V 
 
 Olive Percival 
 
 ® 
 
 © 
 
 V 
 
 HER BOOK 
 
 
 © 
 
 V 
 
 THE DOWN-HYL CLAIM 
 
 
 © 
 
 
 © 
 
 •■"^^"•••^ 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 OH, WHAT A PLAGUE IS LOVE !
 
 Oh, 
 
 What a Plague is Love! 
 
 BY 
 
 KATHARINE TYNAN 
 
 m (Mrs. H. A. Hinkson) 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'THE DEAR IRISH GIRL,' ' THE HANDSOME BRANDONS,' 
 4 SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY,' ETC. 
 
 CHICAGO 
 A. C. M'CLURG & CO. 
 
 1900
 
 479o 
 
 H3 *- 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Charles Frederick Marmaduke 
 Strangways, commonly called ' Duke ' by 
 his friends, had been for years a cause of 
 anxiety to his steady-going, irreproachable 
 family. There had been many times when 
 one or other of his sons or daughters, 
 in a fit of discouragement, had declared 
 wearily that they despaired of his ever 
 settling down ; and indeed Duke was in- 
 curably erratic. Men who had been his 
 contemporaries pottered about their gardens 
 in summer, and were content with the easy- 
 chair by the chimney-nook in winter. They 
 were grandfathers long since, but Duke's 
 children gave no sign of making him a 
 grandfather. Handsome Miss Frances was 
 a confirmed spinster ; Sophia was tending 
 the same way ; and people often wondered 
 
 i i 
 
 ■ 
 
 ■ 
 
 LIBRARY
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 if charming milkmaid Dolly would also 
 shut up her roses and wither quietly on her 
 stalk. Duke's children laid this celibacy 
 to his account. They were so busy un- 
 ravelling the tangles of their father's love 
 affairs that they had had no time for any of 
 their own. 
 
 There was nothing senile or undignified 
 about Duke's affairs of the heart. He 
 usually paid his attentions where they were 
 heartily welcome, for Duke had * a way 
 with him.' He had a cherubic youthful- 
 ness and innocence of aspect. The bloom 
 of his cheeks owed nothing to the rouge- 
 pot. His soft silvery hair was quite 
 beautiful ; and though he was careful about 
 his dress, he never suggested the old beau. 
 Duke had not led an open-air life for nothing, 
 and he walked very nearly as erect and as 
 steadily as one of his own boys. 
 
 His daughters had somewhere at the 
 back of their minds a sneaking sympathy 
 with the many women of all ages who had 
 found Duke irresistible. The truth was 
 that the old fellow was so thoughtful, so 
 tender, so gentle of heart, that he appealed
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 strongly to women. He never seemed to 
 feel that a woman was plain-looking or past 
 her charming prime. His compliments 
 brightened as many faded cheeks as damask 
 ones, and he was as ready with his chival- 
 rous little cares for the most neglected old 
 spinster as for the regal young beauty. 
 
 Friends of the Strangways family often 
 wondered the girls did not let him go his 
 way and give them a stepmother. Often 
 enough worldly wisdom would have dictated 
 this course. There was Mrs. Mellor at 
 the Pines, who any time these last ten 
 years woujd gladly have taken Duke off 
 their hands. The late Mr. Mellor had 
 been something of a brute, but he had left 
 his widow comfortably provided for, and 
 she was a dear woman all her friends said. 
 She did not even resent the resolute de- 
 termination of Duke's daughters not to 
 have her for a stepmother. Her little 
 brougham was as much at their disposal 
 as ever; she was as willing to be their 
 chaperone to country balls and town gaieties 
 as at any time within the last ten years. 
 
 It was too bad, said the neighbourhood,
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 that those blind girls would insist on stand- 
 ing in their own light and everybody else's 
 in the matter of Mrs. Mellor. 
 
 The truth was that Duke's daughters 
 had a queer conscience of their own about 
 their father's re -marrying. Frances led the 
 way in this, and the others followed. 
 
 ' You are, of course, a miracle of fresh- 
 ness and activity, dear dad,' she would say 
 to poor Duke. ' But you aren't young, 
 dear, and it must be our duty to care for 
 your old age. Mrs. Mellor might be 
 almost your daughter, and she had much 
 better take Sir James Simmons, whom she 
 would have taken long ago if you had let 
 her alone. You mustn't make the dear 
 woman a nurse for your old age, dad.' 
 
 Duke always winced at such speeches ; 
 and it was noticeable that his youngest 
 daughter, Dolly, would at his wincing run 
 and take his slender old hand in hers and 
 rub it energetically against her rose-bud 
 cheek. Yet Dolly was as strong as Frances 
 in opposing his matrimonial designs. 
 
 His daughters all felt the pain of op- 
 posing him. Duke had a way of coming 
 
 4
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 home radiant with each new affair of the 
 heart, and quite certain that now the dear 
 girls would think he had done well. He 
 explained away to himself with a persistent 
 cheerfulness their opposition in the past. 
 He invented this or that reason for it, 
 always blinking his innocent old eyes at 
 those painful speeches about his increasing 
 years. Discouragement after discourage- 
 ment did not prepare him the least bit 
 in the world for future reverses. His 
 daughters grumbled over the trials he put 
 them through in forcing them to deny him 
 aught he^so much coveted as a wife. 
 Anything short of that they would have 
 given him, for they loved him dearly, and 
 the very sweetness with which he allowed 
 them to forbid his banns but increased their 
 love. 
 
 Perhaps, sometimes, in the innermost 
 privacy of his heart Duke sighed over the 
 bonds imposed by his children, but their 
 years of opposition to his re-marriage did 
 not fray or fret the strong ties of love 
 between him and them. He always parted 
 from them a sadder man, perhaps, but not 
 
 5
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 a whit Jess loving. If there was a tender 
 reproach in his kisses as he went away from 
 Gardenhurst with his latest Eden in ruins 
 about him, it was a reproach expressed no 
 other way. His children always carried 
 their victories in the end by appealing to 
 his fatherly love for them. When they 
 joined in working this tender lever Duke 
 gave in. 
 
 ' I can only give up what I conceive 
 would be a happiness for me,' he had said 
 numberless times, ' since it seems to threaten 
 the happiness of my dear children.' 
 
 After such scenes there would be a lull 
 for a time, and Gardenhurst would settle 
 down to its peaceful avocations, while Duke 
 solaced his wounded heart in Paris or at 
 some gay watering-place. 
 
 Duke was the squire of his Kentish 
 village, but he carried his squirehood 
 lightly. All the serious duties he dele- 
 gated to his son Arthur, who was a 
 barrister, and usually inhabited a set of 
 chambers in Pump Court. Arthur and 
 the very efficient bailiff, Mr. Crosskey, 
 kept things in such trim that the squire 
 
 6
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 could lead his butterfly life without any 
 injury to his estate. The future squire, 
 Hubert, was a Fellow of his College at 
 Oxford, and lived there by preference. 
 Hubert was a wise man on various abstruse 
 matters, but could not tell wheat from 
 barley, or lea from fallow land. Then 
 there was Fred, a school-boy at Eton, who 
 was a special pet of Mrs. Mellor's, and 
 whom she delighted in spoiling. 
 
 Now, if Duke got on badly with any 
 member of his family, it was Arthur. The 
 ' getting on badly ' was indeed only evinced 
 by a punctiliousness in his treatment of his 
 second son that was absent from his fond 
 relations with his other children. Duke 
 was never quite happy with Arthur in the 
 house, though he went out of his way to 
 show the young man deference and con- 
 sideration whenever he put in an appear- 
 ance at Gardenhurst. On such occasions 
 Arthur would put his father through the 
 most tiresome inquisition about his temporal 
 affairs, insisting on his understanding the 
 details Duke had gladly taken for granted, 
 and quite remorseless over holding him to 
 
 7
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love I 
 
 that long morning's work in the study, when 
 the affairs of the estate were thoroughly 
 gone into. Duke used to emerge from 
 these consultations tired, and, as far as it 
 was in him to be, irritable. 
 
 But it was not this overweening sense of 
 duty, as he conceived it, which made the 
 fret with Duke. It was that Arthur never 
 seemed to take him seriously. Arthur was 
 a spare, legal-looking young gentleman, 
 with a great deal of humour in the lines 
 about his acute lips, and in the twinkle of 
 his eyes. ' Damn the fellow's humour ! ' 
 Duke had said to himself often ; ' why 
 the devil should he make me the object of 
 it ? ' And it was too true that Arthur, out 
 of business hours, never looked at his father 
 without a quiver of the face that suggested 
 some exquisite joke. 
 
 Poor Duke ; it was really a trial to one 
 who, despite his many love affairs, was still 
 quite dignified. The worst of it was that 
 he could not make a quarrel over it. The 
 laughter was there, latent but unexpressed. 
 Every one felt it, yet it seemed too impal- 
 pable to quarrel about.
 
 0/r, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 The Strangways were a most devoted 
 family. Yet over and over one or other of 
 his sisters had expressed in pretty forcible 
 language the irritation this attitude of 
 Arthur's towards ' the dad ' caused them. 
 Arthur often laughed at themselves, but 
 the laughter left no sting. Dolly and 
 Arthur were great chums, but even to 
 Dolly it was a little uncomfortable when 
 her brother's home-coming occurred while 
 her father also was a welcome guest. For 
 it must be confessed that Duke was so 
 nomadic in his habits that one could never 
 quite feel that his house was his home. 
 
 He had a resting-place for the sole of 
 his foot in most of the pleasant watering- 
 places in England. At Torquay and 
 Bournemouth, at Harrogate and Brighton, 
 there were obsequious landladies who 
 knew Mr. Strangways' tastes thoroughly, 
 and who were prepared at any time to 
 evict a less popular tenant from the sea- 
 looking or southern-aspect rooms Duke 
 always occupied. His lodgings were in- 
 deed as numerous as his love affairs, and 
 there were as many landladies to declare 
 
 9
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 him the perfect gentleman as there were 
 widows and spinsters in the world who 
 kept a kindly memory of him in their 
 hearts. It was a remarkable thing that 
 Duke always escaped from his love en- 
 tanglements with peace and honour, so that 
 to him the memory of his many amourettes 
 was as though he turned over a book full 
 of pressed rose leaves. 
 
 Between Dolly and Arthur many con- 
 versations occurred on the score of the 
 dad. 
 
 ' Will he ever range himself, do you 
 think, Doll ? ' Arthur would inquire, look- 
 ing dreamily at the rings blown from his 
 cigar. 
 
 ' If you mean will he ever grow to be a 
 snuffy old gentleman like Mr. Mayne or 
 Captain Philbrick,' Dolly would reply with 
 latent irritation, ' I don't believe he ever 
 will. He will remain just the same charm- 
 ing, considerate, tender-hearted, dear old 
 dad to the very end.' 
 
 ' When are you going to let him make 
 Mrs. Mellor happy ? ' Arthur remarked 
 on one of these occasions, with the odious 
 
 IO
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 sparkle of his eye growing brighter and 
 more glancing. 
 
 ' Oh, I don't think the dad will marry 
 now, you know,' said Dolly. ' I think he 
 is really giving up the idea.' 
 
 1 Not a bit of it, my dear. He gets 
 sprucer every time I see him, and he did 
 fetch those two Miss Fairfords at Sir 
 James Bruce's. Much better let him 
 marry Mrs. Mellor. Then you'll know 
 what you're being let in for. If you girls 
 don't practise a little common prudence in 
 the case of the dad, I foresee a young 
 stepmother for you and a house full of 
 kids.' 
 
 ' Arthur ! ' cried his offended sister, 
 turning very red. ' I don't think you 
 should say such things. You are so dis- 
 agreeable over the dad, and have never 
 yet appreciated the qualities that every one 
 likes so in him. He can't help it if women 
 want to marry him. I'm not surprised at 
 even young and pretty women finding 
 him pleasanter than the conceited, sneering 
 young men one knows. He is so well- 
 bred, poor dear.' 
 
 ii
 
 0/z, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 Arthur laughed provokingly. 
 
 ' Meaning I'm not. But what about 
 Fairfax, Dolly ? He too must be numbered 
 among the young men.' 
 
 Dolly waved away the impertinent 
 question superbly. 
 
 ' Let us keep to the matter in hand, 
 please. When are you going to learn to 
 treat your father properly ? You have a 
 flippant manner towards him none of us 
 like.' 
 
 Arthur fanned himself with a Japanese 
 fan he had picked up from the grass. 
 This conversation occurred in delightful 
 June weather, and Arthur had run down 
 to see the Gardenhurst roses in bloom. 
 
 * Dear old Doll ! ' he said with lazy 
 affection, and then began to whistle a tune 
 from ' Don Giovanni,' that in which 
 Leperello recites the amours of his master. 
 His sister caught his meaning immediately, 
 and flashed a look of resentment at him. 
 
 ' I see it's no use talking to you,' she 
 said ; ' but it's not well-bred all the same.' 
 
 The young man got up from his chair 
 and stretched himself. 
 
 12
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 'Well, an revoir, my dear, I'm off 
 to the Pines to see Mrs. Mellor. I 
 hope I'll find you in a better temper 
 when I return. Any message ? No ! 
 Well, good-bye, my child, and I'm deter- 
 mined, if you foolish people won't let the 
 dad reward Mrs. Mellor's long and ro- 
 mantic devotion to him, I'll reward it by 
 asking her myself.' 
 
 ' Oh, she wouldn't decline on you t ' said 
 his sister, her face relaxing its sternness. 
 4 Not so jolly likely, after knowing the 
 dad.' 
 
 1 There ! ' said the young man as he 
 whistled for the dogs to accompany him 
 on his walk. ' It's no wonder the old man 
 considers himself irresistible. If he makes 
 such slaves of his own womenkind he may 
 well be confident about others. And with 
 your sex, my dear sister, a man's confidence 
 in his own power is the strong motive 
 force.' 
 
 ' If that were true, then youd be all- 
 conquering,' said his sister. 
 
 ' A cheap gibe ! ' he answered, and then, 
 as he turned away, fired his last shot. 
 
 13
 
 Ok, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 ' I shouldn't mind wagering you ten to 
 one, any way you like to take it, that the 
 dad is at this moment up to some of his 
 little games. You haven't heard from him 
 since I came, and his silence, like a spoilt 
 child's, shows he's engaged in some en- 
 grossing mischief.' 
 
 He strolled away as he spoke to avoid 
 his sister's indignant disclaimer. 
 
 ' As if I should go making wagers with 
 you, you wretch, over the dear old dad ! ' 
 
 How many conversations like this there 
 had been between the pair, and how often 
 Dolly had vowed never again to * rise ' to 
 the bait, and had broken that vow ! She 
 snapped off a thread in her dainty piece of 
 work viciously as she looked after the tall 
 form of her brother, now crossing the 
 meadow with leisurely hands in his pockets 
 and the dogs at his heels. 
 
 * I could not have believed,' she said to 
 herself, ' that a sense of humour could be 
 so irritating a thing. I often feel as if I 
 should like him better if he were as solemn 
 as an owl and as dull as ditch-water.' 
 
 She folded up her piece of work care- 
 
 14
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 fully, and entered the house by the French 
 window of the drawing-room, looking so 
 animated after her little burst that it was 
 a thousand pities Andrew Fairfax could 
 not have seen her then. 
 
 »5
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 The tea had just been carried out on the 
 Gardenhurst lawn. The table was set 
 under the shade of a branching elm, all the 
 leaves of which were dancing in the merry 
 June air. The house stood over yonder 
 behind its thickets of roses, a charming old 
 gabled house, very old-fashioned within 
 and without. The drawing-room was 
 panelled in white wood, decorated with 
 mazy rose garlands, according to the taste 
 of a Mrs. Strangways in the last century. 
 The dining-room kept its heavy oak beams 
 in the white ceiling, and upstairs in the 
 bedrooms, under the pointed roof, the beams 
 hung so low that one had to stoop to 
 pass below them. Londoners raved over 
 Gardenhurst, and it was indeed a kindly, 
 comfortable old house, where insidious 
 modern conveniences had been added so 
 
 16
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 quietly and deftly that one detected no in- 
 congruity in their presence. Londoners 
 always said that Gardenhurst smelt of 
 lavender and rose leaves. 
 
 Under the elm-tree the three ladies of 
 Gardenhurst sat in comfortable low chairs. 
 Dolly was still lazily sewing her seam ; 
 Sophia, the energetic, was resting after a 
 morning of superintending the making of 
 jam in the kitchen ; Frances was sitting 
 before the tea-tray, with its furnishing of 
 old brown and purple china, and its sub- 
 stantial toast and sandwiches and hot 
 buttered cakes. 
 
 Arthur lay full length on a rug on the 
 grass, his hands clasped under his head, and 
 his eyes staring into the world of leaves 
 above him. He liked his comforts, this 
 young gentleman, and stoutly refused to lie 
 on the grass so long as there was a rug in 
 Gardenhurst. 
 
 ' You, my dear sisters,' he had said, 
 ' are used to earwigs in your hair and ears 
 and down your backs, and I've no doubt 
 rather enjoy it than otherwise, whereas I, 
 being a mere Londoner, would scream at 
 
 17 2
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 the sight of a black-beetle, and faint at a 
 slug.' 
 
 The Misses Strangways vouchsafed him 
 no answer. Arthur found that his sisters 
 did not readily rise to his gibes unless they 
 were connected with his father. 
 
 ' Two lumps of sugar, my dear Frances,' 
 he said, in reply to a question, ' and plenty 
 of cream. Mrs. Mellor thinks I have a 
 regular London colour and require dainties 
 to bring the roses to my cheeks.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Mellor knows as well as we do 
 that your complexion was always sallow 
 and ill-looking,' said Dolly, nonchalantly. 
 
 ' How strange ! ' replied the youth. ' I 
 have noticed that Fairfax often regards me 
 with a dreamy gaze. It never struck me 
 before that it was because my colour re- 
 minded him of yours.' 
 
 Every one laughed, because Dolly's milk 
 and roses were as unlike as anything could 
 be to her brother's colourless cheeks. 
 
 ' You should have plucked currants 
 for me this morning as I asked you,' said 
 Sophia, severely. * Then the sun might 
 really have brought out some roses, if they 
 
 18
 
 O/i, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 were only yellow ones, for you to take back, 
 to London.' 
 
 Frances lifted her hand. 
 
 ' Hush, children ! ' she said. ' The dogs 
 are barking as if for an arrival. Who can 
 it be ? ' 
 
 ' Dad,' said Sophia. ' I've dreamt of 
 him three nights running.' 
 
 ' It is surely the dad,' said Arthur, 
 solemnly. ' And now, Dolly, what way 
 will you take it? ' 
 
 But Dolly was looking towards the 
 house eagerly, and before she had noticed 
 her brother's impudent challenge, there, 
 sure enough, was Duke himself lightly 
 stepping across the lawn. He was in a 
 gray summer suit, with a moss-rose in the 
 lapel of his coat, and, despite his frosty hair, 
 he looked pleasantly fresh and vigorous. 
 
