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 8. MACNAUGHTAN
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary
 
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 ClS^vr^nJ' 
 
 LAME 
 DOG'S 
 DIARY 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 S. MACNAUGHTAN 
 
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 Author of "Selah Harrison," "The 
 
 Fortune of Christina McNab," 
 
 "The Gift," etc. 
 
 * S 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD, MEAD & COMPANY 
 1906 

 
 Copyright, 1905 
 
 by 
 Dodd, Mead & Company 
 
 Published, February, 1906
 
 To 
 Lady Ellesmere
 
 Chapter I 
 
 PERHAPS curiosity has never been more keen nor 
 mystery more baffling than has been the case during 
 the last few weeks. There have been " a few friends 
 to tea " at almost every house in the village to see if 
 in this way any reasonable conclusions can be arrived 
 at, and even Palestrina is satisfied with the number 
 of people who have taken the trouble to walk up the 
 hill and chat by my sofa in the afternoons. But 
 although each lady who has called has said that she 
 is in the secret, but at present is not at liberty to say 
 anything about it, we are inclined to think that this 
 is vain boasting, or at least selfish reticence. 
 
 The two Miss Traceys have announced to almost 
 every caller at their little cottage during the last two 
 years that they intend to build. 
 
 We have all been naturally a goo'd deal impressed 
 by this statement, and although it was never plainly 
 said what the structure was to be, we had had for 
 a long time a notion of a detached house on the 
 Common. And surely enough the foundation-stone 
 was laid last year by Miss Rub^ Tracey with some
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 ceremony, and the first turf of the garden was cut 
 by Miss Tracey, and only last month the whole of 
 the Fern Cottage furniture was removed in a van to 
 Fairview, as the new house is called the handsomest 
 pieces of furniture duly placed upon the outside of 
 the van, and the commoner and least creditable of 
 the bedroom furniture within. Everyone was at his 
 or her window on the day that the Miss Traceys' 
 furniture, with the best cabinet and the inlaid card- 
 table duly displayed, was driven in state by the driver 
 of the station omnibus through the town. A rumour 
 got abroad that even more beautiful things were con- 
 cealed from view inside the van, and the Miss Traceys 
 satisfied their consciences by saying: "We did 
 not spread the rumour and we shall not contra- 
 dict it." 
 
 But the mystery concerns the furniture in quite a 
 secondary sort of way, and it is only important as 
 being the means of giving rise to the much discussed 
 rumour in the town. For mark; the drawing-room 
 furniture was taken at once and stored in a spare 
 bedroom, and the drawing-room was left unfur- 
 nished. 
 
 This fact might have remained in obscurity, for in 
 winter time, at least, it is not unusual for ladies to 
 receive guests in the dining-room, with an apology 
 
 2
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 for the drawing-room being a cold sitting-room dur- 
 ing the frost. But Mrs. Lovekin, the lady who acts 
 as co-hostess at every entertainment in our neigh- 
 bourhood, handing about her friends' cakes and teas, 
 and taking, we are inclined to think, too much upon 
 herself, did, in a moment of expansion, offer to show 
 the Traceys* house to the Blinds, who happened to 
 call there on the day when she was paying her re- 
 spects to Miss Tracey. Mrs. Lovekin always re- 
 moves her bonnet and cloak in every house, and this 
 helps the suggestion that she is in some sort a hostess 
 everywhere. 
 
 Palestrina, who was also calling on the Miss 
 Traceys, gave me a full, true, and particular account 
 of the affair the same evening. 
 
 " Mind the wet paint," Mrs. Lovekin called from 
 the drawing-room window to the Miss Blinds as they 
 came in at the gate, " and I'll open the door," she 
 remarked, as she sailed out into the passage to greet 
 the sisters. Miss Ruby Tracey would rather have 
 done this politeness herself, in order that she might 
 hear the flattering remarks that people were wont 
 to make about the hall paper. It is so well known 
 that she and her sister keep three servants that they 
 never have any hesitation in going to the door them- 
 selves. Whereas the Miss Blinds, who have only one 
 
 3
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 'domestic, would seem hardly to know where their 
 front door is situated. 
 
 " What an elegant paper ! " exclaimed Miss Lydia 
 Blind, stopping awestruck in the little hall. Miss 
 Lydia would, one knows, have something kind to say 
 if she went to pay a call at a Kaffir hut. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Lovekin, in a proprietary sort of 
 way ; " it is one of Moseley's which Smithson got 
 down in his book of patterns. The blue paint is what 
 they call * eggshell ' quite a new shade. Come this 
 way and have a cup of tea." 
 
 " I am sure it is all very simple," said Miss Tracey, 
 in a disparaging manner that showed her good breed- 
 ing, as they sat down in the dining-room. " How do 
 you like the new carpet, Miss Belinda ? " 
 
 " Glory, glory, glory ! " said Miss Belinda ; " glory, 
 glory, glory ! " 
 
 " Show Miss Lydia the new footstools, Ruby dear," 
 said Miss Tracey, " I am sure she would like to see 
 them." For we all believe or like to believe that 
 to praise our property must be Miss Lydia's highest 
 pleasure. 
 
 Mrs. Lovekin seized the opportunity to act as tea- 
 maker to the party. She poured cream and sugar 
 into the cups with the remark that there was no one 
 in Stowel whose tastes in these respects she did not 
 
 4
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 know, and she handed a plate of cake to Miss Belinda, 
 saying, " There, my dear, you sit comfortable and eat 
 that." 
 
 " Glory, glory, glory ! " said Miss Belinda. 
 
 The Miss Traceys had tea dispensed to them by the 
 same hand, and accepted it with that slight sense of 
 bewilderment which Mrs. Lovekin sometimes makes 
 us feel when she looks after us in our own houses, 
 and Miss Lydia Blind distributed her thanks equally 
 between her and the Miss Traceys. 
 
 Nothing was talked of that afternoon but the new 
 house its sunny aspect and its roomy cupboards in 
 particular commanding the heartiest commenda- 
 tion. 
 
 Presently the ladies were taken to see all over it, 
 with the exception of one of the spare bedrooms and 
 the drawing-room. They knew these rooms existed, 
 because Miss Tracey paused at the door of each, and 
 said lightly, " this is the drawing-room," and " this is 
 another spare bedroom," and although, as Palestrina 
 confided to me, they would have given much to see 
 the interior of the rooms; they could not 'do so, of 
 course, uninvited. 
 
 They paused to admire something at every turn, 
 even saying generously, but playfully, that there were 
 many of Miss Tracey's possessions which they posi- 
 
 5
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 lively coveted for themselves. The Miss Traceys 
 smilingly repudiated their felicitations, while Mrs. 
 Lovekin accepted them and announced the price of 
 everything. She became quite breathless, hurrying 
 upstairs, while she exhibited stair-rods and carpets 
 and with shortened breath apostrophized them as 
 being " real brass and the best Brussels at five-and- 
 threepence." No one is vulgar in Stowel, but Mrs. 
 Lovekin is, we fear, not genteel. 
 
 At the close of the visit, Mrs. Lovekin again ush- 
 ered the visitors into the hall, and opening, " by the 
 merest accident," as she afterwards said without, 
 however, gaining any credence for her statement 
 opening by the merest accident the door of the draw- 
 ing-room, she peeped in. 
 
 The drawing-room was void of furniture. The 
 wild thought came into Mrs. Lovekin's mind had 
 the Traceys overbuilt themselves, and had the furni- 
 ture, which had been carried so proudly through the 
 town on the top of the furniture-van, been sold to 
 pay expenses? The suggestion was immediately put 
 aside. The Miss Traceys' comfortable means were 
 so well known that such an explanation could not be 
 seriously contemplated for a moment. No; putting 
 two and two together, a closed spare bedroom and an 
 empty drawing-room, and bringing a woman's in- 
 
 6
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 stinct to bear upon the question, it all pointed to one 
 thing the Miss Traceys were going to give a party, 
 probably an evening party, in honour of the new 
 house, and the drawing-room furniture was being 
 stored for safety in the spare bedroom until the rout 
 was over. 
 
 Doubtless the first rumour of the Miss Traceys' 
 party was meanly come by, but it was none the less 
 engrossing, all the same. Miss Lydia hoped that no 
 one would believe for a moment that she was in any 
 way connected with the fraudulent intrusion that 
 had been made into Miss Tracey's secret, and Miss 
 Tracey said: 
 
 " I have known Mary Anne Lovekin for thirty 
 years " this was understating the case, but numbers 
 are not exactly stated as we grow older " but I 
 never would have believed that she could have done 
 such a thing." 
 
 " Bad butter," said Miss Belinda, shaking her head 
 in an emphatic fashion ; " bad butter, bad butter ! " 
 
 " I do not want to judge people," said Miss Tra- 
 cey, " but there was a want of delicacy about open- 
 ing a closed door which I for one cannot forgive." 
 The Miss Traceys' good-breeding is proverbial in 
 Stowel, and it was felt that her uncompromising atti- 
 tude could not but be excused when it was a matter 
 
 7
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 of her most honourable sensibilities having been out- 
 raged. 
 
 " / shall not say what I think," said Miss Ruby. 
 
 We often find that when Miss Ruby cannot tran- 
 scend what her sister has said, she has a way of 
 hinting darkly at some possible brilliance of utterance 
 which for some reason she refrains from making. 
 
 "Bad butter!" said Miss Belinda; "bad, bad 
 butter!" 
 
 Many years ago Miss Belinda Blind, who was then 
 a beautiful young woman, was thrown from a pony 
 carriage. The result of the fall was an injury to 
 the spine, and she was smitten with a paralytic stroke 
 which deprived her of all power of speech. She was 
 dumb for some years, and then two phrases came 
 back to her stammering tongue, " glory," and " bad 
 butter." She understands perfectly what is said to 
 her, but she has no means of replying, save in this 
 very limited vocabulary. And, strangely enough, 
 these words can only be made to correspond with 
 Miss Belinda's feelings. However polite her inten- 
 tions may be, if at heart she disapproves she can 
 only utter her two words of opprobrium. When a 
 sermon displeases her, she sits in her pew muttering 
 softly, and her lips show by their movement the 
 words she is repeating, while a particularly good cup 
 
 8
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 of tea will evoke from her the extravagant phrase, 
 " Glory, glory, glory ! " 
 
 " Certainly," I said to Miss Lydia, on the day suc- 
 ceeding the famous visit to the Traceys', " Mrs. Love- 
 kin's information, if so it may be called, has been 
 wrongly come by, and yet, so frail is human nature 
 one cannot help speculating upon it." 
 
 " That is what is so sad," said Miss Lydia ; " one 
 almost feels as though sharing in Mrs. Lovekin's 
 deceit by dwelling upon her information, and yet 
 one's mind seems incapable of even partially forget- 
 ting such an announcement." 
 
 Perhaps some suggestion of what was forming the 
 topic of conversation in the town may have reached 
 the Miss Traceys, and hastened their disclosure of 
 the mystery. For very shortly afterwards, one 
 morning when a flood of April sunshine had called 
 us out of doors to wander on the damp paths of the 
 garden, and watch bursting buds and listen to the 
 song of birds in a very rural and delightful fashion, 
 we were informed by a servant who tripped out in 
 a white cap and apron, quite dazzling in the sunshine, 
 that the Miss Traceys were within. 
 
 I appealed to my sister to furnish me with a means 
 of escape. But she replied : " I am afraid they have 
 seen you. Besides, you know I like you to see peo- 
 
 9
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 pie." We went indoors, and Miss Ruby apologized 
 for the untimely hour at which she and her sister 
 had come, but explained it by saying, " We wanted 
 to find you alone." And then we knew that the mys- 
 tery was about to be solved. 
 
 " You are the first to hear about it," said Miss 
 Tracey, in a manner which was distinctly flattering. 
 The Miss Traceys always sit very erect on their 
 chairs, and when they come to call I always apolo- 
 gize for having my leg up on the sofa. 
 
 " The fact is," Miss Tracey went on, " that we 
 knew that we could rely upon your good sense and 
 judgment in a matter which is exercising us very 
 seriously at present." 
 
 " It is a delicate subject, of course," said Miss 
 Ruby, " but one which we feel certain we may confide 
 to you." 
 
 " We always look upon Mr. Hugo as a man of the 
 world," said Miss Tracey, " although he is such an 
 invalid, and we rely upon the sound judgment of you 
 both." 
 
 Well, to state the subject without further pre- 
 amble but of course it must be understood that 
 everything spoken this morning was to be considered 
 as spoken in strict confidence would we consider 
 that they, the Miss Traceys, were sufficiently chap- 
 
 10
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 eroned if their brother the Vicar were present at the 
 dance, and promised not to leave until the last gen- 
 tleman had quitted the house? 
 
 I do not like to overstate a lady's age, and it is 
 with the utmost diffidence that I suggest that Miss 
 Ruby Tracey, the younger of the two sisters, may be 
 on the hither side of forty. 
 
 " You see, we have not only our own good name to 
 consider," said Miss Tracey, " but the memory of our 
 dear and ever-respected father must, we feel, be our 
 guide in this matter, and we cannot decide how he 
 would have wished us to act. If our brother were 
 married it would simplify matters very much." 
 
 " You would have had your invitation before now," 
 said Miss Ruby, " if we had been able to come to a 
 decision, but without advice we felt that was im- 
 possible. I am sure," she went on, giving her mantle 
 a little nervous composing touch, and glancing aside, 
 as though hardly liking to face any eye directly, " I 
 am sure the things one hears of unmarried women 
 doing nowadays . . . but, of course, one would not 
 like to be classed with that sort of person." 
 
 Palestrina was the first of us who spoke. 
 
 ** I think," she said gravely, " that as you are so 
 well known here nothing could be said." 
 
 " You really think so ? " said Miss Ruby. 
 11
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 But Miss Tracey still demurred. She said : " But 
 it is the fact of our being so well known here that 
 really constitutes my chief uneasiness. We often 
 feel," she added with a sigh, " that in another place 
 we could have more liberty." 
 
 " I assure you," said Miss Ruby, in a tone of play- 
 ful confession, " that when we go to visit our cousins 
 in London we are really quite shockingly frivolous. 
 I do not know what it is about London, one always 
 seems to throw off all restraint." 
 
 " I think you are giving a wrong impression, dear," 
 said Miss Tracey. " There was nothing in the whole 
 of our conduct in London which would not bear 
 repetition in Stowel. Only in a place like this one 
 feels one must often explain one's actions, lest they 
 should give rise to misrepresentations, whereas in 
 London, although behaving, I hope, in a manner just 
 as circumspect, one feels that no apology or explana- 
 tion is needed." 
 
 " There is a sort of cheerful privacy about Lon- 
 don," said the other sister, " which I find it hard to 
 explain, but which is nevertheless enjoyable." 
 
 To say that there was a dull publicity about the 
 country was too obvious a retort. 
 
 " I think we went out every evening when we were 
 in West Kensington," said Miss Tracey. 
 
 12
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " Counting church in the evening," said Miss 
 Ruby. 
 
 " Still, those evening services in London almost 
 count as going out," said Miss Tracey ; " I mean, 
 they are so lively. I often blame myself for not 
 being able to look upon them more in the light of a 
 religious exercise. I find it as difficult to worship in 
 a strange pew as to sleep comfortably in a strange 
 bed." 
 
 The Miss Traceys* morning call lasted until one 
 o'clock, and even then, as they themselves said, rising 
 and shaking out their poplin skirts, there was much 
 left undiscussed which they would still like to have 
 talked over with us. The ball supper, as they called 
 it, was to be cooked at home, and to consist of nothing 
 which could not be " eaten in the hand." 
 
 Claret-cup was, to use Miss Tracey's own figure of 
 speech, to be " flowing " the whole evening, both in 
 the dining-room with the sandwiches and cakes, and 
 on a tray placed on a recess behind the hall door. 
 
 " Gentlemen always seem so thirsty," said Miss 
 Tracey, making the remark as though speaking of 
 some animal of strange habits that she had considered 
 with the bars of its cage securely fixed between her- 
 self and it at the Zoo. 
 
 " We have bought six bottles of Essence of Claret- 
 13
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 cup," said the younger sister, " which we have seen 
 very highly recommended in advertisements ; and 
 although it says that three tablespoons will make a 
 quart of the cup, we thought of putting four, and so 
 having it good." 
 
