LIBRARY THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SANTA BARBARA FROM THE LIBRARY OF MRS. H. RUSSELL AMORY. GIFT OF HER CHILDREN R. W. AND NINA PARTRIDGE ^ COLLECTION OF BEITISH AUTHORS TAUCHNITZ EDITION. VOL. 2940. FOUND WANTING. BY MRS. ALEXANDER. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. TAUCHNITZ EDITION. By the same Author, A SECOND LIFE 3 vols. BY woman's wit I vol. MONA'S choice 2 vols. A LIFE INTEREST 2 vols. A CROOKED PATH 2 vols. BLIND FATE 2 vols. A woman's heart 2 vols. FOR HIS SAKE 2 vols. THE SNARE OF THE FOWLER . . 2 vols. FOUND WANTING A NOVEL. MRS. ALEXANDER, AUTHOR OF "A SECOND LIFE," "FOR HIS SAKE,' ETC. ETC. COPYRIGHT EDITION. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. LEIPZIG BERN HARD TAUCHNITZ 1893. I/./ CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. CHAFl'ER I. Page A proposed Alliance 7 CHAPTER II. May and her Friends 28 CHAPTER III. The Lesson begins 47 CHAPTER IV. In Society 63 CHAPTER V. ^Mademoiselle Ferret 83 CHAPTER VI. A Morning Call 106 CHAPTER VII. The Force of Circumstances 124 6 CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. CHAPTER Vm, Page Chit-chat 146 CHAPTER IX. Madame Zavatlosko'i's Ball 164 CHAPTER X. Man proposes 182 CHAPTER XI. Dust to Dust 198 CHAPTER XII. At Audeley Chase 218 CHAPTER XIII. Some Letters 237 CHAPTER XIV, Miss Macallan at Home 258 FOUND WANTING. CHAPTER I. A PROPOSED ALLIANCE. In one of the older, narrower streets of Paris, between the Champs Elysees and the Rue St. Honore, a fiacre had drawn up one sharp, frosty afternoon, at the entrance of a large house, the handsome porte- cochere of which stood partly open, showing a paved yard, with a grass-plot, in the centre of which stood a large acacia-tree, now brown and bare. From the fiacre descended a lady, no longer young, who wore a cloak of velvet and sable; a black bonnet with crimson feathers fitted becomingly over the dark glossy bandeaux of her hair, suiting her complexion and keen dark eyes; she paid the driver with a delicately gloved hand, and entered. "Madame Falk?" she said, in a questioning tone to the concierge, who was darning stockings just inside the glass door of her lodge. "Is out, madame," said that functionary, who had risen to speak with the visitor. 8 FOUND WANTING. "Ah!" — a disappointed ah! "Bui Mademoiselle, — Mademoiselle Barton" (the "ton" emphasised nasally), "is at home and receives," added the concierge, consolingly. The enquirer hesitated and seemed to reflect. "Well, then, I will ascend!" she exclaimed, with sudden decision. "On the fourth, to the left, madame!" said the concierge, rapidly, and closed her door against the keen air, while her interlocutor began to mount the long stair, if not rapidly, yet wth a steady firm step, that brought her to the lofty etage, where Made- moiselle Barton perched, with unhurried breath and quiet pulse. The fourth story was somewhat low; moreover it would have been the better of fresh paint and paper; but the elegantly dressed visitor took little heed, and speedily rang a cracked, janghng bell at the door numbered two. This — after a moment's delay — was opened wide by a tall, very tall, thin woman, in a long morning gown of deep-red cashmere; she wore her stiff grey hair in a close curly crop; her light- blue, rather fiercely enquiring eyes gazed doubtingly at the fashionably dressed dame who faced her; a boldly hooked nose and a long upper lip gave a somewhat repellent air of sternness to her physiognomy, which had an odd masculine look. "Pardon me, madame, but can I see Madame Falk, or Mademoiselle Barton?" "Madame Falk is out! /am Mademoiselle Barton and at your service, madame." A PROPOSED ALLIANCE. Q "A thousand thanks! I have the pleasure of knowing Madame Falk, but must present myself to Mademoiselle — -Madame Dupont! My son has the honour of your acquaintance." "Pray, come in! Yes! We have the pleasure of knowing Monsieur Achille," and a gracious smile lit up the grim countenance of Miss Barton; "a charming young man. My cousin will be here very soon; pray, sit down." While she spoke she ushered Madame Dupont through a small vestibule or ante- chamber, from which several doors opened, to a fairly well-furnished sitting-room, dignified by the title of "salon," which possessed a handsome Japanese cabinet, and one or two good pictures. A half-open door to the left permitted a peep into a small room, chiefly occupied by a writing-table, on which, as well as on various chairs, were piled newspapers, slips of MS., books, pamphlets, etc., etc. "Yes! Madame Falk is already past her time for returning, as we always have a cup of tea about tliis hour," and Miss Barton drew forward an arm-chair for her visitor. "Many thanks, mademoiselle. I shall then wait if it does not derange you." "You do me a pleasure, madame, though let me remark that my cousin and myself are real partners, and I am free to attend to any matter of business concerning her, as she is herself" "No doubt, mademoiselle! I admit that, besides doing myself the honour of calling on madame and yourself, I wish to ask her a few questions, if she will lO FOUND WANTING. have the goodness to permit me, — not exactly of a business nature, yet not quite free from it. I beheve mademoiselle is acquainted with the family Zava- doskoi"? I think I have seen you at some of the receptions of Madame la Comtesse." "Zavadoskoi! Why, yes, of course! I don't go out much, but I generally go once or twice to her receptions during the winter. I have known the countess since she was a baby. She was my pupil, and a little angel ! " The harsh face softened as she said it, and a quick sigh heaved her chest. "She is still angelic," returned Madame Dupont, with a polite smile. "Her salon is one of the best in Paris! One meets a very distinguished society there. I think your neighbours have the entree. Monsieur Riddell and his daughter frequent it?" "Miss Riddell occasionally, not her father." "But Monsieur Riddell is exceedingly distingue!" said Madame Dupont, impressively, "well-bred, well- instructed, and no doubt well-off? Of good family and high connections?" she added, in a keenly inter- rogative tone. "I know little or nothing about him," returned Miss Barton, abruptly, "though we see a good deal of his daughter, — they are my cousin's friends." "Precisely," rejoined Madame Dupont, with a satisfied accent. "Nevertheless " What she was about to add remained unspoken, for at that moment the door was opened and a lady entered quickly. She was of middle height, and dressed in a long, fashionable, fur-trimmed cloak; a wide-brimmed black A PROPOSED ALLIANCE. I I beaver hat and feathers crowned the costume. (It was some ten years ago, and such a head-dress was then considered chic) Beneath was a bright, strong brunette face, with a pair of small but expressive brown eyes, a kindly mouth, and a somewhat massive jaw. Her hat hid the thick fringe which clustered over the brow, and concealed its height; the hands, which held her umbrella and a roll of paper, were small, well-shaped, and well-gloved. "Ah!" she cried. "I am late! But I haven't done half I intended;" then catching sight of Madame Dupont, and changing into French, "a thousand pardons, madame; charmed to see you! To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" "A visit I have long wished to make, and hope may be acceptable to madame," said the visitor, rising. "Certainly, my dear Madame Dupont! I am greatly gratified." She unfastened and threw open her warm mantle. "I will relieve you of that," said Miss Barton, in French, "and leave you with madame, who wishes to speak with you on some serious matters." She took the cloak, and, retiring into the next room, closed the door. There was a short pause when the ladies were left together. Then Madame Dupont began, with a little hesitation: "Yes, besides the wish to enroll myself among your acquaintances, perhaps your friends, dear madame! I am anxious for a little information I 2 FOUND WANTING. respecting your charming compatriots with whom you have such intimate relations; and as the matter on which I wish for the benefit of your advice is pecuUarly dehcate, and appeals especially to the sympathies of women, I determined to apply to you before taking any step." She paused for breath, as this speech was reeled off with much rapidity. "If I can be of any service to you, I shall be most happy," returned Madame Falk, gravely. "I suppose you allude to Mr. Riddell and his daughter." "Exactly. I have come, dear madame, to confide in you the deep anxiety with which I have learned that my son, my beloved only son, has formed a warm attachment to Mademoiselle Riddell, who is most attractive and elegant! He urges me to demand her hand in marriage, but, madame, we women of the world know that marriage is a serious affair, and, much as I admire your charming young friend, I hope you will not think me prejudiced or narrow-minded if I say I should prefer his marrying a French woman and a Catholic. Moreover, the English system of life is costly. Nevertheless, the wishes of a beloved son have always immense power over a mother's heart, and if the marriage can be arranged, that is, if Mr. Riddell would consent and bestow a proper 'dot' upon his daughter, I should put no obstacle in the way." Madame Falk did not answer immediately; she thought for a moment, with a serious face, though I A PROPOSED ALLIANCE. I3 any one who knew her might have recognised a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "And how can I be of use to you in this affair, Madame Dupont?" she said, at length. "You can speak to the father, who is extremely distingue (and really speaks French well for an English- man), ascertain his views, and, above all, what fortune he intends to give the young lady (she is, I am told, an only daughter); on our side, my son is well pro- vided for, as can soon be explained. Such being the case, dear madame, I naturally expect my son's wife to bring some equivalent into the common purse. Being widowed, I thought it well to advise with you before I opened the subject to Monsieur Riddell, though I have the pleasure of knowing him! Will you, dear madame, undertake the task of sounding monsieur?" "I see no reason why you should not address yourself to him at once," replied Madame Falk, in a strong, but pleasant, frank voice, "He is courteous always, and must be flattered by your proposal; he will give you all the information you need, and " "But, dear madame," interrupted Madame Dupont, eagerly, "consider, it is somewhat difficult to approach an Englishman, Your habits are different from ours. I might make some fatal mistake and commit my- self. Now you could, no doubt, give me material help, for you must know the circumstances of your friends." "I assure you, I do not! No one knows any- thing about Mr. Riddell's affairs! I am most willing 14 FOUND WANTING. to assist you, for Monsieur Achille, your son, is a young man of the highest merit, and, I am sure, would make any woman happy. I suppose that mon- sieur, your son, has reason to hope that he has found favour in mademoiselle's eyes." "But, madame, this is a question we must not discuss. The first tender impressions of a young girl's innocent heart are too sacred to be surmised; nevertheless, my son is not likely to be rejected," and she drew herself up. "Certainly, M. Achille is a charming young man," returned Madame Falk, with a smile. "Well, Madame Dupont, I will do my best to meet your wishes, and discover the true mental and financial state, both of father and daughter, without wounding the mnour propre of any one. I should be very glad to assist in uniting my two young friends, but I see many obstacles. However, I shall in a few days have the pleasure of returning your kind visit, when I hope to bring you the information you want." "I feel I have trespassed much too long on your time and patience, dear lady. You will find me at home every Tuesday." A few more civil speeches and polite courtesies, and Madame Dupont departed. When she had gone Madame Falk stood in thought until one of the various doors which ad- mitted to the little salon opened and Miss Barton's head was cautiously protruded into the room. "She has gone, Esther? What an age she stayed, and what did she want? The tea has stood till it must be as bitter as gall! Now, I will bring it into A PROPOSED ALLIANCE. I 5 your room; I have made up the fire. I do not Hke that woman," added Miss Barton, with a severe shake of her cropped head. "Well, I do, rather. She is a bit of an intrigante, but she is a good mother and a hard-working woman where her children's interests are concerned." "She is as worldly — as — as — I don't know what," cried Miss Barton, hastily retreating into the kitchen for the tray, while Madame Falk cleared a place for it on her crowded table. "What did she want?" repeated Miss Barton, as she poured out the first cup. "She wants to make a matrimonial agent of me!" "Just what I expected. Who are the victims?" "One is willing enough; I am not so sure about the other. Achille has persuaded his mother to open negotiations for an alliance with May Riddell!" said Madame Falk. "Hum, that project won't come to much! I suspect there is precious little money in that quarter." "And quite as little love, I fancy," cried Madame Falk. "I wish, however, that May were safely married to a good man, and I believe Achille is a nice fellow." "That's a bold assertion. Pray, xvhy do you think May is adamantine to a good-looking young man like young Dupont?" "It puzzles me to give a reason for my faith," returned Madame Falk. "But such is my belief! I don't think May cares a straw about Achille!" "Then she certainly ought to marry him," ex- 1 6 FOUND WANTING. claimed Miss Barton. "The only chance of manag- ing a man is not to care about him." "You are a complete heathen, Sarah!" said her cousin, sighing as she said it. "I 7nay be a heathen, but I have some common- sense; and if you wish to have any decent freedom, avoid falling in love, which means selling yourself into slavery." "Well, sometimes the slavery isn't disagreeable; some people like to hug their chains." Miss Barton lifted her upper lip at one corner with a very contemptuous air of disgust, and filled her cup a second time. "At any rate," recommenced Madame Falk, "I will broach the matter to Mr. Riddell, and perhaps I may get something out of that man of mystery. My own belief is that he would not advance a sou to secure his daughter the best match in Europe." "Wouldn't!" growled Miss Barton; "couldn't, you mean ! " "Well, I don't know about that. He seems to have a fair amount of cash, and I believe pays regularly, but no one knows anything of his means. I fancy it is hard enough for May to get a new pair of hotlines, or a fresh pair of gloves." "Yet she is as proud and unreasonable as if she had a bank at her back." "Proud, yes! Unreasonable, no! I like May, you don't, and dislike blinds ([uite as much as partiality." "I am no philosopher, Esther," said Miss Barton, with a sniff. A PROPOSED ALLIANCE. I7 "Nor I either, heaven knows! No more tea, thank you." Madame Falk drew a note-book from her pocket, opened and looked through it. "I have had a long morning at the Hotel Druot, but a pro- fitable one! All la belle Leclere's jewels and bibelots went off at high prices! If her pictures sell as well, why, her creditors will not lose much. I have splendid material for a 'Tennessee Star of Freedom' article. To-morrow is American mail-day. I shall finish it in time to dress for Mrs. Conroy's dinner, then I shall be tolerably free to see about that school for George's boy to-morrow. But no one must disturb me. Just say I am writing for the post." She pulled out the long pin from her hat, which she took off, and pushed up her hair from her brow. "Very well!" returned Miss Barton, who was putting the cups and saucers, plates, and teapot on the tray; these she carried mto the infinitesimal kitchen, washed up, and put neatly away, while she said to herself, "I'm thankful she is going out. It will be a rest for her. How she can stand the per- petual drive of collecting stuff for articles, and then dishing them up temptingly to suit the English, American, or Australian palate, passes my com- prehension. She is a wonderful woman!" Meantime, Madame Falk had unfastened and thrown off her gown, thrust her white, plump arms into a warm dressing-gown, made a hasty and suc- cessful rummage in its pockets for a cigarette-case, and, going to the mantelpiece, took up a box of allumettes. Found Wanting. I. 2 1 8 FOUND WANTING. While she did so her eyes were fastened on two rather faded photographs hanging one below the other on the right of the mirror which surmounted the fireplace; as she looked, her face softened, her eyes grew humid. "Thirty-one!" she murmured to herself. "Yes, if he is alive, he must be thirty-one! But no! both are gone." The larger photograph represented a handsome, dreamy-looking man; the smaller, a child of four or five years old, with laughing eyes and curly hair. Madame Falk gazed for a moment longer, sighed deeply, then she lit a cigarette; a changed expression, a look of alertness and resolution, came to her eyes and mouth, and, putting a couple of small logs on the fire, she arranged her paper and began to write steadily, consulting her notes from time to time. The short day darkened and melted into night before she laid down her pen and began to read over her lucubrations. During this time her cousin came through the room more than once quite noise- lessly, added to the fire, lit the lamp, and finally, seeing Madame Falk put her sheets together and take a fresh cigarette, ventured to ask, "May I speak to you, Esther?" "Yes, certainly." "Ml-. Riddell has sent May to ask if you would like to share a fiacre with him. He, too, dines at the Conroy's. May has a horrid cold and cannot go." "Yes! It will save time, but I shall come back by omnibus. I will take my warm hood. Mr. Riddell A PROPOSED ALLIANCE. I 9 will be sure to go to the club, and I can come home by myself." "Leave your sheets to me; I will do them up and post them. Then I think I shall turn in to have a chat with May; perhaps she will let me put a mustard-blister on her chest. But she is rather obstinate." "Most young people are. Now, I have little more than half an hour to dress and get to the Rue de Melun, but it is enough." Madame Falk was as good as her word; at seven thirty she was ready, arrayed in a handsome demi- toilette of green velvet with a fichu of point de Ragiise lace, which suited her full, but still shapely figure; her plentiful fluffy dark hair was arranged over a deep-red velvet bandeau, fastened by large, many- coloured rococo pins. "I think this old gown will last me through the season!" she exclaimed, as she stood putting on her gloves, while Miss Barton, who was considerably her senior, held her wraps, regarding her with motherly interest. "Yes it does not look at all worn, and next year, with some brocade or other stuff, it will rise Phoenix- like from its ashes, and make a new and lovely garment." "No doubt," cried Madame Falk, with a pleasant laugh; "there's a sort of immortality about velvet." So saying, she approached her cousin to have her fur-lined cloak and lace scarf put on; and taking up a warm, picturesque-looking hood, she said, "I sup- 20 FOUND WANTING. pose I sliall find you here when I return? We are seldom late at the Conroys," and left the room. Hastening down-stairs, she paused at the entresol and rang. The door was almost immediately opened by a tall, very slender girl. Though her hair and eyes were dark, she looked English both in face and figure. "I am in good time?" asked Madame Falk. "Yes, excellent. I only fear my father may keep you waiting. Pray, come in. I am afraid the din- ing room is a little cold. Is Miss Barton at home this evening, and may I go and pay her a visit?" As she said this she ushered Madame Falk into a salle a manger, where the last embers of a wood- fire were dying out. "Yes, certainly!" returned Madame Falk, in her hearty tones. "She thought of coming to you with deadly intentions of putting you to bed and giving you hot gruel. Indeed, it would be better so, for you are heavily 'colded,' as the Scotch say." May Riddell coloured and answered quickly, "Oh, no! I could not think of asking Miss Barton to come from her own warm rooms. And I am by no means so bad as I sound. It is quite an ordinary cold." Before Madame Falk could reply, Mr. Riddell made his appearance, — a refined, delicate-looking man, rather below than above middle height, with soft, light, near-sighted eyes. He was in very ac- curate evening-dress, with an eye-glass dangling against his waistcoat. A PROPOSED ALLIANCE. 21 "Shocked, my dear Madame Falk, to have kept you waitmg!" he exclaimed, in a thin, but rather pleasant voice. "May, my child, run and ask the concierge's boy to fetch a fiacre. Stupid, insular habit this, of dressing in evening toilette for dinner! Otherwise we might have made our way comfortably enough in the humble 'bus. But the squire's pre- judices are insurmountable, and, really, one dines fairly well in the Rue de Melun." "Yes, and pleasantly too, but it is a bore, the dressing. All extra trouble is detestable to those who, like myself, do not find the day long enough," returned Madame Falk. "By the way, Mr. Riddell, I have a message for you on— yes, I may call it a matter of business. Can you give me half an hour to-morrow?" "You know I am always entirely at your service, dear madame." "Thank you. Would it suit you to call about one to halfpast one, to-morrow, after breakfast?" "Certainly, with great pleasure, and this message, — does it concern your charming self at all?" "No, not in the least!" Here Miss Riddell returned and said the con- cierge had caught a passing vehicle. "Come, then!" cried Riddell to Madame Falk. "May, my darling, run away up to our good friend Miss Barton. I presume your kinswoman will not think my girl intrusive? But it is such a comfort to me when I know she is safe and happy during my absence." 22 FOUND WANTING. "My cousin will be delighted to see her, Mr. Riddell." "Wrap up well, my love, and go early to bed." He offered to kiss her; she drew back quickly. "You will take the cold from me," she said. "Ah, discreet little girl, mind you wrap up well on these draughty stairs. Good-night, dear child." Madame Falk taking Mr. Riddell's arm, they left the apartment. May carefully extinguished the lamps, locked the drawers of a small sideboard, and, taking a candlestick with a glass shade, wrapped herself in a thick Scotch-plaid shawl, and went up-stairs to Madame Falk's apartment. There she found Miss Barton collecting various articles of needlework, chiefly repairs, with a view to spending a profitable if not a pleasant evening with their young friend. "Madame Falk said I might come up to you," said May, with a slight hesitation. "I am very pleased to see you," said Miss Barton, formally, as she held out her hand. "But I was coming down to you. You ought not to go up and down stairs with such a cold." "My father would not hear of your being taken out of your own warm rooms to our cold ones, so I am here!" and she smiled a somewhat satirical smile. "You are very welcome," said Miss Barton, who was bustling about, making up the fire, arranging the lamp, and settling herself and her work-basket. "Have you brought anything to do?" A PROPOSED ALLIANCE. 23 "No, Miss Barton. I feel idle and weary, but if I can help you I shall be very pleased." "Thank you. Suppose you darn these stockings? You will feel much more fatigued if you sit with your hands before you." "Perhaps so," said May, submissively, taking up the stockings and drawing her chair nearer the lamp. Miss Barton looked at her keenly, saying to herself that she could not make out what it was in her that fascinated Achille Dupont. "She is hardly pretty, and hasn't much of a figure, she is so long and thin; but her head is well set on, and there is something graceful about her shoulders. Her eyes are no great things; they are really light; but with those long, thick black lashes of hers, you think they are dark, and they have a scornful look, quiet as she is; then she has good hair; though it is very deep brown, there's a glint of gold where the light falls on it. If she were better dressed it would make an enormous difference. I hate to see young people careless." Here Miss Riddell broke into speech, asking, "Is there a large dinner-party at Mrs. Conroy's to-day?" "I don't know, but I rather think there is. Are you sorry you could not go?" "Not very. I always like to be with Frances, but I prefer not to be at their large parties. I know so few of the people that I feel rather lost. I sup- pose the Duponts are among the guests?" returned May. "Do you? Why?" 24 FOUND WANTING. "They are acquainted," returned May, "and Monsieur Achille is a great admirer of Miss Con- roy's." "Indeed! I was not aware of it." "Oh, yes! He often speaks to me of her. You know Madame Dupont? I met her coming down from your apartment this morning." "Yes. She did my cousin the honour of calling. She had a strong motive, no doubt, for such an act of condescension. We have met her half a dozen times at the Zavadoskois', where she scarcely seemed aware of Esther's existence, and not at all of mine; so you may judge." "And what is the motive?" asked May, with rather languid curiosity, seeing the question was ex- pected. "I dare say Madame Falk would be angry with me if I told you, and you need not say anything about it; but I will tell you, because it would not be right to leave you in the dark." "What can I possibly have to do with Madame Dupont's visit?" asked May, smiling shghtly. "A great deal! Listen. Madame's mission was to ascertain, a la mode fmngaise, your position, your probable 'dot,' and various other particulars, with a view to asking your father's consent to your mar- riage with her son." "With Monsieur Achille!" cried May, now all attention, and in evident surprise. "I am amazed! Are you quite sure of this?" "Pray, am I in the habit of making unfounded A PROPOSED ALLIANCE. 25 statements?" asked Miss Barton, with scornful em- phasis. "No, certainly not. I spoke thoughtlessly, but it seems so extraordinary." She spoke with amused composure. "Well, I am not so sure it is extraordinary. On the two last occasions when we all met, I fancied Achille Dupont was rather pressing in his atten- tions." "Did you? He has always been very nice to me, but some of my own countrymen have been more — what shall I call it?- — 'flirtatious' than M. Dupont, and I never dreamt of their seriously wishing to marry me." "Why?" asked Miss Barton, bluntly. "Because I suppose every one knows we are poor, and none of my agreeable partners and ac- quaintances give me the idea of sacrificing them- selves for my sake!" "I don't think you and your father convey the impression of poverty. Moderate means, perhaps, yes! But you live in a good quarter, you go into society. Mr. Riddell belongs to a rather expensive club, and gives occasional dinners ! Even if he does not give you a fortune now, you are his only child, and what keeps liim going as he goes will be a very decent portion for you hereafter." "Yet we are poor! I have good reason to know. My father is an excellent manager, and beats out his precious metal into the thinnest and widest sur- face possible; still no French, and scarcely any 26 FOUND WANTING. English, parent would make a marriage contract with jis." "Well, it is no matter. I don't suppose you would marry a Frenchman; at least, I hope not." "I am not so sure. They seem to make very kind, polite husbands, and " "I grant they do well enough for their own women, but English people are so fundamentally different from all Continentals that these mixed mar- riages don't do. God knows I have seen an out- come of ruin and wretchedness from more than one !" "Still, if Monsieur Dupont cared enough for me to ask me in marriage," said May, calmly and me- ditatively, "I think I might be fairly happy with him. He is agreeable and well-bred, rather pleasing than otherwise, and a tranquil, settled home is not to be despised." "A tranquil home!" cried Miss Barton, desisting from her efforts to thread her needle. " Great Powers ! You would have to live with your mother-in-law." "That alters the case," returned May Riddell, with a smile. "The eagerness of young women in the present day to many is truly revolting," returned Miss Barton. "Are they worse in that respect than the young women of the past. Miss Barton?" "I believe they are! Formerly there was nothing for a woman to do, absolutely nothing, save to marry, to suckle fools, and chronicle small beer. Now they have chances." A PROPOSED ALLIANCE. 27 "Those who are educated, yes! But /am not!" "Pooh, nonsense! You know a lot more than I do, or ever did. Yet I manage to make a hundred a year, besides my board and lodging and many other little things." "Lucky you!" exclaimed May Riddell. "Pray, give me the secret!" "I do not know it myself," returned Miss Barton; "probably it was luck. Luck and ill-luck are ac- countable for a great deal." "Well, dear Miss Barton, I feel so sleepy and oppressed with this cold, I think I must go to bed." "Very well! But mind you think twice before you say 'Yes!' to any foreigner! I'll look in and see how you are to-morrow." 28 FOUND WANTING. CHAPTER II. MAY AND HER FRIENDS. The morning after Mrs. Herbert Conroy's dinner was finer and warmer than the preceding day, and Mr. Riddell emerged from his room a Uttle earlier than usual. He found his daughter engaged in dust- ing the tiny salon, as the largest room in the little appartenierit had been appropriated by the owner for a salle a maiiger , and was suitably furnished with carved oak and green velvet. Here a fire was burn- ing, and the servant, an elderly — not to say old — woman, was laying the cloth for the second break- fast. Though simple, the furniture was good, and there was an air of comfort about the room. Mr. Riddell had occupied the entresol for a considerable time, indeed, before his daughter had joined him some years before. He was a man of neat, methodical habits, though he had, it appeared from his conver- sation, led a wandering life, and he sedulously culti- vated delicate health. His heart was weak, the doctors told him, he said; for his part he did not consider he had much to complain of. To a thought- ful, observant man, life was always interesting, even while the study of it saddened the student. To see MAY AND HER FRIENDS. 2g real merit pushed aside and unsuccessful, while rampant, empty self-assertion rose to renown, was sickening. Even as a young man he shrank from the degrading strife, content with obscurity and self- respect. For his dear child's sake he cared for his health. He wished to hold out until she was old enough to guide herself through the maze of life; otherwise — an expressive shrug filled up the sen- tence. He was a philosopher in his small way. May was his only child, and with his usual self- abnegation he had submitted to numerous and pro- longed separations from his dear wife in order that the beloved child might be brought up during her early years in the sweet, wholesome simplicity of English country life, while her father roamed Europe in search of the picturesque. He was an artist, with an ideal so high that he finally gave up all attempts to realise it, and devoted himself to pointing out the right way to those who were treading the same track. His contributions to newspapers and magazines were for a while fairly successful, and obliged his appear- ance in London, from whence he journeyed for brief visits to his wife's usual Devonshire retreat, where she lived in the near neighbourhood of her elder brother, a plain, respectable tenant farmer, whose homely manners did not find favour in the eyes of his gently fastidious brother-in-law. When May was about twelve, Mrs. Riddell died, succumbing to a brief but severe attack of bronchitis during her husband's absence. His grief, when he arrived to attend the funeral, deeply impressed all 30 FOUND WANTING. beholders. Then he speedily departed, taking with him his little girl, and parting on not exactly friendly terms with his brother-in-law, money matters being the source of difference, as usual; for it was always a cause of bitterness to the brother that Mrs. Riddell had married while absent on a visit in London, and without a settlement. It was a cruel time to poor May; but her father was very tender and sympathetic, though not to be moved from his resolution to leave her at school, — a cheap girls' school in a south-coast county, where, if she had not the highest educational advantages, she had decent food, good air, and on the whole a happy life. At last, however, the day came when it was an- nounced that Mr. Riddell could no longer exist with- out his daughter's society, and under the escort of the French governess, who was returning to Paris, she started to begin life under her father's guardian- ship, and, as she said to herself, such a delightful father! Mr. Riddell (to return), emerging from his bed- room clad in a handsome, warm shawl-pattern dress- ing-gown, newspaper in hand, advanced to the fire- place, laid his paper on an arm-chair, and gently chafed his fingers. Seeing his daughter through the door opening into the salon (there was the usual French amount of doors in the salle a manger) he exclaimed, — "My dear May, is it necessary to leave that door open when the temperature is so low? Besides, you MAY AND HER FRIENDS. 3 1 will increase your own cold. Your energy is extra- ordinary, my love! I do not see the necessity of your doing Leontine's work." "She has plenty to do. I do not mind attending to my own room and the salon." She came in as she spoke, and drew off the old gloves with which she had guarded her hands, closing the door care- fully. "Having a cold already, May, it is very heedless of you to run the risk of increasing it. Take example by me. I submit to many precautions which bore me, averse as I am to waste thought on myself, and yet I willingly undergo these, because I know my life is of importance to you; you should be influenced by the same consideration for me. By the way, dear child, who made my coffee this morning?" "I am sorry to say I overslept myself," returned May, with a slight increase of colour. "I was so tired from coughing all the night before that I could not wake." "Just so! You see negligence unfits you for your duties. My coffee was vile. Strong language is un- usual with me, but I must say it was vile! Is it not possible to teach Leontine? because if you get into the habit of oversleeping yourself, you must have some one to do what is necessary." "Very well, I will try." Here another door opened, and Leontine, in a large blue apron, came in with a dish in either hand, and, depositing them on the table, declared, — "Monsieur est servi." 32 FOUND WANTING. When the mid-day meal was over, at least May's share of it, she broke the silence which usually reigned during its continuance by asking, rather listlessly, — "Had you a pleasant dinner, papa?" "Well, not bad. Not the highest kind of intel- lectual enjoyment, perhaps, but the guests were tolerably bright and stupidly cheerful. How any man who looks round him and thinks can escape being a pessimist, I cannot understand." "But you are cheerful yourself," said Mary. "My dear, there are moments, exceptional mo- ments, when fortuitous circumstances, the society of high-class, appreciative men — men of my own calibre — cheat me into a passing sense of enjoyment; but I am too sensitive! I should have almost forgotten myself last night but for two discordant ingredients." "Ah! was Mr. Ogilvie one?" asked May, with a slight smile. "He was. There is something very offensive to my rather fastidious taste in the cool, contemptuous self-assurance of the man. The way in which Con- roy, his wife, and daughter believe in him, and look up to him, is painfully absurd. I have no doubt he is merely an effective poseur." "He always seems very quiet and civil when I meet him with Frances." "It is not necessary to quote Frances. She is quite idiotic about him. The other irritating presence was your special friend, Madame Falk ! " "I thought you liked her! You always seem to get on together, and she is so bright." MAY AND HER FRIENDS. ^^ "Exactly; she laughs too much. She is a female Mark Tapley for cheerfulness under difficulties. This may seem admirable to the commonplace, ordinary mind, but to me there is a degree of in- delicacy in this sturdy indifference to blows of Fate ! I believe Madame Falk had a most cruelly trying youth. She lost both husband and son under peculiarly distressing circumstances, and has had a hard struggle for existence ever since. A more tenderly constituted woman would have sunk into an early grave." "Still, one cannot quarrel with her for living, or making the best of life when she could not lay it down." "Strength and health like hers are frightfully animal." "I believe it is her unselfishness that has kept her alive!" "My dear, that is exceedingly illogical; wiser heads than yours have declared the secret of tran- quillity and longevity lies in the brief sentence, *a bad heart and a good digestion.'" May shook her head. "Bring me the Chartreuse, my love; there is a little left, I think, and I must fortify myself for my visit to our agreeable neighbour. I have promised to call upon Madame Falk; she wishes to see me on business. Business has rather an ominous sound in my ears. It so often means money — a small loan. But no, in that quarter I do not think I need fear. Besides, she, every one, knows that my duty to you, Found Wanting. I. 3 3,4 FOUND WANTING. dear child, comes before every other person, every other consideration." "I am sure, papa," began May, eagerly, but, stopping, fell into sudden silence. Mr. Riddell rose from the table and selected a cigar. May also stood up and followed him to the fireplace. "Before you go, papa," she resumed, with an evident effort, "I want to speak to you," "And you too, Brutus!" exclaimed her father, playfully; "this is really alarming! Well, my dear, you know I am always ready to listen." "I am not so ready to speak," returned May, smiling, "because I want you to spend money;" and she went on rapidly, "you know Mademoiselle Ferret went away in a great hurry, because her aunt or uncle or cousin was taken suddenly ill, and she quite forgot to give me the key of her apartment, or to speak to the concierge about it, so I cannot go and practise on her piano, as she has so kindly allowed me. Now, while she is away, may I, oh! may I hire one? Just for two months, — it will not cost a great deal, and I am really getting on. I can play Frances's accompaniments pretty well, and " "My dear little girl," interrupted Mr. Riddell, in a tone of gentle rebuke, "you know it pleases me to gratify you, but it does not please me to see traces of the old serpent, selfishness, peeping out amid the fair flowers of your somewhat slowly developing in- telligence. I strain my slender resources to afford MAY AND HER FRIENDS. 35 you all reasonable indulgence, and — and even luxury! Now, a piano is really quite unnecessary. You have a whim for making a noise on it, but you will never play, my dear. I regret it, for music is a delight to me; you will never do more than strum. I do not object so long as my ear is not offended; but you should have had tact, perception enough not to distress me with this request. I had resolved to make you a little present; to do so is always a pleasure to me. You have, I regret to say, some- what brushed the bloom from the treat I promised myself Ahem! I propose to give you a new even- ing dress for the Countess Zavadosko'fs musical soiree, on the twenty-third. Your friend, Madame Falk, has good taste, and will assist you in the choice of a suitable garment, and I am willing to ex- pend the not inconsiderable sum of eighty francs on the adornment of my fair daughter, gloves and shoes included. "A large sum, indeed, papa!" cried May, inter- rupting him in her turn. "But half, quarter of it for a piano would do me more good, and give me more pleasure than half a dozen dresses. These large parties worry me far more than they please me; I am nothing and nobody to the people I meet; I would much rather stay at home." "It is rather hard, my dear May, that I find you always more or less in opposition," returned her father, with a gentle shake of his head. "I wish we were more in sympathy. In this matter I must insist on my own views, — you shall have the dress; 36 FOUND WANTING. you shall not have the piano!" May bent her head in silence. Mr. Riddell turned to take a match-box from the mantel-shelf, and seemed struck with the reflection of his face in the glass. He leant forward and gazed intently into his physiognomy. "Yes," he said, as if to himself, "the constant friction of slight differences is writing its mark in the increasing wrinkles round my eyes; they ought not to be so numerous." He lit his cigar, and, as he opened the door, paused to say, "I quite forgive your little errors of taste and feeling, my love; but be advised, strive to conquer selfishness — selfishness is moral death." He waved his hand and left her. May's brow contracted and her lip curved into a contemptuous smile. She stood silent for an instant, then murmuring, "That's at an end," she turned to the table and began to clear away the debris of their breakfast, calling to Leontine to help her. Her father's refusal was by no means a surprise: nearly five years of constant association had taught her to know all the crooks and crannies of his peculiar nature, all impositions he practised on him- self; still she was sorely disappointed. One of the few keen enjoyments of her solitary life was the power of accompanying her friend Frances Herbert Conroy when she sang. She was beginning to feel sure of herself, or rather of her fingers, and the task of accompanist seemed to give her something of a MAY AND HER FRIENDS. 37 place, albeit a humble one, in the gay company which frequently gathered at Mrs. Conroy's house. The acquaintance came about in this wise. Three years before, Madame Falk (who, from the first, had been wonderfully attracted to the pale, motherless girl of the entresol) had taken her to call on the Herbert Conroys when they were staying in Paris en ro7itc from Rome to England. Though rich, fashion- able people, far apart as it seemed from the ener- getic worker of the fourth e'tage, Madame Falk was a close cousin of Mrs. Herbert Conroy's on her mother's side. Her father's people were of the middle class; nevertheless, the aristocratic squire had been on friendly — nay, intimate — terms with his poor relation in the youthful by-gone days, before he married the wealthy heiress who re-established his fortunes, and made him the unincumbered master of his beloved lands, the broad acres of Audeley Chase. It was a marriage of love as well as money, and for some time Herbert of Audeley was a timid, almost de- spairing, lover. It was in this passage of his life that his cousin Esther was a comforting counsellor, while in return he had stood by her when she was in the direst straits, mental and financial. The fates seemed un- friendly to male heirs of the house of Audeley. The two sons of Herbert's marriage died young, and there remained but one delicate girl to inherit the lands of one parent, the wealth of the other, the names of both. This precious heiress had taken a severe cold 38 FOUND WANTING. when Madame Falk and hex protegee called: she was dreadfully bored by being kept in the house, and she knew no one in Paris. May had a book she was carrying to her father, — a book of essays, light and picturesque, on the renaissance in Italy, which at- tracted the young sufferer; and as Miss Herbert Conroy's eyes were much affected. May timidly offered to stay and read it aloud. Madame Falk promised to explain matters to Mr. Riddell, and May remained. This was the beginning of a friendship between the girls. Miss Conroy's superiority in age (she was two years her friend's senior), in experience, in educa- tion, led May naturally and readily to fall into the position of a humble admirer. Subsequent visits to Paris and a tolerably steady correspondence cemented their bonds, and the Conroys became an important ingredient in May Riddell's life. While Leontine chattered cheerfully as she cleared the table. May's thoughts naturally reverted to Miss Barton's astonishing communication of the evening before. She recalled Achille Dupont to her mental vision, for in truth he had made but small impression upon her. He was a neat, clearly defined young man of five and twenty, with very glossy black hair divided most accurately, and a delicate, care- fully trimmed moustache, also black; good-humoured, twinkling, beady black eyes, and the rest were clothes; but such clothes! such lovely little boots! such closely fitting gloves! Then his bow was ex- tremely elegant, and his talk far from foolish, though MAY AND HER FRIENDS. 3g not very original. He was bright and kindly. Above all, it was really very good of him to think of mar- rying her, May Riddell, who had so little to recom- mend her. Yet May was not exactly humble-minded. She possessed a very strong undergrowth of pride — perhaps self-respect is the truer word. Measuring herself by externals (and she began to believe that for the majority externals were every- thing), her deficiencies stood out very clearly; never- theless, she felt she was not without her value — only, who would ever recognise it? Was Achille Dupont really frank and kindly? or was he like others she knew, one man in society and another off the social boards ? Could she ever feel at home with so exceedingly well-dressed and polished an individual? He was a trifle too machine-made in his general effect for her taste. May had never been given to dream about love or marriage. Not that she in any way shrank from these attractive topics. Simply they did not occur to her; she was, perhaps, slow in developing. What she did long for and appreciate was real, honest companionship, such as she had glimpses of, with Madame Falk, — Madame Falk was always too terribly busy to allow of more than glimpses, — intercourse with some one where you could venture to be abso- lutely true and off guard. Achille could never be this friend. Better, then, to bear the present than prolong its chief evils by a lifelong uncompanionable contract. "It is true friendship I want," she said to herself. 