 There were a few moments of rapturous 
 embraces from his daughters, accompanied 
 by frantic demonstrations from the dogs, 
 who had come leaping about him across the 
 lawn. So for a few minutes he did not 
 notice the lazy young gentleman on the 
 grass. When he did, a little shadow fell 
 
 •9
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 on the brightness of his face. There was a 
 distinct effort in the cheeriness of his. 
 
 'Hullo, Arthur, my boy! When did 
 you come down ? ' 
 
 1 Ha ! ' said the astute youth in his heart, 
 'the dad's plans are put out by my pres- 
 ence. He comes with a fresh revelation. 
 What a score that I dropped down here in 
 time for it ! ' 
 
 Duke took his cup of tea from Frances's 
 hand, and allowed his other daughters to 
 attend to him with their accustomed fond- 
 ness. He was down from town, and had a 
 good deal to say of this and that function 
 and of the distinguished people he had met. 
 Duke was evidently much in request, and 
 had as fresh a faculty for making and de- 
 lighting in new friends as when his hair 
 was golden. 
 
 Still under all the chatter he was uneasy. 
 Arthur had sunk back on the grass in his 
 old position, and under his tilted cap his 
 eyes gleamed in so narrow a line that he 
 might have been asleep. But his father 
 was uneasily conscious of that line, and that 
 the eyes between the narrowed lids were 
 
 20
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 shrewdly regarding himself. Perhaps it 
 was the vexation which those eyes caused 
 him that at length spurred him to action. 
 Arthur watched the dad's spirit getting up, 
 though to all appearance he was extracting 
 the last vestige of sap from the grass-blade 
 he was sucking. 
 
 1 Good old boy ! ' said the youth. * He's 
 bucking up. Doesn't forget that he belongs 
 to a race of soldiers.' 
 
 By this time Phyllis, the rosy-cheeked 
 upper housemaid, had removed the tea-table, 
 and the little circle had settled down for 
 conversation. Duke cleared his throat once 
 or twice nervously, though his lips were 
 tight under his white moustache. 
 
 ' Dear children ! ' he began, ' and you, 
 Arthur ' — it was a subtle difference which 
 no one seemed to notice — ' I am so glad 
 to find you all together to-day, because I 
 want to talk to you about something that 
 most intimately concerns myself.' 
 
 At this point Arthur opened his eyes, 
 and looked hard at his father with what he 
 called himself ' his Old Bailey eye.' Many a 
 hardy witness had been brought by it to utter 
 
 21
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 confusion. It made his father wince, as he 
 knew it would, and Dolly blushed hotly in 
 the midst of her curiosity. She looked 
 down at the sleek brown head on the rug in- 
 dignantly. ' If you could only know,' she 
 said to herself, ' how beastly it is of you ! ' 
 It was strong language for the gently- 
 nurtured Dolly Strangways, but she had 
 picked up her brother's schoolboy slang, 
 and it often seemed to fit in with her moods 
 better than more conventional language. 
 
 Perhaps Arthur had seen his father wince, 
 and felt for a moment the cruelty of it. 
 At least his eyes had closed languidly, and 
 there was now no steely glitter under the 
 rim of the cap. 
 
 1 My dears,' went on Duke, ' you are 
 good children, none better. And yet, since 
 your dear mother's death, my life has been 
 lonely. I think in my case there is a special 
 necessity for a woman's companionship ' — 
 he lifted his hand to silence the protesta- 
 tions of his girls. ' I mean in that most 
 intimate friendship and companionship that 
 a wife alone can give. My dears, I have 
 consented for years to bear this loneliness, 
 
 22
 
 0//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 because my dear girls, for one reason or 
 another, did not seem to see the matter in 
 my light. But now, my dears, I seem to 
 see before me a chance of the greatest 
 happiness, a happiness which I feel sure my 
 dear ones will not deny me. I have reason 
 to believe that I am acceptable to a very 
 charming lady — one of birth, beauty, virtue, 
 and accomplishments, one who, I feel sure, 
 would adorn this dear circle, and make a 
 delightful friend for my girls,' — he broke 
 down rather lamely. 
 
 'Who is this lady?' asked Frances, coldly. 
 
 Poor Puke looked about him with a 
 bewildered sense of the chill in the air. 
 Sophia was looking sullen ; even prettv 
 Dolly was stabbing her seam viciously ; 
 Arthur had turned over on his face, and 
 there was no revelation of what he might 
 be thinking in his broad shoulders and his 
 close-cropped head. 
 
 ' My dears,' he began again pleadingly. 
 ' Don't set yourselves against me till you 
 know more. The lady's name is Beatrice 
 Challoner. She is the daughter of a brave 
 soldier, and comes from a long line of dis- 
 
 23
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 tinguished and honourable people. She is 
 poor, my dears, and living a very lonely 
 life at Mrs. Brown's boarding-house in 
 Kensington, where I met her. My girls 
 would not care for her less because she is 
 poor and lonely and very proud. You 
 must know her, my dears, before you re- 
 ject her. I have said nothing to her until 
 I had first told my dear children. Believe 
 me,' said Duke, stretching out his hands to 
 them, ' she is everything to honour and 
 love. She is a most high-minded, accom- 
 plished, and beautiful young lady.' 
 
 A thrill passed through his audience, 
 and a simultaneous exclamation of 'Toungf 
 came from three pairs of lips. Arthur 
 showed no sign. There was a little heav- 
 ing of his shoulders, that was all ; but no 
 one was thinking of Arthur. 
 
 ' Dad, dear,' began Frances, ' you speak 
 of a young lady. Am I to understand that 
 you propose to place a young woman over 
 me and my sisters ? I am no longer very 
 young, and I must confess it would be very 
 bitter to me to yield up the place I have 
 occupied since my mother's death.' 
 
 24
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 What Duke would have answered can 
 never be known, for suddenly the quiet 
 figure on the grass rolled over, exhibiting 
 a face purple with suppressed laughter. 
 ' Oh, Lord, young, a young lady ! ' spluttered 
 Arthur, amidst his peals of laughter. He 
 struggled somehow to his feet and leant 
 against the bole of the elm, struggling with 
 his mirth. Peal after peal of laughter 
 issued from his lips, mingled with 'Oh, dad, 
 you'll kill us. You're perfectly incurable, 
 you know. Oh, good Lord, a young lady, 
 think of it ! ' 
 
 Duke started forward, his face turning 
 very red and then a little pale. 
 
 'Why, you confounded young jacka- 
 napes ! ' he began, furiously. ' How dare 
 you, sir? I say, sir, stop that idiotic 
 laughter, or, confound you, sir, I'll make you.' 
 
 The Misses Strangways leaped to their 
 feet. They had never seen their father so 
 angry before, and they were shocked at the 
 unseemly conduct of their brother. How- 
 ever, the young gentleman ended the scene 
 himself. He dabbed his streaming eyes with 
 his pocket-handkerchief, vaulted lightly 
 
 25
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 over the garden seat beside which he was 
 leaning, and vanished into the house. 
 Echoes of his delighted exclamations and 
 laughter came back to them on the breeze ; 
 and, judging from the sounds from within 
 the drawing-room, he was engaged in stifling 
 his mirth with a sofa-cushion, while his feet 
 drummed vigorously on the old damask 
 roses of the settee. 
 
 After this all organised opposition on 
 the part of the Misses Strangways was im- 
 possible. They spent the afternoon coax- 
 ing and soothing Duke's ruffled feelings. 
 Arthur did not reappear, and just before 
 the dressing-bell Dolly went into the house 
 to give him, as she expressed it to herself, 
 a bit of her mind. She did not find him, 
 as she expected, lying on his bed reading a 
 novel. On the contrary he was just closing 
 his portmanteau. He turned to his sister 
 with an audacious smile. 
 
 ' Well, Doll, I'm taking myself off". I 
 
 won't stay to assist you in putting the dad 
 
 off his girl. He won't be happy while I'm 
 
 here, or till he gets her, probably, so I'm 
 
 off on the 6.45.' 
 
 26
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 ' And the best thing you could do,' said 
 his sister, severely. ' You've done enough 
 mischief as it is. You've not only offended 
 the dad, and behaved, I can't help saying 
 it, like a bounder, but you've put us in the 
 position that we can't give the dad a talk- 
 ing to as we should have done only for 
 your most unfortunate presence and be- 
 haviour. He's so sore that we can only 
 try to make him forget how rude you've 
 been.' 
 
 ' Drive out one nail by driving in 
 another,' suggested the youth, flippantly, 
 as he strapped the portmanteau. ' Have 
 over Mrs. Mellor this evening, and get the 
 dad married to her by special licence to- 
 morrow morning. Old Rayner would 
 manage it to save the scandal of dad's 
 marrying a girl.' 
 
 'We don't want your advice, Arthur. 
 We'll manage our affairs without you in 
 future. Allow me to say that I'm glad 
 you've the decency to go.' 
 
 ' Thank you, my dear. I've had de- 
 lightful entertainment during my visit. 
 Write and tell me how you've succeeded 
 
 27
 
 O/i, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 with the dad. Any message to Fairfax ? 
 Your love ? No ? Well, don't get so red 
 over it. Keep your blushes for our learned 
 friend himself. He'll appreciate them.' 
 
 Duke's daughters soon found that Ar- 
 thur's behaviour that unfortunate afternoon 
 had broken the back of their opposition. 
 For a day or two their father sunned him- 
 self in the love with which they surrounded 
 him, every act of which was an unspoken 
 reparation. For a day or two they heard 
 no more of Miss Challoner. Then one 
 evening Duke returned to the charge. 
 He was very gentle and eminently reason- 
 able, and he had a way of making each of his 
 girls feel that on her especially he rested in 
 love and confidence. He made no refer- 
 ence to the scene with Arthur. Quite un- 
 expectedly he announced his return to 
 London the next day. 
 
 ' I want one of you to return with me,' 
 he said, ' and enjoy a few days of town. 
 I've written to Mrs. Brown for a room, 
 and she'll keep it, though the place is un- 
 reasonably crowded just now. I should 
 like you, my dear girls, to know Miss 
 
 28
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 Challoner. Even if she is never to stand 
 to me in a closer relationship — and indeed 
 it may well be that I am over-presumptu- 
 ous in thinking such youth and beauty 
 would stoop to me — still I should like to 
 win my girls' friendship for a very lonely 
 girl.' 
 
 He said it with such a pathetic dignity 
 that it brought tears to the impressionable 
 eyes of his daughters. Perhaps after all 
 Arthur was not far out when he had chuckled 
 over his father's cunning. It was surpris- 
 ing how the opposition had crumbled. 
 The Misses Strangways felt vaguely that 
 they had been weak after they had consented 
 that one of their number should accom- 
 pany their father to London. After a 
 little discussion it was decided that Dolly 
 should be that one, and in the morning the 
 elder sisters assisted her to pack her pretty 
 frocks. 
 
 ' Mind, Dolly,' said Sophia, who was 
 
 the strong-minded one, 'don't be won 
 
 over too much by that girl. We've been 
 
 weak with the dad, but we were forced 
 
 into a position in which we couldn't be 
 
 29
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 unhandsome to him. But, all the same, 
 we don't mean to accept Miss Beatrice 
 Challoner as a stepmother.' 
 
 ' Yes, dear,' added Frances, ' be very 
 sensible ; and even if she is as charming 
 as the dad says, don't form one of your 
 impulsive friendships with her — at least 
 not till you've found out whether she 
 means to take the dad or not.' 
 
 But Dolly was wondering more about 
 the chances of seeing Andrew Fairfax than 
 thinking of Miss Challoner and her father. 
 All the same she assured her sisters with 
 fervour that she would be very prudent, as 
 prudent as Sophia herself would be. 
 
 * No, you won't, my dear,' said Sophia, 
 promptly. 
 
 Dolly went off the next morning, look- 
 ing, in her pink print frock and white hat, 
 the incarnation of dewy freshness. The 
 two elder sisters kissed her with pride and 
 fondness. In their kind hearts they were 
 glad of the outing for her. 
 
 ' I tell you what, Frances,' said Sophia, 
 resolutely, after the dog-cart had driven off, 
 'we mustn't let that child wither among 
 
 3°
 
 O/;, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 the Kentish roses. Dolly's not cut out for 
 an independent woman like you or me. 
 Dolly must marry.' 
 
 ' Yes,' assented the elder sister. ' Dolly 
 ought to marry. Perhaps after she comes 
 back we should ask Arthur to bring that 
 pleasant young Fairfax for a week or two. 
 He might often run down from Saturday 
 to Monday.' 
 
 3*
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Arthur had been back in town a week, 
 and had heard nothing of how the opposi- 
 tion to the Challoner match, as he called it, 
 had been going. He felt that his sisters 
 had put him in the corner like a naughty 
 little boy, but that fact did not depress 
 him. His enjoyment of the episode had 
 not passed ; and over and over again he had 
 recalled the events of his last afternoon at 
 Gardenhurst, usually ending up by a fit of 
 laughter that very much astonished the 
 dignified, half-bred Persian tabby who was 
 the companion of his few solitary hours. 
 
 Arthur went out a good deal, and it was 
 now the height of the London season, when 
 events, lest they should be overtaken by 
 the end, jostled and tumbled over each 
 other through the golden June day and 
 night. Not many habitues of Pump Court 
 
 32
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 had a mantel-piece so heavily bestrewn 
 with invitation cards as Mr. Arthur Strang- 
 ways. He was popular, and especially with 
 the dowagers. When this fact was alluded 
 to in his presence, he acknowledged it in 
 a slightly shamefaced manner, ascribing it 
 to his worldly wisdom rather than to any 
 natural gifts or graces with which he was 
 favoured. But the dowagers could have 
 told otherwise. Mrs. Mellor had said, 
 rebuking him once for his pose as Mr. 
 Worldly Wiseman, that he was not the son 
 of the most charming man of his day for 
 nothing. «. 
 
 ' Pooh, my lad,' the still fair and dimpled 
 widow had said, softly patting the young 
 fellow's cheek, ' we women like you because 
 under your impudence we find something of 
 the graciousness which has made three genera- 
 tions of us adore Duke Strangways. Not 
 that you'll ever be like him — don't imagine 
 it ! He's the fine flower of good manners, 
 and you're but a decent lad with an inherited 
 pleasantness. So don't give yourself airs 
 over what I say.' 
 
 ' My dear lady,' replied the unabashed 
 33 3
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 son of his father, ' if I could believe what 
 you say, I'd risk everything and ask you 
 to become Mrs. Arthur Strangways.' 
 
 ' No, you wouldn't, Impudence,' said 
 the lady, highly diverted ; ' and if you did, 
 you'd promptly find yourself refused. 
 Besides, I'd cut you off, from motives of 
 propriety, from your frequent visits here 
 and all the petting I can give you now as 
 being old enough to be your mother.' 
 
 There was no doubt that Mrs. Mellor 
 was largely responsible for the spoiling of 
 Arthur Strangways. There was an un- 
 spoken bond of affection between the two, 
 though they nearly always talked to each 
 other in a jesting way. Be sure Mrs. 
 Mellor did not think less well of the young 
 fellow because she knew that he, for one, 
 would be glad to see her installed as his 
 father's wife. Fond as she was of the girls, 
 she could not help feeling at times a little 
 indignant over the stupidity of their attitude 
 as regarded herself. 
 
 Arthur had come in in the small hours 
 after a reception and a big ball. He turned 
 over the accumulation of his letters 
 
 34
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 languidly. Then his face brightened as 
 though he had come upon one in his sweet- 
 heart's handwriting. But he was quite 
 fancy-free, and the bold writing was that of 
 his sister Dolly. He and Dolly had loved 
 each other faithfully from the cradle, 
 though he had teased Dolly, and she had 
 resented it ever since he could remember. 
 
 'Sweet old Doll,' he said aloud, laughing, 
 ' she has come round and forgiven me.' 
 
 He opened the letter, and read it 
 through, giving a low whistle of surprise 
 now and again. The letter ran : — 
 
 Albury House, Kensington, 
 igth 'June. 
 
 My dear old Arthur — I think you were 
 very bad the last time I saw you, but of course 
 as usual it is I who have to come round, and you 
 who will not say you are sorry. I came back to 
 town with the dad a few days after you left, and 
 have been enjoying some of the gaieties, though 
 it would have been pleasanter if you could have 
 shared them. However, Miss Challoner goes 
 everywhere with us. She is not at all what we 
 could have supposed her to be, and I think it un- 
 likely she would marry an old man. But she is 
 
 35
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love 
 
 not easy to know. I daresay you will be 
 surprised to find me good friends with her, but 
 you have yourself to thank for it. Even Sophia 
 could say nothing after you had pained the dear 
 old dad so much, but only try to make him 
 forget that his son could behave so. Would you 
 like me to come to your rooms one evening ? 
 for of course you would not care to come here ; 
 and I should not like to leave town without 
 seeing my dear old Arthur. — Ever your loving 
 
 Doll. 
 
 ' Poor little Doll ! ' said the young man 
 to himself. ' What a transparent child it 
 is ! She is half ashamed of her weakness, 
 and a little bit inclined to rub it into me. 
 The dad has bamboozled them all once 
 more. And then the child wants to come 
 here in the simple expectation that Fairfax 
 may be here as well. Well, so he shall be. 
 It's doing a good turn for old Andrew too.' 
 
 He turned the letter over. 
 
 ' Hullo, the usual feminine postscript, 
 in the most unlikely corner ! ' 
 
 He read it over once or twice. 
 
 ' The Lyceum to-morrow night. That 
 means the dad will have a box. And 
 
 36
 
 0/z, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 dinner at the Criterion. I'm hanged if I 
 won't turn up and inspect the fair Beatrice 
 for myself. I'll be able to tell in a brace 
 of shakes whether she'll oust my dear Mrs. 
 Mellor or not. Begad, if the dad comes 
 through this I'll see that he makes Mrs. 
 Mellor Mrs. Strangways, or die for it. I 
 believe he likes the little woman better 
 than all the boarding-house adventuresses 
 in London, if those idiotic girls would only 
 see the matter in its proper light. Dinner 
 at the Criterion. That means 7 o'clock. 
 If they haven't room for me I can dine at 
 another table, and the dad can't refuse me 
 a back seat in the box. I'll do it. It's 
 playing it low on the dad to spoil his love- 
 making, but it's for his good, poor old 
 boy. I'll make it up to him presently with 
 Mrs. Mellor.' 
 
 The next evening Duke, looking more 
 distinguished than any ducal personage in 
 England, was sitting opposite his daughter 
 and Miss Challoner at a little table near 
 one of the windows in a big dining saloon 
 of the Criterion. Outside was the ex- 
 hilarating life and commotion of Piccadilly 
 
 37
 
 Oh, What a Plague is hove ! 
 
 Circus in June. Within all was gaiety and 
 sparkle. Folk in evening dress were at 
 every table, and there was a buzz of 
 conversation broken by the popping of 
 champagne corks and the busy clatter of 
 knives and forks. Dolly, that country 
 rosebud, was enjoying it highly. She 
 looked so joyous with her blue eyes shining 
 and her red lips smiling, that a good many 
 people passing to and fro through the 
 crowded rooms turned to look at her as at 
 something very pleasant. 
 