 " As regards the music," went on Miss Tracey, 
 " we have come, I think, to a very happy decision. 
 A friend of ours knows a blind man who plays the 
 piano for dances, and by employing him we feel that 
 we shall be giving remunerative work to a very de- 
 serving person, as well as ensuring for ourselves a 
 really choice selection of the most fashionable waltzes. 
 Ruby pronounces the floor perfect," said Miss Tra- 
 cey, glancing admiringly at her younger sister's still 
 neat figure and nimble feet ; " she has been practis- 
 ing upon it several times " 
 
 " With the blinds down, dear," amended Miss 
 Ruby, simpering a little. " We understand," she 
 continued, " that some chalk sprinkled over the boards 
 before dancing begins is beneficial. You should have 
 known Stowel in the old days, when there was a 
 county ball every winter at the Three Jolly Post- 
 boys such a name ! " continued Miss Ruby, who 
 was in that curiously excited state when smiles and 
 even giggles come easily. 
 
 " Now remember," said Miss Tracey to Palestrina, 
 14
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 as she took leave of her, " you must come and help 
 with the decorations on the morning of the dance. 
 You can rest in the afternoon, so as to look your 
 best and rosiest in the evening." 
 
 In Stowel it is ingenuously admitted that a young 
 lady should try and look her best when gentlemen 
 are to be present, and rosy cheeks are still in 
 vogue. . 
 
 The Miss Traceys' drawing-room is not a very 
 large room, even when empty of furniture, but it 
 certainly had a most festive appearance when we 
 drove up to the famous house-warming. Every cur- 
 tain was looped up with evergreens and every fire- 
 place was piled with ivy, while two large flags, which 
 were referred to several times as " a display of bunt- 
 ing," festooned the little staircase. Several friends 
 in the village had lent their white-capped maids for 
 the occasion, and these ran against each other in the 
 little linoleum passage in a state of great excitement, 
 and called each other " dear " in an exuberance of 
 affection which relieved their fluttered feelings. 
 
 A palm had been ordered from London and placed 
 triumphantly in a corner the palm had been kept as 
 a surprise for us all. In the course of the evening it 
 was quite a common thing to hear some girl ask her 
 partner if he had seen The Palm, and if the reply 
 
 15
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 was in the negative, the couple made a journey to 
 the hall to look at it. 
 
 And here I must note a curious trait in the con- 
 versation prevalent in our select circle at Stowel. We 
 all speak in capitals. The definite article is generally 
 preferred to the " a " or " an " which points out a 
 common noun, and so infectious is the habit, that 
 when writing, for instance, of the Jamiesons, I find 
 myself referring to The Family, with a capital, quite 
 in a royal way, so perspicuously are capital letters 
 suggested by their manner of speech. In the same 
 way the Taylors' Uncle is never referred to by any of 
 us except as The Uncle, and I feel sure that I should 
 be doing the Traceys* plant an injustice, if I did not 
 write it down The Palm. 
 
 This, however, is a digression. 
 
 The calmness of the Miss Traceys was almost 
 overdone. They stood at the door of their drawing- 
 room, each holding a small bouquet in her hand, and 
 they greeted their guests as though nothing could be 
 more natural than to give a dance, or to stand be- 
 neath a doorway draped with white lace curtains, and 
 with a background of dissipated-looking polished 
 boards and evergreens. The elder Miss Tracey, who 
 is tall, was statuesque and dignified, the younger lady 
 was conversational and natural almost to the point 
 
 16
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 of artificiality so determined was Miss Ruby to 
 repudiate any hint of arrogance this evening. And 
 it may be said of both sisters that they were strikingly 
 well-bred and unembarrassed. Those who had seen 
 them in all the flutter of preparations during the 
 day washing china and glass, issuing packets of 
 candles from their store cupboard below the stairs, 
 and jingling large bunches of keys could admire 
 these outward symbols of ease, and appreciate the 
 self-restraint that they involved. 
 
 I do not remember before at any dance seeing so 
 many old young ladies, or so few and such very 
 juvenile young men. The elderly young ladies 
 smiled the whole time, while their boy partners looked 
 preternaturally grave and solemn. They appeared 
 to be shyly conscious of their shirt collars, which I 
 fancy must have been made after some exaggerated 
 pattern which I cannot now recall, but only remember 
 that they appeared to be uncomfortably high and 
 somewhat conspicuous, and that they gave one the 
 idea of being the wearers' first high collars. 
 
 The Vicar, who had promised to come at eight 
 o'clock, so that there should be no mistake about his 
 being in the house from first to last of the dance, and 
 who had been sent for in a panic at a quarter past 
 eight, acted conscientiously throughout the entire 
 
 17
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 entertainment. He began by inviting Mrs. Fielden 
 to dance, and afterwards he asked every lady in turn 
 according to her rank, and I do not think that during 
 the entire evening his feet can have failed to respond 
 to a single bar of the music. The blind musician was 
 a little late in arriving, and we all sat round the 
 drawing-room with our backs to the new blue wall- 
 paper and longed for home. No one dared to offer 
 to play a waltz in case it should be considered an 
 affront at a party where etiquette was so conspicuous, 
 and where the peculiar Stowel air of mystery per- 
 vaded everything. 
 
 The Jamiesons arrived, a party of nine, in the 
 station omnibus, and chatted in the hearty, unaf- 
 fected manner peculiar to themselves, waving little 
 fans to and fro in the chilly air of the new drawing- 
 room, and putting an end to the solemn silence which 
 had distinguished the first half -hour of the party. 
 Each of the sisters wore a black dress relieved by 
 a touch of colour, and carried a fan. Their bright 
 eyes shone benignly behind their several pairs of 
 pince-nez; and as they shook hands with an air of 
 delight with every single person in the room when 
 they entered, their arrival caused quite a pleasant 
 stir. 
 
 Mrs. Lovekin had already, in her character of 
 18
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 co-hostess, begun to distribute the Essence of Claret- 
 cup that, diluted with water, formed the staple bev- 
 erage of the evening and was placed on a small table 
 behind the hall-door. There was rather a curious 
 sediment left at the bottom of the glasses, and the 
 flavour of cucumber suggested vaguely to one that 
 the refreshment might be claret-cup. Very young 
 men in split white kid gloves drank a good deal 
 of it. 
 
 At last the blind musician was led solemnly across 
 the room, and took up his position at the piano. 
 He always left off playing before a figure of a quad- 
 rille or lancers was finished, and then the dancers 
 clapped their hands to make him continue, and the 
 elderly young ladies smiled more than ever. At the 
 second or third waltz my sister was in the proud 
 position of being claimed in turn by the Vicar as his 
 partner, and the position, besides being prominent, 
 was such an enviable one that Palestrina, who is not 
 more given to humility than other good-looking young 
 women of her age, was carried away by popular 
 feeling so far as to remark in a tone of gratitude 
 that this was very kind of him. 
 
 He replied, " I have made up my mind to sacrifice 
 myself for one night ; " and one realized that lofty 
 positions and a prominent place in the world may 
 
 19
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 carry with them sufficient humiliations to keep one 
 meek. 
 
 The conscientious Vicar did not allow his partner 
 to sit down once throughout the entire waltz, and I 
 think the blind musician played at greater length 
 than usual. I began to wonder if her partner re- 
 garded my excellent Palestrina as a sort of Sandow 
 exerciser, and whether he was trying to get some 
 healthy gymnastics, if not amusement, out of their 
 dance together. 
 
 " There ! " he said at last, placing her on a chair 
 beside me as a fulfilled duty; and feeling that she 
 was expected to say " Thank you," Palestrina meekly 
 said it. 
 
 " I have only danced once in the last twenty years," 
 said the Vicar, " and that was with some choir- 
 boys." And the next moment the blind man began 
 to play again, and he was footing it with conscien- 
 tious energy with Miss Lydia Blind. 
 
 Young ladies who had sat long with their empty 
 programmes in their hands, now began to dance with 
 each other, with an air of overdone merriment, pro- 
 testing that they did not know how to act gentle- 
 man, but declaring with emphasis that it was just as 
 amusing to dance with a girl-friend as with a man. 
 
 The music, as usual, failed before the end of each 
 20
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 figure of the dance, and the curate, who was dressed 
 in a pair of very smart shoe-buckles, remarked to me 
 that the lancers was a dance that created much di- 
 version, and I replied that they were too amusing for 
 anything. 
 
 The Jamiesons' youngest brother, who is in a 
 shipping-office in London, had come down to Stowel 
 especially for this occasion. Once, some years ago, 
 Kennie, as he is called, made a voyage in one of the 
 shipping company's large steamers to South America. 
 He landed at Buenos Ayres armed to the teeth, and 
 walked about the pavement of that highly-civilized 
 town, with its wooden pavements and plate-glass shop 
 windows, in a sombrero and poncho, and with terrible 
 weapons stuck in his belt. At the end of a week 
 he returned in the same ship in which he had made 
 the outward voyage, and since then he has had tales 
 to tell of those wild regions with which any of the 
 stories in the Boys' Own Paper are tame in compari- 
 son. In his dress and general appearance he even 
 now suggests a pirate king. His tales of adventure 
 are always accompanied by explanatory gestures and 
 demonstrations, and it is not unusual to see Kennie 
 stand up in the midst of an admiring circle of friends 
 and make some fierce sabre-cuts in the air. He was 
 dressed with a red cummerbund round his waist, and 
 
 21
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 he drew attention to it by an apology to every one 
 of his partners for having it on. " One gets into 
 the habit of dressing like this out there," he said, in 
 a tone of excuse. The Pirate Boy was in great de- 
 mand at the dance. 
 
 Pretty Mrs. Fielden, who had driven over from 
 Stanby, beautifully dressed at usual, and slightly 
 amused, ordered her carriage early, and had merely 
 come to oblige those quaint old dears, the Miss 
 Traceys. 
 
 Even at the house-warming Mrs. Fielden would 
 have considered it quite impossible to sit out a dance. 
 She brought an elderly Colonel with her, and she 
 conducted him into a corner behind The Palm and 
 talked to him there till it was her turn to dance with 
 the Vicar. Had it not been Mrs. Fielden, whose 
 position placed her above criticism, the breath of 
 envy might have whispered that it was hardly fair 
 that one couple should occupy the favourite sitting- 
 out place two drawing-room chairs beneath The 
 Palm to the exclusion of others. But Mrs. Fielden 
 being who she was, the young ladies of Stowel were 
 content to pass and repass the coveted chairs, and 
 to whisper admiringly, " How exquisite she is looking 
 to-night ! " 
 
 " Is there anything of me left? " she said to me, 
 22
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 looking cool and unruffled when her dance with the 
 Vicar was over. She had only made one short turn 
 of the room with him, and her beautiful dress and 
 her hair were quite undisturbed. 
 
 " You haven't danced half so conscientiously as his 
 other partners have," I said. 
 
 " I wanted to talk about the parish," said Mrs. 
 Fielden, " so I stopped. I think I should like to go 
 and get cool somewhere." 
 
 " I will take you to sit under The Palm again, as 
 Colonel Jardine did," I replied, " and you shall laugh 
 at all the broad backs and flat feet of our country 
 neighbours, and hear everybody say as they pass 
 how beautiful you are." 
 
 Mrs. Fielden turned her head towards me as if to 
 speak, and I had a sudden vivid conviction that she 
 would have told me I was rude, had I not been a 
 cripple with one leg. 
 
 We sat under The Palm. Mrs. Fielden never 
 rushes into a conversation. Presently she said: 
 
 " Why do you come to this sort of thing? It can't 
 amuse you." 
 
 " You told me the other day," I said, " that I 
 ought to cultivate a small mind and small interests." 
 
 " Did I? " said Mrs. Fielden lightly. " If I think 
 one thing one day I generally think quite differently 
 
 23
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 a day or two after. To-night, for instance, I think 
 it is a mistake for you to lean against the Miss 
 Traceys' new blue walls and watch us dance." 
 
 " I'm not sure that it isn't better than sitting at 
 home and reading how well my old regiment is doing 
 in South Africa. Besides, you know, I am writing a 
 diary." 
 
 " Are you? " said Mrs. Fielden. 
 
 " You advised it," I said. 
 
 "Did I?" 
 
 When Mrs. Fielden is provoking she always looks 
 ten times prettier than she does at other times. 
 
 " A good many people in this little place," I said, 
 " have made up their minds to do the work that's 
 nearest and to help a lame dog over stiles. I think I 
 should be rather a brute if I didn't respond to their 
 good intentions." 
 
 " I don't think they need invent stiles, though ! " 
 said Mrs. Fielden quickly, " wood-carving, and beat- 
 ing brass, and playing the zither " 
 
 " I do not play the zither," I said. 
 
 " are not stiles. They are making a sort of 
 obstacle race of your life." 
 
 " Since I have begun to write the diary," I said, 
 " I've been able to excuse myself attempting these 
 things, even when tools are kindly brought to me. 
 
 24
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 And so far no one has so absolutely forgotten that 
 there is a lingering spark of manhood in me as to 
 suggest that I should crochet or do cross-stitch." 
 
 " You know I am going to help you write the 
 diary," said Mrs. Fielden, " only I'm afraid I shall 
 have to go to all their tea-parties, shan't I, to get 
 copy? " 
 
 " You will certainly have to go," I said. 
 
 " I'm dreadfully bored to-night, aren't you? " she 
 said confidentially, and in a certain radiant fashion 
 as distant as the Poles from boredom. " No one can 
 really enjoy this sort of thing, do you think? It's 
 like being poor, or anything disagreeable of that sort. 
 People think they ought to pretend to like it, but 
 they don't." 
 
 " I wish I could entertain you better," I said sulk- 
 ily ; " but I'm afraid I never was the least bit amus- 
 ing." 
 
 Mrs. Fielden relapsed into one of her odd little 
 silences, and I determined I would not ask her what 
 she was thinking about. 
 
 Presently Colonel Jardine joined us, and she said 
 to him : " Please see if you can get my carriage ; it 
 must be five o'clock in the morning at least." And 
 the next moment I was made to feel the egotism of 
 imagining I had been punished when she bade me a 
 
 25
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 charming " good-night." She smiled congratula- 
 tions on her hostesses on the success of the party, 
 and pleaded the long drive to Stanby as an excuse for 
 leaving early. The Colonel wrapped her in a long, 
 beautiful cloak of some pale coloured velvet and fur 
 a sumptuous garment at which young ladies in 
 shawls looked admiringly and Mrs. Fielden slipped 
 it on negligently and got into her brougham. 
 
 " Oh, how tired I am ! " she said. 
 
 " It was pretty deadly," said the Colonel. " Did 
 you taste the claret-cup?" he added, making a grim- 
 ace in the dark. 
 
 " Oh, I found it excellent," said Mrs. Fielden 
 quickly. 
 
 Margaret Jamieson now took the place at the piano, 
 to enable the blind man to go and have some supper, 
 but having had it, he slept so peacefully that no one 
 could bear to disturb him, so between them the young 
 ladies shared his duties till the close of the evening. 
 
 Palestrina had suggested, as a little occupation for 
 me, that I should write out programmes for the dance, 
 and I had done so. Surely programmes were never 
 so little needed before! Every grown man had left 
 the assembly long before twelve o'clock struck, the 
 feebleness of the excuses for departing thus early 
 being only equalled by the gravity with which they 
 
 26
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 were made. Even the lawyer, who we thought would 
 have remained faithful to the end, pleaded that since 
 he ricked his knee, he is obliged to have plenty of 
 rest. The Pirate Boy had had some bitter words 
 with the lawyer at a previous stage in the evening, 
 about the way in which the lancers should be danced, 
 and had muttered darkly, " I won't make a disturb- 
 ance in a lady's house, but I have seen a fellow called 
 out for less." He considered that the lawyer was 
 running away, unable to bear his cold, keen eye upon 
 him during the next lancers, and he watched him 
 depart, standing at the head of the tiny staircase 
 beneath the display of bunting with his arms folded 
 in a Napoleonic attitude. 
 
 All good things come to an end, and even the Vicar 
 of Stowel must have felt that there are limits to the 
 most conscientious energy. And girls, dancing with 
 each other, learned perhaps that the merriment 
 caused by acting as a man is not altogether lasting ; 
 while elderly young ladies, although agreed in smiling 
 to the very end, must be aware how fixed in expres- 
 sion such a smile may become towards the end of a 
 long evening. 
 
 Good-nights were said, and carriages were called 
 up with a good deal of unnecessary shouting, while 
 the Pirate Boy insisted in going to the heads of the 
 
 27
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 least restive horses, and soothing them, in a way 
 which he said he had learned from those Gaucho 
 fellows out there. 
 
