedingly sensitive in many ways, his nerves were as 
 sound as a bell. But that Sabina should have taunted him 
 was too bad ; and her reference to the Arts Club !
 
 V SER FEDERIGO'S FALCON 69 
 
 ' Miss Zembra,' he made bold to say (but still in that 
 undertone that he seemed to prefer), ' what did you mean 
 by saying that my hand shook?' 
 
 ' Did I ?' she said, and she looked up. And then some- 
 thing in his manner appeared to amuse her. ' If I hurt 
 your feelings, I am very sorry.' 
 
 'What did you mean by too much Arts Club at mid- 
 night?' said he, for he was determined to clear himself of 
 the charge. 
 
 'I am a hospital nurse on occasion,' she said, laughing. 
 ' I suppose I spoke' professionally. But really, I did not 
 mean anything serious, Mr. Lindsay — oh, of course 
 not.' 
 
 ' But I'm going to have it out with you,' said he. 
 ' I want just to see whether you or I have the steadier 
 hand ' 
 
 ' No, no ; if I apologise to you ' 
 
 ' But I want to see. Now just you lift your wine-glass 
 and I will hold up mine, and we will see who can let them 
 come closest without actually touching.' 
 
 Well, she was good-natured; they went through that 
 little performance ; and certainly both their hands now 
 seemed steady enough. 
 
 'Can I do more than apologise?' she said, as she put 
 down her glass again. 'I did not mean to offend you.' 
 
 ' Offend me !' He looked at her ; that was all. 
 
 Meanwhile, the robust baritone had chanced to catch
 
 \.l/:/.y.l ZEMBKA 
 
 sight o!" thai raising ol" glasses, and imagining ih.u it was 
 merely the revival of an okl custom, lie set to work at iiis 
 end of the table, and presently there was a good deal of 
 drinking of healths and clinking of glasses, with even an 
 occasional *■ Stosst an! — sttzt an! — fcrti^ ! — los ! It was 
 in the midst oi this hul)hub of chatter and merriment 
 that Mrs. Wygram found an opportunity of saying to her 
 daughter, who happened to sit next her : 
 
 *Janie, don't look up the table, but do you know what 
 is going on ? I can tell you. Are you aware that your 
 darling Sabina is showing herself as nothing else than an 
 outrageous flirt ?' 
 
 'She is not, mother!' Janie said indignantly. 'She 
 doesn't know what flirtation is !' 
 
 ' It's a remarkable good imitation of it then that is going 
 on up there,' said the little old lady, still with her eyes 
 cast down. ' I've never seen anything worse anywhere. 
 Why, Mr. Lindsay has not said a word to a soul since we 
 sat down to supper; he has eyes and ears for nobody 
 but her !' 
 
 'And whose fault is that?' said Janie; 'that is his 
 fault, not hers. Of course, she is kind to him, as she 
 would be to any one sitting in his place. It's little you 
 know about Sabie if you think that of her.' 
 
 ' I can use my eyes,' said Mrs. Wygram, ' and they're 
 older than yours, my girl,' 
 
 ' You know you're only saying that to vex me, mother ;
 
 V SE/i FEDERIGdS FALCON 71 
 
 and you can't do it. No, you can't ; I know Sabie better 
 than that.' 
 
 'At all events,' the mother said, to close this under- 
 hand discussion, — 'at all events Mr. Lindsay is having one 
 happy evening in his life.' 
 
 Nor was Mrs. Wygrani the only one who was casually 
 observant of what was going on at the upper end of the 
 table. A tall, rather good-looking fellow — a recently 
 elected Associate he was, and very proud of his new honours 
 — said to his neighbour, who was a lively little maiden with 
 a roseate face, a piquant nose, and raven-black hair, ' Who 
 is the lady of the forget-me-nots?' 
 
 She glanced up the table. 
 
 ' Oh, don't you know ? That is Miss Zenibra — a 
 daughter of Sir Anthony Zembra — the Parliament man, 
 don't you know? Pretty, isn't she?' 
 
 ' How long have Walter Lindsay and she known each 
 other ?' he asked. There was some kind of significance 
 in his tone. 
 
 ' I think for some time,' said his companion. ' But I 
 believe she has never been in his house before. She doesn't 
 care for such things — nursing babies and old women is 
 more in her line. It's all very well if they would only 
 wash their faces.' 
 
 'Oh, they've known each other for some time?' 
 
 ' I believe so.' 
 
 'Oh, they've known each other for some time?'
 
 73 S.(/i/\.t /EM UK A 
 
 What did lie tnc.m I)) lliis rcpcliliDii ? \\'hal lie was 
 trying to do, at all events, was to get his companion to 
 raise her eyes to his, to ask what his meaning was ; bill 
 she was a shrewd little lass, and knew better than to be 
 drawn into any such understanding. 
 
 ' Well, 1 suppose it's none of my business,' he said 
 finally ; and that was a very sensible cont lusion. 
 
 And now did Walter Lindsay call down the blessings of 
 heaven on Borella's wildly-matted head ; for the noisy 
 baritone had taken to performing conjuring tricks, and the 
 attention of every one at the table was directed towards 
 him. And Sabina wished to look on also, for she loved 
 amusement as well as any one, when the chance was there, 
 but her companion would not let her. He was sure she 
 had had no supper at all. A little more wine, then ? for 
 she seemed to like the perfume of that golden-clear vino di 
 Capri. He was so sorry she had had no supper. It was 
 a shame that she had come to his house merely to be 
 star\-ed ; perhaps she would never come again, after such 
 treatment? Some fruit, then, just to show that she had 
 not been quite neglected ? Not a slice of pine-apple, nor 
 half a dozen grapes, even ? Some strawberrie.s, then ? 
 
 ' Grapes and strawberries in the middle of March ? ' she 
 said, with a smile. 'Really, it is perfectly wicked.' 
 
 And then there was on his lips some wild reference to 
 Ser Federigo's envied hapjjiness in the destruction of his 
 falcon, but fortunately he did not go so far ; he contented
 
 V SER FEDERIGO'S FALCON 73 
 
 himself with engrossing her attention so that she could not 
 see any of the conjuring ; and he would have her tell him 
 more of her experiences among the mudlarks down Lambeth 
 way. Were they all so cynical ? And not so grateful to 
 her as they might be ? Was she not afraid of having her 
 pocket picked? And the one of them who was her 
 champion and chief confidant — could he be found out 
 now, by a stranger? Would he like to have a good, 
 substantial, mid-day dinner given him, and thereafter a 
 boat that he might sail on the ponds in Battersea Park, 
 supposing that such an amusement were permitted ? 
 
 Well, Sabina had a generous faculty of being pleased 
 with whoever was talking to her for the moment ; and 
 he was her host, moreover, and all the others were occupied 
 with their own affairs ; so she had leisure to tell him about 
 these and other things. And ever the glamour of her clear 
 soft hazel eyes was working him further and further woe. 
 Her rounded white arms were near him ; the dimple in 
 her cheek showed when she laughed ; her beautiful brown 
 hair was still more beautiful in the softened light. But 
 these things were as nothing. It was her eyes he sought ; 
 and these were so friendly, and pleased, and benignant 
 that who would have accused them of working him woe ? 
 Nor did he care. He drank the sweet madness, the fell 
 poison, without stint, and recklessly and joyously ; this 
 night was to be at least one happy night in his life ; he had 
 Sabie all to himself — and he was drinking in her pleased
 
 74 SAB/NA /.EM BR A 
 
 glances and her smiles as if tliev were strong wine ; the 
 years to tome, whatever there might be in them, could 
 never deprive him of that gold-and-rosc-tintcd memory. 
 
 At length the conjuring came to an end ; and it was 
 Herr r.orcUa himself who suggested that they should go 
 away into the studio to have a little music ; he had to leave 
 soon, he explained. And then there was a fetching ol 
 wraps for the womenfolk ; and somehow Walter Lindsay 
 managed to secure Sabina's long fur cloak ; and he it was 
 who put it round her shoulders, and would even insist that 
 it was properly fastened at the throat, for the night was 
 cold. When they went outside into the back garden, at 
 the farther end of which was the studio, they found that 
 the night skies had grown clearer, and stars were shining 
 palely overhead. Sabina thought of the dark early morning 
 in East London, and of her crossing from the nurses' 
 dormitory to the wards ; she was a little grave as the 
 ghostlike procession passed along from the house, through 
 this weird gloom, to the yellow light of the studio- 
 door. 
 
 All within there, however, was brightness ; the gas and 
 candles lit ; the fire burning briskly ; the piano open ; 
 plenty of music scattered everywhere. The great baritone 
 set to work at once ; he was frank enough. He sang them 
 'O du, mein holder Abendstern' from Tannhduser — a 
 young lady in spectacles accompanying him ; and then he 
 himself sat down at the piano, and sang —
 
 V - SER FEDERIGO'S FALCON 75 
 
 ' Fern in die Welt, 
 Weit, weit von dir, 
 St rah let dein Bild 
 Tief, tief in inir.' 
 
 One would scarcely have expected a man who had been so 
 boisterous and uproarious at supper to sing with so much 
 feeling ; but the quality of his art was very fine indeed ; 
 more than one young woman there was rather lumpy about 
 the throat when he finished. Then, after he had sung one 
 or two more things, and bade such as he knew good-night, 
 and lit a big cigar, and gone away, the young folks began 
 on their own account ; and as there happened to be lying 
 open a volume of old-fashioned glees and madrigals and 
 duets, they were soon in the midst of these. It was a 
 careless, happy-go-lucky series of performances ; when they 
 broke down, they turned over the page to the next one ; 
 sometimes a newcomer would stroll over and give them a 
 helping hand. But the young lady in spectacles knew her 
 business, at all events ; and so in one way or another they 
 got along, with laughter and jests thrown in. Now it was 
 ' Foresters, sound the cheerful horn,' or ' The chough and 
 crow to roost are gone,' or ' Hark, the bonny Christ Church 
 bells,' or ' Here's a health to all good lasses,' and again it 
 was ' Chloe found Amyntas lying,' or 
 
 ' Sigh 710 more., ladies ; ladies, sigh no more, 
 Men were deceivers ever. ' 
 
 All this while Walter Lindsay was seated on a sofa with
 
 76 S.^/{/.V.^ /.EMlit^A . iiAi'. 
 
 babuu ab Ins sole i oiiipanion. On coming into the studio 
 he had perforce \xx\A a hiilc aliciuion lo his other guests ; 
 but once he had got them fairly started on this occupation, 
 he had gone back to her — how could he help it? And 
 Sabiiia s;it and listened, her hands folded, her eyes 
 pleased ; she had the air of one looking on, rather than 
 of one participating; but surely it was with no unkindly 
 regard. 
 
 'How pretty that is 1' she said, rather wistfully, on one 
 occasion. 
 
 The tall young Associate was at the piano ; and it was 
 his neighbour at supper who had now taken the place of 
 the spectacled young lady ; and he was bending over the 
 accompanist, so that their heads were very near together — 
 his a fair chestnut-brown, hers a raven-black. And they 
 were singing — with a careless bass thrown in by a gentle- 
 man standing opposite the fire — 
 
 ' Tell rue, shepherds, have you seen 
 My Flora pass this way. ' 
 
 'Yes, it is a pretty air,' Walter Lind.say said. 
 
 'Ah, but I did not mean that,' Sabina said, in her low 
 voice. ' It is the picture that looks so pretty — the two 
 young people together, and singing ' 
 
 And why, asked Lindsay of himself, should she look 
 and speak so wistfully ? Was she not herself young and 
 more beautiful than any ? Was she to be for ever a spec- 
 tator? Did she regard herself as one cut off from the
 
 V S£/^ FEDEKIGO'S FALCON 77 
 
 amusements, the associations, the hopes of young people ? 
 And where was the need of any such sacrifice ? 
 
 ' Tell me,' warbled the young lady at the piano — ' Tell 
 vie r roared the basso at the fireplace — ' Shepherds, have you 
 seen,' struck in the young Associate, who had a very fair 
 tenor voice ; but Lindsay did not heed them ; he was think- 
 ing of Sabina, and of her way of life, and of her future. 
 And if he was bold enough to consider how easy it would 
 be for her to give him one of those forget-me-nots ? Well, 
 if that wild fancy crossed his mind, it was but for a moment. 
 He was far away from that, and he knew it. But why 
 should he fret ? Sabina was here, and by his side ; and 
 she was bland and smiling and kind ; and ever he drank 
 fresh draughts of bewildering gladness and madness from 
 the shining beauty of her eyes. 
 
 By this time the black-haired maiden at the piano had 
 had enough of duets and glees. 
 
 'Go and get up a dance,' she said, in her imperative 
 way, to her companion ; and as the young painter dutifully 
 obeyed, she began to play the slow and gracious music of 
 a minuet. However, it was no minuet that was in the 
 young lady's mind. She only wished in that way to 
 introduce the idea of dancing. As soon as the easels 
 and chairs and couches had been removed, and the 
 young men were choosing their partners, she started off 
 with 'Sir Roger de Coverley,' and that at a rattling 
 pace.
 
 7S SABIAA ZEMBKA CHAP. 
 
 •Will you join ihcin?' Walter l.iiuls^iy said to his 
 companion. 
 
 ' I think I would rather K)ok on,' Sabina answered. 
 
 •Then give me the tlance, and we will sit it out to- 
 gether,' said he. 
 
 She nodded and smiled ; that was more to lier liking. 
 
 •Will you give me them all on the same terms?' said he 
 quickly. ' I don't wish to dance.' 
 
 But she did not answer this ; she was looking on with 
 interest at the formation of the two long lines. 
 
 And so Lindsay and this fell enchantress were left to- 
 gether again ; and, as the wild romp in the middle of the 
 floor went on, he was telling her all about his work and his 
 plans for the summer (in answer to her questions, of course), 
 and he was describing to her the secret sylvan haunts he 
 knew, and the remote little inns he stayed at, and so forth ; 
 and as all this naturally led up to his drawings and sketches, 
 he took her away into a corner to show her a big portfolio 
 of these. And meanwhile he was forming a dark design in 
 his brain. When the ' Sir Roger de Coverley ' ended, he 
 withdrew from her side for a moment. 
 
 ' Percy,' he said to the tall young painter, * get up a 
 cotillon.' 
 
 ' Don't know how.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, you do,' was the hurried rejoinder. ' Anybody 
 will show you. Do, like a good fellow — and look sharp !' 
 
 And then he was back at her side again. Now, in the
 
 V SER FEDERIGO'S FALCON 79 
 
 corner where the portfolio was, there stood a triangular 
 Chippendale cabinet, filled with various kinds of bric-a-brac^ 
 and amongst these — and the gem of the collection — was a 
 small chalice of rock-crystal, elaborately studded round with 
 uncut stones of diverse colours. In itself it was a most 
 beautiful thing ; besides which it was obviously of great age 
 and value. Sabina was looking in at these shelves with a 
 woman's curiosity. 
 
 ' Do you know what that dance is?' he asked of her. 
 
 She glanced over her shoulder carelessly. 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' It is a cotillon,' said he, rather breathlessly. ' And 
 you gave it me, you know.' 
 
 'Did I?' said she, with something of an amused look; 
 what could it matter whether she had made this useless 
 promise or not ? 
 
 ' Oh yes, you did,' he said eagerly. ' We are in it, if we 
 choose. And do you know what the peculiarity of this 
 dance is ? — that you are allowed to make your partner a 
 little present. Oh, I assure you it is so — and — and this is 
 what I want you to accept from me.' 
 
 He opened the cabinet, and took out the jewel-bestudded 
 wine-cup. Sabina rather shrank back. 
 
 'Oh no, oh no,' she said. 'You are very kind — but — 
 but I have no place to keep such things — besides, I could 
 not take it — Mr. Lindsay, please be good enough not to 
 ask me.'
 
 So ^ l/</\A /tMi:K.\ ciiAi'. 
 
 llcr I'yi's wt-rc canu-st ; and tlicy coiiKi make him do 
 anyihing. Hut Ik- was imsatisficcl aiul anxious and a link- 
 bit reckless, jKrhaps. 
 
 'Then, if you will not take, will you give?' he made 
 bold to say, l)ut under his breath. ' Miss Janie says that 
 is more in your way. And if I ask a favour of you ? You 
 will not take this little cup : well, you could make it thirty 
 times more valual)le to me if you would drink something 
 out of it. \\'\\\ you ?' 
 
 She looked surprised, but not ofTended ; she did not 
 quite understand. 
 
 'Why, what difference will that make?' she said. But 
 before she had finished the words he had gone away over 
 to a little buffet that Mrs. Wygram was improvising for the 
 dancers, and the next moment he had returned with a 
 bottle of wine in his hand. He poured a little of the 
 foaming fluid into the chahcc, and offered it to her. 
 
 ' Is it a ceremony?' Sabina asked, with a smile, and she 
 took the chalice from him. 
 
 'Yes, it is part of the dance,' he answered, glad of any 
 excuse that would obtain for him this gracious favour. 
 
 'Do I say anything? Do I wish anything?' Sabina 
 asked. 
 
 ' I will do the wishing,' he answered quickly ; and then 
 she raised the wine-cup to her lips, and drank a little, and 
 then gave it back to him. He could only look his thanks. 
 
 Mrs. Wygram's eyes had followed him across the room.
 
 V SET? FEDERIGO'S FALCON 8l 
 
 'And what do you think of your Sabie now?' she 
 exclaimed to her daughter, who was assisting her. 
 
 'Just the same as ever — why?' was Janie's answer. 
 
 'You did not see what she did just now?' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' Well, then, I'll tell you ; she drank out of that crystal 
 wine-cup just to please him, I suppose, and he put it back 
 in the cabinet !' 
 
 'And why shouldn't she?' said Janie bravely. 'To 
 please him ? — very well. She would do that or anything 
 else to please any man, woman, or child who happened to 
 be there. Mother, what has set you all of a sudden against 
 Sabie ? You know it's just her universal kindness.' 
 
 'Kindness!' said the mother, with a gentle sarcasm. 
 ' Perhaps it is. But I have never seen a more abominable 
 piece of flirtation in all my born days.' And with that she 
 went to bid the model-butler bring some more lemonade 
 and seltzer water; for the young lady at the piano had 
 begun to play a wild Highland schottische, and Mrs. Wygram 
 had enough experience of these scratch parties to know 
 what that meant. 
 
 They kept up the merry-making to a very early hour 
 indeed ; but after Sabina and the Wygrams had taken their 
 departure, Lindsay did not seem to heed much what was 
 going forward. And at last he was left alone — in this big 
 studio — with the disjecta mefubra of the revels all around 
 him ; and he sat him down to think over everything 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 SABINA ZEMBRA 
 
 that had happened during that cvciutul evening, even to 
 ihe smallest details wherever Sabiiia had been con- 
 lerned. 
 
 And so Ser I'ederigo had not sacrificed his falcon after 
 all — though his ofler of the jewelled chalice was a little 
 tentative effort in that direction. No ; so far from his being 
 poorer by her coming to his house, he was ever so much 
 the richer ; that was like Sabina, as the faithful Janic would 
 have maintained. The whole of this big studio seemed 
 saturated with the charm and wonder of her i)resence. 
 Here she had sat, her hands folded in her lap, talking to 
 him in her softly-modulated voice; there she had stood, her 
 beautiful neck bent over the drawings and sketches, her 
 praise and admiration frank and ready enough ; it was by 
 the side of that easel she had taken the wine-cup — now 
 a hundred times more precious to him than it had been 
 before — into her gentle hand, and raised it, and touched 
 the rim with her proudly-cut lips, and given it him back 
 with so gracious a smile. He was beginning to understand 
 her now. If you said, 'Take!' her answer was 'No;' if 
 you said 'Give!' her answer was 'Yes.' But all through 
 these visions and recalling of visions it was her eyes that 
 chiefly he saw ; and tiiey were regarding him somehow ; 
 and always they were pleased and generous and benignant 
 towards him. He made no effort to banish the memory of 
 that look.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 TO BRIGHTON 
 
 Sabina was unused to late hours and late suppers. Next 
 morning she found herself less brisk than was her wont ; 
 and so, having despatched Janie Wygram on certain errands 
 down in the Chelsea direction, she thought she would take 
 a longer walk than usual, and go round by Hyde Park on 
 her way to Lancaster Gate. And very soon the fresh air 
 revived her. It was one of those sudden springlike days 
 that occasionally show themselves in March ; a bland south 
 wind was blowing ; the Serpentine was shimmering in silver; 
 the pale brown roads dividing the level breadths of green- 
 sward looked pleasant enough in the warm sunlight ; and 
 every leafless branch of the elms and maples was defined 
 sharp and black against the blue sky. There was a kind of 
 happy murmur all around, and a look of life and animation 
 amongst the nondescript crowd. Carriages rolled by with 
 their occupants wrapped in their winter furs; nursemaids 
 were chatting as they pushed before them the somnolent 
 perambulator ; charming young horsewomen were walking 
 side by side, and perchance exchanging confidences about
 
 S.4B/NA ZEMBRA 
 
 the last night's ball ; children were calling, dogs scampering, 
 sjKirrows twittering ; ever)"wlicrc there was life and inotiDii 
 and sound — and it was a sound as of gladness, somehow. 
 
 And, of course, Sabina thought of the poor young fellow 
 who was shut out from all this, and kept a close prisoner 
 there ; and her heart was filled with pity for him ; and half- 
 unconsciously she walked as quickly as she could, so as to 
 give him as soon as possible the solace of her companion- 
 ship. It is true — though she did not like to confess it to 
 herself — that she had begun to suspect of late that he was 
 not quite so grateful for her society, and her efforts to 
 amuse him, as he might be. He seemed to be very well 
 content with the sporting papers, and with the less officious 
 conversation of the professional nurse. Perhaps, then, she 
 — that is, Sabina — bored him somewhat ? Perhaps he did 
 not want to be bothered with the formality of talking to a 
 young lady? Perhaps he might even consider her a little 
 bit of a nuisance ? Sabina did not like to dwell on these 
 questions, because they sounded like pique; and, of course, 
 it did not matter to her whether he was grateful for her 
 volunteered companionship or not. 
 
 On this morning she found him in very gay spirits indeed; 
 a number of things contributing. First of all, Schiller had 
 won the Shipley Hall Handicap on the previous Tuesday, 
 and Mr. Fred Foster was now in ample funds ; but this she 
 knew, for she had been the gainer by that victory of ten 
 pounds. Then, again, the horse that he had backed for the
 
 TO BRIGHTON 85 
 
 Lincolnshire Handicap, at 20 to i against, had quite sud- 
 denly risen in popular estimation and was now first favourite 
 at 1 00 to 12; and here was a fine opportunity for a little 
 business ! But the chief and glorious news was that 
 the doctor had consented to his removal \ and arrange- 
 ments were now being made for his being conveyed to 
 Brighton. 
 
 ' Do you know Brighton, Miss Zembra?' he said eagerly. 
 ' Oh, I do, I can tell you ; I know it just down to the 
 ground. I shan't want for amusement. You see, I'll have 
 rooms in the King's Road ; they shouldn't be very expensive 
 at this time of the year ; and I can be wheeled out to the 
 end of the West Pier like the other cripples, and read the 
 papers, and listen to the band. Then there's a telegraph- 
 office at the foot of the Pier if one wants to do a little 
 business. Then there's the tennis court ; they'll let me look 
 on, I suppose. Then the billiard-rooms ; but I suppose 
 they wouldn't like my hearse brought in there. When I 
 can sport about in a bath-chair, however, I know one shop 
 where I shall be welcome enough. And, then, the fellows I 
 know are always running down to Brighton — to the Old 
 Ship ; I should hear what was going on ; they won't leave 
 me out in the cold. I'm not likely to be tempted like the 
 ordinary stay-at-home backer, to try a system ' 
 
 'A system?' she said with inquiring eyebrows. 
 
 ' Well, a system is a machine for making it certain that 
 you drop your money — that's all,' he explained. 'But
 
 86 S.Ah'/X.I /.EMl^KA 
 
 why should I bore you with su( h things — you don't uiulcr- 
 stand. And you sctMii a liulc bit tired this nioniini;, Miss 
 Zcml)m.' 
 
 She told him something of the festivities of the night 
 before ; and said that though they were mild enough, she 
 was not used to them, and confessed to being a trifle 
 fagged. 
 
 'That kind of thing would not suit me at all,' he said 
 frankly. ' I like to keep myself fit all the way round — fit 
 for a steeplechase course, or a thousand up at billiards, or 
 a pigeon-shoot, or anything. Now, I'll tell you the kind of 
 feast I like — a breakfast at Jem Saker's — Saker, the trainer, 
 you know. Well, now, that is the prettiest thing that I have any 
 acquaintance with ; Mrs. Saker, buxom and fresh as a daisy, 
 at the head of the table ; an excellent breakfast ; fried soles 
 done to a turn ; bacon crisp and hot from the fender, a 
 devilled kidney or two, and the best coffee in the world. 
 Then, as you're forging ahead, you may chance to glance 
 out of the window, and there is a string of horses marching 
 past on their way to the heath ; and just as like as not you'll 
 hear Mrs. Saker say, " Well, I for one don't object to seeing 
 the touts coming about ; it shows they think we have some 
 horses worth watching." After a breakfast like that, I'm fit 
 for the day ; I can do without anything else all day long; 
 there's never any " sinking " bothers me.' 
 
 ' You ought to be very thankful you have such a con- 
 stitution,' Sabina said ; she could not help noticing the
 
 TO BRIGHTON 87 
 
 clearness of his complexion, where the sun-tan still lingered, 
 and also the brilliant liquidness of his eyes, which were like 
 those of a schoolboy in the briskest of health. 
 
 ' It's just luck,' said he in his usual saturnine fashion. 
 ' I happened to be born like that ! I might have been one 
 of those miserable devils who can't go on for a couple of 
 hours without a sherry and bitters. I don't blame them, 
 but I'd rather be as I am.' 
 
 'And when do you go to Brighton?' Sabina asked; it 
 occurred to her then that the house would become strangely 
 empty and uninteresting when he was gone. 
 
 * As soon as my catafalque is got ready,' he said wit! 
 cheerful good humour. ' And I shall be precious glad to 
 get there. Not entirely on my own account — I'm afraid 
 you must think me an awfully selfish brute, don't you ? — 
 no, it's partly on account of the Mater. You see, as soon 
 as I can date my letters from Brighton, she will be con- 
 vinced that nothing very serious has happened. I have 
 been mortally afraid of the old lady turning up in London, 
 and getting alarmed when she found I wasn't in Bury Street. 
 As for my father, I suppose he's disappointed that I haven't 
 l)roken my neck. He has been prophesying these dozen 
 years back that that would be the end of me ; and people 
 like their prophecies to come off, you know.' 
 
 ' It has been bad enough as it is,' said Sabina ; ' but I 
 am sure you have borne your imprisonment so far with very 
 great courage. Most men would have fretted and com-
 
 SS SABIXA ZEMBRA 
 
 plaincil, and fouiul the forced iillcncss almost uiiciuhirablc. 
 I ho|Hr you will lu-vcr have siu h an experience aj^aiii ; l)ut 
 I nnist say you make an admirable patient.' 
 
 Now, surely, here was an opportunity for him to show 
 himself a little grateful to the young lady who had given 
 him so much of her time and attention. It could have been 
 easily done ; nay, was there not almost an invitation in what 
 she had said ? lUit he did not seem to take it that way. 
 He humorously remarked that he hoj)cd soon to be about 
 again, but that he would take care not to challenge John 
 Roberts junior to play 3000 up for a considerable time to 
 come. 
 
 There were one or two questions of some delicacy arose 
 ere he could take his departure for Brighton. 
 
 ' You know, Miss Zembra,' he said, in his usual matter- 
 of-fact way, ' I am quite aware that your people have 
 wished me at Jericho ever since I came into the house; 
 and I don't want to be indebted to people who wish me at 
 Jericho ; at the same time I should be sorry to offend you 
 by offering to pay for my board.' 
 
 ' Please, we will not speak of it,' said Sabina. 
 
 'It's an awkward time of the year — if I could send 
 them some game ' 
 
 He saw that he only vexed her, and he dropped the 
 subject ; privately reserving to himself the right of bounti- 
 fully tipping the servants, for he was in ample funds at the 
 moment.
 
 TO BRIGHTON 89 
 
 Sabina, on her side, found herself quite unable to in- 
 duce either her father or Lady Zembra to say a word of fare- 
 well to their unbidden and unwelcome guest. She repre- 
 sented to them what a gross discourtesy their omitting to do 
 so would be to a man who was distinctly a gentleman ; and 
 that even common humanity demanded that they should be 
 well-disposed to one who had suffered injury through a 
 member of the family. But no ; Sir Anthony, when he 
 had said a thing stuck to it; and he had declared he would 
 have nothing whatsoever to do with this stranger ; and 
 Lady Zembra was only too glad to escape from bother by 
 following the example of her lord. Sabina tried to make 
 some little explanation and apology to Mr. Fred Foster 
 himself; but that young gentleman only laughed good- 
 naturedly, said he understood the whole situation, and 
 that, in their position, he would have been precisely in the 
 
 same state of mind. 
 
 Both Janie Wygram and Sabina went to Victoria Station 
 to see him off; and then it was that Janie saw him for the 
 first time. 
 
 ' He does not seem much of an invalid,' said Janie, aside, 
 observing his sun-browned complexion and clear blue eyes. 
 
 'Poor fellow,' Sabina said; 'just imagine what it must 
 be for one who has led so active a life to be chained 
 down like that. And the doctor says it may be months 
 before he can walk about. I have never seen any one 
 so patient and cheerful.'
 
 S.-t/t/NA ZEMPRA 
 
 *I shouKl have tli()Ui;lU he was (luick-tempereil by the 
 colour of his hair ; carroty curls always go with a short 
 temiXT,' said Janie, who had not forgotten her j;ru(lgc 
 against this luckless young nian. 
 
 However, Sabina did not reply to this remark ; for she 
 had to step into the carriage to bid Mr. Foster good-bye. 
 
 ' Vou won't forget to let me know how you get on at 
 Brighton ? ' said she. 
 
 ' \\'hy should I bother you ? ' he said. 
 
 ' lUit I particularly wish to know, and as often as it 
 is convenient,' she persisted. 'You can't imagine how 
 glad I shall be when I hear that you are getting about 
 again, and shaking off the last traces of that dreadful 
 accident.' 
 
 ' Oh, very well,' said he. ' But don't you bother about 
 me. I shall soon be skipping about again like a two- 
 year-old.' 
 
 'Good-bye,' she said, and she gave him her hand. 
 
 ' Good-bye, Miss Zembra,' said he, and he added, ' you 
 know you've been awfully kind to me. I wish I knew 
 how to repay you. If you were a man, I could.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! ' she said lightly, for she guessed there was 
 some small joke in his mind. 
 
 'Yes, I could. I'd advise you to put every penny you 
 have in the world on Cherry Blossom for the Grand 
 National.' 
 
 The train was already moving ; she had to step quickly
 
 TO BRIGHTON 91 
 
 back ; and then she waved her hand to him from the 
 platform. 
 
 'Poor fellow,' she said, almost to herself; 'half of his 
 cheerfulness is only pretence. He feels it more than he 
 would have any one think.' 
 
 And Janie looked at her with a curious glance ; then 
 they turned and left the station together, and in silence.
 
 CHATTER VII 
 
 BY THE SHANNON SHORE 
 
 For ordinary love-sickness there is no more prompt and 
 efficacious cure than marriage ; but for the heart-ache 
 begotten of hopeless love, where is the cure? It is a 
 disease that people are for the most part ashamed of; 
 they conceal it assiduously ; and therefore it may be 
 assumed to be more prevalent than appears. \\^alter 
 Lindsay, at all events, could find no cure, though he tried 
 many. For he was inordinately vexed with himself that in 
 walking along High Street, Kensington, he could not see 
 a tall woman in the distance without his heart leaping up 
 with some wild hope that it might be Sabina. And why, 
 each time that he went home, was there a great disappoint- 
 ment for him on finding there no letter from Janie Wygram, 
 with some chance mention of Sabina in it ? Janie Wygram 
 could not keep continually writing to him a propos of 
 nothing. The most serious interests of his life were 
 interfered with by this agony of vague unrest ; his work 
 was done now, not for the world, that was willing enough to 
 welcome it, but that it might perchance win for him a smile
 
 VII BY THE SHANNON SHORE 93 
 
 of Sabina's approval. And as for the hopelessness of his 
 passion — well, he had not studied her every gesture and 
 look, he had not listened to Janie's minute and intimate 
 description of her ways of life, and her hopes, and 
 opinions, and interests, all for nothing ; and well he knew 
 that marriage formed no part of Sabina's plans for the 
 future. She was very kind to him — for she was kind to 
 everybody ; and if he were ill, he thought she might be 
 sorry ; and for the passing hour — as had happened the 
 other evening — she would smile on him, and be generous, 
 and gracious, and bland. But as for anything more ? He 
 knew he might as well think of going into the National 
 Gallery and asking some fair-browed Madonna to step 
 down from her frame, and take his hand, and go through 
 the years of life with him. 
 
 And then he would try to argue himself out of this 
 insanity of love. He had set up an impossible ideal, he 
 maintained to himself. No woman could be so fine as 
 that. Why should he bother his head about a phantom 
 of his own creation? Women were women; he knew 
 what they themselves said and wrote of each other ; he was 
 no longer a boy, imagining everything that wore a petticoat 
 to be an angel. And then he would resolve to go again 
 to Janie Wygram, and get to know something about the 
 real Sabina, who must have her faults and weaknesses and 
 vanities like other folk. Alas ! that was not of much 
 avail. Janie quietly remarked that people might say what
 
 94 SAii/A'A Z£Ml!A'.4 ciiAV. 
 
 they liked al)out women in general ; il was none of her 
 business; hul she knew what Sahinawas; nay, more, she 
 dill not scruple to declare to him, as she had already 
 declared to her mother, that were she a man, she would 
 consider herself a fool if she were not in love with Sabie. 
 And so there was no hope for him that way either (not that 
 he was so anxious to dethrone his idol, as he tried to persuade 
 himself that he was) ; and as Sabina haunted every moment 
 of his life, and came between his every occupation and 
 project and fancy, he began to think that something must 
 be done. He would go away from this hateful Kensing- 
 ton and see whether some of this love-sickness could not 
 be left behind. He would seek out one of his favourite 
 solitudes, and bury himself in that secret place, and devote 
 himself to assiduous work, or assiduous recreation, he 
 cared not which. To leave London — to miss the chance 
 of catching a glimpse of her — to miss the chance even of 
 hearing her name mentioned in the talking of friends — was 
 not pleasant ; but to remain in London suffering this 
 useless torture was intolerable. So one morning, and on 
 a sudden impulse, he telegraphed over to a friend in the 
 west of Ireland, asking whether a place could be found 
 for him on a certain stretch of the Shannon ; the answer 
 bade him come forthwith ; and that afternoon he packed 
 up his sketching implements and fishing-rods, went down 
 by the night-mail to Holyhead, and was in Dublin in the 
 morning.
 