 Suddenly she uttered an exclamation 
 brightly and then turned grave. Duke 
 looked at her. 
 
 ' What is it, my dear ? ' 
 
 ' There is Arthur, dads. He hasn't seen us 
 yet. Yes, he has ; he's coming this way now.' 
 
 Beatrice Challoner, looking with languid 
 kindliness at her host, saw his eyes cloud 
 and a little shadow fall on his beaming 
 face. She felt vaguely sorry for an instant. 
 Then Duke rose up, and held out his hand 
 to the tall young fellow approaching. He 
 spoke cordially enough, but his tone seemed 
 a little forced. 
 
 38
 
 0//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 ' Can't find a table, my boy ? But 
 there's plenty of room here. Allow me to 
 introduce my boy, Arthur, Miss Challoner.' 
 
 Beatrice Challoner looked up in her 
 queenly way, as ready to be gracious to 
 Arthur Strangways as to any other human 
 being. She was not greatly interested in 
 young men. One of the race had too 
 thoroughly disillusioned her, and when she 
 had got over her heart-sickness of dis- 
 illusionment it left her with a somewhat 
 unjust depreciation of young men as a 
 class. 
 
 Young Strangways had not glanced at 
 her, and unfortunately, just as she lifted her 
 faintly smiling eyes to his face, she inter- 
 cepted a meaning look which was intended 
 for his sister Dolly. Miss Challoner was 
 a clever and impulsive young woman. 
 Somehow she divined what that impudent 
 look really meant. The blood rushed to 
 her heart as it ebbed away from her cheeks. 
 She had a sudden, amazed comprehension 
 of the attitude of this young man's mind 
 towards her. 
 
 Arthur meanwhile had turned to inspect 
 
 39
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 her with lazy curiosity. What he had 
 expected to see was a hard, handsome young 
 woman, not over-fresh after long experience 
 of London boarding - houses, not over- 
 scrupulous as to the age of the man she 
 would marry, if marriage were the golden 
 key to open to her the doors of rank, 
 wealth, ease, and social distinction. What 
 he saw was a girl of twenty-three or twenty- 
 four, with a delicate and disdainful face, 
 dark hair coiled low on her neck, and 
 large gray eyes that were now looking 
 at him with a light which was anything 
 but friendly. 
 
 The young man showed his discomfiture 
 by the muttered exclamation with which 
 he took the seat opposite to her. Dolly 
 saw and heard, and smiled maliciously. 
 She felt it good that Arthur should be 
 snuffed out for once in a way. He was 
 too disconcerted to turn the batteries of 
 his humour on the dad : that in itself was 
 an unrelieved blessing. 
 
 Duke was quick to discover that his 
 son was for some reason or other not in 
 
 his usual mocking mood ; and having dis- 
 
 40
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 covered it he forgot all about him as soon 
 as possible. Miss Challoner looked in 
 Arthur's direction no more after the first 
 haughty inclination of her head. He felt 
 with a queer sensation of irritation that she 
 was very well satisfied indeed with his 
 father's attentions. Duke was radiant, and 
 outdid himself in sweetness and amiability. 
 Beside him Arthur was uneasily conscious 
 that he appeared stupid and unready. That 
 girl over there had non-plussed him out of 
 his usual humorous ease. 
 
 The dinner concluded without Miss 
 Challoner -having once spoken to him or 
 looked in his direction. Dolly had chattered 
 a good deal of where she had been and 
 what she had seen, but he had not re- 
 sponded with his usual brightness. From 
 feeling snubbed at first he had begun to 
 feel bad-tempered, and Arthur was one of 
 the good-tempered people with a quite 
 unexpected streak of nasty temper some- 
 where hidden in him. 
 
 When the two girls had gone to put 
 on their cloaks, Duke turned to the young 
 fellow with an afFable forgetfulness of past 
 
 41
 
 Oh, What a Plague is hove ! 
 
 offences. ' You are coming on with us, 
 my lad ? Inconvenience us ? Not a bit 
 of it. There are chairs for four, and 
 Ellen Terry is very fine in the new piece, 
 they say.' 
 
 Arthur could have found it in his heart 
 to refuse, but he had a stinging curiosity to 
 see more of the girl, and a curious angry 
 desire to make her turn those starry eyes 
 on himself. He had not been accustomed 
 to be treated so carelessly, and the novelty 
 was unpleasant. 
 
 He answered his father easily. ' Thanks, 
 dad, I think I'll come. I've nothing 
 special on to-night.' 
 
 To himself he said, as he stood there a 
 little rigid in his attitude — 
 
 ' Far better go to Lady Di's, and dance 
 with the pretty fair -haired Campion girl 
 who appreciates you. Then your devil 
 may go to sleep for another hundred years.' 
 
 You see Arthur Strangways was more 
 
 conscious than any one else in the world 
 
 of that little ugly streak of temper in him. 
 
 Whenever it came to life it was himself it 
 
 fretted. He had a sufficiently strong will 
 
 42
 
 0//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 to fume in silence, but the beast worried 
 him the more for that. 
 
 The girls came in with their white and 
 gold cloaks much alike — alike enough, at 
 least, to deceive the untrained masculine 
 eye into thinking them much alike. As 
 they went down the wide stairs Dolly 
 slipped her hand through her brother's arm. 
 Perhaps she divined his ruffled feelings. 
 Perhaps she only wanted to hear some- 
 thing of Andrew Fairfax, and went circ- 
 ling about her as yet unauthorised love 
 as carefully as a bird about its concealed 
 nest. * 
 
 Duke and Miss Challoner had preceded 
 them, and when they reached the pavement 
 it was in time to see two hansoms draw up 
 in obedience to the whistle of the com- 
 missionaire. 
 
 ' Two hansoms ! ' muttered the disgusted 
 young man. 'Damn it! I call it vulgar. 
 It is after the manner of lovering couples in 
 Brixton and Camberwell. I did think the 
 dad good form in spite of his confounded 
 folly.' 
 
 But Dolly clapped her hands with 
 
 43
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 delight. A hansom ride was always delight- 
 ful to her, and she settled down for the 
 short distance blissfully. 
 
 Matters did not improve during the 
 progress of the play. Arthur sat uncom- 
 fortably where he could only see by craning 
 his neck. He did not indeed try to see. 
 Miss Challoner's creamy shoulder and proud 
 head rilled all his thoughts. So insistent 
 did his desire to make her speak to him 
 or look at him become, that he addressed 
 her pointedly at last. She swept him with a 
 superb gaze, and answered him in mono- 
 syllables. He sat back in his uncomfort- 
 able chair, biting his lip to keep his demon 
 down. 
 
 He was furious by the time they 
 left the theatre — furious with the girl, 
 furious with what he called his father's 
 fatuous happiness in the smiles that were 
 lavished so sweetly upon him, furious with 
 Dolly for enjoying it all so much and for 
 insisting on waiting to the very last. 
 
 They left the theatre in the same order 
 they had entered it. Duke got his fair 
 charge out quickly, though the others were 
 
 44
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 hard on his heels. When his son and 
 daughter emerged from the crowd he 
 turned a radiant face upon them. 
 
 ' We must walk down a little way to 
 our hansoms,' he said ; ' the man says we 
 shall else have to wait a long time.' 
 
 ' Not in the same order, dad,' the 
 young man muttered viciously. ' There's 
 been enough philandering for one evening, 
 and it's not decent.' 
 
 As they stood on the pavement there 
 was some little shifting of places. The 
 hansoms were driving up, Duke zealously 
 signalling ttD them. 
 
 ' Dolly,' whispered the young fellow 
 into the pink ear nearest to him, ' you go 
 with the dad this time. We don't want 
 any more folly with this girl.' 
 
 There was a sudden flash of lovely, 
 indignant eyes that scorched him like 
 summer lightning. He blushed hotly with 
 rage and shame. He stammered something, 
 he knew not what, but the girl had looked 
 away again contemptuously. In a minute 
 she had laid her hand lightly on his father's 
 arm, and had sprung into the hansom. Duke 
 
 45
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 followed her, and it flashed off through the 
 darkness. 
 
 Arthur assisted Dolly miserably into the 
 second hansom which had now drawn up. 
 He felt altogether crushed and wretched 
 over his mistake. 
 
 ' Oh, Doll, Doll,' he groaned, ' why in the 
 name of all the devils do you and that girl 
 wear cloaks exactly alike ? ' 
 
 Dolly looked at him in bewilderment, 
 seeing which he laughed out, a laugh with- 
 out mirth. 
 
 His sister had apparently no idea of the 
 betise he had committed. 
 
 46
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 On a fine afternoon of the following 
 week Arthur Strangways was moving about 
 restlessly in his sitting-room, taking up 
 things and putting them down again, 
 altering the position of a vase of flowers or 
 a book or a photograph, in a manner which 
 showed him to be ill at ease. The room 
 was long and low, with deep window-seats 
 and wide doors. The windows looked 
 into a lofty elm, the branches of which still 
 waved in spring lightness and freshness. 
 In those branches there was a prodigious 
 chattering of married birds. The room 
 was distinctly pleasant. There were pictures 
 on the walls between panels of old tapestry. 
 The grate was lined with Delft tiles 
 representing Scripture stories. There were 
 roses everywhere : on the mantel-shelf, and 
 in the many ' pots ' about the room, which 
 
 47
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 bore witness to the cricketing and rowing 
 prowess of Arthur Strangways ; on the 
 American desk, more useful than beautiful, 
 with its multitude of drawers and pigeon- 
 holes ; on the long table among the papers, 
 which were pushed together in a heap to 
 make room for a dainty tea equipage, 
 flanked by piles of strawberries. 
 
 Mr. Strangways had half-shamefacedly 
 taken a good deal of trouble to make this 
 special room pretty to-day, while retaining 
 something of the litter and dust of 
 masculine belongings which are an item 
 of the feminine enjoyment in visiting 
 chambers or college rooms. He was very 
 fond of Dolly, but these preparations were 
 not made for Dolly. 
 
 He had really suffered over his un- 
 fortunate contretemps with Beatrice Challoner. 
 He had felt the brutality of his speech 
 keenly, and had not been able to think on 
 the matter without an intolerable loathing of 
 himself. His bad temper had disappeared 
 before his shame. At first he had had the 
 feeling that he could not endure ever to 
 see or hear of the girl again. Later a 
 
 48
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 little hope came to him that, given time 
 and opportunity, he might make her see 
 he was not the brute he must have seemed 
 to her. He had usually been able to make 
 it right with women, and why not with her, 
 if he were very humble and very careful. 
 
 He had had some idea of writing an 
 apology to her, but he had rejected it. 
 He felt the thing did not bear touching 
 upon in words. ' Hang it all,' he had said 
 to himself in an access of hope, ' if the girl 
 has any decency in her she'll know I'm 
 heavily punished.' 
 
 It was i« this mood that he boldly made 
 the venture of asking her to come with his 
 sister to tea in his rooms. The note he had 
 written to her had had an unspoken appeal 
 for pardon in every word. It was as defer- 
 ential as though it were written to a queen. 
 
 ' The girl couldn't look so majestic,' he 
 argued with himself, ' without having some 
 corresponding nobility of character. She 
 can afford to be magnanimous, and she will 
 read between the lines that I am squirming.' 
 
 But no answer had reached him from 
 Miss Challoner, though Dolly had written 
 
 49 4
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 a delighted acceptance. He watched the 
 posts till the last with a keenness that 
 amazed himself. Then he had given up 
 expecting a reply, and had gone through 
 his work all that morning, with the 
 conflicting arguments for her coming or 
 not coming intruding between him and his 
 parchments. 
 
 It was four o'clock when Andrew Fairfax 
 ran lightly up the stairs and kicked at his 
 friend's oak. Arthur noted with saturnine 
 amusement the young fellow's eager glance 
 about the room which took in the most 
 shadowy corners. ' Does he think I've 
 Doll hidden behind the screen, or below 
 the tapestry ? ' he said to himself, with a 
 resigned groan over the folly of lovers. 
 
 A little later came the dainty feminine 
 knock which made his heart leap. He 
 went to the door, afraid to meet the beauty 
 he had offended, but yet more afraid not to 
 meet her. He opened it slowly to give 
 himself time. When it had opened he was 
 conscious of a blank feeling of disappoint- 
 ment. There was only Dolly, fluttering 
 in her light summer draperies. He drew 
 
 50
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 her in with affectionate welcome, and kissed 
 her bright cheeks, with no sign of the 
 disappointment he felt. 
 
 ' Come along, dear,' he said, ' the tea is 
 just waiting to be made, and Fairfax is 
 dying of thirst.' He had a forlorn sense 
 that now there was no other guest need be 
 expected. However, he hoped his sister 
 brought an explanation, an apology even of 
 the most formal ; but Dolly, after her first 
 rapturous blush at the sight of Andrew 
 Fairfax, had settled down to chatter of 
 everything in the world but that which he 
 specially desired to know. 
 
 ' What an extravagant boy you are ! ' 
 she said, her hands fluttering over the 
 scarlet strawberries, ' to have all those piles 
 of strawberries for just me, when I know 
 they're selling at a ruinous price.' 
 
 Arthur smiled grimly 
 
 ' You'll spare a few, I daresay, for me 
 and Fairfax, my dear, when you've quite 
 satisfied your own greediness.' 
 
 Dolly prepared two plates of the fruit 
 and added sugar and cream, and then, by 
 way of reproach, handed the larger of the 
 
 5 1
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 two to her brother. The other she held 
 out with a shy smile to the brawny, sandy- 
 haired young giant who was straddling the 
 rug before the fireplace, and looking as if 
 he were already one of the blest. 
 
 ' It's a thousand pities,' muttered Arthur 
 to himself, ' that propriety won't permit of 
 my clearing out and leaving those young 
 fools to themselves. I feel I'm deucedly 
 in the way.' 
 
 He did the next best thing, for when 
 tea was finished he went off to his desk 
 with the excuse of having letters to write, 
 and left the couple to converse together at 
 the other end of the long, low room. They 
 seemed to have a good deal to say to each 
 other, and he threw himself into his letter- 
 writing with a savage resolution to think 
 no more of Miss Challoner and her treat- 
 ment of him. His quill scratched away 
 energetically while the long, golden after- 
 noon went. He had accumulated quite a 
 pile of letters before Dolly addressed him 
 with an evident unwillingness. 
 
 'Arthur, dear, I'm afraid I must be 
 making tracks for South Kensington. Do 
 
 5 2
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 you know it's a quarter past six, and they 
 dine at seven ? ' 
 
 ' Never mind Mrs. Brown's dinner- 
 hour, dear. I'll stand you and Fairfax too, 
 if he's disengaged, a dinner at Blanchard's. 
 The dad will understand you're with me, 
 eh, Doll ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, quite,' said the girl, radiantly. 
 ' He said he wouldn't expect me till you 
 brought me back. It was the very last 
 thing he said when he left me at the foot 
 of your staircase.' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed, so the dad brought you to 
 the foot of the stairs. Deuced unfatherly 
 of him not to have come up with you.' 
 
 Dolly came closer and put a soft hand 
 about his neck caressingly. 
 
 ' You see, dear,' she said in a lowered 
 voice, ' it wasn't his fault. I think he 
 would have liked to come. But then Miss 
 Challoner was with us, and when I sug- 
 gested their coming up she seemed not to 
 like the idea. I don't think you quite hit 
 it off with her the other night.' 
 
 The young man laughed sharply. 
 
 ' So it was Miss Challoner was the im- 
 
 53
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 pediment. No, Doll, you are quite right. 
 I did not at all hit it off with her the other 
 night.' 
 
 ' I think you're unjust to her, dear. I can't 
 help thinking we were all unjust to her.' 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. 
 
 ' It can't matter to her what we think. 
 Come, Doll, dear, let us forget Miss 
 Challoner, and think what we shall have 
 for dinner. Are you going to join us, 
 Fairfax ? ' 
 
 ' Delighted ! ' answered the youth with 
 obvious sincerity. 
 
 They . had the daintiest of dinners, 
 Arthur consulting his sister's pleasure in a 
 way that went far to explain her affection 
 for him and the friendship of the dowagers. 
 Afterwards they drove to South Kensington. 
 
 ' I wish it could have been a theatre, 
 Doll,' he said; 'but it wouldn't be fair 
 without warning the dad, and besides we 
 sat too late over our coffee.' 
 
 He was glad himself it was not a theatre, 
 for he had been chafing all the afternoon 
 and wanted to be alone with Nebuchad- 
 nezzar, the cat, who took the world philo- 
 
 54
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 sophically himself, and never bored mere 
 foolish humanity by sympathy with its 
 various moods. 
 
 ' No, Doll, we won't come in,' he said, 
 at the door of Albury House. ' At least 
 I won't,' he added hastily, noticing the 
 sudden cloud on the two faces. ' I dare- 
 say Fairfax can afford to make an evening 
 of it, as he's a rising junior with the wool- 
 sack in view, but no briefs. I can't afford 
 to sacrifice any more of the time that 
 belongs to my clients at Dolly's shrine. 
 Oh, don't mind me, Fairfax ' — for the in- 
 genuous youth was looking as if he felt he 
 ought to go but very much wanted to stay. 
 
 ' Very well, then,' said the lover, much 
 relieved ; ' I should like to come in and re- 
 new my acquaintance with Mr. Strangways, 
 if you think he won't mind.' 
 
 Arthur walked off quickly, glad to find 
 himself alone. He walked all the way to 
 the Temple, and when he had arrived 
 flung himself moodily on his sofa. It 
 comforted him to dispossess Nebuchad- 
 nezzar and fling a sofa-pillow after his 
 ruffled dignity. 
 
 55
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 ' I've had a facer, my friend,' he said, 
 addressing his cat, whose back was turned 
 majestically towards him. ' I wonder if 
 such things happen in your world ? I first 
 make a sickening ass of myself, and then, 
 when I try to undo it by the most abject 
 attitude conceivable, a young lady just 
 slaps me on the face. I feel jolly small, 
 Nebuchadnezzar, jolly small, I can tell 
 you.' 
 
 He hurled his slipper towards the cat as 
 if the vindictiveness of the act comforted 
 him. He did not often take his own 
 moods seriously, but as he lay on his couch 
 while the shadows gathered in the low 
 room, and smoked and brooded, he began 
 to feel very nasty indeed towards Miss 
 Challoner. He recalled his preparations 
 for the afternoon, and grinned in savage 
 derision of himself. He thought of the 
 girl's proud face, and hated the contempt 
 of himself which he conjectured there. He 
 was no longer the gay, impudent, charming 
 boy of Mrs. Mellor and the dowagers. 
 The primitive man's rage at an insult, 
 perhaps something else, was up in him, and 
 
 56
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 as the hours passed his black mood grew in 
 intensity of colour. 
 
 It was about eleven o'clock when he 
 heard some one coming upstairs, whistling 
 vigorously ' My Love's like a Red, Red 
 Rose ! ' 
 
 ' Sounds like Fairfax,' he muttered, ' and 
 if he's coming here to maunder about Doll, 
 I'm not his man for once.' 
 