40 FOUND WANTING. as she took up some ever-ready piece of work, for May was an accomplished needle-woman. As the thought passed through her brain the little bell of the front door jangled, and a minute •after Leontine was heard to say, "Enter, mademoi- selle, but enter." Whereupon a young lady presented herself. A small, slight girl, richly dressed in dark velvet and fur, with a pretty baby face, a fresh colour, a pair of pale-blue, solemn, surprised-looking eyes, and very fair, colourless, fluffy hair. "Oh, Frances!" cried May, her face brightening as she rose to meet her. "I am so glad to see you! How good of you to come!" "I wanted to see you very much," returned Miss Conroy, stretching up to kiss her friend's cheek; "first, of course, to know how you are! I was so sorry you could not come last night. We had rather an interesting dinner, and I wanted you greatly in the evening, But I will tell you all about that." She spoke with a rather pleasant, refined voice, and in a slow, earnest way, as if conscious that what she said was of importance. "Are you better?" she concluded. "Yes, much better; indeed, I was not very bad." "Then could you come back with me to luncheon? You know how resolutely niy father adheres to his English ways: he will have luncheon at one o'clock. I have been out since ten, and have done heaps of things. There was a sale of old books and rococo things at Lemaitre's, where I picked up some lovely MAY AND HER FRIENDS. 4 1 things astonishingly cheap. Then we went to the Madeleine flower-market. Larkins is waiting below in a fiacre with my purchases. Can you come back with me, May? I want you to try over some Russian songs the countess has lent me. They are curiously full of 'accidentals/ and you know I do not care to play and sing. Mr. Ogilvie promised to come and teach me how to pronounce the words when I have learned the music." "Yes, I can come quite well; it will do me good. I was feeling rather miserable." "The physical effect of indisposition, I suppose. At least I hope you have no cause for uneasiness?" "Oh, no, I have nothing to complain of" "Then, dear May, do put on your things and come. We shall be rather late as it is." "Do not wait for me, Frances. I have break- fasted and will follow." "No, no, I will help you. My mother does not like your walking all that way alone; she would not be pleased." May laughed. "I am afraid if I carried out Mrs. Conroy's views I should lose the use of my limbs ! I will change my dress as soon as I can." "Oh, don't change; you look very nice." "My dear Frances, I should disgrace your table!" "I do not think so; but I care so little about dress." May put away her work rapidly. "Can I not help you?" repeated Miss Conroy. "No, no; there is not room for two in 'my lady- 42 FOUND WANTING. ship's chamber,'" returned May, laughing, as she left the room. Miss Conroy sat down in Mr. Riddell's special chair, drew a note-book from her muff, and amused herself making entries and jotting down figures. She was not kept long waiting. "You have been quick, May," she said, as her friend re-entered. "That is a pretty dress. I don't think I have seen it before." "Yes, indeed you have, many times. Your kind, good mother gave it to me quite two years ago. I remodelled it last wnter and put a little dark-blue velvet, as you see, on the corsage, and, behold, all things have become new!" She opened her jacket for a moment to display her handiwork. "Come, Frances, I will give Leontine a message for papa, and follow you immediately." The distance between the Rue de Vielle Cour, where Mr. Riddell lived, and the Rue de Melun was but short, yet Miss Conroy contrived to say a great deal during the drive thither. At first she gave many directions to Jier maid as to the disposal of the various parcels, the flower- pots, a basket of cut blossoms, etc., with which the seats were crowded. These were quite disregarded by Larkins, an elderly, resolute -looking, wooden- faced woman. "I rather think we shall have a new admirer of mine at luncheon to-day. You have not seen him yet, — a Mr. Carr. I believe he is an Australian. There is something original about him, something MAY AND HER FRIENDS. 43 semi-civilised, — not in the least ill-bred or common, nothing whatever of the 'cad,' you know, but a little abrupt and wild. He seems so astonished because I love science and art and literature! He has evi- dently been accustomed to women who live for dress and folly. He is handsome, certainly handsome, but a mere animal. I think I must try and civilise him — if it can be done." "Perhaps you will spoil him," returned May, smiling. "How do you happen to know him?" "Oh, Lord Wargrave, a cousin of my father's, was out in Australia the year before last, and re- ceived great hospitality from Mr. Carr. He intro- duced him to us last year, just as we were leaving town for the summer, and now he has reappeared here. He rather interests me." Here the fiacre stopped, and the young ladies alighted. No. 43 Rue de Melun was an essentially modern Parisian mansion. The first e'tage, which was oc- cupied by Mr. Conroy, was large, lofty, beautifully decorated and furnished, and supplied with all the newest contrivances for comfort and health. "Are we late, Dutton?" asked Miss Conroy, as the door was opened by her father's severe and solemn-looking valet. "Mr. and Mrs. Conroy have been five minutes at table, Miss Frances," he returned. "Is that all? Come, May." Dutton threw open the dining-room door and an- nounced them as though the daughter of the house 44 FOUND WANTING. were a visitor. A sense of warmth, of well-blended colours, the glitter of plate and glass, a mingled perfume of hot-house flowers with the odour of savoury dishes, struck May. Three convives were seated at the delicately served board, — a pale, sweet- looking woman in a dark-blue plush morning-gown, and a cap of fine lace over her soft, nearly white hair; a handsome, elderly man who looked as if "all the airts the wind can blaw" had spent their forces on his face, bearing the stamp of "country gentle- man" on his whole form, and a tall young one, with deep-grey eyes, well-cut brow and nose, and abundant moustaches covering the lower part of his face. He was well dressed; the artist he employed was evi- dently of no mean order; yet there was something, not of the world worldly, in his aspect and carriage. Nature was too strong even for a high-class tailor. "My dear May, I am very glad to see you," said Mrs. Conroy, kindly, as she held out her hand. "Don't deserve a mouthful for being so late," cried her husband, rising to shake hands with his young guest; "as it is, you have missed a capital omelette. Here, Button, put a screen behind Miss Riddell. Where the deuce have you been scamper- ing all the morning, Frances?" — but she was too much engaged in speaking to Carr to heed him. No one presented the Australian to May, nor did he address her. Presently Mrs. Conroy asked if her daughter in- tended to accompany her to call on some acquaint- ances. MAY AND HER FRIENDS. 45 "No, not to-day. I am going to devote the whole afternoon to studying those Russian songs. May has come to help me, and I shall not be at home to any one." "That is a hint!" exclaimed the Austrahan in a softer voice than May expected to hear from him, but with, it seemed to her, a touch of Scotch in the accent, "I suppose I must go, yet I dearly love music." "Yes, Mr. Carr, I shall close my doors inexorably." "Why, you work as hard as if your bread de- pended on your attention to business. Miss Conroy." "I wish it did!" she returned, with a sigh. "Then I could prove what I am worth. As it is, everything is made provokingly easy to me. Still, I think I may claim some credit as a woman not with- out a purpose." "I am sure you are a wonderful woman, or you would never *fash' yourself, as my old father used to say, about the things you do." "Ah, life without work would be intolerable to me! Come, May, if you will not take anything, let us attack these Slavonic melodies. You shall hear them, Mr. Carr, when we are perfect." Carr rose and opened the door, giving May a steady, inquiring glance, as if to ask, "Who are you?" — a glance that stirred a faint ripple of discontent on the usually tranquil surface of her heart. "How strange it would seem to me to be always sure of my own high importance, as Frances is! Should I bear it as well as she does? I shall never know." 46 FOUND WANTING. The rest of the afternoon was spent in strugghng with the flats and sharps and minor chords of Miss Conroy's new songs, which proved difficult but in- teresting to both girls. Mrs. Conroy found them still at work on her return. "My dear child, I have kept the carriage, think- ing you might still be here. It shall take you home, for you must not walk back; it is quite dusk," she cried. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Conroy. Frances, these accompaniments require a good deal of prac- tice, and I cannot use Mademoiselle Peret's piano, for she is away, and has locked up her apartment." "That is of no consequence, but for the trouble of coming here. Pray, come every day; my own room and my piano are at your service. I will tell Larkins." ''Thank you; then I hope I shall get them quite perfect soon. I have been rather stupid to-day." A cordial good-bye, without embracing, — for Miss Conroy was by no means effusive, — and May hurried down to the carriage, being much more in awe of the servants than of their masters. THE LESSON BEGINS. 47 CHAPTER III. THE LESSON BEGINS. Tuesday was always a specially busy day with Madame Falk, for, like most press-writers, she was a slave to the "post," The novelist-essayist — even the playwright — are sons and daughters of freedom, compared to the journalist, who is bound to time, and that generally the shortest time. If their petits pains of reports, fashion, notices, politics, the hundred and one ingredients which make up the columns of a daily paper, do not come fresh and crisp from the bakehouse of their brains in time for the inexorable mail, all is lost. Ill or well, headache or no headache, eyes alert and wide awake, or dulled with overwork or a cold in the head, the prescribed number of words must be written, — and well written up to some standard, — or the pen must be passed on to abler and more punctual fingers. This is, no doubt, felt most hardly by women, whose initial effort in all careers consists in picking up the crumbs which fall from the rich men's (their brothers) tables; theirs is the most uninteresting, the most poorly-paid work, nor can we sentimentalise over the injustice of this. We are all under the 48 FOUND WANTING. rigid rule of law, and though here and there bene- volence and mercy may ease the pressure of those steely fetters which chain us to our oars, in that solemn galley, the Inevitable, there can be no escape, and the only true alleviation is, by bearing "to conquer our fate." In time the clearer-brained and stronger-willed among us will rise to higher rank — and better pay, — marching over the yawning rifts and gaps which have been filled up and made passable by those pioneers, the forlorn hope, who first ventured on an unknown country, and "fighting foremost fell," un- recognised, unlamented, — a history often repeated, for the progress of each generation is chiefly founded on the martyrdom of those that went before. This present Tuesday had been especially busy, for, besides her official work, Madame Falk had, as was not uncommon with her, to do a lot of work for other people, and she now sat in an easy-chair before the fire, wrapped in her working-gown, her still small, well-shaped feet thrust into fur-trimmed slippers, her eyes half closed, and her busy right hand resting for the moment on the arm of her chair; her beautiful dark hair was pushed away under a white lace scarf which was tied over her head; she felt the beginning of a cold, a thing she greatly dreaded, and she took nothing lightly. On her lap lay a yellow-covered novel, a paper-knife between the leaves. Miss Barton sat opposite her, near the table, on which was a shaded lamp. She had put on her evening toilette of a rusty black silk skirt and a black velvet jacket, THE LESSON BEGINS. 49 somewhat white about the seams. She was knitting a woollen sock rapidly and mechanically. "Do make up the fire, Sarah," said Madame Falk, with a shiver. "I feel as if cold water were running down my back. I am sure I have taken cold. Thank goodness, I am not obliged to go out to-morrow morning." "Take some hot gruel and stay in your bed; nothing like bed for a cold; but as we have a minute's quiet, I wish you would tell me what Mr. Riddell said about May, and about your visit to Madame Dupont? You have hardly had time to breathe since she was here." "Ah! Well, I told you that Mr. Riddell refused the Dupont alliance, or as good as refused it; said he had no fortune to give his daughter; that if he had, he could not countenance a mercenary union. It hurts his ideal of the higher life, and a lot more balderdash of the same kind. Of course, he added, if the young man chose to evince his truth and dis- interestedness by proposing for May, fortune or no fortune, that would be a diiferent matter. Poor May! A nice time she would have of it if she did go portionless into a Parisian family. It is amusing that a man like Mr. Riddell, who has lived so long among French people, should know so little of their social spirit." "Who has lived so long in France, you mean, Esther. I am not so sure he has lived among French people." "At all events, I did not waste too much time Found 'Wanting. I. 4 50 FOUND WANTING. talking to him. To-day I interviewed Madame Dupont. I put the best face I could on it to her. I said that Mr. Riddell was greatly opposed to international marriages; so much so, that he would never make any settlement on his daughter unless she married an Englishman. Should she choose a man of any other race, he would not absolutely refuse his con- sent, but he would give no money. Madame was vastly polite, and quite agreed with the opinion of Monsieur Riddell that mixed marriages were better avoided. I think she is glad to be well out of the affair without disobliging her son. She complimented every one all round, and pronounced a glowing eulogium on May; there the matter ends. I never expected anything else." "No, nor I. My opinion is that Riddell has not a rap to give any one, and he will leave that child a beggar." "Oh, nonsense! He must have money, and he cannot take it away with him; she will have some- thing to live on. I wish she were more hopeful and energetic; work is a sort of universal panacea. I do not think she is averse to work, nor is she without ability; but I do not see what she is to do." "Nor I, unless to remain as she is, a useful but unpaid atlache'e to her father." "If she could only find her groove, there is good stuff in her, believe me," returned Madame Falk, thoughtfully, and relapsed into silence. Presently she was aroused by the arrival of the last post. Several letters demanded her attention. THE LESSON BEGINS. 5 I She read them quickly, tearing up one or two, and dwelling on the last. It was large and square, the writing small, straight, and peculiarly clear. A card fell from it. "This is an unexpected honour," she said, look- ing up. "A note from Mr. Ogilvie. He is really very obliging. You remember I have been anxious to see the interior of Prince Radymski's new house, or rather palace, at Passy, and how impossible it is to gain admittance? I happened to mention this before Mr. Ogilvie when I met him last week at the Zavadoskoi's. He did not seem even to attend to what I was saying, nor did he mention the subject last night; now here is a note from him, saying that he has spoken to the prince, who has given me per- mission to inspect his public rooms, library, and pictures; all he asks is, that I do not publish the result of my observations in any European paper, only in America and the colonies. He encloses the prince's card, who has written, 'Admit Madame E. Falk.' See!" and she handed it to her cousin. "How have you found favour in his sight?" "Heaven knows! Anyhow, he has done me a bit of good service. But I am greatly surprised. Mr. Ogilvie is the last man I should suspect of good nature, and though he has always been very courteous on the few occasions when we have spoken together, I do not think I particularly like him. He has such a guarded, inscrutable face. Yet I fancy I can read it a little. It tells me he could be an implacable tyrant; but I may be wrong. I must write and thank 4* 52 FOUND WANTING. him at once, though I cannot go out io post it to- night; it will be out of the way for to-morrow. I suppose Adrienne is gone?" "Yes, two hours ago. But / can take it. I do not mind a bit." "Certainly not! There is no necessity. It is only a bit of civility. Really, I am greatly obliged to Mr. Ogilvie. This is a bit of quite gratuitous kindness. I shall like him for the future — at least, I think I shall." She rose, lit a small handlamp which stood on the mantelpiece, and went into her little \\Titing-room, where she swiftly penned a grate- ful acknowledgment of Ogilvie's kindness. "I must make a new arrangement for to-morrow," she said, when she returned to the fireside. "It is always wise to strike while the iron is hot. I shall go to the Radymski House first." Taking a note- book from her pocket, and tearing out a page, she began to scribble rapidly a fresh plan for her busy day. "I think I have found the very place for George's boy," she resumed. "It will not be an easy one, but — it's the best I can do. You know Deslignes, the jeweller in the Avenue de I'Opera?" "No, I do not!" said Miss Barton. "Never mnid. "It's a big place! Well, the patron will take him in as unpaid clerk for six months, giving him food and lodging. He is to speak English to the English and American customers, and assist in the book-keeping as soon as he knows how. If he is a clever lad, it may be a good opening for him, but I THE LESSON BEGINS. 53 am half afraid British cleverness may not fit into the crooks and angles of French life. We can but try. I hope my poor brother will give him a good outfit. What pocket-money ought he to have, Sarah?" "As little as possible, for I suspect it will come out of your pocket," growled Miss Barton. "Perhaps," absently; "and, Sarah, he must dine with us every Sunday!" "Oh, very well! and Monday, too, if you like!" Madame Falk laughed, a kindly, good-humoured laugh. "By the way, Esther, how does this Ogilvie man come to know the Zavadoskois and Prince Radymski so well?" "I don't know. But as he was a long time at Galatz, and also at Odessa when the 'mouths of the Danube' difficulties were being settled, I fancy he saw something of Russian society. He came on from Galatz here, and is, I believe, a Foreign Office em- ploye,- — on the commercial side, you know, — to attend to British interests in this International Indo-Egyptian Trade Convention. I am told he is considered a valuable servant. But he knows every one, and is popular, too, considering he is a silent, self-contained man, though he can talk well, if he likes. I am sure I did not dream that he noticed what I said. Now he has suggested the idea, I shall try if he cannot help me in other directions. I do not fancy, however, he is a man to be manipulated. Come, Sarah, let us go to bed. I must be up betimes to- morrow. How I hope no fragments of shattered 54 FOUND WANTING. gentility will tempt my brother to object to the shop- keeping side of my scheme for Johnny." "God knows!" sighed Miss Barton. "It is im- possible to say." ***** Meantime, Miss Conroy was more constant to the study of her Russian songs than was usual to her. But if she worked seriously, her friend and accom- panist spent far more time and pains in learning the music thoroughly. It was strange to her and full of difficult transi- tions. "If I could hear any one play them that knows the measure and the style!" she sometimes sighed to herself. "I cannot get hold of the idea, and I do not think Frances can, either. Perhaps Mr. Ogilvie will help us both." The day on which he was to give his lesson in pronunciation came all too quickly in May's estima- tion, while Miss Conroy's superior self-confidence kept her quite tranquil. "I must go out with my mother immediately after luncheon," said Frances to her friend on the day appointed. "I shall come back as soon as I possibly can, but I shall tell them to let Mr. Ogilvie in if he comes. You can play over the accompani- ments to him and amuse him till I come; though I do not feel sure he will make his appearance to- day, as he is rather a busy person. You do not mind Mr. Ogilvie, May? Some people are a little afraid of him." May laughed softly. "He is too far away from THE LESSON BEGINS. 55 me to be alarming, but I do fear spoiling your songs," she said. "Do not trouble about that," said Frances, magnanimously. "You will do very well. Good- bye for the present." May stood a few minutes in thought after Frances had left the room. She enjoyed these quiet morn- ings with her friend. She was thankful that her father had found fewer faults of late; in fact, that the stream of her life was standing comparatively still in a little, tranquil pool; but a deep sense of its temporary character oppressed her. There was no real touch of home anywhere in her life. She turned hastily from these flitting thoughts as un- worthy and ungrateful, and went to the piano, for- cing herself to give her whole mind to the music before her. She had been some short time so occupied when Kuhne, the German courier servant, announced "Mr. Ogilvie." May stopped short, slightly startled, for it still wanted nearly quarter of an hour of the time at which Miss Conroy expected him. Ogilvie entered with a smile — he had a very pleasant smile — and a properly deferential bow. He was a man of five or six and thirty; he might be more, he might be less. He was extremely dark for an Englishman, not much above middle height, squarely built, and well set up ; a broad brow, close- cut, wavy hair; a straight, but by no means classic nose; a large, strong mouth and chin; deeply-set 56 FOUND WANTING. dark eyes, which rarely told much. This does not read like the description of a handsome man; yet the whole was impressive, and was generally remem- bered by those who once met him. He wore neither beard nor moustaches, but his clean-shaven face showed distinctly where those appendages grew black and thickly. "I am very sorry Miss Conroy has not returned," said May, rising from the piano, "but she will soon be here. Pray sit down." "I am before my time," looking at the clock. "I thought Miss Conroy would forgive it, as we could have a little longer study." He took a chair as he spoke, and May placed herself in the corner of the sofa by the fireplace. Ogilvie looked at her with quiet, critical eyes, as if he remarked her for the first time, though they had already met more than once. "Miss Conroy tells me you are so good as to assist her by playing her accompaniments." "She is so good as to allow me," returned May, with a smile. She was quite as quietly self-pos- sessed as her interlocutor. Her perfect freedom from self-consciousness gave that delightful repose to her manner which nothing else can bestow. "I believe Herr Adrianoff is to play for her at Madame Zava- doskoi's party." "That is scarcely wise. If she is accustomed to your accompaniments she will do badly with another. Will you be so good as to play the songs while we wait? Pray remember I am no guide. 1 have only THE LESSON BEGINS. 57 a vague, uncultivated love of music, but I know something of these Russian ditties, because I have heard them sung by the peasants in Southern Russia." "I shall be very glad to have your instruction," said May, going to the piano; "the time is a little puzzling." And without any hesitation, she began to play. Ogilvie came over to lean on the piano, facing her, and listened with grave attention. "Are you not going to sing?" he asked. "I think I heard you singing as the door opened?" "Yes, I sing to keep the accompaniment right, but that is Miss Conroy's part, and I must not usurp it," "But I can judge the effect so much better, and help you more, if you will. Do you not see the sense of it? Are you afraid Miss Conroy will resent your usurpation?" He smiled a somewhat cynical smile. "Certainly not," decidedly. "Frances is quite above such pettiness." "Then sing. You have some soul in your touch, you ought to be able to sing." There was a tinge of command in his tone which half amused May, yet she yielded, and turning back to the first page, began. She was soon stopped; one passage was to be slower, another softer; one was to be hurried, and the ordinary measure broken. She was deeply in- terested, and careful to attend to every hint. "You are a most attentive pupil. What trash the English words are! Where did you get them?" 58 FOUND WANTING. "The countess gave them to Miss Conroy; some protege of hers made the translation. It has been difficuU to divide the syllables. But we could not attempt the Russian without you. Madame Zava- doskoi imagines Frances will sing the English version." "That would never do. Miss Conroy will find it much easier to sing the Russian words. No lan- guage is so difficult to sing as English. Your voice is very true, though evidently uncultivated." "Yes. I have never been taught, and probably never will be," said May, placidly. "Sorry to hear it, Miss Riddell!" May was sur- prised he knew her name. "It is not what is called *a grand organ,' but it has capabilities." "Thank you!" a slight pause; "shall we find it difficult to learn the Russian words?" "No. It will be but a parrot-like learning. Tell me, Miss Riddell, have you no personal ambition?" "I really do not know. I fancy it would only worry me if I had." "Life without ambition is but a stagnant pool." "But a rushing, brawling river can never reflect the blue tranquil heavens," returned May, laughing. "I love peace." "That is not the first love of the young. Action, progress, or whatever road one selects, is the ideal of early days!" "One selects!" said May, dreamily. "Are not our feet placed upon a destined road, whether we will or not?" "Ha! You are a philosopher, then! I scent the THE LESSON BEGINS. 5Q damnable doctrine of predestination. We must argue this out some day," cried Ogilvie, pleasantly. May shook her head and let her fingers wander softly over the keys, touching the notes of an old Bohemian air she had picked up from one of Mademoiselle Ferret's pupils. Ogilvie, who had walked back to the fireplace, shifted his position so as to see her face, at which he looked with a sort of curious interest. "I have the pleasure of knowing your father," he said, rather abruptly. "Yes. I have heard him speak of you," she said, leaving the piano, and putting some music that was heaped on a stand in order. "We did not agree on politics," he resumed, "and I should like to renew the discussion. Mr. Riddell has seen a good deal of the world." "I believe so," returned May, cautiously. "Forturtate man, to have a companionable daughter with whom to settle down after knocking about the world!" "I do not fancy I am much of a companion for a man of the world," said May, smiling, "nor is a man of the world a companion for me. The few I have seen appear very hard and uninteresting." Ogilvie laughed. "I dare say they do, and very often they are. However " The entrance of Miss Conroy interrupted him. She apologised — not eagerly — for her absence, ad- ding, "You must have been more than punctual." 6o FOUND WANTING. "I was, and we have improved the opportunity by going through the music. Now, suppose you learn some of the words first." Miss Conroy was not rapid in catching sounds, and, though by no means unintelh'gent, her brain worked slowly. May took up some knitting, and listened attentively, without taking any part in the lesson. "Do you decline to learn a barbarous language?" asked Ogilvie, turning to her quickly at last, "No. I am listening with all my might; but as I shall never sing the songs, I need not hinder Frances by repeating the w-ords." Ogilvie made no reply. Finally, Miss Conroy tried the song. It certainly went better with the original words, but May was almost appalled by the frankness with which Ogilvie corrected and found fault with the all-accomplished heiress. Her time was not right, her words were indistinct, her upper notes here and there were too flat. May glanced at her friend to see how she took such unwonted treatment, feeling quite distressed on her account. But Miss Conroy's face only showed a slight, perhaps disdainful, surprise, while her temper seemed quite unruffled. Once she said, "That is the note you gave me so much trouble about. May. I thought I had got it quite right." "You are tired to-day, and not doing as well as usual," said May, earnestly. Soon after, tea was brought in, and, promising to come again on his first free afternoon, Ogilvie left them. THE LESSON BEGINS. 6 I It was dry and fine, and lie walked briskly down the Champs Elysees, intending to call on Madame Zavadoskoi, a friend of former days, ^vith whom he had always kept up a certain degree of intimacy. He was glad to escape from the task of in- struction he had voluntarily undertaken, and as he reflected on the superb self-confidence of Frances Conroy, a smile stole into the corners of his lips. "At all events," he mused, "it is profound enough to make her calm. Restless conceit is intolerable. She is well-bred, too, and years may teach her a truer measure of herself, though that is of small im- portance. But it is amazing that such a pumpkin as Riddell, a 'sounding brass' and 'tinkling cymbal' creature, should have such a daughter. There is more than the grace of physical symmetry about her. She has the sort of harmony which comes from the power of thought, a distinction that not one in a hundred is capable of perceiving. There is some- thing infinitely restful in her voice, in her presence, and just that tinge of soft melancholy that refines. I don't fancy 'the pumpkin' is an ideal father; she does not give me the idea of unmixed happiness. I wonder how old she is? She must be a mere girl, yet there is a touch of maturity in her quietness, — decidedly the making of a charming woman, if cultivated. I should like to undertake the cultiva- tion, but the game is too difficult to be worth the candle. May! What an absurd name! It ought to be Psyche or Diana — no, not Diana; there is nothing cold in her softness; and she will probably marry 62 FOUND WANTING, some commis-voyageur, who, even if he makes her a decent husband, will drag her down to his own level. 'As the husband, so the wife is!' She will think she ought to be happy, and be dimly, depressingly con- scious she is not. What curious lives many women lead, and what holocausts of female victims society needs to cement its walls and keep its palaces flaw- less! Well, it must be so! I am a strong advocate for law and order. Since the world began there have been victims, and there always will be. The worst of it is, the victims are generally charming, and the 'good examples,' who build up their status on the ruins of the imprudent, are of coarser fibre, less delicately tender and fascinating. Our social laws are a nuisance, but necessary. A little dexterity and resolution enables one to evade much, without doing any great harm, either; but institutions must be respected, especially by a legislator, as I intend to be. Why, by all that's a propos, here is the 'tinkling cymbal' himself! I'll smooth him down, for I fancy I rubbed him up the last time we met." "Good-morning, Mr. Riddell. Are you bound for the inexhaustible boulevards, as Parisians con- sider them?" "Good-morning," returned Riddell, stiffly, "No, I am going to the 'Mirlitons.' I want to see that sketch of Armand's they are all talking of. I have great doubts if it deserves all the cackle there has been about it." "I am going in the same direction. Shall we join forces?" IN SOCIETY. 63 Riddell's brow cleared as he readily assented, and they walked on together. CHAPTER IV. IN SOCIETY. That Paris is the queen of cities few will dis- pute. Its beauty, its everlasting youthfulness, its variety, are the delight of Europe. But to enjoy it thoroughly it is necessary to have a certain amount of training. To a man like Carr, accustomed to out-door existence, to live in the saddle, to the rough plenty, the rugged accessories of a big colonial cattle-run, Paris, with its artificial pleasures, its highly decorated aspect, was more puzzling than delightful. Had he not been introduced to the Herbert Con- roys, and by them presented to Madame Zavadoskoi, in whose eyes he found a certain amount of favour, he would certainly have left after a week's trial of the famous capital. But finding himself a welcome guest among English people, the sense of being lost wore off, and he began to understand something of the new life into which he had plunged. He found much to amaze, and, albeit by no means a saint, a great deal that shocked him. His early life had been hard but wholesome, and when, after a fair measure of success as a sheep-farmer, the discovery of a rich vein of gold on his land suddenly converted him into a millionaire, he kept his head wonderfully. 64 FOUND WANTING. He was by no means ignorant, though scarcely what could be termed well-educated. By fits and starts, whenever a chance offered, he read voraciously, not novels or lighter literature, but tough, solid books, which left a blessing behind. Indeed, he was not averse to poetry, though a little ashamed of his liking for such womanish stuff. After some rather boisterous outbreaks of natural self- indulgence on finding he was master of a large fortune, he started for Europe, resolved to see every- thing and to make up, if possible, the deficiencies of his education. The highest and purest pleasure he had as yet experienced in this new phase was from the treasures of art to which he was now introduced for the first time. For these he had an innate taste, which some- times surprised Madame Zavadoskoi, herself a cintic of no mean order and of large experience. She was half amused and partly fascinated with the young antipodean, who so frankly showed his pleasure in her society, and declared that, although utterly unconventional, he was naturally well-bred. His knowledge of women was limited to a few specimens of colonial femininity, who were either shy and dull, or somewhat bold and free; and though ready enough to flirt or romp with the latter, none had made any impression on him. A few weeks in London, where some introductions had admitted him to the society of the upper wealthier middle class, he had found the young ladies rather appalling, and IN SOCIETY. 65 a sense of being quite at sea, making him, contrary to his nature, cautious and reserved. The first person with whom he found himself really at ease was Mr. Conroy. His hearty manner, his "country gentleman" instincts, his love and know- ledge of horses, made a common ground on which they could meet and sympathise. And next to Mr. Conroy he felt most at home with Mr. Conroy's wife. Though a woman of great refinement, she was so gentle, so kindly, so transparently sincere, that he could talk to her with much comfort to himself. But of Frances he positively stood in awe. The extra- ordinary amount of knowledge that young woman seemed to possess, the unhesitating decision of her views, her remarkable self-reliance, were quite over- whelming, and, coupled with her small, baby-like aspect, made him feel ashamed of his own half- fledged mental condition — ^at least, on their first acquaintance. Miss Conroy, however, was always sweet and condescending to every one, and she was often good enough to explain recondite subjects to Carr, with an air of superiority which imposed upon him a good deal at the outset. Whereas Madame Zavadosko'i seemed to think she could learn from her colonial friend, or, at least, hear much that was new and interesting; and Carr found the difference very agreeable. The countess was not handsome, — in fact, she had narrowly escaped being very plain, — but she had a perfect figure, lovely little hands and feet, and a most expressive face. If her mouth was large, Found Wanting. /. 5 66 FOUND WANTING. her teeth were white and regular; if hair and com- plexion were fair, even colourless, her eyes were made effective by curiously dark brows and lashes, — unnaturally dark, some people said. She had long been a well-known figure in Parisian society, yet no one even thought of her as anything but young, though her only son was an officer in the Emperor's Guards; then women marry so early in Russia. She was a pleasure-loving, self-indulgent, but generous woman, who had rarely, if ever, denied herself any whim or fancy suggested by a warm imagination. Sometimes she quarrelled with the count, her husband, when he grumbled at her lavish expenditure; but not often. In fact, judged by their own standard, they were a model pair, and, on the whole, madame had not given any food for scandal for many years. This bright, caressing acquaintance was a god- send to the rather friendless Australian. She put every one at his ease, and proclaimed aloud her ignorance of book-learning, while every phrase, every action showed her knowledge of life. She did not care to stand on any pedestal; to her it did not seem any advantage to be out of reach; she was quite ready to join hands with all pleasant and well- bred people, provided they could gratify or amuse, and knew their place. But for all her genial un- pretentiousness, no one ever dared a second time to advance half a pace nearer the countess than she chose. Count Zavadoskoi was a big, burly man, with a IN SOCIETY. 67 tartar face and a forest of gray hair. He passed his hfe very comfortably in eating and drinking, gambling, hunting (when at home), and, curious exception to these mere physical pleasures, hearing the best music, of which he was passionately fond. Though Miss Conroy, as became an English heiress, rode well and gracefully, it was to her merely a mode of taking exercise. With Madame Zavadoskoi it was a passion. Need it be said she was fully aware that she looked supremely well on horseback? Here was a band of union with Carr, who, assisted by Mr. Conroy, soon succeeded in securing a couple of first-rate horses, and counted his rides in the Bois with the fair Russian as the happiest hours he had spent in Europe. "You must learn French; really you must," she exclaimed, as they were returning from a morning canter along the Avenue des Acacias. "It is a great bore, I grant, learning anything except by the eye or the ear. But you are terribly helpless with only English. Get a master for an hour every morning, and come to me for a lesson in reading after dejeuner, or before. I am not a bad teacher, I as- sure you." "You need not assure me, madame! I feel I could learn anything from you. But how— how do you come to know so much, when you say you never studied?" "Oh, I had foreign nurses and governesses; then we have lived everywhere, and you know Sclavonic brains are cerebral minors; we reflect what we hear 5* 68 FOUND WANTING. and see; but scarcely anything enters in and dwells there! I can read English and French easily, but I cannot write either well; German, Italian, Danish not at all; I do not think it worth the trouble to try. Shall I look out a French master for you?" "I shall be greatly obliged," rather ruefully. "Do you think you have a talent for languages?" "No, I don't suppose I have, or for anything else in that line," laughing good-humouredly. "You can ride as well as a Russian — or an Englishman ! " "Thank you! — I afii an Englishman!" "I suppose so; somehow I never remember you are! Yes," turning and gazing at him with admiring eyes, under which Carr's sunburnt cheek flushed uncomfortably, "you have a very English look, yet there is something else! I cannot quite make out what! May I study you, Mr. Carr?" smiling. "All day and every day if you think it worth your while, but you'll soon get to the end of me. I don't think there are many complications in my character." "Don't be too sure; I don't think you know yourself." "Very likely! I never wasted much time on — what do you call it? — introspection! A man must be out of sorts, I fancy, to bother about his own state of mind. It's like feeling one's pulse, and fancying you have every malady under the sun." "Self-examination, my young friend, has been recommended by the pious in all ages." IN SOCIETY. 69 "Why do you call me your 'young friend'? You make me feel like a beardless boy," he cried, im- patiently. The countess laughed. "You are a youth compared to me, dear friend!" "I am probably not three months your junior." "How old are you, then?" "Past thirty!" "Impossible! Very little past?" "Still, past." "Then there is not so much difference between us as I thought. You are at an age not to be trifled with!" she looked laughingly into his eyes, yet some- thing in her glance sent a strange thrill through her companion's veins, and he felt his eyes answer hers as he said, — "I fancy you could do very much what you liked with most men, whether they be twenty or thirty!" "Pray go on, add forty! Some men are more malleable than others; come, I am growing cold. Let us try a gallop along this soft road!" She touched her horse, which sprang forward, and some moments of exhilarating speed kept both silent. "Ah! that was dehghtful! a renewal of life!" cried Madame Zavadoskoi, when she at length drew rein. "I wonder how people get on who have no horses to ride!" "So do I. I have known rough times myself, but I always had a horse." "Do you know I should like to hear your story, 70 FOUND WANTING. for you evidently have one, only you shall learn French, and tell it to me in that charming tongue." "It would not suit such a tale as mine," said Carr, laughing. "Anglo-Saxon is the proper speech for my biography! But if you will give an hour a day, I'll try Hebrew, Greek, or anything you like." "Agreed! I'll send you a funny little old Russian to-morrow morning. He is one of my protege's , and will do as well for your purpose as a professor from the Sorbonne." "And your lesson, madame?" "Mine? Oh, come at twelve to breakfast next week, and if I have time, you shall read afterwards. Now, are you coming to my soiree on Tuesday?" "Yes, if you care to crowd your rooms with such lumber as myself I am of no use, when you do not want men to dance " "Do not attempt to be modest! You are to come. You will find lots of people who speak Eng- lish, and nearly every other European tongue as well. Then your charming friend Miss Conroy is to sing. What an accomplished poppet she is, and what heaps of trouble she takes about every- thing " "At first I thought her the most wonderful young lady I ever met." "At first? Don't you think so now?" "No, you seem to know all she does, and a good deal more, without taking any trouble about it." "Wait! when she has my years, just imagine what a mountain of knowledge! IN SOCIETY. 7 I " 'Pigmies are pigmies still, though perched on Alps, And pyramids are pyramids in vales.' " returned Carr, laughing. "That sounds hke a quotation!" exclaimed Madame Zavadoskoi. "It is from an old eighteenth-century English poet that I don't fancy you know." "What a wonderful wild man of the woods you are!" "The bush is more favourable to reading than the busy haunts of men, I imagine. I have scarcely looked at a book since I came to Paris." They had reached the end of the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, and, crossing the wide circle at the Arc de Triomphe, the countess suddenly bowed, smiled, and kissed her hand to a lady who was standing at the corner of one of the many avenues opening from that beautiful centre, as if looking for an omnibus. Carr recognised Madame Falk, whom he had sat next at Mrs. Conroy's dinner more than a fortnight before, and he raised his hat. "You know Madame Falk?" in a tone of sur- prise. "Yes, I met her at Mrs. Conroy's." "She is a relation of Mr. Herbert Conroy's, I am told," continued the countess. "He is, I believe, a gentleman of high degree, wealthy and well-born! She scribbles for newspapers for her daily bread! What extraordinary anomalies exist in English social life! That comes of your system of free marriages! Our pleasant friend's mother made a mesalliance. 72 FOUND WANTING. and so comes about the difference — what a difference! — between these kinsfolk." Her tone was sHghtly contemptuous, and nettled Carr. "Yes," he exclaimed, "anomalous enough, and long may the system last. Better the free marriage, with the chance of love and companionship, than the sacrifice of individuality to caste." "There peeps out a delightful touch of savagery, my dear Mr. Carr! Love! Companionship! Don't you think the chafing of the wedlock fetters is apt to wear out such pretty stuff? Fancy fifteen, twenty years with the same cher ami, whose tenderness must always be more or less blunted by the sense of right? Life is dull enough, even with the help of a little inconstancy; you rob it of its only important variety ! " Carr's lips parted with a reply, which he checked before it was uttered. "Yes," he said, "from your point of view such 'damned iteration' would be intolerable, but is there no constancy?" "Oh, yes, I do not deny it! Perhaps among busy, cold-blooded people. There is Madame Falk; she was left a widow at twenty-four, I think, and she has never married, nor, I fancy, had a lover, though I believe she had more than one offer of marriage. Then it is easier to be constant to a me- mory than to a person; memories cannot bore you! Madame Falk is a wonderful woman. I happen to know a good deal of her. She lives with her cousin, IN SOCIETY. 