 I have never been able to tell what the Miss Tra- 
 ceys thought about their dance. If they were dis- 
 appointed the world was not allowed to probe that 
 tender spot. Possibly they were satisfied with its 
 success ; the proprietary instinct of admiration ap- 
 plies to entertainments as well as to tangible posses- 
 sions, but that satisfaction, if it existed, was modestly 
 veiled the house-warming was less discussed by 
 them than by anyone else. Miss Ruby spoke rather 
 wistfully one day about simple pleasures being the 
 best and safest after all, and she alluded, with a 
 sigh, to the time which must come some day when 
 she would be no longer young. Miss Tracey drew 
 herself up and said : " A woman is only as old as 
 she looks, my dear," and glanced admiringly at her 
 sister. 
 
 The diluted Essence of Claret-cup was bottled, and 
 formed a nice light luncheon wine at the Miss Tra- 
 ceys' for many weeks afterwards. The furniture 
 was brought down from the spare bedroom by the 
 maids who walked the heaviest pieces in front of 
 them with a curious tip-toeing movement of the cas- 
 tors of the several easy-chairs. The art tiles in the 
 
 28
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 grate were cleared of their faded burden of ever- 
 green, and The Palm was carried into the bay 
 window where it could be seen from the road. 
 
 I drove over to see Mrs. Fielden and to ask her if 
 she thought I had been a sulky brute at the dance. 
 
 " Were you? " said Mrs. Fielden, lifting her pretty 
 dark eyebrows ; " I forget."
 
 Chapter II 
 
 PALESTEINA and I live in the country, and whenever 
 we are dull or sad, like the sailors in Mr. Gilbert's 
 poem, we decide that our neighbourhood is too 
 deadly uninteresting, and then we go and see the 
 Jamiesons. They are our nearest neighbours, as 
 they are also amongst our greatest friends, and the 
 walk to their house is a distance that I am able to 
 manage. I believe that our visits to the Jamiesons 
 are most often determined by the state of the weather. 
 If we have passed a long wet day in doors, I feel that 
 it is going to be a Jamieson day, and I know that 
 my sister will say to me after tea, " Suppose we go 
 over and see the Jamiesons ; " and she generally adds 
 that it is much better than settling down for the 
 evening at five o'clock in the afternoon. 
 
 I do not think that Palestrina was so sociable a 
 young woman, nor did she see so much of her neigh- 
 bours before I came home an invalid from South 
 Africa I got hit in the legs at Magersfontein, and 
 had the left one taken off in the hospital at Wynberg 
 but she believes, no doubt rightly, that the variety 
 that one gets by seeing one's fellow-men is good for 
 
 30
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 a poor lame dog who lies on a sofa by the fire the 
 greater part of the day, and wishing he could grow 
 another leg or feel fit again. 
 
 Acting upon this unalterable conviction of my 
 sister, we drive about in the afternoons and see people, 
 and they come and see me and suggest occupations for 
 me. In Lent I had a more than usual number of 
 callers, which says much for the piety of the place, 
 as well as for the goodness of heart of its inhabit- 
 ants. 
 
 There is a slight coolness between what is known 
 as the " County " and the Jamiesons, and their name 
 is never mentioned without the accompanying piece 
 of information, " You know, old Jamieson married 
 his cook ! " To be more exact, Mrs. Jamieson was a 
 ' small farmer's daughter, and Captain Jamieson fell 
 in love with her, when, having left the army, he went 
 to learn practical farming at old Higgins's, and he 
 loved her faithfully to the day of his death. She is 
 a stout, elderly woman who speaks very little, but 
 upon whom an immense amount of affection seems 
 to be lavished by her family of five daughters and 
 two sons. And it has sometimes seemed to my sister 
 and me that her good qualities are of a lasting and 
 passive sort, which exist in large measure in the 
 hearts of those who bestow this boundless aifection. 
 
 31
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 Mrs. Jamieson's form of introducing herself to any- 
 one she meets consists in giving an account of the 
 last illness and death of her husband. There is 
 hardly a poultice which was placed upon that poor 
 man which her friends have not heard about. And 
 when she has finished, in her flat, sad voice, giving 
 every detail of his last disorder, Mrs. Jamieson's 
 conversation is at an end. She has learned, no 
 doubt unconsciously, to gauge the characters of new 
 acquaintances by the degree of interest which they 
 evince in Captain Jamieson's demise. It is Mrs. 
 Jamieson's test of their true worth. 
 
 Of the other sorrow which saddened a nature that 
 perhaps was never very gay Mrs. Jamieson rarely 
 speaks. Possibly because she thinks of it more than 
 of anything else in the world. Among her eight 
 children there was only one who appeared to his 
 mother to combine all perfection in himself. He 
 was killed by an accident in his engineering works 
 seven years ago, and although his friends will, per- 
 haps, only remember him as a stout young fellow 
 who sang sea songs with a distended chest, his mother 
 buried her heart with him in his grave, and even the 
 voice of strangers is lowered as they say, " She lost 
 a son once." 
 
 The late Captain Jamieson, a kindly, shrewd man 
 32
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 and a Scotchman withal, was agent to Mrs. Fielden, 
 widow of the late member for Stanby, and when he 
 died his income perished with him, and The Family 
 of Jamieson a large one, as has been told were 
 thankful enough to subsist on their mother's inheri- 
 tance of some four or five hundred a year, bequeathed 
 to her by the member of the non-illustrious house of 
 Higgins, late farmer, deceased. It is a hospitable 
 house, for all its narrow means, and there live not, 
 I believe, a warmer-hearted or more generous family 
 than these good Jamiesons. The girls are energetic, 
 bright and honest; their slender purses are at the 
 disposal of every scoundrel of the parish, and their 
 time, as well as their boundless energy, are devoted 
 to the relief of suffering or to the betterment of man- 
 kind. 
 
 Mrs. Fielden is of the opinion that nothing gives 
 one a more perfect feeling of rest than going to 
 Belmont, as the Jamiesons' little house is called, and 
 watching them work. She calls it the " Rest Cure." 
 Every one of the five sisters, except Maud, who is 
 the beauty of The Family, wears spectacles, and 
 behind these their bright, intelligent small eyes glint 
 with kindness and brisk energy. The worst feature 
 of this excellent family is their habit of all talking at 
 the same time, in a certain emphatic fashion which 
 
 33
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 renders it difficult to catch what each individual is 
 saying, and this is especially the case when three of 
 the sisters are driving sewing-machines together. 
 They have a genius for buying remnants of woollen 
 goods at a small price and converting them into 
 garments for the poor, and their first question often 
 is, as they hold a piece of flannel or serge triumph- 
 antly aloft, " What do you think I gave for that? " 
 Palestrina always names at least twice the sum that 
 has purchased the goods, and has thereby gained a 
 character for being dreadfully extravagant but sym- 
 pathetic. 
 
 " I do not believe," I said to Palestrina the other 
 day, " that these good Jamiesons have a thought be- 
 sides making other people happy." 
 
 " That and getting married are the sole objects of 
 their existence," said Palestrina. 
 
 " It is very odd," I said, " that women so devoid of 
 what might be called sentiment are yet so bent upon 
 this very thing." 
 
 " Eliza told me to-day," said Palestrina, " that as 
 Kate has not mentioned one single man in her letters 
 home they cannot help thinking that there is some- 
 thing in it." 
 
 The Jamiesons have the same vigorous, energetic 
 ideas about matrimony that they have about every- 
 
 34
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 thing else, and almost their sole grievance, naively 
 expressed, is that Maud, " who gets them all " 
 meaning, I believe, offers of marriage is the only 
 one of The Family who is unable to make up her 
 mind clearly on this momentous question. 
 
 " We should not mind," say the conclave of sisters 
 during one of the numerous family discussions on 
 this subject, " even if she does get all the admirers, 
 for, of course, she is the pretty one, if only she would 
 accept one of them. But she always gets undecided 
 and silly as soon as they come to the point." 
 
 It should be noted in passing that the different 
 stages of development in love affairs is shrewdly 
 noted and commented upon by the Jamiesons. The 
 first evidence of a man's preference is that he " is 
 struck " ; and the second, when he begins to visit at 
 the house, is known as " hovering." An inquiry after 
 Maud's health will sometimes elicit the unexpected 
 reply that another admirer is hovering at present. 
 The third stage is reached when the lover is said to 
 be " dangling," and the final triumph, when Maud 
 has received a proposal, is noted as having " come to 
 the point." 
 
 If Maud's triumphs are watched with small sighs 
 of envy by her sisters, they are a source of nothing 
 but gratification to them to retail to the outside 
 
 35
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 world. There is a strict account kept of Maud's 
 " conquests " in the letters sent to relatives, and the 
 evening's post will sometimes contain the startling 
 announcement that Maud has had her fifth in one 
 year. 
 
 " Of course, you know how fond we all are of each 
 other," said Eliza Jamieson to me one day with one 
 of those unexpected confidences which the effeminacy 
 of sickness seems to warrant if not actually to invite, 
 " but we can't help thinking that, humanly speaking, 
 we should all have a better chance if only Maud would 
 marry. No one would wish her to marry without 
 love, but we fear she is looking for perfection, and 
 that she will never get, and it was really absurd of 
 her to be so upset when she discovered, after nearly 
 getting engaged to Mr. Reddy, that he wore a wig. 
 After all, a man may be a good Christian in spite of 
 having no hair." 
 
 " That is undoubtedly a fact," I said warmly. 
 
 " And Mr. Reddy had excellent prospects," said 
 Eliza, " although perhaps nothing very tangible at 
 present. Then there was Albert Gore, to whom one 
 must admit Maud gave every encouragement, and we 
 had begun to think it quite hopeful, but just at the 
 end she discovered that she could not care for anyone 
 called Albert, which was too silly." 
 
 36
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " She might have called him Bertie," I suggested. 
 
 " Yes," said Eliza eagerly ; " and you see, none of 
 us hope or expect to marry a man who has not some 
 of these little drawbacks, so I really do not see why 
 Maud should expect it." 
 
 Five matrimonial alliances in one family are, per- 
 haps, not easily arranged for in a quiet country 
 neighbourhood, yet there is always a hopeful tone 
 about these family discussions, and it is very com- 
 mon to hear the Miss Jamiesons relate at length what 
 they intend to do when they are married. 
 
 And there is yet another maiden to be arranged 
 for in the little house. Mettle is the Jamiesons' cousin 
 who lives with them, and I believe that what appeals 
 to me most strongly regarding the excellence of this 
 unknown provincial family, is their kindness to the 
 little shrunken, tiresome cousin who shares their 
 home. Mettie is like some strange, little, bright bird, 
 utterly devoid of intelligence, and yet with the alert- 
 ness of a sparrow. Her beady eyes are a-twinkle in 
 a restless sort of way all day long, and her large, thin 
 nose has always the appearance of having the skin 
 stretched unpleasantly tightly across it. The good 
 Jamiesons never seem to be ruffled by her presence 
 among them, and this forbearance certainly com- 
 mands one's respect. Mettie travesties the Jamie- 
 
 37
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 sons in every particular. She has adopted their 
 matrimonial views with interest, and she utters little 
 platitudes upon the subject with quite a surprising 
 air of sapience. One avoids being left alone with 
 Mettie whenever it is possible to do so, for, gentle 
 creature though she is, her remarks are so singularly 
 devoid of interest that one is often puzzled to under- 
 stand why they are made. Yet I see one or other of 
 the Jamiesons walk to the village with her every 
 day her little steps pattering beside their giant 
 strides, while the bird-like tongue chirps gaily all the 
 way. 
 
 Every one in our little neighbourhood walks into 
 the village every day ; it is our daily dissipation ; and 
 frivolous persons have been known to go twice or 
 three times. On days when Palestrina thinks that 
 I am getting moped she steals the contents of my 
 tobacco-jar, and then says, without blushing, that 
 she has discovered that my tobacco is all gone, and 
 that we had better walk into the village together and 
 get some more. When I am in a grumpy mood, I 
 reply : " It's all right, thank you, I have plenty up- 
 stairs." But it generally ends in my taking the walk 
 with my sister. 
 
 Our house is pleasantly situated where, by peeping 
 through a tangle of shrubs and trees, we can see the 
 
 38
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 lazy traffic of the high-road that leads to the village. 
 Strangers pause outside the screen of evergreens 
 sometimes and peep between the branches to see the 
 quaint gables of the old house. Its walls have turned 
 to a soft yellow colour with old age, and its beams 
 are of oak, gray with exposure to the storms of many 
 winters a venerable house, a little bent by years, 
 but mellow with kindly memories and full of a de- 
 lightful serenity and peace. In summer-time the 
 garden paths round the house are bordered with 
 flowers, and there is a tangle of pink and white may 
 and yellow laburnam on the lawn; and a clinging 
 wisteria, ages old, stretches its kindly arms across 
 the silvering oak beams of the house, and hangs out 
 pale brown clusters of buds and leaves in spring- 
 time. Wandering sometimes in the fields that stretch 
 at the back of the house, it looks almost as though 
 its old walls were buried in blossom, and its red roof, 
 which is not perched on the top of the walls like a 
 hat, but comes down warm and snug, and enveloping 
 like a winter cloak, glows with warmth amidst snowy 
 orchards of cherry blossom. 
 
 And the inside of the house always seems to me as 
 pleasant as the outside. The low rooms are quaintly 
 panelled and corniced, and the wide hall, where we 
 always sit with its rugged pavement of square red 
 
 39
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 tiles, takes wonderful shades of colour upon it when 
 the westering sun shines in at the deep window 
 through its greenish panes of old-fashioned flexible 
 talc. The shadows on the red tiles are blue-gray in 
 colour and they move with the movements of the trees 
 outside, showing patches of broken light diffused 
 between them, warmer by contrast with these blue- 
 gray shadows which move so noiselessly across them. 
 " This old hall of yours is much too dark," Mrs. 
 Fielden said, when she came to call the other day, 
 muffled up in velvet and fur. She lighted the dull 
 afternoon by something that is radiant and holiday- 
 like about her, and left us envying her for being so 
 pretty and so young and gay. " Oh, I know," she 
 said in her whimsical way, " that it's Jacobean and 
 early Tudor and all sorts of delightful things, but it 
 isn't very cheerful, you know. I'm so glad it's near 
 the road; I think if I built a house I should like it 
 to be in Mansion House Square, or inside a railway- 
 station. Don't you love spending a night at a station 
 hotel? I always ask for a room overlooking the plat- 
 form, for I like the feeling of having the trains run- 
 ning over me all night. I love your house really," 
 she said, " only I'm afraid it preaches peace and 
 resignation, and all those things which I consider so 
 wrong." 
 
 40
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 Since I have been laid up I have been recom- 
 mended to carve wood, to beat brass, to stuff sofa- 
 cushions, and to play the zither; but these things 
 do not amuse me much. It was Mrs. Fielden who 
 suggested that I should write a diary. 
 
 " You must grumble," she said, raising her pretty 
 eyebrows in the affected way she has. " It wouldn't 
 be human if you didn't, so why not write a diary, 
 and have a real good grumble on paper every night 
 when you go to bed. Of course, if I were in your 
 place I should grumble all day instead, and go to 
 sleep at night. But I'm not the least bit a resigned 
 person. If anything hurts me I scream at once; 
 and if there is anything I don't like doing I leave it 
 alone. Palestrina," she said to my sister, " don't let 
 him be patient ; it's so bad for him." 
 
 Palestrina smiled, and said she was afraid it was 
 very dull for me sometimes. 
 
 " But if one is impatient enough, one can't be 
 dull," said Mrs. Fielden. " It's like being cross " 
 
 " I am constitutionally dull," I said. " I used to 
 be known as the dullest man in my regiment." 
 
 " You studied philosophy, didn't you? " said Mrs. 
 Fielden. " That must be so depressing." 
 
 I was much struck by this suggestion. " I dare- 
 say you are quite right," I said, " although I had 
 
 41
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 not seen it in that light before. But I'm afraid it 
 has not made me very patient, nor given me a great 
 mind." 
 
 " Of course, what you want just now," said Mrs. 
 Fielden gravely, " is a little mind. You must lie 
 here on your sofa, and take a vivid interest in what 
 all the old ladies say when they come to call on 
 Palestrina. And you must know the price of Mrs. 
 Taylor's last new hat, and how much the Traceys 
 spend on their washing-bill, and you must put it 
 all down in your diary. I'll come over and help 
 you sometimes, and write all the wicked bits for 
 you, only I'm afraid no one ever is wicked down 
 here." 
 
 " Good-bye," she said, holding out the smallest, 
 prettiest, most useless-looking little hand in the 
 world. " And please," she added earnestly, " get all 
 this oak painted white, and hang some nice muslin 
 curtains in the windows." 
 