 But the lusty kicking at his door which 
 had begun, only ceased to be renewed with 
 fresh vigour. It was plainly no use lying 
 low ; Andrew Fairfax was determined to 
 get in. Arthur got up at last grumbling, 
 and flung open the door. 
 
 'There, if you must come in, don't 
 bark your shins over anything till I get a 
 light,' he said, savagely. ' I wonder you 
 wouldn't have the decency to conclude I 
 was in bed or something, and take yourself 
 off from where plainly you weren't wanted.' 
 
 The other replied with a great roar of 
 laughter. ' I'm hanged if I'm going to 
 quarrel with you, you old misanthrope, 
 this night of all nights.' 
 
 Arthur had by this time lit his lamp. 
 
 57
 
 0/z, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 1 Look at me, man ! ' said Fairfax. ' Do 
 you see any difference in me since this 
 afternoon ? ' 
 
 ' None,' replied the other, crossly, ' ex- 
 cept that you look a little more fatuous 
 than usual. I suppose you mean that Doll 
 has taken you, though how you managed 
 it between Mrs. Brown's doorstep and Mrs. 
 Brown's drawing-room is beyond me.' 
 
 ' We didn't, you old duffer. It was in 
 the blessed drawing-room itself. Your pater 
 was out with that stunning girl — who isn't 
 a patch on Doll, however. They came in 
 afterwards. There wasn't a soul in the 
 drawing-room, only a very old lady stone 
 deaf, and after a while even she got up and 
 went out.' 
 
 ' I'm not surprised,' said the other, sar- 
 donically. 
 
 ' Aren't you ? Well, maybe you'll be 
 surprised to hear that there hadn't been a 
 word said till she did go. I didn't feel 
 my courage anywhere near the sticking- 
 point, and I don't know how I brought it 
 out. But after the very first I didn't feel 
 afraid of Doll, God bless her ! ' 
 
 58
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 'No, I daresay you didn't. But spare 
 me further details. I'm glad ' — half un- 
 willingly — 'to know it's all right.' 
 
 ' Thank you, old fellow. I knew you'd 
 be glad, though you're not exactly in a 
 sympathetic mood to-night. I know I'm 
 not fit to look at her, but I'll take great 
 care of her. You don't think me quite 
 unworthy, old fellow ? ' 
 
 ' He thinks himself unworthy, but wants 
 other people to be assured of his worth ! ' 
 said Arthur, in comic despair. ' Go on, my 
 good fellow. Has the dad any idea of the 
 state of affairs ? ' 
 
 ' I think so. He was quite cordial 
 when I asked if I might see him to-morrow, 
 and as for that beautiful creature who came 
 in with him, I think she saw how it stood, 
 for she looked so kindly at both of us.' 
 
 ' I daresay it didn't require acute percep- 
 tion to see how things stood. Well, are 
 you going to leave me to my interrupted 
 slumbers ? ' 
 
 The other looked at him wistfully. 
 
 ' I thought you would have been so glad, 
 old fellow.' 
 
 59
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 ' So I am, so I am, but all the world is 
 not made up of lovers.' 
 
 ' No, worse luck ! If you were in love 
 you would be more sympathetic. Why 
 don't you fall in love with Miss Challoner?' 
 
 ' Oh, hang it all, go to bed, man ! ' said 
 Arthur in uncontrollable irritation. ' Go 
 and sleep it off! You'll feel better in the 
 morning.' He pushed him out, and Fair- 
 fax looked ruefully back at the closed door. 
 
 ' Now what's the matter with the fellow? ' 
 A sudden happy inspiration came to him. 
 ' I see. He and Doll are so fond of each 
 other that he can't help feeling it a pang 
 to give her even to me. Well, I ought to 
 be able to understand it.' 
 
 The next evening brought Arthur a 
 rapturous letter from Dolly herself. Every- 
 thing was settled ; the dad had been ador- 
 ably kind about it all, and she was in the 
 seventh heaven. They were all going down 
 to Gardenhurst early in the next week. 
 Andrew could get off, and Beatrice also, 
 was to come. 
 
 1 Beatrice ! ' quoted this very sullen 
 
 young man. ' So it has come to Christian 
 
 60
 
 O/r, What a Plague is Love I 
 
 names with them. Well, if Beatrice is there 
 so shall I be. I won't have dad flaunting 
 his infidelity under Mrs. Mellor's nose. 
 They'll see that one person can keep his 
 head, and can be faithful to old ties and 
 old friendships. I wonder how soon she'll 
 be " Beatrice " to Frances and Sophia too ! ' 
 
 6i
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 All the week following Mr. Strangways 
 entertained the devil, and proved himself 
 so excellent a host that his visitor was in 
 no hurry to depart. It was some days 
 before he could fulfil his threat of dropping 
 in on the new Garden of Eden, as he sar- 
 donically called it, and meanwhile he had 
 worked himself up to a finer indignation. 
 There was a portrait of his mother in that 
 study at Gardenhurst, which Duke so seldom 
 used. She looked shadowily young and 
 pathetic, with her fair hair drawn in long 
 silken strands about her dreamy eyes and 
 the pure oval of her cheeks. She had been 
 dead so long that to her second youngest 
 son she was as a being enskied, ensainted 
 in some remote past, scarcely more real to 
 him than the St. Cecilias and St. Agneses 
 of a picture gallery. Yet there were 
 
 62
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 moments when he believed that his wrath 
 sprang from a noble jealousy for the memory 
 of that gentle mother. 
 
 ' You have so many visitors/ he wrote 
 to his sister Frances, about the middle of the 
 week, ' that I may perhaps be in the way, 
 but I have a slack interval, and should like 
 to run down on Saturday in time for dinner.' 
 
 The fine sarcasm was wasted on the 
 lady. She took it to be Arthur's jesting 
 way, and did not trouble to reply. When 
 the London train came in on the sleepy 
 country platform on the Saturday evening 
 there was- no one in sight but Fred, who, 
 with his hands in his pockets, stood smok- 
 ing a very rakish-looking pipe. 
 
 ' Hullo,' he called out, on seeing his 
 brother alight, ' thought I'd come and carry 
 your bag for you.' 
 
 ' That's decent of you, boy.' 
 
 ' More decent than you know, for we've 
 been picnicking in the wood, and I've torn 
 myself away from the skirts of the loveliest 
 woman in England.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! ' drily. ' Who may that be 
 in your sight just now ? ' 
 
 63
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 * A ripping girl, and you'll jolly well 
 drop your superior air when you see her. 
 She's a Miss Challoner, whom the dad's 
 picked up in London.' 
 
 They were by this time out on the 
 country road, sweetly overhung by the 
 fringes of the wood. Arthur stopped to 
 light his pipe, and having kindled it 
 stretched out his hand for the bag. 
 
 ' Turn about, old fellow.' 
 
 ' Not so jolly likely,' replied the other. 
 ' I'm in no end of training just now, and 
 must keep it up.' 
 
 ' And so you've knocked under to this 
 Miss Challoner ? ' 
 
 4 Knocked under ! You may say it. 
 Every soul in the house has knocked 
 under to her, including the dogs. Why, 
 there's Maida. She's got a litter of pups, 
 jolly little beggars, and she suspects every 
 one who goes near her of a design of 
 stealing them. Well, what does she do 
 yesterday evening, but comes slinking out 
 on the lawn with them looking as pleased 
 as Punch, and edges herself and them 
 on to Miss Chal loner's skirt, for all the 
 
 64
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 world as if she'd known her all her life. 
 You should see Frances's face, for she's 
 always in a taking over puppies — thinks 
 they rain fleas, poor little beggars. But 
 Miss Challoner, I never saw such a jolly 
 girl. She lets the little brutes walk all 
 over her. She's not like a girl at all. 
 She doesn't mind the fleas, not she.' 
 
 'She's seems to have pleased you as 
 much as Maida ? ' 
 
 The boy grinned all over his chubby 
 face. 
 
 'The pleasing is not all on one side. 
 I'll let you into a bit of a secret. She's 
 hugely pleased with me.' 
 
 ' Get out, you conceited young beggar ! ' 
 
 'Oh, all right! Just keep your eyes 
 open. That is all. I could say more, 
 only it's beastly to brag about a lady's 
 favour.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Mellor not in it ? ' 
 
 ' I haven't seen Mrs. Mellor, let me 
 see, not since a week back.' 
 
 ' You're a fickle young cub then.' 
 
 By this time they had reached Garden- 
 hurst, and the dressing-bell was just ringing 
 
 65 5
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 through the house, so Arthur saw no one 
 till he came into the drawing-room. Miss 
 Challoner was already there, and was stand- 
 ing against the west window with her beauti- 
 ful profile outlined against the gold of the 
 sky. She made the slightest possible inclina- 
 tion of her head as he went in. It seemed 
 to him to convey a contemptuous dislike. 
 He could not see how the pained colour 
 had rushed to her cheek and ebbed again, 
 leaving her very pale. She had been 
 having happy times at Gardenhurst, and 
 now it seemed to her that, with the advent 
 of this insolent young man, it was all over, 
 and the sooner she went back to the un- 
 homelike boarding-house the better. For 
 the first time since her father died and her 
 lover deserted her for a rich woman, the 
 ice about Beatrice Challoner's heart had 
 thawed at Gardenhurst. They were so 
 simple, so unworldly, she thought. 
 
 She was as little practical as a child, 
 or she would have known how to make 
 her life sweeter despite her small income. 
 She had been chilled and lonely and faith- 
 less since that old trouble, and she had, 
 
 66
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 perhaps, misjudged a world which does 
 not always move according to interested 
 laws of conduct. She had shrunk from 
 civilities kindly meant, and had had no 
 eyes for mutely proffered friendships. She 
 drifted into boarding-houses because it was 
 the easiest thing to do. In Colonel 
 Challoner's lifetime they had stayed at 
 Mrs. Brown's, and it seemed easier for her 
 to go on staying at Mrs. Brown's than to 
 go out in the world in a search for more 
 homelike surroundings. Her room was 
 under the roof of Albury House. In 
 summer The breath of it was as a fiery 
 furnace ; in winter the cold went to her 
 heart. Elsewhere she could have had 
 luxuries for what she paid Mrs. Brown, but 
 she did not know it. Her father had 
 always stood between her and the world, 
 and when he was gone she was too un- 
 happy to fling herself out into the big 
 lonely place alone. 
 
 Duke had really been her first friend for 
 years. Mrs. Brown was proud of the 
 patronage of the Squire of Gardenhurst, 
 and had been eloquent in her admiration 
 
 67
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 of him when he spent an exquisite May 
 evening in playing bezique with deaf old 
 Mrs. Ransom and the two Misses Fothergill, 
 the latter melancholy specimens of boarding- 
 house spinsters, with their meanness, their 
 skittishness, their pretended love and real 
 hatred for each other, and their malice as re- 
 garded the better-looking, better-endowed, 
 and younger portion of the world at 
 large. Beatrice Challoner had thought 
 them, especially Miss Rosa, most piteous 
 specimens of womankind, and the first 
 attraction she felt towards Duke Strangways 
 was in the observation of his remarkable 
 charity towards them. Indeed charity it 
 was not, it was an unconsciousness of their 
 need of charity. 
 
 The girl had remarked the dead set the 
 two spinsters made at the distinguished- 
 looking elderly man, who seemed to find 
 them charming instead of the wilted and 
 seared women they really were. Duke 
 Strangways idealised all women if they had 
 but known ; and he could scarcely have 
 defended himself more adroitly if he had 
 guessed their schemes about him than by 
 
 68
 
 0//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 doing what he did, and that was by showing 
 a uniformly gay and sweet-tempered devo- 
 tion to every woman in the house. If he 
 gladdened Miss Rosa's heart by an offering of 
 flowers one day, it was Miss Matilda's turn 
 the next, and neither could feel especially 
 singled out when another day brought a 
 dainty basket of fruit for Mrs. Ransom or 
 an opera ticket for Fraulein Schneider, who 
 was starved for music, but could so rarely 
 afford to hear good music. 
 
 The sight of his kindness and simplicity 
 did Beatrice Challoner good. When, with a 
 certain humility eminently becoming, he had 
 made little advances towards her, the girl who 
 at Mrs. Brown's had the reputation of being 
 very haughty, had met him with a frank 
 smile of kindness, at which the old fellow's 
 heart took fire. From that time he devoted 
 himself to Miss Challoner, with a difference. 
 His accepted devotion to her was his re- 
 compense for the service, often somewhat 
 exacted, which he never refused to the 
 other women. His kindness, which seemed 
 to demand no return, the girl found very 
 restful. His slightly old-fashioned com- 
 
 69
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 pliments she thought charming. She liked 
 the evident affection he had for her. She 
 had known a young man's ardour, a young 
 man's fire that had cooled before the pros- 
 pect of a little privation, and she discounted 
 such things. 
 
 She had scarcely noticed how Duke's 
 devotion to herself had made her enemies 
 of the two Misses Fothergill. Her 
 acquaintance with those ladies was of the 
 slightest, and she had never desired to 
 improve it. If she had been happier she 
 would have been amused perhaps at their 
 affectations, their little cheese- parings, and 
 the frequent sisterly passages-at-arms which 
 enlivened Mrs. Brown's dinner-table. But 
 as things had been she had only felt a new 
 disgust for humanity in contemplating the 
 pair. Now, as she watched Marmaduke 
 Strangways' kindness towards them, she 
 felt vaguely troubled within herself at her 
 previous thoughts of them, or perhaps it 
 would be truer to say at her contemptuous 
 dismissal of them from her thoughts. Who 
 was she, she had asked herself, to judge of 
 them, being ignorant of the poverty, the 
 
 70
 
 0/j, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 barrenness of life, which must have brought 
 them to this ? She wondered drearily what 
 she herself might come to be after a quarter 
 of a century of loneliness and the demoral- 
 isation of incessant small economies. But 
 she never dreamt that the spinsters were 
 regarding her in the light of a possible 
 rival in Duke Strangways' affections. 
 
 She was vaguely amused when Mrs. 
 Ransom came and sat by her one day, and 
 took her firm young hand between two 
 withered ones, which felt like very soft old 
 kid. 
 
 'Don-'t you mind 'em, my dear,' said 
 the deaf lady, nodding vigorously. ' He's 
 a good man and a gentleman, if he is a 
 little old, and handsome enough to make 
 any woman proud of him. You've no place 
 in a boarding-house, my dear, no place at 
 all. I said it when I saw you first. " Where 
 are her friends, Mrs. Brown ? " I said ; 
 "where are the sweethearts?" Boarding- 
 houses are for birds of passage, my dear, or 
 for poor old wrecks high and dry on the 
 shores of life, like myself, and those two 
 old women and the Fraulein. You won't 
 
 7'
 
 0/j, What a Plague is hove ! 
 
 let 'em hinder you, my dear?' she said, 
 anxiously. 
 
 Beatrice did not quite understand what 
 she was to be hindered from, or who would 
 try to hinder her, but she was accustomed 
 to Mrs. Ransom's confusion of ideas, so 
 she nodded reassuringly. 
 
 ' That's right, my dear,' said the deaf 
 lady, much relieved. 
 
 But the fact that Mrs. Ransom had had 
 a very definite idea in her head, and the 
 nature of that idea, had only sprung on 
 the girl like a lightning-flash the evening 
 she met Arthur Strangways at the Criterion. 
 The revelation came upon her as an intoler- 
 able humiliation ; but when the first shame 
 and sting of it had passed, the spirit in her, 
 which the waters of calamity had failed to 
 quench, reasserted itself. She would not 
 give up the kind old friend who had 
 brought new pleasure into her life for any- 
 thing vulgar minds might think. And 
 Dolly, too ; it was hard not to be fond of 
 Dolly, so fresh, so sweet, so genuine. 
 Father and daughter had brought such 
 real pleasure into the lonely girl's life that 
 
 72
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 she was not minded to go back to the life 
 without them. 
 
 Then followed the days when Dolly had 
 taken her into her confidence about Andrew 
 Fairfax. Beatrice Chal loner was a girl of 
 natural reticence, and circumstances had 
 made her additionally so. To her, speech 
 about her inmost thoughts was almost im- 
 possible. But this confidence that came as 
 naturally, as easily as a bird sings his love- 
 song for all the listening world, seemed to 
 her inexpressibly sweet. She gave sympathy 
 with both hands. She had seen Andrew 
 Fairfax, and liked him ; and in her heart 
 she longed that she too might have so 
 sweet things to say, and the happy con- 
 fidence to say them. 
 
 It was Dolly who had won her over to go 
 to Gardenhurst. Dolly had sent reassuring 
 accounts of her ahead, and both Frances 
 and Sophia had been curious to see her 
 for themselves. They were really simple 
 and trustful folk, and ready to back 
 their feminine intuitions against a world of 
 evidence. The first sight of her in her 
 youth and beauty had disarmed their fears. 
 
 73
 
 Oh y What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 This was no man -trap, no manoeuvring 
 spinster on the hunt for a rich husband. 
 Dearly as they loved their father, there was 
 perhaps the faintest touch of the disillusion- 
 ment which is upon us all where our nearest 
 are concerned. They could not believe 
 that he could really in himself attract a 
 young woman ; and it was easy to revert to 
 their somewhat old-fashioned idea that the 
 young were for the young, the old for the 
 old. ' 
 
 Beatrice Challoner was quick to recognise 
 that they trusted her. Once her heart was set 
 at rest on this point she turned to be happy 
 at home-like Gardenhurst with the eagerness 
 of one long starved of the joy of her youth. 
 It was the one life she had had no glimpse 
 of; for all her days, since she could remember, 
 she had been wandering about the Continent 
 with her father in the search for health. It 
 was always hotel life and boarding-house 
 life, and the unhomely streets of foreign 
 cities, and much dust and glare, and the 
 faces of strangers rapidly succeeding each 
 other. 
 
 But the ordered quiet at Gardenhurst, 
 
 74
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 how exquisite it was ! Gardenhurst in a 
 golden June, with roses under the eaves 
 and over many arbours, and the song of 
 the nightingale when the blackbird had 
 whistled the world asleep. Gardenhurst 
 as fresh within as without, with every 
 window open, and the rooms full of cool 
 shade, so white and pure with the chintz 
 window - curtains flapping lazily in the 
 June air. After a night there she feJt as if 
 her skin must have grown as soft and 
 bedewed as a child's, and her eyes cool and 
 moistened, as though she had bathed them 
 in refreshment. 
 
 The sisters had seen nothing in her 
 during that week to make them re- 
 consider their first impulsive faith. With 
 them she was gentle and considerate as she 
 was to their father. But her prime friend- 
 ship was with the school-boy Fred. 
 
 He, of them all, had discovered the 
 youth in her, which had lain unsus- 
 pected, unexhausted, through a lonely 
 childhood and a disillusioned girlhood. 
 The sisters marvelled at this preference, 
 while they were simply pleased with it. 
 