73 a typical English old maid, of whom I am very fond, and who was my governess for a good many years; she is quite devoted to me; I don't suppose that dear old thing ever heard a word of love from a man's lips in her life! Why, to be loverless must be even worse destitution than to be without a horse." These words brought them to the door of the Zavadoskoi Hotel in the Avenue Marbcjeuf, and Carr assisted his fascinating "guide, philosopher, and friend" to alight with tender care. With a few words of warning that she would be too much en- gaged the following day to see any one, she left him. Carr rode slowly away to his hotel, an odd sense of irritation disturbing his heart, or rather his cir- culation. The talk of his delightful companion annoyed and offended him. She had exercised a great charm over his senses, a charm he never dreamt of resist- ing, but this cynical repudiation of constancy sug- gested very disagreeable ideas. No woman had any right to the sort of liberty she seemed to claim, but then her talk was probably only talk. It showed Carr was gifted with tact, which means quick per- ception; that he never thought of asking what she really meant or believed. He felt it would only bring ridicule and further mystification on him. But Madame Falk! Her fine, strong, open face guaranteed constancy, if ever a face did; yes, even when she was younger and softer, and more emotional, she would not have tired of a lover as she would of a dress too often worn. To be sure, the Russian countess 74 FOUND WANTING. liad probably been married to a man she did not care a straw for, and the man looked like a brute! The soiree for which Frances Conroy made such elaborate preparations was rather an event in their society. Madame Zavadoskoi received regularly once a week, but rarely gave large parties; they troubled her, and she hated crowds. But, as has been already said, she was very good-natured, and wished to help a young Polish girl who wanted to make her debut in Paris as a concert singer. May Riddell had had a formal invitation for the first time, though Madame Falk had taken her on several occasions to the countess's Thursdays. Now she was to take part in the performance, for at the last moment the German accompanist who was to have played for Miss Conroy was obliged, by a severe cold, to keep his bed, and, by Ogilvie's advice, Frances determined to trust herself to May's hands. The question of the dress offered her by her father had been a source of great agitation. Madame Falk wished her to wear something white or cream, and May steadily insisted on black. "Black is so awfully old, my dear," cried the chief counsellor. "That is no matter, Madame Falk. I do not care for anything except to pass muster, and not to be shabby. I don't care to look young; that will do me no good. Let us choose something useful that will last," and May Riddell had her way. IN SOCIETY. 75 It was happily a fine, dry night at the end of February, and for the first time May saw the three large salotis of the Zavadoskoi Hotel thrown open and brilliantly lit up. The furniture, the decorations, the abundant flowers, the exquisitely dressed women, and a large sprinkling of distinguished men, was somewhat overpowering to May, and she clung closely to Madame Falk, who knew many of those present personally, and the greater number by sight. It was very interesting to have the owners of well-known names pointed out, and to listen to brief comments on their life and adventures. Then Madame Zava- doskoi, who was an admirable hostess, came to speak to them before she took up her station at the door to receive a Serene Highness. Soon after, Mrs. Con- roy and her daughter made their appearance, which gave May a sense of support. "How nice your dress looks, my dear!" said Mrs. Conroy, kindly; "but is it not rather sombre? Don't you think so, Frances?" "Very pretty, indeed!" said Frances, absently. "May, you are not afraid of playing before all these people?" "No, not at all. Once I am at the piano and sheltered by you, I shall be all right. Where is Mr. Conroy?" "Oh," he is dining with Mr. Ogilvie, and will come in later. You know he does not care a straw for music. I wish his tastes were more like Mr. Riddell's. He is such an admirable critic and so 76 FOUND WANTING. sympathetic — at least to me. I wish he were to he here to-night!" "He is here! an invitation came for him this morning," returned May, raising her brows in surprise at the idea of Frances wishing to exchange the father she had for any other; but she said no more, for at that moment she caught sight of Achille Dupont, whom she had not seen since she had heard of his astonishing wish to marry her insignificant self. She was aware, indeed, thanks to Miss Barton, that the proposed alliance had been rejected by her father; and although she had lived long enough in France to know that in French matrimonial matters no one was a free agent, she half expected that the young man would make some attempt to see her and bid her good-bye. It is so hard for an English- woman to realise that a man who had attained the responsibilities of his majority should be fettered in the matter of the greatest personal importance to himself There is always a lurking belief in her mind that he could, if his love were strong enough, break his bonds. The sight of her would-be lover fluttered her heart a little, though she had not the faintest in- clination to care for him, beyond a cool liking for a well-bred, lively young man who was always flatter- ingly attentive to her. He only acknowledged her by a profound bow, and then engaged in an apparently interesting con- versation with a soldierly-looking, much-decorated old gentleman. IN SOCIETY. 77 But the music began, and silence prevailed. An instrumental trio opened the concert, and then the Polish debutante regaled the audience with an operatic tour de force, which astonished the generality of her hearers. "What wonderful vocalisation!" exclaimed Frances, who had kept her place beside May; "but to acquire it one must give up everything to music." "I wish she would sing something soft and ex- pressive. She has a beautiful voice," returned May. A warning "sh" silenced her, nor did she speak again, save an occasional word, till the first part of the performance was over. Then some people moved about, and Carr, dis- entangling himself from the crowd in the door-way, came to speak with Madame Falk, who sat a little in front of May. "Ah, good evening!" she said, after a moment's hesitation, not quite recognising him at first. "I don't think you know me, Madame Falk. It is rather hard to be so completely forgotten!" "Forgotten? No! Consider that the music has carried me away into the past, or the future, to the obscuring of my faculties. I remember our discus- sion at dinner, how long ago?" "Oh, nearly three weeks! Yes, you disagreed delightfuHy with me on almost every point. You, a denizen of the old world, are such an advocate for everything new; and I, fresh from the youngest con- tinent, such a lover of all that is old!" 78 FOUND WANTING. "Probably because the old is new to you!" she exclaimed, with her frank, pleasant laugh. Here he caught Miss Conroy's eye, and spoke to her, enquiring for her mother, who had been taken away by the countess to a place of honour, while he looked enquiringly at May and gave her a hesitating bow. Then he resumed his talk with madame till the music recommenced. "He is very shy," said Miss Conroy, indulgently, with a slight smile. "Who?" asked May. "Mr. Carr? He does not strike me as shy." "He is, with me. He is, of course, unaccustomed to girls who think, — who have any aspirations higher than dress and pleasure. My aims and pursuits sur- prise him, and perhaps check and alter the feeling with which he at first regarded me. It is better so! You understand me, dear May. I feel I can speak to you as I dare not to any one else." "Yes, Frances, you may trust me." Soon after, and at the end of the performance, came the Russian airs so diligently practised by the friends. They were very successful; though Miss Conroy's voice, like all else about her, was small, and the higher notes were a little strained, she sang them pleasingly enough, and was highly applauded, as such amateur singers usually are. May was sincerely pleased, for she felt she had done her part well; but of course as a mere accompanist she met with no recognition, and went back to her place with IN SOCIETY. 79 Mr. Conroy, who had come into the music-room to hear his daughter's songs. "Frances ought to be much obHged to you for all the trouble you have taken," he said, kindly. "I know nothing about such things, but it seems to me she could not get on without you." "Ah, Mr. Conroy, you are very good; but there are plenty of accompanists to be had in Paris." "Perhaps so, but^ " "Mr. Conroy," interrupted the hostess, "I want you to take a countrywoman of mine, who adores EngUsh people, to supper. Thank you. Miss Rid- dell! You did very well. You have an excellent touch." May hastened to sit down near the door, for Madame Falk had disappeared. She had no sooner taken her place than she saw M. Dupont approach- ing. She welcomed him with a grave smile and a fleeting blush, which made that meritorious young man feel decidedly bad. "Mademoiselle," he began, with a deep sigh, "I venture to address myself to you for the sad purpose — sad to me— of bidding you adieu." "Are you going to leave Paris, then, monsieur, for any length of time?" "Yes, mademoiselle. I only wish I could leave it for ever." "Oh! You would soon wish to return. No Parisian can ever live long in exile." "Ah! mademoiselle little knows! But my ex- cellent mother advises me to take a journey in 8o FOUND WANTING. Algeria. It may distract my thoughts, and when I return I may be more reconciled to life." "I am sure I hope you will, monsieur; and that you may have a good and happy voyage," she said, kindly. "Ah! Your goodness is adorable. This is in- deed farewell." He took her hand, pressed it, and departed. "He is really very nice," thought May, looking after him. "And he will be all right long before he comes back." Then a curious sort of melancholy stole over her, a profound sense of loneliness. The music-room was half empty. The people stood about in groups, chatting gaily, for every one knew every one. Frances had been swept away in a sort of whirlwind of applause and admirers, and May felt forgotten. Not that she in the least resented this. She knew her temporary isolation was an accident, that every one was well disposed to her; but her whole life since she left school had taught one supreme lesson. It was her own insignificance. People were kind and obliging, but she was not of the slightest importance to any living creature. She had no right to com- plain of this in any direction save one. Her father, — he might have given her his heart. She had tried to be a good daughter, and with what joy she had left school to live with him! Now, after more than four years' experience, she knew quite well that if Leontine could only make good coffee, and mend as neatly as herself, her only parent could part with IN SOCIETY. 8 I her cheerfully. Was it in any way her fault? Per- haps she had not the gift of attracting people. If she had, would Achille Dupont have given her up without a struggle? Probably it was her undemon- strative quietude that gave people the idea of cold- ness. Well, she could not help it. "What! Are you here alone? It is an ungrate- ful world!" said a low, mellow voice close to her. Looking up, she recognised Ogilvie. "Surely you deserve refreshment after contributing so largely to the success of the most interesting songs we have had to-night," he continued. "Mr. Conroy has only just been taken away from me," she said, looking up to him with a smile, "and will no doubt come back. He is always kind." "What! Kind enough, unselfish enough, to under- take such a task as piloting you to the buffet? I will do that service for him, if you will permit me; but there is a raging mob there at present. Shall we wait till it is clearer?" "Certainly. I am in no hurry." Ogilvie drew a chair beside her. "You were not exhausted, then, with your exertions? You were not nervous?" "No. I know my notes and I know nobody. An audience of complete strangers is equal to playing in a mask. They were scarcely aware of me, nor I of them." "That is true," thoughtfully. "How long have I had the pleasure of knowing you, Miss Riddell?" "You have only just had the privilege of making Found Wanting. /. 6 82 FOUND WANTING, my acquaintance," said May, lifting her eyes, which smiled at him. "But I met you at Mrs. Conroy's nearly a year ago, when they passed through Paris from St. Remo." "Indeed! I do not remember. Pray observe I ex- press no astonishment at my own want of observation." "Thank you," returned May, simply. "Yet, in truth, I am surprised." "Pray do not spoil the original compliment, Mr. Ogilvie." "Very well, I am mute. To change the subject. I am shocked to see that your father prefers cards to music. I thought he was an accomphshed critic. Now, he has been playing whist all the evening with Zavadosko'i and young Dupont, who has lost all his stakes." He watched her as he spoke. "Is it pleasant to win other people's money? I should not have imagined it amusing." "Believe me, there is nothing half so diverting. There is a proud sense of superiority in such a triumph. When I empty my adversary's pockets I go home and dance with joy as soon as I have locked my door." May laughed. She felt suddenly lifted out of her despondency, and convinced that she zvas worth the trouble of talking to. "By the way," resumed Ogilvie, abruptly, "don't you live in the same house as Madame Falk?" "I do. We are on the entresol." "Yes, I thought so. What a terrific thing a lady — I should say, a woman — journalist must be!" MADEMOISELLE PERRET. 83 "Why, Mr. Ogilvie, Madame Falk is quite charming!" "I grant she conceals her terrors passably well. And you see a good deal of her?" "Not half enough." Their talk flowed easily for some minutes longer, during which May told more of her daily life, of her father's habits, than she had any idea. Then Ogilvie took her to the buffet to refresh. There they met the Conroys, Mr. Riddell, and Madame Falk, with the Australian. "It was so nice of Mr. Ogilvie to take care of you, dear May," said Frances Conroy, as they put on their wraps. "It was very considerate towards me. He knows I am very fond of you!" CHAPTER V. MADEMOISELLE PERRET. Madame Zavadoskoi's party had ended so pleas- antly for May that she felt enlivened for several days after, and took herself to task for yielding to un- reasoning depression previously. Why should she care if she were of importance to people or not? Minds of a higher tone than hers could be sufficient to themselves, why could she not at least aim at this happy elevation? At lea'st two clever people, Frances Carr and Mr. Ogilvie, liked to talk to her. True, the former's sug- 6* 84 FOUND WANTING. gestion that Ogilvie's civility was a second-hand sort of attention was probably correct, yet he seemed interested in all she said. Frances was always kind, and really fond of her (May), but somehow latterly May's faith in and admiration of her friend had been shrinking in a way that puzzled and annoyed her. Her ambition to be everything, to do everything, to know everything, had grown a trifle monotonous. Moreover, as May's own mind grew, she began to find that all her friend's opinions and observations seemed repetitions of something she had heard or read before. "It would be more interesting if she made mistakes sometimes, or thought she did. Then I wish she cared a little about what / think, but I am growing ill-natured and self-conceited. I certainly do not know as much as she does, and I am not half so industrious. I waste such a quantity of time musing over what I read. It is very pleasant, but I might do much more if I were not given to dream; of course, it is not all lost time, as I can do needle- work, and I have a great deal on hand just now. I will not go out with Frances till I finish it; now she is taking lessons in Russian, she does not want me so much." Here the entrance of the father cut short her meditations. He looked brighter than usual and the tone of his voice was more cheerful. "May, my love, put on your things and come with me to leave cards at Madame Zavadosko'i's. It is a week since her party and I have not called yet! MADEMOISELLE PERRET. 85 Really, try as I will to keep clear of the "madding crowd," engagements will gather round me. By the way, dear child, you had better warn Leontine that I dine out to-day; she will therefore only provide for youi- modest needs. I have promised to dine with Ogilvie and one or two choicer spirits. I confess I fear that I prejudged Ogilvie. He is a cold, exclusive fellow, but he recognises and appreciates ability and discrimination where he meets it. Some people think very highly of him, and I admit he is a man of decided intelligence. He seeks my society in a flattering manner." "Yes, he is very agreeable," said May. "He is. I observed that he took you to the refreshment-room, being no doubt anxious to pay mv daughter attention." "Ver)^ likely," said May, with an irrepressible, youthful laugh. "Do you find my suggestion absurd?" asked Mr. Riddell, severely. "Do you fancy it was simply and solely to please himself Mr. Ogilvie talked to you? Beware, my child, of conceit. It is the most fatal mistake a young woman can make; simplicity, an ab- sence of self-consciousness, these are charms which I trust will always be 3'ours." "I hope so," returned May, an amused smile still dancing in her eyes. "At all events, I do not lack lessons in humility." "Really, my dear May, though I fancy few men have seen or known more of human nature than I have, I am sometimes at a loss to understand you. I 86 FOUND WANTING. can only conclude that the weakness of a loving father has somewhat pampered and spoilt you. Go, my dear, put on your hat and cloak, your best ; remember — you have to walk up part of the Champs Elysees with me." "Very well, papa. I shall make myself as smart as I can." Riddell looked after his daughter with a puzzled expression. "She is singularly unresponsive," he thought. "Alas! it has always been my lot to be misunder- stood by those who ought to be my nearest and dearest. 'Tis the usual penalty paid by somewhat exceptional natures." He carefully looked at himself in a glass which hung between the windows, then he went into the vestibule and called Leontine to brush his coat while he performed the same office to his hat, examined his boots, and finally went into his room for a pair of new tan gloves, which he had not completed fitting on carefully when his daughter reappeared. "My dear," with mild reproachfulness, "I asked you to put on your best hat." "Yes, papa, and I have. You don't think this hat shabby?" "Well, May, I cannot say it is fresh. I fear, my love, you do not take care of your clothes. Limited as I am in means, you might spare me the distress of seeing you unnecessarily shabby." "But, papa, it is two years since 1 had a real new hat." MADEMOISELLE PERRET. 87 "Spare me, my dear May, spare me these dis- tressing details. The first few francs I can put to- gether after providing for our absolute needs shall be yours, though it will be some time before I recover the outlay so lately made upon you. Come, my dear, allow me to enjoy a walk with you for once," and with a deep sigh he led the way down-stairs. May followed him, her cheeks slightly flushed, an amused smile contending with an impatient knitting of her brow, and father and daughter walked up the Champs Elysees, Mr. Riddell occasionally commenting on the occupants of the carriages which passed, and taking off his hat with much elegance to some of them. "Ah, there is our friend Ogilvie!" he exclaimed, as two gentlemen on horseback approached near the Avenue Marbceuf, and he waved his hand with ostentatious familiarity. Ogilvie took off his hat to May and half checked his horse, but went on without pausing. How well, how distinguished he looked, how thoroughly at home in the saddle! "Who is he riding with? — that curious-looking man with wild red hair?" she asked. "Oh, that is a man who is the fashion just now (though, by the way, I did not see him the other night at the Zavadoskois'), Prince Radymski. He is a Bohemian, I think, a real Bohemian." "Ah, yes, Mr. Ogilvie sent Madame Falk a card of admittance to see his pictures and beautiful things." "Indeed! I had no idea of this; I am afraid 88 FOUND WANTING. our intimacy with our worthy friends upstairs will give Ogilvie rather a false idea of our social stand- ing. Journalism for a woman is a very shady sort of thing — deucedly shady." "But you have been a journalist yourself! and Madame Falk writes so delightfully. / should be very proud if I could earn money as she does." "My dear child, women, especially young girls, should not think about money, they should be above it; and as to Madame Falk's writing, great powers! she has not the faintest idea of style; I wish you were a little more cultivated. May." "So do I," she returned, in all sincerity. They were now close to the ZavadoskoY abode, and Mr. Riddell suddenly asked, "Have you any visiting-cards with you, my dear?" "Visiting-cards? Why, I do not possess such a thing." "True, true! nor do you need any; I will write your name upon mine, for of course the countess will be out." He was a true prophet, and having left their names they turned their steps homeward. Not far from the house they encountered Madame Zavadoskoi returning from the Bois, escorted by Carr and fol- lowed by a groom. She recognised both father and daughter gra- ciously, and Carr lifted his hat. "As usual!" exclaimed Mr. Riddell, with a know- ing air, "Carr seems to have become an institution in the Zavadoskoi establishment. How a woman of MADEMOISELLE PERRET. 89 refinement can put up with an unlicked cub of that description, fresh from the wilds of such an unin- teresting plebeian place as Australia, I cannot imagine, but women are incomprehensible; that Carr is a regular bushranger, and disgustingly proud of his filthy lucre." "Perhaps, like Mr. Ogilvie, he will turn out better than you expected," returned May. "He seemed very nice and unaffected when I met him at Mr. Conroy's ! " "Do you know, May, I sometimes wonder you have not acquired a little more social tact, consider- ing the advantages I have given you; but you do seem able to distinguish between well-bred people and cads!" "Well, papa, I fancy I am!" "Ah, my dear little girl! years will teach you less self-confidence. I suppose I may leave you at the corner of the Rue C . I want to go to the club; you can get home safely, my love?" "Oh, yes! of course. If I could not go about alone I should never go out!" "True!" said Mr. Riddell, contentedly. "That is one of an Englishwoman's many privileges. Good- bye, my dear. Have your dinner quite independently. I shall not be at home till 7.30." May quickened her steps and walked briskly to- wards home. She felt ashamed of the sense of re- lief which so often lightened her spirits when her amiable father left her; but she did not allow herself to dwell on this undutiful frame of mind; there was go FOUND WANTING. no use in arguing about it — to reason with herself was only to deepen the impression. A few minutes brought her to her own door, where stood a fiacre, and beside it stood a lady in mourning, — a slight, thin woman, below middle height, with eager black eyes and iron-grey hair, carefully arranged in three stiff, upright curls on either side of a somewhat parchment-coloured face; she was evidently contend- ing with the driver, and on the pavement at her feet was a small, much-worn portmanteau. At sight of her May hastened her speed almost to a run. "Ah, Mademoiselle Perret!" she exclaimed, in French. "Welcome home again! Why did you not let me know you were coming, and we should have had your fire lighted, and things ready for you?" "What, my little angel!" cried the newly arrived lady. "I have been too miserable, too upset, to think of anything. Figure to yourself the desolation of my poor cousin's house! She only survived my coming three days, and since I have had a world of trouble and business to manage — but, a whole world. There!" to the driver. "It is too much. I know well it is too much, but it is beyond my powers to contend! There — five sous more," and she picked up her little portmanteau. "You must come to me until the concierge makes them ready for you," said May, warmly, really glad to be able to offer hospitality for once in her life to her musical friend, and remembering that there wer-e nearly three hours all her own before Riddell could MADEMOISELLE PERRET. 9 I return. "Let me carry that for you; you have had a long journey." "Yes. Oh, yes! Long and cold. I had more than two hours in the diligence this morning early, and then the train from Dijon, and the sad thoughts! The feeling that the last of my family had gone from me — that this brief reunion, after years of estrange- ment, had ended in eternal parting." (The cousins had quarrelled like cat and dog.) "It is a rude trial, my little May!" and she pressed a dingy handker- chief to her eyes. "You must be exhausted, dear mademoiselle; come and sit by the fire," and she ran quickly up- stairs, while Mademoiselle Perret gave her luggage and some directions to the concierge. "Leontine," exclaimed May, eagerly, as soon as the door was open, "can you let me have dinner sooner? Is the soup ready? Poor Mademoiselle Perret has just arrived, and is cold and hungry. I want to give her some dinner before monsieur returns." "But, yes, mademoiselle, there is some bouillon and a cotelette; and I will do some macaroni or " "That will do nicely, Leontine," interrupted May. "I was preparing the macaroni for mademoiselle," continued the bonne, "thinking that with the bouil- lon " "Yes, yes, it would have been quite enough. Now, Mademoiselle Perret, come and take off your bonnet and have something to eat with me. Then when your room is ready you can go comfortably to bed." 92 FOUND WANTING. "You are good —too thoughtful, my child!" com- ing into the comfortable little salle-a-manger. "But," looking round, "where is monsieur, your father?" "He dines out to-day; so you will keep me com- pany." A look of satisfaction came to the little music- mistress's face. She gladly went to May's room to remove her bonnet and arrange her curls, and when their very simple repast was over she proceeded to pour out a voluble history of all which had occurred during the past three or four weeks. The wretchedness of her cousin's house; the base wickedness of her only servant; the deep de- signs of her "directeur," who wanted a legacy for his church (Mademoiselle was slightly Voltairean); how every one tried to keep her away from the dy- ing woman, who was a childless widow; and the many heart-breaks which the narrator endured — all was detailed. "My poor cousin seems to have amassed much property," she continued, "and had bequeathed most of it to some distant relations, who were already rich and did not come near her, for she had the air of being poor — the rest went to her confessor. But she wanted me, dear child, at the last! We had been companions in our early years! — Ah! les beaux jours! — and the day before she died I was alone with her by accident. She caught my hand — she made me unlock her bureau and bring her an old satin bag — she put it in my hand and whispered, 'Take it! There is money in it — no one knows but MADEMOISELLE PERRET. Q3 myself j it is for you; I can do no more; put the keys under my pillow again.' Ah, my child! behold the effect of greed, of avarice ! She had but amassed for others, and famished her own life! And she was a Christian — a believer! Well, I kept the bag, and closed her eyes. Then when the priest and the relatives found there was nothing left to me, they were civil enough and gave me a great deal of trouble arranging things and making lists;, finally they gave me five cups and four saucers of indif- ferent porcelain, some lingerie which requires mend- ing, and the stick with which the poor deceased used to support her faltering steps; so, with many polite expressions, they sent me away. But May! my little angel, in the old faded satin bag I found in notes and gold two thousand francs. There! This shall be the beginning of better times. I shall move into a better apartment, where my pupils will not have to climb up to the moon to me; and I shall buy a second-hand piano — a good one, and print some circulars! My talent has been hidden — wasted hitherto! Eh, my dear little one?" "I am glad!" cried May, who was head and shoulders over her; "but I shall miss you dreadfully when you leave this house, dear mademoiselle." "Ah, my angel, I shall not go far; this is a good quarter. But I must recall my pupils. I fear I shall have lost some. However, I have good hope." "Those two American girls who were here in the autumn were enquiring for you a few days ago. I 94 FOUND WANTING. was coming in and saw them speaking to the con- cierge. I think they left their address." "Ah! that is good! I tell you, my little one, my luck has turned. And, look you, I have ten good years' work before me! I may make money yet, but must not grow miserly. Tell me, my dear, will you not come and help me, and learn too? Ah! and I never thought of my key. You have had no piano?" May explained that she had played a good deal with Miss Conroy, and described their jomt perform- ance at the Countess Zavadoskoi's soiree. Mademoiselle listened eagerly. "Conroy!" she repeated. "Those rich English? Ah! my little one, you must introduce me to these compatriots of yours. These are the people who pay; they will introduce me to others, and gradually I see my clientele spread — my circle widen — and my fortunes, little angel, will be all the sweeter because you have helped me." The oddly assorted pair of friends talked long and confidentially; but of the two the elder woman was by far the most sanguine and imaginative. To May it seemed scarce worth the trouble of working or living, if life was to be solitary — un- linked with others, unprofitable save to herself. At last Mademoiselle was roused from her castle-build- ing by May, who rose to light the lamp. With a quick glance at the clock, with an appeal to the powers above to witness her heedlessness of time, she borrowed a box of matches and departed to her own quarters. MADEMOISELLE PERRET. 9.5 Mr. Riddell's evening appeared to have been very much to his taste, at least so it seemed to May, as he found no fault with his breakfast, nor with her- self, the following morning, The only person he ob- jected to was "that AustraHan fellow, Carr," who was, he might say, a thorough barbarian, and, what was worse, pretended to have a taste for art; really, Mr. Riddell had no patience with the nonsense. "I sat next rather an intelligent man," he continued, "a man I have sometimes met at the Press Club; he seems to collect articles and paragraphs for the higher class provincial papers. I think he would like some contributions from my pen on art and so- cial matters." "And will you write for him, papa? It would in- terest you, and I am sure you have time enough." "Ah! May, my child, it is cruel work for a nature as sensitive as mine to produce commonplace papers suitable for commonplace readers; it has always been my bane— this craving for high-toned work and ap- preciation. Mediocrity kills me." "But don't you think you might raise your readers? Our greatest writers did not disdain the general reader." "Great! ah, what constitutes 'great'? The largest number of readers? the highest pay? Bah, your father, my dear, will never be great on these terms." "Still, you often want more money, and it would be very nice to earn it." "Prudent puss! Well, I did not altogether re- fuse, and I may do something, if the spirit moves 96 FOUND W.-VNTING. me. I must say Ogilvie is an excellent host, and very well-bred. I don't know exactly what branch of the Ogilvies he belongs to, but he has the air of a well-born man. I fancy they are a border family like my own. Ah! did you spend the evening up- stairs, my love?" "No; Madame Falk was out, and I had plenty of needlework to do. The time went quickly." "Ah, quite right! Indeed, May, though you are somewhat deficient in artistic perception and tact, you are a good, industrious girl, and mean well at all times. I have been thinking that I will manage to give you a new hat, if it does not cost too much." "Thank you very much, papa; a really nice hat such as I should like to wear would cost a great deal, but if I bought the shape and things, I thnik I could make a nice one for thirteen or fourteen francs." "Ah, you think that cheap, hey?" said Riddell, rising from the breakfast-table. "Don't you?" asked May, laughing. "Ah! dear, delightful, thoughtless youth!" ex- claimed her father, with melancholy indulgence, as he drew out his porte-vionnaie. "Let me see, what's here? — five, four, two; there! there are eleven francs fifty, that's all the change I have. Can you manage with that, my sweet financier?" May laughed again, though a disappointed look stole into her eyes. "I suppose 1 must make it do." "My love, with your excellent taste, I am sure MADEMOISELLE PERRET. 97 you will. I shall not lunch at home, dear, I have promised to pay a visit at Ville d'Avray, but shall be back at dinner-time. Good-bye, take care of yourself." And as usual May was left to her own devices. The day passed quickly, however, for, be- sides the delightful task of expending the splendid sum of eleven francs fifty, she accompanied Ma- demoiselle Perret in a wild hunt for apartments on the rez-de-chaiisse'e. Previous to her departure she had given notice to quit, in a fit of ill-temper with the concierge, the house, the proprietaire, every one, but as this was not an unusual occurrence, no steps had been taken to re-let her rooms; she, however, for once stuck to her intentions, and now rather less than a month of her quarter remained to run. She was in a fever to change and begin afresh her career of teaching, under more favourable auspices. She dragged May hither and thither at a tre- mendous pace, and finally found what she considered quite suitable in the Rue C . "Quite a large, handsome room," she exclaimed, "and lofty." "Yes, but the bedroom is dreadfully small, and the kitchen a mere hole," urged May. "No matter, dear child; this fine salon will be free in the evening, so then when night comes and I am all locked up, I can open the door into my sleeping-room; it will be very healthful. You will come very often, will you not? I have an idea. I will impart it to you later — ah, I shall make money yet — you will see." Found Wanting. I. / 98 FOUND WANTING. "My greatest objection is a selfish one," said May. "You will be quite twenty minutes' walk from the Rue de Vielle Cour." "True, cherie, true, but it cannot be helped, and the walk will do you good. You stay too much in- doors, dear child." "I know I do, but I cannot say I like going out alone." "No — no, certainly not!" and, scribbling down the landlord's address. Mademoiselle Perret bid the concierge good-morning and started off at her usual speed. May spent a pleasant evening with Madame Falk, who was tolerably free from work, and gladly lent her aid in composing a very successful hat of black velvet, large and shady, and adorned with lace and a big bow of black ribbon in lieu of the feathers, which were beyond May's means. The next day early brought a little twisted note from Frances Conroy, such as May frequently re- ceived: "Do come and breakfast with us, I have not seen you for three whole days. It is my mo- ther's day, so you and I will take a drive in the Bois — perhaps a walk — and come in for some of the later visitors." "It is fortunate I trimmed my hat last night," thought May, when she had despatched an affirma- tive reply. "I ought to look smart in the Conroys' elegant victoria. Frances is really fond of me, I think; at all events, she is always kind." Mr. Riddell was quite willing that his daughter MADEMOISELLE PERRET. QQ should go to the Conroys'. In truth, he did not miss her much when he dined at home; some of the more satirical reviews, French or English, or the book which at the moment was attracting attention, and a well-filled cigar-case, supplied all he wanted. "What a pretty hat you have!" said Miss Conroy, as the two girls were dressing for their drive. "I do not often notice such things, but it suits you." "Very pleased you like it," and May proceeded to give its history. "Quite wonderful!" ejaculated Miss Conroy, who remained silent till they had driven away. "Do you know, May," she resumed, "I think it is a great pity you do not cultivate your taste for millinery. You might make a fortune with it. When one has no particular taste for art, or music, or literature, you should do the best you can with what taste you have ! " "Thank you," said May, smiling good humour- edly. "But, though I have taste, I fear I lack capital to set up a 'Magasine des Modes.'" "That might be found," said Miss Conroy, gravely; then, after a pause, she resumed to beg May to share the lessons in Russian she was about to take. May declined this offer, saying she did not see the advantage to be gained by the study of a language so little used. "But, May, so few people know Russian!" "Exactly; that is the reason I do not want to spend any time on it." 7* lOO FOUND WANTING. This subject lasted the greatei- part of their drive. Mrs. Conroy's salon was half-full of guests on their return, among them both Ogilvie and Carr, also a very long-haired Russian professor, with whom Frances entered into eager conversation. "You have just missed Madame Falk," said Mrs. Conroy to May. "She came early and had a long talk with Mr. Conroy, who is going away to England to-morrow. I do not think we should have kept him so long with us, if Sir James Harley had not insisted on his resisting the .temptations of hunting for some months. He is quite well now, and eager to make the most of what is left of the season." "I am sorry," returned May. "I always like to see Mr. Conroy." Here Madame Zavadoskoi was announced. May ceded her place beside the hostess, and found that Ogilvie had risen and placed a chair for her. She was pleased to have a chance of speaking to him; though his talk was nothing remarkable, and his manner that of a friendly elder, there was something soothing in the complete, sincere attention he paid to all she said; she felt she could talk to him better than to any one else — except, perhaps, Madame Falk. His first question was respecting Miss Conroy's in- tention to study Russian, and if May intended to join in her friend's lessons, and from this they soon glided into a discussion of study in general. "I have intended calling on Mr. Riddell," said Ogilvie, when a pause occurred, "but have been rather more engaged than usual lately. He was MADEMOISELLE PERRET. lOI good enough to say I might come and look at a little old picture of his, which he is inclined to be- lieve is a genuine Teniers. At what hour am I most likely to find him at home?" "I can hardly say. He is generally out all the afternoon, unless it is very bad weather." "And unfortunately I am chained to the oar, or rather the pen, all the morning. Well, I must take my chance. Should you be at home, may I come in? You could be show-woman, of course." "Yes, pray do," said May, raising her eyes to his with quiet pleasure. "I shall be very pleased to show you the picture. It is, in my opinion, exceed- ingly ugly; but then I know nothing — only what pleases myself" "Then we shall compare notes," said Ogilvie, looking steadily into the pensive, upraised face. "I do not know that I am much more of a judge than yourself, only I have seen a good deal more of painting and of everything else than you have," and he smiled slightly. "I feel I am growing quite an old fellow when I look at you. It is a heavenly sensation to feel young." "I am not sure," said May, thoughtfully, "I seem only to feel the inconveniences of youth, the difficulties of ignorance and inexperience, which are not pleasant." "You are a wonderful young lady to admit doubt or ignorance, and " But his further speech was arrested by a sudden demand on his attention. 102 FOUND WANTING. "Pray come here, Mr. Ogilvie," cried Madame Zavadoskoi, and he obeyed. Soon after, May, whisper- ing a few words of adieu to Frances, escaped, in order to avoid the fuss Mrs. Conroy always made about her walking home alone. Soon after, Madame Zavadoskoi took leave, say- ing, with her graceful imperiousness, to Ogilvie, "I have sent away the carriage, will you escort me home?" "With infinite pleasure, madame." "Adieu, dear Mrs. Conroy; pray let me see you and your daughter on Thursday — adieu, mademoiselle. In a month, at most, I hope to converse with you in my native tongue," and she swept away. "How bright and pleasant it is!" she exclaimed as they gained the street. "'March is going out like a lamb,' that is one of your English sayings, is it not, my dear Ogilvie? You know that, in spite of the international hatred and jealousy between our races, I am very fond of everything English. This, per- haps, is due to the best teacher I ever had — your- self! Why do you never come to see me now, Ogilvie?" "From prudential motives, dear countess. I fear there is no room for outsiders, now that your interest is absorbed in our new Australian friend." The countess laughed merrily. "Poor fellow! He would not stand long in the way if you cared to come. It is a little late to affect jealous airs, my dear Ogilvie." "In truth, I have been greatly occupied,, and MADEMOISELLE PERUET. IO3 seriously did not like to intrude, not caring to be in the way." "Ah, well, I do not deny that Carr amuses me, but he would be the most intolerable lover. He is so desperately in earnest; he would have the woman he loved ruin herself for him, give up everything and every one for him, never reflecting that the day might come, and probably would come, when she would be a millstone round his neck, doubly weighted with chains enough to sink Venus herself down through her natal foam into the blue depths below! Why is it that you, man of the world, safe and satisfactory as you are, never have the charm of these half- tamed young barbarians whom one must hold at arm's length?" "The reason is not far to seek. There is always a certain fascination in danger." "Perhaps so. Do you know, my dear Ogilvie, I am growing quite a saint. I am looking forward with such joy to the coming of my dear boy Serge, that I don't seem to want any of the old excitements. Do you remember our delightful days, when we took that charming expedition to the Crimea? Serge was such a delicious imp of mischief then, and he is so like me! he is not a bit like the count." "Tant mieux for him," said Ogilvie. "Tell me, what are you doing now? I don't hear much about you. You never cared to make a noise." "No; I have been a very respectable, industrious member of society," said Ogilvie. 