 Kindly folk in Stowel are always ingenuously sur- 
 prised at anyone caring to live in the country; and 
 although it is but a mile from here to the vestry 
 hall, and much less by the fields, they often question 
 us whether we do not feel lonely o' nights, and they 
 are of the opinion that we should be better in " town." 
 They frequently speak of going into the country for
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 change of air or on Bank Holidays ; but considering 
 that the last house in the village and, like the City of 
 Zoar, it is but a little one is built amongst fields, 
 it might be imagined that these rural retreats could 
 readily be found without the trouble of hiring the 
 four-wheeled dog-cart from the inn or taking a jour- 
 ney by train. Yet an expedition into the country 
 is often talked of as being a change, and friends and 
 relations living outside the town are considered a 
 little bit behind hand in their views of things " old- 
 fashioned " we call it in Stowel and these country 
 cousins are visited with just a touch of kindly con- 
 descension by the dwellers in a flower-bordered, tree- 
 shadowed High Street. 
 
 One is brought rather quaintly into immediate 
 correspondence with the domestic concerns of every- 
 one in Stowel, and Palestrina has been coaching me 
 in the etiquette of the place. It is hardly correct to 
 do any shopping at dinner-time, when the lady of 
 the house, busy feeding her family, has to be called 
 from the inner parlour, where that family may all be 
 distinctly seen from the shop. Driving or walking 
 through Stowel at the hour thus consecrated by 
 universal consent to gastronomy, one might almost 
 imagine that it was a deserted village. Even the 
 dogs have gone inside to get a bone; and one says 
 
 43
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 as one walks down the empty streets, " Stowel 
 dines." 
 
 When a shop is closed on Thursday, which is 
 early closing day, one can generally " be obliged " by 
 ringing at the house-bell, and, under conduct of the 
 master of the place, may enter the darkened shop by 
 the side-door, and be accommodated with the pur- 
 chase that one requires. For the old custom still 
 holds of living where it seems most natural for a 
 merchant to live in the place where he does his 
 business. There is a pleasurable feeling of excite- 
 ment even in the purchase of a pot of Aspinal's 
 enamel behind closed shutters, and this is mingled 
 with a feeling of solemnity and privilege, which I 
 can only compare in its mixed effect upon me to 
 going behind the scenes of a theatre, or to being 
 permitted to enter the vestry of a church. 
 
 Any purchases, except those which may be called 
 necessaries, are seldom indulged in in our little town. 
 A shop which contains anything but dress and pro- 
 visions has few customers, and its merchandize be- 
 comes household fixtures. I called at the furniture 
 shop the other day; the place looked bare and un- 
 familiar to me, but I did not realize what was amiss 
 until my sister exclaimed, "Where is the sofa?" 
 The sofa had been for sale for fifteen years, and had 
 
 44
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 at last been purchased. There are other things in the 
 shop which I think must have been there much 
 longer, and I believe their owner would part with 
 them with regret, even were a very fair profit to be 
 obtained for them. Palestrina tells me she ordered 
 some fish the other day, and was met with the 
 objection that " I fear that piece will be too big for 
 your fish-kettle, ma'am," although she had never 
 suspected that the size of her fish-kettle was a matter 
 that was known to the outside world. 
 
 And yet Stowel prides itself more upon its reserve 
 than upon anything else, except perhaps its gentility. 
 There is a distinct air of mystery over any and 
 every one of the smallest affairs of daily life in the 
 little place, and I hardly think that our neighbours 
 would really enjoy anything if it were " spoken 
 about " before the proper time. There is something 
 of secrecy in the very air of the town. No one, I am 
 told, has ever been known to mention, even casually, 
 what he or she intends to have for dinner; and the 
 butcher has been warned against calling across the 
 shop to the lady at the desk " two pounds of rump- 
 steak for Miss Tracey," or " one sirloin, twelve two, 
 for the Hall." Mr. Tomsett, who was the first 
 butcher to introduce New Zealand mutton to the 
 inhabitants of Stowel, lost his custom by this vulgar 
 
 45
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 habit of assorting his joints in public. And Miss 
 Tracey, who knew him best (he was still something 
 of a stranger, having been in Stowel only five years), 
 warned him that that was not the sort of thing we 
 were accustomed to. " If you must make our private 
 concerns public in this way," she said, " at least it 
 cannot be necessary to mention in what country the 
 mutton was raised." 
 
 It is even considered a little indelicate to remain 
 in the postoffice when a telegram is being handed in. 
 And parcels addressed and laid on the counter at the 
 grocer's, although provocative of interest, are not 
 even glanced at by the best people. 
 
 On the authority of my sister, I learn that when 
 the ladies of Stowel do a little dusting in the morning 
 the front blinds are pulled down. And keen though 
 the speculation may be as to the extent of our neigh- 
 bours' incomes, the subject is, of course, a forbidden 
 one. Poor though some of these neighbours are, a 
 very kindly charity prevails in the little town. When 
 the elder Miss Blind was ill, as she very often is, 
 poor thing! it might seem a matter of coincidence 
 to the uninitiated that during that week every one of 
 her friends happened to make a little strong soup, a 
 portion of which was sent to the invalid just in 
 case she might fancy it; while the Miss Traceys, 
 
 46
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 who, as all the world knew, had inherited a little 
 wine from their father, the late Vicar of the parish, 
 sent their solitary remaining bottle of champagne, 
 with their compliments, to Miss Belinda. The 
 champagne proved flat after many a year of storage 
 in the lower cupboard of Miss Tracey's pantry, but 
 the two sisters to whom it was sent, not being 
 familiar with the wine, did not detect its faults, and 
 the green bottle with the gilt neck was left casually 
 standing about for weeks afterwards, from an inno- 
 cent desire to impress their neighbours with its 
 magnificence. 
 
 Palestrina, with the good intention, I believe, of 
 providing me with what she calls an object for a 
 walk, asked me to call and inquire for Miss Blind on 
 the day that the bottle of champagne was drawn and 
 sampled. Miss Lydia was in the sick-room, and 
 Mrs. Lovekin, who had called to inquire, was sitting 
 in the little parlour when I entered. " How do you 
 do? " she said. " I suppose you have heard that 
 Belinda has brought up the champagne ? " 
 
 The reproachful note in Mrs. Lovekin's voice, 
 which seemed to tax the invalid with ingratitude, 
 negatived one's first impression that Miss Belinda 
 had been down to the cellar for the wine.
 
 Chapter III 
 
 IT is a subject of burning curiosity with every woman 
 in Stowel to know whether it is a fact that the Tay- 
 lors have taken to having late dinner instead of 
 supper since Mrs. Taylor's uncle was made a K.C.B. 
 There was something in a remark which Miss 
 Frances Taylor made which distinctly suggested 
 that such a change had been effected, but Stowel, on 
 the whole, inclined to discredit the rumour. A por- 
 trait of the General has been made in London, from 
 a photograph in uniform which Mrs. Taylor has of 
 him, and it has been framed, regardless of expense, 
 by the photographer in the High Street. Mr. Taylor 
 had at one time thought of having the whole thing 
 done in London, but it had been decided by an over- 
 whelming majority that it would be only fair to give 
 the commission to provide the frame to someone in 
 our own town ; and Mr. and Mrs. Taylor have given 
 a permission, which amounts to a command, that 
 the portrait of " Sir John " shall be placed in the 
 window for a week before it is sent home so that 
 Stowel may see it for the Taylors, it should be 
 remembered, do not receive everyone at their own 
 house. 
 
 48
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 To-day I met the elder Miss Blind Miss Lydia, 
 she is generally called at the window of the photog- 
 rapher's, to which she had made a pilgrimage, as 
 we all intended to do, to see the famous picture. 
 Probably she had stood there for some time, for she 
 turned nervously towards me, and said, in a tone of 
 apology, and with something of an effort in her 
 speech : " I used to know him." 
 
 " Ah ! " I replied. " I suppose he has often been 
 down to stay with the Taylors? " 
 
 " He has not been once in twenty years," said 
 Lydia. 
 
 I was thinking of other things, and I do not know 
 why it suddenly struck me that there was a tone of 
 regret, even of hopelessness, in Miss Lydia's voice, 
 and that she spoke as one speaks, perhaps, when one 
 has waited long for something. 
 
 Lydia Blind is a tall woman with a slight, stooping 
 figure, which suggests patience. Sometimes I have 
 wondered if it is only her sister's constant ill-health 
 that has made Miss Lydia stoop a little. There is 
 something delicately precise about her, if so gentle a 
 woman can fitly be described as precise. Perhaps 
 her voice explains her best, as a woman's voice will 
 often do; it is low and of a very charming quality, 
 although broken now and then by asthma. Each 
 
 49
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 word has its proper spacing, and does not intrude 
 upon the next ; each vowel possesses the rare charac- 
 teristic of its proper sound. I have never heard her 
 use an out-of-the-way expression ; but her simple way 
 of speaking has an old-fashioned gracefulness about 
 it, and her manner, with all its simplicity, is digni- 
 fied by reason of its perfect sincerity. Her eyes are 
 large and gray, and set somewhat far apart ; her hair 
 is worn in a fringe so demure and smooth, so primly 
 curled that it has the appearance of plainly-brushed 
 hair. It is Mrs. Fielden who says that no good 
 woman can do her hair properly, and she wonders if 
 St. Paul's recommendations as to plain braids has 
 for ever stamped the hairdresser's profession as a 
 dangerous art. 
 
 To-day when I met Lydia it struck me suddenly 
 to wonder how old she is. Perhaps something in 
 the insolent youthfulness of the spring-time sug- 
 gested the thought, or it may have been because 
 Miss Lydia looked tired. 
 
 When one meets a friend in Stowel High Street it 
 is considered very cold behaviour merely to bow to 
 them. We not only stop and chat for a few minutes, 
 but it is the friendly fashion of the place for ladies to 
 say to each other, " Which way are you going ? " 
 and to accompany their friends a little way along the 
 
 50
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 sunny, uneven pavement, while offers to come in and 
 rest are generally given and accepted at the end of 
 the promenade. Of course it is quite unusual for 
 gentlemen to be detained in this way, and I am sure 
 it cost Miss Lydia an effort to suggest to me that I 
 should come in and sit down for a little while, and 
 that she only did so because I seemed tired. Also, 
 I think that a man with a crutch, and with but one 
 leg and that one not very sound is not con- 
 sidered such a source of danger to ladies living alone 
 as a strong and hale man is supposed to be. We 
 stopped at the little green gate in the village street, 
 with its red flagged pathway beyond, bordered with 
 spring-flowers. Wall-flowers, early blooming in this 
 warm and sheltered corner, forget-me-nots and prim- 
 roses, and a brave yellow jasmine starred with golden 
 flowers covered the walls of the cottage. I asked 
 after her sister's health, and Miss Lydia begged me 
 to come in and rest for a few minutes, which I did, 
 for I was horribly tired. But this was one of Miss 
 Belinda's bad days, and her sister, who watches 
 every variation in colour in the hollow cheeks and 
 deep-set eyes of the invalid, saw that she was unable 
 to speak, and motioned me out of the room. She 
 showed me into her own little sanctum and gave me 
 a cushioned chair by the window and said : " Do 
 
 51
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 wait for a few minutes and rest. I can see that my 
 sister wants to say something to me, but she is 
 always more than usually inarticulate when she is in 
 one of these nervous states." 
 
 I have been thinking a good deal about old maids 
 lately one has time to think about all manner of 
 subjects when one is lying down most of the day. 
 Mrs. Fielden is of opinion that an old maid may 
 have an exaggerated sense of humour. To my mind 
 her danger may be that she is always rather patheti- 
 cally satisfied with everything. She prefers the front 
 seat of a carriage and the back seat of a dog-cart, 
 and the leg of a chicken and a tiny bedroom. 
 Doubtless this is a form of self-respect. This suit- 
 ability of tastes on the part of an old maid enables 
 her to say, as she does with almost suspicious fre- 
 quency, that she gets dreadfully spoiled wherever she 
 goes. Adaptability to environment is the first law 
 of existence, and yet there may have been times even 
 in the life of an old maid when she has yet yearned 
 for the wing of a chicken. 
 
 The little room into which Miss Lydia ushered me 
 was plainly furnished, but Miss Lydia says that she 
 is always getting something pretty given to her to 
 add to her treasures. Her room is, indeed, rather 
 suggestive of a stationer's shop window, where a 
 
 52
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 card with " fancy goods in great variety " is placed. 
 It would not be unkind to hint of some of the articles 
 on the table and on the wall-brackets that they must 
 have been purchased more as a kindly remembrance 
 at Christmas-time or on birthdays, than from any 
 apparent usefulness to the recipient. There are 
 three twine-cases, from which the scissors have long 
 since been abstracted by unknown dishonest persons ; 
 and there are four ornamental thermometers, each 
 showing its own fixed and unalterable ideas regarding 
 the temperature of the room. A large number of 
 unframed sketches which children have given her 
 are fastened to the wall by pins, or hung on tacks, 
 whose uncertain hold of the walls bespeaks a feminine 
 hand on the hammer. There are several calendars, 
 and there are quite an uncountable collection of 
 photograph frames, which fall over unless they are 
 propped against something. Most of the photo- 
 graphs are old and faded, and they are nearly all of 
 babies: babies clothed and unclothed; babies with 
 bare feet and little night-shirts on; babies sucking 
 their thumbs; babies lying prone on fur carriage- 
 rugs; babies riding on their mammas' backs, or 
 sitting on their mammas' knees; babies crowing or 
 crying. No one who has a baby ever fails to send 
 this maiden lady a photograph of it. 
 
 53
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 Miss Lydia settled me with some cushions in my 
 chair, and shut the doerway leading to her bedroom 
 beyond, where I caught sight of a painted iron bed- 
 stead, and a small indiarubber hot-water bottle 
 hanging from one of its knobs. It is Miss Lydia's 
 most cherished possession, and she generally speaks 
 of it reverently as " the comfort of my life." 
 
 Poor Miss Lydia ! Hers must, I think, be a lonely 
 life sacrificed patiently to an invalid and almost 
 inarticulate sister, and yet it is the very solitude of 
 this little chamber which is one of the few privileges 
 to which she lays claim. It is to this little room, 
 with its humble furnishings, that all her troubles are 
 taken, and it is here by the window that she can sit 
 with folded hands and think perhaps of something in 
 life which surely poor Lydia has missed. It is here 
 she prays for those whose sins weigh far more 
 heavily upon her than they do upon themselves, and 
 it is here that she can pause and question with 
 gentle faith the perplexities of life. 
 
 Miss Lydia tells my sister that she makes a 
 thorough examination of her room every night before 
 she goes to bed, to see if there is a burglar concealed 
 anywhere. The movable property in the tiny house 
 is probably not worth many pounds, as a pawn- 
 broker appraises things, and it would be a hardened 
 
 54
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 thief that could deprive the sisters of their small 
 possessions; but the dread remains the dread of 
 burglars and the dread of mice. Were it not for the 
 look of the thing, she would almost rather discover a 
 burglar than a mouse " for at least burglars are 
 human," she explains, " and one might be able to 
 reason with them or pray for them, but who shall 
 control the goings of a mouse ? " 
 
 Sometimes the hours of darkness are quite a terror 
 to Lydia Blind, and she once said that she felt so 
 defenceless, that she thought it would be a great 
 comfort to have a male defender to protect her from 
 these nightly fears. 
 
 It is the only improper remark she ever made, and 
 it makes her blush in the dark when she thinks of it. 
 She believes everyone remembers it with as vivid a 
 distinctness as she does, and she trembles to think 
 what sort of construction may have been put upon 
 her words by ill-natured or thoughtless persons. It 
 is a real trouble to her ; but then all her troubles are 
 real, and so are her bitter repentances over perfectly 
 imaginary sins. But she has her little room and her 
 hot-water bottle life has its consolations. 
 
 55
 
 KATE JAMIESON, who is the independent member of 
 The Family, and has been in a situation for some 
 years as companion to a lady at Bath, has written 
 home what she calls a " joint letter " to apprise the 
 whole of her family at one and the same time that 
 she is engaged to be married. The excitement which 
 this letter produced in the little household is hardly 
 possible to describe. The news arrived when the 
 Jamiesons were at breakfast. Perhaps I should 
 mention, before going any further, that the Jamie- 
 sons' only extravagance is to take in three daily 
 papers. One is an evening paper, which arrives at 
 breakfast-time, and the other two are morning 
 publications, which arrive at the same hour. It is 
 customary for the members of this Family each to 
 read their own particular paper aloud during the 
 entire meal ; the rest of the party read their letters to 
 each other, and there are still left several voices to 
 demand what you will have for breakfast, to inquire 
 how you have slept, and to comment upon the 
 weather. So that from half -past eight until nine a 
 cross-fire of conversation is going on all the time. . . . 
 