 75
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 The boy was not blase of country life, and 
 he was delighted to find a companion now 
 that Doll was ' always mooning round with 
 Fairfax.' He took Miss Challoner fishing, 
 and taught her to row. He presented her 
 with his own favourite out of Maida's 
 puppies, and even offered to induct her into 
 the science of ratting, an offer she grate- 
 fully declined. She thoroughly enjoyed his 
 egotistic school-boy talk, and was always 
 ready with her ear and her sympathy. 
 Duke looked on at this friendship with a 
 gratification which was the last item, if any 
 were needed, to complete the sisters' trust- 
 fulness. Perhaps after all he had mistaken 
 his feelings towards the girl, and had never 
 really felt anything for her except the tender 
 kindness which it is in the heart of a man 
 to feel for any young and lonely woman. 
 
 Now, said the girl bitterly to herself, 
 this idyllic life would be spoilt. Perhaps 
 Duke was partly to blame for her very in- 
 different opinion of his younger son. The 
 one drop of gall in the elder man's gentle- 
 ness of nature was the irritation Arthur's 
 manner towards him had caused, a cumula- 
 
 76
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 tive irritation, which had reached its highest 
 point after that afternoon when he had been 
 so disrespectfully tickled over his father's 
 love affairs. 
 
 She was saying to herself that now every- 
 thing was spoilt, when Andrew Fairfax came 
 into the room, looking, for all the world 
 to see, a happy lover. 
 
 'So you've got down, old fellow,' he 
 cried, heartily. ' A jolly change, hey, from 
 that blazing, burning old bumble-bee, 
 London? Oh, by the way, you don't 
 know Miss Challoner, do you ? ' 
 
 ' ThaiTk you,' said his friend, coldly ; 
 ' Miss Challoner and I have met before.' 
 
 Andrew Fairfax looked from that 
 inscrutable face to the averted profile 
 against the window-pane, with an uneasy 
 sense in his good-natured mind of some- 
 thing being wrong.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Frances was in her still-room the next 
 morning when her brother came sauntering 
 in. The Misses Strangways kept up the old 
 admirable custom of brewing ale, and mak- 
 ing wines of elderberry, cowslip, and black- 
 berry. They were skilled in herbs, and 
 their orange-flower water, from the recipe 
 of a Madam Strangways under the Second 
 Charles, was unexcelled. Arthur looked 
 round at the well-stocked shelves with a 
 memory of the days of his youth, and the 
 treasure-house the still-room had then 
 seemed to him. The memory ought to 
 have been a pleasant one, but the young 
 man did not look pleasant. His lips were 
 set so firmly that the laughing lines about 
 them had quite disappeared ; his eyes 
 looked sullen. 
 
 Frances looked up at him from where 
 
 ?8
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 she sat busily engaged labelling a number of 
 bottles. The air of the place was aromatic 
 and delicious. She smiled at him her kind, 
 elder-sisterly smile. 
 
 ' Have you come to help me, Arthur, 
 or to beg for a glass of blackberry wine, or 
 a pot of red currant jam, as you used in 
 old days ? ' 
 
 ' Neither,' said the young man, seating 
 himself in the window-seat, where the light 
 flickered through a network of green leaves 
 and an interlacing sheet of wire destined to 
 keep the flies from the honeyed things 
 within. ■ 
 
 Something in his tone made his sister 
 turn round. 
 
 ' Are you not well, Arthur? ' she asked, 
 affectionately. ' We all thought you were 
 so silent last night, and you certainly do 
 look out of sorts.' 
 
 ( Don't bother about me,' said the young 
 man, ungraciously. ' I'm all right ; but I 
 must confess it's not the same thing to me to 
 come to Gardenhurst and find that girl here.' 
 
 ' That girl ! Do you mean Miss 
 Challoncr r ' 
 
 79
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 ' Yes, I mean Miss Challoner. You are 
 a woman of common-sense, Frances. Why 
 did you invite to our house a girl of whom 
 no one knows anything except what she 
 chooses to tell, and whose only recom- 
 mendation in our sight is that our father is 
 head over ears in love with her ? ' 
 
 Frances looked at him with startled eyes. 
 
 ' I don't know,' she said, lamely. ' Dolly 
 liked her so much. And we have thought 
 since she came down that everything Dolly 
 said was true. She doesn't seem to en- 
 courage the dad in that v/ay. She seems 
 far more taken up with Fred.' 
 
 ' My dear sister, don't you see that hav- 
 ing won the dad first of all, her next move 
 was to win over the rest of you ? Perhaps 
 she knows that the dad has a way of giving 
 in to his children about his matrimonial 
 schemes, perhaps not. In any case it was 
 her interest to be friends with you, and, 
 by Jove, she has proved herself jolly deep. 
 I wouldn't have believed she'd have bam- 
 boozled every soul of you in such a little 
 time.' 
 
 ' Dear Arthur ! But she seems so gentle, 
 80
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 so modest. And then she is so beautiful. 
 At her age she surely need not despair of a 
 marriage more suitable to her in every way 
 than marriage with a man who might be 
 her father ? ' 
 
 ' Sancta Simplicitas ! ' responded the 
 youth, sourly. ' It was time for me to come 
 here and stop these idyllics. If something's 
 not done, take my word for it, she'll be 
 Mrs. Strangways before three months have 
 gone over our heads.' 
 
 ' But what am I to do ? ' said his sister, 
 who was beginning to take the alarm. 
 ' She's here now, and we can't tell her to 
 go. She has seemed so happy too, poor 
 girl.' 
 
 ' I daresay. She's seen her schemes 
 prospering beyond her wildest hopes.' 
 
 1 My dear, I hope you're not wronging 
 her.' 
 
 ' Look at me, Frances, and tell me which 
 of us is most likely to be right, you, who 
 live here and meet no one, only those whom 
 you thoroughly know, or I, whose profes- 
 sion brings me in contact with all kinds of 
 shady things in human nature.' 
 
 81 6
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love! 
 
 ' Oh, I daresay you know best, dear 
 Arthur, though, if your profession is going 
 to make you suspicious and distrustful, I 
 shall be sorry for it.' 
 
 ' You haven't hitherto found me so, and 
 now my distrust is well founded.' 
 
 At this moment Sophia came in, and 
 something of the conversation was repeated 
 to her. Sophia was slower to move in one 
 direction or another than her sister "Frances, 
 and was more difficult to convince of Miss 
 Challoner's turpitude. 
 
 'She hasn't flung herself at the dad 
 since she came here,' she argued. 'She has 
 seemed twice as happy grubbing about with 
 Fred after his dogs and rabbits and birds.' 
 
 ' She has felt secure, my dear. She 
 knows nothing of Mrs. Mellor, for example. 
 I gathered from Fred that you had been 
 neglecting that very charming woman for 
 this new friendship of yours.' 
 
 ' H'm ! ' said Sophia. ' We can test that. 
 I don't know how it is that we haven't seen 
 Mrs. Mellor for a week. Let us have her 
 over, and see whether it will make any 
 difference.' 
 
 82
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 'But the dad may neglect Mrs. Mellor 
 for her,' argued Frances. 
 
 ' He won't,' said Arthur, shortly. ' I'll 
 see to that.' 
 
 Now this test might have come to 
 naught if Fred had not happened that 
 morning to have gone away with a school- 
 boy friend for a couple of days. Nothing 
 probably would have drawn him from Miss 
 Chal loner's side except the attraction his 
 friend offered him — a two days' cricket- 
 match, with no less a person than ' W. G.' 
 playing for the visitors. 
 
 With the school-boy's departure the 
 house had become lonelier for Beatrice. 
 Duke was there as ever courteous and ready, 
 but his elder daughters had their multi- 
 farious duties all the morning, and Dolly 
 was usually wandering about with her lover. 
 A day ago Beatrice would have had no 
 difficulty in making herself happy, but to- 
 day, with the unfriendly figure of Arthur 
 looming in the background, she felt ill at 
 ease. All at once she realised how little 
 she had in common with Duke's daughters. 
 She knew nothing of the housewifely things 
 
 83
 
 0//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 and the village interests that made up the 
 engrossing part of their lives. She had not 
 realised this before ; but as she sat with 
 them on the lawn in the afternoon she 
 confessed to an ignorance of all house- 
 keeping matters which drew forth a mild 
 reproof from Frances. Mild as it was, it 
 would not have been uttered yesterday ; and 
 the girl felt a new element in the atmos- 
 phere, something vaguely unfriendly and 
 disapproving. It made her after a little 
 while leave the two industrious ladies to 
 their needlework, and stroll away by herself 
 in the direction of the Home Paddocks. 
 Duke was absent attending to his magis- 
 terial duties. Arthur had gone to carry his 
 sister's message to Mrs. Mellor. 
 
 When she had left them Frances felt a 
 little uneasy. 
 
 ' I'm afraid I've hurt her,' she said, 
 remorsefully. ' After all it isn't her fault 
 if she knows nothing of housekeeping, and 
 has not the vaguest idea of the responsi- 
 bilities which we assumed so naturally.' 
 
 * No,' said Sophia, ' it isn't her fault, but 
 it will be bad for Gardenhurst if Arthur's 
 
 84
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 prophecy comes true. Everything about 
 Gardenhurst is accustomed to personal 
 interest and personal supervision.' 
 
 ' Oh, I don't think we need face that 
 possibility yet,' said Frances, nervously, and 
 then added : ' It is strange how Arthur has 
 upset my mind about the girl. Yesterday 
 I felt quite easy, and to-day I can't help 
 wishing her a thousand miles away.' 
 
 ' Keep on wishing,' said Sophia, dryly, 
 ' and she won't be able long to stay in your 
 immediate neighbourhood. All the same 
 I'm not altogether convinced by that boy's 
 cocksureness. I'll wait till I see for my- 
 self; but I mean to keep my eyes open for 
 the next few days. One can't be too 
 cautious when there is a question of a step- 
 mother — a young one too, and about as 
 fitted to take up our place at Gardenhurst 
 as Maida would be.' 
 
 Frances shuddered. She was a thorough- 
 going housewife, and was honestly proud of 
 the exquisite manner in which her father's 
 house, under her supervision, was kept. 
 For a moment her mind ran over her 
 treasures. There was the linen-room, with 
 
 85
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 its piles of damask and fresh linen. She 
 knew every darn in those precious piles of 
 napery ; she could put her hand in the dark 
 on any article where it lay between 
 strewings of lavender. She thought of the 
 china closet with its famous dinner-service 
 of Spode, and its Worcester tea-cups. She 
 thought of her still-room and preserve cup- 
 board, of her dairy and plate-chest. To 
 let all these fall to incompetent hands would 
 be, she felt, an extreme bitterness. She 
 sighed heavily with a great longing that 
 Miss Challoner was safely from under the 
 roof of Gardenhurst, and for the first time 
 the alternative thought of Mrs. Mellor as 
 a wife for her father flashed across her 
 mind and found a moment's entertainment 
 there. 
 
 An hour before dinner Arthur came 
 strolling across the lawn towards them. 
 
 ' Yes, Mrs. Mellor will come. I offered 
 to wait for her, but she said I'd distract her 
 mind while she was dressing.' 
 
 He stood for a minute or two, while 
 
 his lips curved in a rather disagreeable 
 
 smile. 
 
 86
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 'So Miss Challoner has deserted you, 
 my dears. I came upon her and the dad 
 strolling in the elm-walk. The dad had 
 Gipsy's bridle over his arm. They looked 
 as if they'd been at it a long time.' 
 
 The sisters looked at him in dismay. 
 
 'And I,' said Frances, bitterly, 'was 
 thinking I'd hurt her feelings, and all the 
 time, I suppose, she left us here because 
 she'd promised to meet the dad on his way 
 from Sutclifre.' 
 
 'It looks pretty bad/ agreed Sophia, 
 gloomily. 
 
 The dressing-bell had rung before Duke 
 and the unconscious Beatrice came back to 
 the house. When the girl had dressed 
 hastily and come down to the drawing- 
 room, she found every one waiting for her. 
 Mrs. Mellor was there, and looking very 
 well indeed in a gown of soft red crepe, 
 which showed off her fair and dimpled 
 shoulders prettily. Mrs. Mellor could al- 
 ways afford to dress young, for she had 
 kept her girlish roundness and something 
 of girlish slimness. 
 
 When Beatrice came in, feeling shy 
 
 87
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 and depressed, the move was made for 
 dinner. She put her hand rather limply 
 on Arthur Strangways' proffered arm. 
 When they had taken their places she was 
 glad to find Andrew Fairfax beside her. 
 The lovers were the only people she could 
 feel sure had not altered towards her since 
 yesterday. She made very little response 
 to her escort's civilities, and ate little. She 
 had found the heat of the day trying. She 
 noticed that Mrs. Mellor watched her with 
 curiosity, and wondered why. She did not 
 connect it with Duke's anxiety over her, as 
 she sent away plate after plate, with the 
 food scarcely tasted. 
 
 If she could have consulted her own 
 feelings in the matter she would have left 
 Gardenhurst at once. Why, she thought 
 of that high-up room at Mrs. Brown's as 
 a happy and peaceful refuge now. But 
 she felt she must leave in the conventional 
 manner, and not as if she had detected that 
 faint, almost impalpable coldness. 
 
 She had no anger against any one but 
 Arthur. Him she scarcely dared to look 
 
 at, so intolerable did she find his cool glance 
 
 88
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 and mocking smile. When he jested with 
 Mrs. Mellor across the table she felt that 
 his voice disturbed her. But her want of 
 appetite was the only sign she gave of in- 
 ward discomfort. 
 
 Her anger against her neighbour acted 
 in a manner as a spur. As the meal went 
 on her head grew more erect, her eyes 
 brighter. She was furious with herself for 
 having been persuaded to come to Garden- 
 hurst, but at least she would die game, 
 would leave the place not as one who had not 
 been a most honoured and welcome guest. 
 
 So after dinner she allowed herself to be 
 led to the piano by that hateful man, as 
 she termed Duke's second son. Arthur 
 stood by her turning over the leaves of her 
 music while she sang song after song, or 
 wandered off into dreamy music that con- 
 sorted well with the quiet June gloaming. 
 She had braced herself up to show no sign 
 of the torture she endured from her enemy 
 and his unkindly attentions. If you could 
 have looked into the room you would have 
 said the scene was ideally pleasant and 
 homelike. 
 
 89
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 Duke and Mrs. Mellor were playing 
 bezique by the light of a rose-shaded silver 
 lamp in a quiet corner of the room. Duke's 
 daughters had drawn their chairs to the 
 French window, where Frances had gone 
 comfortably asleep, and Sophia sat rigidly 
 knitting, and gazing out on the green 
 twilight in the garden. The lovers had 
 strolled away down the garden path, as 
 they had done every evening after dinner 
 since their arrival. 
 
 But all at once Beatrice's fortitude gave 
 out. She was not a conventional woman, 
 and was no adept at playing a part, and she 
 could endure no longer what she felt to 
 be Arthur Strangways' insolent attentions. 
 She stood up quickly and looked about 
 the room. She did not feel well, and had 
 a horror of making a scene. She looked 
 towards Sophia, but Sophia did not look 
 inviting. Dolly was nowhere to be seen. 
 She noticed that Duke had turned towards 
 her anxiously, and she went up to him in 
 sudden appeal. 
 
 ' I am tired,' she said. ' I think the 
 
 heat has tried me a little.' 
 
 90
 
 CM, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 Duke stood up at once, and drew her 
 hand through his arm protectingly. 
 
 ' You will be the better for a little air,' 
 he said. ' Mrs. Mellor, I'll put this boy 
 in my place for a little while. Come, 
 Arthur ! ' 
 
 It was all very quiet, and had scarcely 
 attracted the attention of Sophia at her 
 distant window. The changing of places 
 was done quickly, and Duke led the girl 
 into the verandah. He put her in a com- 
 fortable chair, and wrapped her shawl about 
 her with the tender deference and deftness 
 which, showed he was used to taking care 
 of women. Then he fetched a cushion 
 and a footstool for her from the drawing- 
 room, and she rested in the cool, quiet, and 
 dark, with no sense of anything but the 
 immediate relief it was to be there. 
 
 Sophia had meanwhile come out from 
 her dreaminess, and, becoming aware of the 
 state of things, had touched Frances lightly on 
 the knee. The elder sister was broad awake 
 in a moment. Sophia pointed silently at 
 the two heads in the lamplight where Arthur 
 had soberly taken his father's place. 
 
 9*
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 ' Where is the dad ? ' asked Frances, 
 sitting bolt upright, and looking as scared 
 as if Duke had eloped. 
 
 ' Hush ! at the other end of the ver- 
 andah with that girl.' 
 
 Poor Beatrice ! She had given con- 
 firmation, strong as Holy Writ, to the 
 words of her enemy. 
 
 92
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 The next day was the day of the picnic ; 
 not the simple family picnics which the 
 Strangways indulged in all the summer 
 through, and the pleasure of which con- 
 sisted in having their lunch out of doors, 
 and their tea under difficulties, but a 
 slightly more elaborate excursion. Deep 
 in Alio Wood, half a dozen miles from 
 Gardenhurst, was Alio Water, and by the 
 banks of the little river that fed it there 
 were the ruins of a Benedictine priory. 
 Happy people the monks must have been, 
 buried in this green solitude, with a few 
 fields of their own clearing round about 
 for the convent kine and the convent hay 
 and corn ; with the gentle trout stream 
 flowing below their walls, and the woods 
 full of game. 
 
 Alio Water was a favourite picnick- 
 
 93
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 ing place of the neighbourhood, but as 
 the neighbourhood only numbered a few 
 families of gentlefolk, you might nine times 
 out of ten have the waterside to yourself, 
 and the tenth time the intruders would be 
 of the most apologetic and retiring order. 
 
 Beatrice woke up the morning of the 
 picnic with a dread of what the day 
 might bring forth. When it had been 
 planned a few days ago, she had promised 
 Fred that she would drive with him in the 
 governess-cart, and be his companion in 
 the walk through the woods to the Abbey. 
 Then all had been so different, and she had 
 looked forward with the eagerness of one 
 who had been starved of pleasures to the 
 long day in the open air, and the thousand 
 and one little pleasures she should share 
 with the boy, who was so fresh and expert 
 a guide to the secrets of English woods. 
 Well, at all events, Fred would come back 
 to-morrow, and she should be no longer 
 friendless. She could not well leave before 
 Saturday, but with Fred in the house things 
 would be different. She and Fred could 
 keep much out of doors and away from 
 
 94
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 the detestable brother. His would be a 
 harmless and helpful advocacy ; she felt 
 instinctively that Duke's friendship only 
 made her position more awkward. 
 
 As a matter of fact he did her no good 
 that morning. The waggonette and a dog- 
 cart were in requisition, and when these 
 had drawn up before the hall door, Duke 
 made a somewhat conspicuous attempt to 
 secure Beatrice for his companion in the 
 dog-cart. Every one noticed it, and Mrs. 
 Mellor, looking charming in her gray cloak, 
 trimmed with silver, tapped an impatient 
 foot on the doorstep. 
 
 ' Are you bent on the dog-cart, dad ? ' 
 asked Arthur, suavely. 
 