104 FOUND WANTING. "Ah, and ready to break every one of its laws, if the breakage suited you." "My dear countess, I admit no such thing." "Who is that friend of the Conroys, Miss Riddell, — I rather hke her looks." "I really can tell you nothing of the Riddells, father or daughter." "She has an interesting face; but I am not going to ask her much to my house, the men would all make love to her. Foreigners care a great deal more for charm than flesh and blood beauty, but not one among them would marry her. If her father would only find her a husband, she might make a remarkable career." "Very likely; she has at least the charm of un- consciousness," said Ogilvie. "She has a good many more," returned the countess, sharply, "besides infinite possibilities." "You think so?" cautiously. "I do; and I suspect so do you, Ogilvie. I know you are delicately epicurean in your taste some- times." "You are sphynx in sable," said Ogilvie, laugh- ing. "Pray do you believe in the honesty and virtue of any man or woman?" "Yes, I do; certainly I have met one or two really good women, who generally found their good- ness their sole reward, but I am not so sure about the men. Just look at Madame Falk. I was a little girl when her tragedy happened, but I have heard it all from Miss Barton, out of whom I could get any- MADEMOISELLE PERRET. IO5 thing. Madame Falk's husband absokitely went off his head with causeless jealousy, kidnapped their only child, and set sail for the States; she was ill at the time, and when she came to her full reason found herself a childless widow, for the ship foundered at sea, and only one boat-load of passengers was saved, the other sunk. She has lived on only to work; she said she was too strong to die — too proud to live on others! What a world it would be, Ogilvie, if the majority of women were like this one! It would be a paradise of morality, but hideously dull, and I'm sure I don't know how the men would get on!" "It would be an infinitely more charming world were it peopled with Countesses Zavadoskoi." "My dear Ogilvie, it would go to pieces! Such, I regret to say, is my conviction. Now, do come in and have a cup of really good Russian tea. I never touch any out of my own house." I06 FOUND WANTING. CHAPTER VI. A MORNING CALL. One of the very few acquaintances to whom Mr. Conroy ever paid a morning visit was his relative, Madame Falk. They were as unhke by nature and training as two people could well be. Neither had a single taste or enjoyment in common, yet they heartily liked and respected each other; moreover, there was a time when they, for a brief period, sym- pathised with each other. In his early days Conroy, or, as he was then, Herbert, — a warm-hearted and somewhat simple country gentleman, — was afflicted with a high posi- tion among the landed gentry of his county, and a terrible lack of filthy lucre to keep it up. In this unpleasant position he fell honestly, desperately in love with a wealthy heiress, who was surrounded by eager suitors. His natural shyness, his consciousness of his terribly involved position, held him back; and in his restless unhappiness he wandered abroad. Pausing at Paris, he renewed his acquaintance with his cousin, to whom, in her character of a humble relative, he had been carelessly kind in the days when she paid periodical visits to his mother. Madame Falk, then young and fairly happy with her German- A MORNING CALL. IO7 artist husband, received him with frank hospitaUty that drew him to her, and he soon found rehef in opening his heart and taking counsel with her. This led to frequent intercourse, which displeased the Teutonic husband. His weak point was jealousy. He was a silent man, given to brooding over any real or fancied wrong. His wife, who was candid and outspoken to a fault, and, moreover, in those early days much less observant than she became afterwards, did not realise the mischief that was brewing, and was far too honest and single-minded to suspect suspicion. Her urgent advice to Herbert was to risk all on a throw, to avow his love to the young heiress, and take his chance. "You are not so poor as you fancy," she said. "If the father clears your estate, it will be purchasing both position and a good in- come for his daughter very cheaply. As to the young lady, she may be very fond of you for all you know. Go! go as fast as you can; don't stop to think. Ask her to marry you. How can you know whether she likes you or not till you do?" And Herbert followed her advice. Madame Falk was feeling unwell at the time she despatched her cousin to try his luck, and oppressed wlh a dim sense of coming evil — often the accompaniment of gathering illness; moreover, she had become alive to her husband's silent moodiness. His fits of furious impatience — which were quite unusual — greatly dis- tressed her. More than once she begged him to say what it was that distressed him. At last the I08 FOUND WANTING, Storm broke, and the furious man burst forth with reproaches and invectives which stupefied and ap- palled her. As to explanation or self-defence, he would listen to nothing, and rushed away in a state of semi-madness. This scene brought the disease which had attacked her to a climax, and before morning she was in a high fever. Her cousin, Miss Barton, was then in Paris with a Russian family, whom she left to nurse the un- happy young wife. Youth and a fine constitution were cruel enough to bring her back to life, to be, to do, and to suffer. Under the pretext of preserving his five-year-old son from infection, Falk had removed the child and did not return, but he left a letter which again re- duced his wife to the brink of the grave. In it he told her that the thought of what she had been to him, of what she zuaSj, dwelt too strongly in his mind to permit him to expose her to public scorn — that he would leave her to her conscience, and try to find some relief in endeavouring to begin again in the New World. But as she was unworthy to enjoy the presence of their son, he would take the child with him. It was some time before the unfortunate young woman was able to read this terrible letter, and when she did it was an additional agony to know that her husband and child must have been several days at sea. Miss Barton, at her wit's end, wi'Ote to Herbert, who responded loyally to the summons, and left A MORNING CALL. lOQ nothing untried to find the fugitive husband. It was not difficult to track him. At Havre his description was recognised at the office of one of the American steamers on which he had taken his passage with his boy. Here was a gleam of light, soon to be ex- tinguished. A couple of weeks later came the news that the vessel had been caught in a fierce gale and foundered. Later came the names of the few saved and accounts of how one boat-load had escaped the perils of the deep, but had witnessed the total loss of the other. And Esther Falk found herself by one blow a childless widow. How cruel it seemed to her that she could not die! Slowly she returned to life, and with life came the necessity to work. She could not be a de- pendent. She must be self-supporting, so she came slowly back from the jaws of hell! What words could paint the agony of the struggle — the cowering of the stricken heart over the ashes of its past happi- ness. Her sorrow was far too bitter, too intense to be indulged. If she were to live, to keep out of a mad-house — to escape the degradation of existing on charity — she must trample it down — she must be up and doing. Herbert stuck to her faithfully. He brought his young wife to see and sympathise with her, for he had acted on Esther's counsel. It was long before he knew the object of Falk's furious jealousy — not till Miss Barton revealed that it was himself. For a while Madame Falk tried to live in Lon- don; but her heart drew her to Paris — the scene of no FOUND WANTING. her happiest days. Her own and her late husband's companions were kind and helpful. She found a chance for contributing to a ladies' paper, others followed, occupation did its usual healing work, and after a while her cousin, who had returned to her favourite pupil in Russia, came to join her, so the little home in the Rue de Vielle Cour was instituted. The past was growing more and more dream- like, and the constant pressure of busy days restored the tone to Esther's mind, so that few thought or knew how the bright, active, energetic woman, always ready to help any one who wanted help, always full of the interests, the plans of others, had gone through the valley of the shadow of death, and emerged a different creature from the woman who went down into it. Meantime, while we note these incidents of a most unfortunate life, Mr. Conroy is talking con- fidentially, sometimes walking to and fro, sometimes putting a picture straight, sometimes sitting down in a large velvet arm-chair which was literally the piece de resistance of Madame -Falk's salon. "Yes, Esther, as I was saying, I really wish Frances were a little more like other girls! She is so desperately fond of learning though, you know; she's as good and high-minded and all that sort of thing as ever she can be, but you don't know the crotchets she has about her school at home, about the things the girls are to learn, — quite out-of-the- way things! And then their dress, — ^you never saw such guys! I'd like her to ride with me to hounds. A MORNING CALL. Ill she can do it if she Hkes, it's rather lonely for me, I wish she were more like her mother." "Never mind," returned Madame Falk. "Be satisfied with the goods you have, and be thankful she has no whim for disreputable, fascinating scamps. Just think all she might inflict upon you if she chose to marry the wrong man! She is of age, isn't she?" "Rising twenty-three, by gad! Oh, I am never afraid of her doing anything of that kind, and I am glad she has taken such a fancy to your young friend; she is a nice, lady-like, quiet girl; suppose you come over for a month, both of you, to the Chase this summer, say in June? It's really a nice place, — you'd pick up wonderfully there." "I have no doubt of it, but I do not see how I am to leave my work; and as to May Riddell, there are many obstacles." "Obstacles, stuff! What obstacles?" "There's her father." "Ah, well, I don't want him! He is a dilletante, fidgety sort of a fellow, not a bit my sort; more in my daughter's line! They are great chums, and ad- mire each other mutually. However, let him come, — we'll exchange daughters pro tern. Shall we ask 'em both?" "Oh, you can do what you like, but I don't fancy they can go." "Why not, pray?" "Well, my dear squire, some purses are more shallow than others." I I 2 FOUND WANTING. "Come now, Esther, the man isn't a pauper! He belongs to that club in the Boulevard des Capucines where most of the writing fellows go; he dresses and dines like a gentleman; why, the journey costs a mere trifle !" "True! well, it is his affair, you can ask him. I am sure I should be delighted if May could have such a treat. She has such a dull life of it, but the cost of the journey is not the only thing." "Ha! isn't it? Well, anyhow, we will ask them. You have got your little place very nice and snug, Esther!" sitting down and looking round; "you are really a wonderful woman!" • "Do you know I sometimes think I am," she returned, with a slight smile and a quick, deep sigh. "I have had an offer from two fresh papers for articles, — weekly articles, — and on rather a higher class of subject, — I am so sick of dress and fashion!" "Gad, it's extraordinary to think of your making a living out of such trash!" interrupted the squire, irreverently. "And now I want to begin to save against the time when no man, nor woman either, can work," added Madame Falk. "Well, I must be going! I am looking forward like a boy, by Jove, to a run with the old Blank- shire hounds once more! The older I grow the less I like Paris. It's very well for women and lovers of pleasure and art and all that, but I like something more robust. Do you know, Esther, I have come to the conclusion that in spite of all prate about the A MORNING CALL. II3 elevating influence of art, it ain't elevating a bit! Most of the artists, either in music or painting, I have known or heard of are a deuced self-indulgent, immoral, untidy lot! And the people who spend their lives and cash criticismg and buying up pictures aren't much better. I am glad the English get their art chiefly second hand." "The sentiments ■ of an utter barbarian," cried Madame Falk, laughing. "I dare say I am, but I hope not a bad sort. Good-bye for the present. I wish you would manage to come over and stay with us; I know my wife would be delighted. Gad! Esther, there are few of your artist friends have half your grit; you and my wife are the two best women I have ever come across, and if you are ever in a hole I'll prove that these are no idle words." "Thank you. I thoroughly believe you, but friends and finances should always be kept well apart," she replied, shaking hands cordially with him, and little thinking that he had, with Sarah Bar- ton's connivance, largely assisted in smoothing the first difficult steps in her present career. Nor was she aware he knew that he was most innocently the source of her terrible troubles. "God bless you! — good-bye, for a few months at all events!" Madame Falk went herself to let him out, and, returning, stood for few minutes looking into the fire. "He is a good fellow — rarely good!" she said to herself. "He wants to overwhelm me with gifts, but Found Wanting. I, 8 I 1 4 FOUND WANTING. that can never be — ah, it does not do to think! Four o'clock! — almost too late to do any good at the Louvre on a remnant day, but I will try!" She took out her purse and counted the contents care- fully, then putting on her out-door garments with a celerity few women could equal she sallied forth. At the door of the entresol she almost paused, then hastened on, saying to herself, "No, there is no time to wait for her, and she hasn't any money," so passed out into the street. Certainly May had no money, and if she had would not have wished to be taken out shopping; she was indeed much more agreeably and, as she believed, profitably occupied. It had been a busy morning with her. Mr. Riddell had gone out for the day soon after breakfast, or rather luncheon. For the last week — since he had met the caterer for press articles — he had written for a great part of the morning. This entailed some discomfort on May, as he was one of those troublesome, "high strung" individuals who could not bear the slightest disturb- ance or interruption once he took his pen in his hand; he went further still, and could not support the presence of any person in the room when he was writing. May was therefore banished to the little fireless salon or her own equally fireless chamber, and reduced to occasional excursions to the tiny kitchen to get what is familiarly termed "a warm," for the weather was still cold. This morning, how- ever, she was in possession of the premises, and set Leontine to clean the dining-room thoroughly, reserving A MORNING CALL. 1 I 5 the task of dusting, arranging, and beautifying, with some flowers Mrs. Conroy had sent, for herself. She feh more light-hearted than usual , — the last few w-eeks had somehow put her in better humour with herself, — not that a sense of being " nothing and no one" irritated her, it only gave her a feeling of de- pressed quiet. To-day she went briskly about her work, her thoughts a good deal occupied with the question, "If my father makes some money by his writing, I w^onder if he will let me go to Audeley Chase! How delicious it would be to be in the real country — the real country! I almost forget what the country is like. I wonder Frances is not fonder of the country! There!" — -stepping back to see the effect of a bowl filled with jonquils and delicate ferns which she had just placed on the dining-table, having already arranged some narcissus on the mantelpiece, — "how nice and sweet they make the room! I do not feel fit to sit down in it in my old dress and apron." She took her plmneau and well-used duster to Leontine, untied the handkerchief which defended her hair, and went to make her toilette. "That dress looks quite well still," she thought, surveying Mrs. Conroy's gift in the glass; "then it was so well made — originally." A few more touches to her softly-waved hair, and she felt fit to sit down in company with the fresh flowers. "It is a pleasant sort of day," said May to her- self; "I will ask Madame Falk to let me go out with her; but it is too early yet." 8* 1 I 6 FOUND WANTING. She put out her writing things, and apphed her- self to translate a new and flaming circular which Mademoiselle Perret had composed, and which she begged May to turn into English for the benefit of her transatlantic and British clients. She worked on diligently till past three o'clock, and then laid down her pen, thinking she might now put on her hat and go to Madame Falk, when the door-bell jangled noisily, and almost immediately Leontine, still in her blue apron and a handkerchief round her head, came in, a little annoyed at being disturbed from her task of scouring the saucepans. "He asks for monsieur. Will you see the gentle- man, mademoiselle?" handing her a card. "Piers Ogilvie!" She read it aloud in her great surprise. "Oh, yes, of course." And almost before the words had ceased to sound, Ogilvie was across the threshold and bowing over the hand she gave him. "If this is an intrusion you must forgive it, Miss Riddell; but as your father is out " "It is no intrusion," she said, with a brighter smile than Ogilvie had ever seen in her eyes before. "I am very pleased to see you. I am sorry papa is not at home, and I scarcely know when he may return." "Probably you can show me the picture I wanted to see, and we can discuss it; then when we next meet I can tell Mr. Riddell the result of my ob- servations." "Oh, yes, certainly; here it is." She took down from the corner where it hung a small, grubby A MORNING CALL. I I 7 picture of a pool, some ducks, the corner of a brick house, under the projecting roof of which two or three misshapen boors sat drinking. "You will see it better here," resting it on the table in a better light. She supported it with her hand. Ogilvie inspected it with an air of the deepest attention. "I am afraid j" he said at length, "I cannot en- courage Mr. Riddell's belief that it is a Teniers. I don't think that artist could have drawn so badly even if he tried; still, I do not pretend to be an expert." "It is very ugly," said May, reflectively; and she hung it up again. "But I am quite uncultivated; there are many pictures and pieces of music which are greatly admired by connoisseurs, yet seem un- pleasant to me. I suppose I have never been educated up to ugliness." She returned to her seat as she spoke. Ogilvie hesitated. "I have interrupted your letter-writing," he said. "No, indeed; I am not writing letters. I never do, except when Frances Conroy is away." "What a destitute condition for a young lady, — to have no correspondents!" "I am so fortunate as to have my friends near me. Are young ladies supposed to be so very fond of letter-writing?" "Well, I am told so," resuming his seat. "Person- ally, I know nothing about such an exalted subject." "Had you no sisters, Mr. Ogilvie?" I I 8 FOUND WANTING. "Yes, two, a great deal older than myself, who married when I was a mere boy. What a pleasant room!" looking round — "pretty and home-like." "That is chiefly owing to the sweet flowers Mrs. Conroy sent me this morning; without them, and without some care, it becomes a very common kind of room." Their talk flowed naturally from this to beauty in art, and literature, and other kindred topics. How well Ogilvie talked! he seemed to have gone everywhere and seen everything; moreover, to have mentally digested all. The astonishing thing was that these fast acquire- ments did not frighten May, nor strike her dumb; rather did his observations seem to unlock the treasure-house of her own thoughts and give her power to speak them. It was a delightful half-hour, and before it was at an end Ogilvie knew all about her mental life — the books she had read, and those she liked best, the very restricted education she had received, and the tinge of melancholy — rather the absence of hopefulness — which gave a certain soft indolence to her manner. "I am trespassing far too long upon your time," said Ogilvie at last, though without making any at- tempt to move. "But I have nothing to do! Must you go away?" she asked, with frank regret. "It is so pleasant to talk as we are talking. I seldom care to speak, though you may not believe me," and she laughed — a low, refined laugh. "I know you do not! I noticed your extreme A MORNING CALL. I I Q quiet long ago; that is, some months ago, when I first met you with the Conroys. Do you choose to be silent? — for you can talk." "I do not know; I do not think people care to talk to me. You see, I am generally with those who are much cleverer than I am. Yes, I think I rather like being silent and watcliing." "Watching what, Miss Riddell?" "Those I meet; their expression, their way of speaking, the opinions they utter. It interests me very much to build up theories about them." "Indeed!" ejaculated Ogilvie, surprised, and gazing at her more intently than she was aware. "Yes," resumed May, dreamily. "There is Madame Zavadoskoi; she is an old friend of yours?" "I have known her some years." "I admire her greatly; she is so graceful and charming; her manners, too, are delightful. I like to watch her; she is kind, too — really kind, but I fancy she would trample down everything and every one that came between her and her pleasure or her fancies; she seems to be a law to herself, and to think that the ordinary law is for weaker and lower creatures than herself. But I am speaking too much and too freely," exclaimed May, her colour rising slowly. "Certainly not too much, nor too freely! I hope you feel safe with me." "I do," she said, looking straight into his eyes, as if measuring his honesty. "After all, this is mere fancy. You see I am a good deal alone, and one must think." I20 FOUND WANTING. "Thank heaven, you can think!" returned Ogilvie, smiHng a quick, bright smile. "It is a very absorbing and sometimes bewildering occupation. You must let me send you one or two books which may interest you, as you say you have not too large a supply." He rose as he spoke. "I am — well, I cannot honestly say very sorry to have missed Mr. Riddell. Had he been here you would not probably have broken the cold chain of silence, and I should not have had the chance of — may I say — making friends with you." "You are very good to say so, Mr. Ogilvie." "I shall try to find your father another day; at all events I may have the pleasure of finding you!" "Yes, pray come!" cried May, impulsively; "that is," laughing at her own eagerness, "if you have time; I know you are very busy, always." "I have a holiday now and then. I shall not forget the books, and you must soften down my judgment against the Teniers." "You may be sure I will; good-morning." She gave him her hand with the easy natural grace which he had always noticed and justly attributed to her freedom from self-consciousness. "That girl is rather a revelation," said Ogilvie to himself as he walked towards the Boulevards; "she is both receptive and perceptive, exactly the kind of intelligence to make a delightful, restful companion, able to appreciate one's ideas, and not given to worry about her own. Curious, her motives respect- ing the Zavadoskoi. Instinct, of course; no girl of her age could observe and generalise — what thought- A MORNING CALL. 121 ful, steady eyes she has ! If she had a higher colour and touzled tawny hair, men would say she was handsome. Vulgarity still rules; I doubt if it is lessened, with all our progress. If I were a wise man I should never enter those doors again! — but it does not seem to me I am going to be wise!" May returned to her translation, feeling as if new wine had been poured into her veins. Her work went on apace; she seemed to find equivalents for the words as if by magic, though she frequently paused to think of Ogilvie's expressions, — of the new light he threw on one or two topics, of the strange effect he produced on her own mind. Like a fresh turn of the kaleidescope, by which the disjointed fragments of thought fell into an harmonious pattern, he seemed to clear away the mist of uncertainty which floated in her mind, and marshal its forces. Not a very wonderful effect, considering that Piers Ogilvie had been roaming the world of men and books with a keen pair of eyes very wdde open for fifteen or sixteen years before his new friend had reached womanhood. Then came the comforting reflection : "He w^ould not have stayed so long if I were dull or tiresome. He is not what could be exactly called a good-natured man. I do not think he would bore himself; I must be a little worth talking to. How I hope he will come again! but my father will be dreadfully vexed if that picture is not really a Teniers " Here the door was opened with a thrust, and 122 FOUND WANTING. L^ontine entered, her black eyes dancing with ex- citement. "Dieu, mademoiselle!" she cried, "that poor lady, Madame Falk, has had a terrible fall; half her limbs are broken, and she is bruised from head to foot! She has just now been carried up-stairs, the con- cierge says, by a tall young English gentleman. Her moans were enough to break your heart! Adrienne has just run away to fetch Doctor Lebeau." "What a misfortune!" cried May, hastily put- ting her writing things aside. "I must go and see if I can be of any use. I am afraid Miss Barton is out." Another minute found her breathless at Madame Falk's door. It was opened, to her great surprise, by Carr, who exclaimed, unceremoniously, — "I am thankful you have come; Madame Falk is badly hurt." "Yes, I know," said May, passing him quickly; and, entering the salon, she found her friend looking very white and sitting by the table, her arm sup- ported by a lace scarf converted into a sling; her cloak had been removed, but she still wore her bonnet. "Oh! dear Madame Falk, I am sure you are suffering horribly! How did it happen? Let me take off your bonnet." " Get me a little water. May," whispered Madame Falk. "I feel faint. Mr. 'Carr will tell you. What shall I do, dear? I have hurt my right wrist, and I have such a heap of work to get through." A MORNING CALL. I 23 May flew to fetch the water, and, returning, said, — "You must let me be your right hand, though I fear an imperfect one," and she passed her arm under her friend's head, who leant against her. "I will be in the next room; call if you want me," said Carr, and a few interminable moments passed before the doctor arrived. Then came the task of undressing the patient and getting her to bed, as the doctor declared that repose was necessary after the shock she had sus- tained. By that time Miss Barton returned in a great state of alarm, and May soon found herself outside the sufferer's door, and peremptorily ordered "to wait." 124 FOUND WANTING. CHAPTER VII. THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. "How did it happen?" asked May, finding her- self alone with Carr in the salon, and feeling quite at home with him, their common interest in Madame Falk having removed all sense of strangeness from both. "Madame Falk was going to cross at the Made- leine, — you know how crowded it is there,— when a man pushed past, jostling her roughly. She was on the edge of the kerb, and, putting out her foot to support herself, it slipped over, she fell on her side, her right hand doubled in some way under her. I was coming up from the Rue Royale at that mo- ment, and saw her fall. I ran to help, of course, and got her into a fiacre and home as fast as I could. She was a good deal stunned, but she has first-rate pluck, and walked up all these stairs without any assistance. She is looking awfully bad now." "Yes, I fear she is in great pain; when they told me she had been hurt, I was so frightened, for Leon- tine said you had carried her to her apartment, and that she moaned all the way." Carr smiled. "That would have been rather a feat," he said; THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. I 25 "so much for imagination. I suppose the old chap in spectacles is a good doctor; he'll manage the wrist all right?" "Yes, he is clever, I believe, — at all events, he is an old acquaintance of Madame Falk's, and she thoroughly believes in him." "Ah! well, then he may make a faith-cure," re- turned Cam "Does the lady who has just come in live here?" "She does." "That's well. It's a bad business for a woman to live alone." "Worse than for a man?" asked May, with a smile. There was something attractive to her in his frank, unconventional manner. He seemed younger than his looks. "Yes; a man only wants a place to eat and sleep in, or, if it's very bad weather, to read in; but a woman cannot always be up and about." "It seems to me a man wants to be taken care of, Mr. Carr. He must be cooked for, and mended, and brushed, and generally provided." Carr laughed, a genial laugh that showed his white regular teeth pleasantly. "I have been accustomed to do all that for my- self, not so badly, either, I can tell you. But of course, when a fellow grows old, it must be uncom- monly nice to have a daughter to take care of one. As to Madame Falk, I don't think it would be right for her to have no one to look after her but a ser- 126 FOUND WANTING. vanl. By the way, can't I do anything, or go for something? — pray make use of me." "Thank you! thank you very much," she re- turned, looking kindly and gratefully at him. "If you wait for a few minutes, I will ask Miss Barton. You may be sure I will come every day and help. I live in the entresol, and I think I can be of some use to Madame Falk as her secretary. The worst of this accident is that it will prevent her writing for some time." "Does she write books?" asked Carr, in a slightly awed tone. "No, I wish she did! She writes for the Eng- lish, American, and Australian papers." "Australian papers, which?" "I only remember the name of one. The Mel- bourne Argus." "I used always to read it. What does she write about?" "Oh, dress, and art, and gossip; and a couple of years ago she sent letters about the Exhibi- tion." "Did she?" cried Carr. "I remember them, they were first-rate." He was quite interested, even ex- cited. "It is an awful pity her hand should be dis- abled." "I shall do my best to help her," said May. "Yes, do! That is — I am talking very freely to you, but you see we are both in earnest." "Exactly," returned May, with a little approving nod. Here the door leading into Madame Falk's THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. I 27 room opened gently and Miss Barton, with a very stern expression of countenance, appeared. "I don't see how my patient is to get any rest if you talk so much and so loudly," she said; "per- fect quiet is absolutely necessary. I want her to get some sleep, for she is tormenting herself into a fever about her work. If she could only forget it for a few hours " "You know, Miss Barton, 1 shall be but too glad to write for her every day and all day," cried May, eagerly, "You!" returned Miss Barton, uncompromisingly; "well, I am not sure your hand would do." "It may not be lovely, but it is tolerably dis- tinct," said May, modestly. "It looks as if you wrote with the kitchen poker," said Miss Barton. "At all events, it will be a great help to Madame Falk to have a willing secretary close at hand," ob- served Carr, with some warmth, for he felt vexed at this gratuitous rudeness to so gentle and unoffending a creature as May. "Oh, yes, Miss Riddell is willing enough; and. May, Madame Falk says, would you copy the sheets that are lying on her table? They are about the new piece at the Vaudeville. They must go off to- night, so there is no time to be lost." "Very well. Miss Barton, I will run down and bring my kitchen poker, for I cannot w-rite with any of your pens." She smiled as she said it, and left the room. 128 POUND WANTING. "I was just saying," observed Carr, who felt in- clined to seek ignominious safety in flight, "that if I can do anything or fetch you anything " "Fetch anything?" repeated Miss Barton, laying her finger on her lip in thought, while her countenance relaxed considerably. "Why, yes, if you would be so good; I can hardly send the servant. Perhaps you would not mind calling at the fruiterer's, there at the corner, and tell him to send in two pounds of his best grapes and half a dozen oranges. Then at Favart's, in the Rue St. Honore, a large poultry-shop, tell them to send a nice pheasant or anything else suited to an invalid. Stay! I will go for my purse," and she turned away. "Pray do not trouble, it is no matter; we can settle everything when I call to-morrow to enquire for madame," cried Carr; "and is there anything else?" "Let me see; you may as well get a saucisson de Milan and a piece of Roquefort cheese." "Certainly; I'll lose no time. My best wishes to Madame Falk. I hope to find her much better to- morrow;" and he made his escape. Half-way down he met May ascending. "Does that rather terrific dame often cut up so rough?" he asked, sympathetically. "No, not very often," she returned, laughing. "Any way, she has given me a lot of commis- sions; I am hurrying to do them before they go out of my head. Let me see, — grapes, pheasant or game of some kind, saucisson de Milan, Roquefort." THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. 1 2Q "Why, Mr. Carr, all these will cost a fortune!" interrupted May, quite amazed. "Not quite," smiling good-humouredly. "I could cater better in the bush with my gun than in these puzzling shops, but I will do my best; good-bye for the present." And he ran down the remaining stair- way at a rapid pace. "Really, Miss Barton is casting her usual economy to the winds!" thought May. "But, no doubt, dear Madame Falk's appetite must be tempted." She went into the little study and settled to her copying without loss of time, but she was not left long without interruption. Soon Miss Barton put in her head. "She is calling for you, May," she said; "I wish you would try and pacify her about this everlasting work, for she is decidedly feverish." Madame Falk was sitting up in bed when May went in. "My dear child," she cried, "did you not say you would write for me?" "Yes, certainly; I shall be proud to do so." "It will be rather slow work, but you will manage. You and I always understand each other. May. What are you doing now?" "I am copying your article on that new piece." "Yes, yes; quite right! Could you come up to- morrow morning about eight? for, of course, dictating cannot go as fast as one's own writing, but you will do it better than any one else. I am so anxious not to lose way; I am at last beginning to save a little; Found ^Vantiug, I. 9 130 FOUND WANTING, I want to have a little something laid by before the days come when I cannot run about and work. It would be such utter defeat to end my days a pauper, after the fight I have fought. Generally, I never let myself think of the possibility of defeat, or of being disabled; but this accident, — for the mo- ment it shows me the thin ice I tread on, what a slight plank there is between me and the cruel, cold waters that compass me on every side. What would become of me, May, without work? Not only be- cause it brings me daily bread, but because it stifles thought and shrouds one's memory." "Dear Madame Falk, your splendid nerves are shaken," cried May, infinitely touched by this glimpse of weakness in a woman whose strength and buoy- ancy she had always envied. "Try to sleep; to- morrow you will be yourself and feel, what is the truth, that you have many years of successful work before you. Lie down, dear, I will cover you up. Shall I bring in my writing and do it here? then you can ask for whatever you want and I shall be at hand." "Yes, do!" cried Madame Falk, eagerly, "and I will try to sleep. I feel very tired and my head aches terribly; I am afraid it will be a long time be- fore I can write again." "Only long enough to enable me to become an accomplished amanuensis," returned May, as she left the room to seek her writing. "Where are you going with those things?" cried Miss Barton, in a displeasing tone, as May passed THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. 13I through the dining-room, where that lady was placing a splendid bunch of grapes on a dish. "To write in Esther's room!" she repeated, in a sort of sup- pressed scream, when May had told her. "I never heard of anything so crazy. Why, the doctor said she was to be kept perfectly quiet, and you are going to fidget her with writing by her bedside." "But, Miss Barton, she wishes me to do so, and I think it will soothe her to see that I am at work." "Wishes it! Fiddle-de-dee! She does not know what is good for her." "Well, Miss Barton, I fancy it is wiser not to contradict her just now% If she is not asleep in half an hour, I will come away. I assure you she seemed quite pleased at the idea of my writing beside her." "Oh, very well, if she prefers the advice of a chit like you," returned Miss Barton, with a sniff; "but mind, if she is in a high fever to-morrow, it is not my fault." This awful warning made poor May hesitate for half a second, then she went on, and quietly estab- lished herself by Madame Falk's bedside. Soon she had the pleasure of seeing a more satisfied look steal over her friend's face. By and bye she asked, in a drowsy tone, "What are you doing. May? you have not finished?" "Oh, no! I have three more pages to do. I am counting the words." "Ah! yes, quite right. How many go to a page of your writing?" "Two hundred and twenty, I think." 132 FOUND WANTING. "I have two hundred and fifty, but that does not matter. The words, not the pages, count. Go on, my dear." The minutes sHpped past; from time to time May looked up and saw to her joy that Madame Falk slept peacefully. The beginning of all things is difficult, and May had to rewrite a couple of pages, but her task was finally accomplished in time for post, and she crept noiselessly out of the room to Miss Barton's, where that lady sat, spectacles on nose, making entries in a small account-book, with a severe aspect. "I have finished now, Miss Barton," said May. "Had I not better go to the post? you will want Adrienne. Madame Falk is fast asleep." "I am thankful to hear it, and I hope you have done that copying correctly?" "I think so. Miss Barton; I have compared every page carefully, which kept me a little longer. Can I do anything for you while I am out?" "No, thank you; Mr. Carr has sent in all I wanted. He is really very kind and thoughtful." "Yes; I am afraid these nice things suitable for an invalid are very costly." "I dare say they are!" said Miss Barton. "But he has heaps of money, and / am not going to in- sult him by offering to pay for them." May laughed. "But don't you think Madame Falk would be greatly annoyed if she knew?" "She is not going to know!" interrupted Miss Barton, aulhoritalively, "unless you turn traitor. I THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. I 33 am housekeeper; all my poor dear Esther has to do is to find the money. She believes in me, and thinks I am quite clever enough to get thirty shillings' worth out of a sovereign. All I hope is that young Carr will see it is his duty to send some more dainties without being asked for them; mind you say nothing to Esther." "I certainly will not; but " "Never mind buts! Here — here is a nice little bunch for yourself; good, ain't they?" "Bribery and corruption, Miss Barton," said May, laughing, and taking one or two of the grapes. "Stuff and nonsense! Take care you do not miss the post — and you have to get your hat and cloak yet! Will you look in when you come back?" "Yes, of course; but I must first see if papa is at home, and will stay to dinner." "Ah, just so! Men only live to eat." "I am afraid no one would like to do without dinner," returned May, as she left the room. "Obstinate as a mule," muttered Miss Barton, looking after her. Miss Barton could not bear con- tradiction, unless, indeed, from her adored Esther. When May returned from the post she found her father fuming in the salle-a-manger. "Well, well!" he exclaimed, "what's all this chatter about a gentle- man calling, and a dreadful accident to Madame Falk? Here I am left to an ignorant servant, and in total ignorance of what is going on in my own household." "Yes," said May, who had ceased to be frightened 134 FOUND WANTING. by her father's tornadoes hi a tea-cup; "poor dear Madame Falk had a nasty fall, and has sprained her wrist badly; fortunately Mr, Carr happened to come up at the right time, and took care of her. I have promised to be her amanuensis. It will be a very useful experience for me, and I shall be so glad to be of any use to her." "Great powers!" exclaimed Mr. Riddell, pee- vishly, "how you run on! you have no business to promise anything without consulting me; so " "But, papa, you would not object to my doing anything I could for Madame Falk!" interrupted May, opening her large eyes. "Will you have the goodness to leave this ab- sorbing subject for a moment," said Mr. Riddell, with alarming politeness, "and tell me who was your visitor this afternoon; you know you must not receive any and every man." "I suppose not, but you will not object to this one," said May, with a confident smile. "It was Mr. Ogilvie who called." "Eh! Ah! no, certainly, I should not object to him," said Mr. Riddell, blandly. "I suppose he wanted to see me, eh?" "He did. Then he asked to see tne. He wanted to see the picture, — the Teniers, you know, — so I showed it to him." "Ah! and what did he think of it? I hope you took it down?" THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. I 35 "Oh, yes! I don't fancy he thought it genuine." "Pray why should you fancy anything of the kind? whatever he really thinks he will tell me." "Yes, he wants to see you; he asked when you would be at home." "When was he here?" "It must have been three o'clock when he came; at all events, he had gone quite a short time when Leontine came in to tell me of Madame Falk's ac- cident." "What! did he wait all that time for me? He must have been bored! What did he do with him- self?" "He talked to me," said May, with some dignity; "and how well he talks! He seems to know every- thing." "Yes, he is just the sort of fellow I was accus- tomed to formerly, so you may imagine if 'evenings at home' are very amusing to me!" "No; of course it is dull for you. If you do not want me, papa, I will go up to Madame Falk." "I cannot say I want you exactly," he inter- rupted, "but I hope you will not neglect your home duties for the excitement of attending to a compara- tive stranger." "You cannot consider Madame Falk a stranger," cried May. "For the last four years she has been my kindest, best friend." "True; she is essentially good-natured. And you are right to attend to her; nothing incurs such odium as visible ingratitude. There is just a liille rugged- 136 FOUND WANTING. ness in the dear woman which I cannot stand, but no doubt it escapes your notice." "Yes, it does quite," said May, somewhat shortly. "You will probably be asked to share Miss Barton's evening meal," continued Mr. Riddell, "I shall tell Leontine, for I have asked Peters to dine with me at the Maison d'Or. One must be civil to these press fellows, and he has made very flattering overtures to me. I might resume my neglected pen with results which would enable me to give you greater indulgences than my miserably cramped means have hitherto permitted." "Oh! do not trouble about me, papa. I have everything I want." "But not all / want for you, my love," returned her father, patting her cheek. "Go, then, dear; I shall make all arrangements with Leontine, as there need be no dinner served here to-day." A couple of days saw Madame Falk herself again, except for the use of her right hand. Her temporary depression had apparently vanished, and she was as energetic as ever. Exceedingly adapt- able by nature, she was getting quite accustomed to dictate. During this time she had many visitors, as it was understood that, though she was disabled, there was no need to avoid trespassing on her time. Mrs. Conroy was constant in her kind attention, and Carr, at first, called every day. THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. I 37 Madame Zavadoskoi too, broke in upon them occasionally, and greatly enlivened the rapidly re- covering patient, to whom she imparted much gossip of a kind available for press purposes. Miss Barton listened to and watched all she said and did with open-mouthed admiration, but May was both attracted and repelled by her. There was, she fancied, a sub-flavour of contemptuous patronage in her pleasantly expressed sympathy, her readiness to oblige, that perhaps only the acute perception of some subtle natural antagonism could have revealed. Still, it was a pleasant time, and brought a de- gree of life and movement into May's usually dull existence that brightened her up. "I suppose your holiday is over," said Madame Zavadoskoi one afternoon she had looked in, about a week after the accident, when Madame Falk had come into the salon from her little study, where she left May copying, "and we must not interrupt you any more except on your Sundays. Eh, Mr. Carr?" to that gentleman, who was standing by the fire- place, beside the chair in which Miss Barton sat in state, attired in her best black silk, and occupied with some "company" knitting. "I suppose not," he returned. "Madame Falk has absolutely been out walking with no firmer sup- port than Miss Riddel I's arm." "Of course," she returned. "It is my wrist, not my ankle, I have sprained. And no one can do my work of 'seeing things,' save myself. May comes to make my notes for me." 138 FOUND WANTING. "She seems a first-rate secretary. Is she at home?" asked Carr. "Yes," returned Madame Falk, rising and open- ing the door of the study. "Come here, May." Whereupon May appeared, her hair a little ruffled, and wearing the black apron which guarded her second-best dress. "Good-morning, Miss Riddell," said the countess, without offering her hand. "And how goes on the dictation?" asked Carr, with friendly familiarity, as he placed a chair for her. "Oh, we are both improving," replied Madame Falk, "and I am involuntarily training a rival press- woman," "Well! I want every one to be in high health, spirits, and looks on the 15th of April next," said Madame Zavadoskoi, "for I am going to send out invitations for a big ball in honour of my boy's visit to me. I hope to see you all. Bartie," to her ex- governess, "you must have a grand new dress for the occasion. Miss Riddell, you and your father shall have your cai-ds to-morrow. Are you fond of dancing?" "Exceedingly, and I have very few chances of enjoying it. You are very good to think of us!" "And I intend to be perfectly well on that oc- casion," cried Madame Falk. "The Conroys have promised to wait for it," continued Madame Zavadoskoi. "I believe that most English Englishman, the father, is tormenting them to come home." As she spoke she was taking up, THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. 139 one by one, some cards which lay on the table. "Piers Ogil-vie! Piers Ogilvie — my old acquaintance — seems very attentive in his enquiries; do you never let him in?" "He does not ask to come in!" said Miss Barton. "I fancy he just comes on to enquire when he is calling on Mr. Riddell!" "On Mr. Riddell? Ah, yes, just so; men don't waste much time on small civilities," said Madame Zavadoskoi, carelessly. "And he is really a busy man," added Madame Falk. "Or says he is!" returned the other, laughing. "You have beguiled me out of half an hour of my valuable time, and I must run away. Good-morn- ing and good-bye for a while. I am going to be very busy. Bartie, you must come and breakfast with me some day soon; I will send you a little note." She kissed Miss Barton, shook hands with Madame Falk, and smiled sweetly on May. Carr also said good-morning and accompanied her to her carriage. "Do you never intend to ride with me again?" he asked. "Not for the present," she said; "you must amuse yourself elsewhere. If you have nothing better to do, come home with me. I will give you some tea and we will discuss my ball." "With pleasure, madame; such an invitation is not to be refused." 