 56
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " I see Hearne has scored sixty-eight at cricket, not 
 out. That's not bad, you know. Kent ought to be 
 looking up. The Australians are doing well. York- 
 shire might do better. Extraordinary! Here's this 
 chap who promised so well, bowled for a duck ! " 
 This from the eldest son of the House of Jamieson; 
 while at precisely the same moment may be heard 
 the voice of Maud : " I must say I am rather 
 astonished at the way boleros have remained in. This 
 is one of the prettiest designs I have seen this year. 
 How soon one gets accustomed to small sleeves. 
 Well, I cannot say I like these Chesterfield fronts." 
 
 Mrs. Jamieson is meanwhile reading aloud the 
 columns of births, deaths, and marriages from be- 
 ginning to end. Her limited acquaintance with the 
 outside world might seem to preclude her from any 
 vivid interest in those who must necessarily only be 
 names to her, yet she finds subject-matter for com- 
 ment through the entire perusal of the column. 
 Needless to say, Mrs. Jamieson inclines to regard 
 only the sadder aspects of these natural occurrences, 
 and her comments thereupon are full of a sort of 
 resigned melancholy. From her corner of the table 
 may be heard the plaintive words : " Here's a young 
 fellow of twenty-four taken," or, " fourscore years, 
 well, well, and then passed away ! " While the 
 
 57
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 happier news of birth provokes her to hark back to 
 an announcement of a similar nature in the family, 
 perhaps only a year ago, and to talk of the responsi- 
 bilities and the expense that the poor young couple 
 will have to undergo. Mettie, who spends the greater 
 part of every day writing letters, and whose chief 
 joy in life is to receive them, reads the whole of her 
 correspondence aloud from beginning to end, while 
 Margaret Jamieson, behind the teapot, is letting off 
 rapid volleys of questions respecting individual 
 tastes about cream and sugar, and the Pirate Boy 
 offers ham and eggs or sausages in a deep stentorian 
 bass. 
 
 In the midst of this confusion of noise, when only 
 a Jamieson, whose ear is curiously trained to it, can 
 possibly hear what is being said, Mrs. Jamieson 
 bursts into tears, and, in the strong Kentish dialect 
 of her youth, exclaims : " Here's our Kate going to 
 be married ! " 
 
 After the first burst of delighted surprise there is a 
 family feeling of apology towards Maud. That 
 Kate should marry first is surely a little disloyal to 
 the beauty of The Family, and Mrs. Jamieson goes 
 so far as to say : " Never mind, Maud, your turn will 
 be the next." 
 
 After that they all, singly and severally, recall 
 
 '
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 their previously expressed opinion that they knew 
 something was up, and that certainly Kate could not 
 have given them a more pleasant or more unexpected 
 surprise. 
 
 The letter is then read aloud, and it is so long that 
 one is glad to think that the absent Kate did not 
 attempt to duplicate it, but contented herself with 
 the Pauline method of one general epistle. With 
 The Family characteristic of telling everything ex- 
 haustively, Kate writes : 
 
 " Mr. Ward is not at all bad-looking ; a little blue 
 about the cheeks, when not particular about shaving 
 regularly you see, I am telling you everything quite 
 candidly but, of course, I can remedy all these 
 defects when we are married. He has a short brown 
 moustache, and rather a conical-shaped head." 
 (This is a fault that one feels Kate will not be able 
 to remedy, even when she has married him.) " He 
 looks clever, though I do not think he is, very; he 
 is well-connected, but does not know all his best 
 relations. Poor, but with generous instincts " one 
 feels as though a chiroraancist were reading a 
 client's palm " well-read, but without power of con- 
 veying intelligence to others; hair thin, and, I 
 am afraid, false teeth ; very religious, but I consider 
 
 59
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 this in him more temperament than anything else. 
 He has had a hard life, and not always enough to 
 eat, until his uncle died, but now he could be quite 
 independent if he liked, but he prefers the position 
 which a Government appointment gives him. 
 
 " I hope to bring him down to stay when I return ; 
 please let him have the south bedroom, as that is the 
 warmest, and I do not think James is very strong. 
 I should like him to have a fire at night I can 
 arrange that with mother, as I feel quite well off, 
 now. We are to be married in July, and I am giving 
 up my post here at once, so as to see something of 
 you all before I go away." 
 
 At this point the letter referred once more to Mr. 
 Ward's personal appearance, and the description 
 was of so great length that when Margaret Jamieson, 
 who had run all the way from her home to ours to 
 give it to us to read, asked me breathlessly what I 
 thought about it, I determined to leave unread the 
 remaining paragraphs, and to judge for myself of 
 the bridegroom when he should come to Belmont and 
 we should be invited to meet him. 
 
 " There is one thing," said Mrs. Jamieson, when at 
 the request of The Family Palestrina went to sit 
 with her one afternoon a few weeks later to support 
 
 60
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 her through the trying ordeal of waiting for Kate 
 and " James," as he is now familiarly called, to 
 arrive ; " the girls have nothing to be ashamed of in 
 their home." She looked with a certain amount of 
 pardonable pride at the clean white curtains, and we 
 gathered that we were meant to comment upon their 
 early appearance. The white curtains, Palestrina 
 says, are not usually put up at Belmont until the 
 first week in May. 
 
 " They look very handsome," I said. It was a 
 Jamieson afternoon very wet, but clearing up about 
 sundown, and Palestrina had suggested my escorting 
 her as far as Belmont. But the rain came down in 
 torrents again when I would have started to return 
 home, and the good Jamiesons begged me to stay, 
 to avoid the chance of a chill, and to meet James. 
 
 " It is the first break in the family," said Mrs. 
 Jamieson tearfully, " since poor Robert died. But, 
 as James says, he hopes I am gaining a son, and not 
 losing a daughter." From which I gathered that 
 James was a gentleman given to uttering rather a 
 stale form of platitude. 
 
 All were waiting in a state of great trepidation the 
 arrival of the engaged couple, and it was quite hope- 
 less to avoid the encounter, for the rain descended in 
 sheets outside, and preparations for supper seemed to 
 
 61
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 be going on in the dining-room at Belmont. It was 
 decided, by universal consent, that only Mrs. Jamie- 
 son and Palestrina and I should be in the drawing- 
 room at the moment when they should enter. The 
 presence of strangers, it was thought, would make it 
 easier for James at the meeting where all were kins- 
 folk, except himself. With their usual consideration, 
 The Family decided that the rest of their large 
 number should afterwards drop in casually, two by 
 two, and be introduced to the new brother-in-law 
 without ceremony. Mrs. Jamieson, who had not 
 left the house that day, nor for many days pre- 
 viously, having been absorbed in preparations for the 
 expected guest, was dressed in a bonnet and her 
 favourite jacket with the storm-collar which, as she 
 explained to my sister, took away from the roundness 
 of her face and gave her confidence. 
 
 Her habitual shyness, added to her fears of the 
 unknown in the shape of the future son-in-law, had 
 wrought her into a sort of rigid state in which con- 
 versation seemed impossible, and although we did 
 our best to divert her attention, I am doubtful if she 
 heard a word we said. 
 
 " They should be here soon," I remarked pres- 
 ently. 
 
 Mrs. Jamieson, following some line of thought of 
 62
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 her own, remarked that the first marriage in a family 
 was almost like a death; and to this mournful 
 analogy I gave assent. 
 
 " Kate says he is quite a gentleman," hazarded 
 Mrs. Jamieson, still rigid, and now white with 
 anxiety and shyness. 
 
 I found myself replying, without overdone bril- 
 liance, that that seemed a good thing. 
 
 The sands of Mrs. Jamieson's courage were run- 
 ning very low. " I hope he is not one of your 
 grandees," she said apprehensively ; " I would not 
 like to think of Kate not being up to him. But their 
 father was a gentleman the most perfect gentleman 
 I ever knew, and I have always that to think of. 
 Still, a gentlemanly man is all I want for any of 
 my girls, with no difference between the two fam- 
 ilies." 
 
 Sometimes in this way Mrs. Jamieson gives one an 
 unexpected insight into the difficulties of her life, 
 and one feels that even her admiration for her 
 daughters may be tinged with a slight feeling of 
 being their inferior. I have heard her say, making 
 use of a French expression such as she hazards so 
 courageously, that there is something of the "grown 
 dam about Maud " ; and perhaps the loyal admira- 
 tion thus expressed may have been mingled with 
 
 63
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 another sensation, not so pleasurable to the farmer's 
 daughter. 
 
 I endeavoured to follow the intricacies of her train 
 of thought, but the station omnibus had stopped at 
 the gate, and the moment of supreme excitement had 
 arrived. 
 
 Kate entered first. This was probably the crown- 
 ing moment of her life. She came in with a little 
 air of assurance that already suggested the married 
 woman, and, having kissed her mother, she said, in a 
 proprietary sort of way : " This is Mr. Ward, 
 mamma." 
 
 Mr. Ward has a curious way of walking on his 
 toes; he came into the room as though tip-toeing 
 across some muddy crossing on a wet day, and 
 shook hands with a degree of nervousness that made 
 even Mrs. Jamieson appear bold. One can hardly 
 be surprised at Kate having mentioned that he has a 
 conical-shaped head, for it is of the most strange 
 pear-shape, and the sparse hair hangs from a ridge 
 behind like a fringe. He sat down and locked his 
 knees firmly together, with his clasped hands tightly 
 wedged between them, while Kate made inquiries 
 about the rest of the family, and I plunged heavily 
 into remarks about the weather, and the state of the 
 roads. It was a great relief when two of the sisters 
 
 64
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 entered in their best silk blouses, even although they 
 repeated exactly what I had said a moment before 
 about the weather and the mud. Five minutes 
 later, according to preconceived arrangement, two 
 other sisters came in and were kissed by Kate, and 
 introduced by her to James. We had unconsciously 
 taken up our position in two straight lines facing 
 James, and it was no exaggeration to say that by this 
 time shyness was causing great beads of perspiration 
 to stand out on poor James's pear-shaped head. 
 " Surely they will spare him any more introductions 
 before supper," I thought; but the door had again 
 opened, and Mettie and Pirate Boy entered, and 
 some unhappy chance was causing these last comers 
 to comment upon the weather and the state of the 
 roads, and to extend the line of chairs now facing 
 James. We began to make feverish little remarks 
 to each other, as though we were all strangers, and 
 Palestrina asked Eliza if she were fond of dancing. 
 George Jamieson, the eldest brother, was the last to 
 enter the room, and Kate said : * 4 George, I am sure 
 James would like to unpack before supper ; " and the 
 unhappy James tip-toed out between the two lines of 
 chairs, with his eyes fixed upon the carpet. 
 
 " Well? " said Kate. And as The Family was The 
 Family of Jamieson, that of course was a signal for 
 
 65
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 each member of it to say the kindest thing that could 
 possibly be said for the new arrival. Margaret found 
 that he had kind eyes. And Eliza said : " Not intel- 
 lectual, but a good man." Eliza, it must be re- 
 marked in passing, is the intellectual sister, with a 
 passion for accurate information, and for looking up 
 facts in the " Encyclopaedia Britannica." Maud 
 found that even his shyness was in his favour, and 
 disliked men who made themselves at home at once. 
 Mettie remarked that marriage was a great risk. 
 This is one of poor little Mettie's platitudes, which 
 she makes with faithful regularity upon all occasions. 
 The Pirate Boy preferred, perhaps, a more robust 
 development, and, throwing out his own chest, he 
 beat it with a good deal of violence, and said he 
 would like to put on the gloves with Mr. Ward. 
 Mrs. Jamieson could be got to say nothing but 
 " Poor fellow, poor fellow ! " at intervals. But 
 Gracie, the youngest daughter, remarked that she 
 was sure that they would all get to like him im- 
 mensely in time. 
 
 Kate looked grateful, and spoke with her usual 
 fine common sense. " What I say is," she remarked, 
 " that of course no one sees James's faults more 
 clearly than I do, but then I don't see why any of us 
 should expect perfection. We haven't much to offer : 
 
 66
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 I am sure I have neither looks, nor money, nor any- 
 thing. And, after all, it's nice to think of one of us 
 getting married and I was no bother about it," said 
 the independent Kate. " I mean, The Family had 
 not to help, or chaperone me, or ask James down to 
 stay." 
 
 The sisters assented to this in a very hearty, con- 
 gratulatory sort of way, and then, as the rain had 
 ceased, I took my leave, but Palestrina was per- 
 suaded to stay and have supper. Kennie offered, in 
 a doughty fashion, to see me home. The boy's 
 kindness of heart constitutes him my defender upon 
 many occasions, and he always looks disappointed if 
 I do not take his arm. I do not think that the 
 peaceful country road in the waning twilight could 
 be considered a dangerous one, even to a cripple like 
 myself; but Kennie, armed with a large stick and 
 wearing a curious felt hat turned up at one side, 
 appeared a most truculent defender, and regarded 
 with suspicion all the pedestrians whom we met. 
 Did but a country cart pass us, Kennie made a move- 
 ment to ward off the danger of a collision with his 
 arm. There is something in my helpless condition 
 which, quite unconsciously I believe, produces a very 
 valorous frame of mind in the Pirate, and he be- 
 guiled the whole of the way home with stories of 
 
 67
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 his own prowess, and the hair-breadth escapes which 
 he has had. 
 
 " I only once," he said, " had to take a human life 
 in self-defence. Curiously enough " Kennie's voice 
 deepened, and he spoke with the air of a man who 
 will spare a weak fellow-mortal all he can in the 
 telling of his tale, and he enunciated all his words 
 with a measured calm which was very impressive 
 " curiously enough, it was on the Thames Embank- 
 ment ! " Kennie cleared his throat, and, dropping 
 the deep bass voice of reminiscence, he began the 
 history in a high-pitched tone of narrative. " I was 
 walking home alone one night from the City, when a 
 very strange, low fellow accosted me and asked me 
 for some money. The man's destitute appearance 
 appealed to me, and, unfortunately, I gave him 
 threepence. I suppose the action was about as 
 dangerous a thing as I could have done. It showed 
 that I had money, and I was practically defenceless 
 while feeling my pockets. The Embankment at 
 that time of the evening was almost deserted; I 
 could see the shipping in the river and the lights, 
 and even passing cabs, but I was strangely alone, 
 and still the man followed me. At last, in despera- 
 tion, I raised my stick to drive him from me, and the 
 next moment he had grappled with me! Instantly 
 
 68
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 my blood was up ! " The Pirate Boy stood still in 
 the middle of the high-road, and went through a 
 series of very forcible pantomimic gestures, and with 
 awful facial contortions, indicative of violent exer- 
 tions, he raised some imaginary object above his 
 head and flung it from him. " The next moment," 
 said Kennie, " I heard a splash. I had vanquished 
 the man, and flung him far from me, straight from 
 the Thames Embankment into the river." 
 
 I was prepared to make an exclamation, but was 
 prevented by Kennie, who said, in a dramatic sort 
 of way, " Wait ! " and went on with his story. " My 
 instinct was to plunge after him, but I heard no 
 sound, no cry, and from that day to this that strug- 
 gle by the water's edge remains as one of the most 
 vivid experiences of my life in England, at least. 
 But the man's end remains a mystery : I can tell you 
 nothing more of him." 
 
 " I think I would have fished the poor wretch 
 out," I said, and moved onwards on our walk, our 
 pause in the public highway having lasted a consid- 
 erable time. 
 
 " One learns rough justice out there," said Kennie. 
 
 69
 
 Chapter V 
 
 Miss TAYLOR was really responsible for the forma- 
 tion of the Stowel Reading Society, but Eliza 
 Jamieson was her staunch supporter. Eliza drew 
 the line at poetry and metaphysics, " Neither of 
 which," she said, " I consider an exact science." 
 
 Miss Taylor said : " But it is not a scientific 
 course that I propose ; it is English Literature in its 
 fullest sense. I do think that Stowel is getting 
 behind the rest of the world in its knowledge of the 
 best literature, and I am sure that if a Reading 
 Society were founded, The Uncle would be pleased 
 to choose books and send them to us from Lon- 
 don." 
 