 ' Yes, I know how to handle Sheila better 
 than you, my lad.' 
 
 ' Oh, very well, though I had looked 
 forward to giving Miss Challoner a fast 
 spin. Come, Mrs. Mellor.' 
 
 The lady flashed a quick glance, which 
 might have meant understanding and per- 
 haps gratitude, and mounted quickly to 
 the seat in the dog-cart. Duke said some- 
 thing under his breath that no one heard 
 
 95
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 but himself, and probably registered another 
 black, mark in his mind against his son, but 
 he mounted to Mrs. Mellor's side as briskly 
 and beamingly as if her company of all 
 others was the thing he had been longing for. 
 
 Arthur drove the waggonette, and the 
 final arrangement of seats left Frances beside 
 him, and Sophia and Beatrice Challoner 
 behind. The lovers had jogged off" earlier 
 in the governess-cart with the provisions, 
 very happy in any plan that secured to 
 them their sweet solitude a deux. They 
 had Shag, the old Shetland pony, who 
 required an early start if he was to arrive 
 in time for lunch, and a small army of 
 dogs gambolled behind the cart, or rode 
 when soft-hearted Dolly thought they were 
 in need of a rest. 
 
 As Arthur assisted Beatrice to her place 
 he noticed with a momentary misgiving that 
 her eyes were full of tears. For a quarter 
 of an hour afterwards he drove in silence, 
 feeling himself "no end of a sweep." Then 
 his familiar spirit came back to him and 
 whispered that these tears were because her 
 plans were going wrong and she felt Garden- 
 
 96
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 hurst slipping from her grasp. A girl, he 
 said to himself, who could contemplate a 
 mercenary marriage with an old man did 
 not deserve to be fought with gloves. 
 Nay, perhaps those tears were meant to 
 win him over. He had heard of women 
 of her type who could weep at will. 
 
 The girl kept silence through the drive. 
 Now and again her attention was called to 
 some object of interest on the way, and she 
 looked at it as bidden, but offered no com- 
 ment. If she had only known, Frances 
 and her sister were ascribing this silence 
 to vexation at being supplanted by Mrs. 
 Mellor, and were mentally thanking their 
 brother for his warning words of wisdom, 
 which had resulted in opening their eyes 
 fully to her real character. 
 
 When they arrived at the picnick- 
 ing ground, where they found the lovers 
 tardily engaged in setting out the luncheon, 
 Arthur constituted himself Beatrice's at- 
 tendant. It had the effect of putting 
 Duke entirely out of court, and forcing 
 him to confine his attentions to Mrs. 
 Mellor. In spite of her will and courage 
 
 97 7
 
 0/z, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 the girl began to look rather miserable. 
 Sophia afterwards commented on this to 
 Frances. 
 
 ' She looked just like a girl who had lost 
 her lover, or whose lover had deserted her 
 before her eyes for another girl ; and all 
 the while there was Arthur doing every- 
 thing possible for her. Now is it con- 
 ceivable that any ordinary, good, natural 
 girl wouldn't prefer a young fellow like 
 him to the dad, however pleasant the dear 
 dad may be ? ' 
 
 Frances assented that it was not con- 
 ceivable. 
 
 After the lunch it was proposed that 
 they should walk to the ruins. The elder 
 sisters cried off. They had seen the ruins 
 so often and the day was hot for walking. 
 They would sit by Alio Water and rest, 
 and have the tea ready by the time the 
 others returned. 
 
 ' Am I to have charge of you, my dear 
 Miss Challoner ? ' asked Duke, with a 
 hope that this time Arthur would not 
 interfere. He had enjoyed his drive with 
 Mrs. Mellor, but after all he could have 
 
 98
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 Mrs. Mellor any day, and she had not the 
 fascination of the younger woman. 
 
 Beatrice was about to assent eagerly. It 
 was to escape to a friend she trusted from 
 an atmosphere charged with enmity. But 
 this time it was his daughter Sophia who 
 intervened. Her voice had a sharp ring. 
 
 ' Dearest papa,' she said — it was only 
 when Duke's children were very angry 
 with him that they called him ' papa ' — 
 ' you will take Mrs. Mellor of course. 
 Let the young people go together. You 
 could not expect to be as good a guide 
 for Miss Challoner as your son.' 
 
 Duke's eyes flashed, and for a moment 
 rebellion seemed imminent. Mrs. Mellor 
 winced a little at the gauchete of Sophia's 
 speech as regarded herself, but concluded 
 to forgive the dear girl under the circum- 
 stances. Beatrice Challoner turned away, 
 and then said in a very low voice — 
 
 ' May I stay with you, Miss Strang- 
 ways ? I do not feel at all inclined for a 
 walk.' 
 
 * Oh, but you must see the Abbey,' cried 
 both sisters simultaneously. * And Arthur 
 
 99
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 is such a deJightful guide. He knows the 
 history of everything.' 
 
 She looked around a little forlornly. 
 She had a momentary wild idea of flinging 
 herself on the mercy of Dolly and Andrew 
 Fairfax, but a consideration of what the 
 others would think deterred her. She 
 turned dumbly, and without looking at 
 Arthur Strangways went slowly beside him 
 up the winding path from the water-side. 
 
 Once or twice she turned to look back. 
 Duke and Mrs. Mellor were coming behind 
 her at a little distance. Her longing to 
 escape from Arthur Strangways' company 
 was so great that she made an appeal to him. 
 
 ' Let us wait for the others,' she said. 
 ' Please, I should like to wait for them.' 
 
 Arthur Strangways set his teeth. 
 
 ' They do not want us,' he said, coldly. 
 ' I'm afraid you must be contented with 
 my companionship.' 
 
 He knew the wood thoroughly. They 
 were by this time out of sight of Duke and 
 Mrs. Mellor. From the path a winding 
 grass-grown way diverged here and there. 
 These were the woodcutters' paths, little 
 
 IOO
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 used by other pedestrians, and full of rough 
 places and old stumps of trees. But 
 Arthur Strangways was in a merciless 
 mood. He knew the paths that would 
 lead them by a long detour to the ruin. 
 That would effectually prevent their joining 
 or being joined by Duke and his com- 
 panion. He led the way down one of 
 those winding paths, exquisitely dappled 
 with light and shade. The girl followed 
 unquestioningly. 
 
 It was certainly a long detour, and little 
 was said^ between the pair. It seemed to 
 Beatrice Challoner that they walked for 
 hours. She had never been accustomed to 
 much walking, and not at all to such rough 
 walking as this. One thing she was grateful 
 for. Her companion tramped along in a 
 moody silence, and did not offer her any 
 of those half-mocking attentions which she 
 had found it so hard to accept. 
 
 Sometimes they emerged into clearings 
 upon which the June sun shone blindingly. 
 The day had become sultry with the heat 
 of three o'clock, the hottest hour of a day 
 of heat. They plunged again from those 
 
 IOI
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 golden intervals into paths which, for a 
 moment, after coming from the bright 
 sunshine, seemed black as night. 
 
 They had entered one such leafy tunnel,, 
 down which Arthur was tramping steadily 
 — a little ahead of his weary companion. 
 If he had seen how tired she looked he 
 might have been moved to take compassion 
 on her, but for a long time he had not 
 glanced at her face. 
 
 Presently he was startled by a sharp cry, 
 and turned round just in time to see Miss 
 Challoner sink down a limp heap of black 
 drapery. He sprang to her side in quick 
 alarm. She had turned deadly pale and 
 her lips were white. 
 
 ' What is it ? ' he said. 
 
 ' I don't know. I slipped on that old 
 stump, and have wrenched my ankle, I'm 
 afraid.' 
 
 ' Keep very still and I will see. I am 
 used to sprained ankles.' 
 
 He knelt down and lifted her with the 
 utmost tenderness to a sitting position 
 against the trunk of a tree. 
 
 ' Now,' he said, ' be brave. I may 
 102
 
 O/i, IVhat a Plague is Love ! 
 
 hurt you a little in seeing what is the 
 matter, but I will hurt you as little as 
 possible.' 
 
 He propped her foot under his coat, 
 and felt the ankle quickly. 
 
 ' It is wrenched, not broken,' he said. 
 ' I will try to give you a little ease.' 
 
 While he talked he was removing her 
 shoe and cutting away the stocking about 
 her ankle. In the few minutes it had 
 become very swollen. A little stream ran 
 by the path, and even while she was 
 wondering at his quickness and cleverness, 
 he had dipped his handkerchief into it and 
 made it into a cold-water compress. He 
 then bound it about with the tie he had 
 taken from his neck. 
 
 ■ Better now ? ' he asked, when he had 
 finished these proceedings. 
 
 ' Yes,' she answered, smiling faintly. 
 
 He looked up at her for the first time. 
 
 ' By Jove, you are a good-plucked 'un, 
 as Fred would say. Not many women 
 would have borne it as well.' 
 
 But the sprained ankle was only the 
 culmination of Beatrice's miseries, and she 
 
 103
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 suddenly began to cry, big heavy tears that 
 came silently with a slow heaving of her 
 breast. 
 
 1 Why, you poor child ! ' cried Arthur, 
 forgetting everything but that she was 
 young and in pain, and, as he suddenly 
 realised, very sweet and beautiful. Also 
 that he was a brute, and that he wished 
 he had the kicking of himself, and a few 
 other things of the same sort. He began 
 to have a glimmering sense of what passion 
 ' cruel as the grave ' had been working in 
 him since the first evening he had seen 
 Beatrice Challoner's pale face. ' Why, you 
 poor child ! ' he said, taking the nervously 
 twitching hands between his own. They 
 were not withdrawn, and the girl wept on 
 quietly, while he looked miserably down 
 upon her. 
 
 He only yielded up her hands to her 
 when she drew them away to dry her tears. 
 Those tears, which had dimmed her beauty, 
 as tears always do, despite the novelists, 
 had brought out unexpected lines and 
 shadows of melancholy about her sweet 
 mouth and in the depths of her eyes. 
 
 104
 
 0//, What a Plague is Love 
 
 What had come to Arthur Strangways? 
 He looked up at her from where he still 
 knelt beside her, and felt bitterly humbled 
 and ashamed, as well as full of an over- 
 powering pity which feared all things for 
 her, and longed to save her from all un- 
 happiness, whatever the cost. Her beauty 
 could never have worked so magically on 
 him as her helplessness and her tears. 
 
 He let her cry herself out. Then, when 
 she was once more tranquil, he spoke. 
 
 ' We are quite near the road. If we 
 can reach it and wait, some one is sure to 
 pass by whom we can send for help. I 
 must get some kind of conveyance to carry 
 you to Gardenhurst, but we must reach the 
 road first. I shall have to carry you there ; 
 there is no other way.' 
 
 The girl turned rosy red, but made no 
 protest. He took her up very carefully and 
 tenderly, and, picking his way among the 
 snags of forest trees, made for the road. It 
 was quite near, as he had said, but a difficult 
 little journey considering that he was carry- 
 ing a grown woman ; yet, if he could have 
 had his will, the journey had been many 
 
 t°5
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 times as long. She kept her eyes closed 
 as she lay against his shoulder, except when 
 she opened them to assure him she felt no 
 pain, an assurance which her deadly pale- 
 ness contradicted. Again and again he 
 had to fight against an inclination to kiss 
 her, to press her more closely to him, as she 
 lay there so helplessly. However, he kept 
 his head, and was able to set her down 
 easily in a matter-of-fact way, and to make 
 her as comfortable as he could when they 
 reached at length the broad, grassy forest 
 road. 
 
 In a little while there came by a rustic 
 bearing faggots. From him Arthur learned 
 that there was a donkey cart to be had for 
 hire, and near at hand. Stimulated by a 
 reward the man fetched the little low cart 
 and its steed. The cart looked inviting, 
 for it was filled with sweet-smelling new 
 grass. 
 
 ' Now, my man,' said Arthur, ' I want 
 you to find a picnic party at Alio Water 
 and give them this message.' He had 
 scribbled a few lines on a leaf torn from 
 his pocket-book. ' Think you can find 
 
 106
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 them, eh ? ' The man grinned and nodded 
 an assent, and was gone. 
 
 * Now, I am going to lead this little 
 beast so as to jolt you as little as possible. 
 We shall probably be some time getting 
 home, but it is the only way.' 
 
 ' But your sisters, what will they think ? ' 
 
 His face darkened with a remembrance 
 of his own mischief-making. 
 
 ' They will be very sorry, and will hurry 
 home to make you as comfortable as they can.' 
 
 He heaped the grass in the donkey-cart 
 so as to support her shoulders, and lifted 
 her in. For his sake she repressed the cry 
 which rose to her lips at every movement, 
 deft and tender as he was. He had arranged 
 his coat for her foot to rest upon, despite 
 her protests. 
 
 ' We shall avoid publicity,' he said, ' for 
 the wood gives on the edge of Garden- 
 hurst. But in any case walking in my 
 shirt sleeves is not more remarkable than 
 my leading the little moke, and it is the 
 pleasantest way of walking this hot day.' 
 
 By the time they reached Gardenhurst 
 the girl was feverish with pain. Going so 
 
 107
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 slowly they took some hours to it, and 
 Arthur did not dare quicken the pace. 
 He said very little to her, though she was 
 conscious of the compassionate gravity of 
 his face, and the incessant watchfulness 
 that spared her many jolts. There was a 
 great deal in his heart to say, but not just 
 at this moment ; he felt it was not the 
 right time. However, just before they left 
 the fringes of the wood he stopped a minute 
 or two and let the donkey pick a mouthful 
 of sweet grass. Then he said hurriedly : — 
 
 ' I know this is no time to bother you, 
 but just let me say how bitterly sorry I am 
 for having been such a brute to you. Let 
 me implore you to give me another chance. 
 I don't ask you to forgive me yet, but to 
 give me a chance of winning forgiveness.' 
 
 She smiled at him, though her eyes 
 were bright with pain and her cheeks 
 flushed. He muttered an exclamation of 
 pity, and went on again with his head bent, 
 his eyes watching the road carefully for 
 stones or ruts. When they reached Garden- 
 hurst the picnic party had returned. His 
 sisters, he saw, were in as much consternation 
 
 108
 
 0//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 as if Beatrice Challoner had been their 
 dearest friend. He sighed with relief as 
 they came running down the steps. 
 
 1 Good old girls ! ' he said, under his 
 breath, ' I might have trusted them for 
 decency.' 
 
 But when he went to lift Beatrice 
 Challoner from the donkey-cart he found 
 her in a dead faint. 
 
 ioy
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 The remainder of the week Arthur Strang- 
 ways took his punishment. The doctor 
 called in to Miss Challoner found her in a 
 high state of fever, which was not likely to 
 be allayed for some days. 
 
 ' Keep her quiet,' he said to Frances, 
 who was a devoted nurse. ' She seems so 
 harassed by the thought that she must leave 
 this on Saturday that the fever is greatly 
 increased. There is no reason that she 
 should leave on Saturday, is there ? ' 
 
 ' None at all,' said Frances, with convic- 
 tion. 
 
 ' Because she is not at all likely to be 
 able to move on Saturday, or for a good 
 many days to come. It is fortunate you 
 are so hospitable a hostess, Miss Frances.' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed, it would be strange if we 
 weren't willing to keep the poor thing till 
 
 I IO
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 she is over the accident she met with in my 
 brother's company, and for which he blames 
 himself so bitterly.' 
 
 'Well, make her as happy as you can, 
 anyhow, and a good many people would be 
 happy enough with her privileges,' said Dr. 
 Nutt, gallantly. Dr. Nutt was credited in 
 the neighbourhood with a design of making 
 Miss Frances Strangways Mrs. Nutt, and 
 popular opinion was much divided as to the 
 likelihood of his ultimate success. 
 
 Arthur waylaid him every day to hear 
 news at first hand of the patient. He 
 looked so conscience-stricken that the good 
 doctor was quite impressed. 
 
 'Don't worry over it, my dear young 
 sir,' he said kindly, laying a big capable hand 
 on the young fellow's shoulder. ' The lady 
 will be all right in a few days, and, so far 
 as I can learn, the accident might have 
 happened in any one's company.' 
 
 The young man turned away uncheered. 
 Now the bitterest part of his punishment 
 was his failure to undo the mischief he had 
 done. He had taken the very first oppor- 
 tunity to assure his two sisters that he be- 
 
 1 1 1
 
 0//, What a Plague is hove 
 
 lieved every suspicion he had imparted to 
 them of Miss Challoner to be absolutely 
 unfounded, and had proceeded, so far as he 
 dared without betraying himself, to blacken 
 himself while rehabilitating the lady. But 
 he had reckoned without the conservatism, 
 the gentle obstinacy of his sisters. They 
 listened to all he had to say, but remained 
 unconvinced. 
 
 ' Dear boy,' said Frances, ' we know 
 your good, kind heart. And it is natural 
 for you to feel so sorry for the poor girl 
 that you forget the things you saw with your 
 own eyes, and opened our eyes to. But 
 you know we did see for ourselves at last.' 
 
 ' Any one could have seen with half an 
 eye,' said Sophia, grimly. ' And it is no 
 use taking the girl's part now.' 
 
 He realised that it was no use, and 
 turned away loathing himself more bitterly 
 than ever. His misery was so apparent 
 that it brought about Duke's forgiveness of 
 much he had disliked in his second son. 
 His friendliness was an additional heaping 
 of coals upon the culprit's head. When 
 his father sought him out for a stroll after 
 
 I 12
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 dinner or a game at billiards, the young 
 fellow groaned internally. 
 
 ' Good old dad,' he said. ' If he only 
 knew what a sweep I am, what a confounded 
 low cur ! ' But he felt confession was im- 
 possible. 
 
 He learned to appreciate his father in 
 those days, when they strolled up and down 
 the long terrace, or sat over their wine to- 
 gether. Duke talked freely, as if for the 
 first time he had forgotten to be afraid of 
 his son's caustic wit. His talk was revela- 
 tory of his nature, simple, frank, full of 
 chivalry and kindness. The young man 
 often looked at him with a sickening sense 
 of shame. 
 
 'And I used to laugh at him,' he 
 thought. ' Used to snigger at him like 
 any low, common bounder. And what a 
 brave, clean-minded old boy he is, worth 
 a million of fellows like me ! ' 
 
 Frances had told him of Beatrice 
 Challoner's eagerness to leave Gardenhurst, 
 an eagerness which somewhat puzzled the 
 good lady, who was certain that the girl 
 could not have discovered from her that 
 
 113 «
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 her presence was unwelcome. Indeed it had 
 ceased to be unwelcome for the present, for 
 Frances was one of those born nurses, to 
 whom their patient, for the time being, is an 
 object of the most affectionate solicitude. 
 But the young man understood. There 
 was an accusing voice within him that gave 
 him no peace, and would not be answered. 
 ' Call yourself a gentleman,' it said, 
 shrilly ; ' it was a task for a gentleman and 
 a man to come and blacken a lonely girl to 
 the friends she had made, to turn her out 
 of the house where she had found friend- 
 ship and happiness into the lonely world 
 again. Call yourself a gentleman indeed ! ' 
 repeated the voice, with the withering 
 sarcasm of a gamin of the streets. 
 