 VII BY THE SHANNON SHORE 95 
 
 He had come either to work or to play ; there were to 
 be no more foolish love-fancies. And so, as he sat in that 
 railway carriage hour after hour, and was taken away across 
 Ireland, he kept studying the ever-varying and yet mono- 
 tonous features of the landscape, and the slowly-changing 
 effects of light. And lucky it was for him that he was a 
 painter. Anybody else would have found that solitary 
 journey a somewhat dismal thing, and the melancholy April 
 day not a little depressing. The leafless trees looked black 
 and harsh amid the raw reds and greens of ploughed land 
 and fallow ; and the long stretches of bog, with here and 
 there a few cottages and stone walls and miserable en- 
 closures, were not very cheerful under these cold and 
 neutral-tinted skies. That is to say, the ordinary traveller 
 would have found those skies neutral-tinted and character- 
 less enough ; but this man was a painter ; and he could 
 find quite sufficient technical interest in regarding the softly- 
 shaded bulk and retreating perspective of the larger masses 
 of cloud, and in tracing here and there a tinge of golden- 
 white among the pale, hopeless, and yet pearly and ethereal 
 blues and grays. And, during all this observation and 
 studying of forms and tones and 'values,' he was deter- 
 mined that his heart should not go away wandering back to 
 Kensington Square and Sabina Zembra. 
 
 In the afternoon he reached his destination, a straggling 
 little town on the banks of the Shannon, the swift-rushing 
 waters of which noble river arc here spanned by a long and
 
 96 SM/i/NA ZEA/IiKA chai-. vi. 
 
 many-anhcd l)riilgc. He had telegraphed for rooms to ilie 
 inn, where he was well known ; and having deposited his 
 things there, and picked out a handy little trout rod, he 
 walked down to the river to have an hour's careless fishing 
 and a general look round. This was a pictures(iue neigh- 
 bourhood into which he had come ; but the afternoon was 
 not favourable : wliat wind there was was easterly, and that 
 had drank the colour out of the hills around, that loomed 
 high and lurid as mountains through the mist. However, 
 there was always the magnificent river, with its surging 
 rapid masses of white-tipped waves, and the pleasant sound 
 of the rushing over the weir ; while eventually a sort of 
 coppery-red sunset broke through the pall of gray. But he 
 was anxious about neither painting nor fishing on this first 
 evening ; and so he idly walked back to the inn again and 
 to dinner in the small sitting-room, where the faithful Nora 
 had not forgotten to build for him a big fire of turf instead 
 of coal. 
 
 This Nora was an old friend of his ; and as she came and 
 went during dinner they had a little talking together. She 
 was a large-limbed creature of a lass, with pretty soft eyes, 
 and black hair that might have been more tidily kept, and 
 hands that might have been more frequently washed. But 
 she was friendly, and obliging, and pleasant-mannered ; and 
 her amiable disposition towards the young English artist 
 was manifested in a hundred little ways. She it was who 
 never neglected to fill his flask before he started in the
 
 VI r BY THE SHANNON SHORE 97 
 
 morning ; and she was the last to wish him good luck as he 
 left ; and she sent him very nice things for lunch ; and she 
 was the first to congratulate him if the men appeared in the 
 evening bringing a big salmon, or perhaps two, or perhaps 
 three, with them ; and when he came home empty-handed 
 the pretty Nora would say, almost with tears in her voice, 
 ' Well, it's sorry I am, sir ; what a shame ye didn't get 
 nothin' all the day long.' Alaniia machrce he called her, 
 and Mavourneen, and No7'a astore, and a great many other 
 things of the meaning of which he knew very little. But 
 Nora took all these with a placid good humour, and her 
 friendliness was always perfectly within bounds. 
 
 'Sure, sir,' she said to him this evening, as he was 
 getting to the end of his dinner, ' it's manny's the time 
 we've been thinking you'd be bringing Mrs. Lindsay over 
 wid ye, sir.' 
 
 ' If you wait for that day, you'll wait all your life, Nora, 
 my darling,' he answered. 
 
 ' Ah, don't say that, sir ! ' responded Nora cheerfully. 
 ' Sure there's plenty of pretty young ladies in London.' 
 
 ' I suppose there are,' said he. 
 
 And instantly something in his manner told the sharp- 
 witted Nora that she had struck a wrong chord, and she 
 quickly changed the subject. 
 
 ' Will ye have any pudding, sir ? ' she asked ; here she 
 could not go wrong. 
 
 ' What kind of a pudding is it, Nora ? ' 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 .^.-//./.\.-/ /i-.MHKA 
 
 * Tis an applc-poy, sir.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, that'll do.' 
 
 And it may have fancifully orcurrcd to him in his idle 
 musings, as this gcntle-manncrctl handmaiden came and 
 went, that if Nora were only to brush lier hair and wash 
 her hands, and get nicely dressed and smartened up, she 
 would make a very presentable bride; and what if he were to 
 induce her to go away to America — to the west, where he 
 would buy a farm, and they would lead a healthy, happy, 
 matter-of-fact existence — so that he should forget his 
 sorrows, and think of that hated Kensington no more? 
 But no ; that would not do either. He might not find the 
 forgetfulness he was in search of. Besides, her hair — each 
 time she came into the room he noticed it — was too 
 dreadfully untidy. And, then again, it was just possible 
 that the Lass of Limerick (this was another of the names 
 he gave her) might not care to go. 
 
 By and by, when Nora had removed the dinner things, 
 and brought him some coffee, and stirred up the peats, he 
 was left quite alone, and he pulled in his chair to the blaz- 
 ing fire, and lit his pipe. So far he had done well. He 
 had scarcely sent one backward thought towards London 
 the whole day long. But now there was this to be con- 
 sidered. He had promised to paint for Sabina a replica of 
 the water-colour drawing she had chanced to admire ; and 
 he had understood from Janie that Miss Zembra was willing 
 to accept the same. But replicas were more or less
 
 VII BY THE SHANNON SHORE 99 
 
 mechanical things ; besides, he had not the drawing here. 
 ^^'ould it not be better, before setting seriously to work, 
 that he should do some sketch for her — of some actual 
 living scene? A first fresh impression was always pre- 
 ferable. She had shown a little interest in asking him 
 about the various remote corners that he went to; here was 
 one. Would she care for a sketch of the wide waters of 
 the Shannon, the long bridge, the little straggling town, the 
 old square-towered church, and, overlooking all, the distant 
 slopes and shoulders of the Slieve Bernagh hills? It would 
 not be recalling him to her recollection ; it would be re- 
 deeming a promise. And might he not write to Janie — 
 now — and make the suggestion ? 
 
 It was a pretty long letter that he wrote to Janie. And 
 if at first he pretended that all his concern w^as about that 
 picture arrangement, in the end he was quite candid, and 
 even glad to make Janie once more his confidante. 
 
 ' The truth is,' he wrote, ' I came here to try to shake 
 off certain influences — or rather, one particular influence — 
 that you are aware of, I daresay. And to you, who see 
 so much of Miss Zembra, and know w'hat she is, I am not 
 ashamed to confess that it may be difficult ; but I hope to 
 succeed in the end; and then, when this glamour of fascina- 
 tion has been got rid of, I hope to meet her on the more 
 durable basis of friendship, if she will permit of that. 
 Of course a young woman, and especially a beautiful young 
 woman, may naturally distrust any such proposal; but fi
 
 loo .^.//■•/.^.; /.EMIU<.\ «iiM'. 
 
 ever the need should arise, shf woiiKl fiiui tlial it was no 
 fair-weather friendship I liad hei^^ed lier to arrept. It 
 would not be merely wliile her physical heauly lasted 
 that I should he at her service, at any moment, if trouble 
 came. To me, Saliina (I may call her this in confidence, 
 and you will burn this letter) will always be beautiful, even 
 when her eyes have lost that lustre that at i)resent is just a 
 little too bewildering for some unhappy mortals. Vou have 
 helped me to understand what this is ; and the friendship 
 of such a splendid creature would mean more to mc than I 
 can well tell you. I suppose nothing else is possible. You 
 say so ; and you ought to know. At the same time, I am 
 aware that you don't wish her to marry anybody ; and 
 that, if it were a matter of advice, that is the advice you 
 would give her. Now, let me warn you, dear Miss Janie, 
 that you have not seen very much of the world ; and that 
 to give advice in such a serious matter to any one involves 
 a grave responsibility. It is all very well just now. Sabina 
 is young and vigorous, self-confident in the audacity of her 
 health and good spirits, and happy enough in shedding the 
 bounty of her generous disposition upon all comers. But 
 it cannot be always so. She cannot be always so. She 
 might want a helping hand ; she is away from her family; 
 sickness might overtake her ; she might get robbed of her 
 good looks — which are an easy passport just now to every- 
 body's favour. In any case, she must inevitably grow old. 
 Is it wise to ask such a woman to face the coming years
 
 B V THE SHANNON SHORE 
 
 alone ? You know better than any one how sensitive she 
 is, though she pretends not to be ; how eager she is that 
 people should like her ; how she seems to crave for 
 sympathy and affection. Well, I'm not going to rave about 
 her any more, for you would think it was all special plead- 
 ing ; but you just be careful, dear Miss Janie, not to do 
 any mischief where the lifelong interests of your best and 
 dearest friend are concerned. If she will go that way, it is 
 well. Each human being has his or her own ideal, I suppose. 
 And anyhow, I'm going to try to banish all this mystifica- 
 tion and glamour out of my head ; and when I come back 
 to London, I hope to be able to understand what Sabina 
 really is — and no doubt she is a great deal finer than any 
 of my imaginings about her ; and you will help us to 
 become good, true friends, and so make a satisfactory end 
 of the whole matter. And I'm going to send your mother 
 a salmon, as soon as I catch one.' 
 
 It was a very sensible letter, to be written by a man 
 whose brains had got so thoroughly bewildered ; and no 
 doubt at the moment he believed every word he had 
 written. But as he sat there later on, staring into the fire, 
 perhaps some other visions may have arisen before him 
 — only, it is not necessary they should be put down 
 here. 
 
 Next morning he was all alert ; the boatmen were wait- 
 ing outside; the long Castle Connel rods had been put 
 together ; Nora had filled liis flask — just in case there
 
 SAfi/NA ZEMBRA 
 
 might be otxasion lo drink 'a tight line to your honour;' 
 and, presently, wluii ho had bundled his sketching iniplc- 
 nients together, they were all on their way down to the 
 boat. This was a very excellent recreation for a landscape 
 painter (as well he knew before); for when once the coble, 
 or • cot,' was out in the midst of the wild-whirling waters, 
 the men not only managed that, but the fishing as well ; 
 trolling — 'dragging,' as they called it — with prawn and 
 ' killoch ' and phantom minnow, or lashing the stream 
 with a forty-yard line, and a big gold and red and purple 
 Shannon fly, as the occasion demanded ; while he, if he 
 chose, could sit idle, studying effects of light and colour 
 and form, or jotting these down in his book, when he was 
 so inclined. And then again, when the light was bad, or 
 the part of the river they happened to be at uninteresting, 
 he would get up and take the casting rod and have a turn 
 at the throwing ; and if the forty yards were now reduced 
 to twenty-five, still that was not a bad line for an amateur 
 to throw out clean. On this particular morning he was 
 less interested in the fishing than usual ; all his concern 
 was to find something fine for the sketch he was to send 
 Sabina. And how would that do, now ? The built-up 
 bank all ablaze with golden gorse ; above that a row of 
 leafless trees against a sky of pale lurid blues and faint red- 
 grays ; and underneath the bank, and all in front of him, 
 the rushing, boiling, surging river, here and there straight, 
 swift rapids, here and there masses of foam-crested waves,
 
 VII BY THE SHANNON SHORE 103 
 
 and here and there a large, circular eddy of black, oily- 
 looking smooth water, on which were reflected, in wan and 
 spectral fashion, the whitewashed walls of an old, dilapi- 
 dated mill. He looked at it again, this way and that, but 
 it would not do. The east wind had withered the colour 
 out of the landscape ; this furious river was too difficult for 
 a mere sketch ; he wanted a blue sky on the water, instead 
 of those reflections of gray and black. So he gave that up 
 for the present, and took the rod from Johnnie Ryan, and 
 began to belabour the whirling currents with five and 
 twenty yards of line and a big ' silver doctor.' 
 
 In the afternoon he was more fortunate. For although 
 that weird haze still hung over the lurid blue hills and the 
 ghostly landscape, and the sun, when the clouds slowly 
 parted, showed himself a sphere of mottled dusky gold, by 
 and by, as the evening drew on, a beautiful pinky-gray 
 light began to shine in the western heavens ; and the stems 
 and branches and twigs of the leafless trees grew to be of a 
 rich warm purple ; and the dark green of the grass on the 
 bank and the deep yellow of the gorse became strangely 
 intense and clear. 
 
 ' Put me ashore now, Johnnie,' he said to the chief 
 boatman. 
 
 'Sure 'tis the best bit of the bate we're just coming to,' 
 Johnnie remonstrated. 
 
 ' Very well ; you fire away, and pick up a forty pounder. 
 I'm going ashore — look alive now ! '
 
 JU« ^ " M ? ' UjiKA illAl'. 
 
 Aiul jK-ihaps he was a lilllc aii\ii)us as he bci;an, aiul 
 half- forgetful of his own mastery of his crali. lie was so 
 anxious to justify himself in Sabina's eyes. She IkuI not 
 seen much of his work ; nor had any one in fact. Mis 
 Wigtonshire patrimony had relieved him from the necessity of 
 labouring for the market ; and his reputation, which was dis- 
 tinct and marked, prevailed chiefly among artists themselves, 
 who were wont to become very enthusiastic indeed about 
 Walter Lindsay's drawings. Of course there were those 
 who decried his method, and called him an Impressionist, 
 and the like. And he was an Impressionist of a kind ; 
 but his Impressionism was of the higher order that refuses 
 to deal with that which is unnecessary, not the Impressionism 
 which is chiefly marked by a clever avoidance of difficulties. 
 He began by being a realist of the severest type; for 
 years he had laboured in Switzerland, in Sweden, in 
 Holland at patient and faithful studies of rocks and foliage 
 and water and sky; but gradually he had emancipated 
 himself. Nature was no longer his master and tyrant ; he 
 chose for himself; he left undone what he did not think 
 worth doing ; but what he did do was done with tlie 
 reverence born of knowledge. Nature was his friend and 
 companion, if no longer his master ; and hitherto he had 
 been well content to wander away by himself into any kind 
 of a solitude, working sometimes, idling sometimes, but 
 always more or less unconsciously studying ; and if he was 
 not scrupulous about detail, where he did put in detail it
 
 VII BY THE SHANNON SHORE 105 
 
 was right. He was none the worse a painter that he 
 was also a trained geologist, and that his herbarium was of 
 his own collection, and bore record of many a toilsome 
 pilgrimage. 
 
 And now he began to pick up his courage again, for the 
 effect proved lasting, and he was getting on. The beauti- 
 ful ethereal rose-grays still dwelt in the higher heavens ; the 
 leafless trees grew even warmer in their purple ; and the 
 gorse bushes burned gold in the pallid shadow of the bank. 
 He glanced at Johnnie Ryan from time to time ; for 
 Johnnie was fighting a salmon farther down the stream, 
 and he wanted to see the end of that struggle. And then 
 he wondered whether Sabina would care for this bit of a 
 sketch. It was not of the chromo-lithographic kind ; it was 
 not striking ; moreover, a good deal of compromise was 
 necessary even with what was before him. But he thought 
 he could make something out of it ultimately — a tender 
 kind of a thing ; not strong in colour, perhaps ; rather 
 ethereal and delicate, but if possible luminous and fine. He 
 hoped Sabina would like it. Would she understand the 
 reticence of it ? Would she understand what had made 
 him hold his hand somewhat ? Of course, he could do the 
 other thing if he chose. But it was something in the nature 
 of a pearl that he wished to give to Sabina. 
 
 He carried out the sketch as far as was possible in the 
 circumstances, until the rose hue in the sky began to fade 
 into dusk ; and then he bundled \\\) his things, fairly well
 
 1 ■<• S.tJi/.V.I ZluMURA y\\\y. \n 
 
 contciU. .\i)(.l johniui.- R\.iii aiul hi^ i i)ini)anioii had got 
 the salmon — a twenty-two poumlcr — and tlicy were also 
 well lontent. He let the two men go on before him - and 
 then, after sittipi^ there a while considering what he could 
 do furtlier with the sketch, ami perhaps thinking of one 
 or two other things, he rose and walked slowly home by the 
 river-bank, underneath a twiliglit made transparent l)y a 
 sintjle star.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE NEW FRIENDSHIP 
 
 Of a sudden all this was changed ; for the next morning 
 the wind was blowing freshly from the west ; and the world 
 was ablaze with colour — rich and glowing and keen ; and 
 from that moment forward every day as it went by was 
 filled to overflowing with brisk work, and recreation quite 
 as brisk. When he had done a sufficient quantity of 
 the former, he fell upon the latter with might and main ; 
 and flogged those surging rapids of the Shannon with a 
 persistency and skill that won even the approval of Johnnie 
 Ryan. And the evenings ? — well, the evenings were given 
 over now to the glorification of friendship. That was to be 
 the future happiness. He would go back to London cured 
 of the ' cruel madness of love,' and ask that beautiful, high- 
 gifted creature to give him of her companionship, as far 
 as that might be possible. He would prove the faith that 
 was in him too. Others might try to woo and win her ; 
 he would be her friend, no matter what befell. He had 
 heard of such things, and the situation might become fine 
 in its way. And so he worked hard, and fished hard, and
 
 i>'S • •■■'•.•■ •'■ i//.7v'./ niAi'. 
 
 bade himself l>e of j;ood cheer; lie had haiiisliLd ihai 
 morbid love-sickness by main force ; Sabina was to l)c his 
 friend. 
 
 There came a large envelope containing a couple of 
 cards for the Private View of the Royal Academy. A week 
 or two previous he had received the honour of an invitation 
 to be present at the Banquet ; this was an additional com- 
 pliment, and highly pleased was he with both. lUit, of 
 course, his first thought was of Sabina ; and as he guessed 
 that old Mr. Wygram would as usual have received a 
 similar couple of tickets (tiiis was a friendly act on the part 
 of the Academy towards one who was not now as prosperous 
 as once he had been), and as he knew that Mrs. Wygram 
 and Janie invariably made use of these, he at once tele- 
 graphed to Miss Janie that he had a card for Miss Zembra 
 if she cared to go, and also begging her to fix the engage- 
 ment. That meant, naturally, that he should escort the 
 three ladies to Burlington House, and show them round the 
 rooms. But it was all in the way of friendship. 
 
 Next morning he said casually to the Lass of Limerick, 
 ' Nora, what do you think now would be a nice present for 
 a young lady?' 
 
 ' Sure a sweetheart mightn't be amiss, sir,' said Nora 
 demurely, as she was putting the eggs on the table. 
 
 'Ah, you're too facetious, Nora, alannah, for one of 
 your tender years. How about a salmon, now ? What if 
 I were to send the young lady a salmon?'
 
 viii THE NEW FRIENDSHIP 109 
 
 ' She'd be mighty plased, sir, I suppose,' said Nora, as 
 she was heaping some more turf on the fire. 
 
 'But the fish ought to be of my own catching — don't 
 you think so ?' 
 
 ' And maybe it's herself you'd rather be afther, sir, begging 
 your pardon,' said Nora, darting a glance at him from the 
 door. 
 
 ' Nora,' said he gravely, ' is that the fashion they have 
 of talking in Limerick?' 
 
 ' It's the fashion they talk all over the wurruld, sir, when 
 a young gentleman spakes about a young lady in that way 
 — and that's the truth, sir,' said Nora, as she smiled mali- 
 ciously and disappeared into the passage. 
 
 He was not to be deterred by the sarcasm of the Pride 
 of Kildare (another of her names, by the way). This was 
 a happy inspiration that he should send a salmon to Sabina. 
 He did not stay to ask himself what she could do with it. 
 Why, it was the right and privilege of every sportsman to 
 make a present of game — salmon, or venison, or grouse, or 
 whatever it might be — to whomsoever he chose, even to a 
 stranger. Sabina would have the compliment; the Wygrams 
 would have the fish. And surely this noble river, that he 
 had made friends with, that he had come to know so well, 
 that he had formed so great an affection for, would yield 
 him a worthy prize ? Anyhow, his colours, and block, and 
 camp-stool, and sketching-umbrella were all left unheeded 
 in a corner ; and he was busy with minnows and prawns
 
 II.' V I /;ry I /I \":i< I ciiAi'. 
 
 anil 'Jock Scotts ' aiul ' lUuc Hortors;' ami loithwilh he 
 was on his way ilown {o the ruble with jolumic Ryan antl 
 his mate. 
 
 And what a day this was for idleness, whether alloat or 
 ashore ! The spring seemed to have come upon them with 
 a bound. The lilac and silver while April skies were filled 
 with blowing clouds; and now there were daz/ling floods of 
 light, and again the gloom of a passing shower ; the yellow 
 gorse burned hot in the sun ; there were blush-tinted 
 anemones in the leafless woods, and primroses everywhere, 
 tmd shy violets ; the swallows were skimming, and dipping, 
 and twittering. A robin sang loud and clear from the top- 
 most twig of a hawthorn bush. And tiien the splendid 
 river, changing with every mood of the sky ; at times sullen 
 and dark under the heavy rainclouds ; and then again, 
 when these had passed, and the heavens were bountifully 
 flooding the world with radiance, this great mass of water 
 became a mighty highway of flashing, vivid, intense cobalt 
 blue, lying between these soft green meadows and that high 
 bank crowned with its golden furze. 
 
 'We ought to get a fish to-day, Johnnie,' he said, as he 
 was flogging away at the water. 
 
 ' Bedad, and it's more than one we'll have before going 
 home this night, your honour,' was Johnnie's confident 
 answer. 
 
 Moreover, the prophecy came true, for that evening, as 
 they went home through the dusk, the men had three very
 
 THE NEW FRIENDSHIP 
 
 nice fish to carry, one of them weighing twenty-eight pounds; 
 and it was the twenty-eight pounder, of course, that was to 
 go to Kensington Square. 
 
 A twenty-eight pound sahiion, a ticket for the Private 
 View of the Academy, a water-colour drawing of a rose-gray 
 evening over the beautiful river : these were the gifts he 
 now had for Sabina ; but they were not to show her that 
 he was continually thinking of her ; they were not to beg 
 for her favour in any way ; they were merely to cement the 
 new friendship. All the same, he began to wonder why 
 Janie had not written. He watched the posts. He tor- 
 mented himself with doubts. Perhaps he had been too 
 bold. Perhaps Sabina was ill. To think of her — while 
 here he was in this blowing April weather, with the spring 
 flowers carpeting the wood, and the west winds redolent of 
 the full-blossomed gorse, and the great river shining back 
 the deep blue of the young year's skies — to think of her as 
 perchance in a dull room in that gray Kensington Square, 
 lying pale and wan, it might be, with white fingers limp on 
 the coverlet ! Why was he not in London, that he might 
 go straight to Janie and ask ? If Sabina were ill, however 
 slightly, small messages from the outside world might vary 
 the monotony of the sick-room — flowers, and fruit, and 
 books, and an occasional word of remembrance and sym- 
 pathy — these could do no harm. Then again he would 
 argue himself out of this fear. Sabina was very busy. Janie, 
 too, had many things to look after. Perhaps she was waiting
 
 SAB/NA ZKM/iKJ 
 
 to sec whether Sabina could tlcfinitcly fix about tlic Private 
 View. Nevertheless, he came downstairs early in the 
 morning lest there should be an envelope waiting for hiin 
 on the breakfast -table. .And sometimes he would leave 
 the fishing just as the evening looked most promising, and 
 wander back to the inn, hoping for an answer from Ken- 
 sington Square. Hut all this anxiety, and needless alarm, 
 and torturing speculation had nothing to do with love or 
 love-sickness ; it was but part of the newly-established 
 friendship. 
 
 Nora was a good-hearted lass and shrewd withal ; and 
 she had got to suspect that Mr. Lindsay was troubling him- 
 self about the non-arrival of a letter ; so that one day when 
 the afternoon post brought a little batch of correspondence 
 for him, she straightway sought out a small shock-headed 
 boy and sent him down with the parcel to the boat. The 
 letter from Janie had come at last, and eagerly enough it 
 was opened. She apologised for not having answered 
 sooner ; but said she had been extremely busy. The young 
 gentleman who had met with the accident had left Lancaster 
 Gate ; following that, Sabina had many arrears of her own 
 particular work to attack, and Janie had been helping her. 
 And as he read on remorse of conscience struck him. It 
 appeared that his letter had very much distressed this tender 
 souL Any charge, however slight or remote, against her 
 beloved Sabie, was a cause of deep concern to her ; and she 
 had got it into her head that Mr. Lindsay was rather hinting
 
 THE NEW FRIENDSHIP 
 
 that Sabina was impervious to the claims of friendship ; and 
 
 she considered this to be most especially ungrateful on his 
 
 part. 
 
 ' Don't think me impertinent, dear Mr. Lindsay,' she 
 
 wrote, ' but really I cannot help asking what you would like 
 
 more. You write as if you and Sabie were strangers ; that 
 
 you were coming back to beg for a little friendship from 
 
 her ; and that is all you have to say in return for the way 
 
 she treated you that night at your house ! Why, she just 
 
 devoted herself to you the whole evening ; and had scarcely 
 
 a word or a look for any one else — so much so that it was 
 
 remarked ; and was as kind to you as an unmarried girl 
 
 could be. I think you want a little too much, if I must 
 
 speak my mind. If you think that Sabie is not already 
 
 your friend, I can only say that you are very iiiucli mistaken; 
 
 and friendship with Sabie means something. And she is 
 
 very much interested in your work, as I know ; and when 
 
 I told her where you were, among such beautiful things — 
 
 well, I confess I was mean enough to say it was lucky for 
 
 some folk that they could go away and live among green 
 
 fields and spring flowers and woods and all that, for we 
 
 were walking through a horrid little lane over in Battersea 
 
 — she was quite sharp with me, and said it was a very good 
 
 thing some people could go away and bring us back reports 
 
 of how beautiful the world was, and give us pictures of it that 
 
 we could look at again and again with delight in the middle 
 
 of all our troubles and worry. Yes, and she met the 
 vol.. I I
 
 Ill .^.//'/.\./ /i:MliSA CHAP. 
 
 President of the Academy at somebody's house the other 
 evening ; and he was saying very iiii c things about yt)U ; and 
 she came home and repeated every one oi them, ami was 
 vcr)- much pleased about it ; and said how fme a thing it 
 must be for one in your position to have such a career before 
 liim, and to have won such esteem already from your own 
 brothers in art. lUit that isn't friendship — oh no! That 
 is the carelessness of a stranger. I lowcver, I am not going 
 to scold any more, for I don't know tlial there was not some 
 make-believe in your letter. Only it docs seem hard on 
 Sabie. I suppose you don't know how kind she was to you 
 that evening ? Or how much attention do you expect, if I 
 may speak frankly ? I wondered that none of the other 
 gentlemen were jealous of the way she devoted herself to 
 you, both during supper and in the studio ; but I suppose 
 they find girls like Miss Sadleir and Tottie Morrison more 
 attractive ? Well, they're welcome, so long as they leave me 
 my Sabie. She told me you had offered her that beautiful 
 old wine-cup, and she thought it was very kind of you ; but 
 of course it would be no use to her. Besides, you could 
 not expect her to accept so valuable a gift. Mother, who 
 has very sharp eyes, says that something else happened just 
 about that time. Do you know? Of course, I would not 
 ask Sabie for worlds. But did it happen ? That was not 
 friendship, anyway ? And yet you seem to think that 
 Sabie is not kind to you.' 
 
 He took her scolding manfully; and only wished for more.
 
 VIII THE NEW FRIENDSHIP 115 
 
 For it was very grateful to him to have it so hotly argued 
 and proved, by one who ought to know, that Sabina held 
 him in some little regard ; and the references to that evening 
 in the studio recalled an abundance of happiness ; and he 
 liked to be told that Sabina had shown him so much favour. 
 He read the scolding over and over again, and did not care 
 whether he merited it or not ; it was all about Sabina, and 
 that was sufficient. But that chance remark about the lane 
 in Battersea gave him a twinge of conscience. He could 
 see the two girls trudging through those squalid thorough- 
 fares, on their errands of kindness and help, the air foetid 
 around them, the skies hidden away from them. While as 
 for him, look at his surroundings at this moment ! The 
 afternoon happened to be strangely still and peaceful — it was 
 like an evening in summer. On the higher meadows lay 
 a soft and mellow radiance, streaming over from the west ; 
 but down here the wide stream was in shadow; and odd 
 enough was the contrast between the turmoil of the water — 
 with its sharp and sudden gleams of blue-black and silver- 
 gray — and that peaceful golden landscape, and the pale 
 cloudless overarching sky. Here and there a bird was 
 singing ; and ever there was the lulling rush of the river, a 
 murmur filling the still evening air. And then he thought 
 of Battersea ; and of Sabina ; and of her generous defence 
 of him ; and all he could say for himself was this : that if 
 any of his transcripts of these peaceful and beautiful scenes 
 on the Shannon had a trace of interest in her eyes, or could
 
 \l6 SM/i/A.i rr.xiiiKA OIlAr. 
 
 make a dull corner of the liousc in Kcnsin;^U)n Siiuarc one 
 whit the hrij^hter, she was welcome lo her choice of ihcm 
 or to all of them put together. 
 
 There was further good news for him in ilie i)()siscript. 
 
 ' About the Trivate View of the Academy,' Miss Wygram 
 >\Tote, ' Sabie says I am to thank you very much for remem- 
 bering her, and she will be glad to go with us, if nothing 
 unusual should happen.' 
 
 Now here was a notable thing ; for though he was neither 
 Academician nor Associate, he would be in a certain sense 
 Sabina's host on this occasion, and responsible for her being 
 pleased and entertained. And what could he do? Was 
 there no special favour he could obtain for her ? Numbers 
 of both Academicians and Associates were amongst his 
 most intimate friends ; perhaps they could procure for him 
 the use of some small room somewhere, so that Miss Zembra 
 and the little party he might make up could have lunch in 
 peace and quiet, instead of amongst the heated crowd ? 
 Failing that (and it did not sound very possible), by going 
 early surely he could secure a table in the refreshment 
 room, in some snug corner ? And who could prove him- 
 self a better guide to her as she went round the Galleries ? 
 For each year he was in the habit of sending in a little water- 
 colour, not to ask for public favour at all, but merely to gain 
 for him a ticket for the Varnishing Day ; and he would 
 devote the whole of that day to a rapid survey of the 
 Exhibition ; so that when Sabina started on her round of the
 
 viri THE NEW FRIENDSHIP 117 
 
 rooms, he could take her without trouble and exploration to 
 everything worth seeing. On Private View Day, as every one 
 knows, the womenfolk rather let themselves loose in the 
 way of conspicuous attire. And if Sabina should come 
 amongst them in her simple gown of plain brown homespun, 
 with its black buttons and frilled tight cuffs? He hoped she 
 would. It was the dress he used to look out for in Ken- 
 sington High Street ; it was the dress that used to make his 
 heart leap — before the era of friendship had opened. And 
 better than any extravagance of fashion it seemed to suit 
 the tall and lithe and graceful form. 
 
 But for the consideration of these and other high-stirring 
 projects and fancies, he wanted more freedom and the 
 excitement of motion ; this coble amid the hurrying waters 
 of the Shannon was all too narrow and confined ; so he 
 surrendered his rod to Johnnie Ryan, got put ashore, and 
 presently was walking rapidly along the unfrequented high- 
 way in the direction of Lough Derg. And what, he was 
 asking himself, ought he to strive for, in order to prove 
 himself worthy of this rare companionship that was to be 
 his ; how was he to win further favour in her eyes ? Women, 
 he understood, rather liked the society of famous men — of 
 men who had ' done something,' and who were known to 
 the world. Well, now, he had never striven for fame at 
 all, He had striven to win the appreciation of his brother- 
 artists, and he had succeeded in a most enviable degree ; 
 but chiefly, it may be said, he worked for absolute love of
 
 llS S.-l/i/A.I /'/• l.'/A./ CHAV. 
 
 the work itself. His Wiglonshirc property rendered him 
 indeiKMulent of the dealers and of any caprice of puhhc 
 fashion ; he did his work in his own way ; he could afTord 
 to linger over it, and produce his best ; and the ultimate 
 fate of it, or the effect it would have on his reputation, did 
 not bother him much. Ikit if women liked the society of 
 famous men ? Surely there was nothing unworthy in seek- 
 ing the public approval ; in doing something definite ; in 
 making his work perhaps a little more consecutive? He 
 was walking near to the Shannon on this placid and golden 
 evening, and it suddenly occurred to him that a series of 
 drawings illustrative of the mighty river from its source away 
 in the north, down to its disappearance in the sea, might 
 show a certain coherence, and appeal to the public with 
 more effect than any mere number of disconnected water- 
 colours. It was a bold project, for the Shannon during its 
 course of two hundred miles flows through almost ever)' 
 kind of country. He would have to face mountain scener}', 
 and lake scenery', and gentle pastoral scenery ; and he would 
 have to deal with the varied character of the river itself, 
 now widening out into such inland seas as Lough Ree and 
 Lough Derg, again gliding swiftly by peaceful meadows, or 
 wildly racing and chasing over the rocky barriers of Castle 
 Connell. But then look at the result of these two or three 
 years' labour : an exhibition room in Piccadilly or King 
 Street — a Private View Day all to himself — Sabina making 
 her appearance, along with the Wygrams, about four in the
 
 VIII THE NE W FRIENDSHIP 1 1 9 
 
 afternoon — Sabina, as ever, gracious, and benignant, and 
 smiling-eyed. 
 