 To no one, perhaps, is the specializing definite 
 article felt to be more appropriate than to Sir John. 
 It seems to distinguish him from ordinary human 
 beings; and it is felt to be indicative of a consider- 
 able amount of good taste and good feeling on the 
 part of the Taylors, to drop the General's title when 
 conversing with their intimate friends, and to refer 
 to him merely as " The Uncle." When we call upon 
 the Taylors we always ask how The Uncle is. 
 
 70
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 Eliza Jamieson became the society's secretary and 
 treasurer in one, and she it was who in her neat hand 
 transcribed the letter, which all had helped to com- 
 pose, to ask The Uncle what works in English 
 literature it would be advisable for the Reading 
 Society to get. His reply was read aloud at one of 
 the first meetings, and each eulogized it in turn as 
 being " courtly," " gentlemanly," " manly," and 
 " concise." It could not but be felt, however, that as 
 a guide to a choice of literature the letter was dis- 
 appointing : 
 
 " DEAR MADAM " (it ran), 
 
 " I much regret that I am unable to help you 
 in any way about your books. I read very little 
 myself, except the newspapers, though I occasionally 
 take a dip into one of my old favourites by Charles 
 Lever. I think a cookery-book is the most useful 
 reading for a young lady, and she would be best 
 employed studying that, and not filling her head 
 with nonsense. That is the advice of a very old 
 fellow, who remembers many charming girls years 
 ago, who knew nothing about advanced culture. . ." 
 
 It was a distinct salve to the Society's feelings to 
 note that the letter was written on paper stamped 
 
 71
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 with the address of a military club, and instead of 
 copying it, and making an entry of it in the minutes 
 of the reading Society, it was pasted into the note- 
 book, as it was thought the autograph and the crest 
 were " interesting." 
 
 Since the foundation of the Reading Society there 
 has followed a period during which the young ladies 
 of Stowel have written essays, and met in each 
 other's drawing-rooms to read poetry aloud, to their 
 own individual satisfaction and to the torture of 
 other ears. 
 
 Mrs. Fielden did not join the society, her plea 
 being that poetry is merely prose with the stops in 
 the wrong places, and therefore very fatiguing to 
 read, and very obscure in its meaning. But Eliza 
 has worn us out with books of reference, and we 
 have become so learned and so full of culture, 
 that it is impossible to say where it will all end. 
 My own library has been ransacked for books I 
 think it is the fact of my having a library that has 
 made our house a sort of centre for the Reading 
 Society. We criticise freely all contemporary litera- 
 ture, and base our preference for any book upon its 
 " vigorous Saxon style." 
 
 Eliza has written two reviews for the local news- 
 paper, pointing out some mistakes in grammar in 
 
 72
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 one of the greatest novels of the day, and this 
 naturally makes us feel very proud of Eliza. Those 
 of us who plead for an easy flowing style, consider 
 that she has an almost hypersensitive ear for errors 
 in the use of the English accidence. A split infini- 
 tive has, heretofore, hardly arrested our attention; 
 now we shudder at its use, while the misuse of the 
 word to " aggravate," which up to the present we 
 believed in all simplicity to mean to " annoy," causes 
 the gravest offence when employed in the wrong 
 sense. Books from the circulating library have been 
 known to be treated almost like proof-sheets, and 
 corrections are jotted down in pencil on the margin 
 of the leaves. Even the notes which ladies send to 
 each other are subject to revision at the hands of the 
 recipient. Ordinary conversation is now hardly 
 known in Stowel, and tea-parties take the form of 
 discussions. The spring weather is so warm that I 
 generally have my long chair taken on to the lawn 
 in the afternoons, and tea is sometimes brought 
 out there when the meetings of the Reading Society 
 are over. But tea, and even pound-cake, are thrown 
 away upon young ladies who partake of it absently, 
 and to whom all things material and mundane these 
 words are often used must now be offered with a 
 feeling of apology. 
 
 73
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 Major Jacobs rode over to see me this afternoon, 
 and we had not long enjoyed the repose of long 
 chairs and cigarettes under the medlar-tree, and the 
 songs of birds which have begun nesting very early 
 this year, and the quiet rumbling of heavy waggons 
 that pass sometimes in the high-road beyond the 
 garden, when the Reading Society in a body joined 
 us from the house, and I heard my sister give direc- 
 tions for tea to be brought out on to the lawn. The 
 other day I heard Palestrina tell a friend of hers 
 that she nearly always contrived to have someone to 
 tea, or to sit with Hugo in the afternoon, and my 
 sister's satisfaction increases in direct proportion to 
 the number of people who come. 
 
 We had hardly finished tea before Frances Taylor 
 said suddenly, yet with the manner of one who has 
 risen to make a speech on a platform : " Was Cole- 
 ridge a genius or a crank?" 
 
 Eliza, assuming the deep frown of learning which 
 is quite common amongst us nowadays, was upon 
 her in a moment, and said emphatically : " How 
 would you define a genius ? " The Socratic habit of 
 asking for a definition is one that is always adopted 
 during our discussions, and it is generally asked for 
 in the tone of voice in which one says " check " 
 .when playing chess. Frances Taylor was quite ready 
 
 74
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 for Eliza, and said : " Genius, I think, is like some 
 star " 
 
 " Analogy is not argument ! " Eliza pounced 
 upon her in the voice that said, " I take your pawn." 
 
 It will be noticed, I fear, that in Stowel we are 
 not altogether original in our arguments many of 
 them can be traced, alas ! to the Encyclopaedia 
 Britannica, and they are not often the outcome of 
 original thought. 
 
 Frances Taylor's king was once more in check, 
 and she became a little nervous and irritable. " I do 
 not think we need go into definitions," she said; but 
 Eliza had gone in doors to " look it up." She re- 
 turned presently with a dictionary, walking across 
 the lawn towards us with it held close to her near- 
 sighted eyes. " A genius," she began, and then she 
 glanced disparagingly at the title of the book, and 
 said, " according to Webster, that is but I do not 
 know if we ought to accept him as a final authority 
 is explained as being ' a peculiar structure of mind 
 which is given by Nature to an individual which 
 qualifies him for a particular employment ; a strength 
 of mind, uncommon powers of intellect, particularly 
 the power of invention.' A ' crank,' " she went on, 
 "in its modern meaning seems hardly to have 
 been known to the writer of this dictionary; the 
 
 75
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 word is rendered literally, as meaning ' a bend, or 
 turn.' " 
 
 " Then I submit," said Miss Taylor, " that Cole- 
 ridge was a genius." 
 
 Miss Tracey said, in a very sprightly manner 
 she often astonished us by showing a subtle turn of 
 mind, and a graceful aptitude for epigram, which, it 
 is believed, would only find its proper field in those 
 salons which are now, alas, things of the past : " Let 
 us write him down a genius and a crank ! The two " 
 she advanced her daring view bravely " the two 
 are often allied." She had a volume of Coleridge on 
 her bookshelves, and prided herself upon her appre- 
 ciation unusual in a woman of the " Ancient 
 Mariner." 
 
 " A genius in italics and a crank followed by a 
 mark of interrogation ! " said Eliza, in a brilliant 
 fashion, and Miss Taylor, not to be beaten in a 
 matter of intellect, said at once : " Did Bacon write 
 Shakespeare's plays?" 
 
 Mrs. Gallup and Mr. Lee were quoted extensively. 
 
 Miss Taylor could only suggest, with a good deal 
 of quiet dignity, that she could write to The Uncle 
 and find out who is right. This, of course, closes 
 the controversy for the present. 
 
 George Jamieson, who goes to town every day, 
 76
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 gains advanced views from the magazines which he 
 reads during his dinner-hour in the City, and he is 
 a great assistance to the Reading Society. I con- 
 tribute the use of my library, and I have heard the 
 members of the Reading Society say that " women 
 are the true leaders of the present movement, and 
 already their influence is being felt by the male 
 mind." 
 
 George brought with him the current number of 
 the Nineteenth Century Magazine when he came home 
 last Friday, instead of Pearson's or the Strand, and 
 already there are whispers of a Magazine Club in 
 Stowel. Miss Frances Taylor received nothing but 
 books on her last birthday, and Palestrina told me a 
 pathetic little story of how Gracie Jamieson went 
 without a pair of shoes to buy a copy of Browning. 
 Perhaps the climax of culture and learning was felt 
 only to have been reached when Eliza introduced 
 the expression " Hypothesis of Purpose " into an 
 ordinary conversation at the conclusion of one of the 
 meetings of the Reading Society. 
 
 After this, as Palestrina remarked, it was quite 
 refreshing to hear that the curate's wife had got a 
 new baby. It was born last Sunday, and the anixous 
 father spent his days bicycling wildly to and fro 
 between his own house and the church, hopelessly 
 
 77
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 confusing his reading of the service, and then flying 
 back to inquire for his wife's health. Led by him, 
 we prayed successively for fine weather and for rain, 
 while the Sunday-school teachers' meeting was 
 announced for 2 a.m. on the following Saturday, and 
 the Coal Club notices were inextricably confused 
 with the publishing of banns of marriage. After each 
 service the distracted little man would leap on his 
 bicycle again, and, scattering the departing congre- 
 gation with his bicycle bell, he was off down the hill 
 to his house. His perturbation was nothing as com- 
 pared with the confusion at home, where, so far as I 
 could make out, the bewildered household did nothing 
 but run up and down stairs, and madly offer each 
 other cups of tea. 
 
 My sister's kind heart suggested that we should 
 have Peggy, the eldest child, to stay with us till her 
 mother should be better. Is it necessary to mention 
 the fact that Palestrina is fat and very pretty, and 
 that she spoils me dreadfully? Do I want a book, I 
 generally find that Palestrina has written for it, 
 almost before I had realized that life was a wilder- 
 ness without it. I have never known her out of 
 temper, nor anything else but placid and serene. 
 And she has a low, gurgling laugh, and a certain 
 way of saying : " Oh, that will be very nice ! " to any 
 
 78
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 proposal that one makes, which one must admit 
 makes her a very charming, and a very easy, person 
 to live with. She is fond of children, and she an- 
 nounced to Peggy, with a beaming smile, this morn- 
 ing, that she had a new little brother. 
 
 Peggy went on quietly with her breakfast for some 
 time without making any remark; then she gave a 
 little sigh, and said : " Mamma thought she had 
 enough children already, but I suppose God thought 
 otherwise." 
 
 Peggy has been in low spirits all day, and, closely 
 following some line of reasoning of her own, she has 
 flatly refused to say her prayers at bed-time. 
 
 Mrs. Fielden rode over to see us this morning, in 
 her dark habit, and neat boots, which she loves to 
 tap with her riding-crop. No illness ever troubles 
 Mrs. Fielden ; her colour is always perfect, and, with- 
 out being muscular-looking, she is the most perfectly 
 healthy-looking human being that I have ever seen. 
 She came into the dim hall like the embodiment of 
 Spring or of Life. She sat down in her oddly- 
 shaped habit, her neat riding-boots showing almost 
 up to the knee, as though she were at home, and 
 was in no hurry to go off anywhere else. This gives 
 a feeling of repose to a sick man. One knew that 
 
 79
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 she would probably stop to luncheon, and that one 
 would not have to say to her half a dozen times in 
 the morning, " Please don't go." 
 
 Presently Margaret Jamieson, who had been doing 
 the whole work of the curate's household during the 
 late trying time, came with the baby in her arms to 
 show him to Palestrina. Her manner had a charming 
 air of matronliness about it, and she threw back the 
 fretted silk of the veil that covered the face of the 
 little creature in her arms, with an air of pride that 
 was rather pretty to see. But Eliza, who had raced 
 over to our house in the Jamieson usual head-long 
 fashion, to say something to us on the subject of 
 textual criticism, looked severely at the infant 
 through her glasses, and remarked that she had no 
 sympathy whatever with that sort of thing. Mar- 
 garet hugged the baby closer to her, and Mettie, who 
 had pattered over to see us with her cousin Eliza, 
 remarked that children were doubtless one of the 
 great risks of matrimony. 
 
 " I am sure," said Eliza, " when one sees how 
 happy Kate is with James, it makes one feel that the 
 risk is not so very great, after all." 
 
 That there should be an element of sarcasm in this 
 remark, did not even suggest itself to Eliza. 
 
 " We should all be thankful," piped forth Mettie, 
 80
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 who is always ready to talk, " that it has turned out 
 so well. Kate's courage and independence of mind 
 seem best suited to Mr. Ward. But that is what I 
 think about us all at Belmont; our characteristics 
 are so different, that any gentleman coming amongst 
 us might find something to attract him in one, if not 
 in the others. Margaret is our home-bird, and Eliza 
 
 is so cultured, and Kate " 
 
 The two Miss Jamiesons were looking very uncom- 
 fortable, and Margaret said : " Oh, Mettie, dear ! " 
 while Mrs. Fielden made an excuse for walking over 
 to the piano. There was a piece of music open upon 
 it. " Do sing it," she said to Palestrina. 
 
 THE GAY TOM-TIT 
 A torn-tit lived in a tip-top tree, 
 And a mad little, bad little bird was he. 
 He'd bachelor tastes, but then oh dear! 
 He'd a gay little way with the girls, I fear! 
 Now a Jenny wren lived on a branch below, 
 And it's plain she was vain as ladies go, 
 
 For she pinched her waist and she rouged a bit, 
 With a sigh for the eye of that gay torn-tit. 
 She sighed "Oh my!" 
 She sighed "Ah me!" 
 
 While the torn-tit sat on his tip-top tree-tree-tree. 
 And she piped her eye 
 A bit-bit-bit 
 For the love of that gay tom-tit-tit-tit 
 
 81
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 She saw that her rouge did not attract, 
 So she tried to decide how next to act: 
 
 She donned a stiff collar and fancy shirt 
 And she wore, what is more, a divided skirt. 
 Then she bought cigarettes and a big latch-key, 
 And she said, " He'll be bound to notice me ! " 
 But she found her plan did not work one bit, 
 For he sneered, as I feared, did that gay torn-tit 
 He sneered " Oh my ! " 
 He sneered "Oh lor!" 
 
 "What on earth has she gone and done that for-for-for?" 
 And he winked his eye 
 A bit-bit-bit, 
 That giddy and gay tom-tit-tit-tit. 
 
 "Alas! no more," said the poor young wren, 
 " Will I ape the shape of heartless men ! " 
 So she flung cigarettes and big latch-key 
 With a flop from the top of that great green tree. 
 And she wouldn't use rouge or pinch her waist, 
 But she dressed to the best of a simple taste; 
 Then she learned to cook and sew and knit 
 " What a pearl of a girl ! " said the gay torn-tit. 
 Said he, " Good day ! " 
 Said she, "How do?" 
 
 They were very soon friends, these two-two-two. 
 And I'm bound to say 
 In a bit-bit-bit, 
 She married that gay tom-tit-tit-tit. j 
 
 Thus sang Palestrina. 
 
 " Ethically considered, my dear Palestrina," said 
 Eliza, " that song is distinctly immoral." 
 
 82
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " Don't let us consider it ethically," said Pales- 
 trina tranquilly; and she went over and sat in the 
 corner of the sofa with several pillows at her back. 
 
 " Ethically considered," repeated Eliza, " that 
 song, if one pursues its teachings to a logical con- 
 clusion, can only mean that all female social develop- 
 ment is impossible, and that the whole reason for a 
 woman's existence is that she may gratify man." 
 
 " They are really not worth it," murmured Mrs. 
 Fielden, who was in a frivolous mood. 
 
 " And mark you," said Eliza, in quite the best of 
 the Reading Society manner, " it does not suggest 
 that that gratification may be inspired either by our 
 beauty, or by our intellect; indeed, it proves that 
 such powers are worthless to inspire it. It postulates 
 the hypothesis " Eliza is really splendid " that 
 man is a brute whose appreciation can only be 
 secured by ministering to his desire for food and suit- 
 able clothing, and that woman's whole business is to 
 render this creature complacent." 
 
 " Don't you think things are much pleasanter when 
 people are complacent? " said my sister. 
 
 Eliza fixed her with strong, dark eyes. " Were I 
 describing you in a book," she said one feels as 
 though Eliza will write a book, probably a clever 
 one, some day " I should describe you as a typical 
 
 83
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 woman, and therefore a pudding. A dear, tepid 
 pudding, with a pink sauce over it. Very sweet, no 
 doubt, but squashy decidedly squashy. Some 
 day," said Eliza triumphantly, " you will be squashed 
 into mere pulp, and you will not like that." 
 