140 FOUND WANTING. He followed her into her dainty coupe, which soon whirled them to the Avenue Marboeuf. The samovar was ready in the countess's especial sitting-room, — a delightful apartment, though less gorgeous in its furniture and decorations than the rest of the house, its chief adornment being abundant hot-house flowers. "Ah!" exclaimed Madame Zavadoskoi, "this is tolerably comfortable," and she threw aside her cloak, removing her hat, and dehberately arranging her hair before one of the many glasses. "Do you take lemon or cream?" "Cream, if you please." "Ah! barbarous taste, my dear friend! It is very difficult to break you in." "Perhaps impossible in some directions," said Carr, quietly. "Perhaps," doubtfully; "do you know you are a very audacious young man?" "I am sorry you think so. How do I show my audacity?" "By calhng me to account." "Did I? How?" "Just now, when you asked me if I ever, or never, intended to ride with you again." "I did not mean to be audacious, and it was not an unnatural question." "Your business is to be entirely submissive to my good or bad pleasure. I may choose to ride with you every day for a month, and then cease to hold THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. I4I any intercourse with you, yet you have no right to complain." "Haven't I? Well, that seems a little strange. Anyhow, I shall do my best to hold on to what was a very agreeable arrangement." "Ah, that is not in your power to do!" "Have I offended you in any way?" "Oh, dear, no!" with almost contemptuous em- phasis. "But — come, don't be unreasonable. I really like you immensely, as I am going to prove — but, you are off service." "I can't say 'Thank you,' for such a proof of liking," said Carr. "Listen to me," she resumed; "I am going to give you a quantity of good advice, which is really a mark of interest and liking I have rarely bestowed on any one. First, don't come here so often!" Carr laughed, but his cheek flushed. "I am sorry, countess, to find that I have come too often." "You have not come too often for me; you interest me very much; but the count plays high, — well, my son plays higher, — and a man of your own age, or younger, will know better how to tempt you than one old enough to be your father! To the men I live among, play is almost a necessity. Vou belong to a different order. It will not excite or exhilarate you to be always on the brink of ruin. It is a pity to pour your wealth — if you have wealth — into their greedy hands. You are amused and attracted by me now; you will wish me — at the bottom of the 142 FOUND WANTING. sea, or in a wanner place, by and bye, if you get into any difficulty on my account! Then, you know, even if I had a fancy for you, — as I might have had ten years ago, — I should never have made the smallest sacrifice for you. I never have made any sacrifice for any one that I can remember. You see, I am quite kind and candid?" "Candid — yes; as to the kindness — well, there is sometimes cruel kindness!" returned Carr, but his tone was by no means despondent. Madame Zavadoskoi looked at him sharply. "Yes, you are sensible, as I expected, and we shall keep good friends. You can find plenty of charming women who will be quite ready to take a tender interest in you — much tenderer than I do! Only take care not to commit yourself to any lasting entanglement — chains that cannot be broken are apt to gall." "Your advice is excellent, and shows what a simpleton you must think me." "Do you think yourself a man of the world?" "Of your world? — certainly not! but, dear Madame Zavadoskoi, yours is a very small one." "Is there any other worth living in?" "That depends on how one is accustomed to live. I cannot imagine any man being satisfied with existence in Paris, or even in London, which I like better. If I had not known yon, I should have left Paris long ago. I shall now move on and see a little more of Europe." THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. 1 43 Madame Zavadoskoi looked at him and then laughed. "I admire your philosophy," she said. "And shall you finally return to the — what do you call it? — the Bush?" "I think so." "And marry a bushwoman?" "Perhaps. There are very nice bush women." "You could find very nice civilised women who might not object to marry for a home, even in the wilds. It is awful for a woman to be poor! What can they enjoy? No reasonable, companionable man will wed without fortune or position. If a girl has neither, why, she can only have peeps at pleasure in by-ways ! " "In England and the Colonies heaps of girls who haven't a sou marry well!" "Oh, yes; but then English people are not ruled by the laws that govern other societies, and English- men are not fascinating in general. I am sorry for women who are neither well-born nor well-dowered. Look at that favourite of Frances Conroy's — she is always with people who would never give her a serious thought; and what makes matters worse for her is that she is the sort of woman that only high- class men would care for. I believe that, if she only knew it, she could be very fascinating, though she is not what the ordinary run of people consider pretty. She is not exactly a woman I like; there's a strong vein of pride under her gentle tranquillity, and she is very much in earnest. She'll probably break her 144 FOUND WANTING. heart some day about some man who would not step out of the ranks to hft her to his side ! " "I hope not. I hope her road in hfe may never be crossed by scoundrels of that description!" ex- claimed Carr, earnestly. "My dear friend, strong language is very ill-bred," said Madame Zavadoskoi, contemplating him with a smile. "If Miss Riddell were wise But our ideas of wisdom — yours and hers and mine — would never agree, and I will not waste my pearls of ex- perience " "On, let us say, wild boars like myself," inter- rupted Carr, with a good-humoured laugh. "Well, Madame Zavadoskoi, I must tear myself away; a thousand thanks for your lesson and your advice. I suppose I may present myself at your ball?" "Of course. I quite expect you, and come on Thursday evenings, too. Good-bye. I see you are made of good stuff!" Carr walked away with an unpleasant sense of smarting, in spite of the philosophy he assumed. He had been greatly attracted and flattered by Madame Zavadoskoi, who had found him amusing for a short time; and life for the moment seemed very flat, now that the excitement of her companionship was with- drawn. His thoughts, however, were not altogether oc- cupied with himself Madame Zavadoskoi's un- pleasant tone respecting May Riddell dwelt in his ear. Why should that quiet, unassuming girl be unhappy or unfortunate? and what was the wonder- THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. I45 ful charm which the astute Russian thought she possessed? He would try and find out. After all, Madame Zavadoskoi must have associated with a queer lot, if such views were the result of her ex- perience! Pound Wanting. I. lO 146 FOUND WANTING. CHAPTER VIII. CHIT-CHAT. Mademoiselle Ferret's ambitious plans were, on the whole, successful; her cours heca.me more numer- ously attended, and when Madame Falk was able to dispense with her amanuensis, May found the energetic little woman was glad to have occasional help from her. "But you must practise, my dear child; these weeks of tiresome writing have made your fingers rusty; try and get an hour's work each day." And May tried very willingly. The latter part of Madame Falk's enforced ab- stinence from writing had been very trying, for Mr. Riddell was exceedingly cross. The newspaper agent, on whose appreciation he had so largely counted, had rejected his paper as rather too vague and dis- cursive, and Mr. Riddell was quite upset by this fresh proof of the degeneracy of the age we live in. He therefore grumbled a good deal at his daughter's absence, and declared himself utterly neglected and forsaken when, on a rare occasion, he found a button missing from his shirt-front. During this time the only bits of blue in his cloudy sky were two visits from Ogilvie, who found CHIT-CHAT. 147 it difficult to satisfy himself about the "Teniers," and finally proposed submitting it to a friend of his, a profound connoisseur, who was not just then in Paris. May was present at one of these visits, and felt considerably gratified by the manner in which he talked to her, especially as it showed her father that she was not beneath the notice of clever people. She was almost sorry her work with Madame Falk was over. She enjoyed the occupation and interest, which made the days seem all too short; moreover, she liked to listen to the arguments which generally arose between her friend and Mr. Carr, when he used to look in in the late afternoon, — for they seldom agreed on any subject, and Madame Falk, on some, did not bear contradiction well. Leaving the house one fine afternoon to indulge in the study of an accompaniment, at the hour she knew she would have Mademoiselle Ferret's salon to herself, she found herself face to face with Ogilvie, a few paces from the door. "I am fortunate in meeting you!" he exclaimed. "Another moment and you would have been gone past recall. Is Mr. Riddell at home?" "No; he will be so sorry to miss you!" "I must try again. May I ask where you are going?" "To the Rue C ; to my friend, Mademoiselle Ferret." "May I come with you?" "Oh, yes, certainly," with unconcealed pleasure. 10* 148 FOUND WANTING. "Though you have lived so long out of England, Miss Riddell, you have always been English in your freedom of movement. You do not fear to go about alone?" "No, not in the least. What can there be to fear in the streets of a civilised town?" "Well, not much in daylight, I suppose." "No one ever interferes with me," added May, simply. "Madame Falk is herself again, I believe?" resumed Ogilvie, "and now that you are not so con- stantly occupied with her, I have thought of sending you one or two books which I have myself enjoyed lately. I fancy they may suit your taste." "Thank you very much! How good of you to think of me. I hope they will not be too far over my head?" "I do not think they will; you must tell me how you like them." "And what are they?" "A volume of historical essays by H , which were a good deal talked about last winter, and some account of wanderings among the Magyars of the Pusta." "The titles sound attractive." "Well, I hope you will find them all you expect. Some young ladies would consider them dry." "I shall tell you all I think." "A splendid promise. Miss Riddell, if you will only keep it. I should like to know all you think." "The 'air would not amount to much, I fear!" CHIT-CHAT. 149 said May, with a frank laugh. Ogilvie did not reply immediately, then said, "Have you and Miss Conroy parted company? I rarely meet you together now." "She has been very much taken up with her Russian professor, and I have had plenty to do, as you know." "Yes; I should fancy Madame Falk must miss her secreatary." "She prefers doing her work herself," said May; then, after a brief silence, she asked, "Are you going to Madame Zavadoskoi's ball?" "Yes, I suppose so, though I shall only cumber her rooms, for I do not dance." "But you ought. It is delightful to dance. I am looking forward with great joy to it. I have only been to two or three dances in my life." "You surprise me! I should not have imagined you would care for capering about to music." "That is the charm! Whenever I hear lively music, I want to move in time to it. I have promised the first two waltzes to Mr. Carr." "The devil you have!" almost escaped Ogilvie's lips, but he managed to suppress them, and only ejaculated, "Indeed! I hope he knows how to dance?" "I imagine he does. He seems a — a natural, sensible man, and not likely to attempt what he cannot manage; at all events, I am glad to be sure of two dances." "You have formed a high estimate of Carr's character, Miss Riddell." 150 FOUND WANTING. "Because I think he can dance?" she asked, smihng. • "No! Because you think him a natural, sensible man! I hear that the Conroys talk of returning to England soon after the ZavadoskoT ball!" "I fear they will! I shall miss them very much. My life is rather monotonous when Frances is away." "Miss Conroy is many years older than you?" "Oh, no, Mr. Ogilvie. She is barely two years older than I am." "As regards years, there is not much difference. But she is so desperately serious, her views and ambitions are so elderly, that I doubt if she were ever really young, even in long clothes — is this your destination? What a dark gate-way! Won't you stay out in the sunshine a little longer? Come on as far as the Arc de Triomphe, and then return." "Very well. I am only going to practise on Mademoiselle Ferret's piano, as she is so good as to allow me, so I shall not keep her waiting. She is generally out at this hour." "You must be a determined musician to come all this way for the sake of an hour's practice." Then May told him how her acquaintance with Made- moiselle Ferret began, and their talk flowed freely and sympathetically. She was surprised to find how soon it was time to turn and go back to the Rue C , and even more surprised to feel so much at home with such a man. When Ogilvie had said good-morning, he walked on towards the Rue de Rivoli in deep thought. CHIT-CHAT. I 5 I He was by no means a weak man. He had usually a very distinct idea of what he wanted, and an exceedingly pertinacious method of obtaining it. He had, after a few early struggles, been steadily suc- cessful, and had formed tolerably ambitious plans for the future. He was therefore puzzled and an- noyed with himself to find how strongly he was at- tracted by an obscure, penniless girl, who was not to be thought of under any aspect. "It is impossible I can be growing idiotic now that I have passed the age of youthful folly, yet to allow myself to be irritated and fevered by an insane whim, which cannot be in- dulged, is unworthy a man of my experience. No royal princess is more inaccessible than May Riddell. I know I ought to put her out of my mind, yet she haunts me, and the desire to meet her, to talk with her, to look into her eyes, is nearly irresistible. I shall leave Paris as soon as I can, though it is quite possible that distance may lend enchantment to the view! That girl is quite a new specimen to me! Why do not women understand the potent charm that naturalness and reality create? If they could only forget that all men are possible lovers, they would be so much more delightful! How would a platonic friendship do with this sweet Psyche? It might lead to very pleasant relations; an intellectual love-affair would abound in possibilities, and create no links that might not be broken, only I do not know how far I could trust myself! But all this is folly! I shall go and steep myself in worldliness and scepticism! It is about the time 152 FOUND WANTING. when the Zavadoskoi is at home," — and he hailed a fiacre. Meantime, Madame Falk, who was quite restored to her usually steady cheerfulness by the restoration of her freedom from the necessity of being "helped," was as busy as ever, and highly pleased at being asked to contribute a weekly article on foreign politics to an English provincial paper. "I am sure I do not exactly know how I am to make it up," she said to her friend and partner, Sarah Barton, as she sat at tea in the salon after returning from her perambulations on the same after- noon. "I suppose I must gather up the crumbs that fall from other people's brains in the various news- papers, and bake them over again in my own in- tellectual oven. It is delightful to be able to do all my own work again, though really May was a capital secretary, so attentive and painstaking. I should rather like her for a daughter." "Well, I do not know. She has a will of her own." "And no woman is worth her salt without one." "A gentleman seeks madame," said Adrienne, entering. "The tall English gentleman." "Oh, Mr. Carr. Yes, admit him, but," to Miss Barton, "I must let him know that I am in harness again, and can only see my friends on Sunday. Good-morning, Mr. Carr, very glad to be at home and at rest for half an hour, as you have come, but now that I am a convalescent, you have little chance of seeing me except on Sundays." CHIT-CHAT. 153 "Very well, I shall remember, Madame Falk. Good-morning, Miss Barton! And so you are all right again?" "Yes, perfectly, and have dismissed my secretary." "She will be sorry for that. I was coming up here twenty minutes ago when I overtook Mr. Riddell on the stairs; he asked me if I were going to call on him, so I felt obliged to say I was. He was un- commonly civil, but Miss Riddell was out, and the Herr Papa is not a lively old gentleman. He growls — no, nothing half so strong, he snarls — at every- thing." "He certainly has not a genial nature," said Madame Falk. laughing. "I often wonder how such a kind-hearted, sensible girl as May comes to be his daughter. But he can be pleasant enough some- times." "At any rate, he seems very fond of Miss Riddell. I suppose he can't help that?" "Fond of her! perhaps as something useful," cried the irrepressible Sarah, "but he wouldn't walk across the street to save — her life, I was going to say, but I suppose he would do that much. I remember when she first came here, nearly five years ago — or is it six? — she was a half-grown girl; she was always very quiet and thoughtful, but there was a bright, happy look in her eyes that gradually died out of them. About a year after, she had a sharp attack of typhoid fever, and Mr. Riddell left the house to avoid infection. Of course he got her a nurse, but 154 FOUND WANTING. Esther, Madame Falk, used to go in and out and look after her. And when the poor child came to herself and learned from the nurse's chatter that her father had left her, it threw her back for days. That opened her eyes, and they have been pretty wide open ever since." "My dear Sarah, Mr. Carr will be tired of such long details." "No, by no means, Madame Falk; but it's hard lines for a girl to live with such a heartless chap." "Oh, you know he is by no means unkind." "Isn't he, though? Well, a mother is a great loss to a man; it must be awful to a girl." "No doubt," returned Madame Falk and a sad, far-away look came into her eyes. "Anyhow, I hope she will enjoy the ball. It is well to throw off dull care sometimes." "Oh, healthy young people can always do that. I hear you are tired of our bright Paris, and think of leaving it?" "Yes, I want to take a look round the rest of Europe before I go home." "Do you mean to Australia?" "Yes, I shall stick to my own country." "You are right, Mr. Carr, and you have the im- mense advantage of starting in a new country with all the experience of our race to help you; you need not pass through a paralysing stage of feudalism, of aristocratic tyranny, and all the bitter wrong it entails. You will be able to show what true liberty and CHIT-CHAT. 155 equal political rights will do for society," cried Madame Falk, who was an ardent democrat. "I am not so sure that we are much the better for the experience of others," said Carr, slowly. "Feudalism and all that came of it had very bad sides, but it disciplined the race as nothing else would have done, and made the first rough-hewn course of the modern edifice we call civilisation." "My dear Mr. Carr, you astonish me!" cried Madame Falk. "You — brought up as you have been in a young community, untainted with the preposterous traditions of an effete society, — -you appear to be sunk in Toryism." "No, Madame Falk, I am not. I would never keep down any man who is ready and able to work up, but I would let him work. I would not take him from the fields or the mine or forecastle, and put him on the same bench beside an educated gentleman, and bid them be friends and equals, nor should I be content that my son, whose training and education is part of my bequest to him, should be, in a sense, robbed of so much of his birth-right by finding himself no better placed than the navvy whose boots are still heavy with yellow clay. More- over, no opinions or theories or democratic efforts can efface one of Nature's first laws, — inequality; education and training are necessary to fit a man for elective rights. Help all to get them for them- selves, and especially for their children. But if there 156 FOUND WANTING. is anything especially absurd in politics it is man- hood suffrage." "You are a terrible heretic," cried Madame Falk. "Is a money qualification any better than a manhood qualification?" "Yes, it is. For the money must be earned, and the earning proves certain staying-powers, which fit a man for the first steps in legislation." But Madame Falk interrupted him with a torrent of queries as to the educational influence produced by the possession of political responsibilities, but she found Carr a tough antagonist. "For my part," said Miss Barton, "I have no faith in any politics which do not lower the price of meat. It is quite shameless the way in which the butchers rob the public." Here the discussion was arrested by the arrival of Miss Conroy, who looked very youthful and fair in a charming spring costume and a branch of lilac in her hat. "I have been calling on May, but she is out. Where has she gone, Madame Falk? She goes out so little. I have hardly seen her since you hurt your wrist. I have been rather absorbed in my Russian lessons, and just as I was getting on, my father insists on our going to London. I do not find London interesting. I should prefer going to Audeley Chase. I want to see how my school is progressing. You must come over and pay us a visit, dear Madame CHIT-CHAT. 157 Falk. I should like you to see the costume I make my girls wear. They are a little troublesome about it, for they have no artistic taste." "Thank you, dear. But I do not feel as if I could go to the old place yet awhile." "It is amazing how obstinate you and May are about not coming to us," cried Miss Conroy, "and really it is the easiest journey, only four hours from London, and a delightful train at 11.30. We are not more than six miles from the station, and you arrive in good time for afternoon tea." "I can only be responsible for my own obstinacy," returned Madame Falk; "but I must say that May cannot very well leave her father; at least, he would not like it." "He is exceedingly tiresome. Madame Zavadoskoi promises to pay us a visit in the autumn, and we must get up a pleasant party for her. She knows London, but she has not seen anything of English country life." "That must be the best worth seeing," exclaimed Carr; and then added, with a frank laugh, "don't think I am fishing for an invitation. I hope to be on the high seas on my way back in September; I shall keep the study of English country life for some future visit." "I am sure my fiither would be very happy to see you, Mr. Carr," said Frances, with formal polite- ness. "Thank you, Miss Conroy! I know I am always pleased to see him. He is a delightful picture of 158 FOUND WANTING. an English country gentleman. He ought to take a cruise out to Australia. Next year I shall have a house to receive my friends." "May I come too?" asked Frances, with a gracious, condescending smile. "Need the sun ask leave to shine?" exclaimed Carr, laughing. "You would do me the highest honour." "You are too good, Mr. Carr. Madame Falk, you know Monsieur Desfosses, the great geologist?" "Not very much, but I do know him." "I am most anxious to be introduced to him. They say he discovered a set of false teeth in a cave somewhere in Norway, which seems to be a strong proof of the high civilisation existing in the pre- adamite age. Monsieur Desfosses is, they say, writing an account of the races inhabiting Scandinavia when it possessed a tropical climate, chiefly founded on his discoveries in this cave." "I have heard that Cuvier could reconstruct an animal completely and accurately if you only gave him an original tooth, but your man is far more wonderful. He can build up a whole race on false teeth," cried Miss Barton. "Very well, Frances," said Madame Falk, with a twinkle in her eye, "I will bring him to see you." "Thank you ever so much! I am trying to per- suade my mother to give a literary and scientific soiree before we leave; you must bring all your pro- fessional friends, dear Madame Falk, and generally CHIT-CHAT. 159 help me. Would it not be very nice to have curious photographs and specimens of things in one of the rooms to create subjects for conversation? Do you think M. Desfosses would lend me his teeth?" "I am afraid they are too precious. But there's that man who has a case full of lovely sets outside his door in the Rue Royale. I am sure he would let you have a set on hire," cried Madame Falk, with a hearty laugh, "and no one would know the differenee." "My dear Madame Falk! do you think I would deceive my guests?" returned Frances, who had not a spark of humour, and, whenever she perceived it, resented a jest as a personal affront. "I will ask him, if you like, Frances." "Or introduce him, and let Miss Conroy ask him herself," said Carr. "Ah, Mr. Carr, you evidently think her a more persuasive person than / am, and I dare say you are right," said Madame Falk, shaking her head at him. "I am sorry I spoke," he exclaimed, peniten- tially. "I will say good-bye, Madame Falk," said Miss Conroy, who did not like the turn the conversation had taken. "Perhaps I shall find May Riddell as I go down." "Allow me to accompany you. Miss Conroy. I have been inflicting myself for a long time on these ladies. I shall remember that I am to present my- l60 FOUND WANTING. self only on Sundays," and Carr shook hands in his cordial free fashion with Madame Falk. "There is something I like and dislike, too, about that young man," she said, when he had gone. "His opinions are veiy unsound; he is too conscious of having his pockets well lined; really, riches ruin people, always excepting Herbert Conroy. There is something about Mr. Carr's eyes that seems familiar to me! Perhaps I met him in some other state of existence, as our Theosophist friends would suggest. He is not unintelligent, but intensely English for a colonist." "And so much the better!" quoth Miss Barton, "for go where you will, you find nothing like an Englishman." "You are frightfully prejudiced, Sarah!" Meantime, Frances Conroy found her friend just come in, and still wearing her hat, while untying a small bunch of violets previous to placing them in a cup of water. She was in the little salon, which was looking as pretty as she could make it on her scant means, — a few cushions covered with her own needle-work, fresh white curtains, and a pot of fern on the carefully cleaned stove. "Oh, Frances!" exclaimed May, "I am glad you have come back; I was so vexed to miss you, for you have not been here for a long time." "No, May, I have not! I have been, as you know, greatly occupied. How pretty your room looks ! you have taste, and you care for these small matters. I do not seem to think of small things." CHIT-CHAT. l6l "And you have your prettinesses done for you," returned May, laughing; "yes, your tastes are much more grave than mine. And so you are going away soon, — I shall miss you terribly." "I am afraid you will; but, May, you ought to take up some serious study, say geology or ethnology, both are very absorbing. At present I am greatly fascinated with Russian, and Professor Gobbleowski says I am making extraordinary progress. I shall renew my studies next winter, for I hope to return." "I am sure so do I, dear Frances!" "Dear Frances" meanwhile took up a book which lay on a small work-table. " ' Bracebridge Hall!'" she exclaimed. "What an old-fashioned book! you ought to try and keep up with the times, May." "But 'Bracebridge Hall' is quite delightful; you must read it, and you will feel its charm; it is like listening to the quiet talk of some delicately obser- vant friend, who speaks with unstudied grace out of the treasure-house of his mind." "Still, it must be quite a by-gone style! Now, I am very modern in my tastes and ideas." "Well, I am going to read some new books. I met Mr. Ogilvie to-day, and he says he is going to lend me some essays (I forget the name of the author); they have been greatly admired. I am very glad, I so seldom get anything fresh. It is very kind of him." "Very," returned Frances, opening her eyes, "and very surprising. I must say Mr. Ogilvie gives me Found M'aiititig. I. II I 62 FOUND WANTING. the idea of being too hard and selfish lo be kind or considerate to any one. In fact, he thinks himself so intellectual that he doubts every one else's abilities. He laughed almost rudely at a theory I suggested the other day about the future of the negro race. I must say that men quite as clever as he is have thought me worth listening to. No doubt he is a very rising man. He ought to go into Parliament, but I suppose he hasn't much money." "He seems to me rich," said May. "He has a horse, and somehow he looks rich and important." "Oh! I do not mean that he is poor. I fancy he is a very rising man, but he thinks too much of himself. It is a great mistake," she continued, solemnly, "to form too high an estimate of self. Tell me, May, what are you going to wear at Madame Zavadoskoi's ball?" "The same dress I wore at her soiree." "Ah, well, it was very nice, but I know my mother wants to make you a little present before we leave; would you like a pretty evening dress?" "Mrs. Conroy is too good, and I am ashamed to accept more from her; why, my best winter dress is her gift only a year ago! Indeed, dear Frances, the last thing I should wish for is an evening dress; I rarely want one." "Very well, I think you are right; I will tell her. Come and dine with us, May, to-morrow. We shall be alone. I want to show you my plan of work for the next six months. Do you know Mr. Thompson, the correspondent of The Eveni?ig Intelligence , tells CHIT-CHAT. 163 me I ought to try essay- writing, as I am familiar with so many subjects that I ought to do well. I must talk to you more about this; really, I enjoy telling you all my plans. You may not be highly intellectual, dear May, but you are delightfully sym- pathetic! Now, good-bye! Come early to-morrow!" 164 FOUND WANTING, CHAPTER IX. MADAME ZAVADOSKOl'S BALL. It came at last, the evening to which May had looked forward with an amount of anticipation very unusual with her. Her "going out" hitherto had not been exhilarating. She had been generally treated as a sort of appendage to Miss Herbert Conroy, and, though meeting with a certain degree of civihty, no one seemed to regard her as an in- dividual. Her unobtrusive tranquillity impressed the few who noticed her with the idea that she was shy, and shy people are tiresome, especially when they are nobodies. The first person who seemed to consider her a separate entity was M. Achille Dupont, and she was ungrateful enough to find him decidedly uninterest- ing. Her astonishment at his proposal of marriage startled her into thinking about him, but his readi- ness, as she considered it, to resign her on the first opposition suggested that she was not worth much trouble. She did her admirer injustice. M. Achille was an honest-hearted little fellow, and, if left to himself, would gladly have married her without fortune. She did not realise the impossibility of a MADAME ZAVADOSKOl'S BALL. I 65 Frenchman marrying without the consent of relatives on both sides, even to the third and fouilh generation. But the fact of finding herself sought counter- balanced the persistent suppression she experienced from her father. She had for long been dimly con- scious that she was not so dull, not so idea-less, as people seemed to think. This did not trouble her in the least; she had great enjoyment in her own power of observation; she found appreciation with Madame Falk, and unbounded confidence from Frances Conroy, who for a considerable time she considered quite a genius. Latterly she was rather shocked at her own disloyalty to her friend, as the perception that Frances was a sham — though an honest sham — grew upon her. Frances intended to be true, and thought herself true, but her thirst for information, her eagerness to undertake many and various studies, arose from a profound desire for exceptional distinction, and this spurious earnestness was intensified by the absence of any sense of humour. Nothing was wanting to make the Zavadoskoi" ball a success. Large rooms, abundant lights, good music, a lavish display of lovely flowers, a big con- servatory amply supplied with palms and tropical plants among which a fountain played, reflecting the soft light of the moon-like lamps; above all, the crowd was not too great. Madame Zavadoskoi had been very exclusive in selecting her guests, as she was absolutely indifferent about giving offence, save to the very few she really liked. I 66 FOUND WANTING. "We must not be late," said Madame Falk, who looked in on May to arrange the time of starting for the festive scene, as she returned home to dinner, "or you will get no dancing." "I suppose Mr. Carr will not forget he asked me to waltz; if he does not, I shall think myself lucky to have two dances, knowing as few people as I do." "Oh, he will not forget, but we ought to be in good time, or you may miss your waltz. I hope Mr. Carr can dance, or it will be tiresome!" When May entered the room where Madame ZavadoskoT stood to receive her company, she felt a little bewildered by the buzz, the light, the flashing of diamonds, the general brilliancy, and a sudden conviction of the extreme simplicity of her own dress, compared to the exquisite, toilettes on every side, but she did not bestow much thought on her own deficiencies, giving herself up to amused con- templation of the scene. "My son is dancing," said the countess, when she had greeted Madame Falk and her young protegee. "He opened the ball with Princess Dolgorouki's daughter, and, poor boy! must be rather bored. Had you not better go to the ball-room, where no doubt mademoiselle will find partners? What charm- ing flowers!" she added, with a quick glance at a beautiful decoration of blossoms and delicate ferns on the corsage of May's frock, which raised it to the rank of a ball-dress. "Yes, they are very sweet!" MADAME ZAVADOSKOl'S BALL. 1 67 Then the countess bowed and smiled, indicating that they might pass on. The door- way was blocked with onlookers, and Madame Falk paused before attempting to pass through the ball-room, when Carr, coming up be- hind, suddenly addressed them: "I must have missed you when you came in, Madame Falk, for I was in the vestibule looking out for you, when a man I knew in London came up to speak to me, and I suppose you passed just then. The next will be our waltz. Miss Riddell!" The quadrille music ceased as he spoke, and he offered her his arm. "I shall sit down near the door," said Madame Falk, "and look at the dancing; what lovely fresh toilettes there are, — quite a study! You will know- where to find me." Though May knew very little of Mr. Carr, and had never noticed him much, it gave her a sudden sense of comfort and security to find her arm resting on his in this strange crowd, to meet his frank, good- humoured eyes, and feel that he was able and wall- ing to take care of her; she noticed, too, with some surprise the number of people who spoke and nodded to him. "This is a gay and festive scene, is it not, Miss Riddell?" he said, as they walked to the top of the room. "Capital floor. Are you fond of dancing?" "Yes; that is, I have deeply enjoyed the little I have had; and you? Have you danced much?" "Ah! you are afraid I am an uncouth barbarian I 68 FOUND WANTING. who will come to grief and drag you down with me. I can tell you I have flourished the light fantastic toe considerably in our 'antipodes,' and went to a good many dances in London. After riding, I like dancing best, so you need not fear to trust yourself with me." "Indeed, I am not, Mr. Carr," looking up with smiling eyes to his, with an odd feeling of being at home with him. The music struck up one of Wald- teufel's delicious waltzes, and they were soon in full swing. Carr found May a better partner than he ex- pected; she had an excellent ear, a light step, and a soft pliant figure, and she, feeling secure in his steadiness, his skill in steering, his watchful care of her, gave herself up to the pleasure of the moment. Once, when he had by a sudden whirl saved her from a collision, she looked up to him with a smile which, however bright, was never quite untinged with sadness, and said, "That was well done! you dance like an American." "Thank you for the compliment. Then you won't mind keeping your promise of the next waltz, Miss Riddell?" "Oh, no; I shall be very pleased to dance with you." "Shall I find you here when the quadrille is over?" he asked when he took her back to Madame Falk. "Shall we be here?" asked May, passing the question on to her chaperon. MADAME ZAVADOSKOl'S BALL. I 69 "Yes, yes! we see every one and everything here," was the quick response. From where they sat they could see through the door-way into the adjoining room, and May was much interested to watch the coming and going of the distinguished company; all the more, as she had hitherto looked in vain for Ogilvie. "I suppose Mr. Ogilvie will be here?" she said, at length. "Oh, yes. He is here; I saw him a few minutes ago," returned Madame Falk, "but he did not come into this room." A little disappointment flitted like a faint white mist over her unusually sunny mood. He had so wide an acquaintance among the members of Ma- dame Zavadoskoi's set, that perhaps he would not have time to come and talk to her; then she knew how much she had counted on meeting and speak- ing with him. "There he is!" exclamied Madame Falk. "Mr. Ogilvie, I mean; he is standing near the middle win- dow, talking to a man with a star and a broad blue ribbon across his waistcoat." "Yes, I see him! Who is the gentleman he is speaking to?" "Lord D , the English ambassador. He has been dining with the President; a state affair, I sup- pose." May did not reply; she noted, with an odd sense, that a gulf was slowly opening between him and her humble self, the ease with which Ogilvie 170 FOUND WANTING. seemed to converse with the great man and the sort of famiharity in the ambassador's manner. By and bye the Countess Zavadoskoi swept up to them in her gorgeous garments of gold brocade and black velvet, and, taking Lord D 's arm, they went away together. Ogilvie also disappeared, and May turned her eyes upon the dancers, and amused herself by watching Frances Conroy and Carr. Sud- denly she found Ogilvie beside her, talking to Ma- dame Falk. "Good evening, Miss Riddell. Did you enjoy your waltz as much as you expected? You were hard at it when I came in." "It was quite delightful," returned May, with emphasis. "I am a little surprised you do not like to dance, Mr. Ogilvie, for you enjoy music." "I suppose it is to my discredit that I never did care for dancing. Now, you find the fullest sym- pathy on this head from your Australian." "Yes; he dances so well he must enjoy it." "Ah, yes, I feel the implied superiority." "As far as dancing is concerned," she returned, smiling. Here a bright, keen-looking Frenchman, well known in literature, came up and, after exchanging a few words, asked Madame Falk if she would not accompany him to the refreshment room and look at some very fine bronzes lately arrived from Russia. "I cannot leave my young friend," said Madame Falk. "Her partner will come to seek her here." MADAME ZAVADOSKOl S BALL. I 7 I "Leave her in my charge," put in Ogilvie. "I am sedate enough for the post of chaperon." "Oh, thank you! The quadrille will soon be over, and Mr. Carr will relieve guard," and Madame Falk walked off with her acquaintance, as she was ever ready to see, and to collect information about all that was new. "I really do not want relief," said Ogilvie, as he took the seat Madame Falk had vacated. "I fancy you and I could find enough to talk about for a quarter of an hour, without boring each other. Do you know you are looking very happy this evening? and your flowers are — charming." "Are they not? Frances Conroy brought them to me in time to be put on my dress. Indeed, I have been very fortunate to-day; some one else sent me some lovely flowers, but I shall keep them to look at and enjoy to-morrow, and as long as care can keep them. I cannot imagine who sent them. I did think it might be Madame Falk, she is so kind, but I am sure she would have brought them herself" "Perhaps it was your partner, Carr." "I do not fancy he would think of it, and he does not know what a joy flowers are to me." "Your father?" "My father, Mr. Ogilvie! Oh, no, I am quite sure he would never send them," and she laughed as if much amused. "Then the mystery must remain unsolved, unless you can think of some one else who knows your love for flowers." 172 FOUND WANTING. "Indeed I cannot, but I am very grateful to whoever sent them." "Have you looked at the books I sent you?" "Yes, I have almost finished the essays, and I must thank you for the great pleasure you have given me. The ideas about race and climate and the influence of position on national character seem to open up a new world to me. It was very good of you to let me have those delightful essays." "I am amply repaid by your appreciation," and for a few minutes May was so warmly interested in the discussion which followed that she did not notice the quadrille had come to an end. But the waltz which soon sounded caught her attention, though Ogilvie was speaking, Avhen Carr suddenly stood be- fore them. "Our waltz, Miss Riddell," he said, briefly, and she instantly rose, with a smile, while the words were arrested on Ogilvie's lips. "Oh, by the way," con- tinued Carr, "if you see Madame Falk, pray tell her I will bring Miss Riddell back here, for I am en- gaged to Miss Wentworth for the Lancers." "Certainly; what an indefatigable dancer you must be, my dear fellow!" but before he could finish his sentence Carr had carried off his partner. "That was a rapid act," said Ogilvie, looking after them with a distinct sense of irritation. "She was deuced ready to go with him, too! Yet she is intelligent, there is something graceful and natural in her way of expressing herself, and how extra- ordinarily free from self-consciousness; would she be MADAME ZAVADOSKOlS BALL. I 73 SO if she had warm blood in her veins? And would any woman be so softly sympathetic if she were cold? Anyhow, that bush-ranger can only admire her physique, yet even that must be beyond him. At all events, he shall not cut me out. I'd back myself against him with any woman, though he is a good-looking fellow. If it were possible he should dream of marriage, what a chance for her ! Yet mere wealth and its luxuries would never satisfy a girl of her nature, I think. No, my good Australian! You shall not have it all your own way if I can hinder you." A curious fierce, resolute look gleamed for half a second in his eyes, and a smile, not a pleasant smile, crisped his lips. He stood watching the couple that interested him, Carr's height enabling him to distinguish them even at the other side of the room. There was no doubt that May Riddell was enjoying her dance. She looked up now and then with so bright a smile to her partner's eyes, that Ogilvie could not help speculating on the effect it must pro- duce on his heart — no, not heart, that is an unknown quantity — on his circulation. "Ah, Lady Wrexham!" he exclaimed, recognis- ing a stately looking lady, who had just entered the room and was standing near. "Pray take my seat." The offer was gladly accepted, and they talked lightly, the usual society gossip, through the rest of the waltz, during which, though making himself agreeable, Ogilvie never lost sight of May and her partner. At last the dance was over, and yet she 174 FOUND WANTING. did not return. Lady Wrexham's daughter rejoined her, and they went away together; the dancers gradually disappeared in the direction of the buffet; still Ogilvie could not discern the missing pair. Could Carr mean to give him the slip? Even while he conjectured, his eyes fixed on a door opposite, the objectionable Australian, with May on his arm, came up behind, and exclaimed, — "Hey! Hasn't Madame Falk come back?" He spoke with some anxiety. "No, I have not seen her!" returned Ogilvie. "But if you will trust Miss Riddell with me I will restore her to her chaperon." "Thank you! I am obliged to leave her, you see," — to May, — "or I should certainly not depute this duty to another." "Oh, pray do not stay if Mr. Ogilvie will be so good " began May, but Carr was gone before she could finish the sentence. She laughed good- humouredly. "Poor Mr. Carr!" she exclaimed, with an evident certainty of being understood. "I am sure he is very much obliged to you." "And / to him," said Ogilvie, with a tone of sincere satisfaction, which left no doubt in May's mind that he was quite willing to take charge of her. "Now," continued Ogilvie, "I feel sure Madame Falk is much too deep in discussion with her learned escort to return for some time yet. Come, let us have a look at the conservatory; it is cool and quiet, and we can speak in comfort or be sympathetically silent. There is a great deal of pleasure in sym- MADAME ZAVADOSKOl S BALL. I 75 pathetic silence. Do you not think so, Miss Rid- dell?" "I scarcely know," returned May, smiling. "I don't think the people I am fond of are often silent. Frances always has quantities to say; so has dear Madame Falk. Then my father is not a silent man." "By the way, he is not here to-night?" "No. He did not feel very well, and he does not care for large parties." Here Ogilvie bowed low to a lady who passed at the moment and gave him a friendly smile; she was simply dressed in grey satin, and looked very distinguished, but was no longer young. "What an interesting face!" exclaimed May. "And an interesting woman!" returned Ogilvie. "I have known her for some years. Let us find a comfortable seat; here is a sofa behind this bank of ferns. It is very effective, — the whole arrangement, — and the light deliciously soft. Madame Zavadoskoi has a good deal of taste." "It is quite lovely," said May, with a slight sigh, and they were silent for a few minutes. Her eyes grew dreamy and her thoughts were evidently far away. "Are you thinking of the somewhat sombre book I sent you?" asked Ogilvie, who had watched her expression. "I was thinking of what it suggested. What ages must have passed before all this beauty could have been developed!" and she made a slight gesture in- dicating their surroundings; "and also the need for it in men and women." 