 This newly-formed friendship seemed to demand a good 
 deal of reverie ; and it is to be observed that not only did 
 the figure of Sabina loom large and constant in these visions 
 of the future, but also that the society and companionship 
 he was arranging for her were very curiously limited. In 
 fact, there did not appear to be any room for a third or a 
 fourth person. The Wygrams, of course, did not count ; 
 they might be regarded merely as attendants upon Sabina ; 
 while as for any one else, there was no one else. Sabina 
 and he were to be friends ; the outer world — especially the 
 male creatures of the outer world — might surround that 
 distinctly limited circle if they chose — at a little distance. 
 Now, friendship is not ordinarily so exclusive. But perhaps 
 this was an entirely novel kind. 
 
 ' I'm afraid I'm very late for dinner, Nora, acushla,' said 
 he, as he got back to the inn an hour and a half after the 
 proper time. 
 
 ' Oh, well, sir,' said Nora good-naturedly, ' we expect 
 the gentlemen to come in at anny toime. If it's bad luck 
 they're having with the fishing they come home, and if it's 
 good luck they stay out. I sent you down your letters, sir.' 
 
 ' Thank you kindly,' said he. 
 
 ' I hope there was good news in them, sir,' said Nora, as 
 she was giving the last touch to the turf-fire. 
 
 ' Indeed, there was,' he rejoined.
 
 I20 S.I/!/X.^ ZF.MnRA < ii\i'. 
 
 ' \N"cll, it's ghul I aiu of ihat, sir,' said Nora, who had 
 been forming her little guesses ; ' for sometimes a letter has 
 a dale to say.' 
 
 ' I am going bark to ICngland on Monday.' 
 
 ' Are yc now, sir? Well, that's a pity, to be sure ! — and 
 Tim O'Connor declaring the weather was going to be 
 splendid for the fishing.' 
 
 ' Ves, I must be olT; but some day or another I'll be 
 coming back. No fear about that ; you're too good to me 
 over here.' 
 
 ' And the next time you come, sir,' said Nora, in her 
 demure way, as she was leaving the room, ' sure, I hope ye'll 
 not be coming alone.' 
 
 There was no particular need that he should go back on 
 Monday ; but he knew that the art world of London was 
 now entering upon its annual period of excitement ; the 
 studios would all be a-murmuring ; and the air surcharged 
 with stories of rejections, and rage at the hanging, and 
 wonder at the good luck of some folks in selling their 
 pictures. Of course, he was interested in such things ; and 
 it was natural he should return to London at such a time. 
 As for any other reason, or subtle hope, or fascination ? — 
 no, he answered himself, there was none. He was quite 
 heart-whole now. Those weeks of hard work and hard 
 exercise and wholesome air on the shores of the Shannon 
 had cured him of that hateful and febrile sadness that had 
 made his life in London unendurable. He was going back
 
 THE NEW FRIENDSHIP 
 
 to assiduous and happy labour in his studio ; and if by 
 chance he were to meet Sabina in the street — down by 
 Kensington Square, it might be, or Hyde Park Gate, or 
 Cromwell Gardens — he would be able to take her hand 
 without a tremor, and she should find nothing but friend- 
 ship — placid and assured and abiding — in his eyes.
 
 ClIAPTKR IX 
 
 IJY THE SEA 
 
 Bi'T in the meantime, Mrs. Wygrani had fallen ill in a vague 
 kind of way ; lassitude, loss of appetite, and melancholy 
 were the chief symptoms ; and Sabina, taking the matter in 
 hand in her rapid and practical fashion, had no diffi- 
 culty in making a diagnosis of the case. The ailment she 
 declared to be Kensington Square ; and the obvious cure 
 — Brighton. 
 
 ' Janie,' she said, ' I will run down with your mother, 
 and see her put comfortably in a lodging, and stay with her 
 as long as I can. Then you will look after my people from 
 time to time ; and if I'm wanted, it's merely a sixpenny 
 telegram and I'm in London in an hour and a quarter. 
 Even if I have to come up now and again, your mother 
 won't feel ver)- lonely when she knows I am coming back 
 in the evening.' 
 
 ' But why to Brighton, Sabie ? ' said Janie, with a sudden 
 and jealous alarm. 
 
 'I'll tell you the reason — because it is so handy,' was 
 the answer.
 
 BY THE SEA 123 
 
 ' Is Mr. Foster there ? ' 
 
 Sabina's face brightened. 
 
 'Yes. Poor fellow, it will be quite a pleasure to see 
 him and try to cheer him up a bit. He is so good-natured, 
 you know, Janie. When one looks back on that unhappy 
 accident, it is with a good deal of remorse; and it isn't 
 pleasant ; but the moment you see him he tries to make 
 light of it, and to put you at your ease, and then you are 
 glad that he takes it so courageously. And just think what 
 it must be to one who has led so active and stirring a life — 
 to be chained down like that. Why, it's dreadful to think 
 of ! People who are walking about, and going where they 
 like, can't even imagine what that is. Then the want of 
 society — the dull evenings — the wet days when he is alone 
 and indoors — do you wonder that I should be sorry for 
 him, and feel sometimes a little miserable about it all ? ' 
 
 ' For my part,' said Janie, somewhat coldly, ' I don't 
 see why you should feel miserable about it in any way 
 whatever. An accident may happen to any one. And I 
 can't understand a bit the interest you take in him. Why, 
 Sabie, he is the last man in the world I should have ex- 
 pected you to make friends with — a man who seems to have 
 no aim in life but to amuse himself.' 
 
 ' But you know, Janie, there are many people who don't 
 even succeed in doing that,' said Sabina, in her gentle way ; 
 these two were not in the habit of quarrelling. 
 
 l"hc end of it was that Sabina took Mrs. Wygram down
 
 124 S.4/i/A'.4 /.E.\tnKA 
 
 to Hrighton, ami j;ol rooms for llicm both in a house in 
 Regency Square. 
 
 ' I shall be such a dull comitanion lor you, Sabic,' the 
 old lady said. ' Don't you know any young pcojile here?' 
 
 ' I don't know a soul in tlic i)lace,' Sabina answered, 
 'except Mr. Foster, ami he is another invalid. Fancy what 
 a business I shall have in talking you both into something 
 like light-heartedness ! But how am I to see him ? I want 
 to see him ; and I know where he is living — in the crescent 
 where the Grand Hotel is. But I suppose we could hardly 
 call on him, could we ; or send him a message that we are 
 here ? ' 
 
 ' He is rather a stranger, isn't he ? ' said Mrs. Wygram 
 doubtfully. 
 
 ' A stranger ? Not a bit of it ! You don't keep talking 
 to any one day after day without getting to understand him 
 pretty well ; and I seem to have known Mr. Foster all my 
 life. I have heard all about his schooldays, and his home, 
 and his people, and his pursuits. I assure you, there is an 
 amount of frank egotism about him that is quite charming ; 
 and you know you should always encourage people to talk 
 about themselves ; it's the subject that interests them most.' 
 
 ' You have such a wonderful patience, Sabie, with old 
 people and with young,' said Mrs. AVygram, who had some 
 acquaintance with the girl, 
 
 ' Oh, but that is just the way I take of amusing myself,' 
 said Sabina lightly ; ' just as other people take to whist, or
 
 BY THE SEA 125 
 
 billiards, or horse-racing. Now tell me what is to be done. 
 If you knew Mr. Foster you could write and ask him to 
 call — if the bath-chair can be got into the house. But you 
 don't know him. Well, suppose I were to send him a note 
 like this : "Young man, I'm old enough to be your mother, 
 so don't be offended if I ask you to come along and have a 
 cup of tea with Mrs. Wygram and myself? " ' 
 
 ' You old enough to be his mother, indeed ! ' Mrs. 
 Wygram cried. ' How old is he, then ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, I don't know,' Sabina said carelessly. ' But tell 
 me what we should do now. Or shall we go out for a little 
 walk first and decide so weighty a matter afterwards ? ' 
 
 And as it turned out, the matter was decided for them, 
 and that forthwith and in the simplest w^ay. When they went 
 out they naturally strolled down towards the Pier ; for the 
 band was playing, and the wide promenade seemed a cheerful 
 kind of place ; and about the very first person they saw 
 there was Mr. Foster himself, whose chair was being slowly 
 pulled along. His quick, clear eyes smiled a recognition 
 at once ; Sabina, in the frankest and friendliest way, went 
 up and shook hands with him, and introduced him to Mrs. 
 Wygram; and there they remained, chatting, asking questions, 
 and apparently very well pleased to have met once more. 
 
 But Mrs. Wygram was not so well pleased. She had 
 heard a good deal about Mr. Foster from Janie ; and perhaps 
 she had unconsciously imbibed a little of the jealousy with 
 which Janie regarded the young gentleman. Anyhow, she
 
 136 '^ "'VA lEMliKA 
 
 W.IS distinctly of opinion — as she remained a trilling space 
 aiKxrt, and only half-listened to their conversation — that the 
 numner of Mr. Foster towards Sabina was not right. It 
 was a great deal too easy and familiar. Her beautiful 
 Sabic (she considered) ought to be regarded with a re- 
 spectful adoration — especially by young men ; whereas this 
 person in the bath-diair looked at Sabina, and spoke to 
 her, just as if she might have Ix'cn anybody. In truth, 
 Sabina appeared to be a good deal more pleased by tliis 
 chance meeting than he was ; she was interested, animated, 
 smiling, and friendly ; while he glanced at her in a critical 
 kind of way, and seemed in no wise sufficiently grateful for 
 her condescension. 
 
 * Well, did you do as I told you?' he said. ' Did you 
 "go Nap" on Cherry Blossom for the Grand National?' 
 
 ' No, I did not,' she answered. ' But I hope you 
 won ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, I don't call it winning \ I call it getting back a 
 little of my stolen property. And I did pretty well on the 
 City and Suburban too,' he added cheerfully. 
 
 'But,' she said, 'perhaps I ought not to congratulate 
 you on winning, for, of course, that means that some one 
 must have lost' 
 
 ' Oh, you needn't be sorry when the " bookies " get 
 caught ; they make a good enough thing of it in the end — 
 be sure of that.' 
 
 ' But some one must lose,' said this patient disciple — and
 
 BY THE SEA 127 
 
 strange it was to Mrs. Wygram to hear Sabie talk about 
 horse-racing. 
 
 ' Why, yes. The great bulk of the public lose, and must 
 lose ; and why shouldn't they lose ? They bet for fun, 
 whether they know anything about the horses or not. Well, 
 if you want your amusement, you've got to pay for it ; and 
 if your amusement is backing horses, you've got to pay for 
 that too. You see, it isn't every one who can keep a yacht 
 or a pack of hounds ; but every one can back a horse, 
 thanks to the noble swells who provide the animals. I 
 consider it very disinterested on their part ; it isn't many 
 of them who have made money over it ; I know a good 
 number of gallant sportsmen who have a fine display of 
 gold cups on their dining-room sideboard, but who don't 
 quite like to be asked how much they cost.' 
 
 ' But still, to encourage general gambling in that way ' 
 
 Sabina was going to protest, but he interrupted her with a 
 laugh. 
 
 ' Oh yes, I know. Miss Zembra. It's very wicked and 
 bad ; and the grocer's apprentice who filches from his 
 master's till in order to back a favourite will no doubt come 
 to the gallows ; and it's very distressing that people will 
 go on risking their money on games of chance ; but then, 
 such is life.' 
 
 ' We might try to make life a little better than we find 
 it,' she said tentatively ; somehow he had not the air of 
 one who would listen to words of wisdom.
 
 1 •^ ' ' ' . i-.MUKA UHAI". 
 
 He lookcil al licr aiul said gravely : ' I'm t;oing to IcH 
 you somclhiiii;. Don't you forget it. If you can get any- 
 body to give you ten to one against Macedon for the Two 
 Thousand, just you take it — and you'll renieniher me with 
 tears of gratitude.' 
 
 ' Vou arc incorrigible,' she said ; but she said it with a 
 smile ; for there was far more of good humour than of 
 argument in her composition ; and she was pleased to find 
 him so confident and self-reliant and in such good spirits. 
 
 They went out to the farther end of the Pier, which he 
 said was his favourite retreat ; for there, while he could 
 command an uninterrupted view of the coastline all the 
 way from Worthing Point out to the successive chalk head- 
 lands of Seaford and the Seven Sisters, the music near at 
 hand was softened to the ear by the intervention of the 
 glass screen. He could either listen to the band ; or read 
 the morning newspaper, and its guesses about the forth- 
 coming race-meetings ; or overlook the small boats rowing 
 below ; or watch here and there a big steamer leaving an 
 almost stationary trail of smoke along the far horizon. And 
 this particular morning, as it happened, was exceedingly 
 bright and cheerful ; a light west wind blowing ; the clear 
 green water glancing in a myriad diamonds of sunlight along 
 each shimmering ripple ; now and again soft purple patches 
 telling of the shadow of a cloud ; overhead a quite summer- 
 like sky. Then there was much liveliness abroad; the 
 last delayed of the fishing-smacks coming in from the south
 
 BY THE SEA 129 
 
 east ; the heavy-booted crews making their way home to 
 bed ; the salesmen and packers getting off the boxes and 
 barrels of mackerel and conger to the London market ; 
 holiday-folks down on the shingle ; children paddling where 
 the sand showed at low tide ; the boatmen and photo- 
 graphers and newsboys busy ; a traffic brisker than usual 
 for that time of the year visible in the King's Road. 
 
 'Oh yes,' he continued, as Sabina stood by the side of 
 the Bath-chair, or leant over the rails to watch the manoeu- 
 vring of a small saiUng-boat below; 'this is an excellent 
 place ; there is always something going on, something to 
 look at. I know all the girls — I mean by headmark. It's 
 quite nice to see the young things trying to make-believe 
 that it is summer already with their pretty bonnets and 
 dresses. And you. Miss Zembra,' he added, with no em- 
 barrassment at all, ' aren't you going to take advantage of 
 the seaside .'* You know people allow themselves a little 
 liberty when they come here — in the way of costume, I 
 mean. Pray don't think me rude, but I should fancy now 
 that a sailor's hat — a straw hat, you know, with a band of 
 red silk, or something of that kind — would become you very 
 well, and be a little brighter for the seaside. Don't you?' 
 
 The suggestion was no doubt made in simple friendli- 
 ness ; but Mrs. Wygram did not like it. 
 
 ' If you would care to see the prettiest dress Miss Zembra 
 ever wore — to my thinking — I can show it to you.' 
 
 She took from her pocket an envelope, and from the 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 i'.o s.^/,'/^'.^ /.emura 
 
 cnvcloi>c a photograi^h. Il w.is a i)lioli\i;raiih of Sahina in 
 her hospital costume — a plain striped gown ; a white cap 
 and apron — the apron furnished with shoulder-straps ; her 
 nurse's implements slung by a silver chain from her girdle ; 
 a silver brooch — an anchor — at her neck. He glanced at 
 the photograph, and handed it back with a laugli. 
 
 * I did not think they would have allowed you to wear 
 any ornament,' he said, still addressing Sabina; 'but I sec 
 you wore the same brooch you are wearing now.' 
 
 ' And you would not easily get Miss Zembra to part with 
 that brooch,' said the little old lady proudly. ' It was given 
 her by some of the boys on board the Chichester ; they 
 subscribed among themselves — and that was what they 
 sent her. At least,' continued Mrs. Wygram (for she was 
 determined that Mr. Foster should know there were other 
 people who could appreciate Sabina, if he seemed so care- 
 less and indifferent), — 'at least that was the story, and 
 perhaps it is partly true. But I have my suspicions. I 
 know that the only time I ever went down to see the 
 Chichester there was a young officer there who went round 
 the ship with us, and I noticed that he was particularly 
 attentive to a young lady — I wouldn't mention names for 
 the world. And when he spoke of this subscription, I 
 guessed who would help in that. Boys in training-ships 
 don't have many pence, I should think. Oh yes, and the 
 letter he sent ! — I shouldn't have expected lads like that to 
 use such beautiful English '
 
 BV THE SEA 131 
 
 ' Now, Mrs. Wygram, don't you say anything against 
 my boys,' Sabina said, but she had turned away partly 
 — perhaps to get a better view of that little sailing - 
 boat. 
 
 They chatted and looked around them until lunch-time ; 
 and then they made for home — the two ladies accompanying 
 the Bath-chair as far as the turnstile of the pier. 
 
 ' Good-bye,' he said, and raised his hat slightly. 
 
 But Sabina hesitated for a moment. ' Shall you be out 
 again in the afternoon?' she asked. 
 
 ' Well, no,' he answered. ' I was thinking of looking in 
 at the tennis court.' 
 
 'What, on a day like this?' she exclaimed. 'Surely 
 that is unwise on the part of an invalid.' 
 
 ' Oh, but I don't look on myself as an invalid at all,' he 
 said. ' I am an expectant — a tide-waiter — a tied-waiter, 
 you see ! An excellent joke ! Well, good morning !' 
 
 ' If you will come along at five o'clock, we will give you 
 a cup of tea,' she said. 
 
 ' Thanks, awfully — but a Bath-chair is such a nuisance 
 in a room ' 
 
 'Oh, don't say that!' she interposed, with a touch of 
 appeal in her tone. 
 
 ' ^Vcll, I will come, if I may ; what is your number in 
 the Square?' — and then, when he had got that informa- 
 tion, they went their several ways. 
 
 During lunch Sabina talked of nothing but Mr. Foster,
 
 1 32 S.tJi/NA /.EM UNA ciiai'. 
 
 auil ot" his wiMulcifiil courage and aiuaiiimily niulcr this 
 heavy trial. 
 
 ' \'ou don't know how grateful I am to him,' she said, 
 ' when I see him so light-hearted. If he were to fret and 
 pine over it, as many another man would, just think how 
 miserable I should feel' 
 
 'So you've said a hundred times, Sabie,' Mrs. Wygram 
 answered patiently, 'and so you've said to Janie ; but if 
 you were to talk from now to Doomsday, you wouldn't 
 convince me that you ought to hold yourself responsible 
 for that accident.' 
 
 'Why was I such a fool as to call out, then?' was the 
 immediate rejoinder. ' I don't believe he would have 
 harmed the dog at all. And I am quite certain he wouldn't 
 have gone near the heap of gravel.' 
 
 Mrs. Wygram did not choose to argue ; but somehow 
 she was not well disposed to Mr. P'oster. 
 
 ' You may be as grateful as you please,' she said to 
 Sabina ; ' I should have liked to hear of his being a little 
 grateful, on his side, for all the kindness and attention he 
 received.' 
 
 ' Ah, don't be so hard on the poor fellow, dear Mrs. 
 Wygram,' said Sabina. ' How would you like it if you 
 were shut up in a Bath-chair like that ?' 
 
 'How should I like it?' Mrs. Wygram retorted, with a 
 trifle of indignation in her voice. ' Well, I know this ; if I 
 were in a Bath-chair, and if I were a man, and a young
 
 BV THE SEA 133 
 
 lady came of her own accord to pay me a good deal of 
 attention, and to be very friendly and courteous and 
 obliging, I think I should do or say something to show 
 that I recognised how kind she was trying to be. I should 
 not show myself an indifferent boor. Why, a man ' 
 
 ' Now, now, dear Mrs. Wygram, please to stop,' said 
 Sabina; but she was not very angry. 'You don't know 
 what you're saying. And besides, that is why I like Mr. 
 Foster; he is honest, and does not pretend to be more 
 interested in you than he really feels.' 
 
 After lunch Mrs. Wygram was ordered by her imperious 
 nurse to go away and lie down for a while ; and then, about 
 half-past three, Sabina came for her. 
 
 'The people are coming out,' she said. 'Shall we go 
 for a little stroll? I want to see the fashions.' And then 
 she said : ' Really, the clear light here is dreadful for 
 showing you how shabby your clothes are. Did you 
 ever see anything so disgraceful as this bonnet of mine ?' 
 
 She was holding it up to the window. Then she said : 
 ' Yes, we will go along to the shops ; and you know we 
 ought to join in with the others and make-believe that 
 summer is come already ; and I am going to get you a new 
 bonnet — no, no, now, you needn't protest, for I always have 
 my own way in the end — yes, I am going to get you a 
 bonnet of a lighter colour, with a little frivolity in it, for of 
 course when we are at the seaside we must follow the seaside 
 fashions.'
 
 i.;4 SAP IN A ZEMBRA 
 
 And then again she said, *I wonder, now, it" 1 am too 
 old and grave a person to wear a sailor's hat ?' 
 
 * Vou too old, Sabie ? Oh yes, indeeil ! \ ou look so 
 old I" was Mrs. \\'ygrani's answer. 
 
 l!ut when they had got outside and were going along 
 the King's Road, a sudden thought occurred to Sabina's 
 companion. 
 
 * Sabie,' she said, 'what put the notion of getting a sailor's 
 hat into your head? Was it Mr. Foster's suggestion?' 
 
 'And supposing it was?' the tall, bland-featured girl 
 answered, in her good-natured way. 
 
 'But do you know what you arc doing?' Mrs. Wygram 
 said half-angrily. 'It is not the custom for young gentle- 
 men to advise young ladies as to what they should wear.' 
 
 ' Oh, nonsense ! — a chance hint of that kind ? — I should 
 have taken it from anybody. And besides,' Sabina added, 
 ' what do you mean by young ladies and young gentlemen ? 
 I tell you I am old enough to be his mother.' 
 
 'Oh yes, vcrj' old!' Mrs. Wygram replied, with a fine 
 irony ; ' and very plain, too. Remarkably plain. I 
 suppose you didn't notice how the people were looking at 
 you out at the end of the Pier ? I did, if you didn't ; and 
 to me it didn't seem the best of manners. And you'll put 
 a band of red silk round the hat, as he directed you?' 
 
 ' No, I don't think I will do that,' Sabina answered. ' I 
 will get a band of cream-coloured satin, I think ; or of the 
 colour of this dress, if I can.'
 
 BY THE SEA 13S 
 
 ' And you will be wearing that hat when he comes along 
 this afternoon?' 
 
 ' Well, no ; for I don't wear a hat indoors.' 
 
 ' But it will be lying about?' 
 
 ' It may. But, dear Mrs. Wygram, what do you mean ? 
 A trifle of this kind ! And Janie isn't here ; you know it 
 is Janie who generally chooses my things for me.' 
 
 That evening Mrs. Wygram had to write to her daughter, 
 and this was the postscript of the letter : 
 
 ' I don't know what to say or think about Sabie. Of 
 course she is goodness itself to me — that she is always — and 
 never was she more kind and considerate and affectionate. 
 And you know how I love the girl. But she puzzles me. 
 For either she carries good nature to the verge of folly — and 
 over it — or else she is the most abominable flirt that ever 
 breathed.' 
 
 This set Janie a -crying ; and she answered in hot 
 haste : 
 
 'Mother, I beg you will not say such things about 
 Sabie. It's very little you know about her if you can think 
 them for a moment. But I see how it is, and understand 
 it perfectly ; you do love her, and you are jealous ; and I 
 knew that would be so the moment you saw how interested 
 she is in Mr. Foster. I hope it won't be a misery to all of 
 us. What should we do, mother, if anything happened to 
 our Sal)ie ?'
 
 CHAT IK R X 
 
 AT THE ACADEMY 
 
 The tender heart of Janie was to be still further distracted. 
 Sabina refused to go up to town for the Private View of the 
 Academy. 
 
 'I can't leave my charge,' she wTOte, 'just when it is 
 most necessary that she should be driven about, and walked 
 about, and generally looked after.' 
 
 Janie, in great distress, forthwith appealed to her 
 mother. 
 
 ' She fnust come, mother. It is a promise. I pledged 
 my word to AValter Lindsay that she should go with us. 
 Surely it cannot be that she is so fascinated by that con- 
 temptible horse-jockey that she is going to disappoint us 
 all in this way ? Of course, don't repeat what I have just 
 said, or she will think it necessary to defend him, and I 
 don't want to quarrel with her about anybody like that. 
 But appeal to the real Sabie — to our Sabie. Does she 
 know how Mr. Lindsay has set his heart on taking her to 
 the Academy? And Mrs. Tremenheere has promised to 
 go with us in your place ; and then if Sabie comes up on
 
 CHAP. X AT THE ACADEMY 137 
 
 the Thursday night she can go down to you again on the 
 following afternoon or evening. The truth is, I have not 
 dared to speak of it to Mr. Lindsay ; I could not do it ; I 
 tell you he has just set his heart on it ; and it's for you, 
 now, dearest mother, to try to bring that abominable 
 wretch to her senses.' 
 
 There was not the slightest difficulty about it. When it 
 was pointed out to Sabina that her refusal to go would give 
 a great deal of pain to two of her friends, she merely 
 elevated her eyebrows a little in surprise, as if that had 
 never occurred to her before ; and when Mrs. Wygram 
 added that she herself would take it as a favour if Sabie 
 yielded to the wishes of those kind people, Sabina in- 
 stantly and good-naturedly said yes. Only she stipulated 
 that she should go up on the Friday morning and return 
 the same evening. 
 
 Walter Lindsay never knew how near he had been 
 to a bitter disappointment ; he was merely told (Janie 
 assuming a little air of authority on the occasion) at what 
 hour he might expect Sabina to arrive at Burlington House. 
 It is perhaps unnecessary to say that he had not been able 
 to obtain the use of any private room for their luncheon ; 
 though one distinguished Academician had facetiously 
 offered to place the Diploma Gallery at the disposal of the 
 party. And be sure he was waiting at the top of the stair- 
 case long before the time at which Mrs. Tremenheere and 
 Sabina and Janie had promised to appear. The people
 
 138 SAPfNA ZEMHRA 
 
 came pouring in : elderly gentlemen already opening their 
 catalogues and adjusting their glasses ; gorgeous matrons 
 scanning the crowd in search of friends ; young ladies 
 with a (juick eye for other young ladies' gowns ; young 
 gentlemen with a quick eye for those young ladies' faces. 
 And to many of these the tall and pale young artist, who 
 stood as close as might be to the wicket, was known ; and 
 he had perfunctorily to shake hands with them and say a 
 word or two ; but ever his anxious gaze went down that 
 wide, thick -carpeted stair, eagerly scrutinising each suc- 
 cessive group as it arrived. And as it chanced he was 
 caught napping after all. A sculptor friend came to him 
 and touched him on the shoulder. 
 
 ' Lindsay,' he said, ' I want you to come and look at 
 
 my bust of Mrs. Have you seen it yet?' 
 
 'No, I haven't; but I will remember; all right.' 
 ' Come along, now, won't you ? — a minute will do — the 
 fact is, they've all been abusing it and pitching into it — 
 and I want you to say it isn't so bad as all that.' 
 
 ' But I'm waiting for some people, man,' Lindsay broke 
 in, not too cordially. 
 
 ' My good fellow, it won't take you a minute !' 
 And so he cast a last despairing glance down the 
 crowded staircase, and impatiently followed his friend into 
 the sculpture room. He was not there more than three 
 minutes. And then it was, as he was hastening back to 
 his post, that he suddenly found before him — Sabina !
 
 X AT THE ACADEMY 139 
 
 Other people saw advancing towards him a young lady, 
 tall and fair and smiling ; he only saw a face, a kind of 
 bewilderment of light shining there and in her eyes ; and 
 if his heart seemed to choke him somewhat (in a manner 
 not quite consistent with the new friendship he had estab- 
 lished) he had scarcely time to attend to that. Perhaps 
 he shook hands with her — he did not know ; probably he 
 also greeted Mrs. Tremenheere and Janie ; at all events he 
 seemed to want to take them through all the rooms at 
 once ; and yet not to know where to begin ; while the 
 fingers that held the open catalogue were far from being 
 so steady as the new friendship demanded. As for Sabina, 
 she was certainly not perturbed. Nor did she seem par- 
 ticularly anxious to see the pictures. She looked at the 
 crowd in her gentle, bland, pleased way ; recognising here 
 and there a familiar face, and perhaps not paying as much 
 attention to her eager guide as she ought to have done. 
 However, she eventually yielded to his solicitation and 
 they began their laborious round. He made it as easy 
 as possible for her — if Mrs. Tremenheere and Janie had 
 pretty well to look out for themselves. He took her to 
 all the principal pictures. If any one stopped her and 
 spoke to her, he made no scruple about dragging her away, 
 and insisting upon her looking at this or that. And Sabina 
 was very kind to him, for she knew he was giving himself 
 a great deal of trouble on her behalf; and the new relation- 
 ship he had established between himself and her seemed
 
 MO SABINA ZEMBRA oiiaj'. 
 
 to him a distinctly joyous thing — sending, as it were, 
 flashes of gladness through his veins every lime she 
 turned towards him, or spoke to him, or hajipened lo lei 
 the sleeve of her bron/e plush cloak come near his arm. 
 It was a very pretty costume, by the way, that she wore, 
 though it was not the simple brown homespun of his 
 expectation ; and he could see that it was admired — and 
 that Sabina was admired — by the little covert glances that 
 both men and women directed towards her as they passed. 
 And of course he perjured his soul a hundred times in 
 quickly assenting to everything she said. \\'hy should he 
 dispute her judgment? What was his miserable cut-and- 
 dried knowledge of technique as compared with the 
 generous appreciation of a fresh young soul ? Could he 
 check kindness? Would he like her eyes to be less 
 benignant ? Where her abundant good nature saw merit, 
 what right had he to point out defects? In short, what 
 mattered the pictures to him in any way whatever? He 
 would have made a holocaust of the whole collection had 
 it belonged to him, if only Sabina would have been 
 interested in the riotous blaze. And all this, it must be 
 remembered, was but part of the new friendship. 
 
 ' And where is your own picture, Mr. Lindsay?' Sabina 
 said to him. 
 
 ' Oh, that is nothing,' he answered. 
 
 ' But I wish to see it,' she said. 
 
 ' Really, it is not worth looking at,' he protested. ' It
 
 X AT THE A CADE J/ V 141 
 
 is a little thing I sent in merely to get a ticket for Varnish- 
 ing Day.' 
 
 ' But I wish to see it,' she said, with mild persistence. 
 
 ' The water-colour room is at the other end,' he pointed 
 out ; for he did not wish Sabina to take this luckless little 
 contribution as in any way representative of his work. 
 
 ' Then you won't take me to see it ? ' 
 
 Of course this was a command ; and forthwith they set 
 about making their way through the now crowded rooms. 
 And scant indeed was the recognition his friends obtained 
 from him on that busy morning ; for it seemed as if there 
 were a hundred thousand things he had to say to Sabina ; 
 and that the time was all too short. And then, was it not 
 his duty to keep her amused and interested and pleased ? 
 He was her host, in a measure ; he was responsible for her 
 being entertained ; he would have ample opportunities of 
 talking with all those various friends and acquaintances 
 after Sabina had gone away once more from London. 
 
 ' Why, you seem to know every one,' she said to him, as 
 they were making their slow progress through the galleries. 
 
 And yet he had no wish to show her off — to proclaim 
 their friendship, that is to say, before all these people. 
 Far rather would he have had her go away into some quiet 
 corner — into the room for architectural drawings, for ex- 
 ample — and sit down there, so that he might recollect some 
 of the hundred thousand things he had to tell her. He 
 was not in any way anxious that these good folk should
 
 I4J SMJ>/.\.1 /h.UliKA CIIAl>. 
 
 admire Sabina, or look at licr prclty ilrcss, or bo striu k l)y 
 tlic proiul and gracious set of her neck ami shoulders, and 
 the sweetness of her smile. lie was far more anxious that 
 she should not become tired, or indifTerent, or bored ; and 
 the hundred thousand things he had to tell her seemed to 
 narrow themselves down in a dreadful way, or refused to 
 be summoned altogether ; so that he could only say to 
 himself, ' Well, I am a blatant idiot ; but Sabina is so 
 good-natured that she pretends to be pleased.' The new 
 friendship was progressing. 
 
 Eventually they found the little picture ; it was a harm- 
 less kind of thing — merely a study of a black windmill 
 and an up-lying field, golden with charlock, against an 
 almost silver-white sky ; and when Sabina out of kindness 
 would praise it, he rather resented her approval, for he did 
 not wish her to imagine that was how he always painted. 
 
 ' But you need not think that,' she said. ' I have seen 
 so much of your work. And I am sure I did not half 
 thank you for the beautiful drawing you sent me from the 
 Shannon. I was so busy at the time. But I prize it none 
 the less, I assure you ; do you know that I took it down 
 to Brighton and we have it hung up there — of course to be 
 brought away again when we leave ? ' 
 
 *0h, did you? ' he said \ there was a kind of music in 
 the air. 
 
 And then he suddenly discovered that it was a quarter 
 to one, and therefore time for lunch.
 
 X AT THE ACADEMY 143 
 
 ' Do come, now,' he said, ' and we will get a quiet place 
 to ourselves. I don't want to have you tired out. Be- 
 sides, you must be hungry; you left Brighton by the 9.45.' 
 
 ' How do you know that ? ' she said, glancing at him. 
 
 ' You must have left then ; I looked at the time- 
 table.' 
 