 This did not seem to be a likely end to Palestrina. 
 Eliza continued: "Who will deny that men are 
 selfish? " 
 
 " But they are also useful," said Mrs. Fielden, in 
 an ingenuous way. " They open doors for one, don't 
 you know, and give one the front row when 
 there is anything to be seen, even when one wears a 
 big hat; and they see one into one's carriage oh! 
 and lots of other useful little things of that sort." 
 
 " Admitted," said Eliza, " that women have cer- 
 tain privileges have they any Rights ? " 
 
 Mrs. Fielden admitted that they had not. *' But," 
 she said, " I don't really think that that matters 
 much. The men one knows are always nice to one, 
 and I don't think it matters much what the others 
 are." 
 
 " Rank individualism," said Eliza. And she said 
 it without a moment's hesitation, which gave us a 
 very high opinion indeed of her powers of speech. 
 " It is the fashion to say that each woman has only 
 one man to manage, and she must be a very stupid 
 
 84
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 woman if she cannot manage him; but there are 
 thousands of women, who, being weaker, morally 
 and physically, than their particular man, can do 
 nothing with him, and it is not fair to leave their 
 wrongs unredressed, so long as you are comfortable 
 and happy." 
 
 " Still, you know," said Mrs. Fielden thoughtfully, 
 " one cannot help wishing that they could get what 
 they want without involving us in the question. 
 You see, if they get their rights we should probably 
 get ours too, and then I'm afraid we should lose our 
 privileges." 
 
 " You are like the man," said I, " who could do 
 quite well without the necessaries of life, but he 
 could not do without its luxuries." 
 
 " What a nice man it must have been who said 
 that ! " exclaimed Mrs. Fielden. " It would be quite 
 easy to do without meat on one's table, but it would 
 be impossible to dine without flowers and dessert." 
 
 It must be admitted that Eliza had the last word 
 in the argument after all. 
 
 " Just so," she said ; " and all life shows just this 
 that a woman has, with her usual perverseness, 
 chosen a diet of flowers and dessert with intervals of 
 starvation, instead of wholesome meat and pudding." 
 
 85
 
 Chapter VI 
 
 " WE shall have to ask the engaged couple to din- 
 ner," I said to Palestrina one morning a few days 
 later. " And I suppose one or two more of the rest 
 of The Family would like to be asked at the same 
 time." 
 
 " I never know in what quantities one ought to ask 
 the Jamiesons," said my sister, " nor how to make a 
 proper selection. It seems invidious to suggest that 
 Kate and Eliza and Margaret should come, and not 
 Maud and Gracie ; and yet, what is one to do ? The 
 last time that you were away from home I wrote 
 and said, * Will a few of you come?' And Mrs. 
 Jamieson, the Pirate Boy, and four sisters came." 
 
 " One feels sure," I replied, " that the Jamiesons 
 thought this was quite a modest number to take 
 advantage of your invitation. One knows that had 
 they been inviting some girls from a boarding-school 
 they would have included the entire number of 
 pupils." 
 
 Palestrina protested that as the meal to which our 
 friends were to come was dinner, it would be only 
 reasonable to invite the same number of ladies and 
 
 86
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 gentlemen; and to this I assented. She suggested 
 asking the Darcey-Jacobs, whom we had not seen for 
 a long time. 
 
 Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs is a woman who always af- 
 fords one considerable inward amusement, being 
 herself, I believe, more conspicuously devoid of 
 humour than anyone else I have ever met. Mrs. 
 Darcey-Jacobs has never been known to see a joke. 
 That she herself should appear to anyone in a 
 humourous light, would, I know, appear an incon- 
 ceivable contingency to her. She has a high Roman 
 nose, and rather faded yellow hair, which was her 
 principal claim to beauty when a girl. It is even 
 now thick and long, and is always worn in a sort of 
 majestic coronet on the top of her head. Her man- 
 ner is somewhat formidable and emphatic, and the 
 alarm which this engenders in timid or diffident 
 persons is increased by the habit she has of accentu- 
 ating many of her remarks by a playful, but really 
 somewhat severe, rap over the knuckles of the person 
 she is addressing, with her fan or lorgnettes. She 
 dresses handsomely in expensive materials somewhat 
 gaudy in colour, and she has an erect carriage of 
 which she is very proud. Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs has 
 a good deal to say on the subject of the feeble- 
 mindedness of the male sex, and when something 
 
 87
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 has been proved impossible of attainment by them, 
 she always says, " a woman could have done it in 
 five minutes." 
 
 At the time of her marriage, Mrs. Darcey- Jacobs 
 (Miss Foljambe, she was then) was a dowerless 
 girl with two admirers, Major Jacobs and Mr. Mor- 
 gan. Not being, it would seem, a young lady of very 
 deep affections, her choice of a husband was decided 
 entirely by the extent of the worldly prospects he 
 could offer, and the Major, being the better match of 
 the two, was accepted. But how cruel are the tricks 
 that fate will sometimes play! Not long after her 
 marriage, Mr. Morgan not only inherited a large 
 fortune, but shortly afterwards left this world for a 
 better, and Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs is in the habit of 
 remarking, with a good deal of feeling, " If I had 
 only chosen the other I might have been a happy 
 widow now ! " 
 
 Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs lives in our quiet country 
 neighbourhood during the greater part of the year 
 on the distinct understanding that she loathes every 
 hour of it. When she goes abroad or to London she 
 talks quite cheerfully of having one breath of life. 
 And so fraught with happy successes are these pil- 
 grimages in her brocaded satin gowns into the outer 
 world, that she often says that were she but free 
 
 88
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 she might have the world at her feet to-morrow. 
 And she has been known to refer to the Major, still 
 in the tone of cheerful resignation and with her 
 emphasizing tap of the fan, as " a dead weight round 
 her neck." 
 
 The Major himself is a guileless person, whose 
 very simplicity causes his wife more exquisite suffer- 
 ing than even a husband of keen vindictive temper 
 could inflict. 
 
 Does Mrs. Jacobs give a dinner party, it is not 
 unusual for the master of the house to remark, in a 
 congratulatory tone from his end of the table, 
 " What has Mullens been doing to the silver, my 
 dear? it looks unusually bright!" While his greet- 
 ing to his frends as they arrive at his house, 
 though distinctly cordial, often takes the form of a 
 hearty " I had no idea that we were going to see you 
 to-night." As Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs always sends 
 some kind message from the Major in her notes of 
 invitation, this of course is most disconcerting, both 
 for her and for her guests. This year, when they 
 were in Italy, a friend of ours in the same hotel over- 
 heard a lady ask the Major if he were related to the 
 Darceys of Mugthorpe. " I really can't tell you," 
 said the Major; "the Darcey was my wife's idea." 
 
 " Four Jamiesons," I said, " and the Darcey- 
 89
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 Jacobs, and our two selves. Isn't it humiliating to 
 think that we have invariably to invite the same two 
 men to balance our numbers at a dinner party? I 
 can't help remarking that Anthony Crawshay and 
 Ellicomb are present at every dinner-party in this 
 neighbourhood, as surely as soup is on the table." 
 
 " We might ask Mrs. Fielden," said Palestrina ; 
 " she is sure to have some Colonels with her ; besides, 
 I like Mrs. Fielden, though people say she is a flirt. 
 I think most men are in love with her ; some propose 
 to her, and some do not, but they all love her." 
 
 " Even when she refuses to marry them? " 
 
 " I have heard Mrs. Fielden say that an offer of 
 marriage should be refused artistically," said Pales- 
 trina. " She says young girls hardly ever do it 
 properly, and that they are brusque and brutal. I 
 suppose she herself has some charming way of her 
 own of refusing men which does not hurt their 
 feelings. I believe," said Palestrina, " that she 
 would marry Sir Anthony Crawshay if he could play 
 Bridge." 
 
 " Anthony is an excellent fellow," I said. 
 
 Mr. Ellicomb is a young man of High Church 
 principles and artistic tastes, who has taken an old 
 Tudor farmhouse in the neighbourhood, and has 
 furnished it very well. He waxes eloquent on the 
 
 90
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 monstrous inelegance of modern dress, and the 
 decadence of Japanese art, and he says he would 
 rather sit in the dark than burn gas in his house, 
 and he dusts his own blue china himself. In his 
 house it is a sign of art to divert anything from its 
 proper use, and to use it for another purpose than 
 that for which it was originally intended. Poor 
 Ellicomb uses a cabbage-strainer as a fern pot, a 
 drain-tile for an umbrella stand, his mother's old 
 lace veils as antimacassars; bed posts as palm- 
 stands, a linen press as a book-case, and a brass 
 spittoon for growing lilies. It is almost like playing 
 at guessing riddles to go over his house with him, 
 and try to discover for what purpose some of his 
 things were originally created. Their conversion to 
 some other use, is, I am sure, a very high form of 
 art. 
 
 " There are the Jamiesons," said my sister, as we 
 sat in the hall ready to receive our guests. 
 
 It does not require any occult power to sit indoors 
 and to be able to distinguish the Jamiesons' carriage 
 wheels from those of the other arrivals, for the 
 Jamiesons have, as usual, employed the " six fifty " 
 'bus on its return journey from the station to set 
 them down at our gate. It is quite a subject of 
 interest with our neighbours to find themselves fel- 
 
 91
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 low-passengers with the young ladies, in their black 
 skirts and their more dressy style of bodice con- 
 cealed beneath tweed capes. And it generally gets 
 about in Stowel circles before the evening is over, 
 or certainly soon after the morning shopping has 
 begun, that the Miss Jamiesons have been dining at 
 such or such a house. Even the 'bus conductor has 
 a sympathetic way of handing the young ladies into 
 his conveyance when they are going out to dinner, 
 and he fetches a wisp of straw and wipes down the 
 step, if the night is wet. 
 
 Mr. Ward piloted the independent Kate up the 
 short carriage drive with quite an affectionate air of 
 solicitude, frequently inquiring of her if she did not 
 feel her feet a little damp ; and Kate answered cheer- 
 fully and kindly, feeling, no doubt, that this sort 
 of fussing was one of the drawbacks of prospective 
 matrimony, but that it was only right to accept the 
 little attentions in the spirit in which they were made. 
 The Pirate Boy, who followed with his sister Maud, 
 begged her to take his arm in a burly fashion, and 
 fell a little distance behind. The Pirate Boy thinks 
 that it is etiquette to place himself at a distance from 
 any engaged couple, even during the shortest walk. 
 He does so even when he makes the untoward third in 
 a party. On these occasions he falls behind and puts 
 
 92
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 on an air of abstraction, a little overdone. The 
 Jacobs arrived next, and then Anthony Crawshay, 
 who drove over in his high dog-cart, with its flashing 
 lamps and glittering wheels a very good light- 
 running cart it is; Anthony and I used often to 
 drive in it to meets together and Ellicomb arrived 
 in a brougham, in which we have a shrewd suspicion 
 there was a foot warmer. 
 
 Maud began to flirt with Mr. Ellicomb directly. 
 I have never known her to be for long in the society 
 of a gentleman without doing so, and her sisters are 
 wont to say of Maud that she certainly has her 
 opportunities, while the criticism of an unprejudiced 
 observer might be that she certainly makes them. 
 Mr. Ellicomb, it is believed, has written an article 
 in one of the magazines on the reformation of men's 
 clothing, and it is hoped he will become a member 
 of the Reading Society. He ate very little at dinner, 
 and talked in a low, cultured voice about Church 
 matters the whole of the evening, and uttered some 
 very decided views upon the subject of the celibacy 
 of the clergy. 
 
 " I must say," said Major Jacobs, " that I also 
 approve of celibacy in the Church, and I may say in 
 the army and in the navy. If I had my life to live 
 
 over again " 
 
 93
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " William ! " said Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs, in an awful 
 voice. 
 
 William was about to retreat precipitately from 
 his position, but, catching sight perhaps of a sym- 
 pathetic eye turned upon him from that good com- 
 rade of his, Anthony Crawshay, he blundered on: 
 
 " If Confession, now, became more general in the 
 English Church," he said, " secrets confided to the 
 clergy could hardly be kept inviolate. A man's wife 
 might almost well, not to put too fine a point on it, 
 wring from him by force the secret that had been 
 committed to him." 
 
 " I hope so, indeed," said Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs. 
 
 " The Anglican Church," said Mr. Ellicomb, 
 " recognises that difficulty, and has met it in the per- 
 sons of the Fathers of the Church." 
 
 Maud Jamieson raised soft eyes to his, and said 
 that a woman might be a help and a comfort to a 
 man. 
 
 Mr. Ellicomb seemed disposed to admit that it 
 might be so. " I have been in retreat at Cowley for 
 some weeks," he said, " and the cooking was certainly 
 monstrous, and, would you believe it, they did not 
 allow one to bring one's own servant with one." 
 There is nothing monkish about Ellicomb himself, 
 nor is his asceticism overdone. 
 
 94
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " I have been reading a book on sects and 
 heresies," said Mrs. Fielden, " and I find I belong 
 to them all." 
 
 Mr. Ellicomb interposed eagerly by saying, " If I 
 had to state my own convictions exactly, I should 
 certainly say that I was a Manichaean, with just a 
 touch of Sabellianism." 
 
 " I think," said Mrs. Fielden gravely, " that I am 
 a Rosicrucian heretic." 
 
 Mr. Ellicomb was interested and delighted. " I 
 know," he said, " that many people would think that 
 I had not exactly stated my position. For instance, 
 a lady, to whom I described my symptoms the other 
 day, told me at once that I was a Buddhist by nature, 
 and an Antinomian by education, and I felt that in 
 part she was right." 
 
 Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs here interposed, and gave it 
 as her opinion emphatically that man was a con- 
 temptible creature whatever his beliefs might be, 
 and that he required a woman to look after him. 
 
 " To look after him," she repeated, in a tone that 
 said as plainly as possible " to keep him in order," 
 and she tapped Mr. Ellicomb sharply on the 
 knuckles. 
 
 The Pirate Boy had some brave notions about what 
 he called the Sex, and here plunged into a long 
 
 95
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 description of how he had rescued a fair creature out 
 of the hands of cutthroats out there, and he illus- 
 trated his action of saving the fair one by holding an 
 imaginary six-shooter to Palestrina's head in a very 
 alarming way. He talked of man as The Protector, 
 and thrust his hand into his cummerbund the 
 action, I suppose, being intended to show that the 
 six-shooter had been replaced and glanced round 
 the table with an air of defiance. " There is not a 
 man," he remarked, " I don't care who he is, who 
 shall fail in respect to a woman when I am present, 
 that he shall not get a decanter hurled straight at 
 his head straight at his head. I have said it ! " He 
 laid his hand impetuously upon one of two heavy 
 cut-glass bottles that had been placed in front of 
 me, and one trembled for the safety of one's guests. 
 " I remember," he said, " in one of those gambling- 
 hells in the Far West, where there were about as 
 unruly a set of fellows and cutthroats as ever I came 
 
 across " The rest of the story was so evidently 
 
 culled from the last number of the Strand Magazine 
 that it hardly seemed rude of Palestrina to interrupt 
 it by bowing to Mrs. Fielden, and suggesting that 
 they should adjourn. Maud Jamieson drew my 
 sister aside as they stood grouped round the fire- 
 place in the hall drinking their coffee, and thanked 
 
 96
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 her for introducing Mr. Ellicomb to her. " He is 
 perfectly charming," she said. But Maud's sisters 
 have confided to us that this is her invariable con- 
 clusion about the last man she has met, and it is 
 intended as a sort of pre-vindication of herself. 
 Maud, it seems, intends to flirt with everyone she 
 meets, but if she pretends that her affections are 
 really touched, there can be no upbraidings on the 
 part of The Family. 
 
 Kate Jamieson sat on the sofa, and twisted her 
 engagement ring complacently round her finger. 
 She thought that Mr. Ward had carried himself 
 very well this evening. His quietness throughout 
 the dinner compared favourably with the other 
 guests. Kate said once to Palestrina : " He is a 
 man that I shall feel the utmost confidence in taking 
 about with me everywhere." And the remark con- 
 veyed the suggestion that Mr. Ward would always 
 be an appendage to Kate Jamieson. 
 
 Anthony Crawshay is a very good fellow indeed. 
 The most advanced and cultured young lady will 
 never get him to talk about metaphysics in the crush 
 of a ball-room, nor to concern himself about the 
 inartistic shape of the clothes we wear nowadays. 
 " If I didn't like them, I shouldn't wear them," says 
 Anthony. He is a short, spare man, with a voice 
 
 97
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 somewhat out of proportion to his size, and the best 
 cross-country rider in the country. The habit he 
 has got of shouting all his remarks seems rather 
 pleasantly in accordance with his honest nature. 
 Anthony very seldom speaks to anyone of whom he 
 has not a good word to say ; but if he does mention 
 anyone whom he dislikes, he does so in a very hearty 
 manner, which is almost as good as many other 
 people's praise. He is as obstinate, as straightfor- 
 ward, and as good a fellow as a country neighbour 
 ought to be. " We have been hunting a May fox, 
 by Gad, Hugo," said Anthony, and he began to tell 
 me about the run a thing I can hardly get anyone 
 to do nowadays. 
 