176 FOUND WANTING. Ogilvie laughed. "Yet Madame Zavadoskoi, the creator of this beauty, is a step or two nearer primitive man than you or I." "How, Mr. Ogilvie?" in a tone of much sur- prise. "Napoleon said, 'Scratch a Russian and you find a Tartar;' now we are a little advanced on a Tartar." "I understand. One thing distressed me in read- ing those essays." "And that was?" he asked. "It does not seem that the first men and women had any conscience or sentiment; indeed, they must have been very brutish. The women, too, were bar- barously treated." "Ah, yes! I am afraid we should not like our ancestors if we knew them; and to be first knocked senseless, and then dragged away captive, is not exactly the style of courtship one would like to revert to. It is rather a change, the elevation of women from ill-treated slaves to queens of society. I sup- pose in time even marriage will be refined off the face of the earth." "Oh! we can hardly expect that," returned May, smiling at what she thought was meant ironically. "I mean what I say. It is growing intolerable in some aspects. Yet life without a woman's companion- ship would be rather dreary." "I should not imagine yo7i would find it so," said May. "Why? I am afraid you have not formed a MADAME ZAVADOSKOi'S BALL. I 77 favourable opinion of me, Miss Riddell, but I assure you I am far from hard by nature. I was once rather too ready to look for sympathy which I seldom found, and which I have learned not to expect." "I do not think you hard! you have been very good to me! but you cannot think that the time will come when people will not marry?" Ogilvie laughed. "That holy institution will be largely modified, I fancy. As things are at present managed, marriage is almost forbidden to men like myself, who are poor and ambitious. If I were to marry, I must marry a wealthy woman, and to mingle marriage and finance is intolerable to me. My own idea of happiness is the freedom of a busy life, solaced by the friendship of some intelligent, tender-hearted woman, who would rejoice in my success, feel for my failures, and give me the constant support of her appreciation and sympathy. Friendship is the noblest tie that can link two human hearts." "It would be very delightful to be thought worthy of such friendship," said May, as if to herself. She was greatly impressed by such an unexpected speech from Ogilvie, who had always seemed to her some-, what adamantine in his cool self-possession; she could hardly imagine his wanting anything from any one. It made him infinitely more interesting to think that he was so far human and like herself. "That lady who bowed to me just now is a woman for whom I have the profoundest respect; she was for years the true and devoted friend of a Found Wanting. I. 12 178 FOUND WANTING, man who was deeply engaged in the Italian struggle for union and emancipation. I do not know how he would have accomplished his share of the task without her help. His wife was a well-meaning nonentity. He was married in the usual conventional manner, of course, but that woman (Madame Villari — she is American, and lost her husband in the early days of their marriage), she was his right hand." "Yet I am sorry for the wife," said May. "It must have been trying to find that she could not help her husband as much as a stranger did." "I believe she was greatly attached to Madame Villari, and when the husband died some years ago his devoted friend played Providence to the family; she has been loyal and faithful in no common degree." May was deeply interested and much gratified by the confidential tone adopted by so important a personage as Ogilvie. How impossible it was to judge people at first sight! She felt for a minute or two as if he wanted to make friends with herself; but this was folly. He had no doubt adopted an Egeria long ago, — some great lady, probably; though he spoke as if he dreamed of, rather than possessed, the friendship of which he spoke so highly; but after a short pause he changed the subject, and soon May, she scarcely knew how, found herself telling him all about her work with Mademoiselle Ferret, and how she had been permitted to play the MADAME ZAVADOSKOl S BALL. I 79 accompaniment of a duet, with which Mademoiselle had been quite satisfied. "Why do you give yourself so much trouble?" asked Ogilvie, raising his eyebrows. "I am glad to do anything, and I never know what may be useful," said May. He looked at her enquiringly, while he said to himself, "She doesn't expect her father will leave her much, but he cannot be penniless." "Mr. Riddell is not very strong, I imagine," he said, aloud. "Not very. He is always dull and low when it comes near the time for going out of town." "Where do you generally go?" "My father generally goes to Dieppe or Trou- ville." "And leaves your /air side all unguarded, lady?" "Oh! I am safe enough. I generally am a good deal with Madame Falk and Mademoiselle Perret while papa is away; but I do not know when Madame Falk goes this year." "Perhaps you will be left all alone!" "I hope not. At all events, it will not be for long, and I do not mind being alone." "You seem to me to have some rare qualities, Miss Riddell; you are brave, self-relying, enduring, hopeful!" "What a splendid Hst!" interrupted May, laugh- ing; "only I have no claim to the last. I am cer- tainly not hopeful! I should be happier if I were!" "And are you not happy?" l8o FOUND WANTING. "I am not sure," she returned, looking away as if into some distance, an intense expression deepen- ing her eyes. "Yes, I am happy sometimes, but not always. I suppose no one is ! I ought not to trouble you with my troubles," and the soft colour rose in her cheek as she looked at him with a deprecating smile. "Do you think you trouble me?" asked Ogilvie, fixing his eyes on hers with a kind, grave look. "You must feel you do not. I know you are not happy, — some day you will tell me why! Come, let us be friends!" "If you care for my friendship!" began May, her colour rising higher, when a pleasant and familiar voice exclaimed, — "My dear May, I have been looking for you everywhere;" and Madame Falk came round the corner of the bank of ferns, leaning on the arm of a dark and somewhat hairy young man, who had a soldierly look. "I was tired of waiting for you at our old tryst, so I came in search of you. Let me introduce Monsieur le Capitaine de Beauregard." Le capitaine promptly requested the honour of May's hand for the next quadrille; so the strange, new pleasure of this confidential talk was over. For this evening May saw Ogilvie no more. He went away with Madame Falk, and when she found her chaperon again it was almost time to go home, for Madame Falk did not like very late hours. It had been a charming evening; but May did not know all it meant for her. MADAME ZAVADOSKOlS BALL. 15 I Ogilvie went away to his comfortable bachelor quarters in a thoughtful mood. He, too, had enjoyed the evening with a keen, fresh sense of pleasure, such as he had not experienced for many a day. "It is a curious game," he thought to himself, "and exciting. Shall I attempt it? Or " He did not like to accept the alternative. I 82 FOUND WANTING. CHAPTER X. MAN PROPOSES. June was now upon them. The "Grand Prix" was over, and fashionable Paris began to disperse. The Conroys, after a brief stay in London, had gone on to Audeley Chase, whence Frances wrote regu- larly though not very frequently. She had found her school sadly disorganised, and most of the scholars in arms against the clumsy mediaeval dress which their patroness wished to impose upon them. Mr. Riddell was beginning to feel a slight degree of low fever, which usually showed itself at this season of the year, and obliged him, most reluctantly, to seek refreshment at the sea-side at Dieppe or Havre, for he really hated to leave his dear girl behind, but then his duty to her demanded that he should pre- serve his health and strength. "I am the last of my race," he would say, as if he belonged to an historical family, "and if I were taken, she would be unprotected in this rough world." Meantime, the dear girl turned and mended and darned, aided by Leontine, till her father's wardrobe was in a state of complete repair. During this time Ogilvie honoured Mr. Riddell MAN PROPOSES. 183 with various visits, not unfrequently asking his ad- vice respecting the value of sundry objects of art, antique trifles, and such-Uke bibelots, marks of esteem that confirmed that gentleman's already high estimate of himself, until he grew quite patronising to his new friend. To May it seemed delightfully natural to see Mr. Ogilvie come in and out in an easy, unconven- tional way. His gifts of flowers, and frequent loan of books, brought wonderful enjoyment and variety into her life, with which he gradually and imper- ceptibly entwined himself. It was a quietly pleasant time. Ogilvie occasionally sent admissions to the Theatre Fran9ais or the Opera Comique to Riddell and his daughter, where he almost always joined them, and discussed the play or the music between the acts with May, who had grown so accustomed to him that she had ceased to feel his overpowering superiority, and talked freely enough in his presence. Intellectually, this intercourse was extremely bene- ficial to a half-educated girl; the ultimate good, per- haps, was problematical. It was the last Sunday in the month, and the following Wednesday Mr. Riddell had arranged to leave home for ten days or a fortnight, and had gone out in the afternoon to leave his card at one or two houses, when Ogilvie rang at the entrance of the entresol. (He had for some time ceased to ask the concierge for Mr. Riddell.) The door was opened by May, in a very pretty out-door costume, a silver- grey barege, and a large black lace hat, with soft 184 FOUND WANTING. feathers, a couple of deep red carnations coquetlishly fastened under the brim and over the right ear. "My father is out," she said, as soon as they had exchanged greetings. "And his daughter is goiiig out," said Ogilvie, smihng. "I must not detain you," but he crossed the threshold as he spoke. "Oh! I am not obliged to go out immediately. I am going up to Madame Falk, and then to take Mademoiselle Perret to the Bois." "Mademoiselle Perret?" repeated Ogilvie, motion- ing May with a polite wave of the hand towards the little salon, the door of which stood open. She mechanically returned to it. "She is your musical friend, is she not — in the Rue C ?" "Yes, she always enjoys a walk in the Bois on Sunday, and I do not care to sit here alone." "Or with Leontine for company?" "Leontine is out too." Ogilvie looked at her keenly for a moment, and then averted his eyes. "So you are all alone? You arrange your flowers admirably," looking round the pretty room. "Your flowers, Mr. Ogilvie!" exclaimed May, with a sweet, smiling, upward look, while a wave of delicate colour passed over her cheek. "You are so very thoughtful in sending them. I seem quite rich when I am putting them in their places. Last year I had but a beggarly account of empty bowls and vases." "Last year!" said Ogilvie, dreamily. "I did not MAN PROPOSES. 185 know you last year. The world would seem quite strange now without you and your father," he added, after a moment's pause. "Yes, it certainly" would seem very strange to me," she returned, frankly. "I little thought, when I first met you, we should ever be such friends." "And friendship is such a charming tie, strong and calm," added Ogilvie. "I am looking forward with some dismay to a compulsory visit to England next week. I think, do you know, I am half afraid my valuable services may be transferred from Paris to London." "What! Must you leave Paris?" cried May, in undisguised apprehension. "It may be so," he returned, with a lingering, searching glance. "Yet I imagine it is possible your father might be induced to undertake some literary work there." "I do not think anything will take him away from Paris," said May, shaking her head. There was a pause. "Mr. Riddell leaves town on Wednesday," re- sumed Ogilvie, "but he tells m.e that your friends up-stairs will look after you." "Yes — that is, they would; but Madame Falk thinks of going away to-morrow to some place in Normandy, and, as Miss Barton goes with her, I do not think they will be back for ten days at least." "Then you will be quite alone?" "Mademoiselle Perret will be here; at least, I think so. I have said nothing to my father or Ma- I 86 FOUND WANTING. dame Falk about their movements, it would only put them out; each would want to stay with me." Ogilvie seemed to think for a minute. "Do you never go to the sea-side with Mr. Rid- dell?" "Never," she returned, shortly. "Your toilette is very becoming to-day," was his next remark. "I ought to apologise for so personal an observation, but friends really interested in each other may indulge in a certain degree of freedom." "Oh, yes! certainly, so long as it is a note of admiration," returned May, smiling. "Would you not permit me to find fault, then?" "Certainly I should, if you were quite good- natured and sincere about it." "I believe I should be both, unless— -" He stopped. "Unless what, Mr. Ogilvie?" asked May, earnestly. "I shall tell you later! What a beautiful day, or rather evening! Suppose you throw Mademoiselle over, and come for a drive to St. Cloud with me. It would be charming in the woods there." "Yes, I am sure it would be; but my father is coming, and I must not be out. Besides 1 can- not disappoint Mademoiselle Perret, she has so little pleasure." "Then you consider it a pleasure to walk with you?" "For Mademoiselle Perret, yes!" replied May, laughing. "So do I," put in Ogilvie, in a low voice. MAN PROPOSES. I 87 "And now, Mr. Ogilvie," she continued, "I must pay my visit to Madame Falk, or I shall be late for my appointment." "Very well. May I accompany you 'chez ma- dame'?" "Yes, pray come. She will be very pleased to see you." She rose, and they left the apartment, May put- ting the key in her pocket. Madame Falk's Sundays were always well attended. She was a very popular person, — artists, male and female, of various nationalities, were at home there; so were more solid bourgeois, and shrewd, though struggling, lawyers; she had a pleasant word for each. Journalists, of high and low degree, abounded; and many a stray English governess, adrift on the surface of Parisian life, found comfort and encourage- ment at her fireside in winter; rest and refreshing shade behind her "jalousies" in summer. To-day there were only a couple of American ladies, fresh from Yankee-land, and Madame Falk's cockney nephew. "My father is out, so I brought Mr. Ogilvie to see you, Madame Falk," said May. "Quite right, my dear," in a tone of approbation. "Very glad to see you, Mr. Ogilvie. Let me present you to Miss Melinda P. Gatcombe, of the 'Waxa- hatchie Eagle,' and Mrs. Laurence Scully, of the 'Columbian Star.' These ladies are deeply interested in social matters, on which they are commissioned to report to their respective journals. Mr. Ogilvie is I 88 FOUND WANTING. in the English diplomatic service, and behind the scenes in most political matters." Having made this terrible avowal, Madame Falk left her unfortunate guest in the hands of the tor- mentors, who immediately fell upon and rent him. Miss Melinda was a tall, thin, and exceedingly nasal spinster, with a puckered, pallid face, while Mrs. L. Scully was a smiling, arch-eyed, golden- haired widow, accustomed evidently to abject sub- mission on the part of the stronger sex. May bestowed her attention on the cockney nephew, whose three months' experience in Paris had not yet enabled him to throw off his insular mauvaise honte. She was accustomed to meet him every Sun- day, at least, at his aunt's, and it was immense joy and relief to him, whenever he had a chance of speaking to her alone. He was soon in full flow of conversation, confiding to her, in a low tone and with rapid utterance, the beastly way that fellow, the head clerk, behaved to him at the office, Madame Falk was looking very handsome in a reseda grenadine and black lace, while Miss Barton, in stiff black silk, her head bristling all over with steely-grey curls, had on her best company manners, and sat on an uncompromising chair nursing Ma- dame Falk's pet cat Ivan, a great furry beauty, a present from Madame Zavadoskoi. To these enter Carr, who was very cordially received, especially by Miss Barton. He only bowed to May, not attempting to disturb MAN PROPOSES. I 89 her conversation with the young EngUshman, and merely nodding to Ogilvie. "I did not think you were still in Paris, Mr. Carr," said Madame Falk, giving him a cup of tea. "I am rather surprised at finding myself here still," he replied. "But some Australian friends have turned up, and I have done more sight-seeing in a week than I managed in the three months I have been dawdling here before. However, I start to- morrow for Switzerland and the Italian lakes, so I looked in to say good-bye, hardly hoping to find you, Madame Falk." "Well, we are off to-morrow for a month," ob- served Miss Barton; "at least / shall be a month away, but my cousin runs to and fro to Paris, to pick up subjects and post her letters. And this dear creature must do the best he can without us," strok- ing the cat. "However, May — Miss Riddell — wall look after him; he is nearly as much at home in the entresol as here." Carr, as in duty bound, admired the favourite, who accepted his advances in a digni- fied way. "Madame Zavadoskoi and every one except yourselves have disappeared," resumed Carr, "and you'll be gone to morrow." They talked a little longer of their friends' various destinations. Then the fair American journalists, finding it was impossible to extract anything from the wary diplomat, rose and took leave; as soon as they were I go FOUND WANTING. gone, May followed their example. "I will come up as soon as I return," she said, "and take your last instructions. When do you start — to-morrow?" "At ten: an unearthly hour!" returned Madame Falk. "I can do almost anything but get up early!" "Ten is not so very early." "Too early for me. It means getting up at seven. Where are you going. May?" "To the Rue C ." "May I come with you?" asked the nephew. "Yes, certainly," and Carr fancied there was a tone, not exactly of pleasure, in her voice. Ogilvie, who had stood up, made a step forward, then paused and began to caress the cat and make enquiries as to his pedigree and history. When May left the room, followed by her radiant cavalier, Ogilvie bade his hostess good-day with some flattering words expressive of his hope of meeting her again, and bowed himself out. Carr was there- fore left in possession of the premises. "Mr. Ogilvie is a good specimen of a cosmo- polite Enghshman," said Madame Falk, settling her- self in a comfortable chair; "still he is supremely English, so collected, so infinitely master of himself, that one is tempted to doubt that he has left any weeds of human weakness to disfigure the carefully gravelled paths of consideration along which he moves so deliberately!" "I don't fancy he has any heart to vex him with impulses," cried Miss Barton, with a severe nod. "I am sure he could be implacably cruel." MAN PROPOSES. IQI "Well, not cruel for cruelty's sake," returned Madame Falk. "No — perhaps not," said Carr, with some hesi- tation. "He is a very distinguished man, and can be very agreeable, but I never forgot my first im- pression of, him when I met him at the Conroys'. I was almost startled by his likeness to Derrick Strange, one of the most desperate bushrangers that ever afflicted the colony. He had done some awful cruel things, and generous ones too. His gang was devoted to him, but he was taken at last. I remember seeing him brought through our station when I was a mere boy, and thinking him a sort of hero. After the party left our place, Derrick managed to get one hand free, snatched a revolver from the policeman who guarded him, shot him, and then blew out his own brains. He knew there was no chance for him." "How curious that a resemblance could exist be- tween such a desperado and a highly polished, highly trained, honourable English gentleman!" said Ma- dame Falk, meditatively. "It is the accident of birth and education, Ma- dame Falk! I can't help fancying that Derrick was the making of a fine fellow, and I suspect if we could turn Olgivie inside out we should find more than an exterior likeness between the honourable gentleman and the criminal. Ogilvie gives me the idea of knowing very clearly what he wants, and not stopping at trifles to get it." "I have always thought that careful trainmg upon a well-planned system has a marvellously transform- ig2 POUND WANTING. ing power," replied Madame Falk, who in spite of her practicaUty in action, was a great theorist. Carr shook his head. "Beheve me, nature is the strongest ahvays; training may modify, may direct certain powers into different grooves, but the force will act very much in the same way; you can never kill self in some dispositions, nor does preaching and correcting, nor self examination, do much good. To get up and act is the plan; one or two straightfor- ward, kindly deeds are worth months of meditation in one's own chamber. Then you must get hold of your own will, and there is the rub." "Ah, yes! This is a tremendous question, Mr. Carr." "For my part," said Miss Barton, "I believe one is born good or born bad, and few have the power to change themselves. Look at Madame Zavadoskoi! she had everything in the world to make her selfish, — adored by mother, ruling her brothers, and if ever there were a set of young rips, her brothers were, — just see how kind and thoughtful and charitable she is." "No doubt! but after giving away abundantly she has a large margin left!" "I do not know how it is, but you never seem able to do Madame Zavadoskoi justice, Esther," cried Miss Barton, in a huff. "At all events, she is a charming woman," said Carr, smiling, "and a very affectionate mother. I am afraid Count Alestio has been playing very high since he came here." MAN PROPOSES. 1 93 "And will continue to play wherever he goes," said Miss Barton. "Russian men are terrible bar- barians; they cannot exist without exterior excite- ment." "There are plenty of men in other races just as bad, Miss Barton; one must have an object, and to most — after ambition — play is the greatest excite- ment," said Carr. "Which is yours, play or ambition?" asked Ma- dame Falk. "Certainly not play; a mild sort of ambition, perhaps." "What is it? To throw off the British yoke and be an Australian dictator?" Carr laughed. "Nothing is farther from my mind, or my de- sires. British rule is not a yoke. It may slip from us some day, not because we throw it off, but be- cause it is not wide enough to hold us and no one cares to stretch it to fit the young giant that has out- grown it. No, Madame Falk, all I want is to help forward certain reforms, certain movements, and to enjoy myself" They floated on into sundry arguments, for they rarely agreed. Carr had scrambled up to manhood in a very accidental and, on the whole, healthy way, and from nature he had gathered some idea of the vast and minute net-work of causes, influences, con- tacts, repulsions, that mould character and exercise reflex action on the will , while Madame Falk — Found Wanting. I. 13 194 FOUND WANTING. living for years among a largely Latin race — pro- foundly believed in the codification of law in every direction, and had swept her mind so clear of tradi- tion that she was incapable of perceiving the odd harmony which sometimes underlies even contra- diction. Carr often vexed her by what she con- sidered his obstinacy and blindness to the beauty of rigid rules, yet she was amused, and on the whole pleased, that a young man with the world at his foot evidently liked to discuss and dispute with her. Miss Barton had been nodding over some knit- ting she had taken up, as she considered such talk sad waste of time, when Carr began to say good-bye. "I met Mr. Riddell as I was coming along here," he said. "He is going to Dieppe on Wednesday; if you are away too, his daughter will have a lonely time of it." "On Wednesday!" repeated Madame Falk. "He never mentioned the date of his going. I should have put off our trip if I had known this — poor child ! it will be triste for her! I am surprised." "I am not," said Miss Barton, emphatically. "You may be sure he is going away solely for his daughter'b good!" Carr laughed. "I must see if we cannot manage to induce May to come down to us," remarked Madame Falk, thoughtfully. "Yes, do!" exclaimed Carr, with sudden ear- nestness. "I fancy she has a dull time of it, and there is something natural and graceful about her MAN PROPOSES. 1 95 — she dances right well — I should like another waltz with her." "She is a dear!" cried Madame Falk. "I often wonder what will become of her. I don't think Mr. Riddell has a relation in the world, at least not worth mentioning, or we should have heard of them; but he is just one of those men who will live forever — he takes such care of himself. How utterly un- like him she is!" "Well, my dear Madame Falk, good-bye. I shall make a point of returning to Paris before I start for home as I intend it to be — and hope to see you and have a good report of your id^x protegee. Good- bye, Miss Barton." A hearty shake of the hand, and he was gone. "He is on the whole a very sensible young man," was Miss Barton's sentence as she gathered up Ivan in her arms, "but I wish he and you would not argue and talk till the dinner is spoiled, and Adrienne dancing mad. I promised her she should go out at seven, and it is half-past now." "Oh, well, she may go as soon as she puts on the dishes; and, Sarah, I think if M^re Gilet would put a small bed for me in my room at 'Le Moulin,' you and I could manage there very well, and we might give vour room to May — she would enjoy the farm. I don't like the idea of leaving her here." "Oh, whatever you like! I must see about dinner now." Carr walked towards his hotel in deep thought, much that Madame Zavadosko'i had said coming back 13* 196 FOUND WANTING. to his mind as he reflected on what had fallen from Madame Falk touching the uncertainty of May Rid- dell's future. It was curious that as the image of the graceful girl, her pensive expression, and earnest eyes rose before him, so did the countenance of Ogilvie. Of course, it was in no way remarkable that, associating as he did with that "old twaddler" Riddell, he should call on Madame Falk, who was the Riddells' most intimate friend, and at the same time too as May. But he could not get rid of the idea that Ogilvie had intended to accompany Miss Riddell wherever she was going, and was disposed, if a quick and instantly screened glance told any- thing, to wring the young cockney's throat for pre- suming to thrust himself into the place Ogilvie had intended to occupy. Indeed, that so reserved and fastidious a man should bestow so much time and attention on such a "wind-bag" as old Riddell had already puzzled Carr. And then to think of Ogilvie putting himself out of the way to walk with a nobody, — who was neither brilliant nor important, nor highly placed, — it was at least remarkable. The fellow had good taste, however, Carr thought, measuring, man- like, a woman's attractions by the power they exer- cised over his superior in years, experience, and position, and he wondered he had not perceived be- fore how very charming Miss Riddell was. How triumphant the soft pallor of her complexion, to which the varying colour gave so much interest; the restful quiet of her manner, which never seemed dis- turbed by any egoistic agitations; above all, the MAN PROPOSES. 1 97 complete freedom from self-consciousness, or any ex- pectation of being made love to, which kept her tone to men and women exacth' the same ! Yes, any one might love her, only Carr was not disposed to fall in love just then, — he was rather sick of all that sort of thing, — only he hoped Ogilvie had no fancy for her. He was a dangerous man in every sense, and could hardly fail to work mischief if "But this is all folly," was Carr's ultimate conclusion, "I am growing a driveller." ****** "You'll be sure to persuade Mr. Riddell, May," were Madame Falk's last words next morning. "I shall be up next week and can take you back with me." "Dearest Madame Falk! It would be only too delightful. I will ask Mr. Ogilvie to back me up, and my father is not going now till Friday or Saturday. He must wait for some letter from England, so that would give me only three or four days by myself. Don't forget to send me a card to-morrow with your address." igS FOUND WANTING. CHAPTER XI. DUST TO DUST. Mr. Riddell was more pliable than his daughter expected. She had prudently told him of Madame Falk's invitation in Ogilvie's presence, when they were dining with that gentleman at one of the pleasant restaurants on the Champs Elysees, the same day that Madame Falk had left town. "I suppose you would like to go?" said Riddell, who was sipping a glass of excellent Sauterne. "You fancy the joys of a 'rural retreat! Believe me, you will be bored to death! Of course, you find our good friend a congenial companion; I do not, which makes a great difference. You and I like women of a different calibre. Hey, Ogilvie?" "I must say I find Madame Falk extremely like- able," returned Ogilvie, seeking May's eyes to read gratitude in them; "she is a bright, capable woman." "Yes, I suppose she is; but there is no account- ing for taste. Well, my child, I'll see what can be arranged. It might be a nice change, and do you good. That is enough for me." "It is certainly very dreary for Miss Riddell to be left to herself completely." DUST TO DUST. I 99 "Yes," added May; "even Mademoiselle Perret goes away next week." "I shall feel obliged to stay behind to take care of you," said Ogilvie. May laughed. "I am afraid your work is too important to be interfered with for so trifling an object," she said. "Well, dear father, may I write to Madame Falk, and promise to return with her when she comes?" "I suppose I may as well say yes, as I generally do," returned Mr. Riddell, with an air of resignation, and they soon rose from table. Mr. Riddell elected to sit and listen to some very lively songs at a cafe'-chantant , while Ogilvie and May strolled up the beautiful avenue. "It is a heavenly evening," he said. "Let us take a drive through the Bois. Your father will be quite well amused where he is for an hour or two. I told him not to wait for us." May unhesitatingly accepted the offer. Ogilvie hailed one of the little open fiacres which abound in Paris, and they were soon en route. It was an exquisite evening, and long dwelt in May's memory as the most charming experience she had till then ever known. Ogilvie seemed to lay aside all reserve, and spoke of his opinions, his con- victions, his views and hopes, with a frankness that surprised and delighted her. Was it possible that a man so accomplished, so experienced, so superior, really intended to make a friend of her? This was indeed an honour. It seemed to stir her own in- telligence, to fructify whatever seeds of knowledge 200 FOUND WANTING. and reflection she had been able to store up. With what flattering attention he Hstened to all she said, and seemed to find it very good! The delightful ex- cursion was over but too soon, and on reaching the house they found that Mr. Riddell had not yet returned. "And we might have had another hour!" ex- claimed Ogilvie, in such a tone of genuine regret that May coloured with pleasure. "I am sorry, too," she said. "But it was a de- lightful drive, and I thank you for it heartily." Ogilvie smiled. "The thanks are mine. I do not often find such a chance of exchanging ideas with my Egeria." He lingered yet a moment under the porte-cochere, and May, laughing at the idea of having any ideas to exchange, asked him to help in persuading her father to fulfil his promise to let her go to Madame Falk. "A promise is a promise, is it not?" "Yes, of course; only " Here Mr. Riddell came up and made some remark about their being before him, adding, "It is very good of you to trouble yourself with a chit like this girl of mine." "That is all he knows about it. Eh! Miss Riddell?" returned Ogilvie, with a good-humoured laugh, and then took leave of them. When May had taken off her hat and lace cape, she found her father had lit the lamp, and was scratching calculations on one of the scraps of paper of which he kept a goodly store in a large envelope, DUST TO DUST. 20I the cover of some huge circular. Mr. Riddell never bought anything he could possibly procure in any other way. "How long did Madame Falk ask you to stay?" he asked, looking up as May drew a chair and brought her book to the light. "She did not mention any time, but I am quite sure she will keep me as long as you are away." "Ah! then of course you must return. I cannot do without my little girl," said Riddell, who seemed in high good humour. "Then I think we will give Leontine the holiday she asked for. Then I shall have no mouths to fill for a fortnight except my own, and God knows that is easily done. Yes, my love! you shall go to our good friend — and enjoy yourself — if the kind of life pleases you." "Thank you," said May, simply. "If my agents in London remit my interest to- morrow, I shall be able to start on Friday. I am sure I don't know what the fellows are about," con- tinued Mr. Riddell, in a lofty tone, as if his business alone were enough to occupy a firm. "I ought to have received it on Saturday." The days which followed were very happily em- ployed by May in her own preparations, which were of a very simple kind and unavoidably limited. She was greatly exhilarated by the prospect of a change, as since she arrived from school in Paris she had never left it. Mr. Riddell's reprehensible agents sent the cash as anticipated, and he made a little speech to Leon- 202 FOUND WANTING. tine, granting her the desired hoUday, and was generally angelic. "I am going to breakfast with Ogilvie to-morrow," he said on the Wednesday following their dinner with that gentleman. "He wants me to take up some work in London, something connected with translations, but I fear it is too mechanical for me. Besides, I am now so acclimatised to Paris that I do not know if I could live in the dense atmosphere of London. I fear it would not do. However, I shall hear all Ogilvie has to say. Really it is long since I met a man who suited me so well. He is highly cultivated, and quite on an intellectual footing with myself I feel, too, that he appreciates me, which ordinary men do not. I am sure if I could assist him in his diplomatic work it would give me great pleasure. So, May, my love, you need make no provision for my breakfast to-morrow." This happy mood continued next day. Having dressed with his usual care, Mr. Riddell carefully locked up nearly all the loose money in his pocket, observing, "I shall only want a cab-fare or so, and it is as well not to carry too much about with one. Good-bye, dear child. Let us have dinner half an hour earlier. I want to do my pack- ing this evening, so as to have no hurry in the morning. Have all my things ready and laid on my bed before I come in." So saying, he kissed her brow, and went out. The hours sped swiftly, for May was busy arrang- ing and putting away things, being too unaccustomed DUST TO DUST. 203 to leave home not to make a mountain of a molehill. Then she had to write a joyous letter to Madame Falk, to announce her father's intended departure and her own readiness to start whenever Madame Falk came to town. It was a warm day, and about five o'clock, feel- ing tired, she lay down on the drawing-room sofa, with an interesting number of La Revue des deux Mondes, and was almost asleep over it, when a sharp ring startled her, and as she sprang to her feet she heard Ogilvie's voice speaking to Leontine. The next moment he had crossed the threshold and stood looking at her silently. There was something in his face that struck her with sudden terror. "What — what has happened?" she exclaimed, clasping her hands together. "Your father has met with a bad accident," he said, in a low, quiet voice. "Ah! Mr. Ogilvie, tell me the truth, — is he — is he dead?" "No — he is not dead, but in a hopeless condition. He asked for you — come with me " "Where — where?" was all she could sa3% "At the hospital, — not far. I will tell you all as we go along — do not lose time." May, though trembling from head to foot, promptly obeyed. When she returned to the salon, she found Ogilvie had spoken to Leontine, and had some wine on the table, which he insisted on her drinking. "After breakfasting together this morning," said 204 FOU^fD WANTING. Ogilvie, as they drove towards the hospital, "we sat talking for a considerable time, and as I had a visit to pay in the Rue Tilsit, your father walked with me. Not finding the man I wished to see, we re- turned together and went some little way down the Avenue Wagram. Here your father bade me good- morning. He attempted to cross the road where it is steepest, and finding a large omnibus coming rapidly upon him, he started forward to avoid it. His foot must have caught in something, or he trod on a stone which turned, for suddenly, to my horror, he pitched forward on his face under a large cart, with a pair of horses, which was coming down at a good pace. I saw it all. It was impossible to save him, he was under the horses' feet in a second, and sustained severe injuries." "Is he — oh, is he suffering much?" asked May, who was holding Ogilvie's hand with a nervous grasp. "I think not — I hope not. He was only half- conscious, but he did say a few words to me, and asked for you. It is a terrible shock for you, my dear girl. You have need of all your courage, but remember you have at least one devoted friend." "If only he does not suffer," she murmured. "Is there no hope?" "I dare not encourage any," he returned. Then there was silence, save for a broken exclamation now and again, faintly uttered by May, until the hospital was reached. DUST TO DUST. 205 May was too dazed to notice much till she was led into a small and rather bare room, exquisitely clean, where on a narrow bed lay a form, dimly visible through the coverlet, and a death-like face she knew well upon the pillow. She let Ogilvie's arm go and walked steadily to the bedside. Was she too late? As she stood there with clasped hands, awed into composure, the dying man opened his eyes with a strange light in them, a faint smile flickered over his ghastly face, then the light died away, and the solemn stillness of everlasting rest settled down on face and form. Ogilvie drew near, with a vague idea that May might fail and faint, but she kept quite still for a while, and then bent down to kiss her father's brow. Then the icy touch told her she had no father, and she drew back with a shudder. Ogilvie drew her arm through his. "You can do no more for him," he whispered. "He had the comfort of recognising you!" "I do not like to leave him," she whispered. "Trust me. I have secured proper attendance, all that you can wish. You shall return to-morrow, if you desire it," said Ogilvie, in a low tone. "Spare yourself! Leave yourself in my hands." A painful, dizzy sensation seemed to paralyse May's heart; she did not lose consciousness, but she did not quite know what she was doing. She held Ogilvie's arm closely. She knew she was moving, then she felt fresher air on her brow, and found herself in a sort of vestibule or antechamber. 206 FOUND WANTING. "Come, there is nothing more to be done," said Ogilvie, softly. "I will take you home. Remember, he is past all pain now, and you may rest. You have been a good daughter." Then she was in the luminous darkness of the summer night, and felt the motion of a carriage, and knew that her hand was gently, tenderly held — that she was not alone. Arrived at her home, she was tearfully embraced by Mademoiselle Ferret, and overwhelmed by a torrent of ejaculations expressive of grief and affection. "You will not leave her till I return to-morrow," said Ogilvie. "I take all care and responsibility on myself. I have been Mr. Riddell's nearest friend of late years. You will promise me," he continued, bending over May, who had sunk into a chair, "to try to sleep. I shall be with you early to-morrow, and I shall telegraph to Madame Falk. You can rest, for what can be done has been done." Mademoiselle Ferret volubly assured him that she would not leave the beloved, afflicted child for a moment, and sobbed and wiped her eyes till any one might have supJDOsed that she was the bereaved one. Yet the little woman was quite sincere in all this display of feeling. With a lingering hand-clasp, Ogilvie left May to her kindly care, and then Leontine and Mademoiselle Ferret persuaded their charge to go to bed, and the latter established herself at her side. It seemed to May that she could never sleep again, and even as DUST TO DUST. 20"] she thought so the blessed balm of sleep stole over her, for the sudden and terrible shock had thoroughly- exhausted her. What varied and innumerable descriptions have been penned of the painful bewilderment, the in- tensified bitterness, with which those who have been struck down by sudden grief or loss awake after brief oblivion to renewed consciousness of the blow, yet no words can adequately describe it. To May it seemed when she opened her eyes the next morning that she realised for the first time the full meaning of what had befallen her. First and keenest came the sad certainty that her father must have suffered horribly. His haggard, drawn face suggested past torture, and she was not there to soothe or help him, and now she could never do anything for him again. Had she ever done enough? Had she not been impatient with his little foibles, and harsh towards what seemed to her his faults? What was she that she should judge? Where is the eloquence that can send reproach to shiver through the heart, like the silence of death? Then she felt shocked at her own want of real grief. On the whole her father was kind to her, and she was cold to him, and irresponsive; still he never seemed dissatisfied with her. At such a time, poor child, she would not allow herself to remember the isolation of her life with a man refrigerated by selfish- ness into an icy semblance of humanity, incapable of "giving out" anything, and stone-blind to truth. 