 And they did, as it happened, get a quiet corner for 
 themselves in the luncheon-room ; and whether it was 
 owing to some mysterious subsidy or not, they appeared to be 
 very well attended to, while people at the other tables were 
 looking vacuously about them or making impatient and 
 fruitless appeals to overharassed waiters. Curiously enough, 
 too, Sabina sat at his right hand, where Mrs. Tremen- 
 heere should have been ; but perhaps that was an acci- 
 dent. And Janie was very pleased and happy ; and said 
 in an undertone to Mrs. Tremenheere — for Mr. Lindsay 
 had a good many things to say to Miss Zembra, so that 
 these two were occupied — that never in all her life had 
 she seen Sabie looking so beautiful. Janie was a kind- 
 hearted creature, and talked to Mrs. Tremenheere without 
 ceasing. 
 
 And what did Lindsay say, now that she and he were 
 together in this secluded nook, their shoulders almost 
 touching, their heads not far apart, he humbly solicitous 
 about the smallest details of the frugal little banquet he 
 had provided for her ? Well, it was all a lamentation over 
 the fact that no ladies could be present even as lookers-on
 
 1. 14 SAH/NA /.EM UK A 
 
 at the Acnilciny ilinncr that was to take place the following 
 evening. 
 
 ' \'ou see,' he continued — and he addressed himself ex- 
 clusively to Sabina — ' the walls are covereil to the roof with 
 j)ictures — as many a poor wretch knows to his cost ; and I 
 suppose it would be impossible to have a gallery for specta- 
 tors. lUit it is a pity ; for there is no such sight to be seen 
 anywhere else, or at any other time, in Cireat I'.rilain. All 
 England's greatest are there — her statesmen, and jioets, 
 and soldiers, and lawyers, and painters; a stranger would 
 think he had got among a lot of portraits out of the illus- 
 trated papers ; it is an extraordinary assemblage of the 
 brains and wealth of the country. Yes,' he said, glancing 
 at her ; ' I have no doubt you are asking yourself how I 
 ever came to be in that galley.' 
 
 ' Indeed I was not,' she said warmly. 
 
 ' I asked myself the question,' he continued modestly, 
 ' when I looked round last year and found myself the only 
 insignificant duffer at our particular table, for I'm not even 
 a picture-buyer. But I have a good many friends in the 
 Academy — I suppose that is it.' 
 
 ' I should rather think it was meant as a recognition of 
 your work,' Sabina said gently ; ' and I should be very 
 proud of it if I were you.' 
 
 * However, as I was saying,' he interposed rather quickly, 
 ' it is an extraordinary sight ; and then, you know, they 
 keep the lights somewhat lowered during dinner — though
 
 X AT THE ACADEMY 145 
 
 you wouldn't think it, for the place is so brilUant — until 
 the President has proposed the toast of the Queen's health, 
 and then, when he winds up with " Your Royal Highnesses, 
 my lords, and gentlemen — the Queen ! " all of a sudden the 
 lights are put at full blaze, and the effect is quite startling. 
 You should see them all standing up — the Queen's Minis- 
 ters, the ex-Ministers, Judges, Generals, Bishops, Acade- 
 micians, and all — while the singers at the far end of the 
 hall sing " God save the Queen !" And to think that such 
 an assemblage is brought together every year in England, 
 and that there should be no ladies to look on !' 
 
 And why was he so miserable because there would be 
 no gentle-eyed spectators of the following night's banquet ? 
 At the banquet of the previous year — the first to which 
 he had been invited — the subject had not even occurred 
 to him. 
 
 ' No,' he continued, ' nor do they ask any womenfolk 
 to the annual dinner of the Academy Club — at the Trafal- 
 gar at Greenwich. But that is less to be wondered at, for 
 it is a kind of half-private affair ; and there is a good deal 
 of jollification going on — smoking, and singing, and speech- 
 making. Oh, and very pretty it is at the beginning of the 
 evening, if you happen to have a seat facing the big bay 
 window, and can watch the red-sailed barges floating down 
 on the yellow water. It's rather an early dinner, you know, 
 though they keep it up late enough ; for when they get 
 back to town, a lot of them — those that aren't afraid of 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 SAlilNA /.EM UK A (UAi-. 
 
 their wives — generally go down to Mnckinnon's rooms in 
 Buckingham Street, to have a midnight palaver and a final 
 pipe or two.' 
 
 'There seems to be a fair amount of merry-making in 
 the art world,' Sabina observed. 
 
 ' At present there is,' he said rather apologetically, 
 ' because everybody is glad to have got finished witli his 
 year's work. And from now on to the Academy Conver- 
 sazione at the end of June, there won't be much painting 
 done — amongst the landscapers, anyway — there will be a 
 good deal of dining, and dancing, and lawn-tennis, and so 
 on — but after the Conversazione the general dispersal will 
 take place — away to Brittany, and Spain, and the Riviera, 
 or over to Holland, or up to Norway, or to the wilds of 
 Connemara and Galway — each man wanting to have a 
 place all to himself, of course, and growling if any one 
 comes near him.' 
 
 ' And where are you going ? ' she asked. 
 
 'I?' 
 
 The question seemed to startle him. Perhaps he had 
 made no definite plans. Or had some wild notion flashed 
 into his brain that he would fain have that depend on 
 Sabina's whereabouts ? 
 
 * I hardly know,' he stammered. ' I suppose you too 
 will be going away from London, Miss Zembra?' 
 
 He hardly looked up at her. 
 
 * I think not,' she said simply, ' unless Mrs. Wygram
 
 X AT THE ACADEMY 147 
 
 improves much more rapidly than she is doing at present. 
 I will keep her at Brighton for some time ; and I may as 
 well make that my holiday.' 
 
 ' Do you mean that you will be in London all the 
 autumn when everybody else will be away ? ' he asked, and 
 he had grown suddenly thoughtful. 
 
 ' Your everybody else will be away, no doubt,' she 
 answered smiling ; ' but my everybody else can't get away, 
 unhappily. Yes ; if I take a holiday now, I daresay I 
 shall be in London through the autumn. But isn't it time 
 we were returning to the pictures ? ' 
 
 And he was not unwilling to take up his task again, for 
 he had been forming certain dark designs. Sabina was 
 going down to Brighton by the 4.30 express ; Mrs. Tremen- 
 heere and Janie wanted to wait to see the people arrive in 
 the afternoon ; and it was Janie who considerately sug- 
 gested that, if Sabina must really leave, perhaps Mr, 
 Lindsay would be so kind as to see her as far as Victoria 
 Station. Sabina protested that nothing of the sort was 
 necessary ; but Mr. Lindsay took little heed of the protest ; 
 on the contrary, he rather hurried her through the remain- 
 ing rooms in order that they should get away early. He 
 was not sure that they would get a cab easily. The streets 
 might be blocked. Wasn't St. James's Park torn up as 
 usual ? The end of it all was that he and she together 
 left the Academy when it was barely four o'clock. 
 
 And to be in a hansom with Sabina ! — to be so close to
 
 148 s.^B/^.■t zhMUKA 
 
 her — to SCO her gloved hand resiing on ihe little iron ledge 
 — to have charge of her small travelling-bag — to be able to 
 direct her attention to this and that — to steal an occasional 
 covert glance at the pale oval of her cheeks and her soft 
 clear eyes ! Of course he told the cabman to drive round 
 by Hyde Park Corner and Grosvenor Place ; and the trees 
 in the Green Park were showing their foliage now ; and 
 there was a breezy light in the May skies ; and the crowd 
 in Piccadilly and the continual string of carriages made up 
 a picture sufficiently animated and cheerful. The new 
 friendship had begun so delightfully ! Sabina was with 
 him, and with him alone ; he had charge of her ; there 
 was none to interfere. And she was to be all by herself in 
 London through the autumn — when still she might want, 
 and welcome, a friend. 
 
 And then, again, at Victoria Station a little judicious 
 bribery procured him access to the platform ; and when he 
 had procured for her a seat in the Pullman car, and pur- 
 chased for her a vast assortment of magazines and illustrated 
 papers, they had nearly a quarter of an hour in which to 
 walk up and down. Alas ! that the time was so short — 
 for he still seemed to have a hundred thousand things to 
 say — and he wanted her to have some tea — and he was so 
 sorry that the sleeve of her plush cloak had been somewhat 
 marked by her driving in the hansom — and he even went 
 the length of lightly smoothing out one or two of these 
 creases. Because, you see, Janie was not there, and Sabina
 
 X AT THE ACADEMY 149 
 
 was accustomed to have some one wait on her and be 
 kind to her. 
 
 The hateful hands of the great clock kept creeping on, 
 and at length the guard came along with his warning. 
 Sabina went in and took her seat. He kept by the window 
 outside until the train began to move slowly away ; and 
 then Sabina smiled her farewell thanks to him; and pre- 
 sently he found himself standing on that wide, empty 
 platform, alone. 
 
 He did not go away quickly from Victoria Station ; no, 
 he kept lingering about there, looking at the long platform 
 where he and she had walked together. And when at 
 length he set out for home he went rather slowly and 
 thoughtfully ; and, strangely enough, he chose his way by 
 Cornwall Gardens and Victoria Road and through Ken- 
 sington Square. And then, again, he did not pursue a 
 straight course ; he turned back a little in Kensington 
 High Street ; and went into a florist's shop there ; and 
 rather idly looked about ; and seemed more interested in 
 the place than in the purchase he eventually made. The 
 flowers he directed to be sent to Miss Janie Wygram ; but 
 he did not send his card with them ; he only meant that 
 they should go to the dusky drawing-room where some- 
 times he had found Sabina in the bygone days. 
 
 But at last he got home and into his studio. Somehow 
 it seemed a very lonely and silent place ; and he could 
 not even think of work ; almost mechanically he threw off"
 
 ISO SABINA ZEMBRA cHAi'. x. 
 
 his coat and hat, ami sal down lo the piano, and began to 
 
 let his lingers waniler over the keys. And what were his 
 
 fancies about ? Well, they were not very sad after all ; for 
 
 he was thinking of August — and the great city very empty, 
 
 but for the presence of Sabina — and his being in London 
 
 iluring that strange time — and sometimes seeing her. And 
 
 what was the air that he was (juite inadvertently — and 
 
 somewhat slowly and absently — playing? lie did not 
 
 himself notice how entirely inapproi)riate it was to the new 
 
 friendship : 
 
 Parlatelc (famor, o carifior, 
 Ditele che tadoro, 
 CIC i il solo viio tesoro. 
 Ditch che il mio cor lausriie iVanior !
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 A FOREBODING 
 
 Sabina returned to Brighton, and to Mrs. Wygram, and to 
 long, idling, sunny mornings at the end of the West Pier in 
 the society of Mr. Fred Foster. Mrs. Wygram looked on at 
 this continual and ever-increasing intimacy with an alarm 
 which it was impossible for her to put into words. In her 
 small way, too, she did what she could to avert the danger 
 that she too clearly foresaw. But it was in vain that she 
 hinted her preference for inland drives ; and she could not 
 well insist, for it was Sabina who defrayed the cost of these 
 amusements. And it was in vain that she tried to cultivate 
 Sabina's interest in Mr. Lindsay ; pointing out his name in 
 the list of the guests at the Academy banquet ; telling her 
 how he had been included in the toast of the ' Outsiders ' 
 at the Academy Club dinner at Greenwich, and that his 
 speech in reply had produced the most favourable impres- 
 sion ; coming back again and again to inconsequent praise 
 of the Shannon drawing they had hung up in their small 
 sitting-room ; and wondering if there was a possibility of his 
 being descended from the high-sounding
 
 152 SAJiJA-A ZEMBHA 
 
 Sir David I.ituisay of the Mount, 
 Loni Lion h'ini^nt Arms. 
 
 Sahina, however, seemed indifTerent about Mr. Lindsay. 
 She expressed no dissent when Mrs. A\'yL;rain insisted that 
 he was so clever, and handsome, and popular, and modest, 
 and all the rest of it ; nay, she would even admit that that 
 was true, and that ho was deserving of all good things ; but 
 there an end. And Mrs. A\'ygram was afraid to express any 
 more clearly her wishes — and her fears. 
 
 Moreover, as time went on, she observed a remarkable 
 alteration in Mr. Foster's manner towards Sabina, and it 
 came about in this way. On the morning after Sabina's 
 return from London they as usual strolled out to the end 
 of the Pier, and there, sure enough, was the occupant of 
 the Bath-chair reading a pink-coloured sporting paper, and 
 apparently very well content with himself. 
 
 ' Ah, how do you do. Miss Zembra ! ' said he. ' I was 
 thinking about you yesterday when you were in London.' 
 
 ' Indeed.' 
 
 ' Yes. I chanced to fall in with one of the local mag- 
 nates — an ex-Mayor — who said I had met him somewhere 
 or other, I forget where, and we had a pretty long chat 
 together. ^Vell, amongst other things he was telling me 
 about a fete and bazaar they mean to hold in the Pavilion 
 Gardens to raise funds for — what was it ? — I think some 
 Convalescent Home attached to the Children's Hospital ; 
 and that his wife had undertaken to get up a stall for the
 
 A FOREBODING I53 
 
 sale of flowers and bonbons, and so on. But the ex- 
 Mayoress, it appears, is a sensible woman. She says she 
 wants to obtain the services of an exceedingly pretty young 
 lady, who would be able to get plenty of money for the 
 flowers from the young fellows about. Well, I told him I 
 knew some one who answered that description, and who 
 might possibly be induced to help.' 
 
 Now this was Mr. Foster's ordinary manner towards 
 Sabina ; and bitterly and angrily did Mrs. Wygram resent it. 
 Why should he talk to her so coolly and indifferently ? 
 How dared he say to her face that she was a pretty young 
 lady? What kind of a description was that of Sabina? 
 Why, he almost assumed an air of patronage — said Mrs. 
 Wygram to herself in her jealous wrath — this whipper- 
 snapper, who was not worthy of having a single look of her 
 beautiful Sabie bestowed on him ! 
 
 There was little difficulty in persuading Sabina to give 
 her services in aid of the Children's Hospital ; only she said 
 to him : ' You know, Mr. Foster, that charity has been 
 defined as A asking B to help C. Now I want to know 
 what A is going to do this time.' 
 
 ' Who is A ? ' 
 
 'You.' 
 
 ' How am I A ? ' 
 
 ' Because you asked me to do certain things for certain 
 other people. But what are you going to do yourself? ' 
 
 'Well,' said he solemnly, 'if my little speculation on the
 
 154 SAl'/X.l /LEMBRA ciiAv. 
 
 Two Thousanil comes ofT all right you won't rmd mc bcliiiul- 
 haiul. No, no ; you'll have one good customer at all 
 events. lUit what am I to do with the flowers when I've 
 got them ? I don't know anybody in this town hardly.' 
 
 ' What are you to do with them ? Give them back to 
 me and I will sell them over again,' said Sabina i)romi)tly. 
 
 It did not seem to occur to him that he might present 
 the flowers to Sabina herself; perhaps he thought she was 
 too matter-of-fact a young woman to care for such things. 
 
 However, the date fixed for the bazaar was some way 
 off yet ; and in the meantime they had got into a long 
 spell of fine weather ; and these two saw a good deal of 
 each other, in the open air and the sunlight. Their meeting 
 of a morning at the end of the Pier was almost an under- 
 stood arrangement ; and then in the golden afternoons 
 they would pass into the greensward enclosure of Regency 
 Square, or go round to the Pavilion Gardens, now becoming 
 beautiful with flowers and the clear-tinted young summer 
 foliage. And not only had Sabina got her sailor's hat, but 
 she appeared to be much more particular about her costume 
 than had been her wont in London ; she made herself very 
 neat and trim ; and wore pretty things round her neck and 
 at her wrists ; and was most fastidious about the dressing 
 of her hair. Mrs. Wygram ventured to make some little 
 comment ; and the girl only looked surprised ; and said 
 she supposed that it was idleness that made her attentive 
 to such trifles.
 
 A FOREBODING 155 
 
 And very bright and cheerful and animated looked those 
 Pavilion Gardens on the day set apart for the fete ; the 
 umbrageous elms shimmering in their freshest green ; 
 young maidens and children in summer costume strolling 
 along the paths, or crossing the wide smooth lawn ; two 
 regimental bands playing alternately; long strings of 
 coloured lamps already hung up for the evening illumina- 
 tion ; the white tents round the enclosure busy with visitors. 
 Sabina's stall was almost entirely given up to flowers ; and 
 not only had she an abundant store of sprays and button- 
 holes and bouquets, but also she had large masses of wall- 
 flower, daffodils, marsh-marigolds, and the like, on the 
 chance of the aldermen's wives and daughters understanding 
 the art of decorating their dining-rooms. The worthy ex- 
 Mayor and his wife, on whose behalf Sabina had under- 
 taken the function of saleswoman, were most assiduous in 
 bringing her ctistomers ; and she was not overexacting 
 with her prices ; sometimes people came back. Mrs. 
 Wygram lent a helping hand. Mr. Foster was there, but 
 made no undue profession of his acquaintance ; whenever 
 the tall, fair flower-girl was busy, he had his Bath-chair 
 removed away under the elm-trees, and remained there, 
 listening to the band. 
 
 And now occurred the incident which seemed to Mrs. 
 Wygram (but perhaps she was unjustly jealous, owing to 
 Janie's repeated warnings) to be the turning-point in Mr. 
 Foster's attitude towards Sabina. There came into the
 
 IS6 SAB IN A Z.t.MliKA cwKw 
 
 enclosure two young fellows who appeared to be known to 
 him ; they went up and spoke to him and remained 
 chatting. These were the first of Mr. Foster's friends that 
 Sabina had seen ; and she was rather pleased to find that 
 they were not of a horsey type. No ; they were merely a 
 couple of tall, light-haired, healthy-comple.xioned, well- 
 dressed English lads, whom one might associate with plenty 
 of boating and cricket, but hardly with the turf And 
 presently she had a better opportunity of seeing what they 
 were like, for Mr. Foster brought them along to the stall. 
 
 ' Miss Zembra,' said he, ' I have brought you a couple 
 of customers ; but don't be too hard on them.' 
 
 Good-looking lads they were, she thought ; though the 
 younger one was evidently very shy. He scarcely lifted his 
 eyes to the beautiful, gracious flower-girl ; he selected the 
 first little spray that came handy, and paid for it, and 
 seemed rather glad to retire. The elder and taller of the 
 two was not so timid ; he appeared to be a little fastidious 
 in his choice; and once or twice when he asked her a 
 question, he ventured to glance at her. 
 
 ' How much did you say this rose was ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Two shillings.' 
 
 'Oh yes, I will take that, if you please.' 
 
 He put his fingers in his waistcoat pocket and took out 
 a couple of coins. 
 
 ' I am afraid,' said he rather bashfully, ' that you will 
 find them rather discoloured; but \ hope you won't mind.'
 
 A FOREBODING 157 
 
 And with that he put down two sovereigns on tlie board, 
 and said 'Good morning !' and raised his hat, and went away. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon — stay a moment ! ' Sabina instantly 
 called to him. 
 
 He turned and came back, looking somewhat confused. 
 Sabina was not. She smiled towards him, and said, ' You 
 know I cannot give you any of the money back — they 
 never allow that at bazaars — but I will give you another 
 rose if you like.' 
 
 She picked out a white rose and handed it to him ; her 
 eyes were very gracious. 
 
 ' I'm sure it's awfully kind of you,' said he, blushing 
 furiously ; and then he managed to stammer, ' and — and, 
 of course, it's this one I shall keep — I — I don't want the 
 other one now.' 
 
 ' Here is a pin if you wish to wear it,' said Sabina. 
 ' Mrs. Wygram, will you fasten it ? ' 
 
 (For Mrs. Wygram was outside the stall.) 
 
 ' Thank you, very, very much,' said he ; but it was 
 to Sabina he said it, not to Mrs. Wygram. 
 
 ' Look here, Lionel,' said Mr. Foster, somewhat sharply, 
 'we'd better clear out; we're only blocking the way.' 
 
 And so the three friends went off, and were seen of 
 Sabina no more that day. But by and by, when she got a 
 favourable chance, Mrs. Wygram went round and inside the 
 stall. She seemed vexed, and yet partly inclined to laugh 
 as well.
 
 ISS SAB IN A ZEMliRA 
 
 'Sabie,' said slu-. * I cKm'l know whcllicr you know it or 
 not, but I do believe you arc the most atrocious dirt I ever 
 saw in my life.' 
 
 •What do you mean?' the {;irl said, not a little startled. 
 
 * Why, the way you went on with that poor young fellow 
 — giving him a rose — and looking all kinds of things — 
 you've sent him away with his head cjuite bewildered.' 
 
 'Oh, don't say that!' Sabina said, but still rather 
 wondering. * Why, don't you understand he gave me two 
 sovereigns for a rose? Do you imagine boys of his age 
 have so many sovereigns to spare — or would spend them 
 that way if they had ?' 
 
 ' He would have given you his boots and his gloves and 
 his watch-chain after the way you looked at him !' Mrs. 
 Wygram protested. 
 
 ' Oh, don't say that ! I thought it was very kind of him 
 
 to give me so much towards my stall ; and of course I 
 wanted to be civil to him. I hope I was,' she added boldly. 
 
 ' Oh yes, you were,' Mrs. Wygram retorted. * You were 
 very civil indeed — if that is what you call civility. I think 
 that is what Janie calls it too. No, she calls it kindness — 
 she said it was only kindness when you sipped some wine 
 out of Mr. Lindsay's chalice, so that he might put it back 
 among his treasures.' 
 
 For an instant or two she could not remember ; then a 
 slight colour came to her face. ' I did not think there was 
 any harm,' she said.
 
 A FOREBODING 159 
 
 ' I suppose you don't know that you have sent Mr. Foster 
 away very angry ? ' 
 
 ' Mr. Foster !' said Sabina, with her eyes wide — as if she 
 wanted to know what Mr, Foster had to do with her. 
 
 ' But it's true ; and if I am not mistaken, you won't find 
 him back here again to-day !' 
 
 Mrs. Wygram was not mistaken. Mr. Foster put in no 
 further appearance. And it was not until the evening, when 
 they were in the quietude of their own rooms, that Mrs. 
 Wygram said, 'Well, now, Sabie, I will tell you the truth. 
 I really don't think you know how pretty your eyes are ; and 
 you do mischief without intending it. You need not look 
 at men in so frank a way; you should be a little more self- 
 conscious and watchful. Why, you fairly blinded that young 
 fellow this morning ! ' 
 
 ' A schoolboy ! ' said Sabina, but with her cheeks red- 
 dening a little. ' I wonder you could think of such a 
 thing!' 
 
 ' Sabie, why will you go on persuading yourself that you 
 are an old woman?' the other exclaimed. 'It's all those 
 hospitals ! You've been so accustomed to take charge of 
 people — to be good to them, and humour them, and be a 
 kind of mother to them — that you forget you are a young 
 woman, with remarkably beautiful eyes. And some day or 
 another you will break a man's heart — that will be the end.' 
 
 ' Oh, you need not talk such nonsense,' said Sabina, 
 proudly.
 
 i6o SAJilNA ZEMJSKA 
 
 Ni>\v il" Mr. I'ostcr went away fiDin the I'avilioii (ianlons 
 in anger, he showed no traee of aiiylhiiiL; of the kind when 
 they mot as usual on the Pier next morning. Antl it was 
 from that morning that Mrs. Wygram (in her subsequent 
 conversations with Janie) professed to date the change in 
 his manner towards Sabina. He no longer treated her with 
 friendly intlilTereiice, varied now and again with a little jocose 
 raillery ; he seemed more anxious to please her and to win 
 her favour. Those two Lionel lads hajjpencd to come down 
 the pier that morning ; and of course they stopped to speak 
 to him ; and they raised their hats to Sabina, who was 
 standing by, and who graciously acknowledged that saluta- 
 tion. In the ordinary course of affairs Mr. Foster might 
 fairly have introduced them by name to Miss Zcmbra, 
 after their kindness of the day before ; but he did nothing 
 of the sort ; and they had perforce to go on, rather linger- 
 ingly, as Mrs. Wygram imagined. That afternoon Mr. 
 Foster sent Sabina some flowers. The next morning he 
 told her he had taken a box at the theatre for that same 
 evening ; and that it would be very, very kind of her if she 
 and Mrs. Wygram would come and keep him company. 
 
 'But a Bath-chair — in a theatre?' she said. 
 
 'Oh, George and I will manage,' he said confidently. 
 ' If you come along in the evening, you will find me already 
 in the box — box G it is ; I should be very grateful to you 
 if you would.' 
 
 And it seemed to her that it would be unfriendly to
 
 A FOREBODING i6i 
 
 refuse ; here he was in a strange town, with hardly any 
 society ; and he was bearing his banisliment so bravely. 
 And so she and Mrs. Wygram went, and found him com- 
 fortably ensconced in a large box commanding an easy view 
 of the stage ; and there was a little bouquet lying in readi- 
 ness for each of the ladies. The piece was a merry one, 
 played by an excellent London company ; and Sabina had 
 not been in a theatre for many a day, and she had the 
 natural and healthy laughter of a schoolgirl. He had tea 
 and coffee brought to them between the acts ; in short, he 
 paid them every attention that was possible ; and when they 
 finally got home, even Mrs. Wygram had to confess, not 
 only that they had spent a most charming evening, but 
 that Mr. Foster, when he chose, could make himself very 
 pleasant and agreeable. 
 
 AVhether Mrs. Wygram entirely relished the change from 
 Mr. Foster's half-supercilious indifference to his mood of 
 eager and respectful amiability may perhaps be questioned ; 
 but at all events it afforded her plenty of material for study 
 and conjecture. One of its chief features was an almost 
 continual wish on his part to be justifying himself and his 
 ways of life in Sabina's eyes. Hitherto he seemed to care 
 nothing for her opinion ; he had even jocularly told her of 
 one or two foolish love-affairs. But now he seemed anxious 
 to stand well with her ; and would make excuses for himself 
 and his pursuits ; and would even recall things she had said 
 on former occasions that he might urge some plea of defence. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 S.lJi/.V.t Z£M/j'A'.l 
 
 ' No. 1 am not a great reader,' lie said one niorning, 
 ti propos of nolluiig at all ; ' it's men antl women who 
 interest nic most ' 
 
 'Next to horses?' Sabina suggested, with a smile. 
 
 'Now, that isn't fair. Miss Zemhra ; biii you're always 
 hard on me ot' late. I (\o\\\ know why. And 1 was going 
 to tell you about my reading ; if I were compelled to have 
 only two books, I would choose Chaucer and Shakespere ; 
 and that is again just because they show me men and 
 women. I don't hke conundrums in literature, or wire- 
 drawing, or fog; life isn't long enough to be spent in find- 
 ing things out — just because the fellow won't speak plain. 
 And then, after all, real men and women are just as 
 interesting to me as those I find in books. When I am 
 going about the streets here I find continual amusement 
 and surprise and occupation.' 
 
 'I am very glad of that,' Sabina said in an undertone, 
 so as not to interrupt him. 
 
 ' Out at the end of the Chain Pier is a splendid place,' 
 he continued. ' Sometimes I go there when I have missed 
 you here ; and you see a good deal of human nature about. 
 Sometimes very pretty too. Why, is there anything prettier 
 than to see a young girl — I mean one of those spindle- 
 shanked creatures of twelve or thirteen, with a straw hat 
 and long hair and big clear eyes — is there anything prettier 
 than to see her pet an old lady — an old lady as ugly as 
 the mischief, most likely, with fluffy black clothes, and glass
 
 A FOREBODING 163 
 
 bugles in her bonnet ? Yes, and tease her too ; and then 
 put her arm round her and coax her into good-humour 
 again ? Or you'll see a purple-faced old sportsman — a real 
 Punjaub jungle-cock — devilled-kidneys-for-breakfast sort 
 of fellow — kind of chap would send blue thunder through 
 his club if his chop were underdone, or overdone, or late, 
 by thirty seconds — you'll see him come walking out with 
 a sickly-white girl in a long couch, and he'll hold the 
 sunshade over her, or read the newspapers to her, and be 
 just like a nurse to her. Then the lads and boys — and 
 sometimes old men — at the fishing. Well, I like to see 
 them at it ; they've the true instinct ; and they're very 
 earnest about it ; though I never see them get anything but 
 a wretched little flounder or an eel. Spooners are not 
 very interesting ' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon ?' said she innocently. 
 
 ' Lovers, I should say. Well, they're not very interesting ; 
 they look so foolish when you chance on them. Besides, 
 it isn't fair ; they should be let alone. But I'll tell you 
 what is very funny : to go round the churches on Sunday 
 morning after service has begun, and you generally find 
 outside one or two officials — sometimes a man, sometimes 
 a woman — and they have the most curiously indifferent 
 air on their faces. They look at the sky, they look down 
 the street, they seem to say, " Well, we've done our part 
 of the business ; we've shut him up with his audience ; he 
 has got to get through the rest of the performance now.'"
 
 l64 .V.//.7.\'/ /FMnKA 
 
 ' Hut a ihiirili is not a tlicativ,' Sahiiia said L^eiitly. 
 
 'Not all t)f thcin,' lie said; ami then llaiiiii; to have 
 got on dangerous groinui, he pointed out to her that these 
 Sunday morning perambulations were almost a necessity 
 in his case, as he did not like going inside in his Bath- 
 chair. 
 
 And so this continual association and intimacy went 
 on ; and Sabina was very kind to him (as she was to every 
 one, Janie would have said) ; and there was distinctly no 
 indifference on his part. One afternoon he was in having 
 tea with them. 
 
 ' I have a little surprise for you,' he said to Sabina. 
 
 'Indeed!' 
 
 ' My father and mother are coming to London next 
 week, and purpose running down here for a day or two. 
 I hope you will let me introduce them to you ; they would 
 be so very much pleased.' 
 
 Of course she said it was she who would be pleased ; 
 but Mrs. Wygram was struck with a sudden dismay. 
 
 'Do you know what he is doing now?' she instantly 
 wrote off to Janie. ' He is bringing his father and mother 
 from Buckinghamshire that Sabie may be introduced to 
 them as his future wife. I am sure of it ; I am sure that 
 is what he means. Well, I have held my tongue all this 
 while, but I cannot do so any longer ; I must tell the 
 girl what .she is bringing on herself Yes, this very 
 night I will. But I wish you were here, Janie. I am
 
 A FOREBODING 165 
 
 not very strong just now ; and I am all of a tremble 
 when I think of it. Still, what would not one do for 
 Sabie? And I know she is too kind-hearted to take it 
 amiss.'
 
 (II \r IKR xu 
 
 FLIGHT 
 
 But it was a lony time before the little woman could screw 
 up her courage ; and even at the last moment she fairly 
 jibbed and bolted. Late that night Sabina was in her own 
 room, and leisurely getting ready for bed ; she wore a 
 dressing-gown of pale blue and white ; and the heavy 
 masses of her golden-brown hair fell loose-flowing and free 
 over her shoulders and down to and below her waist. 
 
 * Dear Sabie,' said Mrs. Wygram (though this was not in 
 the least what she wanted to say), ' I would give a hundred 
 pounds if I had it that Walter Lindsay could see you as you 
 are now.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Wygram ! ' Sabina exclaimed — but there was not 
 much of ferocity in her virgin pride. 
 
 ' It would be something for an artist to dream of all his 
 life long,' Mrs. Wygram continued recklessly. ' Do you 
 know, Sabie, you are the only woman I have ever seen who 
 reminds me of Rossetti's " Blessed Damozel." You re- 
 member ? — 
 
 ' Her hair that lay along her back 
 Was yellow like ripe coin.'
 
 CHAP, xir FLIGHT 167 
 
 ' I thought my hair was brown,' Sabina said, quietly. 
 ' However, it is not of much consequence. I have no wish 
 to become an artist's model. Besides, you forget that Mr. 
 Lindsay is a landscape painter.' 
 
 ' But surely you know how wonderful he is in catching 
 likenesses ! ' the other said. ' Why, the portraits he did of 
 Mrs. Seeley's boys were quite marvellous. Oh yes ; there's 
 no reason in the world why he should not do a figure- 
 subject. And I know he was thinking of it. Yes, I 
 know ; for I have the scrap of paper he gave Janie, 
 with the quotation for the picture. I believe I have it 
 now.' 
 
 She pulled out her purse, and eventually found the litt.e 
 bit of writing. Sabina read the lines aloud — 
 
 ' See luhere she sits upon the grassy green 
 
 {0 seemly sight!) 
 Yclad in scarlet, like a maiden queen, 
 
 And ermines white ; 
 Upon her head a crimson coronet, 
 With damask roses and daffodillies set. ' 
 
 ' Yes, it sounds picturesque,' Sabina said, in her placid 
 way. ' And whom is he going to paint like that ? ' 
 
 ' You.' 
 
 ' Dear Mrs. Wygram, are you out of your mind ? ' 
 
 ' But it's true. He wanted to know whether you would 
 sit to him. Oh, he was so anxious about it, but quite 
 afraid to ask you. Yes ; and he said if only Janie could 
 induce you to sit to him, he would do a pencil -drawing
 
 |68 SAB! •■A-.-/ .MAP. 
 
 of you, and give it to J.inic aiul mk-, as a kiiul of bribe, 
 I suppose.* 
 
 * I wonder, now,' said Sabina laughing, ' how many 
 IKiriraits of me you would like to have in Kensington Square' 
 
 ' Don't you think we shall be glad to have them, Sabie, 
 when you are no longer there yourself?' 
 
 And behold ! here was her chance, ctjme quite un- 
 expectedly, and she was bound to face it. Hardly aware 
 of what slie was doing, she ]>ut her trembling fingers on the 
 girl's arm ; and piteous indeed was her tone. 
 
 ' Dearest Sabie, don't be angry- ! No, you won't be 
 angr)' — but I must speak to you — I can't stand by and not 
 say a word — you know I love you, and I am sure we shall 
 always be friends ' 
 
 ' Now, what is all this about ? ' Sabina said gently, for 
 she could see how agitated the little woman was. 
 
 ' Don't you know, then, why Mr. Foster has sent for his 
 father and mother to come to Brighton ? Can't you guess ? 
 Sabie, it is to introduce you to them as their future daughter- 
 in-law.' 
 
 For the briefest moment the girl seemed to draw herself 
 up to her full height, and there was a proud look about 
 her lips ; but that instantly disappeared. She put her 
 hand on the trembling hand of her companion, and patted 
 it affectionately. 
 