 He was to return to London on the 
 Saturday, and as the days passed, he found 
 that there was no hope of speech with Miss 
 Challoner. Some days must yet elapse, 
 said Dr. Nutt, before they could get her 
 downstairs and on to a sofa. The feverish 
 condition of the girl, who had a very sensi- 
 tive nervous organisation, was much more 
 difficult than the sprained ankle. But they 
 
 114
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 would hope to get Miss Challoner back 
 among them in a week or so. 
 
 Fred had returned to hear of the 
 accident with dismay. His contempt for 
 his brother was refreshing. 
 
 ' Well, you old duffer,' he had said, ' if 
 I couldn't take better care of a lady than to 
 break her ankle when she went out walking 
 with me, I'd turn monk. I'm hanged if I 
 wouldn't.' 
 
 But on the Saturday morning there was 
 a more serious reckoning. Arthur was 
 packing in his room when the door was 
 flung open, and his young brother entered 
 unceremoniously, with a set-back of his 
 shoulders and a colour in his cheeks that 
 showed he was very excited. 
 
 ' What's the matter, youngster ? ' asked 
 Arthur, rather alarmed. 
 
 ' There's a jolly good deal the matter,' 
 said the lad, facing him with flaming eyes. 
 ' What have you been sneaking into the 
 minds of the girls about Beatrice Challoner ? 
 There's that old silly of a Sophia just been 
 saying that the sooner the girl's out of the 
 house the better. " Ask Arthur," she says. 
 
 "5
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 " And what am I to ask him ? " said I ; " and 
 what can he say that will change my opinion 
 of the lady ? " / put a stopper on her ; but 
 I saw how it was. I felt the mischief in 
 the air the minute I entered the house. 
 Now, what have you to say for yourself? ' 
 
 ' Precious little,' said the other, with a 
 grimace. 
 
 The boy glared at him silently for a 
 minute. Then he said, with fierce de- 
 liberation — 
 
 1 Upon my word, you deserve a kicking, 
 and I've a jolly good mind to kick you 
 myself.' 
 
 ' Oh, get out, you young fighting-cock ! ' 
 with a lamentable laugh. 
 
 ' Upon my word, I'm ashamed to have 
 such a brother as you.' 
 
 ' Here, stow it, Fred, and go be hanged ! 
 You've piled it on enough for the present ! ' 
 
 ' You'll hear more about it all the same,' 
 said the youth, departing, his head very 
 high in air. 
 
 'Oh, Lord,' said Arthur, 'hadn't I 
 
 punishment enough without Fred adding 
 
 his bit ? What a plucky young beggar it 
 
 116
 
 0//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 is ! and Lord knows he's right ! If it 
 wasn't so ridiculous I'd have asked him to 
 come on and have taken my kicking like a 
 man.' 
 
 In the evening he departed for town 
 sorrowfully. A day or two later Beatrice 
 Challoner came downstairs, limping along 
 with the aid of a crutch, and looking very 
 pale and spiritless. A chintz-covered sofa 
 was drawn up to the drawing-room window, 
 quite close to the path outside, and within 
 reach of the roses. On this she was 
 comfortably installed ; and it would be 
 hard to say whether Fred or his father was 
 most devoted in attention to her. Frances 
 and Sophia were also very kind. As long 
 as the girl was an invalid and at their 
 mercy, their surveillance was relaxed. 
 Even the lovers gave up some of their 
 precious time — Andrew Fairfax's holiday 
 was now drawing to a close — in order to 
 entertain her. They went fruit-picking, 
 ostensibly on her account, and brought her 
 the ripest strawberries, heaped high on a 
 cabbage leaf, and surmounted with a rose- 
 bud, or the most luscious white - heart 
 
 117
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 cherries. Duke was always ready to read 
 or talk to her, while Fred lay on the floor 
 and kicked his heels with an abnegation of 
 his out-door pursuits that spoke volumes 
 for his devotion. 
 
 Still the girl was silent and looked sad. 
 Still her anxiety was to get away from 
 Gardenhurst. It distressed Duke, who had 
 no idea of all that had been happening 
 under his nose, and it enraged the boy, who 
 understood very well and carried about 
 with him an implacable heart towards the 
 author of the mischief. 
 
 Every one was kindness itself, as she 
 acknowledged gratefully many times. Even 
 Mrs. Mel lor, who had called several times 
 to inquire for the invalid, came over in her 
 pretty victoria to take her for a drive as 
 soon as the doctor thought it well to give 
 her permission. The widow was a kind- 
 hearted woman, and acted quite without 
 design, yet, if she had known, this thought- 
 fulness of hers stirred warmer emotions to- 
 wards her in Duke's heart than any number 
 of little lures put out for himself could have 
 
 done. 
 
 118
 
 0/;, What a Plague is Love 
 
 Fred, too, whose relations with his elder 
 sisters were quite strained — he had called 
 Sophia ' a juggins ' to her face — was loud 
 in his praises of Mrs. Mellor as no end of 
 a jolly good sort. 
 
 But the days went, and soon Beatrice 
 was able once more to put her foot under 
 her. She had been waiting eagerly for this 
 time so that she might get back to Albury 
 House, but it was a month from the time 
 of her accident before Dr. Nutt would hear 
 of her stirring. 
 
 The time turned round to her last 
 evening at Gardenhurst, and Duke, who 
 had accepted the absence of hostilities on 
 the part of his family as a tacit approval of 
 his matrimonial schemes, had not found 
 time or opportunity to speak. This last 
 evening he made his opportunity. He 
 had got Fred out of the way on an errand, 
 and he had taken the girl for a walk in 
 the overblown June garden. He had 
 been silent for a while, but his silence suited 
 his companion's mind. When he spoke 
 there was something in his voice that 
 
 startled her. 
 
 119
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love 
 
 I My dear Miss Challoner,' he said, ' I 
 want you to listen to me patiently, and to 
 bear with me if I seem to you over- 
 presumptuous.' 
 
 ' Yes ? ' said the girl in a very low voice. 
 
 I I am an old man, my dear, and you are 
 a beautiful young woman, and if I saw a 
 chance of advancing your happiness in any 
 other way than this I would do it, honestly. 
 You are young, my dear, and you seem 
 very friendless for one of such youth and 
 beauty. I wonder whether I might offer 
 you a home and an old man's heart, which 
 would be very tender and faithful to you 
 for the time that is left ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, don't, please,' said the girl, faintly. 
 ' Please don't talk about such a thing. 
 Indeed I couldn't, I couldn't think of it.' 
 
 Duke's eager face looked piteously 
 blank. Then he touched her skirt with a 
 hand that trembled a little. 
 
 * My dear, I beg your pardon,' he said, 
 very humbly. 
 
 Beatrice burst into tears. 
 
 ' Oh, please, don't say it like that,' she 
 cried. ' You have been so good, and un- 
 
 120
 
 0//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 selfish, and kind. I have always liked you 
 so much, and I am afraid it is my fault. I 
 would do anything to show you how sorry 
 I am.' 
 
 ' Anything but marry me ! ' said Duke. 
 'Well, don't cry, my dear. There's no 
 harm done. You see it dazzled an old 
 fellow like me to be treated as kindly as 
 you have treated me, and I forgot the 
 great gulf of years that lies between us. 
 Well, well ! we must forget I was such an 
 old fool, and you must not punish me by 
 withdrawing your friendship from me.' 
 
 But Beatrice sobbed uncomforted, for 
 she felt weak and out of sorts still. 
 Duke waited quietly till she had recovered 
 her self-control. 
 
 ' And now, my dear,' he said, with a 
 rather sad smile, ' though you have refused 
 me, you must let me be your friend, and 
 look after you a little till you meet your 
 natural protector. Gardenhurst will always 
 be glad to see your sweet face, and in any 
 little business worry you must always come 
 to me. Ladies can't be expected to under- 
 stand such things.' 
 
 121
 
 0//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 — • — 
 
 ' You are too good,' she said. 
 
 ' I'm not a good business man myself,' 
 said Duke, frankly. * But my boy, Arthur, 
 has a very wise head for so young a man. 
 And a very good lad, my dear, a good, 
 kind lad. Arthur and I didn't get on so 
 well once upon a time, but I didn't under- 
 stand the lad. It was only when I saw 
 how grieved he was for being the cause of 
 your accident that I began to appreciate his 
 kind and generous heart.' 
 
 After that they talked about other and 
 indifferent things, Duke doing his best to 
 make the girl forget that she had just 
 refused him. He looked with subdued 
 cheerfulness round the beautiful old garden, 
 and at the gray gables of the house, visible 
 over a sweet-briar hedge in front of the 
 sheltered arbour where they were sitting. 
 Through the greenery he caught a glimpse 
 of Dolly's pink frock where she walked 
 with her lover. 
 
 ' Ah, well,' he thought, ' love is for the 
 young, and roses for the young. I mustn't 
 be a discontented old fellow. I've had 
 more than my share of life's sweets, and 
 
 122
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 I must be making way for the young 
 people.' 
 
 ' Here is Fred,' he said aloud. ' He's 
 become a prompt messenger since he's 
 known that you're awaiting his return. 
 Don't turn the boy's head, my dear ! ' 
 
 Beatrice laughed in relief. She had felt 
 greatly troubled at hurting the kind, chival- 
 rous old friend for whom she had learnt to 
 have a warm affection. When Fred came 
 up, his father, with some little jesting 
 remark, left them. The lad flung himself 
 on the gr^ss beside the girl's gown with a 
 sigh of satisfaction. 
 
 * It's jolly here,' he said, ' and why the 
 dad should take to running me off my legs 
 the very last evening of your stay, I can't 
 make out, unless that he's such a greedy 
 old boy, and wanted to absorb you.' 
 
 'Never mind, old fellow,' said the girl, 
 laughing. ' You're back now anyhow, and 
 will appreciate my company all the more.' 
 
 ' No, I'm hanged if I could do that ! ' 
 
 They were silent for a few minutes, 
 during which the boy tilted his hat over 
 his eyes, and the girl gazed about her at the 
 
 123
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 garden, feeling she was having her last glance 
 at its beauties. She had made up her mind 
 that, in spite of Duke's friendship, she must 
 never come to Gardenhurst again. 
 
 ' You'll be sorry to go, Beatrice ? ' said 
 the boy, suddenly. 
 
 'Very, and especially to say good-bye 
 to you. You've been a dear old fellow to 
 me, Fred.' 
 
 The boy sat up and gazed at her very 
 earnestly. ' I'm young, Beatrice,' he began 
 with solemnity. 
 
 ' You are, Fred, there's no use denying it.' 
 
 ' Oh, hang it all, I'm not so young as all 
 that ! There are lots of fellows ever so 
 much younger. Why, Dixon Junior knows 
 a fellow who was married at my age.' 
 
 ' But you're not thinking of getting 
 married, Fred ? ' 
 
 * Not just yet, but later, I may. It 
 depends on you, Beatrice' — taking his 
 courage in both hands. ' You've no objec- 
 tion to the diplomatic service ? ' 
 
 ' None in life, dear boy.' 
 
 ' Because, you know, I'm intended for it, 
 and a friend of the dad's has promised me 
 
 J24
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 an opening as soon as ever I leave the 
 'Varsity. I'll have to drop the 'Varsity, 
 I'm afraid. But suppose we were engaged, I 
 might be in a position in a shorter time than 
 any one could expect to offer you a home ? ' 
 
 ' But, you dear ridiculous boy, you 
 mightn't be.' 
 
 1 You wouldn't like to be engaged 
 unless we saw some prospect of getting 
 married ? How would it be if we told no 
 one ? You might wear an engagement ring 
 round your neck, over your heart, you 
 know, lik^e an awfully jolly girl in a story I 
 read at school.' 
 
 ' It wouldn't work, Fred, dear,' said the 
 girl, keeping back the laughter she saw 
 would hurt him. ' It would unsettle you 
 too much. And I shouldn't like you to 
 drop the University. You must go on and 
 do well, and be a credit to us all. I mean 
 to be proud of you as well as fond of you.' 
 
 'All right, Beatrice, perhaps you're 
 right,' with a sigh. ' And after all, though 
 I shouldn't mind losing the beastly cram, 
 I should like to be one of the 'Varsity 
 eleven. You'd feel jolly proud of me if 
 
 125
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 you saw me making my centuries and 
 getting my blue maybe.' 
 
 ' I should feel jolly proud, old fellow.' 
 
 'Well, look here, Beatrice, I may ask 
 you again when I'm older, but anyhow 
 you'll remember that I'm bound to be a 
 brother to you, — a real decent sort of 
 brother, you know, that takes your part, 
 and brings you to shows and places, and 
 knocks down any fellow that as much as 
 looks at you.' 
 
 ' Thank you, dear boy,' said the girl, 
 ' I'll remember to apply to you.' 
 
 The boy took up her hand and kissed 
 it with affectionate gallantry. He looked 
 grave for quite two minutes, till the girl 
 whispered to him — 
 
 ' Don't forget the University eleven, 
 Fred.' 
 
 * You'll come to see me at the Oval one 
 day ? ' said the lad, anxiously. ' Against 
 Surrey, you know. And if you don't 
 understand the game — girls never do — 
 don't mind asking me about any point. 
 I'll explain with pleasure.' 
 
 126
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 It was a gray, sad July evening. Beatrice 
 Challoner's room was high above a roaring 
 slum, which one would never suppose, 
 approaching Albury House from the front, 
 to be anywhere near its prosperous neigh- 
 bourhood. The slum street was the play- 
 ground of the multitude of children from 
 the tall burrows of houses, an uncomfortable 
 playground this evening, when the wind 
 swept round corners and raised the dust 
 in little eddies and whirls, and with a great 
 commotion drove before it the paper it 
 had stripped off the hoarding round the 
 corner. However, the children made their 
 plays contentedly in the midst of the dust, 
 and were swept up hastily by stunted 
 elder sisters when a jingling hansom came 
 cheerfully through Seaman Street on its way 
 to more favoured localities. There was 
 
 127
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 a barrel-organ grinding out its abject tune 
 before the public-house at the corner, and 
 two or three dirty little girls danced to its 
 strains, lifting their skirts as daintily as 
 any ballerina of the foot-lights. Seaman 
 Street was one of those tireless London 
 streets that never sleep. 
 
 Though the evening was so overcast, it 
 was densely hot. Every window in Seaman 
 Street gasped for air, and if Beatrice 
 Challoner were so minded she could have 
 gazed across the handbreadth of space 
 between into the melancholy interiors. 
 There, by one window, was a woman sewing, 
 while her foot incessantly rocked a cradle. 
 A young man, apparently asleep, lay on a 
 broken-backed couch a little farther within 
 the shadows. It was the artisan in the 
 last stages of consumption, whose harrowing 
 night cough had often reached her wakeful 
 ears across the narrow thoroughfare. 
 
 By another window was a group of pallid 
 girls. They were working overtime at 
 making cheap jackets. A more fortunate 
 sister high up in the attic of another house 
 was attiring herself in finery before going 
 
 128
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 out. One house was a laundry, through 
 the windows of which, all day, had smoked 
 a fume of hot soap-suds. The laundry- 
 workers, mostly French, had departed one 
 by one, to take the air, or had been fetched 
 by their young men, very smart in straw 
 hats and flannels. A deaf and dumb child sat 
 with a lonely quietude at another window, 
 and nursed a doll, and looked down curi- 
 ously on the happier children in the street. 
 
 Seaman Street had been awake since four 
 o'clock in the morning, and would not 
 close its eyes, though the chemist's shop 
 and the public-house both closed theirs at 
 a comparatively respectable hour, till two 
 hours after midnight. Its noise and its 
 dust came up to Beatrice Challoner's little 
 room under the roof. If she excluded 
 these she excluded her only chance of a 
 mouthful of air. The dust littered every- 
 thing. No matter how she strove to keep 
 her room fresh, the dust drifted in, first 
 coating the window-panes, and then descend- 
 ing in a gray film on bed and toilet-table 
 and desk and chair. 
 
 This special July evening Miss Challoner 
 
 129 9
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 was feeling as if the dust had entered the 
 pores of her skin, as it had penetrated her 
 eyes and her throat. Yet her own room 
 was quiet. If she had gone downstairs to 
 the drawing-room, with its oleographs and 
 antimacassars, and its general air of un- 
 homeliness, she might have been pounced 
 upon by Mrs. Ransom, or the Misses 
 Fothergill, or old Mr. Nayman, who had 
 insisted on teaching her whist and was so 
 cross when she made a blunder. The 
 light in the room was failing, and her 
 novel was dull, and her head ached. She 
 longed for freshness and dews and scent ; 
 but since she could not have these, at least 
 she would have her solitude. 
 
 A tap at the door interrupted her. 
 
 ' If you please, miss,' said Mary, the 
 parlour-maid, ' there's a gentleman for you, 
 miss, and I've put him in the parlour as 
 Mrs. Brown's out, and the drawing-room so 
 stuffy with all them old ca — , ladies, I mean, 
 miss, over their books and cards.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Mary,' said Beatrice, taking 
 
 the card, on which she read ' Mr. Arthur 
 
 Strangways.' 
 
 130
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 Mary tripped off blithely to the lower 
 regions to inform cook and Susan and John 
 that old Mr. Strangways' son as ever was 
 had come visiting Miss Challoner. Beatrice 
 had a good deal of sympathy, if she had 
 only known it, from the domestics, who 
 found her sweet-spoken, and in the way of 
 giving trouble very different from the old 
 ladies who formed Mrs. Brown's permanent 
 clientele. 
 
 It was remarkable that, as she read the 
 name on the card, she blushed vividly, and 
 felt a quee£ excitement not wholly pleasant 
 or unpleasant. Whenever she had thought 
 of Arthur Strangways since the day of her 
 accident — and she had thought a good 
 many times — it was with conflicting 
 emotions. How brutal, how cruel, how 
 unpardonable his conduct had been in the 
 beginning of the day ! How he had 
 wronged and misrepresented her, and put 
 her to sore shame and humiliation. But 
 then, on the other hand, how kind and 
 clever, and how repentant he had been 
 after her accident. She remembered his 
 faltering appeal to her that she would 
 
 131
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 forgive, and allow him to begin over again. 
 No, she could not hate him, could not 
 regard him as an enemy. 
 
 She waited a minute or two in the 
 dusky room after the maid had left her, 
 and then went downstairs with a very 
 slow and stately step. Her usual pallor 
 had returned by the time she reached 
 Mrs. Brown's parlour, and Arthur Strang- 
 ways' first thought was of how sadly 
 beautiful she looked in the dreary London 
 gloaming. When he took her extended 
 hand it felt very cold. 
 
 ' You have been well,' he said, with 
 anxious solicitude, ' since you left Garden- 
 hurst ? You should not have left after so 
 short a convalescence.' 
 
 Then he faltered and felt wretchedly 
 guilty, remembering what it was that had 
 made it difficult for her to accept the 
 hospitality of his home. 
 