208 FOUND WANTING. The death of such a father would be no heart-loss to any child. Still, thought was very painful. May was thank- ful to get up and dress, to move about, often sitting down to collect her ideas, and wish that Ogilvie would come soon. What could she do without him? She would leave herself entirely in his hands. But he was going away. Ah! she must put that out of her mind, or she could not control herself. At last Ogilvie did come, — she did not know how early he really did come. Then she felt stronger and more composed. She begged him to take her once more to see her father before he was taken away for This Ogilvie gently but firmly refused, and persuaded her to give up her intention. Then he asked her about her own and her father's relatives. Beyond her mother's brother she knew none, and she was vaguely aware that Riddell was not on friendly terms with her uncle. Indeed, the deceased always asserted that his brother-in-law had behaved badly, nay, infamously, to him. It was significant of May's habitual distrust of her father's statements, that she did not think it necessary to mention this estrange- ment to Ogilvie when he suggested writing to this relative. "When do you go to England?" asked May, when there was a little break in the conversation. She spoke very low, with an occasional tremor in her voice, which touched Ogilvie profoundly, — she DUST TO DUST. 20Q was so calm and strove so bravely to keep up and give as little trouble as possible. "I can stay long enough to be of use to you," he returned, and stopped for a moment; then, with a slight effort, added, "Your poor father — in an in- terval of consciousness — asked me to take care of you, to act as your guardian, and I promised I would. I will fulfil that promise. May." "It was not right to lay such a burden on you, a comparative stranger," faltered May, struggling with the tears which would well up, chiefly because of the infinite comfort his words sent glowing through her veins. "Am I a stranger in any sense?" he asked, stretching out his hand. "Do you hesitate to trust me?" "Ah, no! I trust you as I never trusted any one before," she exclaimed, putting her hand in his. "Not even dear Madame Falk!" A smile, a kindly smile, passed over Ogilvie's lips as he held her hand gently for a moment. "Then you accept my guardianship? I shall have but a short tenure of office. In less than a year you will be of age, will you not? Now I want you to go up to Madame Falk's rooms. The officials will soon be here to affix seals on all the receptacles which may contain papers, etc. So make your servant take up whatever you may want for a few days, until all the formalities are gone through. The concierge will no doubt give us the key. Indeed, every one Found Wanting. I. 1 4 2IO FOUND WANTING. in the house seems anxious to do what they can for you." May unhesitatingly obeyed; she was only too glad to have so good a friend to obey. She had hardly left the entresol when the men of the law arrived, and she was thankful she had escaped their presence. As soon as she possibly could, .Madame Falk was on the scene of action, and, as usual, a potent and efficient help. She at once took possession of May, and Ogilvie found an admirable colleague. Then she arranged all about the mourning for the young orphan, accompanied her to pay the last tribute of respect to the deceased, and petted and coddled her protegee to her heart's content. When at length, all legal regulations having been obsei"ved, May was free to examine what remained to her, and remove her belongings to Madame Falk's apartment, that the entresol might be given up to the proprietor, it was found that beyond the quarter's income, just received, a few books and trifling per- sonal possessions, such as clothes, a watch, and some ornaments of small value, Riddell had literally left nothing. He had, after his wife's death, sunk all the pro- perty he could call his own in the purchase of an annuity, within which he managed by strict economy to live, and not a farthing remained for the support of his daughter. DUST TO DUST. 2 I I "I wonder he could sleep in his bed at night when he thought of that poor, dear child!" cried Madame Falk, indignantly. She was taking final counsel with Ogilvie, who was on the point of leav- ing Paris, respecting May's affairs. "Yes, but he did not think of her," returned Ogilvie, calmly. "Now she is absolutely penniless," continued Madame Falk, "and I don't much see how she is to help herself; she has had next to no education. I might get her some writing or translations here and there, but it would amount to very little." "Riddell has at least left next to no debt. In fact, the order in which he kept his affairs is ad- mirable, and, as we can give up the apartment and send off the servant, all expenses can be stopped at once," resumed Ogilvie. "Certainly May is more fortunate than many a fatherless girl, in having good friends," said Madame Falk. "That dear, kind creature, Mrs. Conroy, has sent me a handsome cheque for her use, and an in- vitation to stay as long as she likes, until she makes some plan for the future; in short, Mrs. Conroy told me not to mention the cheque to May; but that sort of delicacy is nonsense, so I did tell May, who is quite sensible, and greatly touched by Mrs. Conroy's kindness. I think she will go to Audeley Chase bye and bye, fur Frances wrote such an affectionate letter she could not well refuse. But I can see she will never be content to live on charity. I wish she 14* 212 FOUND WANTING. could get a position as companion or secretary to some rich old Englishwoman, there are such lots of them." "Ah — yes, it is a good idea, Madame Falk. Poor May! it would be very dull for her," said Ogilvie, reflectively. "Women who have to earn their bread cannot be choosers. I should dearly like to keep her my- self, but I cannot do that just at present. I will take her away with me for a fortnight's rest, and then see her off to Dieppe. The Conroys will send someone to meet her in London." "It is well planned. People are rather scattered just now, but when they begin to gather together again, I shall look for some elderly, unencumbered lady, who requires care and companionship," said Ogilvie, smiling. "Pray do, Mr. Ogilvie; and now let me thank you, both on my own account and May's, for all your help, and all your goodness! I do not know what we should have done without you. And I confess, with shame, that I thought you cold and selfish." "You are right, Madame Falk. I am both, to- wards the world in general; therefore, what warmth I have for the very few who interest me is all the warmer. May Riddell is an excellent specimen of English girlhood, and interests me. Her father amused me, and I had my reasons for cultivating him. If I can be of service to the daughter, it will DUST TO DUST. 213 give me infinite pleasure. I trust that by and bye some honest young fellow will see what an admirable wife she would make. She is out, you say?" "Yes, she has gone to put some flowers on her father's grave." "Well, I shall take my chance of finding her to- night, or to-morrow morning, for the day after I must go to London. I have already overstayed my time." So they parted, mutually satisfied; indeed, Ma- dame Falk felt quite enthusiastic about Ogilvie. "He is really a good man," she thought, "and will be a most useful friend for poor, dear May! Should he happen to marry Frances Conroy, so much the better, as they will join in assisting my young protegee. And, of course, Ogilvie must marry money." Madame Falk had some difficulty in mentioning her late father with anything like patience to May, so angered was she by the evidence of his extreme selfishness. To sink all he possessed for his own advantage during his lifetime, thus leaving his daughter totally unprovided for, seemed to her dis- tinctly criminal, ^^llen the quarter's rent had been paid, the cost of the funeral and mourning settled. May would have been absolutely penniless but for Mrs. Conroy's cheque. "And, thank goodness, I have man-^ged to get her a good rig-out," was Ma- dame Falk's pious ejaculation. "She can manage nearly three montlis at Audeley Chase without any 214 FOUND WANTING. renewal." So she went cheerfully about her work, for all her sympathy and ready help, her counsel and direction, were mixed with rapidly-written articles on dress, fashion, sea-side gossip, the "on-dits" of the political and artistic worlds. This had been a very busy day with Madame Falk, but it was not over yet. While solacing her- self with a cup of tea, about five o'clock, a telegram was handed to her. "Good heavens! This is a surprise!" she ex- claimed, as she opened it. "What is it?" asked May. "It is from my Californian editor. He arrived in Paris to-day, and wants me to dine with him at the 'Hotel Splendide,' and have a talk, as he starts for Russia to-morrow morning. Of course, I must go. Shall you mind being left alone. May?" "No, not at all! If I feel lonely I shall go and see Mademoiselle Perret. I do not dislike being alone." "Perhaps not, but it is not good for you! I know you fret yourself!" "Wonderfully little, Madame Falk. I sometimes think I have no heart." "You will find that you have more than enough. I must put on my best bib and tucker. I do wonder what the man has to say to me. I hope he has some very advantageous offer to make!" When Madame Falk had made up her packets DUST TO DUST. 2 I 5 for the foreign post, and, with May's help, dressed very carefully, she set out in remarkably good spirits to keep her tryst. May gave her a kiss, and a hearty "God speed," and returned to her friend's "Cabinet d'Etude," which she put in order, as far as she dared. Then she gave water to the flowers in the salon and the plants on the balcony, and opened the Venetian blinds. The sun was now for some time ofl" that side of the house, and a deliciously cool air came in through the windows. She sat down to enjoy the freshness, and to think. The first sharp impression of her father's death had worn off, and the sense of her extreme isolation pressed more and more upon her. She rather dreaded her visit to the Conroys, though she had firm faith in their kindness and constancy; but she dreaded a plunge into a society of strangers, probably uninteresting strangers. Then the future! Here the door-bell rang, and she went to answer the summons, for Adrienne had been left in the country with Miss Barton. At the door she found Ogilvie. "May I come in?" he asked. "Oh, yes, pray do! Madame Falk has gone out, but I am so glad you have come." "And I am not sorry to have a few words with you alone," he said, as he followed her to the salon. "How sweet and cool it is here! And — how white you look!" sitting down beside her on the sofa near the window. "But I am quite well, only a little tired. Do you leave Paris to-morrow, Mr. Ogilvie?" 2l6 FOUND WANTING. "Yes, and by a morning train, which accounts for my presence here this evening. And you will not be many days behind me, I believe?" "I hope not. It will be very desolate when you are gone." "Thank you. I am so glad I was of use to you. And you are going to stay with the Conroys? Do you think you will be happy there?" "Yes. Frances is really fond of me. I know they are kindness itself, but I do not like to be a pensioner on their bounty, if I could do something for myself" "Yes, it would be better. I confess to having an idea for you, but I must be in London to follow it up. Say nothing of this to any one. Just leave yourself in your guardian's hands." "Ah! that I will, most wilhngly. But do you really think you could find me some employment by which I could maintain myself?" "I do. May. Leave it to me." They talked on, till the twilight came gently round them, of the past and future, — of thoughts and visions, with many a break and pause. "I should like you to be settled in London," said Ogilvie, as he was bidding her good-bye. "I shall probably be there for some time, and I want to have my ward under my own eye." "And I should like it, too." "Remember you keep me informed which day DUST TO DUST. 217 you are to cross, and what arrangements have been made for your journey. Adieu for a week or two. And never allow yourself to feel desolate. Write to me whenever you want me. Here is my London address." He put a card on the table, held her hand in both his for a moment, and was gone. 2l8 FOUND WA^a'ING. CHAPTER XII. AT AUDELEY CHASE. Though still shadowed by the sense of awe and distress which had fallen upon her, with the sudden shock of her father's most unexpected death, May was fast recovering her tranquillity and courage. She was always happy with Madame Falk, and the quaintness of their country quarters charmed her. The partners lodged in an old farm-house of a better sort, to which was attached a mill, turned by a stream. It was situated in a valley a few miles from Rouen, and was altogether different from any place she had ever seen before. The valley was somewhat damp, but in the summer heat that did not signify. It was deliciously fresl) and green. The sparkle of the water rushing over the wheel, the straight solemn rows of poplars which bordered the bye-road leading to the mill, the poultry which at certain hours trooped from the yard across a corner of the orchard on one side of the house to the water, the fat, broad-backed, nearly white old horse that browsed under the apple trees, formed a picture of restful content, that made May long for the artistic power to put it permanently on canvas. Then, when she had a couple of hours to spare, AT AUDELEY CHASE. 2ig Madame Falk would order the old horse to be har- nessed to a very antiquated rusty caleche, and drive May into Rouen (she could put her hand to any- thing), where they enjoyed examining the beautiful old churches, the Palais de Justice, and other relics of old days. It was a period of peace which enabled May to gather her forces for the battle which she told her- self lay before her. Sometimes a sudden sense of her complete isolation would strike her with a shud- dering fear: was ever any creature so divested of kith and kin as herself? Her only relative,, her uncle, had written a very decided refusal to acknow- ledge her in any way, as he had been for years on bad terms with her father. Therefore, so far as family ties went, she was absolutely alone. But she reflected, trying to rouse her courage, she had friends which are better than relations, and she had youth ! It pleased her to return to England. In truth, she had been far happier at school there than she had ever been with her father, and she would be in the same country, perhaps in the same town, with Ogilvie, round whom her hopes for future happiness were unconsciously gathering. Had any girl ever before had so delightful a friend, so wise, so steady, so considerate? Superior as he was in all ways, she could say anything to him; all her early timidity in his presence had melted away, in her instinctive recognition of the profound interest he took in her. Could any feeling, any attachment in the world, be 220 FOUND WANTING. SO sweet, so satisfying, as the delicious friendship he had given her, and which he deserved from her! Life must always be full of charm while this lasted, and it would last, A letter from Ogilvie was the only thing needful to crown this soft-grey dawn of a new phase in her existence, but suffused with the rose of coming sun- shine, and he did not disappoint her. It was not long, yet it said a great deal, and reminded her of her promise to let him know her movements. He also wrote to Madame Falk, telling her that he was going to the Highlands on a short visit to some re- lations, and should not forget his ward, as he had established the habit of calling her, should he fall in with any rich, halt, blind, or maimed dowager. The time for leaving the peaceful little valley came all too quickly. But if May dreaded the grandeur of Audeley Chase, she also longed to be in England, longed to be launched in some humble career, which would enable her to maintain herself; and that Ogilvie would find this for her she never doubted. She was very sorry to say good-bye to her good friends. Never had Miss Barton been so amiable. She had refrained almost altogether from acidulated remarks; and "Ivan," the beloved cat, whom Madame Falk had brought with her, as there was no one left in the entresol to care for him, had been very lov- ing to the "favoured guest" at the Mill. Madame Falk insisted on escorting May as far as Dieppe, and seeing her safe on board the steamer. AT AUDELEY CHASE. 221 "You will have a long, tiresome wait, my dear," she said, as they stood on the deck, having secured a berth. "I am afraid they will not get off till two o'clock, and you will not be at Victoria till ten to- morrow morning. I wish you had some one with you! Make up to that nice-looking, exceedingly English old maid, — I am sure she is an old maid, — -she may be useful to you; are you sure you are quite equal to calling a cab, and driving across to the Midland Station? A porter will get you one; don't give him more than sixpence.' "I am not at all afraid, dear Madame Falk. I speak my own language, and I have money enough." "That's right! Be sure you send me a card to- morrow morning, and go straight away to the Mid- land; you can get some breakfast there. God bless you, my dear child! I hope you will come and stay with me again. If we could only find something for you to do in Paris — but there! I must go back to the Town station. I'll sit in the waiting-room till the early market train starts to Rouen. God bless you, dear!" It was rather appalling, being thus left alone in a crowd of strangers. This was indeed being cut adrift, and May could not keep back a few tears. But she was very tired, and, following the advice given her by her friend, she partially undressed, and lay down in her berth, and dropped asleep before the steamer put off. The night, or rather the early morning, was calm but foggy, and their progress slow. It was a dreary 222 FOUND WANTING. journey, but May met with no misadventure, rather with help and courtesy from her fellow-passengers. It cheered her to hear English spoken on all sides, though a little puzzling, after being plunged for nearly six years in French. The sense of loneliness grew stronger as she approached the metropolis, and she shrank from the idea of her solitary drive across the mighty town. Now she was crossing the wide river. How wonderfully different everything looked from what she was accustomed to, and how little blue sky was discernible! Now the speed was slackening; they were running under a glass roof much blackened by smoke; they were alongside the platform, a porter holding on to the luggage; a few people stood about, evidently waiting for friends; a gentleman came out from among them, some one she knew; was it, could it be? — yes, it ivas Mr. Ogilvie. "Oh, how kind and good of you to come! I am so glad! I thought you were in Scotland." "I considered it my duty to see you safe off to Audeley Chase," he returned, handing her out of the carriage. "You have had a good crossing? You look quite fresh, and less pale than when we parted," gazing at her with the searching glance he rarely permitted himself. "Let us get your luggage, and then you will breakfast with me at the hotel." "Thank you very much; but Madame Falk said I was to drive across to the Midland Station at once." AT AUDELEY CHASE. 223 "Madame Falk did not know that I was coming to meet you." "No, of course not," returned May, quite satisfied to stay. "I have ordered breakfast, and I am very hungry," added Ogilvie, with a brief, pleasant smile. To such reasoning there could be no reply. The luggage found, and consigned to the "left lug- gage" place, Ogilvie led his ward into the hotel, where breakfast was laid in a private room, and consigned her to the care of a chambermaid, that she might make her toilet in comfort. How grand and beautiful everything seemed to her! What a guardian angel Ogilvie was! Her return to her native land had, indeed, begun glori- ously. "Your train is at 12.50 from St. Pancras," said Ogilvie, as they took their places. "We may have nearly two hours to talk, which is not to be de- spised," and as he spoke it struck May that he was really very glad to see her, and that he looked younger than he had ever seemed before. Then followed a delightful repast. Led by a few well-put queries, May described her stay with Madame Falk minutely, dwelling warmly on the great kindness of both cousins. Ogilvie listened with an air of interest which carried her on. "Do you know," he said, when she paused, "that you have rather remarkable descriptive powers!" "And do you know, Mr. Ogilvie, that it is very 224 FOUND WANTING. rude of a guardian to laugh at his ward!" she re- turned, smiHng. "But I am not laughing," he exclaimed. "I speak my real conviction." May shook her head. "Believe it or not, as you like," he added. "Take some strawberries. Fruit is always best at breakfast. And — are you sure you would like better to live in England than in Paris?" "In some ways, yes; though I should like always to be near Madame Falk." "Apart from that attraction, for you cannot have everything, you would prefer England? Even London?" "Yes, certainly. What I especially want is to earn something for myself. I do not wish to live on the charity, even of the most generous." "I understand that," said Ogilvie, thoughtfully. "You said you thought you could help me." May hesitated a little over the words. "I did. May. I have not forgotten. I still have the same plan in view, but you must leave it en- tirely to me." "Of course I shall. I leave everything to you." She raised her eyes as she spoke and was struck by the sombre intensity of his. "Your confidence is not misplaced," he said, in a low tone. "Tell me, how long are you going to stay with the Conroys?" "I do not exactly know — as long as I like — two or three months, that would be long enough?" look- ing at him enquiringly. AT AUDELEY CHASE. 225 "It would do very well," he said, answering the look. "Shall you come to the Chase, Mr. Ogilvie? I know Mr. Conroy asked you." "No, May; not this autumn. I have many engagements." Since her father's death it had drawn them so strangely near each other, he had always called her "May." "I suppose you are always greatly engaged?" she said. "Well, yes; a good deal. Don't imagine, how- ever, that my engagements are festive or social. They are chiefly hard business matters." "Still, their reality must give them great interest." "Profound!" returned Ogilvie, and grew suddenly silent. The next moment he roused himself, and drew his companion on to speak of herself, her tastes, her ideas of the future, her few hopes; and though she was brighter than when he parted from her last, he could see how permeated her heart and soul were with the sense of her own insignificance and loneli- ness. He managed, however, to impress on her a conviction that she was of importance to him. He gave his address in Scotland, and begged her to keep him informed as to her life with the Conroys. "I hope they will not have a very large party," said May, with a sigh. "I feel half afraid of a number of people." "That IS only the remains of the nervous weak- ness brought on by the terrible shock you have Found Wanting. I. I 5 226 FOUND WANTING. sustained. And, pray remember, your deep mourning gives you the right to stay in your room if any extra festivity is expected. But your own tact will counsel you better than I can." "I am afraid not, Mr. Ogilvie," she was be- ginning, when she suddenly glanced at the clock. "Oh, is it not late? I must not lose the train." "Do not fear. I have been keeping watch. I do not intend you to lose the train, I assure you. You had better put on your hat, perhaps, though we have plenty of time." Was it possible they had been talking for nearly two hours? Then came the drive to St. Pancras; it seemed wonderfully short. "Oh, Mr. Ogilvie!" cried May, with a sudden spasm of memory. "I promised to post a card to dear Madame Falk, and I had almost forgotten — I am ashamed of myself." "You can write one at the station. I will get one for you," said Ogilvie, smiling. Having deposited his charge in the waiting-room, he went to see to the labelling of the luggage, and returned with the card, placed a chair for her near a huge blotter and a nearly-dried up ink-bottle. "Before you write, I must tell you that I am supposed to be in Scotland; my being here instead is on account of some diplomatic business, and I must ask you to say nothing of having met me, either to Madame Falk or the Conroys. May looked up, a little surprised. "Oh! very well ! I am glad you told me;" then she quickly traced AT AUDELEY CHASE. 2 27 a few lines to the effect that she had had a very prosperous journey and now wrote from the Midland Station, whence she would soon start. "Will that do?" she asked, showing it to Ogilvie. "Perfectly! you write a remarkably firm hand. It is not the sort of writing one would expect from you. I always remark that to myself when I get your letters." "I don't suppose I am firm, though," returned May, reflectively, as she drew on her glove. "You do not know what you are yet," said Ogilvie, smiling. "Perhaps I never may; but I am not a child, Mr. Ogilvie." "No, that you are not; you are every inch a woman; all you lack is experience, and that will come soon, too soon. I don't imagine that even in your infancy you were a thoughtless child. By the way, do you think you could translate? If so, I think I could get you some work." "I could only translate French, which I imagine every one can read now, and I am not sure I could translate into really good English." "We shall see. Now I must let you go! Your journey will not be much more than four hours. I am, I assure you, quite sorry to part with my — may I call you my pupil?" "You may, indeed; you have taught me a great deal," looking gratefully uito his eyes. Ogilvie smiled. "Perhaps it is a case of reciprocity," he said. 15* 228 FOUND WANTING. "Ah, that is not Hkely," returned May, shaking her head. "Time is up; I must get you some papers to help you through your hours of imprisonment." He led her to a first-class carriage. "But, Mr. Ogilvie, I was to travel by second " "You are to do what your guardian desires," he interrupted. "You will have the carriage all to your- self; unluckily, this is a slow train, but, per contra, very few going as far as Kingsford travel by it." He disappeared, but soon returned with various illustrated publications. Then he held her hand for a minute. "I shall see you before long, and mind you let me know your impressions of English coun- try life." "You may be sure I will! Good-bye! thank you very much for your great kindness." The guard's whistle warned him to step back, and the next moment she had lost sight of him, and was fairly plunged into the unknown. May did not open her papers for a considerable time; she was too much absorbed by her gratitude for Ogilvie's great goodness in taking so much trouble about her. How differently she felt on this second stage of her journey from the desolation which over- whelmed her when she parted with Madame Falk the night before ! She felt " strong and of good courage," now that she was so assured of Ogilvie's thoughtful friendship. He would take care of her, in the way she most desired, by finding her work. There was that about him that was expressive of power, of a AT AUDELEY CHASE. 2 29 reserved force which no one could exactly measure. "But even on him I must not lean too much. I must not burden him in any way; a certain degree of equality is the essence of friendship ! But how little I can do! — yet I can learn. I wonder what plan he has in his head for me? He has one, I am sure! I am fortunate to have such a friend!" She was indeed amazed at her own good spirits, and a little ashamed of them. In truth, her father was no real loss to her. The incident of his desertion of her in her dangerous illness had so soon given her the key to his character, that it brought a discordant note into their inter- course which she could not do away with; she could not shut her eyes to his selfishness, his petty un- truthfulness, his sham existence! and now, having utterly forgiven the painful past, the kindest course was not to think of him at all. It was a glorious afternoon when she reached her destination. Glowing golden sunshine bathed the landscape; the trees and fields had put on their richest, deepest green; the roads were dry and white, and May, wearied out with dust and heat, felt sud- denly revived when she recognised Frances and Mr. Conroy on the platform as the train came to a stand at the little station. "Ah, May! delighted to see you! Had a tolerable journey?" cried Mr. Conroy, in joyous tones, as he shook hands heartily with her. "So glad, dear May!" said Frances, embracing her with unusual warmth. "You look so pale and 230 FOUND WANTING. tired! What luggage have you? Tell Peters, he will attend to it, and we will drive up to the house at once." Instructions having been given to an elderly groom, Frances put her arm through her friend's, and they passed through the station to the space behind, all persons raising hats, touching caps, or dropping curtseys as the great Miss Herbert Conroy passed, a new experience for May. A pretty low phaeton and a pair of beautiful brown ponies were waiting for the heiress and her friend, the reins held by the smartest of grooms, while a boy held a fine grey hunter, evidently aged, who pricked up his ears as Mr. Conroy approached. He asked affectionately for Madame Falk, and made further inquiries as to May's travels. "You know we thought some friends of Esther's would have been travelling over with you, or we would have sent some one to meet you." "Thank you very much. I got on very well, indeed; you know I speak the language," said May, smiling, and she stepped into the carriage. "I am bound in an opposite direction; we'll meet at dinner; you are our only guest at present." Frances took her seat, the ponies pawed the ground impatiently, the groom jumped up behind, and they were off at a rattling pace, so fast, indeed, that May held on very tightly. "Do you always go so fast, Frances?" "Oh, the ponies are very fresh; they will settle down presently." AT AUDELEY CHASE. 23 I The country was rather flat, but rich, and, in the direction towards which they were going, thickly wooded. It struck May that there was an air of cheerfulness and comfort about the cottages and hamlets, by which they passed in their six-mile drive, that seemed different from the aspect of the country round Paris, of which she had a few rare glimpses; but she was a little dazed by the complete newness of everything. Audeley Chase was a fine old place. That por- tion near the much-patched and added-to original Tudor house was perhaps too much embowered in trees; but at less than half a mile's distance began an open space of heather and fern, grass, rocks, and occasional clumps of trees, which was the real Chase. Immediately round the house were mossy green lawns and pleasure-grounds, kept to a pitch of per- fection which astonished the young visitor. Conserv- atories were fitted into several of the angles of the quaint old house, and a peacock strutted on a terrace on which the principal rooms opened. "To think of three people having all that great house to themselves!" thought May, as they stopped at the wide flight of low steps leading to the open entrance-door. Yet the whole place was more lovely and delightful than grand or stately. Within there were numerous passages, richly carpeted, and abounding in carved oak, bronzes, china, old pictures, and all that could delight the eye. Through one of these May was led to Mrs. Con- roy's private sitting-room, a charming apartment, with 2^2 FOUND WANTING. delicate pale-grey walls, on which hung choice land- scapes in water-colour; it opened into a conservatory, and thence a few steps led into the grounds. Here the lady of the house received her guest, with her usual gentle kindliness, touched by the tender sympathy she felt for a young creature so curiously denuded of all family ties. "I am very glad to see you, my dear child, and I hope you will stay as long as ever you like," she said, kissing her brow. "Frances greatly needs a young companion, and I don't think she cares for any girl except your- self Now, Frances, take her to her room and order some tea there; I shall not expect to see either of you till dinner time." May was deeply moved by this kindly greeting; she could hardly keep back her tears or command her voice. "She needs rest, Frances," she added, in a low voice. "Yes, no doubt; she never was strong! Come, May dear." At last Miss Conroy — after administering tea, and a good deal of information touching her own doings in the past and plans for the future — left her friend to rest, and for some time May kept per- fectly still on the sofa, from which she could see through the open window, over the lawn beneath, to the background of beautiful foliage which shut it in. She had never seen so charming a bedroom before. The chintz hangings, the elegance of the AT AUDELEY CHASE. 2^;^ furniture, though simple and light, the long glass, the endless appliances for comfort and convenience, the delicious scent of flowers from within and from without, seemed to her too much beauty and luxury for any mere mortal. And there were many houses like this scattered through beautiful England! Mus- ing on the extraordinary difference between her own life and that of her friend, she gradually fell into a light sleep. From this she was roused by a loud but not un- melodious ringing; at the sound Frances entered the room. "It is the dressing bell," she said. "I hope you have had a nice sleep? I will send Hortense (you remember my maid, Hortense, in Paris?) to unpack your things; she was so pleased to hear you were coming." "Oh, thank you, Frances! I can do everything for myself." "You must let Hortense help you this time. It is not necessary to make much of a toilette; we are quite alone, and will be till next week." "I have very little of what you call toilette to make," said May. "Quite enough, I dare say. I will come for you when I am ready myself" Dinner was served in a large dining-room, like a baronial hall, full of carved oak furniture, curious blue china, pictures, and all kinds of suitable deco- rations. The squire took in his wife, leaving the young 234 FOUND WANTING. ladies to follow, arm-in-arm. May thought how- well suited Mr. Conroy looked to be at the head of such an establishment, and withal there was a homely heartiness in his kind attentions and hospitality that the humblest might be at home with him. Dinner over, the master of the house proposed that they should take their coffee on the terrace, much to May's satisfaction. "You see, I can have my cigar out there without offence," he said, with a nod to May, as he put his wife's lace shawl round her. "I know madame does not like tobacco in her dining-room, though she is obliged to put up with it when some young fellows are here." "This is pleasant, hey, Miss Riddell?" he re- sumed, as he watched the curling smoke when they were settled in comfortable basket-chairs round a small table, which had been set forth by the butler, assisted by a magnificent "Jeames." "You couldn't do this in Paris, charming as people find it?" "No, indeed!" exclaimed May. "The wonder is to me that you can ever tear yourselves away from so delightful a home." "Ay, so do I, that is quite my idea. There is no place like the Chase to me." "Yes, it is sweet, I know," said Frances, "and for a while it is very well, but one's faculties grow paralysed here. There is no mental friction, no mental Ufe. I must say that, much as I love the Chase, I could not support existence without a visit to the Continent, — a peep at Paris every year. I think I AT AUDELEY CHASE. 235 like Paris better than London; I seem to know my way about better." "Well, I do not like any town except for a short spell," returned the squire. "I don't care for Frenchmen, — very good fellows, I dare say, but I don't understand them. By the way, you saw Ogilvie just before he left Paris?" Mrs. Conroy looked warningly at her husband, — she feared the mention of his name would bring back too painful associations, — but May was glad to speak of him, and answered steadily: "We saw him nearly every day. I cannot tell you how good he was, how thoughtful! I do not know what I should have done without him, or Madame Falk, either. She was like a mother to me, — but then she knows French people chiefly; now, all the people in authority, French and English, knew Mr. Ogilvie, and attended to what he said." "True. He's a very rising man, — ought to go into Parliament, — a right good fellow, too! glad he was so useful to you, my dear. I wish you would ask him to come here for a little shooting on his way back from Scotland" (to his wife). "He is in Scotland, isn't he?" "He was going there, he said, the last time he wrote to Madame Falk," replied May, a faint colour rising in her cheek at the prevarication. "Is he not Scotch?" asked Mrs. Conroy. "His family is. But he himself is a thorough English gentleman," said the squire. "May," said Frances, "am I selfish and un- 236 FOUND WANTING. reasonable, if I ask are you too tired to try over some of our old songs? I liked your accompani- ments so much!" "Yes, Frances," put in her mother, "you are both. I think vocal music must jar " "No, dear Mrs. Conroy," interrupted May. "I am quite ready to play for Frances. It has done me so much good to come, but to-night I am dull and tired and " "By George! you shall go to bed as soon as the light is gone," cried the squire. "I am too thoughtless!" said Frances. "Come, May, we will stroll round the lawn; there is a pretty peep of our old church through the trees at the other side." SOME LETTERS. 237 CHAPTER XIII. SOME LETTERS. "Glendaroch, August 17, 18 — . "Dear May, — "It is nearly a fortnight since I heard from you; let me have a report of your proceedings soon. Your last two letters have been as brief as my own. Pray remember that although I am too overdone with correspondence to write at length to any one, that is no reason why I should not like to read what you have to say. "Very glad you are happy with the Conroys; they are excellent people; I am sorry I cannot ac- cept their invitation. I am obliged to go on a special mission to Marseilles, and shall get very little shoot- ing this season, as I must hurry away to meet H. in London on the 23d. I shall be in town again in October certainly, and hope to arrange the plan I have spoken of, for I am sure your present content- ment is only provisional. Any news of Madame Falk? "Always your sincere friend and guardian, "Piers Ogilvie." 238 FOUND WANTING. "Moulin des Bois pres Rouen, ^^ August 20, 18 — . "Dearest May, — "You are good to write so often in return for my rare, scattered scraps. I assure you both Sarah and I enjoy your accounts of life at Audeley Chase; to me they are specially interesting, as I know it well; some of my happiest childish days were spent there. Oh! so long ago! But my memory of it does not present me with the picture of perfection you de- scribe. In my day, except for a narrow ring round the house, the grounds were a wilderness, the gardens an unpruned mass of vegetation, the house an old curiosity-shop of faded furniture and worn carpets. I cannot say how it rejoices me to hear that the dear old place is restored to more than its pristine glory, and still more to know that, with a large for- tune, Herbert secured so sweet a wife. Certainly few men deserve one so well. He is the best man I ever met, and after him comes Mr. Ogilvie. I wish Frances would marry one of the various 'desirables' you mention as hovering round her. Matrimony would cure her of her fads, which must be funny. She is rather a puzzle to me. She is certainly kind and considerate for others, yet, we must admit, a good deal taken up with herself. Wealth and indulgence have spoiled her just a little. You see we still stay on here. I do not know when I had such a long delightful spell of the country; the reason I can stay is that I made great friends with a delightful old SOME LETTERS. 239 advocate to whom I was able to do a good turn (a journalistic turn, you understand). He is one of the directors of the Chemin de I'Ouest, and he has given me a pass, so I can run to and fro to Paris, which is a great help. My advocate knew Flaubert and others, his intimates, very well. He talks de- lightfully about them. He rides out sometimes (on such a droll pony) and takes coffee with us. Sarah makes a great deal of him, and you know how dif- ficult she is! We go back to Paris the first week in September, and shall always have a ' gite' for you when you want to come. I think I could find some- thing for you to do, but take my advice, stay where you are until I can take a good look round, for em- ployment is not easy to discover. I have almost for- gotten to say I had quite a long letter from Mr. Carr. He writes from — where do you think? War- saw ! He seems roaming about very indefinitely. He had only heard of your poor father's death just before, and greatly shocked. He enquires very kindly for you. Sarah sends her love; so would dear Ivan if he knew our language. By the way, Sarah hopes you will not adopt extravagant habits and ideas; she thinks her countrymen the greatest spendthrifts on earth. "Good-bye, dear child. "Always your attached friend, "Esther Falk." 240 FOUND WANTING. "Rue C , Augiist 23, 18 — . "Beloved Child, — "How faithful you are to remember your poor little old friend, amid the splendour of your sur- roundings ! It is a true pleasure to read your charm- ing letters and see with your eyes the new scenes you describe. I am, indeed, rejoiced that you have found so excellent an asylum, but, my little one, you must not count on it as a permanent sojourn. Human nature is frail and variable; few possess the constancy which would make a dependent, however charming and estimable, welcome for always; there- fore, dear child, let me offer you a little word of counsel. If, among the gentlemen who frequent the hospitable chateau where you dwell, one seeks you in marriage (which is not improbable, befriended as as you are by the most distinguished family of the neighbourhood), do not refuse him, unless, indeed, advised to do so by one who knows him on account of his want of fortune or his indifferent character. An established house, a legal protector, are enorm- ous advantages; though one be small, and the other more or less plain, it matters little. You have none of the boldness which shows itself in the generality of English young ladies; you are incapable of wishing to be in love before you are irrevocably united to your husband. Then the sense of common interest, and an indissoluble tie, gives each interest in the eyes of the other, from which a tender friendship will, in well-regulated minds, assuredly arise! Think SOME LETTERS. 24 1 of your friend's advice, my little one, and pardon my frankness. "For myself, my small affairs go not so badly; at present my pupils disperse themselves to the four quarters of the earth, but I feel sure of several who will return, and have hope of many new ones. I have felt encouraged to take a sleeping-chamber on the second floor. It is very suitable, with an alcove, and a stove on which I can even cook a little dish, as I hope my dear child will see, for you will come to Pans, will you not? and perhaps bring M. le Mari with you? Think always of the future, ma petite chatte. My health has been miserable, alas! nervous attacks, the result of a too delicate organisation, rendering me at times incapable of movement! and, as you know, the concierge of this house is a woman of the worst disposition, intrigatite to the nails of her fingers, insolent, false, everything that is the worst. She irritates me in a manner not to be described, and I suffer. Heavens! how I suffer! but I cannot permit myself to say more. Those ladies at No. 13. have not returned, and a new family, the widow of a late official in the Minist^re de Finance, has taken your entresol. Alas! the tears come to my eyes when I pass the door. Adieu, my sweet young friend. "Your devoted "Therese Perret." This last effusion came in a huge square envelope, with a fifteen-centime stamp, and May had to pay five pence for it; but what pleasure it gave her! Found Wanting. I. lO 242 FOUND WANTING. What pleasure all three letters gave her! To be so kindly remembered and wished for, why should she trouble about her lonely position when she thus lived in the hearts of her absent friends? "Is that a warrant from a secretary of state?" asked Mr. Conroy, who, as usual, distributed the letters at breakfast-time, noticing the size of the foreign envelope. "No; it is from my good friend Mademoiselle Perret. You have seen Mademoiselle, Frances?" "Yes, I remember, a very little woman, but an excellent musician; she had been a pupil of Garcia's, I believe, and her style is thoroughly Italian." "It is. She is such a dear, good soul, you will be amused with the epistle by and bye, Frances." No more was said then, for there were several visitors at table, and May waited to re-read and enjoy her letters until she was in her own room. There had been for nearly a month a succession of visitors, chiefly men, staying in the house, and the results were less agreeable to May than might be imagined. According to the ethics of Romance, the attrac- tive, graceful dependent ought to have proved irre- sistible to the male members of the party, and thereby excited the wrath of the heiress towards one who ought to have been insignificant. In this true tale this was not the case. The simply-dressed, quiet, pale girl in deep mourning, though graceful and lady- like, was unmistakably a nobody, taken up, no doubt, through some charitable ^humanitarian whim by the SOME LETTERS. 243 fanciful little heiress. She was, therefore, passed over, not discourteously, — for men are scarcely ever rude to inoffensive women, be they ever so lowly, — but with a perfunctory politeness quite perceptible. The golden youths who came to shoot and try their chance at Audeley Chase soon found that she did not understand their shibboleth, while her conversa- tion seemed "flat, stale, and unprofitable" to them. One or two of the older men did not dislike taking her in to dinner, for she listened patiently and politely to their talk, and, when it had any, seemed to perceive their meaning. Then she played Miss Conroy's accompaniments unoffendingly, when that young lady chose to tickle their ears, a "sweet obligingness" on her part for which they were not quite as grateful as they might be. Indeed, one man, Monti Fane, otherwise Lord Montague Fane, an aesthetic, high art, "greenery yallery Grosvenor Gallery" sort of youth, who played tuneless, rambling rhapsodies on the violin, and did not care for hunting or shooting, also found her ac- companiments very useful and quite intelligent, so much so that he had an indistinct idea (none of his were very distinct) that he might start her in London as a fashionable accompanist, and reap the fruits thereof. Monti Fane was a very well-known man, and quite an authority, among a certain set of wealthy fashionable dowagers of rank, on matters of taste and art, literature and the drama. May did not care much for the society which gathered at the Chase during this period, and of the 16* 244 FOUND WANTING, two she liked the women less than the men. There was something hard about them that made her shrink, they followed their own pleasures so boldly, they were so occupied with manly sports and pursuits, that she felt even less at home with them than with their male companions. Yet now and then little gleams of good nature, touches of kindly pity for the poor, shone out, that startled and puzzled her. Was their hard indifference, then, only a disfiguring mask, which a troop of malignant fairy godmothers com- pelled these young princesses to wear? If so, it was the worst infliction that could be devised. How thankful she felt that Frances had taken up a different line! She was fanciful, and showed in her fads a great want of common sense, but she was kind and womanly. So May stayed contentedly with Mrs. Conroy, read to her, walked with her, or drove with her, while Frances and the other young ladies walked with "the guns," or rode "matches" with those men who could be induced to forego the birds. The squire good-humouredly offered to teach her to ride, but May declined; she had not nerve enough to attempt it, and urged as an excuse that she was too old to begin. The morning May had received the letters given at the beginning of this chapter, some of their visitors, Mrs. Gray and her two daughters, were to leave by a comparatively early train, Frances went with them to the station. Returning, she asked May to come to the music- room. SOME LETTERS. 