 * My dear friend,' she said, with a smile ; ' I see I must 
 put you back on your quinine, and insist on the port wine
 
 XII FLIGHT 169 
 
 at lunch. Your nerves are all wrong — why, you are 
 fluttering at this moment like a caught rabbit — and you let 
 all kinds of ridiculous fancies get into your brain.' 
 
 ' They are not ridiculous fancies, Sabie ! Why will you 
 be so blind ? But it all comes from the same thing ; you 
 will go on imagining yourself to be an elderly Avoman — 
 whose business is to pet people and take care of them — 
 whereas the truth is that you are a very dangerously 
 attractive young woman ; and I tell you that men don't 
 understand a young woman looking at them in that frank 
 way. In the case of a young married woman it might be 
 different ' 
 
 ' There again ! ' said Sabina, with an air of resignation, 
 ' you have told me all that before, dear Mrs. Wygram ; and 
 I don't forget that you accused me of flirtation merely 
 because I gave that pretty, yellow-haired boy a rose — 
 in exchange for two sovereigns.' 
 
 * Yes ; and if that young man is heart-whole at this 
 moment I am very much mistaken,' Mrs. Wygram retorted. 
 ' Why, don't you see how he is always hanging about, just 
 for the chance of saying a word to Mr. Foster, and so being 
 allowed to raise his hat to you ? ' 
 ■ ' Poor, innocent young thing ! ' 
 
 'Sabie, if you choose to act like a flirt, don't talk like 
 one ! ' said Mrs. Wygram sharj)ly. 
 
 Sabina looked at her. 
 
 'No,' she said; 'you can't make me (juarrel with you —
 
 S.^/}/.V.^ ZEMliRA 
 
 I won't do ii . ;. ; I know you nre out of sorts ; and I know 
 you mean t«) be kind ; so I can only sny that you arc cjuitc 
 mistaken. Why, the idea ! Mr. Foster and 1 have been 
 excellent friends simjily because 1 know that no nonsense 
 of that kind wouKl ever enter his head.' 
 
 ' iUit hasn't it? I am very much mistaken if it lias not,' 
 Mrs. Wygram persisted. ' Sabie, you don't know wliat an 
 amount of encouragement you have given him. .And 
 encouragement from you ! I tell you, you don't know your 
 own value. Why should you defer to his opinions — you, 
 who have a hundred times as much brains as he has? 
 And why should a beautiful young woman like you wear 
 things that you think will please him ? — oh, but you do, 
 whether you are conscious of it or not. And why should 
 you be interested in stories of racecourses and regattas and 
 cricket ; and be entertained with accounts of what happened 
 to him when he was a schoolboy — as if his life, and every 
 moment of it, had been of the utmost value.' 
 
 ' Poor Mr. Foster !' Sabina interposed. ' There's no one 
 to say a good word for him. If it's in London, it's Janie 
 who keeps saying bitter things about him ; and if it's in 
 Brighton, it's you. What has he done to deserve it all — 
 except to be unfortunate ? And they used always to say 
 that women had some sympathy for people who were unfor- 
 tunate ; but that was in the old days, I suppose.' 
 
 ' V'ou can't deceive me, Sabie, though you may be able 
 to deceive yourself.'
 
 XII FLIGHT 171 
 
 ' Can't I ? Well, at all events, I can put you to bed ; 
 and that's what I am going to do now ; for I won't have 
 any of my patients sitting up and talking past midnight.' 
 
 However, this warning and appeal were not without a 
 certain effect ; for naturally a young woman feels somewhat 
 alarmed when she is told that her manner of regarding men 
 is a trifle too audacious. Sabina brazened it out before 
 Mrs. Wygram ; but inwardly she was resolved to be a good 
 deal more circumspect. And she wanted to know what it 
 was in Mr. Foster's relations with her that had prompted 
 these wild surmises. 
 
 Accordingly, next day, she kept her eyes observant. 
 But what could she see except that he was rather more 
 respectful towards her than he used to be ? He did not 
 laugh at her now, nor tease her, nor hint that she was 
 being imposed upon by the poor people she befriended. 
 No ; he was rather sympathetic in that direction ; only he 
 said he did not like the idea of her going about alone — or 
 with such an insufficient protector as Janie. Indeed, he 
 chose to insist upon this point ; though, of course, it was 
 not for a cripple in a Bath-chair to offer to become her 
 guard and champion and ally. 
 
 She observed, also, that the stories he told her — and he 
 had always an abundant stock of them, chiefly in connection 
 with the history of the turf — were for the most part not 
 humorous or sarcastic as formerly, but rather tragic and 
 romantic ; and that he seemed to have a warm admiration
 
 17-' S A PIN. I ZFMPKA 
 
 for Miss Dorothy Vernon and her gay enterprise. On ihe 
 olhor liand, how could she suspect him ol talking with a 
 purpose when such ;m incident as the folluwing occurred ? 
 'I'liey were on the ("li.iin Tier together. He was relating to 
 Iicr tlie sad history of the fourth Marquis of Hastings, and 
 the reckless struggles of that luckless lad to retrieve his 
 fortunes. Suddenly there was a considerable commotion 
 among the few idlers on the pier ; one of the anglers had 
 hooked a large bass ; you could see the fish in the clear 
 green water below — tugging and plunging and shooting 
 this way and that ; and there was a frantic calling for the 
 landing-net. From that instant the Marquis of Hastings, 
 and Miss Dorothy Vernon, and Miss Sabina Zembra were 
 alike forgotten. He took no more notice of his companion. 
 And when, at last, amid the general rejoicing, the big fish 
 had been hoisted up in the landing-net, and carried off to 
 the weighing machine, and found to scale just over eight 
 pounds, and wlicn the prevailing excitement had quieted 
 down, Sabina had gently to remind him that he had broken 
 off in the midst of a story, and then he could not in the 
 least recollect at what point. Sabina said to herself that 
 it was impossible she could wholly engross his attention 
 when she was so easily dispossessed by an eight-pound 
 fish. 
 
 'Sabie,' said Mrs. Wygram that evening, 'do you know 
 that you behaved yourself a little better to-day?' 
 
 ' I am glad you approve,' Sabina answered. ' But it is
 
 XII FLIGHT 173 
 
 none the pleasanter to have to be continually on the watch 
 with one's friends.' 
 
 'Friendship between a young man and a pretty girl,' 
 observed Mrs. Wygram sententiously, ' is all very well in its 
 way, but it wants to have its limits pretty clearly defined. 
 And I think he understands now. He noticed the change 
 in your manner — I could see that he did. And perhaps 
 he is beginning to think that he was a little premature in 
 sending for his father and mother.' 
 
 'What nonsense you talk !' said Sabina bluntly. 'I tell 
 you the coming of his father and mother to Brighton has 
 no more to do with me than with the man in the moon.' 
 
 'We will see.' 
 
 ' If I thought such folly were possible, I would go up to 
 London this very evening and send Janie down in my 
 stead. I'm afraid I shall have to do that very soon in any 
 case.' 
 
 ' But, Sabie, I shall have to go back home too.' 
 
 ' You ? Not you ! You won't be allowed to come 
 home until you are ever so much stronger. Janie will take 
 my place here.' 
 
 ' And what will Mr. Foster do when you are gone, Sabie ?' 
 
 Sabina was too proud to reply. 
 
 But this placid and equable and eventless life was far 
 too pleasant to last. Mr. Fred Foster's father and mother 
 arrived in due course, and were installed in the rooms he 
 had provided for them ; and the same afternoon he brought
 
 174 .s //.■/. \-./ .■/ .U/'A.I il\Ki: 
 
 them aloiij; to call on Mrs. \\'yj;r.iin ami Sal)ina. Ih 
 sccmcil a little an\ii)us aiul nervous. iUil it" lie was at all 
 concerned about the impression likely to be producetl on 
 the old lady by the young girl, or rice versa, he must have 
 been sjx^cdily reassured. At the very first glance — while 
 as yet this tall, thin, elegant-looking woman, with the short 
 white curls, and apple-tinted cheeks, and soft gray eyes, had 
 hardly entered the room — Sabina had t'orined a liking for 
 her ; and that was only confirmed by the singular air of 
 relinement and graciousness of manner that seemed to 
 surround her as she came forward. And on her side? 
 She took the girl's hand in hers and held it ; apparently 
 she was unable to utter a word ; but as she read all that 
 that clear, beautiful, youthful face had to say to her, her 
 eyes quickly filled with tears. Sabina was frightened — she 
 scarcely knew why ; she managed to say a few common- 
 place words of welcome ; and then she turned to give a 
 similar greeting to the old gentleman. As for him, it was 
 pretty evident that he considered the whole proceeding a 
 bore. As soon as he decently could he withdrew from the 
 lot of them, and went to the window and stared out there, 
 with his hands behind him, over the tails of his highly 
 respectable black frock-coat. 
 
 But the old lady was sitting next Sabina, and had drawn 
 her chair very close ; and she seemed unable to keep her 
 eyes — which were kind and affectionate eyes — away from 
 the girl. And she said that she knew her quite well already,
 
 XII FLIGHT 175 
 
 so much had Fred written home about her ; and how was 
 she to thank Miss Zembra for all her goodness to him when 
 he was shut up a prisoner in Lancaster Gate ? — and how 
 fortunate it was for him to have had so much of her com- 
 panionship during his stay at the seaside. There was a 
 great deal to talk about ; but all through it the old lady's 
 glances were gently scrutinising the various points of the 
 girl's appearance, and her costume too — the beautiful line 
 of the neck and shoulders, her hair, the trimness of her 
 cuffs, the neatness of her brooch and collar, the slender, 
 tapering, but large hand, the gracious arch of the eyebrow 
 — and the more that old Mrs. Foster looked, the more and 
 more did pleasure sit beaming upon her own face. Once 
 or twice she touched Sabina's arm, and her fingers seemed 
 to linger there. She followed her every word eagerly ; she 
 laughed when there was the least occasion ; delight and 
 tenderness shone in the soft gray eyes. 
 
 The old gentleman came back from the window, and 
 rather brusquely remarked that it was a pity to waste so fine 
 an afternoon within doors, as he had never seen Brighton, 
 and there seemed to be plenty to see. His wife rose re- 
 luctantly ; and now she held Sabina by both hands, and 
 seemed loth to leave her, 
 
 'Good-bye, dear,' she said; and still she held her hands 
 a little ; and then with an impulse of affection, she kissed 
 the girl — kissed her on both cheeks — and said good-bye 
 again, and went away.
 
 s.^/f/^\^ ZE.yjiK.i vaiw. 
 
 W licn thi'V had gone, Sahiiia walkcil oik c or twice up 
 and down the room, in a curiously agitalctl manner, and 
 then eamc back. 
 
 ' Mrs. Wygram, tell nic — tell me what I ha\e saitl or tlone 
 — oh, you may say any harm of me you like! — hut have 
 I done or said anything wrong? — what do they mean?" 
 
 Mrs. Wygram was not one to seek a cheap triumi)li. 
 
 ' I think it is quite clear they came to l?righton to make 
 yom- acquaintance, Sabie,' she said gently. 
 
 ' Ves, but why ? AVhy did she kiss me like that ? — a 
 stranger ! Why did she talk about their home in Ikicking- 
 hamshire, as if she expected me to be there at any time?' 
 And then Sabina's cheeks reddened angrily. ' W'iiat has 
 Mr. Foster been saying about me to them ? \\'hat right 
 has he to speak about me ? If I have done anything — if I 
 have done anything I should not have done — I — I will 
 apologise — but they have no right — they have no right — to 
 speak about me.' 
 
 And here she burst out crying, which was a very unusual 
 thing for her to do ; and of course the next moment Mrs. 
 Wygram's arms were round the girl's neck, and she was 
 being soothed and pacified with all kinds of endearing 
 phrases. 
 
 ' Sabie, darling, be sure he said nothing about you but 
 what was perfectly kind — perhaps too kind. And if there 
 has been any mistake it can easily be put right. Perhaps 
 the mistake is ours — I hope it is. You see, you do make
 
 XI FLIGHT 177 
 
 people affectionate towards you. Perhaps she did not mean 
 anything.' 
 
 'Anyway,' Sabina said quickly, 'I am going up to 
 London to-night.' 
 
 ' You cannot do that ! ' her friend said instantly. ' Why, 
 it would be a confession ! It would look as if you were 
 ashamed, and had run away ! ' And then the little woman's 
 courage rose. ' And what has my beautiful Sabie to be 
 ashamed of? I say — nothing ! Haven't I been with you 
 all the time ? Let them come to me if they like — but you 
 are not going to run away for anybody.' 
 
 All doubts, however, as to the meaning of the old people's 
 visit to Brighton were set at rest next morning. Mrs. Foster 
 called about eleven, and asked to be allowed to see Sabina 
 alone. Mrs. Wygram went upstairs. 
 
 And very gently, and skilfully, and affectionately did this 
 ambassador disclose her mission. Her ' poor boy,' as she 
 called him, had something of great importance to say to 
 Sabina ; but in his present crippled state he had never a 
 chance of seeing her by herself ; and would she take it amiss 
 if he had asked his mother to come and plead for him ? 
 
 'And for myself, dear,' said this soft-voiced diplomatist. 
 ' If you knew how proud I should be to call you my 
 daughter !' 
 
 Sabina had grown very white. 
 
 'Dear child, are you ill?' the other exclaimed, 'shall I 
 get you some water?' 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 I7S S.lfi/.V.-I 7. E At UK A 
 
 • No, no, no,' the girl said ; and she was striving to be 
 quite calm. 'I am very, very sorry, Iml there has been 
 some mistake. I feared it. .\fier you lamc yesterday I 
 asked Mrs. Wygram if I hail done anything ' 
 
 ' It's not what you have done, it's what you are,' tlie old 
 lady said, and she took the girl's hand. ' \'ou are ])relty 
 and you are good ; can you wonder at the rest ? ' 
 
 Sabina withdrew her hand. 
 
 ' I see you are afraid of me,' Mrs. Foster .said smiling. 
 ' Perhaps it was foolish of the boy to send me here to do 
 his wooing for him. You think I should make a harsh 
 mother-in-law to you.' 
 
 ' I am sure you will be very kind to whoever your son 
 marries,' Sabina managed to say, and with truth she said 
 it. 
 
 'Then may I tell him that when he can come and 
 speak for himself there will be some hope for him ? I 
 think he would be satisfied even with that.' 
 
 *0h no, no, no; say anything but that!' Sabina said, 
 but she seemed scarcely to understand the meaning of her 
 words. 'No, no, that is impossible. It was not that I 
 was thinking of. Tell him I am so very sorry for this 
 dreadful mistake. I hope I was not — too — thoughtless ; 
 but, yes, I suppose that was it ; and now what can I do ? 
 I am very, very sorry — tell him I hope he will forgive 
 me ' 
 
 'I see I distress you,' the old lady .said, and she rose
 
 X FLIGHT 179 
 
 from her chair. ' But remember you have only refused 
 me ; you have not refused him. Perhaps it was my rude 
 way of asking ; and he may be more successful ; and no one, 
 no one would be happier than I, should that time ever 
 come, my dear.' 
 
 She kissed her again before she left. 
 
 ' Remember that, my dear ; I shall be a proud woman 
 if ever I have to call you my daughter.' 
 
 Sabina went hurriedly to Mrs. Wygram. She was very 
 pale ; but apparently quite businesslike and collected. 
 
 'What you said has come true. I am going up to 
 London, and I will send Janie down to-night. I could not 
 bear to meet them again.' 
 
 ' But, Sabie,' Mrs. Wygram protested, for she could 
 guess what underlay this forced quietude of manner, 'you 
 are going away with a quite exaggerated notion of what has 
 happened !' 
 
 ' I am not. W^ell, perhaps I don't understand yet all 
 that has happened. But I wish I had taken your warning 
 earlier. I did not know.' 
 
 Sabina arrived in Kensington Square between three and 
 four, and bade Janie pack up and get away to Brighton 
 as quickly as possible. But something in her look, and 
 perhaps also in her coming to town so unexpectedly, awoke 
 Janie's suspicions. 
 
 ' What is the matter ? Sabie — Sabie, you have not pro- 
 mised to marry Mr. Foster?'
 
 I So S.-i/UXA /E.U/iA'.l niAP. xii 
 
 There was .i . , v ; ..jjpeal in her voice. 
 
 'I have refused him,' was Sabina's answer. '.\iul 1 
 liave covered niy.self with shame. Hiil I Iiaidly uiulerstand 
 all that has liappencd, and — and — don't ask me any more, 
 Janie !' 
 
 janie's preparations for her departure were necessarily 
 hurried, but still she could think of her friend. Now 
 Walter Lindsay, not content with sending Sabina a sketch 
 from the Shannon, had also painted a small replica of the 
 landscape she had admired in his studio, and in her 
 absence had forwarded it to Kensington Square. It was 
 now lying in the parlour. Amid all her hurry Janie found 
 time to go and get hold of that little picture, and carry it 
 swiftly and stealthily up to Sabina's room, where she placed 
 it in a prominent position on the mantel-shelf. It would 
 be the first thing Sabina must see when she opened the 
 door.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 REPENTANCE 
 
 It is hardly to be imagined that a beautiful and healthy 
 young woman should have attained to the age of five and 
 twenty without experiencing, at some time or other, and 
 especially in her earlier years, certain tender preferences 
 for members of the opposite sex; but these love-fancies, 
 if they may be so called, had in Sabina's case been quickly 
 absorbed in the cares and active interests of a particularly 
 busy existence. Her character was robust and independent ; 
 she had little time for sentimental musings. Marriage had 
 never entered into her scheme of life. Then she had seen 
 one after another of her companions retire into the realm 
 of matronhood, leaving her pretty much alone ; and she 
 had to deal with an ever-increasing amount of business 
 about training - ships, convalescent homes, philanthropic 
 societies, and the like ; and it is quite probable, as Mrs. 
 Wygram maintained, that these occupations of hers, and 
 the almost maternal authority she had frequently to exercise 
 in the households of the poor and sickly and indigent, 
 had taught her a certain brusqueness and directness of
 
 IS.' S.tJi/.V.I /EAffiKA .11 A I'. 
 
 manner, as of one wlu) was too nuich engaged witli ilie 
 practical needs of the world around her to pay nuicli 
 attention to the refinements of eticpiette. lUii when Mrs. 
 Wygram plainly accused her of being a downrigiit lliit, 
 Sabina was entirely startled out of her self-complacency ; 
 and when, closely following upon that, Mr. Foster made 
 her an indirect offer of marriage, thereby incurring the 
 pain and mortification of a refusal, there was no end to 
 her self-reproach. It was true, then, that she had acted 
 with an indiscretion visible to all onlookers? It was true 
 that she had encouraged him to believe she was willing to 
 be his wife ? What would he think of her ? What would 
 his mother think of her ? She recalled the patient and gentle 
 grace and dignity of the old lady ; the evident and affectionate 
 hope that was in all her words and looks ; her promises of 
 kindness ; and she could imagine the mother going back 
 to the son and breaking the truth to him in her delicately 
 considerate fashion, ^\'ell, there was one woman who had 
 never deceived him. 'The only son of his mother,' he 
 would at least retain his faith in her — the faith that he was 
 so openly proud of. And he would forget that he had 
 ever been trifled with by a flirt. 
 
 Now Sabina never did a more foolish thing in her life 
 than when she came away from Brighton. Had she 
 remained there, her remorse and self-abasement would 
 have been largely mitigated. She would have discovered 
 that Mr. Foster's grief over his disappointment was not of
 
 XIII REPENTANCE 183 
 
 a crushing nature. He was annoyed, it is true ; but he 
 was annoyed chiefly by the grumbHngs of his father, who 
 considered that he had been dragged away hither on a 
 fool's errand. Mr. Fred Foster was of a cheerful tempera- 
 ment ; despondency was not much in his way. 
 
 ' We haven't pulled it off this time, mother,' said he ; 
 ' but wait till you see me on my legs again. You could 
 hardly expect a high-stepper like that to get matched with 
 a broken-down old cripple in a paddock.' 
 
 ' If I live to see you married to a girl like Miss Zembra, 
 Freddie,' said the gentle mother, ' I shall be happy. A 
 girl like that would have a good influence over you ; you 
 would give up your wild life. And I am sure your father 
 and I would be glad to let you have the old house ; we 
 could do very well at Crookfield.' 
 
 ' You need not count on me. I should be no such 
 fool,' the elder Mr. Foster remarked, with some point. 
 
 Mr. Fred Foster chose to ignore this chance observation. 
 
 ' Oh, don't you make any mistake, mother ; Miss 
 Zembra isn't a prig at all. She is just as fond of fun as 
 anybody ; only she has never had a chance. Why, she 
 herself told me how well she liked looking on at some 
 dancing there was at an artist-fellow's house — I forget the 
 name — and she said it was quite fine to see a lot of young 
 people — that's the way she talks, you know — romping 
 about and dancing the Highland schottische and enjoying 
 themselves without restraint. Oh, there's nothing of
 
 |S4 S A ft IN A ZEMBRA 
 
 the stuck - up school miss about her, 1 t an assure 
 you. ' 
 
 ' 1 do not think I slioiikl Uko to see Miss Zenil)ra 
 dancini; the Ili^lilaml schottische,' llie old lady said 
 quietly, 'thougli I hardly know why.' 
 
 'No, no,' said he with a laugh, 'nothing less dignified 
 than the minuet in Ariadne, Well, I don't know that I 
 should care to see her romping about either. Ikit I'll tell 
 you what I should like to see — I should like to sec her 
 drive a dogcart up to .\scot Heath, two ponies tandem ; 
 wouldn't that be something like the thing? And on the 
 lawn, mother — just think of her on the lawn — why, there 
 isn't one of them would be in it with her ! Think of 
 her figure — I tell you there's not one of the women would 
 
 be in it with her — except, perhaps. Lady , and she 
 
 doesn't go to race-meetings any more, since that thing hap- 
 pened. Well, do you know, mother, I don't think you 
 would grumble at a little extravagance — a good figure wants 
 good style — and the fashions have to be paid for ' 
 
 'My dear,' said the old lady, with the least touch of re- 
 monstrance in her placid voice, ' you speak very confidently.' 
 
 ' Oh,' said he lightly, ' that is a fancy picture, you know. 
 But I am not so sure it won't come off. Of course, I have 
 received my snub, and must grin and bear it ; but while 
 there's life there's hope.' 
 
 Sabina had but little idea that he was accepting the 
 situation in this cheerful frame of mind ; and she was alone
 
 REPENTANCE 185 
 
 in London ; and she was very miserable. For she had a 
 vague conviction that some kind of calamity had occurred, 
 for which she was mainly responsible ; and her wrong- 
 doing was none the less distressing that it was so hard to 
 define. She kept thinking and thinking over it ; wonder- 
 ing what Mrs. Wygram was saying to Janie about it ; 
 hoping that Mr. Foster was not too deeply offended with 
 her. Had she sent him sufficient assurance of her sorrow 
 over this hapless mistake ? Would it not have been kinder 
 if she had seen him — to say a word of good-bye ? And the 
 beautiful and gentle old lady who had asked her in so 
 pleasing a way to become her daughter : ought she not to 
 sit down and write to her and make some excuses for her 
 running away ? 
 
 Sabina was very busy on these first days of her return to 
 London ; but she went about her duties with a preoccupied 
 air. It struck even herself that she had less self-confidence 
 somehow in addressing people — even those best known to 
 her and most dependent on her. But she guessed that 
 might be the effect of her long holiday ; she had come back 
 strange to her work ; she had not fallen into the way of it yet. 
 
 Either Mrs. Wygram or her daughter wrote to their 
 beloved Sabie every day. This was professedly a medical 
 report ; but of course it contained all the news of their 
 uneventful life at the seaside. And it seemed unaccount- 
 able to Sabina that neither of them should ever make the 
 least mention of Mr. Foster. Why she wished to hear
 
 SAfilNA ZEMHKA 
 
 about him she ihil not ask herself; but each letter that 
 came from l>rii;hton she o[ienecl (luiekly ; and eat h time 
 there was an undefined feeling of disappointment tliat never 
 a word was said about him. About the mother and father 
 she had heard ; the old people had left a couple of days 
 or so after her departure — Mrs. Foster calling at Regency 
 Scjuarc and leaving some very affectionate messages for 
 Miss Zembra. But never the least allusion to the young 
 man ; antl Sabina, though writing every other day, somehow 
 did not choose to ask. 
 
 The reason why Janic had nothing to say about Mr. 
 Foster was simply this : she had learned from her mother 
 what were his principal haunts, and she took care that her 
 mother and herself should keep away from these. They 
 never went out to the end of the West Pier nor to the end 
 of the Chain Pier; and they seldom went into the Old 
 Steyne Enclosures or the Pavilion Gardens. For Janie's 
 vague dislike for the young man had developed into some- 
 thing Hke hatred when she heard that he had attempted to 
 carry off Sabina from them ; and that attempt having been 
 fortunately frustrated, she was resolved that it would not 
 be through her mother and herself that any communications 
 should be resumed. And she was delighted to see that 
 Sabina never even mentioned his name. She had feared 
 the worst from the curious interest that Sabina seemed to 
 take in the character and fortunes of the stranger whom 
 chance had thrown in her way. But that was all over now.
 
 REPENTANCE 1S7 
 
 He had been sent about his business. Sabina was back in 
 London ; and sooner or later Walter Lindsay would be call- 
 ing in at Kensington Square to see Mr. AVygram. 
 
 Brighton is a small place ; Janie was caught at last. 
 Her mother had lain down for a while after lunch ; the 
 daughter had come out for a bit of a stroll, and had 
 wandered down to the sea-front, where she took a seat on 
 one of the benches. A passing Bath-chair was stopped for 
 a moment just as it reached her. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, Miss Wygram, but I'm afraid 
 you've forgotten me?' 
 
 She thought it was an intolerable piece of effrontery 
 that he should speak to her after what had happened, but 
 she could not be positively rude. 
 
 'How do you do, Mr. Foster?' she said, and she gave 
 him her hand for a moment. ' I hope you are getting on 
 well' 
 
 ' Oh yes, very well,' he said cheerfully. ' I can move 
 about a little now, indoors, I think the Derby week will 
 see me on my legs again. And how is Miss Zembra ; I 
 suppose you have heard from her?' 
 
 And then it flashed upon her that he was assuming she 
 knew nothing of what had occurred, for how else could 
 he dare to talk about Sabina in this free-and-easy 
 fashion ? 
 
 ' Oh yes, I hear from her frequently ; she is very well, 
 I believe. What a pleasant afternoon for going about !'
 
 iSS SAB/NA ZKM8RA on A p. 
 
 It" ihis was not an inliiuation U) him llial lie iniL^ht move 
 on she did iU)l know what was. Hut he remained. 
 
 ' I have foinul it very ditlerent since slic left,' saiil he, 
 with a riierul smile, — 'very different indeed. I had no 
 idea we had been such constant companions until she left. 
 Hrighton seems iiuitc deserted now. You see, you get into 
 the habit of meeting people in a place like this, one day 
 being just like the day before it, and you don't notice, 
 perhaps, how much you are thrown together. l!ut you 
 find out when they leave.' 
 
 'Yes?' said Janie ; which was rather cold encourage- 
 ment. 
 
 ' And I'm awfully sorry she went away so hurriedly,' he 
 continued (and Janie wished he would not stare at her so 
 uncompromisingly with his clear, hard, blue eyes). ' I don't 
 mind telling you there was a kind of — kind of — well, some- 
 thing happened that might have admitted of some explana- 
 tion if only she had not gone away so abruptly. I was awfully 
 sorry — if I could have seen her for merely a couple of 
 minutes I could have explained a lot. Yes ; and there's 
 another thing I wanted to say to her before she went back 
 to London — well, it was talked about occasionally here — 
 but I wanted to impress it on her — don't you think she 
 ought to look about for some male companion — I sup- 
 pose she could not afford a secretary ? — but some male 
 companion, anyway, to go with her through all those 
 slums?'
 
 REPENTANCE 
 
 ' Miss Zembra,' said Janie distantly (for she was not 
 going to call her ' Sabie ' to him\ ' only goes to places 
 where she is known ; besides, she can take care of her- 
 self 
 
 ' Oh, I do not mean in that way,' he said, and he 
 accepted her repellent attitude with much good nature ; 
 perhaps he did not notice it. ' I mean in the way of her 
 getting sharped. I imagine she is imposed on by a whole 
 crowd of cringing, fawning, sneaking wretches. If a man 
 were to go with her he would let a little daylight into the 
 whole affair.' 
 
 'You think he would get to know more about these 
 people than she could?' Janie asked. 'I suppose you are 
 not aware, then, that Miss Zembra is a member of the 
 Charity Organisation Society?' 
 
 'But she is a woman.' 
 
 ' A woman may have as sharp eyes as a man.' 
 
 ' But she is sure to have a softer heart — and that's where 
 the trouble comes in.' 
 
 Janie remained obdurate. Even that little bit of adroit 
 flattery had no effect on her. And Mr. Foster, seeing that 
 she was not inclined for further conversation, left a friendly 
 message for her mother, and passed on. 
 
 That evening's despatch to Sabina could not well omit 
 all mention of this interview ; but Janie had no scruples 
 whatever about sending a distinctly garbled version. 
 
 ' He seemed as cheerful and complacent as you could
 
 S.I/J/y.^ ZEMIiKA 
 
 wish,' she wrote, amongst other things ; ' and put all the 
 blame on you for having gone away so hurriedly. Every- 
 thing could liave been put ri^lii by an explanation. I 
 suppose he means he could have explained why it was 
 absolutely necessary you should become his wife. And he 
 was kind enough to say that Brighton felt quite lonely now 
 that you had gone, and that he had no idea you and he had 
 been so much together. I suppose because he had not 
 taken the trouble to notice.' 
 
 This letter — the animus of which she well understood 
 and could discard — set Sabina still further wondering. What 
 explanation could he mean ? And so he had been look- 
 ing back over their companionship together, and perhaps 
 valuing it a little ? And she was glad that he was putting 
 so brave a face on his disappointment ; for she assumed 
 that there must have been some disappointment : a man 
 does not ask a woman to be his wife without having seriously 
 thought it over and laid far-reaching plans and cherished 
 hopes that he is anxious to have fulfilled. And, of course, 
 so important a choice is a great honour to confer upon any 
 girl ; and one not lightly or ungratefully to be thrown aside. 
 What explanation was it? she asked herself again and again. 
 She knew that he was not a sentimental person ; but then 
 neither was she herself; perhaps she ought to have waited, 
 and listened to what he had to say, and been less dis- 
 courteous in her summary refusal. 
 
 It may have been this continual questioning of herself
 
 RE PENT A NCE 1 9 1 
 
 that caused Sabina, one afternoon as she was going down 
 through Kensington Square, to pass Walter Lindsay without 
 recognition. He had not been so bhnd. He had seen her 
 a long way off; and it was as if something had suddenly 
 grasped his heart and made it cease to beat. He did not 
 know she had returned to London. He was not prepared. 
 The calm and equable friendship he had promised himself 
 was not there with its quieting influence ; and he only knew 
 that the sight of Sabina advancing towards him — the real 
 Sabina — here in Kensington Square — in Kensington Square 
 that he had peopled so often with ghosts and visions of her 
 — this actual thing bewildered him out of his senses, and he 
 could not think what he was to say to her. How was he to 
 account for her being in Kensington Square at all ? Was 
 some one ill that she had so suddenly come back ? She 
 would be startled and displeased at confronting him so un- 
 expectedly ? 
 
 Sabina came along, all unheeding. She was not looking 
 at any one whom she might meet ; her eyes were absorbed. 
 And when she passed him, he was still silent, almost 
 fearing to disturb her ; but the next moment something 
 within him took control of him, and he advanced a quick 
 step or two. 
 
 'Miss Zembra 1' 
 
 She turned with a little start ; but the moment she saw 
 who it was, there was a quick outshining of friendliness 
 from the beautiful eyes, and a pleasant smile of welcome.
 
 193 SAPLVA ZEMBRA chap. 
 
 She had been iiuuh harassed and wonictl these hist few- 
 days ; she liail been ahnost ah)ne ; here was an old tiieiul 
 who had been kiml to lier many a time. Ami she ihd not 
 know that she alU)wed him to retain her hand while they 
 were nuitually asking and answering the usual preliminary 
 ciuestions (perhaps he did not know it cither); and she took 
 no pains to eonccal the pleasure with which she recognised 
 him ; and her eyes met his with a frankness that took no 
 thought of consequences. In short, during tliese few 
 seconds, her conduct was abominable, Mrs. Wygram 
 would have said ; but Mrs. AVygram was altogether for- 
 gotten in the surprise and gladness of this unexpected 
 meeting. 
 
 ' \'ou are going down that way?' he said, looking 
 towards the end of the Square. 
 
 'Yes. I am going down to Cornwall Ganlens. It is 
 not often I pay afternoon calls ; but I am to meet an old 
 admiral who has been of great service to me several times, 
 and I shall have plenty of opportunity to thank him — that 
 is, to beg for future favours.' 
 
 ' May I walk as far with you ?' 
 
 ' If you like,' she said without hesitation, 'if it is not out 
 of your way.' 
 
 And here he was actually walking side by side with 
 Sabina along the Kensington Square pavement, as many and 
 many a time he had vainly imagined and pictured to him- 
 self. And what a tragic thing it was that he could only talk
 
 REPENTANCE 193 
 
 to her about trivial matters — about Brighton lodging-houses, 
 and the crowds at South Kensington of an evening, and the 
 various gossip of the studios — when all the time he was 
 dying to tell her of the newly-established relationship, the 
 unalterable and perfect friendship that was to last between 
 these two for ever and ever and evermore. Of course he 
 could not tell her ; for she knew of no other relationship — 
 and had probably never dreamed of any ; and so he had to 
 pretend to be eagerly interested in training-ships and the 
 like ; while all the pleasant and amusing things he had been 
 storing up for her during these many weeks had gone clean 
 out of his head. No matter ; Sabina was about as close to 
 him as she had been in the hansom ; and he was keeping 
 step with her as well as he could ; and bending towards her 
 a little so that he could listen to her the more easily ; and 
 sometimes he succeeded in making her laugh, and her laugh 
 was pleasant to hear. And he knew that for him thence- 
 forth this Victoria Road would be a blessed thoroughfare ; 
 he and she together had passed underneath the overhanging 
 trees of those front gardens ; for him at least the place 
 would be for ever haunted. 
 