 ' I am quite well,' she said, gently, ' but 
 the summer is very hot in town, and I find 
 the long twilights a little sad.' 
 
 They talked on indifferent topics for a 
 
 while. Then he found that, difficult as it 
 
 132
 
 0/z, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 was to speak, it was intolerable to spend 
 the time in uttering conventionalities. 
 
 ' Miss Challoner,' he said, impulsively, 
 ' I resolved when I was coming here this 
 evening to tell you how bitterly sorry I 
 have been for my conduct to you. It was 
 not alone the accident, but all that went 
 before. I wish to heavens I had broken a 
 limb myself. It was I who stood in need 
 of punishment.' 
 
 ' You were very unjust to me,' said the 
 girl, simply ; but somehow the words 
 sounded more like a pardon than an 
 accusation. 
 
 ' Beatrice, Beatrice ! ' cried the young 
 man, wildly. ' Don't you understand it ? 
 Put me in sackcloth and ashes if you will, 
 after I have spoken, but let me speak now. 
 Don't you know it was because I loved 
 you from the first minute I set eyes on your 
 beauty ? That it was because I was mad 
 with jealousy of you, and rage against your 
 contempt of me ? I was a brute, an un- 
 speakable brute, but it was the brutality of 
 a man towards the woman he loves, and 
 who stands out against him.' 
 
 *33
 
 0//, PVhat a Plague is Love ! 
 
 He stopped and tried to see what 
 expression was in her averted face, but the 
 room was full of shadows. 
 
 ' You are not angry, Beatrice ? ' he said. 
 
 ' No,' she replied, very low ; ' but you 
 are too sudden.' 
 
 ' Is that all, my queen ? ' he said, laugh- 
 ing out of his excitement and happy relief. 
 ' Then I will give you time to get used to 
 me. I will go by little steps. I will not 
 ask you now to love me, but only to forgive 
 me, and let me start with a fair chance.' 
 
 ' I have forgiven you,' she said. ' I 
 forgave you that day of my accident, when 
 you took care of me.' 
 
 He wondered at her calm. Another 
 girl would have been all blushes and 
 tremors, but somehow he did not feel that 
 the calm boded ill for his success. 
 
 ' But I have something to forgive you,' 
 he said again. ' Why did you not come to 
 tea with me that evening I asked you and 
 Dolly?' 
 
 ' I did not believe you could care. I 
 thought you only asked me to satisfy 
 yourself.' 
 
 134
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 ' Care ! Why, the hour I spent listen- 
 ing for your footstep on the stairs was an 
 hour of purgatory ; and afterwards I hoped 
 you would write.' 
 
 ' I tried to, but I did not know what 
 to say.' 
 
 ' Presently I am going to forgive you. 
 Not yet though, not till you have learned 
 to love me.' 
 
 She made no reply. Neither of them 
 thought of the conventions, or of what 
 Mrs. Brown would think if she came in 
 and found them sitting in a room, the dusk 
 of which the horn of the summer moon 
 did little to illumine. 
 
 ' You will have to learn your lesson 
 soon, Beatrice, and give me your answer 
 soon. I can't leave you in Mrs. Brown's 
 all during the summer.' 
 
 'What would they think at Garden- 
 hurst ? ' 
 
 It was his turn to blush, and he blushed 
 ingenuously. 
 
 ' They will love you, as they were ready 
 to do before.' 
 
 ' But your father ? ' 
 '35
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 There was a troubled note in her 
 voice which revealed how things stood to 
 him. 
 
 ' Dear old dad, he will be resigned after 
 a time. He is the dearest old fellow, 
 Beatrice ; I never knew how dear till after 
 your accident.' 
 
 ' Yes, there is no one like him,' said the 
 girl, simply. 
 
 ' Did you know that Fred offered to 
 kick me ? — I jolly well deserved it — as your 
 champion.' 
 
 ' Dear boy ! ' with a sudden, sweet laugh. 
 ' He proposed to me, though I don't know 
 if I ought to betray his confidence. Offered 
 even to give up the 'Varsity and his chance 
 of a blue for my sake.' 
 
 ' Impudent young beggar ! What did 
 you say ? ' 
 
 ' Put before him what he was resigning 
 for my sake, whereupon he faltered, and 
 was in his inmost heart relieved that for 
 prudential motives I declined.' 
 
 ' I daresay he'll want to kick me again 
 for all that when he knows.' 
 
 He looked keenly at her glimmering 
 136
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 profile. Then he laughed triumphantly 
 and suddenly. 
 
 ' Beatrice, Beatrice ! ' he cried, ' do you 
 know that you as well as I seem to take 
 everything for granted? For ten minutes 
 back we have talked as if you had not yet 
 your lesson to learn. Have you learnt it, 
 Beatrice? And if not, will you not learn 
 it now ? Don't keep me an hour out of 
 Paradise.' 
 
 ' You will think I am too facile,' she 
 said, coming to him as willingly as any 
 lover coulfl desire. 
 
 *37
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 The Arthur Strangways who arrived at the 
 station for Gardenhurst one evening about 
 a month later was a very different person 
 from the young gentleman who had come 
 down that June Saturday bent on making 
 everybody as uncomfortable as possible. 
 This was a beamy, sunshiny, jolly-looking 
 youth, who had excited the kindly admira- 
 tion of half a dozen matrons on the little 
 run between Victoria and Oxenden. Still 
 the joyousness of his expression was not 
 quite uncomplicated. Any one watching 
 his rapid changes of expression as he sat 
 smoking his very excellent cigar, and look- 
 ing out of the window at the Kentish hop 
 gardens as they sped swiftly by, would have 
 detected very often a half-comic look of 
 perplexity, as if the young gentleman were 
 
 138
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 in rather an amusing fix, and did not quite 
 see his way to getting out of it. 
 
 He was not expected at Gardenhurst, 
 and when he had alighted at Oxenden 
 Station he refused cheerily the offer of the 
 porter to run up his bag for him on the 
 truck. 
 
 ' I'm well able to carry it, Simmons,' he 
 said, ' and it will keep the muscles in 
 training.' 
 
 ' Ay, ay, Master Arthur,' said Simmons, 
 who had known him from childhood ; 
 ' and may it be long before you're a heavy- 
 weight yourself, sir. The squire's been up 
 to town to-day. Came down on the 4.15, 
 and the lady from the Pines, who was here 
 after a parcel when the train came in, gave 
 him a lift. Fine healthy gentleman, the 
 squire, sir. He takes the road any day of 
 the week just like yourself.' 
 
 ' Well, good evening, Simmons,' said 
 Arthur, cutting short the garrulous porter. 
 ' Remember me to Mrs. Simmons. I trust 
 she and the kids are well.' 
 
 'C)uite well, sir, thank 'ee.' And then 
 to himself, admiringly, as Arthur swung up 
 
 '39
 
 0/z, What a Plague is hove ! 
 
 the road — ' That's a fine pleasant spoken 
 young gentleman. The very moral of the 
 squire as ever was.' 
 
 Presently Arthur turned into a grass- 
 grown bridle-path by the wood's edge, 
 where the pheasants scurried from under 
 his feet as he walked. Here, where no 
 one saw him but the birds, he put down 
 his bag for a few minutes and leant against 
 the bole of a beech-tree. There he in- 
 dulged in a fit of laughter so hearty that 
 it made the tears run down his face. 
 
 ' Here am I,' he said aloud, ' the happiest 
 beggar in the world, but in the extraordinary 
 fix of having to tell my father I've stolen 
 a march on him. It's rough on the poor 
 dad, so it is. Only I believe Mrs. Mellor 
 will comfort him. And there's Fred. What 
 will Fred do ? Carry out his threat of 
 kicking me most likely. By Jove, I wish 
 I'd broken it to them, so I do.' 
 
 He looked down soberly at the bag 
 at his feet. 
 
 ' Oh, I say,' he said to himself, ' better 
 be getting it over ; then it would be time 
 enough to laugh ; but you're in for a bad 
 
 140
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 quarter of an hour most likely, my fine 
 fellow. However, it's all in the day's work 
 for Beatrice, my peerless Beatrice. Here, 
 come on ' — to his bag — * I won't have more 
 than time to dress as it is.' 
 
 But as he shouldered the bag he became 
 aware of Fred standing in the midst of the 
 path, and gloomily regarding him. 
 
 ' Oh, Lord,' he said to himself. ' The 
 fun's going to begin ! ' Then aloud, 
 ' Hullo, youngster ! Not gone back to 
 school yet ? Pheasants seem pretty lively, 
 eh ? And how are the dad and the sisters ? ' 
 
 But the boy still kept up his implacable 
 look. 
 
 ' What, not forgiven me, Fred ? I 
 thought we were going to let bygones be 
 bygones.' 
 
 'I thought it was you,' said the boy, 
 stonily. ' No one else would be making 
 a laughing jackass of himself in the midst 
 of the wood.' 
 
 1 Hang it all, youngster, don't be so 
 unfriendly.' 
 
 ' I'll be a deuced sight more unfriendly. 
 I haven't forgotten Miss Challoner as easily 
 
 141
 
 Oh y What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 as you seem to have done. Have you 
 come back for that kicking ? Because it's 
 been saving up for you.' 
 
 ' Don't kick me, boy ; she wouldn't like 
 it.' 
 
 ' She ? Who is she ? Not Miss 
 Challoner ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, Miss Challoner.' 
 
 1 You haven't seen her?' — incredulously. 
 
 ' I have, and she's forgiven me.' 
 
 ' She told you so ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 'Well, of all the mean, low sweeps! to 
 go getting round a girl like that. And I 
 wanted to do something for her sake, 
 because I somehow let her slip through my 
 fingers when she was here. Let her think 
 I set her below cricket, and no girl likes 
 to think a fellow does that. Did she 
 say anything about me ? ' 
 
 Fred's curiosity was getting the better 
 of his enmity. 
 
 ' Lots. Said you were the decentest 
 
 boy alive, and a lot of other things which 
 
 I'll tell you presently. Well, are we going 
 
 to be friends ? ' 
 
 142
 
 0/z, IV hat a Plague is Love ! 
 
 'I suppose so,' said the boy. 'If the 
 Jady has forgiven you, there's no quarrel 
 left for me to take up, is there ? ' 
 
 ' Clearly not. And now, take a turn 
 at the bag, dear old fellow.' 
 
 The rest of the walk was purely amicable, 
 though Arthur remembered once or twice 
 with a qualm that Fred did not yet know 
 the extent of his perfidy. However, Fred 
 was clearly not the first person to be told. 
 
 After dinner, his father, with the new- 
 born affection which had sprung up between 
 them, came and put his hand on Arthur's 
 shoulder. 
 
 ' Come and smoke out of doors, my boy ; 
 it is a shame to sit under the mahogany on 
 such an evening.' 
 
 Arthur followed his father to the terrace, 
 with a sense that the evil hour could not 
 much longer be postponed. After they 
 had chosen and lit their cipars they began 
 pacing up and down. Duke seemed dis- 
 tressed. When Arthur began discussing 
 some of the affairs of the estate, he waived 
 it off as he might have done a gnat. 
 
 ' To-morrow morning, dear boy, you 
 •43
 
 0/z, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 can put me through my facings. Not 
 now. I prefer to talk of other things.' 
 
 ' The deuce you do,' said the young 
 man to himself. ' Well, it's no use shivering 
 on the brink. Here goes for the plunge!' 
 He drew a long breath and began — 
 
 ' Dad.' 
 
 4 Yes, my boy.' 
 
 ' Do you know what it is to have some- 
 thing on your mind ? ' 
 
 ' I do indeed, my boy,' — with extreme 
 sympathy. 
 
 ' Dad, do you know I've come to the 
 conclusion that women, while they cause us 
 our greatest happiness, put us into more 
 awkward corners than any other thing 
 whatsoever in this world ? ' 
 
 ' Quite true, my lad,' said Duke, with 
 conviction. 
 
 * Dad, do you know what it is to change 
 your mind utterly, shamelessly, hopelessly, 
 about a woman ? To desire passionately 
 this month what you decried last, to find 
 that your happiness really lay in what had 
 seemed your bane ? Do you know what 
 it is to make a volte-face like that ? ' 
 
 144
 
 Ohy What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 ' I do, my lad, too well. But how did 
 you know ? ' 
 
 ' Know what ? ' 
 
 1 That Susan Mellor has consented to 
 make me the happiest man alive.' 
 
 The young man opened his mouth to 
 peal out a roar of Homeric laughter, but 
 fortunately remembered in time, and pulled 
 hard at his cigar instead. 
 
 ' Dear old dad ! I'm so glad. Why, it's 
 the ideal arrangement.' 
 
 ' I'm delighted that you think so, dear 
 boy,' breathed Duke, evidently vastly 
 relieved. 
 
 ' And the girls ? How do they take it ? ' 
 
 ' Well, to tell you the truth, I haven't 
 told the dear girls yet. 1 hope they'll 
 take it kindly because it's got to be. 
 Why, I've the wedding-ring in my pocket. 
 I went up to Streeter's to-day and bought 
 that at the same time as a hoop of sapphires 
 and diamonds for her dear finger. She 
 met me at the station and drove me here. 
 She was as pleased with her new ring as if 
 she were only seventeen.' 
 
 ' You're not going to do anything rash, 
 145 10
 
 O//, What a Plague is hove ! 
 
 dad — no runaway matches or anything of 
 that sort ? ' 
 
 ' Well, we thought of a special license, 
 and doing the thing out of hand. It would 
 be pleasanter if the girls cut up rough.' 
 
 ' They won't, take my word for it. 
 I'll see that they don't.' 
 
 ' I'll be glad to have your presence and 
 support when I announce it, Arthur.' 
 
 ' You needn't, dear old dad. You just 
 walk across and see your sweetheart. I 
 daresay she's waiting for you, if one only 
 knew. You'll find them ready with kisses 
 and hugs of congratulation when you 
 come back.' 
 
 ' You think so, my lad ? Well, God 
 bless you. You're a good, kind-hearted 
 lad. Susan did say she'd expect me to look 
 in after dinner. By the way, the thing 
 that makes me feel awkward' — Duke 
 blushed like a school-girl — ' is that the 
 girls may think me a little, ahem, inconstant, 
 because of my infatuation for that sweet 
 girl, Miss Challoner. I see now the folly 
 of it, but when she refused me I was really 
 cut up, deucedly cut up, I can tell you.' 
 
 146
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 ' Poor old dad ! ' 
 
 ' I don't think you quite appreciated 
 Miss Challoner, my boy ; but I assure you 
 that lady was as good as she was beautiful. 
 Susan has promised to be kind to her when 
 we're married. Susan's a woman in ten 
 thousand. No petty jealousy or little- 
 mindedness about her.' 
 
 ' Well, now, dad, that you've made your 
 confession, I want you to listen to mine.' 
 
 ' Your confession, my boy ! What can 
 you have to confess ? Why, not one of 
 you ever, gave me a minute's trouble from 
 the time you were born.' 
 
 'Well, the truth is, dad, that I've been 
 seeing a good deal of Miss Challoner in 
 town. I thought I ought to, you know, 
 after spraining her poor little ankle through 
 my fault. And the result is ' 
 
 ' No ! ' unbelievingly. 
 
 ' The result is, dad, that I came down 
 to-day to break the intelligence to you that 
 we've agreed to take each other for good 
 and all.' 
 
 ' You have, hey, you sly young dog ! 
 And I've been thinking I had behaved in 
 
 i47
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 a deuced ungentlemanly way to the young 
 lady in consoling myself so soon, and 
 been calling myself no end of fickle 
 dogs.' 
 
 ' Dad ! ' said the young fellow, emphati- 
 cally, ' I think there's a pair of us.' 
 
 Duke burst out laughing in a way that 
 proved the relationship between him and 
 his laughter-loving son. When he had 
 somewhat recovered he was pushed down 
 the terrace steps to carry his wonderful 
 news to Mrs. Mellor. 
 
 Arthur went into the house, still chuck- 
 ling, by the long drawing-room windows. 
 He found his sisters in the room, and sat 
 down, selecting the most comfortable chair 
 with unerring masculine instinct. 
 
 ' Arthur,' said Frances, gravely, ' I'm 
 glad you've left the dad outside, for there's 
 something on my mind, on Sophia's mind 
 too, though not on dear Doll's, for she 
 wouldn't have agreed with us even if she'd 
 known anything about it.' 
 
 ' Oh, Lord,' said the young fellow, 
 ' more confessions ! ' 
 
 1 A confession that involves you as well 
 148
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 as us,' Frances went on. ' You remember 
 all you said to us about that Miss Challoner 
 in June ? ' 
 
 ' Don't remind me of it.' 
 
 ' But I must, for, as it proved, we were 
 all wrong. Why, the dad proposed to her 
 before she left, and she refused him point- 
 blank. He owned up after she had gone, 
 when he found what we had got in our 
 heads. And I'm very much afraid the 
 poor girl guessed our suspicions, for she 
 was so anxious to be gone, and we've heard 
 neither tide nor tidings of her since she left. 
 Now, Sophia and I have been wretched 
 over the injustice we did her, and we have 
 been wondering whether we could induce 
 her to come back to us, and, if so, whether 
 it would be quite safe to have her.' 
 
 ' How do you mean safe ? ' 
 
 ' Well, she might change her mind about 
 the dad.' 
 
 ' Devil a bit of it ! Mrs. Mellor'll 
 see to that. At the present moment the 
 dad has got his wedding-ring wrapped up 
 in tissue-paper in his left waistcoat pocket, 
 unless, indeed, he's trying it on Mrs. 
 
 149
 
 O//, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 Mellor's finger, which is likely enough, as 
 he's gone over there.' 
 
 'You're jesting, Arthur,' broke from 
 three pairs of feminine Jips. 
 
 ' Never was more serious in my life. 
 And if you'll take my advice, and are 
 anxious to prevent the scandal of an elope- 
 ment at the dad's age, you'll just tell him 
 you're delighted when he comes back this 
 evening.' 
 
 'Well, after all, it might be very much 
 worse,' said Sophia, emphatically ; and after 
 a time all three sisters were ready to put 
 aside their prejudices in the matter, and 
 accept Mrs. Mellor, the more so as she had 
 her own big house close at hand, and was 
 not likely to desire a transference of her 
 kingdom to Gardenhurst. 
 
 ' By the way,' added Arthur, when the 
 hubbub had somewhat subsided, ' there is a 
 second reason for your minds being at 
 rest about Miss Challoner. She's already 
 engaged, and to me. We hope to bring it 
 off on the same day that Dolly becomes 
 Mrs. Fairfax. We'd better have the dad 
 and Mrs. Mellor the same day, and Hubert 
 
 150
 
 Oh, What a Plague is Love ! 
 
 can come down from Oxford and give us 
 all away.' 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 The night descended at Gardenhurst on 
 a general peace. Even Fred had come and 
 offered Arthur slightly sullen congratula- 
 tions. 
 
 ' It's a woman's privilege to change her 
 mind, I know,' he said ; ' but if it hadn't 
 been for the cricket it's not you would be 
 the happy man to-night.' 
 
 THE END 
 
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