245 "With all this out-door exercise," she said, "I neglect my music, and I really do not know how we should get through the evenings without a little music. Monti Fane wants me to try that duet of Verdi's with a violin second; I should like to try it over, as they are all out of the way." "Very well. Why don't you sing those Russian songs we worked so hard at last spring, Frances? They are very charming, and might amuse our rather unmusical audience." "I am afraid I do not quite remember how to pronounce the words. May." "I am sure I have not forgotten! I thought of them by day and by night then, I was so anxious to know them thoroughly; they are ground into my brain. You sang them so well at Madame Zava- doskoi's." "Well, I think I did, and what pains Mr. Ogilvie took to teach me! It was a very pleasant time, that season in Paris. I was so sorry Mr. Ogilvie could not come here on his way south. He is really very distingue, and a very rising man. I wish " "What?" asked May, smiling, as she paused. "That he took my opinions and tastes more seriously. He was scarcely civil, May, and, really, I am not silly, nor a mere baby!" "No, certainly not!" returned May, yet not alto- gether without hesitation. She longed to be able to explain to her friend that she had no natural power of selection, and put the same energy and 246 FOUND WANTING. seriousness into the discussion of a conjuror's tricks as into the gravest question of poUtics or morahty, — that she tried to dabble in everything.. But these are the kind of truths that no woman (or indeed man either) can tell another, and live! "I suppose," she went on, "that Mr. Ogilvie has seen and read and done so much, he does not think a girl — like you or me — has any right to an opinion." But while she said it, a pleasant, soothing recollec- tion of his patient receptive mode of listening to what she herself had to say swept through her mind. Certainly there was a strong sympathy between her- self and Ogilvie. Secure in the friendship of such a man, she might well be indifferent to the neglect of others. ''It is extremely narrow and unjust," said Frances, after a short pause, "and I regret his narrowness the more because he has been so good to you. How hard it is to find any one who is really consis- tent!" "I suppose it is, but don't you think a thoroughly consistent person would he rather formidable?" "No; why should he be formidable?" "Oh, because — because — ^^I don't know, only I feel it." "My dear May, you are very illogical. Let us begin. Would you like to play over the accompani- ment first?" "Yes, I should, and you could read the words." Then a very interesting practice ensued. Miss Conroy remembered the music well enough, but the SOME LETTERS. 247 meaning of the words and the pronunciation of some of them had escaped her. How vividly the sweet, sad, pecuUar airs brought back the first days of her acquaintance with Ogilvie to May's mind and heart! how astonished she was when it first dawned upon her that he rather Hked to talk with her, and took the trouble of arguing with her and explaining things to her! Then she was aware of a sudden intense desire to see him and hear his voice again, and it would be quite two months, probably more, before she could expect that delight. He had spoken of October, and what he said she firmly believed. Would he write from Mar- seilles? Well, she must not be foolishly impatient. He would do what was best and wisest. "May, I don't think you are attending," said Frances, in her serious, measured way; "those notes are all wrong." "Forgive me! I did forget what I was doing. Let us begin again." This time both song and accompaniment went well. " I fancy Monti Fane will be charmed with these," said Miss Conroy. "He will want to play them on the violin." "A violin accompaniment would be a great im- provement," returned May. "Are you going to meet the guns?" "No; I have no one to go with me." "I will, if you wish." "Thank you, dear, but they will be too far by 248 FOUND WANTING. this time," said Frances. "I will drive with my mother to-day, and come back to receive Mrs. Mont- gomery; she comes just in time for dinner. You will be amused with her; she is a widow, and very rich; she was a beauty, too, but has a fight not to look passee." "If one has had beauty, it must be very trying to let it go," observed May, as her fingers wandered over the piano. Miss Conroy did not answer at once; she was leaning on the piano, and gazing at vacancy. "I imagine Mr. Ogilvie would be very hard to please in a wife," she said, abruptly. "Yes; so hard to please that I doubt if he will ever find one to suit," returned May, laughing. "Still, I do not fancy he will remain an old bachelor, and my father says he must marry money." "It is impossible to say," was the cautious reply. "Do you think he would be a severe or kind husband?" asked Miss Conroy. "Who can tell? He is a kind, true friend, but does it follow he would be a kind husband? I do not think he is the sort of man who would be so happy married as unmarried." "Ah! there is the luncheon-bell; we must not keep mother waiting while we conjecture respecting what we can never know. Will you have a good practice while we are out. May? You really play very nicely, but you ought to be more diligent and persevering, dear; nothing is done without work." "Quite true, Frances. I will follow your advice." SOME LETTERS. 249 Mrs. Conroy was looking a little pale and fagged. She was far from strong, and her chest was delicate. A succession of visitors for any considerable time was too much for her, for she was too sympathetic and unselfish a woman not to give herself trouble about them. Nor could she well bear the winter at Audeley Chase. The place was rather cold and damp, and this was one reason why the Conroys frequently wintered abroad. "Frances," she said, when luncheon was half over, "I have had a very kind invitation from Emily, that is. Lady Lynthorpe, to spend part of October with them. They have taken that sweet place near Falmouth, which they had the winter before last. I think it would be well to avoid the fall of the leaf here." "I am sure it would, mother! and my father would be able to enjoy his hunting all the better if he knew you were comfortable and out of harm's way." "Yes, and perhaps the Leslies might come and stay with him. Mr. Leslie is so glad to get a little hunting, and she is a great ally of Mr. Conroy's." The conversation continued on the same topic. Mrs. Conroy was a good deal taken up with the project, and proposed taking a house near their friend's if one could be found. She seemed pleased to have her daughter to act as her charioteer; indeed. May had always noticed that the gentle mother seemed to long for a little more of her child's society. 250 FOUND WANTING. Luncheon over, May sat in one of the windows of the hall, looking at the Times, till Mrs. Conroy and Frances appeared ready to go out, and then watched them drive off. After standing uncertain for a few moments, she took her large shady hat, and wandered out into the woods just outside the grounds. Here she sat down on a mossy ridge be- side the path which traversed them, and gave herself up to thought. For the first time since she had been left, as she believed, to Ogilvie's guardianship, a little anxiety respecting her future began to gnaw at her heart. If Mrs. Conroy and Frances were going on a visit in October, she would be cast adrift without a home, and nearly penniless, save for a very few pounds, the remains of Mrs. Conroy's kind gift. She had not enough even to take her back to Paris, nor if she had, could she quarter herself on dear Madame Falk. With sudden force came back the sense of her loneliness, her poverty, her helplessness, for she was but ill equipped to wm her bread, and, even if she could, she must not live on charity. Between her and all the ills of life there was but one plank, Ogilvie's friendsliip, and that might not exactly fail her; but could he create work for her, find her a home, raise up a protectress when hundreds, nay, thousands, were seeking what she wanted? Thou- sands infinitely better fitted than herself, with more to give in return for what they asked. Still, as she recalled his quiet, resolute face, the calm decision of his movements, the suggestion of reserved force in SOME LETTERS. 25 I every word and gesture, a reassuring conviction that whatever he planned he could carry out if he chose, and that he did choose she could not doubt. She longed to write to him and tell him that the ground on which she now stood was crumbling under her feet, but was she not worrying herself uselessly? Was Ogilvie a man likely to be false to a promise, forgetful, inconstant? No! As she recalled his look, his voice, she determined to banish these uneasy anticipations, and believe in his loyalty as she knew she could in her own. Having quieted her heart by a strong effort of her will. May started for a short walk through the wood nearest the house, and, having enjoyed the sunset through the trees, returned to have a good long practice before Frances and her mother re- turned. It seemed as if Ogilvie was to be the subject of conversation that day. When Mrs. Conroy settled herself in her favourite chair, a little tired with an unusually long drive, May offered to read aloud a fascinating novel, an offer gladly accepted. Frances, who rather despised novels, went away to give directions to the gardener, and May went on with her lecture, occasionally stop- ping to make a comment on the characters, till the sound of horses' feet and the crunch of carriage- wheels upon the gravel told that the expected visitor whom Frances had gone to fetch was approaching, while the distant sounds of shots presaged the return of the sportsmen. 252 FOUND WANTING. May slipped away to her room, glad to be out of the way, and to do a little necessary needle-work. When all were assembled before dinner, she found the newly arrived guest to be a tall woman, stately and elegant. To May's eyes she seemed by lamp-light still fair and young, with great dark, lustrous, oriental-looking eyes, and a mass of soft, dusky, curly hair. Her beautiful white throat ap- peared bare down almost to her waist, so long was the open V of her corsage, while a similar opening at the back seemed to stretch from the "nuque" far below her. shoulders. She was exquisitely dressed in delicate black lace over mauve, and ornaments of opals and diamonds sparkled here, there, and every- where. She was standing in one of the windows, though the lamps were now lit, as the dinner-hour at this season was eight, and all the men of the party were gathered round her. May took her usual place partially behind Mrs. Conroy, and looked with sincere admiration at the handsome widow, amused with her airs and graces. When dinner was announced, she fell to the lot of a good-humotired, frosty-faced, sporting old bachelor, who had a pretty little place in the neigh- bourhood, and who generally was assigned to May when he dined at the Chase. They were opposite Mrs. Montgomery, who was on her host's right. "She's a stunner, ain't she?" said May's cavalier, seeing her eyes fixed on their neighbour. "She is very beautiful," returned May, in im- mense admiration. SOME LETTERS. 253 "Wait till you see her ride!" continued Major Harding. "There's nothing she can't do. Hunts, shoots, fences, does everything well, and talks — thirteen to the dozen." "She must be very clever," said May. "Ay, that she is! She doesn't let the grass grow under her feet," ejaculated the major, and then addressed himself seriously to his dinner. May, not being so much engrossed in that occupation, gave her attention to the beauty opposite, who was talk- ing to her host in a strong and certainly not musical voice, to May's regret, as she wanted the object of her admiration to be completely charming. "Yes! We hadn't a bad time at Glendaroch," she was saying when May caught her words. "We made heavy bags every day, and — oh! by the way, I met a friend of yours there, — that is, a man who seemed to know you very well, — Mr. Ogilvie! I met him some time ago, when I was travelling in Hungary, where he made himself very useful to me when I was in a difficulty. Rather an interesting man, and a rising one. Old Brackley, of the Foreign Office, told me it was a great pity that he had not entered the high diplomatic line. I don't know how he came to be mixed up with the commercial side of diplomacy. He is ambitious, too. His thorough knowledge of Russian makes him very valuable to the Foreign Office. They say he is to go to Japan." This announcement sent a chill to one listener's heart. Ogilvie at the other side of the world would leave her friendless indeed! "But he would not leave 254 FOUND WANTING. her in ignorance of such a project, no!" May thought; "he was far too kind, too considerate for that." She felt a little dazed, however, and only heard indistinctly the rather continuous talk of the brilliant widow, who discussed many things with a tone of decision, as if from her judgment there was no appeal. After dinner there was more talk, and an animated game of billiards, but no one seemed inclined for music, so the Russian airs remained unsung. May was much amused by the performances of Mrs. Montgomery, who seemed to take possession of the place and the command of every one in it. "Who is the girl in black?" she asked Mrs. Conroy, somewhat audibly. "I don't think I ever saw her before." "Probably not; she has chiefly lived in Paris, where we made her acquaintance. Frances is very fond of her; she lost her father a few months ago, poor thing." "Ah! to be sure, she has the air of a picturesque orphan in an old-fashioned romance! She might be made a good deal of, but no doubt she will marry some curate or country lawyer." "I trust happily, in any case," returned Mrs. Conroy, smiling at the summary manner in which the superb widow dismissed the insignificant topic. May, however, said a quiet good-night to Frances, and went away early to her room. SOME LETTERS. 255 When safely shut in there she wrote a short note to Ogilvie, telHng him that Frances and her mother were to leave home in October, and asking his advice as to what she should do. She felt more relieved when this was finished and ready to put in the post- bag next morning. "He will not have left London without letting me know," was her last waking thought. Meeting Mrs. Montgomery at breakfast next morning was somewhat disenchanting. The want of youthful freshness and smoothness of complexion, scarcely observable at night, was visible in the morn- ing. She was in what she termed her shooting dress, and looked more sporting than charming. She and her numerous followers started soon after breakfast with much hubbub of talk and noise of dogs, carrying Frances with them. May was happy enough with Mrs. Conroy all day, for the shooting-party had luncheon sent out to them at some distance. Yet she could not quite banish the sort of uneasiness which had disturbed her since she had heard of Mrs. Conroy's autumn plans. Her faith in Ogilvie was justified. By the second post, which reached Audeley Chase about seven, came a few lines from Ogilvie, who said, — "You will receive a letter with this, or soon after, from a relative of mine, an elderly, unmarried lady, whose sight is failing. She wants some one to read 256 FOUND WANTING. and write for her. She will offer you a miserable salary, for she considers herself poor. I do not! Accept, however. I shall tell you more when we meet in October. Greatly pressed, but yours ever, "P. Ogilvie." It was dated the night before. So he had been thinking of her, and writing to her when she was writing to him. This communication sent her down to dinner with a tinge of colour very becoming to her, and gave her life enough to play Frances's accotnpaniments with spirit and expression. Next morning brought her the following, which was addressed "To Miss RiDDELL, AT HERBERT CONROV'S, ESQUIRE, AuDELEY Chase. "Madame, — "Being in need of a person who can read aloud intelligibly, and write a fairly good hand, as my sight is indifferent, my kinsman, Mr. Piers Ogilvie, has recommended you to fill the situation as companion, as he tells me you were committed to his care by your late father. As my circumstances are some- what limited, I can offer only a small salary; but you shall have a comfortable home, and liberty to worship according to the doctrine in which you have been brought up. As it is weary work writing to and fro about particulars, I suggest your coming to stay with me for one month to try how we like each SOME LETTERS. 257 Other, commencing from the 25th of September. Should we agree, your salary shall begin from that date. "I am, madame, yours, faithfully "EuPHEMiA Macallan. "16 Granby Road, Kensington Gore, W." Found Wanftng. /. J 7 258 FOUND WANTING. CHAPTER XIV. MISS MACALLAN AT HOME. This was not a very attractive or amiable letter; nevertheless May made up her mind at once to accept Miss Euphemia Macallan's offer. Ogilvie's few emphatic words were quite enough for her; still, she would not ^v^ite in reply until she had spoken to Mrs, Conroy and Frances respecting it. For an opportunity to do so, she must wait till the following morning; as it happened, there was a large dinner-party that evening, and May had begged leave to remain in her own room, as it seemed hardly fit that she should appear at so large a party not quite three months after her father's death. She quite enjoyed the silence and repose of her lonely evening, and phed her needle while her thoughts wandered away into the future. This Scotch lady (May supposed she must be Scotch) seemed rather hard, but no doubt she would not make herself very disagreeable to a companion, backed up, as May was, by so powerful a protector as Ogilvie must be. He had evidently planned the engagement for her, and perhaps the formidable Miss Macallan might prove interesting and malleable on a closer acquaintance. At any rate, May reflected, MISS MACALLAN AT HOME, 259 she would be in London, where she would have op- portunities of seeing Ogilvie occasionally, if — he did not go to Japan or any other end of the earth ! That was a possibility she did not like to contemplate! But she must accustom herself to expect it, for, how- ever attached friends might be, they were never linked like She arrested her own thought at the words which suggested themselves, and a smile dimpled round her lips, as she remembered Ogilvie's objection to marriage. Indeed, one could hardly imagine him a married man. He seemed too much an abstract of intelligence, worldliness, and good breeding to be amenable to the common laws of ordinary existence, — to endure the homely happiness of comfortable married life. Certainly he was very good to his self-imposed ward. There was nothing cold or indifferent in his real kindness, yet his words and manner were calm and serious enough for "a potent, grave and reverend signor," but she felt (why, she could not have said) that there was a curious affinity between them, something in the tone of his voice when he spoke to her, in the touch of his hand on the rare occasions when he took hers, that communicated a strange, delightful sense that her presence gave him pleasure, that he could talk to her without restraint, that he trusted her unstint- ingly, and not undeservedly, for she never repeated a syllable he said to her, nor let any eyes save her own rest on what he had written. Yes, whatever MissEuphemia Macallan might be, however miserable the pittance she offered, she (May) would at least 17* 26o FOUND WANTING. try to live with her, and get on with her, for she feU that such was Ogilvie's wish, and that he would not let the effort be too painful. Occupied with such- like dreams the evening passed rapidly, she heard the carriages drive away, and before she began to undress Frances tapped at her door to say good- night. "I think you have had the best of it, May! We were rather dull; dinners in the country generally are ! " "I have been very comfortable and contented," returned May. "Frances, are you going out early to-morrow?" "No, I am quite tired, and Mrs. Montgomery does not want to go out either." "Then I want to consult you and Mrs. Conroy about my small affairs." "Why, what has happened?" "It is too late to discuss anything now. To- morrow will be quite time enough, and you do look pale and fagged." With a friendly good-night the girls parted. ***** Next morning was very wet, with occasional gusts of wind, and the only lady visitor (for May was considered one of the family) took her breakfast in her room. "Come to mother's boudoir. May!" exclaimed Frances, as soon as the gentlemen had left the breakfast-room. "May has something wonderful to tell," she added. MISS MACALLAN AT HOME. 26 I "No, nothing wonderful!" said May, smiling. "What is it?" asked Mrs. Conroy, as soon as she settled herself in her favourite chair beside her work- table. "Please read that," was May's reply, handing her Miss Macallan's letter. Frances, too, read it, over her mother's shoulder. "What a disagreeable, cast-iron person she must be!" was Mrs. Conroy's comment, when she finished the epistle. "And not at all well-bred," added Frances. "Really, May, my dear, I should not accept the offer," continued her mother. "You may as well stay on here." "But, Mrs. Conroy, though you are so very good, and make me so happy, I cannot continue living on your bounty, on charity, — for it is charity, when you do nothing to earn what is given, even as generously as you give. I shall be in the way at some time or other, for instance when you go from home on a visit! It is so difficult, too, for a girl who, like my- self, has no particular requirements or accomplish- ments to find employment, that it would be very un- wise of me to refuse this offer." "Perhaps so," said Mrs. Conroy, reluctantly; "of course your principle is right, May." "Then," urged May, "this lady's proposition that we should try each other is very fair, and above all, Mr. Ogilvie, in a few lines which I had last night, advised me to accept. So, dearest Mrs. Conroy, I 2 62 FOUND WANTING. have quite made up my mind to try life with Miss Macallan." "Then there is no more to be said," replied Mrs. Conroy, who was re-reading the letter; "but I must say this does not give me the idea of a person who is easy to live with." "I hope she will let you come to see us some- times!" exclaimed Frances. "I hope we shall be in town after Easter, and see you often. Ah! here is my father." "Well, what are you in conclave about?" asked Mr. Conroy, coming in as she spoke. "May wants to go and seek her fortune," said Mrs. Conroy, smiling and handing him the letter. "Gad!" he cried when he had read it. "This is a regular go-to-meeting old cat! Don't go near her. May! She'll put you on half-rations, and you are only beginning to get into condition as it is; she'll ring a curfew at eight or nine o'clock, and put out fire and light, and get the last farthing's worth of work out of you! Stay where you are, till you find something with a sunnier aspect than this skin-and-bone employer." A brisk discussion ensued, but May was not to be turned from her purpose, and even Mrs. Conroy admitted that it would not perhaps be wise to refuse what Ogilvie had taken the trouble to find for her. "Well, well!" cried Mr. Conroy. "You may try it. She can hardly manage to starve you to death in a fortnight or three weeks, for if you don't think it will suit, you need not stay the whole month out! mSS MACALLAN AT HOME. 263 Just come back to the Chase, and we'll find a corner for you. Now, 'Madame;'" — as he generally called his wife, — "I want you in the study for another con- sultation." So the council broke up, and May remained un- moved. Writing a proper reply was not a difficult task, and then she had the pleasure of inditing a letter to Ogilvie, apologising for troubling hmi with the one which had crossed his, thanking him for all his kind thoughtfulness on her behalf, and assuring him she would do her utmost to please his kinswoman; then she paused, longing to ask, "Is it true that you are going all that weary way to Japan?" but she held her hand. It would be too great a liberty to question him as to his plans or intentions. Were she face to face with him, she might mention having heard Mrs. Montgomery say so, but she must not write it, it would be presuming on his goodness and indulgence. Ogilvie answered her letter promptly. Life witli Miss Macallan would be, he feared, somewhat dull, and at first she might not seem attractive, but she was less formidable than she looked, and a curious mixture of habitual stinginess with occasional fits of generosity. "It is, however," he continued, "the beginning of independent life for you, and better things may come. At least, you may be sure of consideration 264 FOUND WANTING. and politeness, as my ward, and I hope to see you from time to time. "I wish I were to be in London, to introduce you personally to my cousin, but I leave for Mar- seilles to-morrow, and fear I shall not return until the second week of October." May was quite content. It would be delightful to see her guardian, as she considered him, now and then; she could expect no more. At any rate, if the seas did not roll between them, she could always turn to him in any time of trouble. Still, it would be a wrench to part with her kindly friends at the Chase, — especially Mrs. Conroy, whom she found more really companionable than Frances. If Miss Macallan were only like Mrs. Conroy, she could live with her forever, and feel like a daughter to her employer. The beginning of September was wet and stormy, the succession of guests for shooting ceased, and Mrs. Conroy began to long for the softer climate of Cornwall. "It will soon be here, — I mean the twenty-fifth," said May, one wild afternoon, as they sat round the tea-table in Mrs. Conroy's favourite drawing-room, where a cheerful wood-fire was blazing. The squire had ridden away to Kingsford in defiance of the weather. "Is your courage oozing away as the hour of trial approaches?" asked Mrs. Conroy, smiling; May had evidently spoken out of her thoughts. MISS MACALLAN AT HOME. 265 "I am afraid it is, Mrs. Conroy," she returned. "I have hitherto been so fortunate in the kindness and sympathy of my friends, that the idea of a plunge into cold water, such as I cannot help fancy- ing awaits me, is a little shuddery." "Well, you must remember it is only experi- mental; you must not martyrise yourself even to please Mr. Ogilvie." "I am sure he would not expect you to do so," said Frances, who was slowly stirring her tea in a thoughtful manner. "Is he in London?" asked Mrs. Conroy. "I think not. He told me to write to the club if I wanted anything, but that was nearly three weeks ago, and I have had nothing to write about since," and May sighed. In truth, this break in their correspondence made her courage sink to zero. "Quite wise of you, dear," returned Mrs. Conroy; "never trouble a man with unnecessary letters; they are easily bored." "I wish I had some work to do, or work I could do, in Paris, and could live with Madame Falk! She is always so busy and so bright, and we are so accustomed to each other!" resumed May. "This new acquaintance may prove much better than you expect, May," said Mrs. Conroy. "Now, I have been arranging things in my own mind. Sup- pose, Frances, that we all start together on the 25th or 26th, and as we must stay two or three days in London to shop. May, who must want winter things. 266 F(3UND WANTING. shall stay with us, and we'll do all our business to- gether. Write to Miss Macallan, May, and ask her to let you postpone your arrival till the 30th — that will be time enough, — and we'll see you safe into the lion's den." "Dear Mrs. Conroy! how good you are!" cried May, the colour coming to her cheeks, the moisture to her eyes. "It is indeed a kind thought, but I do not want to shop. Madame Falk promised to have my last winter's cloak dyed, and " "My dear child! permit me to judge for you! You are going to be independent, if working for a pittance can be called independence; allow me to enable you to start fair. I have a commission on that score from Mr. Conroy, who is, I assure you, quite concerned at your leaving us." "Yes, May, you must do as mother wishes," added Frances, "and when we are in Town I will take you to see the Geological Museum. I always regret your indifference to that most interesting science." So, after a few grateful, agitated words, for she felt it hard to express all she felt to these good friends, May retired to write, as Mrs. Conroy wished, to Miss Euphemia Macallan. That lady replied by return that Miss Riddell's suggestion suited her very well, as one of her servants wanted a holiday, and woufd therefore be absent until the 29th, and it was as well that the visitor should not arrive till the following day. MISS MACALLAN AT HOME. 267 It greatly softened the regret May felt at leaving the charmmg house where she had been so kindly sheltered to have the friendly owners for her com- panions, at any rate for the first stage of her journey into the unknown. Mr. Conroy, with his usual care for his women- kind, escorted them to town, and remained to see his wife and daughter safely started on their journey southwest before returning to the Chase. To May, the days spent in a grand West-end hotel were more bewildering than pleasurable. She was almost frightened at the sums expended by Frances and her mother in what they considered necessaries for the winter, and had great difficulty in persuading Mrs. Conroy to let her choose suffi- ciently simple and inexpensive things for herself. At last the dreary day came when she must part from all she had ever known, and plunge into an entirely new world. It was a bright, crisp day, and Mrs. Conroy ob- sei^ved pleasantly, that she was glad to see that the sun shone upon her young friend's enterprise. May could hardly smile. She had sent Ogilvie a few lines to announce her slight change of plan, to which note he had not replied. Was he — now that he had fulfilled his promise of finding occupation for her — was he going to relax in his care for her? She would not think of anything so dreadful,— so annihilating! But her kind companion noticed that she looked white, and 268 FOUND WANTING. that her Hps quivered, and reproached her for her lack of courage. Granby Road was an old-fashioned street, lead- ing south from Kensington Gore; on the east side were solid, red-brick houses, with tall, narrow win- dows, and big knockers on the hall doors, also wide entrances and stairways. Opposite, were much more modern, semi-detached villas, of the perky, pretentious order, with gardens in front, some of them well kept, and others not, for the place was going down, — the lower end was already in the hands of the destroyer, and about to be merged into "mansions" not "in the skies," but next door to them, in fashionable altitude, — i.e.. South Kensington. "It seems rather a dull situation," said Mrs. Conroy, as the carriage stopped opposite an evidently well-cared-for abode, with delicately clean muslin curtains, resplendent brasses, wherever brasses ought to be, and beautifully whitened door-steps. The door was thrown open by a neat damsel in a large muslin cap and a dandified white apron. Miss Macallan was at home. Mrs. Conroy and May descended and were shown into a rather dingy but spacious dining-room, covered with a worn Turkey carpet, and furnished with a row of very solid, leather-covered chairs ranged against the wall, an "uneasy" arm-chair at either side of the black fire- place, a knee-hole table in the window, a big funereal sideboard of dark mahogany opposite, and a large dining-table in the middle. From one of the uneasy chairs, as they entered, MISS MACALLAN AT HOME. 269 up rose a tall, angular figure, clad in a silk garment of shot green and crimson, surmounted by a tall head, a pasty, freckled face with high cheek-bones, pale-grey, stern eyes, a rather grim mouth with an obstinate-looking long upper lip, and a bony chin; these were enclosed within a stiff, reddish -grey sausage-like curl at either side, each kept in its place by a monstrosity called a side comb, above which a white lace cap with pendent lappets com- pleted the toilette. As she stood silent for a moment, Mrs. Conroy began, in her gentle, well-bred tones, "I have taken the liberty of accompanying my young friend, Miss Riddell, to see her safe into your hands." "I'm sure you are varra guid," returned Miss Macallan, with a mechanical widening of the lips in- tended for a gracious smile. "I've been expecting you this hour past." "I am sorry to be late," said May, falteringly. "It is of no consequence," returned Miss Macallan, with a wave of the hand. "I am glad to see the young leddy. Indeed, any friend of my kinsman Ogilvie is welcome to me." "Thank you, very much!" said May, somewhat comforted. "And pray have I the pleeshure of speaking to Mrs. Conroy?" continued Miss Macallan, whose broad Scotch we shall in future leave to the reader's imagination. "I atn Mrs. Conroy, and beg to thank you for 270 FOUND WANTING, your courtesy in leaving Miss Riddell with us for a few days longer. We too have the pleasure of know- ing Mr. Ogilvie, and I hope when we return to town to call upon you, if you will permit me." "Certainly! I shall be extremely glad to make your acquaintance," A few more civil speeches and Mrs. Conroy took her leave. May clung to her a little in the hall, and kissed her cheek with unusual demonstrativeness. "Don't worry yourself, my love," whispered the good-natured matron. "1 think she intends to be very civil, and that means a good deal; write soon, and tell Frances everything. Good-bye, my dear child!" Another moment and the carriage rolled away, and May, feeling more utterly desolate than she ever did before, while she kept back her tears by a desperate effort, returned to the solemn dining- room. "Ah, well, come and sit you down a bit," began Miss Macallan; "it will soon be time to light the gas, and then Jessie will show you your room. I'd go myself, only I am a sufferer from rheumatism, and these bright crisp days it is just more than I can manage to go up and down stairs more than once a day. You have the room next to mine; it's a nice comfortable apartment, and, if I should want you in the night, quite convenient." "Thank you!" returned May, a little at a loss how to reply. "Of course you must not think of toiling up-stairs with me." MISS MACALLAN AT HOME. 27 I "You are in very deep black," resumed the hostess. "I suppose your father is not long dead?" "Not more than three months," said May, sadly. "Eh! that hasn't given you much time to get accustomed to the lone business, and my cousin Ogilvie will have been his nearest friend, since he left you to his care?" "They were a great deal together, and Mr. Ogilvie has been wonderfully good to me. I can never be grateful enough to him." "He was always weel intentioned ," remarked Miss Macallan, meditatively, "though whiles he had a hard way with him." "I thought so too, when I met him first," said May. "Eh?" cried Miss Macallan, keenly, her head a little on one side like an incarnate note of interroga- tion. "Then you did not know him when you were a bairn?" "No," returned May, suddenly put on her guard by her interlocutor's tone, "only since I grew up." "May be you come from the north countrie your- self, — Riddell is a good old border name?" "My father was quite English, though I have heard him say his people originally came from Scot- land, but I know no relations, as I have lived chiefly in Paris." "Well, all things are mixed with mercy!" said Miss Macallan, solemnly. "It's a blessing my kins- man took you out of the place before they made a Papist of you." 272 FOUND WANTING. "I assure you, no one ever tried. The })eople I lived among were not inclined to convert their neighbours." "Which does not speak very well for their religious convictions," returned Miss Macallan, sternly. "Those who have been blest with a knowledge of the truth ought to be ready enough to speak a word in season." May preferred to accept this species of rebuke in silence. "I suppose, then," resumed Miss Macallan, in more cheerful tones, "Mr. Ogilvie manages every- thing for you, — your money matters and all?" "Exactly, and I am glad to think that he has not a difficult task," returned May, smiling. She meant that as far as money went there was nothing to manage. Her hostess, however, construed her words differently. "Eh! it's something to be thankful for when a man leaves what belongs to him of this world's goods clear and straight instead of all through other! And so you wish to live in London, eh?" May began to weary of this cross-examination; moreover, though he had never enjoined reticence upon her in so many words, she felt that Ogilvie did not wish her to be outspoken, so she made an attempt to release herself. "I only wish to live where I can do something to earn my own bread, Miss Macallan, and I hope you will find me of some use. Now, if you will allow me, I should like to go to my own room and unpack my things before dinner." MISS MACALLAN AT HOME. 273 "You seem a wise-like young lady," returned Miss Macallan, and I'll ring for Jessie; but I hope you are not too much accustomed to fine ways and late dinners. I have just a chop or a slice of cold ham to my tea. It's less costly, and more whole- some, so I hope you won't mind." "Me? Oh, no. Ihave just come from rather a grand house, it is true, but my own home was homely enough." "I am glad to hear you say so, for I am a homely person myself, and there's no doubt you are the sort of girlie I wanted." Here a sort of replica of Miss Macallan herself — only a little taller, a little gaunter, a little greyer, and crowned by a muslin cap with a goffered bor- der — entered the room, saying, in a rather high- pitched voice, — "Did you ring, mem?" May could hardly believe that anything so anti- quated and rigid could answer to the soft, youthful name of Jessie. "You'll just take the young lady up to her room, Jessie, and undo her trunk for her. You'll show her the chest of drawers and hanging-press." "I couldn't just varra well empty the wardrobe and big chest of drawers now, but " "Oh, I dare say I shall have quite room enough," cried May. "I have very little to put away;" and she followed Jessie upstairs, leaving Miss Macallan in a brown study. What object could her "Cousin Ogilvie" have in befriending a young, penniless Found Wanting. I. lo 2 74 FOUND WANTING. girl, who wanted to earn her bread? He, whom she had always respected as a "hard man"? Not but what he had always kept up with her. She was his mother's cousin, and had been very friendly with the late Mrs. Ogilvie, who married above her own station. In truth, Ogilvie had been very fond of his mother, and Miss Macallan had been more with her than any other friend or relative. The shrewd Euphemia was very proud of her successful kinsman, who had a very curious amount of influence over her. And she devoted a good many half-hours when "it was just waste" to light up yet a while, or while she was jolting in an omnibus to Stagg & Mantle's on a remnant day, to the consideration of what possible motive could actuate Ogilvie. At last her imagina- tion settled a delightful succession of cause and effect. That "cunning chiel," Ogilvie, had some private knowledge respecting Miss Riddell's right to some large fortune, at present seeking an owner, and so soon as he had made her his own he would pro- secute her claims, and in Ogilvie's hands, with his opportunities, a large fortune would soon become colossal. It was a beautiful vision of love and money, quite captivating to her imagination, and the Scotch imagination is a good stout, serviceable article, capable of stretching to a large extent. It was many a day since such a romantic possibility presented itself to the mental ken of Euphemia Macallan. "And I'll give her no chance of saying I didn't treat her well, and give her of the best," was the distinct resolution which closed this spell of reflec- MISS MACALLAN AT HOME. 275 tion, or rather this piecing together of possibilities and probabiUties. "Is that you, Jessie?" hearing a quiet, measured tread in the hall." "Yes, mem." "Come here, Jessie." Jessie obeyed. "And is the young lady satisfied with her room?" "She didna say to the contrary, mem." "She did not look as if she wanted a fire?" "A fire!" in a piercing tone of astonishment; "and we not yet intil October? What for should she want a fire?" "Well, Jessie, she's a young lady who has been accustomed to every comfort, and will again, no doubt, and Mr. Ogilvie would be sore vexed if we let her want for anything." "Eh, mem! she seemed well content. Indeed, she is a pleasant young leddy and speaks varra soft and kind. She noticed the grand big bed,— it's more than she is accustomed to, I'm thinking, for she laughed and said, 'I shall not be able to find myself in so large a bed as that to-morrow morning.' " "Yes," returned Miss Macallan, with justifiable pride, it is a handsome bedstead, and what's more, there's a real down bed on it. Now, Jessie, my woman, just make us some cream scones for our tea. It will be a treat for an English lassie, only, as it is not a company night, make them zvithoiit the cream, Jessie, — she does not know, — she'll never miss it." 18* 276 FOUND WANTING. "Varra well, mem," said Jessie, and departed kitchenward. Altogether May felt less wretched than she ex- pected to be, when she descended on hearing a gong making as much noise as if it announced a banquet instead of high tea. Miss Macallan was something quite new to her, — her quaintness amused May immensely, and her hostess's evident anxiety to be civil and conciliatory convinced her that her good friend and guardian had insisted on her being well treated. The sepulchral dining-room looked a little more cheerful when the gas was lit and the table spread, and Jessie's cream scones (the cream omitted by "particular desire") were excellent, in spite of the omission. Miss Macallan was a continuous talker, and during the evening meal kept up a constant stream of ques- tions respecting the domestic arrangements at Audeley Chase, the habits and customs of the proprietors, and the probable cost of the establishment. Tea over. May, anxious to be up and doing, offered to begin her duties by reading aloud. "You'll be too tired!" said Miss Macallan, "and I have nothing in the house but last week's Scots- tnan." "Have you no especial book on hand now?" "No. I have read all that are in the house, ex- cept Rev. Angus McCrae's new volume of sermons, and I am no very pleased about it." MISS MACALLAN AT HOME. 277 "Are they not well written?" asked May, trying to seem interested. "You see, this is what I didn't like. Soon after they came out, and there was a talk about them, he said, one day I met him in the Hammersmith omni- bus, 'would you like to have a copy, Miss Macallan?' says he. 'I should, indeed,' says I, quite flattered, though I have rented sittings in the Kensington Free Kirk of Scotland, close by here, these fifteen years, and it was no great return for the outlay, any way. The next morning the book came, and I'm no say- ing it isn't a handsome book, solid and soo?id, but the day after, when I had cut half the leaves, came an account, five and saxpence! What do you think of that?" "The gentleman ought to have told you it was not a gift," said May, smiling. "Just so. Wouldn't yoii have thought it was 'in a present'?" " Certainly." Here a loud ring turned the current of Miss Macallan's thoughts. "That will be the post. I'm thinking a letter for you. I don't spend much time inditing letters." "I wonder " began May, knowing that Ma- dame Falk had not her present adress, when the young rosy-cheeked servant entered and presented May with a letter from Ogilvie. She felt her heart beat with sudden pleasure, but she did her best (and successfully) to keep an unmoved face. "It is from Mr. Ogilvie," she said, quietly. "He 278 FOUND WANTING. is SO very kind as to send me a few lines to wisli me success in pleasing youP And she looked up with a pleasant smile. "He says little more, except that he hopes to be in London soon, and to call on you, to whom he desires his best regards." "Oh, indeed! I am much obleeged. Does he say where he is staying?" "At Marseilles." "Doesn't he give his address?" "No. I don't often write. I do not like to trouble him more than I can help." "Quite right. The post is late. Now, it's my habit to read a portion of Scripture, and ask a blessing on the Word, so it will be quite ten be- fore we are in bed. Will you be so kind as to ring the bell?" END OF VOL. I. PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER. THE LIBRARY -7-70 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA ^D f^4 Santa Barbara THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW. Series 9482 ■M mSm^.!!,^ REGIONAL LIBRARY AA FACILITY 001 410 179