 Nor even when she had passed within the hated portals 
 of that house in Cornwall Gardens was he likely to quit the 
 neighbourhood so long as she was there. Of course he 
 could not wait and offer to escort her back home again, if 
 home she was going ; that would have been too significant ; 
 but he could linger unobserved until she came out, and 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 SABJNA ZEMHKA riiAf. 
 
 have al Icasl a last glimpse of licr. Aiul lluit was all he 
 obtained ; for on Sahina's romini; out of the house she took 
 the first cab she saw, and was driven away, he knew not 
 whither. 
 
 Ihit he was happy enough ; nay, his heart was filled with 
 rejoicing. Nor would he go northward by Victoria Road 
 and Kensington Scpiare ; the way they had come seemed to 
 him still rich with the glory of her presence ; he would not 
 go and see how empty the thoroughfares looked. No, he 
 went away in another direction altogether ; and eventually, 
 after many aimless turnings and wanderings, found himself 
 towards seven o'clock out in the Addison Road neighbour- 
 hood, and at the door of the studio of an old chum of 
 his. 
 
 This Willie Meteyard was rather celebrated in his way 
 as having been an unconscionable number of times on the 
 very edge of being elected to the Academy, and failing at 
 the last moment through some unexpected combination ; 
 but he took these disappointments very equably, and worked 
 away at his pictures of Irish peasant-life with an assiduity 
 which brought him a fair amount of fame, and the dealers 
 a large amount of money. He was a bachelor ; and he 
 was sitting down to a bachelor-dinner when Walter Lindsay 
 entered. Artists as a rule are not overexacting in their 
 needs ; there was soon another plate on the table. 
 
 'What are you going to do to-night, Willie?' the visitor, 
 asked.
 
 REPENTANCE 195 
 
 ' I'm going with those Mowbray girls and their mother 
 to the theatre.' 
 
 'You'll have to dress and get away immediately, I 
 suppose?' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' What a nuisance ! You'd much better stop where you 
 are ; and we'll go into the studio, and have a pipe and 
 some music' 
 
 Now Mr. Meteyard was much fonder of music than of the 
 theatre ; and he knew that when Lindsay got into the vein, 
 he played very well indeed, and with quite unusual feeling. 
 Besides, Lindsay was an old friend ; and the Mowbrays were 
 mere acquaintances; the promise was not a very definite one; 
 there was a large party going to the theatre ; and he would 
 not be missed. Finally, he wanted to stop — and he stopped. 
 
 The evening passed pleasantly enough ; though by 
 degrees the two friends ceased from music, and took mostly 
 to smoking and lounging and chatting in the comfortable 
 hushed studio. And, of course, Walter Lindsay had but 
 one subject, to which he returned again and again, by many 
 subterfuges ; and that subject, of course, was the beautiful 
 nature and disposition of Miss Zembra, and the ennobling 
 effect of an assured friendship with such a woman ; the 
 influence it must have on one's character, and on one's 
 work too, making it sincere and earnest, and of a lofty aim 
 — all of which Willie Meteyard had heard a few times before. 
 At last he said :
 
 196 SAPINA ZEMBRA niAP. xiii 
 
 • Look hero, Walter, my good fellow, lot's have an end 
 of this. It's no use your trying to humbug mo. All your 
 talk about friendship is pure idiotcy. I tell you I believe 
 what you say of the girl. I suppose it's quite true. Ikit I 
 tell you this as well — and it's as plain as a pikestaff to 
 every one but yourself — I tell you, you're just madly in 
 love with her.'
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 A ROSE-DECORATED BALL 
 
 To name a thing is nothing ; other people might call it love 
 if they liked ; he was content to regard it as a beautiful and 
 ideal friendship ; and he could have wished that this was 
 the fourteenth century ; and London, Florence ; and that a 
 certain chosen band of charming ladies and young gentle- 
 men might retire to a small and fair domain without the 
 city, there to walk in cool gardens and fragrant meadows, 
 singing songs and telling stories, weaving garlands of flowers, 
 and dancing to the dulcet strains of lute and viol — all to 
 show to the world that perfect and frank good comradeship 
 might innocently and advantageously exist between un- 
 married men and maidens. In the meantime, he was 
 neither in Florence nor in the fourteenth century ; and, 
 indeed, he was too much occupied with the one and sole 
 and consuming question as to how he should manage to see 
 Sabina again to waste much thinking over impracticabilities. 
 But afternoon calls were useless, for Sabina was rarely 
 at home in the daytime ; haunting the neighbourhood of 
 Kensington Square was tantalising beyond endurance ; and
 
 I9S S.-l/i/N.4 ZEM^RA < iivp. 
 
 not until Mrs. Wygrani came back from Brighton could he 
 hope for an invitation to spend an evening with ihcin. Was 
 there no other way ? For this constant desire to meet licr 
 again — if only for a few minutes, just to see how she was 
 looking, and hoar licr voice — banished every other thought 
 and fiincy from his brain ; and he neglected his work ; and 
 his ordinary companions had but little interest for him ; and 
 London became at once a delight and a torture to him — 
 knowing, as he did, that Sabina was somewhere within the 
 vast extent of it ; and from morning till night he kept vainly 
 guessing at her probable whereabouts. All this was friend- 
 ship of a very exalted and devoted character, he knew ; still, 
 it was friendship. 
 
 One afternoon he went down to the house of a famous 
 Academician, and found the mistress of the mansion at 
 home. There were a few visitors present ; and when they 
 rose to leave he remained ; he wanted to have a little private 
 conversation with Mrs. Mellord. 
 
 'Why,' said he, when they had gone, 'from what I hear, 
 the whole of London is coming to you on the 2 2d.' 
 
 ' Oh no, no — only a few friends,' she said (all hostesses 
 say the like). 'We shall be very quiet — don't you be 
 frightened away ' 
 
 ' Oh, I am coming, of course,' he said. 
 
 ' I have got some pretty women,' she observed en- 
 couragingly (and she herself was charming enough, both in 
 appearance and manner).
 
 XIV A ROSE-DECORATED BALL 199 
 
 'You always do have pretty women at your house,' he 
 said. ' Don't you know that other people are a little bit 
 jealous? How do you manage it? They're not too fond 
 of shining side by side. They like to be solitary stars. 
 Well, now — eh — I wanted to ask you if you had sent a 
 card to the Wygrams.' 
 
 ' The Wygrams ? ' she repeated, with the least touch of 
 surprise. ' I don't think I did, then.' 
 
 ' Oh, but you ought,' he made bold to say (for he was 
 on very friendly terms with this pretty Mrs. Mellord). ' Oh 
 yes, you must — a kindness, you know — auld lang syne ' 
 
 ' I should hardly have thought it was in their way,' she 
 said, still looking rather puzzled. And then something 
 seemed to strike her ; and she regarded the young man with 
 shrewd and demurely smiUng eyes. ' I suppose you mean 
 that Miss Zembra should be included ? ' 
 
 ' Miss Zembra?' he answered ; and he took up an Egyptian 
 scent-burner and affected to be deeply interested in the 
 potter's handiwork. 'Well, yes, I understand she is still 
 living with them. I don't know that she would care to come 
 — probably not. She would want some persuasion, I suppose, 
 if you were kind enough to ask her. However, if you want 
 another pretty woman, there is one. Of course, as I say, 
 she would have to be persuaded — she doesn't often go out 
 — but you could tell her, for example, that she ought to go 
 out from time to time — seeing how rich people enjoy and 
 amuse themselves should sharpen her sympathy with those
 
 200 SAFIN A ZEMliKA 
 
 poor pco|>lc she works anions; — you iiiii;lil pul it lluil way, 
 il" you thought it wt)rll> while asking licT.' 
 
 Mrs. Mcllord burst out kuij^hiiii:;. 
 
 ' l)o you know, Mr. Lindsay, lliat you arc a very ad- 
 mirable actor? or course it is nt)t you wlio want Miss 
 Zcnibra to be here on the 221). Oli, no! And your air 
 of indifTcrence — excellent! Do you lliink 1 ha\c heard 
 nothing ? — \Yith all tiie town talking about your infatuation 
 for Miss Sabina I' 
 
 He reddened to the temples. 
 
 ' I was not aware there were so many idiots in the world.' 
 
 ' Don't be angry,' said his friend, placidly. 'They might 
 have coupled your name with a plainer girl. Now let us 
 understand each other. Supposing I go to Miss Zembra, 
 and talk her over, and get her to come here, perhaps you 
 would like to take her in to supper?' 
 
 He looked up quickly, but she did not give him time to 
 speak. 
 
 ' I suppose you would not object. Well, then, everybody 
 says that Herr Borella is a great chum of yours. I saw him 
 the other night, and he refused to come to me on the 2 2d 
 — the flimsiest excuse you ever heard ; do you think you 
 can induce him to change his mind?' 
 
 * I know I can.' 
 
 'And will you get him to sing?' 
 
 ' Certainly.' 
 
 ' For, don't you see, I am not going to sacrifice the whole
 
 A ROSE-DECORATED BALL 
 
 night to you boys and girls. I must have some little amuse- 
 ment for the elderly people ; and I am going to have distinct 
 intervals between the dances, and have music — songs, I 
 mean, for no one listens to anything else. Well, then, I 
 have got Madame Secchi, and Angelica Russell, and Isidore, 
 and one or two others ; and I want your friend Borella as 
 well.' 
 
 ' Oh, that's all right,' he said promptly. 
 
 'You really think you will get him to sing for me?' 
 
 ' I'll make him sing.' 
 
 ' Because,' said pretty Mrs. Mellord, gravely, and she 
 regarded the young man with eyes that meant a good deal, 
 ' in that case, I think out of sheer gratitude I must do my 
 best to persuade Miss Zembra.' 
 
 The 2 2d was a long way off yet, however; and in the 
 interval the Wygrams came home from Brighton. During 
 this time he encountered the sympathetic Janie occasionally; 
 but saw very little of Sabina, who was busy with her multi- 
 farious duties ; so that all the more he looked forward to the 
 evening on which he was to meet her at Mrs. Mellord's. 
 And always with the tacit assumption that he was to have 
 the monopoly of her society on that occasion. Had it not 
 been so at his own house on that memorable night ? Sabina 
 was his companion all the way through ; at supper she had 
 sat on his right hand and talked almost exclusively to him ; 
 in the studio the others were free to dance, or listen to 
 music, or amuse themselves as they chose ; Sabina and he
 
 aoa SABINA ZEMBKA 
 
 were apart and toi;cther. And as it was then, so it would 
 be now ; for who else had such a clann on her? 
 
 And at last came the night of the ball ; and it was the 
 very heiL;ht of the London season ; and as carriage after 
 carriage drove up to Mrs. Meliord's house, the crowd on the 
 j)avemcnt had more or less distant glimpses of very dis- 
 tinguished people indeed — a generally recognised face 
 causing a little murmur of comment — and of the less-known 
 womenfolk who stepped along under the awning in the 
 lightest and palest of summer cloaks and hoods. And 
 pleasant it was on this hot June night to pass into the 
 spacious hall of white and black marble ; and fresh and cool 
 looked the tall ferns that went all the way round the walls ; 
 and there was a grateful flashing of the central fountain, 
 where a ghost-white alabaster swan floated motionless in the 
 middle of a miniature lake. But from the hall upwards and 
 onwards there was no decoration but roses. Ropes of roses 
 adorned the staircase ; festoons of roses hung above the 
 doors ; masses of roses gave colour to the pale gold ball- 
 room ; and on the supper-table — as yet concealed from the 
 public eye — lay a bed of red roses from end to end. Every- 
 where there was a scent of roses ; and a sound of music too, 
 for the dancing had begun ; and pretty Mrs. Mellord, at the 
 head of the staircase, was already becoming anxious that the 
 people should disperse a little, and not crowtl so obstinately 
 round the ballroom door. 
 
 Walter Lindsay was not in that ballroom. No ; he
 
 XIV A ROSE-DECORATED BALL 203 
 
 was in the spacious hall below, lounging about with Willie 
 Meteyard, and pretending to listen to him. The subject of 
 their talk was etching, ordinarily a sufficiently attractive 
 topic for most artists ; and Meteyard was most enthusiastic 
 about a wonder-working press he had just purchased. Some- 
 how or other, however, Walter Lindsay's attention was but 
 intermittent. He looked anxious. He kept glancing 
 towards the wide-open doorway, and to the brilliant crowd 
 that came slowly pouring in. And at last, with a sudden 
 ' See you by and by,' he abruptly left his companion 
 and made for a certain small group that had just 
 arrived. 
 
 Sabina (so tall she seemed ; and to him she appeared to 
 be enveloped in a cloud of white gauze — but that was 
 because he had no eyes for anything but her face and the 
 possible look of welcome he might find there) was appa- 
 rently a little surprised to meet him. 
 
 'In London still?' she said, in her direct way. 'Why 
 are you not in the country, at work?' 
 
 He stammered some excuse. 
 
 'And you might well ask what brings us here,' she added, 
 with a smile ; ' but Janie wanted to see the roses.' 
 
 They passed into the cloak-room. He was very nervous 
 while awaiting them. He wanted to get possession of 
 Sabina from the first — to establish a right of companionship 
 that no one could interfere with. And what if they were to 
 be separated on the crowded staircase, or if she were to be
 
 a04 SABINA ZLMBKA 
 
 snatclicil aw.iy tVoin liiin on lior ciitiaiK c iiilo the rooms 
 above? It suddenly occurred to him lluit he was in a 
 manner helpless. in his own home, with Sabina as his 
 guest, he could do what he liked. He could choose her 
 seat for her, take her hither and thither, and generally 
 assume charge of her. But here, in another person's house, 
 he had no such control ; all sorts of untoward accidents 
 might happen ; wild beasts (in the shape of strangers want- 
 ing introductions) would be waiting upstairs to devour her. 
 And what had he come for if Sabina were to be spirited 
 away ? 
 
 However, when the women reappeared, it was very 
 evident that Sabina had no intention of ignoring the claims 
 of old friendship. She came forward to him quite frankly, 
 appeared to take it for granted he was waiting for them, 
 and went up the staircase with him, these two together, 
 and Janie looking on with marked approval. 
 
 ' I wish Mr. Foster could see them now,' she said in an 
 undertone to her mother. 
 
 ' You know,' Sabina said to her companion, ' we are 
 going away quite early. I cannot have all the good that 
 Brighton did to Mrs. Wygram undone again. Wasn't it 
 kind of her to take all the trouble about bringing us here 
 to-night ? But Janie was so anxious to see the pretty rooms ; 
 and then Mrs. Mellord is a very persuasive woman — when 
 she sets her mind on a thing ' 
 
 'Oh,' said he, * 1 will take you where you will see every-
 
 XIV A ROSE-DECORATED BALL 205 
 
 thing without getting crushed. I know you don't care much 
 about dancing, Miss Zembra, and I don't either; why, I 
 detest it — in this hot weather — in a crowd ' 
 
 But they were now arrived at the head of the staircase. 
 Mrs. Mellord was not much surprised to find Walter Lindsay 
 appear at the same time with Miss Zembra ; and she gave 
 both of them and the Wygrams a pleasant greeting ; only 
 she took occasion, as she pressed Mr. Lindsay's hand slightly, 
 to say, ' Borella is here, and has already sung twice. You 
 are a very good boy.' 
 
 Now as Walter Lindsay was familiar with this house, and 
 as all the rooms on this floor were en stiite, he found no 
 difficulty in taking his little party by a roundabout way to a 
 corner where they could have a commanding view. And a 
 very pretty sight it was : the pale-hued walls, the brilliant 
 lights, the masses and ropes and festoons of roses ; young 
 English girls showing further roses in their cheeks, their eyes 
 vivid with the animation of a waltz ; dowagers gorgeous in 
 velvet and satin and diamonds ; here and there in the 
 ' general circle,' if one may use the phrase, the resplendent 
 costume of a dusky Indian prince, or the quieter garments 
 of a group of Chinese officials looking on with impassive 
 stare. Perhaps, indeed, the ' general circle ' was more inte- 
 resting to the ordinary observer than the industrious young 
 men and maidens who were engaged in the active business 
 of the evening ; for there were many famous folk here ; 
 and, luckily for Lindsay's companions, his acquaintance was
 
 306 S.I/i/.V.I ZEMBKA OHAP. 
 
 not confinctl to mcro paintiis aiul poets and people ol thai 
 kiiul. However, tliey were not siifTereil to remain lon<^ in 
 this nuiet ( orner. Tlie son of tlie house had espied them ; 
 a (juadrillc was being formed ; he brought along a partner, 
 and introducedhinitojanie. Janie was a good girl, and told no 
 lie ; only she threw a little despairing glance towards Sabina. 
 
 'Won't you come in, Sabie?' she said. 
 
 'Will you?' said Walter Lindsay quickly. 
 
 ' Oh yes,' was the placid answer. 
 
 And so before he knew what he was about he found 
 himself engaged to dance with Sabina ; and quite inadvert- 
 ently he took her hand so as to put her in proper position ; 
 and his heart was beating pretty quickly ; and the music 
 that had now begun made a fervour in his brain, so that 
 the little speeches he made to her were rather incoherent. 
 Fortunately they were ' sides ;' and in the period of waiting, 
 Sabina looked on calm and bland and placid. When it 
 came to their turn she went through the various evolutions 
 with a simplicity and ease and grace that entirely surprised 
 him, and wrought him a more deadly woe than ever. ^Vas it 
 her beautiful figure, then, that caused her slightest movement 
 to appear so fine and finished ? And then she was so gentle 
 and dignified in her self-possession ; and Janie's eyes, as he 
 could see, were full of admiring pride; she seemed to be say- 
 ing, ' Is not our beautiful Sabie perfect in everything she 
 does?' And, of course, he pretended to have forgotten 
 the figures in order to have information given him in an
 
 XIV A ROSE-DECORATED BALL 207 
 
 undertone ; and he rather Hngered in letting go her hand 
 when they returned to their places ; and he, too, spoke to 
 her in an undertone, as if to shut away the outer world. 
 But alas ! this close companionship could not last for ever; 
 the music and the dancing ceased, and he had to take her 
 back to Mrs. Wygram. It was Perdita he was thinking of, 
 and Florizel's speech to her : ' What you do still betters 
 what is done. . . . When you do dance, I wish you a wave 
 o' the sea, that you might ever do nothing but that.' Only 
 this was rather a tall and stately Perdita, though her manner 
 was gracious enough. 
 
 Madame Secchi was now singing the ' Casta Diva ' air 
 from Norma ; but he did not listen attentively; he was busy 
 with the fear that that officious young Mellord would 
 presently be bringing along some partner and stealing 
 Sabina away from him. And he was resolved that no such 
 thing should occur. So he charged them not to move 
 from their present position ; and slipped away through the 
 crowd and reached his hostess. 
 
 'Mrs. Mellord,' said he, 'are you going to be awfully 
 good to me?' 
 
 ' I always am,' was the prompt reply. 
 
 'Yes; but this time especially?' 
 
 'What is it?' 
 
 ' Miss Zembra and the Wygrams are not going to stay 
 late, and I want to show them the supper-room; I've heard 
 about the roses. May I take them in ?'
 
 2oS SAIilXA ZEMliRA 
 
 'The raiullcs arc mdI lit yet.' 
 
 'Oh. hilt tlicro will be some kind of lit;ht.' 
 
 ' Very well, then.' And then she looked at him with 
 laughing but friemlly eyes. * Promise to be grateful to me 
 all your life. I will let you give them supper now, if you 
 can find any.' 
 
 ' No ; may I ?' 
 
 ' But get the servants to put the table straight — don't 
 forget that.' 
 
 And right gladly and swiftly he went back to his friends; 
 the music had not yet finished ; Sabina was still there. 
 
 ' Come along,' said he, * I am commissioned by Mrs. 
 Mellord to take you into the supper-room — before any one 
 else goes in — come along !' 
 
 And then he bundled them away, and guided them 
 across the upper hall, and opened the ponderous rosewood 
 door, and ushered them into this long, dimly-lit chamber. 
 But even these few lamps showed what a beautiful room it 
 was — the abundance of flowers, the silver candelabra, the 
 crystal and china making the table very pretty indeed. 
 Then it was cool and quiet and mysterious ; there was no 
 servant of any kind near ; they were as children who had 
 stolen into some forbidden place. Of course the women- 
 folk would not hear of his attempting to get them any supper. 
 Would he disarrange that beautiful table ? They could get 
 some refreshment, if they wanted any, in the other room. 
 
 Then said Janie, ' Mother, Sabie is tired after her long
 
 XIV A ROSE-DECORATED BALL 209 
 
 day's work. Let her stop here — in the cool. We will go 
 back and look at the dancing.' 
 
 Sabina was nothing loth ; this room was indeed much 
 less hot than the others ; he had got her a comfortable 
 chair; and, when she had time, she enjoyed laziness 
 luxuriously. What did she talk to him about ? It seemed 
 a matter of little concern to her. He was all eagerness to 
 interest her — about a dozen different subjects ; but she 
 answered as if the mysterious lights, and the cool atmo- 
 sphere, and the scent of the roses were enough for her. 
 She lay a little back in her chair ; the solitary diamond in 
 the slender necklace round her throat flashed from time to 
 time; she never raised her eyes to his; she seemed content 
 — and blandly indifferent. 
 
 But there was a growing wildness in his brain ; at any 
 moment she might carelessly rise and signify her wish to 
 return to the ballroom ; and he could not control her going. 
 He took a rose from the bed of roses. 
 
 'Miss Zembra, will you give me this rose?' he said in 
 rather a low voice. 
 
 In an instant she seemed to be startled into half-con- 
 sciousness, and to recollect where she was — and what Mrs. 
 Wygram would probably say of her. The next moment 
 she had risen and taken the rose and placed it gently back 
 on the table. 
 
 ' We must not rob Mrs. Mellord,' she said with ])crfcct 
 quietude. 'And now, shall we go back?' 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 ■1 > s.l/:/.\'l ZKAf/fKA iiivi-. 
 
 • I WDuKl w.iit ton years \.o t;ct lliat rose from you,' he 
 said, lor this luadncss was still in his brain. 
 
 Perhaps she diil not hear. .Slio jirecetled hiin cahiily 
 to the door ; and there, indeed, she lingered for half a 
 second until he rejoined her ; and together, as if nothing 
 had happened, they returned to the Wygrams. But he 
 was ver)' pale ; and all this thing around him was phantas- 
 mal — the din and splendour were alike bewildering ; he 
 looked on, but his eyes were blind. 
 
 Sabina began to question Mrs. Wygram about going, 
 and this somewhat recalled him to himself. Nay, she 
 spoke to him too, and with no studied coldness, but rather 
 with a certain timidity. Had she heard, and yet was not 
 angry ? Or was it that she was too gentle to be angry ? — 
 she would rather pretend not to have heard at all ? 
 
 Very soon the Wygrams and Sabina left, and for him 
 the rose-scented ball was over. He returned no more to 
 those brilliant rooms, with their blazing candelabra and 
 beautiful dresses and gay music. He put on his thin 
 summer overcoat and went away listlessly — and yet with a 
 kind of excitement in his brain — through the dim gaslit 
 streets — down by Gloucester Road, and Cornwall Gardens, 
 and back by Victoria Road, and so, and stealthily, through 
 Kensington Square. The lights were already out in the 
 well-known house. And then he wandered away up in the 
 Notting Hill direction until he reached his own home ; 
 and there he went into the studio, and turned up the gas,
 
 A ROSE-DECORATED BALL 
 
 and threw off his coat, and sat down. What had happened? 
 x\nd right well he knew ; no further disguise or pretence 
 was possible now; his inmost soul had spoken — to himself, 
 if not to her.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 AN ALLIANCE 
 
 One morning Sabina and Janic were engaged on an errand 
 in Richmond Road, Old Brompton, when a hansom cab 
 that had come rattling along behind them was pulled up, 
 and the occupant stepped out. Sabina happened to turn 
 her head. 
 
 ' Mr. Foster !' 
 
 And, indeed, it was Mr. Foster — brisk, smiling, com- 
 plaisant ; very smartly dressed and gloved, too, though the 
 tall hat made him look a little bit unfamiliar. 
 
 'This is a stroke of luck,' said he. ' I was driving down 
 to the sports at Lillie Bridge, little expecting to have this 
 pleasure.' 
 
 ' Oh, but you can't tell how glad I am to see you able 
 to get about again,' she said, with great earnestness. ' In- 
 deed, indeed, I am very glad ! ' 
 
 'There is not much to boast of yet,' he said lightly. 
 ' I don't think I should like to back myself to run the 
 Open Quarter Mile in forty-eight seconds. That was done 
 on .Saturday at this very place. But we are getting on.
 
 CHAP. XV AN ALLIANCE 213 
 
 And at any rate a hansom is more comfortable than a Bath- 
 chair. I am just making the fortune of the London cabbies 
 at present. Well, now, I won't detain you, for I saw you 
 were walking quickly ; but I want you to tell me if I may 
 call at Kensington Square — to make your acquaintance, 
 you know.' 
 
 ' To make my acquaintance ?' she repeated ; she did not 
 understand. 
 
 ' Why, yes,' he continued cheerfully. ' You've only 
 known me as a cripple — in a Bath-chair and a pot hat. I 
 want to introduce myself in a new character. May I come 
 to see you — and Mrs. Wygram?' 
 
 'I am sure we shall be very pleased indeed,' Sabina 
 answered, with evident sincerity. ' Why, you don't under- 
 stand — it is like getting well oneself to see you as 
 you are now. Don't you feel very happy about it 
 I do.' 
 
 Her .sympathy was exceedingly frank, and her pleasure 
 on witnessing this transformation obvious enough. Indeed, 
 in her surprise and gratification over this sudden encounter, 
 she had entirely forgotten the little tentative embassy that 
 Mr. Foster's mother had undertaken ; and when he asked 
 her to say on which day he might call at Kensington Square, 
 she instantly named the following afternoon. 
 
 'Sabie,' her companion remonstrated, 'you will be at the 
 Charity Organisation !' 
 
 ' I shall be home by half-past five,' was the answer, ' and
 
 2\\ SAB/NA ZEMBRA chap. 
 
 very i;1.k1 ot a i up of lea — hccausc somclimcs llic piOLCcd 
 ings arc not (luito unaiiimoiis.' 
 
 'What?* Mr. Foster striuk in. ' N'oii don't mean to 
 say that those good i)0O])le have an occasional bickering? 
 Well I should like to be there — to lend you a iielping- 
 hand.' 
 
 Sabina laughed. 
 
 'What is the matter?' he asked innocently. 
 
 ' 1 think you would make a strange figure at a meeting 
 of the Charity Organisation Society,' she remarked. 
 
 ' I've got an English tongue in my head — I could speak 
 my mind,' he said bluntly. ' However, I see you want to 
 be off. To-morrow at half-past five, then.' 
 
 And he got into the hansom again and drove away ; 
 while they turned out of this thoroughfare and made for 
 the Fulham Road. As they were going through the 
 Boltons, Sabina said, ' I am so glad we met him. I feel 
 quite happy about it.' 
 
 ' I don't see why his recovering from an accident should 
 be of so much importance to you,' Janie said, rather coldly. 
 
 ' You forget that I was mainly the cause of the accident,' 
 Sabina answered, in her gentle way. 
 
 'We will not discuss that, for we are not likely to agree.' 
 And then Janie added sharply, ' And look at the way he 
 occupies his time, now that he can get about again — driv- 
 ing in hansoms to places of amusement — his only thought 
 for himself. Why, Sabie, I can't understand the interest
 
 AN ALLIANCE 215 
 
 you take in that man. There never were two human be- 
 ings so entirely dissimilar in everything. When I think of 
 the life he leads — sports and pleasures and pastimes from 
 week's end to week's end, and the life that you lead — 
 working hard, and all for other people ' 
 
 ' Janie, Janie,' Sabina said, with a laugh ; ' why will you 
 be so violently prejudiced ? Haven't I told you a hundred 
 times that what is right for one person is not necessarily 
 right for every one ? Different people have different 
 hobbies, and I happen to have mine. Do you think 
 if I could ride like Mr. Foster, and play cricket, 
 and so on, I should not be intensely interested in those 
 things?' 
 
 ' Oh yes,' said Janie, with cutting irony ; ' I can quite 
 imagine Sabina Zembra a champion slayer of pigeons. Two 
 to one, bar one. That's just like you, Sabie !' 
 
 When Mr. Fred Foster called at Kensington Square the 
 following afternoon, he was even more scrupulously neat in 
 his attire ; and the slight lameness from which he still 
 suffered served as an excuse for the display of a walking- 
 stick, the head of which was of elaborately carved jade. 
 There was no embarrassment about him over this his first 
 visit to the house ; he was most pleasant to Mrs. Wygram 
 (Janie had gone out). He was anxious to hear from 
 Sabina of the proceedings at the Charitable Organisation 
 Society ; and he facetiously remarked that, although he 
 had intended to introduce himself as a new acquaintance.
 
 ai6 SABINA ZEMPRA cwkv. 
 
 11 \\a> impo>sil)lL' to keep up the prclciuc— lie piifLric*.! to 
 acknowlcdj;*' that ho hail fallen among oUl iVicntls. 
 
 'Well, you know,' ho said, 'the memory of a holiday- 
 place and the time you spent there is always far finer than 
 the thing itself; and fortunately so. Don't you ever think 
 of those mornings at Brighton, Miss Zembra — out at the 
 end of the pier, you know ; the fresh wind and clear skies 
 and the music ; the young people about ; and you begin- 
 ning to think that when luncli-iinie comes along you will 
 be quite ready? Very jolly mornings they were, weren't 
 tliey ? And when you look back at ihem, they seem very 
 bright somehow — a poetical halo, I suppose? And that,' 
 he continued, warming to his subject, for he was evidently 
 bent on making a good impression, in his self-complacent 
 way, — ' that is what I should like to have in my composition 
 — just enough poetry to make things look a little better 
 than they are. It's no great harm to go on thinking all 
 your geese are swans, so long as you don't find it out. Of 
 course, I shouldn't want to have as much poetry as would 
 drive one into publishing it, and running the racket of the 
 critics, and becoming miserable if the public wouldn't look 
 at you. Oh no ; I should like to be able to take a fairly 
 roseate view of things, but for my own use ; I shouldn't 
 care a rap what other people thought of them. As for 
 writing real poetry, now — well, I don't know — I suppose it 
 may be interesting to be a famous person — in your own life- 
 time, I mean — people stare at you, if that is any good to
 
 AN ALLIANCE 217 
 
 you — but beyond that what is there in fame ? I don't 
 see that it would be of any advantage to me that people 
 should remember my name two hundred years after my 
 death.' 
 
 His apologia pro vita sua would sometimes come in thus 
 in the most unexpected fashion ; but indeed it was un- 
 necessary, for Sabina had a wide experience of diverse 
 modes of life, and she was tolerant to a degree. If he 
 seemed to spend a good deal of his time at Lord's and 
 at the Oval, why should he not, on those pleasant summer 
 afternoons ? He was harming no one as far as she knew. 
 
 He did not overstay his welcome ; and it was clear that 
 on this first visit he had managed to somewhat mitigate Mrs. 
 Wygram's prejudice against him ; for it was with no great 
 asperity that she said, when he had gone, ' Sabie, don't you 
 think it just a little awkward that Mr. Foster should come 
 here?' 
 
 ' Why, then ? ' the girl said, with some surprise. 
 
 ' Well, you know it is not such a long time since he 
 asked you to be his wife — indirectly, at least. And a 
 refusal is supposed to mean something. I should not won- 
 der, now, if you encourage him to call, and receive him in 
 that frank way you have with everybody, he may begin to 
 imagine that you would not be sorry if he repeated his 
 offer.' 
 
 Sabina reddened a little, but she said, ' Dear Mrs. 
 Wygram, you must not put such fancies into innocent
 
 .S./Z.'AV./ ZAMJJK.l 
 
 people's heails. I am sure ho is lliinkiiigor no siu h iliiiij;. 
 Ho is as busy in his own wav as I am in mine, especially 
 now that he can gel about again.' 
 
 Busy as he was, however, Mr. Foster found time to pay 
 several visits to Kensington Square ; and he was very straight- 
 torward in asking Sabina when she was likely to be found 
 at home. He seemed exceedingly desirous of establishing 
 affectionate relations between her and the old lady in 
 Buckinghamshire. One day he brought with him a magni- 
 ficent basket of strawberries. 
 
 ' This is a little present from my mother, Miss Zembra,' 
 he said ; ' and she wants you to know that they are her own 
 growing — of course she is rather proud of them.' 
 
 'That is very kind, I am sure,' Sabina said. 'Will you 
 give her my best thanks, and say how good it was of her to 
 think of me ? ' 
 
 ' If you wouldn't mind sending her a note yourself, Miss 
 Zembra?' he suggested. ' It would please her so much.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, I will,' Sabina said at once ; ' give me the 
 address.' 
 
 And so the brief note was written and despatched to 
 Buckinghamshire. Of course it needed no reply ; but all 
 the same the reply came, in the shape of a very long and 
 affectionate letter, in which the old lady ventured to hope 
 that she had done no harm by a certain indiscreet dis- 
 closure made at Brighton. Moreover, enclosed in the 
 letter was a photograph of the garden where the strawberries
 
 AN ALLIANCE 219 
 
 were grown, with Mrs. Foster seated in an arm-chair, and 
 the old gentleman, scissors in hand, standing at the door of 
 the vine-houses. It was a pretty and peaceful -looking 
 picture, and Sabina, in acknowledging the receipt, said so. 
 What, then, should arrive — even by return of post — but an 
 invitation, a general invitation, to Sabina to come down to 
 this peaceful retreat whenever she felt tired, or ill, or 
 depressed, with abundant assurances that she would be 
 treated with the most considerate care. A more than 
 friendly letter, nicely worded ; and Mr. Fred Foster was 
 good enough to endorse that invitation eagerly, and to say 
 the old lady's heart would just be filled with joy if Miss 
 Zembra would take her at her word and go down to see 
 her when the opportunity arose. 
 
 Another point that he went back upon again and again 
 was the necessity of Miss Zembra introducing a little more 
 amusement into her life. He had nothing to say against 
 the self-appointed labours that she had devoted herself to ; 
 only that she was too assiduous. All work and no play, he 
 insisted, was the right thing for no one, and he appealed to 
 Mrs. Wygram. Why should not Miss Zembra have gone 
 up to see the Eton and Harrow match at Lord's — for, in- 
 deed, he had been desirous of escorting the whole party 
 thither ? 
 
 ' But I find my amusement in my work, such as it is,' 
 Sabina said good-naturedly. ' I don't know that I should 
 care to sit and look on at a number of boys knocking a ball
 
 XUi/A.i ^EMBKA 
 
 about. Terhaps I inij;ht, though. Young Knghsh lads, 
 healthy and wcllhuilt anil anivo, are always nice to look at. 
 Aiul that ivniiiuis me I am going down to see my boys on 
 the Anthusa and Chicluster next Wednesday ; it is the 
 annual inspection. Now, is not that a sufficient holiday, 
 Mr. Foster? And I am going with a clear conscience ; I 
 shall not have to drag either Mrs. Wygram or Janie with 
 me; .Mrs. Trcmenheere is going, and I have merely to 
 pick her up at Cliaring Cross Pier. Now, is not that 
 enough of a holiday ? A pleasant sail down the river ; 
 luncheon on board the Arethusa ; watching the boys go 
 through their drill, presenting the prizes, and then back to 
 town ? ' 
 
 And not only did Mr. Fred Foster express approval, 
 but also he was curious to learn further and minute details 
 about this projected excursion. What was the institution ? 
 ^Vho were the managers ? ^Vho were likely to be there on 
 Wednesday? How were invitations come at? 
 
 ' You know,' said he, ' if my little arrangement about the 
 Leicestershire Cup comes off I shall become a subscriber.' 
 
 ' I think we'd rather have the money now,' Sabina said, 
 'and then you won't risk losing it' 
 
 ' Kut it's out of the profits — if any — that the subscription 
 would come,' he then explained. 
 
 Soon, however, he was to be of assistance to her in a 
 more immediate way. One evening about half-past six he 
 strolled along to Kensington Square on the off-chance that
 
 AN ALLIANCE 
 
 she had returned home somewhat before dinner-time : a 
 message from the old lady in Buckinghamshire was the 
 ostensible excuse for his calling. He had scarcely entered 
 the Square than he perceived her at the farther corner of it 
 coming north, so he leisurely went on to meet her. 
 
 * Oh, Mr. Foster, I am glad to see you,' she said in her 
 frank way ; ' I want to see if you can give me some help.' 
 
 * You may be sure I will if I can,' he said cheerfully. 
 
 ' It's rather a sad story,' she said, plunging into the matter 
 at once. 'A poor widow I know has an only son, a lad 
 about fifteen, and he has got into trouble. It isn't merely 
 the loss of his wages for the moment — though that is some- 
 thing to her — it is his future, and the difficulty of getting 
 another situation for him, that is worrying the poor woman. 
 This is how it happened. He is employed in a livery-stable- 
 keeper's place down in Earl's Court. He had to take a whip 
 into the clerk's office to leave it there. Well, a customer 
 had been paying a bill, and the change was two shillings ; 
 but he had neglected to pick up the change ; and he and 
 the clerk came to the door of the office, for they were talk- 
 ing together. The boy goes past them into the office to 
 leave the whip ; he sees the florin lying on the counter ; 
 the temptation is too great, he slips it into his pocket. 
 Then the man remembers he has not picked up his change ; 
 turns and finds it is gone ; the boy is challenged, and at 
 once gives up the florin. Well, of course, there is no 
 excuse ; but most people have done things they arc sorry
 
 aaa .s.ih/A.-i /.EMBKA chap. 
 
 lor ; ami 1 am t t.ilain this boy has nothing of the inl)orn 
 thief in him — it was a siuUlcn temptation, and he gave way. 
 There was a talk of prosecution ; I went to his master and 
 he consented to stop that ; only he insisted on dismissing 
 the lad ; so that there he is now without a situation and 
 without a character or reference. Can you get some kind- 
 hearted man to overlook this one slip and give the boy 
 another trial?' 
 
 She had an admirably business-like way of putting a case; 
 perhaps she was used to it. As for Fred Foster, he paused ; 
 had he not always been telling her that she needed a man's 
 shrewdness and firmness to assist her — that she was always 
 running the risk of being imposed upon ? 
 
 ' If I could see the lad,' said he, ' I think I could tell 
 by the look of him whether his story will wash.' 
 
 ' Oh, but he confesses I ' 
 
 ' Well, I could tell whether I should care to ask some- 
 body to give him a fresh start.' 
 
 ' Would you mind coming and seeing him now ?' she 
 said promptly. ' His mother lives not ten minutes' walk 
 from here, and he is at home just now, I know.' 
 
 'But if you are kept late for dinner?' 
 
 'Oh, that is nothing 1' she said cheerfully. 'They never 
 wait for me ; that's all right.' 
 
 So they set out — she walking at a studiously moderate 
 pace ; and he seemed a little proud and pleased to have so 
 fair a companion. And howfdid he entertain her ? Well,
 
 AN ALLIANCE 223 
 
 there had been a smoking concert at Mildenhall, in Suffolk, 
 given by certain ' bookies ' to their friends who were at the 
 Newmarket race-meeting ; and he had been present on this 
 particuLirly festive occasion ; and he gave her a fairly vivid 
 and humorous account of the evening. He was very honest; 
 he never sought to conceal anything about himself or his 
 companions ; and they seemed to have been pretty gay at 
 the White Hart Hotel. In the middle of the story Sabina 
 bowed to some one passing ; and Mr. Foster, raising his hat, 
 as in duty bound, merely glanced at the stranger. 
 
 'That is Mr. Lindsay, the artist, whom I have spoken 
 to you about,' said Sabina. 
 
 'Oh, indeed,' he said indifferently. 'An odd-looking 
 creature — gaunt, white-faced, and black-haired — seems to 
 have come out of Byron's poems — those artists always do 
 like to look singular.' 
 
 ' But you must not say anything like that about Mr. 
 Lindsay,' said Sabina gently, ' for he is a particular friend 
 of mine — of ours.' 
 
 When they reached the widow woman's scantily-furnished 
 lodgings, the peccant youth seemed almost paralysed with 
 fear ; he imagined that this appearance of a stranger could 
 only mean prosecution, with its unknown horrors. But Fred 
 Foster speedily reassured him. After a sharp scanning of 
 the boy's face, he said, ' Look here, my lad, you've had a 
 narrow escape, and I hope it will be a warning to you all 
 your life. This lady has told me the whole story ; and I
 
 aa4 SABJAA ZEMBRA 
 
 think I can gel you a siiiKUiDn where yi)U will have a fair 
 trial — only it will be out of town ' 
 
 •Oh, he will not mind that, sir,' the mother interposed 
 quiekly, ' if only he t an get aiu)iher chance. Poor lad, he 
 feels it awful, sir.' 
 
 ' Well, if you mean to keep on the s(iuare,' he said, still 
 addressing the boy, ' I'll see what I can do. Get your kit 
 together, and meet me at Victoiia Station to-morrow morning 
 at 10.40. Will you remember?' 
 
 ' Yes, sir.' 
 
 ' I will take you down to Epsom, and get you a place 
 there, where nothing will be known of what has happened. 
 The rest is for yourself; you will have a fair chance of 
 getting on.' 
 
 'Yes, sir, thank you, sir.' The boy was too frightened 
 to say more. 
 
 ' Well, now, that is very kind of you to take so much 
 trouble,' Sabina said, when they were come out again ; 
 ' to go away down to Epsom ' 
 
 'Don't give me unnecessary credit. Miss Zembra,' he 
 said at once. ' Going down to Epsom never comes amiss 
 to me — I can always put in a day in that quarter, sometimes 
 to my own advantage. And I will get your stable-boy a 
 place easily enough ; poor young devil, he seems frightened 
 out of his wits. I suppose his mother has been nagging at 
 him. What a fearful thing it would be if everything was to 
 be treasured up against us, and no forgiveness possible. I
 
 AN ALLIANCE 225 
 
 don't mean you,' he added hastily, ' I was talking about 
 men. And — and — did I tell you how we wound up the 
 evening at Mildenhall ? ' 
 
 Sabina thought he had not \ and so — he discoursing the 
 while on these pretty goings-on — they walked equably back 
 to Kensington Square. 
 
 It was only a day or two after this occurrence that 
 Walter Lindsay happened to meet Janie Wygram, who with 
 her mother had gone to pay an afternoon call at an artist's 
 house. Wandering about the big studio, as all of them 
 did, he had little difificulty in getting the chance of saying 
 a few words to Janie by herself. 
 
 'I suppose,' he said rather diffidently, 'that it was the 
 Mr. Foster you told me of whom I saw walking with Miss 
 Zembra the other day ? ' 
 
 Janie instantly turned her sympathetic and troubled 
 eyes towards him and then lowered them. 
 
 ' I did not know you had seen them,' she said ; ' but no 
 doubt it was Mr. Foster. Sabie told me he had gone with 
 her to see some people she's interested in. Well, what 
 do you think of him ? ' 
 
 She hoped he would say something bitter and savage. 
 
 ' I only caught a moment's glimpse of him,' he answered 
 evasively. 'He goes a good deal to Kensington Square?' 
 
 He endeavoured to speak in an indifferent way ; but 
 Janie was not deceived. 
 
 'Yes, he has been there several times of late;' and 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 aa6 SABINA ZEMBRA chap, xv 
 
 there was a little toiitli of indignation in her tone as she 
 addetl, ' ami do you know how he has acquired such an 
 influence over Sahie ? Well, I'll tell you — it's his impu- 
 dence — pure impudence. Sabie has never been treated in 
 that free and easy way before ; and she doesn't understand 
 it, and gets bewildered ; and thinks there must be something 
 in liim because he is cool and complacent and masterful 
 towards her. And to think that Sabie — a girl like Sabie 
 — should be imposed upon by pure impudence ! ' 
 
 Hut Janie Wygram could scarcely be regarded as a dis- 
 passionate judge.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A BETROTHAL 
 
 Among decorous people it is considered that an unmarried 
 young lady should not drive alone in a hansom ; but 
 Sabina was a very busy woman ; and besides she considered 
 herself elderly ; so it was in a hansom that on this brilliant 
 July morning she drove along to Charing Cross Pier. 
 Almost at the same moment Mrs. Tremenheere arrived in 
 her carriage ; and the two ladies went down to the special 
 steamer that was awaiting the party. As they stepped on 
 board, the first person to come forward and greet Sabina 
 was Mr. Fred Foster. 
 
 Now Mr. Foster, though his sympathies in certain 
 directions were distinctly limited, had a good deal of natural 
 sagacity ; and instantly he saw — from the look of surprise, 
 or more than surprise — in Sabina's face — that in planning 
 this artful little stratagem he had made a mistake. And as 
 quickly as he could he made his apology. 
 
 'I did not know until last night,' he said, 'that I had 
 secured an invitation ; for I have been down in Bucking- 
 hamshire — my first trip there since — since the little acci-
 
 aaS SAIi/NA ZEMIiKA chap. 
 
 dent. And you have told me so much about these training- 
 ships, Miss Zcmbra — I thought it would be a good oppor- 
 tiiuiiy — I was very glad when I found 1 was to have the 
 chance of seeing them.' 
 
 Sabina somewhat formally introduced him to Mrs. 
 Tremenheere ; and he was very humble and civil in getting 
 them seats where the awning would shelter them from the 
 sun ; and there was no suggestion in his manner that he 
 had come hither with any dark design. Moreover, Sabina 
 was not one quick to take offence ; perhaps it was really 
 his interest in the Arethusa and the Chichester that had 
 prompted his coming ; and if so, did not he deserve a 
 little encouragement and friendliness ? He did not in any 
 way whatever seek to thrust his society on the two ladies ; 
 but he was within call. And as Mrs. Tremenheere was 
 devoting her whole and rapt attention to the Bishop of 
 Sudbury — who was discoursing to her of the iniquity of 
 spending money on orchids — Fred Foster came gradually 
 to be Sabina's attendant and companion, when no one else 
 claimed her. 
 
 It was a very pleasant sail down the river ; flags flying ; 
 a juvenile brass band playing from time to time in the 
 forward part of the steamer ; the lads on the training-ships 
 that they passed giving them a hearty cheer as they went by. 
 
 ' If helping in a good work were always as enjoyable as 
 this, there would be lots of it. I feel very virtuous indeed,' 
 he remarked cheerfully.
 
 A BETROTHAL 229 
 
 ' I feel very serious,' was her rejoinder, ' for they have 
 fixed on me to give away the prizes ; and though I get on 
 very well among the boys when they are by themselves, 
 I don't like having a lot of spectators looking on.' 
 
 ' I wish I could be of any assistance to you,' he said 
 (and Mrs. Tremenheere was entirely given over to her dear 
 bishop ; he could address himself directly, if modestly and 
 respectfully, to Sabina's eyes). ' I feel myself such a use- 
 less creature in the world whenever I meet you. Ah, I 
 wish you heard my mother speak of you, Miss Zembra. 
 It was Miss Zembra this and Miss Zembra that, all the 
 time I was down, I think she would consent to be ill if 
 she thought you would come and tend her a little. She 
 was talking about a poor woman — an imaginary woman — 
 lying sick and hopeless and friendless ; and she said that 
 to such a poor creature, when you went into the room, 
 your face must appear to be the face of an angel. And 
 she hasn't forgotten your promise to go and see her ' 
 
 Sabina looked up in surprise. 
 
 ' Perhaps there wasn't quite a promise,' he said quickly ; 
 ' but I fancy that in her case the wish was father to the 
 thought. Oh yes ; and she has settled upon the room 
 that you are to have when you go down — it is a curious 
 little box, all by itself; but it overlooks the garden, and it 
 is very quiet, and she says you will be so much the better 
 for absolute rest and quiet after your hard work in London, 
 
 ' I am sure she is very kind,' Sabina was bound to say.
 
 ajo SABINA /.EMIiKA ciUP. 
 
 ' I h.uln't quite such a good time wiili the Pater,' her 
 companion continued with a rueful smile. ' No, he was 
 rather rough on me. He did not think much of my inven- 
 tion as likely to increase the sum of human happiness.' 
 
 A glance of inquiry asked him to explain. 
 
 ' Oh, didn't I tell you ? 1 )id you not hear of my 
 invention?' he said. M\ell, it was in this way. You see, 
 after you left Brighton, it was pretty slow down there for 
 me, and I had to do a good deal of steady thinking all by 
 myself. And then it was that an idea occurred to me 
 which will enable me to go down to the latest ages as a 
 benefactor of mankind. You know how awkward it is for 
 a lady, when she is riding alone in the country, to mount 
 her horse by herself — supposing she has to get down to 
 tighten the girths — and there is no stile or gate handy. 
 Well, now, my invention is a small ladder of rope that 
 can easily be folded up and fastened to the saddle, and 
 there she is independent ! She has neither to trust herself 
 to the clumsiness of some country lout nor walk along to 
 the nearest cottage for the loan of a chair ; she can get 
 down or up for herself as she pleases. And would you 
 believe it — the Pater saw nothing in that idea to add to 
 the gaiety of nations ; and when I talked to him about 
 Galileo, and Sir Walter Raleigh, and George Stephenson, 
 he used the most reprehensible language. Great discoveries 
 are always treated like that. It isn't until after we are dead 
 that the public find out how much they owe to us.'
 
 A BETROTHAL 
 
 ' I am afraid you try the old gentleman's patience a 
 little,' she said, venturing to look up at him. 
 
 'But what am I to do?' he said. 'Begin and work 
 some of those farms ? I could not make as much out of 
 them as the present tenants, and they're all skating on the 
 edge of bankruptcy. He thinks I ought to do something \ 
 and I want to know what I am to do.' 
 
 ' Are there no beggars at your gate ?' Sabina said gently, 
 
 ' There are,' he answered with cheerful promptitude ; 
 ' and what's more, there will be beggars all over the place 
 if farming doesn't become more profitable. But don't say 
 anything against me this time, Miss Zembra. Surely I'm 
 engaged in a good and charitable work at the present 
 moment ? I'm actually going down to have luncheon on 
 board the Arethusa.' 
 
 And this sardonic self-depreciation of his pleased Sabina a 
 good deal more than any affected interest or other hypocrisy ; 
 he seemed to be constantly saying to her, 'Well, I'm not 
 much of a fellow ; but you are very good-natured, you won't 
 be too hard.' 
 
 A right brave sight was that that met their eyes when 
 they reached their destination ; for the yards of the great 
 vessel were manned by near a thousand lads and boys ; 
 and loud and long was the cheering that greeted the visitors. 
 And then, when they had got on board and began to look 
 round the ship, it was but natural that Mr. Foster should 
 remain with the small party whom he had accompanied
 
 SA/ilNA ZEMJiKA 
 
 on the way down ; and, tliorcfore, wlicn the crowd wont 
 below for lunch, he assumed the riglit of attending upon 
 the two ladies, and very assiduously and cheerfully did he 
 execute the task. Mrs. Trenienheerc was rather pleased 
 with the young man. And she was interested in him ; 
 for she had heard of the accident, and of Sabina's care of 
 him subsequently. She thought he was rather good-looking, 
 and distinctly well-dressed ; and if he carried his frankness 
 of manner to the verge of a certain cool audacity, she 
 reflected that Sabina and he had been thrown so much 
 into each other's society that now he probably regarded 
 her in the light of an old friend. 
 
 After lunch the visitors went on deck again, and the 
 business of the day began. Very proud indeed was Sabina 
 over the smart and seaman-like way in which the lads went 
 through their drill ; and she spied out here and there 
 amongst them a particular favourite of her own ; and what 
 officer could check the return glances of recognition ? Of 
 course she wore the silver anchor at her neck. And she 
 was as pleased at the proficiency of these young sailors as 
 if she had trained them all herself; and she was glad that 
 the people clapped their hands when something particularly 
 prompt was done ; and she made bold to ask Mr. Foster if 
 the country should not be grateful to an institution that 
 took the neglected boys of London and turned them into 
 fine, smart, healthy-looking, bright-eyed fellows, of whom 
 England might one day be in urgent need. Then came
 
 A BETROTHAL 233 
 
 her own share in the programme — the distribution of the 
 prizes and medals ; and as each blushing recipient came 
 forward — the best swimmer, the most popular boy, the 
 smartest lad aloft, and so forth — Sabina managed to say a 
 kindly word or two to him as she put the prize into his 
 hand or pinned the medal on his breast. And of course 
 Mr. Foster was at her side all this time ; and perhaps his 
 little underhand jokes rather tended to give her confidence; 
 anyhow her fingers did not tremble much as she pinned on 
 the medals; and her eyes — that could express approval very 
 well indeed — said as much as her words. 
 
 ' Bravo, Johnny ; you've done it again,' she said to one 
 of the prize-winners ; and she turned to Fred Foster, ' That 
 is one of my own boys.' 
 
 Indeed, Sabina was so highly pleased with the success 
 of the whole of the day's performance that, when they had 
 seen the last of the boat-racing, and were returning to town 
 again on board the steamer, she was in a far more animated 
 mood than Mr. Foster had ever seen before ; and she was 
 particularly gracious to himself. He had been her com- 
 panion, in a way ; he had stood by her, through that public 
 ceremony ; and now that it was all over, it was comfortable 
 to sit here in idleness, and listen to his half-facetious com- 
 ments about men and things. And what should hinder 
 him from taking up that same subject he had been harping 
 on so much of late, and giving it a more immediate and 
 personal application ? An early opportunity arrived. Mrs.
 
 i>» S.tJS/.V.t ZEMIiKA i;jiAi'. 
 
 Tremcnhccrc went l)clo\v to have some tea, her bishop 
 accompanying her. Sahina did not care for any ; she pre- 
 ferred to remain on deck. And then it was that Fred 
 Foster renewed his prayer that Sabina should not give her- 
 self so wholly up to these charitable labours of hers — that 
 she should introduce a little amusement into her life. 
 
 It was a roundabout way of placing an offer of marriage 
 before a young lady ; but it was not an unskilful one. 
 There was no startling suddenness about it. Sabina found 
 herself listening to an argument that seemed to be pervaded 
 by sound common sense. All work and no play, he said, 
 was just as bad as all play and no work ; the first was her 
 case, the second his ; wouldn't it be a better and whole- 
 somer arrangement if he could share her work, and she 
 take some part in his amusements ? It was quite gradually 
 that she came to understand what he meant — that they 
 should join their two lives so as to arrive at this fair com- 
 promise between pleasure and duty ; and she listened with 
 her eyes cast down, and with many rapid fancies running 
 through her head. There was not much sentiment expressed 
 in this proposal ; but then she did not consider herself a 
 sentimental person. Was there not, on the other hand, 
 instead of sentiment, a certain reasonableness and fitness ? 
 More than once she had found herself in need of a man's 
 support and guidance ; while (for there was no austerity in her 
 nature) a little holiday-making now and again might gladden 
 life up somewhat. She listened in silence, perhaps afraid
 
 A BETROTHAL 235 
 
 to understand his meaning too clearly ; but presently his 
 speech became plain enough. 
 
 'You know my mother went to see you at Brighton, 
 Miss Zembra,' he said, and his eyes were fixed on the deck, 
 and he spoke in an undertone, for there were many people 
 about. ' That was foolish on my part. An ambassador is 
 no good. And even here — when I have the chance — I 
 can only say bits of things. But I have been thinking it 
 over a good deal, and a partnership between us seems 
 reasonable ; and of course that partnership could only mean 
 marriage. I ought to tell you what I think of you ; but I 
 can't praise you to your face ; besides, Mrs. Tremenheere 
 may be up again any minute. But I think we might have 
 " a real good time," as the Yankees say ; and I should be 
 tremendously interested in all you are doing, and lend you 
 a hand when there was a chance ; and then, when you are 
 overfagged and deserve a day's holiday-making, you might 
 leave me to engineer that with a fair amount of confidence. 
 I would live anywhere you liked ; I haven't many friends 
 in London ; and you don't seem to go out much ; when 
 we went pleasuring it would be in the country. There's 
 Goodwood, now ; wouldn't it be fine to get you away from 
 those slums, and run down to Brighton for a week, and get 
 hold of a dogcart and a stout little cob ? There's the 
 Mater too — wouldn't she welcome you ? And if you want 
 quiet, that's the place ; and shouldn't I be willing to play 
 good boy then? Sabina — is it to be "Yes?"'
 
 336 SAISJXA ZEMBKA 
 
 She looked up for a sccoml, timul and hesitating. 
 
 * No,' he said quickly, 'if you are afraid to say "Yes" 
 on so short a notice, say nothing. Think over it. ^^'ill 
 you ?' 
 
 She nodded slightly, with her eyes still cast down. 
 And then he said eagerly, ' But this you must promise — 
 to take no one into your confidence. Will you i)romise 
 to make your decision yourself? Oh, I know what 
 will happen if you take advice. Your people at 
 Lancaster Gate hate the sight of me. I don't wonder 
 at it, and I don't resent it. Perhaps I shouldn't my- 
 self like having anybody planked in my house like that. 
 If you ask them, they will say no ; I am certain 
 of it ; and I don't see that they take such care of 
 you that you should be particular about asking their per- 
 mission or advice. And as for the Wygrams, they would 
 say the same thing \ for they are very fond of you, and they 
 are jealous, and would be angry at any one taking you away 
 from them. But never mind that. When it was all over 
 I should soon be able to pacify them. Now will you 
 promise me so much — that you will form your judgment 
 entirely by yourself?' 
 
 She was understood to assent ; he could hardly hear her 
 speak. 
 
 'And that you will make it "Yes" if you can?' he 
 pleaded. 'Sabina, that is not too much to ask?' 
 
 Whether it was or not was of little consequence, for at
 
 A BETROTHAL 237 
 
 this moment Mrs. Tremenheere made her appearance on 
 deck ; and the bishop, coming along, would insist on 
 carrying Sabina away to have some tea or something of 
 that kind. 
 
 Nor did Mr. Foster have another opportunity of speaking 
 privately with her during the rest of the way up the river ; 
 but as they were going ashore at Charing Cross — where 
 Sabina was to embark in Mrs. Tremenheere's barouche, and 
 be driven home that way — he managed to say to her, 
 'Will you send me a message to-morrow?' 
 
 And as they shook hands at the door of the carriage, 
 she said to him — but with averted eyes — 'Yes ; to-morrow.' 
 It was not a long time in which to form a decision which 
 would affect the whole of her life ; and yet it cannot be 
 said that she spent an agonising night of doubt and dread. 
 For one thing, she was no timid young creature of seven- 
 teen, driven out of her wits by the discovery that Charlie 
 has stolen unawares into her heart, confronted by the 
 awfulness of having to break her promise to poor Tommy, 
 and conscious at the same time of certain secret and pro- 
 nounced flirtations with Frank, that had no doubt awakened 
 certain hopes in his mind, and that it would be remarkably 
 difificult to explain away. Nor was there any wild passion 
 in the matter ; Sabina was twenty-five ; she had seen too 
 much of the real trouble of the world to care about 
 indulging in romantic imaginary woes ; life had been serious 
 with her. Perhaps, indeed, a trifle too serious? For it
 
 23S SABINA ZEMBRA chap. 
 
 was a cheerful jirospcct, on ilie whole, that Fred Foster 
 had opened out before her. She was to have his advice 
 and aid in time of difliculty ; she was to have his blithe 
 companionship when they thought fit to snatch a holiday. 
 There was a kind of happy-go-lucky self-reliance about him 
 which was in itself assuring ; he seemed very certain that 
 the projected partnership would work well ; she did not 
 think it would be so much amiss if on occasion they left 
 overcrowded lanes and alleys for a pleasant drive to Good- 
 wood. 
 
 Nor had she any fear about forming a decision for her- 
 self; for she had for long been accustomed to manage her 
 own affairs. And well she knew that he had spoken truth in 
 warning her as to the consequences of her seeking counsel 
 either from her own people or from the Wygrams. Neither 
 the one nor the other knew Fred Foster as she did ; they 
 were governed by a violent prejudice against him ; it would 
 not be honest advice she would get, but an expression of 
 ill-will. And was it not a pity to see this young fellow, who 
 had many good qualities about him, left to drift uselessly 
 about the world ? His income she knew was not very large ; 
 indeed, he was almost entirely dependent upon his mother ; 
 still it might be better employed than in backing horses. 
 Her income and his together would enable them to live 
 very comfortably in a moderate way, and also permit her to 
 continue her works of charity as well as to have a little 
 amusement now and again, according to his projected plan.
 
 A BETROTHAL 
 
 239 
 
 His mother would be kind to her, she knew. Altogether, 
 regarding the matter from every possible point of view, 
 it not only looked reasonable and practicable, but also 
 attractive in many ways ; as for Fred Foster himself, surely 
 it was affection that had prompted his offer (for she had no 
 fortune) ; then she liked his frankness, and his sardonic 
 self-criticism, and also the quiet audacity with which he 
 sought to get the best of everything within his reach ; and 
 she made no doubt that a man like this, who was rather 
 given to belittling himself, would in the end turn out more 
 trustworthy than a man who was eager to show himself off 
 to the best advantage. 
 
 And yet it is no light matter for a young woman to sign 
 away the days of her freedom and maidenhood; and next 
 morning the letter that was to deliver Sabina into slavery — 
 into partnership, he called it — was written many times over 
 before she could consider it even passable. And when she 
 came downstairs to breakfast, she was somewhat self-con- 
 scious, and rather avoided Janie's eye. 
 
 'Are you tired, Sabie, dear, after your trip to Green- 
 hithe ?' said Mrs. Wygram, noticing that she was rather silent. 
 
 ' No, no, not at all ; ' the girl said, and some slight 
 colour came unwittingly into the pale, calm, beautiful face. 
 'Why, it was a holiday — I think we all enjoyed it very 
 much.' 
 
 By and by Sabina had to set forth on the business of 
 the day ; and this time she was going alone. But before
 
 S40 SAB/NA ZF.MIiKA chap. 
 
 leaving ihc house, she sought out Janic, ami took her into 
 the lira wing-room, where there was no one hut themselves. 
 She had her hand on Janie's arm. 
 
 'Janie, dear, I have a secret to tell you.' 
 
 Her eyes were smiling ; her cheeks rose-tinted ; she 
 was hesitating and timid — and then she suddenly made a 
 step forward and kissed Janie, and put her head close to 
 her head. 
 
 'Janie, be kind to mc — don't be vexed — I — I am 
 engaged to be married.' 
 
 Janie withdrew herself from that embrace, her surprise 
 was so great. 
 
 'You, Sabie?' she managed to say. 'But — but — to 
 whom?' 
 
 ' To Mr. Foster,' was the answer given in a kind of 
 doubtful tone. 
 
 ' Oh, Sabie, what have you done !' the girl cried, and 
 there was anguish in the cry, and her face had grown 
 suddenly pale. ' Oh, what have you done, Sabie — when — 
 when there was one man in all the world who really loved 
 you ' 
 
 Janie had stepped back, white-faced and frightened. 
 
 'Yes, and you knew it — you knew it — and now you 
 have broken his heart ! ' 
 
 ' You must not talk such nonsense,' said Sabina, some- 
 what proudly. ' And we will not mention the subject 
 again until you have come back to your senses.'
 
 CHAP. XVI A BETROTHAL 241 
 
 And therewith she turned and went from the room, 
 leaving poor Janie entirely overcome ; for not only was she 
 aware that an awful calamity had occurred — and to her 
 beloved Sabie — but also she had quarrelled with her 
 nearest and dearest friend. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHATTER XVI 1 
 
 PREPARATIONS 
 
 In these days of strict governance one would hardly expect 
 to find in Kensington High Street a well-conducted young 
 lady vainly endeavouring to repress her sobs, and occa- 
 sionally and furtively wiping a tear-drop away from her wet 
 eyelashes. Yet such was Janie Wygram's condition on this 
 July morning; and she had not quite recovered her self- 
 control even when she had got up to Notting Hill. But she 
 had grown reckless in this sudden grief that had come upon 
 her ; and she longed for consolation — which is sometimes 
 to be found in the imparting of news to a faithful friend ; 
 and it was with no hesitation at all that she rang the bell 
 of Walter Lindsay's house, and asked if he was at home. 
 
 He was at home. He was in the studio, she was in- 
 formed. Was he alone ? Only a model with him. But 
 Janie had lived much among painters ; she knew that 
 models form the telephonic system of the art world ; and 
 this communication she had to make to Walter Lindsay 
 was not meant for alien ears. So she sent a message 
 to him, and awaited him in the drawing-room.
 
 CHAP. XVII PREPARATIONS 243 
 
 Presently she heard a step, and her heart sank within 
 her. She knew not how to meet him. And even as he 
 came forward to greet her — a Httle surprised he was, but 
 certainly pleased by this unexpected visit — she could not 
 help thinking, with a heavy heart, that it was this man, so 
 distinguished-looking, so generous of nature, so courteous 
 and gentle in all ways, that Sabina had thrown over — for 
 whom ? She stole another glance at him, and essayed to 
 speak, but in vain. Then he noticed that she had been 
 crying, and instantly he took her hand again, and his face 
 was full of a quick concern. 
 
 ' What is it ? What has happened ? ' he said. 
 
 ' I — I came to tell you,' said Janie, striving not to give 
 way. ' Sabie — Sabie is engaged to be married.' 
 
 Quite involuntarily he dropped her hand. She did not 
 dare to look at his face. Indeed, her eyes were all wet and 
 blind ; she had enough to do with her own trouble. 
 
 As for him They say that a drowning man sees 
 
 all the backward years at a glance. He seemed to see all 
 his future years — stretching on and on — gray, barren, hope- 
 less, solitary. That was but for a moment. 
 
 ' I suppose — it is — to that Mr. Foster ? ' he said, in a 
 voice that was apparently quite calm. 
 
 'Oh yes,' said Janie, in a half-hysterical fashion. 'And 
 I have been afraid of it all along ! They were together 
 always at Brighton — I heard it from mother — and Sabie 
 is so strange — she lets herself be talked over — especially if
 
 244 SA/i/.X.l /.EMliKA CHAl'. 
 
 you ask anything from her — and 1 suppose that — tliat 
 contemptible horse-jockey has appealed to her sympathy, 
 and she has taken i)ity on him.' 
 
 •Janie,' AN'alter Lindsay said gravely, 'don't you think 
 it would be wiser if you tried to make the best of what 
 has happened ? ' 
 
 ' But it was you I wanted her to marry, if ever she 
 married any one,' Janie broke out afresh. ' We all wanted 
 it. If Sabie had only done that ' 
 
 ' But what is the use of speaking of it ? ' he gently 
 remonstrated — and she was so much occupied with her 
 own sorrow that she did not notice how gray his face had 
 become all this while, how haunted and absent his eyes. 
 ' You know that was never possible.' 
 
 ' No, I suppose it was not,' she said, in a kind of 
 despair, ' I suppose it was never possible. You were 
 too well off; too happy ; and — and — and every one making 
 much of you. She used always to talk of you as being so 
 fortunate, having such a great career before you. It was 
 always work she thought of; she never let sentiment, 
 affection, come in — unless it was about poor people. 
 Yes,' added Janie bitterly, 'you were always too well off 
 for Sabie. But if you had been a miserable, insigni- 
 ficant, conceited, contemptible creature, like this horse- 
 jockey ' 
 
 'Janie,' he said, with a touch of authority, 'you are 
 acting very foolishly. You are letting your disappointment
 
 PREPARATIONS 245 
 
 become a craze ; and it will be all the more difficult for 
 you to remain on good terms with Mr. Foster if you nurse 
 this silly anger against him.' 
 
 ' On good terms with him ? ' she said scornfully, 
 
 'For Sabina's — for Miss Zembra's sake.' 
 
 ' But Sabie has gone away from me now ! ' Janie cried. 
 'Sabie, who was my friend ' 
 
 ' She is your friend,' he said quietly. ' Now, sit down 
 and tell me how all this came about, and how you heard 
 of it.' 
 
 Janie sat down obediently ; but how was she to tell 
 him of the arguments and persuasions that Fred Foster 
 had used in winning over Sabina ? Janie knew nothing of 
 all these ; but she had formed her own theories and 
 guesses, and it was these that she now placed before him, 
 Walter Lindsay in vain endeavouring to mitigate the malice 
 of her insinuations. And as for Foster's motives in seek- 
 ing to make Sabina his wife, she could make them out also. 
 Sabina was a very pretty woman ; and, for a year or two, 
 until he got tired of her, she would do him credit when he 
 drove her to a racecourse. Then there was her ^300 
 a year. Sabina, Janie explained, was very frank in dis- 
 cussing her financial position when charitable projects 
 were being considered ; of course Mr. Foster must have 
 learned what her allowance from her father was. And 
 would not the ;;^3oo be a handy addition to his income, 
 and enable him to bet a little more on horses and grey-
 
 246 SABINA ZEMBKA 
 
 hounds ? Besides that (Janic contended) he was of course 
 expecting a rich man like Sir Anthony Zembra to give his 
 daughter a handsome marriage-portion. AN'licre would that 
 go ? In gambling, of course. And then ? Poor Sabie ! 
 
 ' No, no, no ! ' he said, ' I will not hear anything of the 
 kind. These are only Cassandra prophecies. Depend 
 upon it, a woman like Miss Zembra could not make such 
 a mistake in her choice ; there must be something finer 
 and better than that in him ; remember she knows so 
 much more about him than you do. And you are going 
 to be reconciled to him — that is what you have got to do; 
 and both you and I, whatever happens, will remain Miss 
 Zembra's fast friends ; and I, for one, I — I wish her a very 
 happy marriage I ' 
 
 She raised her eyes to his face. There was not 
 much gaiety there, but a serious wistfulness, rather ; 
 and his look, which was directed to the window, was 
 thoughtful and absent. And for the life of her — re- 
 garding him thus — she could not help repeating what 
 she had said before as to what she had sketched out as 
 Sabina's future. 
 
 ' No, I think none of us were anxious that Sabie should 
 marry; she was so good and perfect and beautiful that 
 we all wished to have a share in her and to have a little 
 of her kindness and attention ; but if she was to marry, it 
 should have been you ; indeed, indeed, that would have 
 reconciled us all to it.'
 
 PREPARATIONS 247 
 
 'But it is of no use talking of that now,' said he, gently 
 putting away the subject. ' No, dear Miss Janie, what you 
 have to do now is to think of what is best for her. As for 
 me, I don't pity myself overmuch. Surely no harm can 
 come to any one through having known a good woman. 
 Anything more than her friendship was never possible ; but 
 I had that for a time, and I will remember it all my life, 
 I hope. Now, give me your promise.' 
 
 'What?' 
 
 * That you will do everything you can for Miss Zembra ; 
 and, as the first thing, that you will receive her future 
 husband as she would like to have him received.' 
 
 ' No, I can't promise that,' she said stubbornly. 
 
 * And what is the value, then, of your affection for your 
 Sabie, as you call her ? ' 
 
 ' You ask too much — you ask too much ! ' she exclaimed ; 
 and the tears were like to come into her eyes again ; but 
 she rose, as if to go away. And then she said reluctantly, 
 'Well, I — I know what you say is right. It isn't every- 
 body who is so unselfish as you. Perhaps, some time later 
 on, I will try ; and I hope that what you say will come 
 true, and that there is a chance of Sabie's being happy. 
 But I should have been happier if she had made another 
 choice.' 
 
 ' Remember,' he said to her at the door ; and as she 
 turned to him for a moment, she thought there was some- 
 thing in the grave, sad face she had never seen there before
 
 248 S.-IB/X.l /.E.VI^KA CHAP. 
 
 an inexpressible gentleness ami iciulcnioss, as it wore — 
 ' remember,' be said, as bis last word to bcr, ' tbat you 
 are Miss Zembra's friend, and may be of great belp to 
 her. Tbere are some who would be proud to be in that 
 position.' 
 
 Well, if Sabina, at this crisis of her life, was to have 
 the goodwill and aid and sympathy of her friends, it was 
 more than she was likely to receive from her relatives. Of 
 course, she said to Fred Foster, she must go and tell her 
 father of her engagement. 
 
 'As for that,' remarked Mr. Foster, in his cheerful 
 manner, ' if there's going to be any kind of a row, you'd 
 better let me do it. Oh, I don't mind. I have an impres- 
 sion that your father isn't very fond of me ; and if he wants 
 to say so, or to say anything nasty about our engagement, 
 I am willing to stand the racket. Bless you, it's wonderful 
 how little words can hurt you, if you look at them the 
 right way. They're only air — air can't hurt you. I've 
 seen a woman's lips turn white because of a little remark 
 addressed to her. It would need some particularly pene- 
 trating patent gastight remarks to make my lips turn white. 
 Oh, I shouldn't mind in the least.' 
 
 ' I hope there won't be any trouble,' Sabina said. 
 'They've always left me to act for myself. But if there 
 should be any objection — or — or misapprehension — I am 
 sure that I shall be able to talk more gently than you 
 would.'
 
 XVII PREPARATIONS 249 
 
 ' Oh, I don't believe in gentle speaking,' said he cheer- 
 fully, 'Plain speaking is ever so much better. Besides, 
 there may be a few little business arrangements to talk 
 over; you'd better let me go.' 
 
 Sabina laughed. 
 
 ' Are we to have a quarrel already ? ' she asked. ' It 
 is true I have been living separate from my family for 
 some time ; and they let me go my own way ; but don't 
 you think it would look a little bit queer if I were to send 
 a third person to tell my father that his daughter was going 
 to be married ? ' 
 
 'Do as you like then, Sabie,' said he in his offhand 
 way. ' But I think I should have made a better job of it' 
 
 That same afternoon Sabina went along to the Walde- 
 grave Club. It was with her father alone, she considered, 
 not with the other members of the family, that she had to 
 deal ; and she knew when she would most likely find him 
 at his club — a little before question -time at the House. 
 The hall-porter at the Waldegrave recognised her at once, 
 for she had often called there. He asked her to step within 
 and take a seat, while he sent a page-boy for Sir Anthony ; 
 and so it was that Sabina found herself awaiting her father 
 in this great hall, that looked so quiet and clean and cool 
 after the din and dust of the hot London streets. 
 
 Sir Anthony came along in his most majestic manner, 
 serene, complacent, looking all round the hall for some one 
 to favour with a distant nod. When he reached Sabina,
 
 aSO SAB IN A /.EM UK A 
 
 he plumped himself down beside her on the sofily-cushioncd 
 seat. 
 
 'Well, Smalljiox,' he said (for he was a desperately witty 
 person on occasion), 'what do you want now?' 
 
 'Do you remember Mr. Foster, papa?' 
 
 ' Foster,' he said, with a sudden coldness. ' Do you 
 mean the young man who was good enough to confer his 
 society on us for a considerable period — a very considerable 
 period?' 
 
 ' But it was through no fault or wish of his own, papa,' 
 she pleaded. ' Why do you speak of him like that ? It is 
 such a pity you ^should have formed a prejudice against 
 him.' 
 
 ' We're rid of him now, anyway ; and I wish to hear no 
 more about him,' he said shortly. 
 
 ' But it is about him I came to see you,' she said. 
 
 ' Oh. He is in the hospital still, I suppose ; and you 
 want to raise a subscription for him when he comes out. 
 Is that it ? Well, you needn't come to me — I will not give 
 you a shilling — no, nor a penny.' 
 
 'Papa, he is a gentleman !' she said rather incoherently. 
 ' And please don't talk of him like that. I — I am engaged 
 to be married to him.' 
 
 He stared at her in dumb surprise. Was the girl mad ? 
 And then, when he had become convinced of the truth 
 of the few words she had just spoken, he broke into no 
 violent explosion (how could he, in the hall of the Walde-
 
 PREPARA TIONS 251 
 
 grave Club ?), rather he affected to treat the news with much 
 respect. 
 
 'Really, Sabina, I am very much obliged to you,' he 
 said (though the look in his eyes was scarcely in consonance 
 with the extreme suavity of his voice). ' Your consideration 
 for us all is most kind. You can't imagine what a relief 
 will be felt at home. For, of course, knowing your ways, 
 we had been expecting you to choose at the highest a 
 costermonger for your husband ; and we had been looking 
 forward to a visit from you all — the charwoman, his mother ; 
 his brother, the prize-fighter; and his sister — well, anything ; 
 and we should have had altogether a nice family party. 
 But this is a much better arrangement — quite a bound up 
 the social ladder — let's see, what is his profession?' 
 
 ' Papa, you are not very kind to me,' she said, with a 
 slight quiver of the lips. 
 
 But at this moment Sir Anthony Zembra's face became 
 all beams and smiles. A very distinguished and famous 
 statesman had just come out of the reading-room, and 
 as he passed he nodded and said, ' How are you, Sir 
 Anthony ? ' 
 
 And Sir Anthony, with the most winning expression, 
 made haste to answer, ' How do you do ! How do you 
 do !' for who knows when one may wish to have the favour 
 of a dispenser of office ? 
 
 However, at the same moment, the remarkably keen eyes 
 of the great man had caught sight of Sabina, and he stopped ;
 
 t$2 SABINA ZEMBRA 
 
 for ho was known to be very partial to i)rclty yoiiiiL; ladies, 
 whom he treated with an oUl-world courtesy that was very 
 pleasant to look upon. 
 
 'Miss Zembra, I think?' 
 
 Sabina rose, as in duty bound. 
 
 ' We don't meet very often,' said the old gentleman, 
 and he bowed over the hand that Sabina timidly extended 
 to him, ' but I hear of you from time to time through Mrs. 
 Trcmenheere. Yes, I hear of your goodness. But mind 
 you take care of yourself, my dear ; we can't afford to lose 
 any such as you.' 
 
 He patted her hand and said, ' Good-bye,' and went on 
 his way. Sabina sat down again. Sir Anthony's face 
 instantly resumed its former expression of perfectly im- 
 placable coldness and firmness. 
 
 ' Well, now that you have given me the information, 
 what more?' he said. 
 
 'Have you nothing to say to me, papa?' she answered, 
 with an appealing look, 
 
 'Oh, I wish you joy, if that is what you mean,' he said 
 calmly. * I wish you joy — without any sarcasm. Marry- 
 ing a man you don't know ' 
 
 ' But I do know him — everything about him,' she said. 
 ' And I know his people — and his mother has promised to 
 be very kind to me.' 
 
 'More than my own relatives seem likely to be!' she 
 might have added \ but she did not want to make mischief.
 
 PREPARATIONS 253 
 
 ' Oh, his mother has promised to be very kind to you. 
 Has she offered to support you?' 
 
 ' I hardly know what you mean,' she said, rather be- 
 wildered. 
 
 ' Only that I don't see that I am called upon to sup- 
 port another man's wife,' he continued. 'You take this 
 step without the shghtest consultation with your family. 
 You did not consult them probably because you knew it 
 would be against their wishes. Very well. It's a free 
 country. You may go your own way ; but as you make 
 your bed you must lie on it. You don't suppose that 
 I am going to support you and this man who has no 
 claim upon me whatever, unless unbounded impudence be 
 a claim.' 
 
 * My husband will be able to support me,' said Sabina 
 proudly, but imprudently, for his eyes darkened a little. 
 
 ' Very well,' he said, in the same impassive way. ' We'll 
 see how it turns out. But mind, I never do anything out 
 of anger. I will make you a certain allowance, so that 
 you shall not have to fear starvation. I think that is 
 my duty. What the amount will be I will consider later 
 on.' 
 
 'Papa, I did not come here to ask you for money!' 
 
 ' No ? Then I suppose you came merely to impart the 
 agreeable news. Well, having done so, is there anything 
 more to be said ? I must be off to the House.' 
 
 She knew not what to say. She had expected that he
 
 aS4 SAJilXA ZEMBRA 
 
 woiiUl 1)0 annoyed, and that she inii;lu linve some trouble 
 in talking him over. She had not expected to he con- 
 fronted with this stony and stolid indilTorcnce. 
 
 'Won't you come to the wedding?' she said, in de- 
 speration. 
 
 He lifted his eyebrows in affected surprise. 
 
 ' Come to the wedding? No, I think not. What could 
 put that into your head ? Of course you are quite aware 
 that if you are really bent on this folly — if you are deter- 
 mined to throw yourself away on this man — then I must 
 decline to have either him or you come near my house, 
 I don't wish to make any fuss. You are a grown woman ; 
 you are able to judge for yourself I only wish to let 
 you know clearly what will be the consequences of this 
 freak of yours.' 
 
 She rose ; her lips were proud and firm. 
 
 ' Yes, I understand,' she said ; and she bade good-bye to 
 him without offering her hand ; and turned and went away ; 
 and got into the cab that was awaiting her ; and drove 
 home. 
 
 And how eagerly and impatiently she waited for Fred 
 Foster, who was to come to see her that evening ! 
 
 ' Oh, Fred,' she said piteously (Janie had retired from 
 the drawing-room), 'it was dreadful!' 
 
 ' I knew it would be,' he said laughing. ' All the fat in 
 the fire, no doubt. You'd much better have let me manage 
 the business.'
 
 PREPARATIONS 
 
 255 
 
 ' I suppose a girl should never say anything against her 
 father,' poor Sabie continued (rather clinging to him a little, 
 as if for sympathy) ; ' but he was like stone — if it had been 
 mere anger, I shouldn't have minded so much.' 
 
 'It will blow over,' he said carelessly. 'They're often 
 like that, those inconvenient papas. But they always come 
 round in the end, especially if there's ' 
 
 ' If there's a baby,' he was on the point of saying, but 
 luckily stopped in time. 
 
 ' And about the money — he seemed to think I had come 
 to ask him for money !' she continued. 
 
 ' Yes, I told you you'd better have left me to manage it,' 
 he answered coolly. ' But it's all right, Sabie ; it will be all 
 right in the end, never you fear.' 
 
 ' But will you do this for me?' she said, at once timidly 
 and eagerly. ' You know, my father said he would make 
 me an allowance — but you can't tell how it was offered : 
 well, now, if I could only say to him, "No, thank you, my 
 husband can support me," don't you see how proud I should 
 be ? I don't want to do it out of anger or revenge — but to 
 justify you, and to show him that the cruel things he said 
 were quite uncalled for. Do you think we could afford to 
 refuse that allowance? I know it would make a great 
 difference to me — I mean it would be so much more 
 difficult to look after any of those poor people; but we 
 might pinch a little — I could, in lots of things; I would 
 try hard.'
 
 2S6 SAJUNA y.EMliKA iiiAi'. xvii 
 
 ' My dear child,' he said good-naturedly, ' you're sulVcring 
 from a fit of heroics. Your sensitive soul has been wounded. 
 No doubt you and I could live on my income, with prudence 
 and a frugal and contented mind ; but most assuredly you 
 would have no margin for your tribe of dependents. No, 
 no, Sabie, don't be angry with your poor father ; he'll 
 come round. He did not mean the half of what he said 
 — they never do ; but it sounds well, and gives them im- 
 portance for the moment.' 
 
 ' It was for your sake,' she said, hesitatingly, 
 
 ' But, you see, I haven't a sensitive soul. We couldn't 
 afford to run two in the same establishment. I care as 
 little what the good papa thinks of me as he does of what 
 I think of him. No, no ; the wise thing to do is to take 
 what we can get, and to hope for more ; and I daresay we 
 shall do very well, somehow or other. And don't be 
 too down-hearted about the Herr Papa — I tell you 
 it's wonderful how much more people say than they 
 mean.' 
 
 There was a tapping at the door; a maid- servant 
 announced to them that the rest of the household were 
 awaiting them at supper ; and Sabina's proud project of 
 renunciation was at an end.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 A WEDDING 
 
 It was a summer night at Brighton. The tall house-fronts 
 
 were gray and wan against the crimson and yellow still 
 
 lingering in the north-western heavens ; but far away over 
 
 the sea, to the south-east, there dwelt a golden moon in a 
 
 sky of pale rose-purple ; and the moonlight that fell on the 
 
 wide waters was soft and shimmering, until it gleamed sharp 
 
 and vivid where the ripples broke on the beach. Here and 
 
 there the stars of the gaslamps began to tell in the twilight. 
 
 There was a faint murmur of talking ; young girls in white 
 
 summer costumes went by, with laughter and jest ; there 
 
 was an open window, and somebody within a brilliantly-lit 
 
 drawing-room was singing — in a voice not very loud, but 
 
 still audible to such of the passers-by as happened to pause 
 
 and listen — an old Silesian air. It was about a lover, and 
 
 a broken ring, and the sound of a mill-wheel. 
 
 ^Valter Lindsay was among these casual listeners — for a 
 
 minute or two ; and then he went on, with some curious 
 
 fancies in his head. Not that any young maiden had 
 
 deceived him, or that he was particularly anxious to find 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 s.i/i/.\.l //-.u/'A'.-t cnAi'. 
 
 rest in the L;iavc ; lor tins is the hitler hiiUOl' the niiKleciUh 
 century, and ho, as well as otiiers, knew that Wertherisin 
 was now considered ridiriilous. Hut somehow London had 
 become intolerable to him ; and he could not work ; and — 
 well, Ikighton was the nearest place to get away to, while 
 one was considering further plans. It was a little lonely, it 
 is true ; especially on these summer evenings, when all the 
 world seemed, as it were, to be murnniring in happiness. 
 Over there was the Chain Pier. A few golden points — gas- 
 lamps — glimmered on it ; and beyond it there was a small 
 boat, the sail of which caught the last dusky-red light from 
 the sunset, and looked ghostly on the darkening plain. In 
 that direction peace seemed to lie. He began to think that 
 if he passed away from this laughing and murmuring crowd, 
 and went out to the end of the pier, and quietly slipped 
 down into the placid waters, the world would be none the 
 worse for the want of him, and a good deal of heart-sickness 
 would come to an end. He did not really contemplate 
 suicide ; it was a mere fancy. Killing oneself for love is 
 not known nowadays, except among clerks and shop-lads ; 
 and then it is generally prefaced by cutting a young woman's 
 throat, which is unpleasant. No, it was a mere fancy that 
 haunted him, and not in a too mournful fashion. He thought 
 of the people who would decide that it was at such and such 
 a moment that he must have flung himself into the sea, 
 from the fact of his watch having stopped then ; and he 
 knew that they would be in error because, of course, the
 
 A WEDDTXG 259 
 
 water does not instantly get into the inside of a watch. 
 He even remembered the story of the impecunious reporter 
 who wrote, ' Sevenpence-halfpenny having been found in the 
 pockets of the deceased, no motive could be assigned for 
 the rash act ;' and he wondered whether, he having several 
 sovereigns in his pocket, it would be assumed that this was 
 not suicide at all. But these were but idle dreams and 
 reveries ; because he knew that this dull, continuous, insati- 
 able heartache in time would cease — or, at least, he hoped 
 so ; and, besides that, he thought he would like in the 
 coming years to be kind to Sabina's children. 
 
 There were so many young women coming along this 
 Marine Parade ; some sedately walking with their mammas ; 
 some giggling with their companions ; some aimlessly alone 
 and silent : why was it that none of them had any interest 
 for him at all, and that his heart was far away in London ? 
 In the distance, sometimes, he saw a tall iigure ; and a 
 sharp spasm of wonder would seize him : might not this be 
 some one like Sabina — with something of the inexpressible 
 magic and charm of Sabina's presence, with something of 
 Sabina's look in her eyes, with the proud set of her head 
 and her fearless gait ? Then the young lady would draw 
 near — perhaps graceful and good-looking and gentle-look- 
 ing enough, and no doubt a most charming and accomplished 
 and praiseworthy young person ; but the first swift glance 
 that told him it was not Sabina herself was sufficient ; she 
 went by unheeded. Of course all this was the sheer per-
 
 .V.7/.V.\'./ /.EMBKJ 
 
 versily ol" foolish sciUiiuciu ; aiul lie knew il ; aiul lie 
 walkeil hack to llie Hedlbnl llokl declaring to himself that 
 love was the most idiotic thing in the world (and rightly 
 laughed at by all sensible peojile), and that what he was 
 really concerned about was the size of the canvas on which 
 he was to attempt a i)icture of the Shannon rapids at 
 Killaloe. 
 
 On reaching the hotel he found awaiting him there a 
 letter from his faithful friend and correspondent, Janie 
 Wygram, who had promised to let him know how things 
 were going on. 
 
 ' Dkak Mr. Lindsay,' she wrote, ' I have tried to do as 
 you said ; and it has not been quite so hard as I expected ; 
 for I do think lie is really fond of Sabie — in a careless way ; 
 and that he is good-natured when everything is done to 
 please him. But sometimes — well, you will say I am pre- 
 judiced, but I must tell the truth — sometimes he vexes me 
 terribly. Why, he seems to think it is all a piece of fun, a 
 frolic ! Fancy any one marrying our Sabie as if it was part 
 of a Bank Holiday excursion ! He doesn't in the least 
 understand what a prize he has won, or the fa\our she has 
 shown him ; it's all a free-and-easy give-and-take with him ; 
 indeed, I am not sure that he doesn't consider that she is 
 the one who ought to be smiling and grateful. I know he 
 has a pretty good opinion of himself, anyway ; and you 
 understand how generous Sabie is ; she always makes the
 
 A WEDDING 261 
 
 most of everybody ; and of course, after what you said, I'm 
 not going to make her discontented or pick out defects. 
 But fancy having to write Hke this about Sabie's lover ! I 
 don't think I ever did really want her to marry anybody ; 
 but many a time, in reading poetry, I have thought that if 
 ever Sabie had a sweetheart, it would be a beautiful sight 
 to see, and just like the wonderful pictures of the poets. 
 Many a time I have thought of her as Rosalind, putting the 
 chain round Orlando's neck, and wishing him well in the 
 wrestling ; for giving is Sabie's natural attitude, I think. 
 But it is no use talking ; and I won't say how very, very 
 different from these romantic pictures is the present situation ; 
 for you are quite right about making the best of it for her 
 sake ; and you may be sure of this, that however any one else 
 may choose to behave, or make light of his great good 
 fortune, which he doesii'f understand a bif, Sabie remains 
 herself as distinguished and refined and gentle and beautiful 
 as ever, and just goodness itself. Mother says I am mad 
 about her. I wonder what she is ? However, if I am, I 
 don't care who knows it ; I am proud of it ; and if people 
 only knew Sabie as intimately as I do, they wouldn't be 
 much surprised, I think.' 
 
 He laid down the letter for a moment. He saw clearly 
 the situation she described, despite the cunning with which 
 she affected to be saying smooth things. And was this the 
 predicament in which Sabina had placed herself? He could 
 not believe it. Janie Wygram was only half-concealing the
 
 .s.t/i/.\.i /.hMHRA cilAl'. 
 
 violence of her prejudice. She took I-'red Koster's tlieer 
 fuhKss — in ilsch' an ;uhiiir.il)le (luahty — for indiflcrcncc. 
 Perhaps she was disap[)oinled that these Iwt) hclrotlicd 
 people did not show her a httlc more of the romance of 
 an engagement ; he was not disai)pointcd that Sabina 
 sliould refuse to bill and coo for the edification of 
 bystanders. 
 
 ' I hope there will be no trouble in the future,' the letter 
 went on, ' but I want you to understand that Sabie's father 
 has behaved like a monster. They may say what they like 
 about him in the papers ; but certain I am that he has not 
 the heart of a human being. He came here the day before 
 yesterday (the first time he has honoured our house with his 
 presence since Sabie came to live witli us) and made a 
 settlement of everything. That is to say, he never asked 
 Sabie if- she was still of the same mind ; there was no quar- 
 relling, or even remonstrance on his part — for he is far too 
 selfish and cold and hard a man to take so much trouble 
 about anybody : and then he told her what he meant to do. 
 She is to have ^loo for her wedding outfit; and after- 
 wards he will allow her ;^i5o a year to keep her from 
 starvation, as he says ; but he won't allow either her or her 
 husband ever to come near his house. Sabie did not break 
 down at all ; she is too proud ; indeed, the cruel thing is 
 that Mr. Foster would not allow her to refuse the allowance 
 altogether, which she wanted to do. Of course he took it 
 in his chirrupy way. He says it will be all right ; and that
 
 A WEDDING 263 
 
 after the marriage her father will relent. But she says he 
 will do nothing of the kind ; and she knows him better than 
 Mr. Foster does. Fancy such meanness — to his eldest 
 daughter ; and that they should be for ever praising him in 
 the papers for his public spirit and his benevolence ! But 
 what he gives to Sabie isn't printed in a list of subscriptions; 
 I suppose that is it. 
 
 ' There is one good thing ; my dear one will have a true 
 friend in Mr. Foster's mother. The old people came to 
 town the other day ; and Mrs. Foster was very, very nice 
 and affectionate. Matters don't go smoothly between father 
 and son, I imagine ; but of course I wasn't allowed to hear 
 too much ; and perhaps now that he is to marry and settle 
 down there will be greater harmony. Sabie will be the 
 peacemaker ; surely if they can withstand the sweetness of 
 her disposition, they are made of sterner stuff than some 
 people I know. I do wish she had some other kind of a 
 father than that cruel old beast. Sir Anthony ; just fancy the 
 thousands and thousands he has ; and he must needs cut 
 down the girl's allowance by ;^i5o just because he dislikes 
 the man she is going to marry. Why, he might be proud 
 to know that he has such a daughter ; but there is none of 
 ]iis nature in Sabie ; she must have got all her goodness 
 and honour and generousness from her mother. If I were 
 a writer in the papers, wouldn't I give it him ! I'd show 
 the public what a monster of meanness and hypocrisy 
 he is ; why, I believe he is glad that Sabie is going to
 
 204 SABJNA ZEAIIiKA chap. 
 
 marry against his wishes, for it will save him ^150 a 
 year. 
 
 ' Dear Mr. Lindsay, tell me if I bother you writing to 
 you about Sabie. I can't talk to her as I used to. He has 
 come between us; and she has other interests ; and although 
 she is as kind as ever, still this other future that is now- 
 coming near must engage all her attention. If only her 
 heart had been placed elsewhere I should not have repined ; 
 no, I should have rejoiced ; and I should have borne with- 
 out a murmur a good deal of coldness or indifference on her 
 jiart, if I saw that her affections were wholly centred on 
 one worthy of them. Never mind ; Sabie will always be 
 dear Sabie to me, whoever claims her ; and if there should 
 be a time of trouble she won't want for one friend at 
 least. 
 
 ' The marriage is to be soon (because the chirrupy man 
 thinks it's all a kind of gay pastime, I suppose), and I am 
 to be the only bridesmaid. After that is over Sabie will 
 have just as much of my friendship as she asks for ; I am 
 not going to intrude. Please forgive me for sending you so 
 long a letter ; I thought you might like to know how matters 
 stand. And I hope everything will turn out well; but some- 
 times I am a little miserable — perhaps needlessly. — Yours 
 sincerely, Janie Wvgram. 
 
 '■ P.S. — Would you mind sending Sabie a little message 
 of congratulation ; or is that asking too much ?'
 
 J WEDDING 265 
 
 A message of congratulation ! yes, and more. He put 
 on his hat again and went out. The summer night was 
 cool ; it was pleasant to pass along through the light- 
 hearted murmuring crowd. By this time the skies had 
 darkened into a clear rich violet ; the moon was shining 
 with its fullest radiance ; the sea broke in sharp ripples of 
 gold along the shingle ; the shadows of the people were 
 black on the w^an-gray pavements. What was he to do for 
 Sabina ? That, at least, was something more comforting to 
 think of than the vague heart-sickness of renunciation. 
 
 And very wild some of these first projects were. He 
 thought of settling his little patrimony in Gallowayshire on 
 her, for her sole and exclusive use ; of selling his studio 
 and all its appurtenances, and then of ' taking the world 
 for his pillow,' as the Gaelic stories say when the hero sets 
 forth on his adventures. For he wished to get away from 
 England somehow. And in thinking that he would be 
 more content if the wide Atlantic were the barrier between 
 him and Kensington High Street and Kensington Square, 
 he was facing no foolish risk. His work was well known in 
 art circles in America ; several American artists were among 
 his familiar friends ; he was already a member of the Tile 
 and Kinsman Clubs ; the far Western land would in time 
 come to be his home. And if he achieved fame there, 
 might not Sabina occasionally hear of him ? And if, after 
 many years, he had amassed a little money, well, there was 
 a vision before him of an elderly, white-haired man return-
 
 166 SM/i/A\i /.EMHRA 
 
 ini; to his native couiilrv, ami pcrliaps fiiuliiiL; a yoiin^ 
 Sahina there — a Sabina in all ways like her niotlier, but with 
 her face bright with youth and hope, and her clieslnut- 
 brown hair as yet unstreaked with gray — wlio might be his 
 conii)anion on an afternoon stroll or so, and introduce him 
 to the young man she favoured, anil accept a little dowry 
 t'rom her mother's friend of former days ? These were far- 
 reaching dreams ; but at least they were not very selfish. 
 
 In the meantime that forsaking of liis native land had 
 to be postponed for the most singular of all reasons — 
 Sabina's marriage. Janie came to him one evening after he 
 had returned to London, and diffidently and almost shame- 
 facedly preferred her humble prayer. Sable's relatives, 
 she said, would have nothing to do with her ; surely the 
 few friends she had ought to stand by her. Lindsay 
 looked at her for a second in his grave and thoughtful 
 wa)". 
 
 * Do you think,' said he rather slowly, — ' do you think 
 Miss Zembra would like it?' 
 
 ' Why don't you call her Sal)ie ?' the girl cried pitcously. 
 ' Yes, yes, indeed she would ! She asked me. Oh, I don't 
 know whether she suspects there is any — any reason why 
 you might refuse — how could I si)eak of that without saying 
 
 too much ' 
 
 ' And it is not to be spoken of any more,' said he gently. 
 
 That is all past now. Yes, I will come to the wedding. I 
 
 was thinking of going to America, but I will put that off.
 
 A WEDDING 267 
 
 And in the meantime, Miss Janie, I wish you would help 
 me to decide on a present for her. There are two or three 
 things I have been thinking of. There is a dessert service 
 in old Worcester that my mother was proud of It's in 
 Scotland.' 
 
 ' Oh, Mr. Lindsay, you wouldn't give away an heirloom 
 like that !' Janie cried. 
 
 ' I know where there is a very handsome set of things for 
 the dinner-table, in Venetian glass, that ought to do,' he 
 said absently. ' But I will hunt about, and perhaps get 
 something more unusual.' 
 
 It was a fair autumn morning that saw Sabina wedded. 
 Janie was the only bridesmaid. When, after the ceremony, 
 the beautiful, smiling, fair-haired bride came walking down 
 the aisle on the arm of her husband there was a little 
 murmur of approval among the old women and girls 
 who had wandered into the church. The smile that was 
 on her face was one of greeting ; for she had caught 
 sight of Walter Lindsay (whom she had not seen for a 
 long while), and she paused for a second to give him her 
 hand. He murmured something about ' happiness,' and 
 they passed on. 
 
 ' Good-bye, Mrs. ^Vygram,' he said at the church door. 
 
 ' But you are coming home with us ! ' the old lady said. 
 
 ' No, I think not,' he answered. 
 
 ' Oh, but Sabie particularly wished you should. We 
 were counting up last night how many friends she had who
 
 t68 S.I/i/X.I /.EMliRA ohai'. 
 
 would take the trDulilo to come to the weiUlinL; — oh, indeed 
 you must [;o hack to the house. 1 tIlou^ht Janie had 
 arranged it witli you ! ' 
 
 Well, he went, and found a very merry little party 
 assemhlcd in the familiar old faded drawing-room in Ken- 
 sington S(iuarc. The hapjjy hridegroom, very smartly 
 dressed, and apparently (juite recovered from his lingering 
 lameness, was radiant, facetious, good-humoured to a degree; 
 the bride (to use the faithful Janic's not very original phrase) 
 looked more like an angel than ever. If she looked like 
 an angel, she acted like a woman; for she singled out A\'alter 
 Lindsay for the most especial and obvious kindness ; and 
 tore herself away from her sympathising feminine friends 
 to talk to him, and to talk to him alone ; and she was 
 so anxious to know all about his future plans and projects. 
 
 'But you don't mean to remain in America?' she said, 
 and her eyes were more frank and direct than his. 
 
 ' Oh yes, I think so,' he answered. 
 
 'Why?' she asked in her straightforward way. 
 
 He hesitated for a moment, and then said with a 
 laugh, ' Don't you know that picture-buying is a lost art in 
 this country ? I want to see if there is a market for my 
 wares on the other side. That will take a long time.' 
 
 ' You will come back to your friends,' she said, quietly. 
 
 When at last the moment arrived for her going away, the 
 usual little crowd followed her to the front door, and there 
 was the customary throwing of rice and old slippers. Janie
 
 A WEDDING 269 
 
 was standing on the steps alongside Walter Lindsay, and 
 bravely endeavouring to restrain her tears. Just as the 
 door of the brougham was snapped to, he heard her 
 exclaim to herself, ' Sabie ! ' — and she put out her hand as if 
 even now she would have entreated her friend to come 
 back. It was a curious, involuntary little gesture ; the 
 stifled cry that accompanied it was almost a cry of anguish. 
 About a week after that Walter Lindsay sailed from 
 Liverpool for New York. 
 
 f:nd of vol. I. 
 
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 Lady Hester and the Danvers 
 
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 Stray Pearls. 
 
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 Nuttie's Father. 
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 Castle Daly. 
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 Oldbury. 
 
 A York and a Lancaster Rose. 
 Clemency Franklyn. 
 
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