 The Pirate Boy, upon whom the word horse had 
 a rousing effect, condemned the whole breed of 
 English horses in one short speech. " I assure you," 
 he said, getting up and sawing the air with his hand, 
 " there are some of those wild mustangs out there 
 which would knock spots out of any horses in your 
 stables." 
 
 Thus challenged, Anthony, who was standing on 
 the hearthrug, turned, and, stooping towards me, 
 asked, in what he intended to be a whisper, who the 
 young fellow was, and shouted abroad : " Rum chap 
 that, very rum chap ! " 
 
 98
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 By and by Maud Jamleson went to the piano and 
 began to sing ballads to Mr. Ellicomb ; and we have 
 an inward conviction Palestrina and I that this 
 evening's report to the Jamieson Family will be that 
 Mr. Ellicomb is " struck." Major Jacobs considers 
 himself musical, because he likes hearing the words 
 of a song distinctly pronounced. He was charmed 
 with Maud's singing, and Kate encouraged the girl 
 in a little matronly way which she has lately assumed. 
 She called forth Maud's best efforts by saying, 
 " What was the pretty Irish song you sang the other 
 night ? " or " You haven't given us * We'd better bide 
 a wee ' yet, dear." Maud responded with several 
 ballads, and wished she had some of Lord Henry 
 Somerset's songs with her, Mr. Ellicomb having ex- 
 pressed a fondness for them. An opportunity was 
 thus given for suggesting a call at Belmont Maud 
 knows mama will be delighted she wished Kennie 
 Were more good at that sort of thing; the invitation 
 to come in some afternoon might perhaps have come 
 better from a brother. 
 
 It was very gratifying to find that Mr. Ward, 
 fortified by dinner, became more courageous than I 
 have ever known him to be before. He tip-toed almost 
 boldly across the room, and, sitting down beside my 
 sister, began to make a series of deliberate remarks 
 
 99
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 to her, mostly in the form of interrogation : " Do 
 you care for Scotch songs ? " " Have you ever been 
 in Ireland? " " Do you know Wales at all? " And 
 to these important questions Palestrina made suit- 
 able replies. " That is most interesting," I heard 
 her say from time to time, using the formula of those 
 who are bored to the extent of complete absence of 
 mind. . . . 
 
 Mrs. Fielden crossed the room suddenly, with a 
 shimmer of silken skirts. In spite of her frivolity, 
 she has a way of making herself necessary to every 
 party which she goes to. There used to be an old 
 saying long ago in Scotland that wherever the Mac- 
 gregor sat was the head of the table. Mrs. Fielden 
 is always the centre of every party, although she 
 has a childish habit, which in another woman might 
 be ascribed to shyness, of taking the least con- 
 spicuous seat in the room. Consequently, when she 
 dispersed the little group that was standing or sit- 
 ting about her, applauding everything she said, and 
 came across the room in pink satin and roses and 
 diamonds, and sat down beside my sofa, the action 
 had something regal about it, as though she had left 
 a throne and come to speak to me. 
 
 " I am going to teach you to play Bridge," she 
 said. 
 
 100
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " That is most kind of you." 
 
 " I am going to carry you off to Stanby next week 
 to give you lessons," she went on. 
 
 I have a strong conviction that if Mrs. Fielden 
 were to give a beggar a halfpenny, he would prob- 
 ably stoop down and kiss the edge of her skirt, or do 
 something equally unconventional and self-abasing. 
 She might, as a great favour, give a courtier who had 
 risked his life for her her hand to kiss. When she 
 smiles men become foolish about her. 
 
 " It is very kind of you to want us," I said. 
 
 " I want Bridge," said Mrs. Fielden, and as usual 
 when she is going to be provoking, she looked prettier 
 than ever, and began to smile. 
 
 " Anyone will do to make up a rubber, I suppose? " 
 I said. 
 
 " Oh, yes, anyone," said Mrs. Fielden. 
 
 " Consequently, my sister and I need not feel 
 particularly uplifted at being asked," I continued. 
 
 " I am so glad Palestrina is coming," said Mrs. 
 Fielden, " because several men have written to tell 
 me they are coming to stay, just when my sisters-in- 
 law are leaving, and I suppose I oughtn't to entertain 
 a houseful of men alone, ought I? " 
 
 Mrs. Fielden does exactly as she pleases upon all 
 occasions, but this does not prevent her from pre- 
 101
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 tending to have acute attacks of propriety some- 
 times. 
 
 " We will play Bridge and chaperone you with 
 pleasure," I said. 
 
 " I thought of drowning myself yesterday," said 
 Mrs. Fielden, " because it rained all day, and I had 
 no one to amuse me, and then I thought I would 
 ask you to come over and play Bridge instead. 
 When I am bored I never can make up my mind 
 whether I shall commit suicide, or go into a convent, 
 or get married. Which do you advise ? " 
 
 " I should advise you to marry," I said. " As far 
 as I can gather, a great source of discord and dan- 
 ger in our neighbourhood would be removed if you 
 did so." 
 
 Mrs. Fielden said with her eyes, " Hugo, you are 
 very cross." But being the most good-natured 
 woman in the world and sharing that forbearance 
 which most people extend to an invalid, she smiled 
 instead. 
 
 " Why do you stay here when you are feeling so 
 tired? " she said to me presently. 
 
 " Because," I replied, " my sister lies awake half 
 the night and thinks I am going to die if I show any 
 signs of fatigue, or go to bed early. Besides, for 
 us you know, this is quite an exciting evening. We 
 
 102
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 have thought about our dinner-party for days 
 past." 
 
 " If you were nice," said Mrs. Fielden, after a 
 pause, " you would ask me to come into your library 
 and smoke." 
 
 " Do you smoke? " 
 
 s< No," said Mrs. Fielden, " I don't." 
 
 "I'm glad you don't," I said. 
 
 " For years," said Mrs. Fielden, " I tried to think 
 it was wrong, and then I quite enjoyed smoking, but 
 there is certain effort involved in trying to raise an 
 innocent occupation to the level of a crime." 
 
 " It is a very unfeminine habit," I said. Partly 
 because I was in a contradictious mood, and partly 
 because I wanted to snub Mrs. Fielden for being so 
 beautiful and young and charming. 
 
 " The last man," said Mrs. Fielden gravely, " who 
 made that remark died shortly afterwards." 
 
 She was gathering up my cushions and pillows as 
 she spoke, and she turned to my sister as she crossed 
 the hall, and said : " We are going to study philos- 
 ophy in the library." 
 
 The library was lit by a single lamp, and the fire 
 burned low in the grate ; but the room was illumined 
 suddenly by a pink frock and roses and diamonds, 
 and Mrs. Fielden was arranging cushions in the very 
 
 103
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 skilful way she has on my sofa by the fire. She 
 handed me my cigarette-box and matches, and spread 
 a rug over my leg. For some occult reason the 
 rustling pink dress only whispered softly over the 
 carpet now, like a woman's hushed voice in a sick 
 room, and Mrs. Fielden, by the simple act of draw- 
 ing up a chair to the fire, and sitting in it, took 
 the head of the table again, and became the centre 
 of the room. 
 
 " May I really smoke," I asked, " after being such 
 a brute as to say you mustn't? " 
 
 " I look upon smoking as a purely feminine habit, 
 like drinking tea, or having headaches, or anything 
 of that sort," said Mrs. Fielden. " It was simply 
 because it was so expensive that men took to it in the 
 first place. Ethics should not be based upon acci- 
 dents, should it ? " 
 
 I handed Mrs. Fielden my cigarette-box. 
 
 " If you are quite sure you disapprove I will have 
 one," she said. 
 
 From the hall came the sound of Maud's singing. 
 Her voice is not of great compass, nor very strong, 
 but it is clear and fresh, with a tuneful cadence in it. 
 
 " You spend nearly all your days here? " said 
 Mrs. Fielden, looking round the room. 
 
 " Until the afternoon," I said ; " and then Pales- 
 104
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 trina and I go for a little walk, and at tea-time I go 
 to the hall sofa, and she asks people to come up and 
 sit with me." 
 
 " I am glad you like books," said Mrs. Fielden. 
 
 " But really," I said, " the good folks in Stowel 
 are all extraordinarily kind to me, and some of the 
 Jamiesons are up nearly every day." 
 
 " I like the Jamiesons," said Mrs. Fielden ; " they 
 are so intelligent. Have you ever noticed that their 
 watches all keep exact time, and that they tell you 
 the hour to the very second? And they always know 
 what day of the month it is, and when Easter falls, 
 and how much stuff it takes to make a blouse." 
 
 " You wrong Eliza Jamieson," I said ; " she studies 
 philosophy." 
 
 " Oh," said Mrs. Fielden eagerly, " I forgot to tell 
 you, I have begun to study philosophy. I began 
 last week. Will you lend me some books please? I 
 want to be very wise and learned." 
 
 "Why? "I asked. 
 
 " I think," said Mrs. Fielden, " that it might be 
 nice if people did not always call one frivolous ; and 
 that if I studied philosophy " 
 
 " I shall not lend you any books," I said. 
 
 " That is rather disobliging of you." 
 
 " Because," I said, " our lives should always show 
 105
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 a perfect equation. If you are a frivolous person 
 you should behave frivolously." 
 
 " You mean as I am a frivolous person," said Mrs. 
 Fielden. 
 
 " As you are a frivolous person," I repeated. 
 
 " And after all," said Mrs. Fielden, with a con- 
 templative air, " how silly philosophy is ! I asked 
 somebody the other day the meaning of a syllogism, 
 and really I don't think I ever heard anything quite 
 so foolish." 
 
 " It is quite beneath your notice," I said. 
 
 " I did think of asking you if I might come over 
 sometimes and read these musty volumes of yours." 
 
 " You would probably find them as uninteresting 
 as I am," I said. 
 
 Mrs. Fielden looked as if she thought that might 
 be possible, and did not press the matter. 
 
 I dislike to be disloyal to my books, for they are 
 such good friends of mine. But a great wish came 
 to me then to. get up and do something, instead of 
 for ever reading the doings and the thoughts of 
 other people. I thought how much I should like to 
 live again, and just for once sleep on the veldt with 
 the stars overhead, and hear the bugle call in the 
 morning ; or that I could get astride of a horse, and 
 follow a burst of the hounds over the wet fields in 
 
 106
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 England. And so thinking, I turned on the sofa, 
 and said petulantly, " I wish Maud Jamieson would 
 not sing that song." 
 
 " Oh that we two were maying," she sang, in the 
 song that tells of love and separation, and the long- 
 ings and heartbreaks which it is much better not to 
 speak about, and the things which we want and 
 cannot have. 
 
 " I hate yearners," I said. " Why can't she sing 
 something cheerful? " 
 
 Mrs. Fielden rose from her chair by the fire and 
 crossed the hearthrug, and came and sat down on 
 my sofa. She took my hand in hers and said : " Poor 
 boy! is it very hard sometimes? " 
 
 " Of course," said Palestrina, as we went upstairs 
 to bed after our guests had departed, " you are sure 
 to feel tired. The little party has been too much for 
 you, I'm afraid. It was very tiresome for you, hav- 
 ing to leave us all." 
 
 " I felt rather a crock after dinner," I said, " and 
 I think the hall gets hot in the evening." 
 
 " I wish I could make you better," said Palestrina 
 affectionately ; " it is horrid for you being ill." 
 
 " Everyone," I said, " makes far too much fuss 
 about health. Why, ten officers of our regiment are 
 
 107
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 buried in South Africa. I suppose half the pen- 
 sioners in Chelsea Hospital have had wounds as bad 
 as mine, and a cripple more or less in the world does 
 not matter very much. Women are kind enough to 
 pity me. They even confide their troubles to me 
 sometimes, because I am a poor thing lying on a 
 sofa. I am really quite happy hobbling about with 
 you, Palestrina; and when I am older, I shall prob- 
 ably take an interest in the garden. There is a 
 proper and philosophical attitude of mind in respect 
 of these things." 
 
 "Oh, Hugo," said Palestrina, "I always know 
 you are not happy when you begin to be philosophi- 
 cal." 
 
 "Life is very easily explained without the assist- 
 ance of philosophy when everything goes all right," 
 I replied. 
 
 108
 
 Chapter VII 
 
 HAVE I ever mentioned that Palestrma is engaged 
 to be married? If I have not done so, it is because 
 it seems an obvious fact that all Palestrinas are 
 engaged. Her fiance, who is called Thomas, is sta- 
 tioned with his regiment in Ireland. A few weeks 
 ago he sent her, as a token of his affection, a yellow 
 dog with long hair. Palestrina does not like dogs, 
 but she is trying to love Down-Jock for Thomas's 
 sake. She says his name is Jock. The dog is a 
 curious creature, with a passion for hurling himself 
 at those who wear clean flannel trousers or light 
 skirts. Thomas says he is full of intelligence. He 
 appears to be quite a young animal, but he can affect 
 the airs of extreme old age, sleeping in a basket a 
 great part of the day, or standing on the doorstep to 
 bark at visitors in an asthmatical manner, as though 
 he would say, " I am too old and feeble to give 
 chase, but while I am alive this house shall not lack 
 a defender." At other times he is wildly juvenile, 
 and rolls himself over and over in an exuberance of 
 youthful fun. This is chiefly on Sundays, when (his 
 
 109
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 best joke) he pretends he wants to come to church 
 with us. Sunday is Down-Jock's happiest day in all 
 the week. No Christian in the land loves it more 
 than he does. He begins his religious exercises early 
 in the morning by barking outside the doors of all 
 those people who have determined to take an extra 
 half-hour's rest, and he continues barking without 
 ceasing until the sleeper awakes and gets out of bed 
 to open the door for him. He bustles in and wags 
 his tail cheerfully, saying as plainly as a dog can 
 say it, " I am an early riser, you see and a teeto- 
 taler," he adds, trotting across the room to the water- 
 jug, and lapping full red tonguefuls of its contents. 
 Then he stands in the middle of the room and barks 
 at you ; runs to the door and barks at it ; barks at the 
 servants as they go down stairs, promising the little 
 tell-tale ! that their lateness shall be reported in the 
 proper quarter. Finally, he climbs on to the bed, 
 and goes to sleep upon your feet. 
 
 During breakfast he is attentive to everyone, and 
 sits on the skirts of those ladies who most dislike 
 dogs, and pulls them down uncomfortably from the 
 waist. He watches every mouthful of food that is 
 eaten, and grudges it to the eater; and his eyes are 
 saving all the time, " How can you be so greedy? " 
 After breakfast his most boisterous juvenile mood 
 
 110
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 begins. He jumps on everyone, or rolls himself 
 over and over under everyone's feet. He wags his 
 tail, barks in a piercing manner the bark of the gay 
 young dog and madly rushes after imaginary rats. 
 All gloves and shoes become his playthings, and he 
 frolics blithely with the hat-brush. 
 
 On weekdays he pleads old age as an excuse, and 
 refuses to come anywhere with us; but on the Sab- 
 bath morning, who so ready as Down-Jock to take 
 his walks abroad? He flies after us to the gate, his 
 long hair streaming in the wind, and his short legs 
 racing like a clockwork dog. 
 
 Palestrina says : " Oh, dear, what shall we do ? 
 Down, Jock ! down, sir ! Oh, he has spoilt my dress ! 
 Good doggie, mustn't go to church! Go home! go 
 home ! Oh, Jock, do get down ! Look, he is follow- 
 ing us still, and the church door is always open; he 
 is sure to come in in the middle of the service and 
 trot up to us in our pew. Do you think Thomas 
 would mind if I looked as if he didn't belong to 
 us?" 
 
 Jock flies back with an old bone in his mouth and 
 deposits it at Palestrina's feet, and dares her to touch 
 it, and makes flying snatches at her shoes when she 
 kicks the treasure aside. 
 
 " I must take him back," says Palestrina. " It 
 111
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 will make me late, of course, but I must go and shut 
 him up." 
 
 " He won't follow you," I say. " He is quite de- 
 termined to go to church." 
 
 Palestrina lifts the heavy beast in her arms, and 
 in an exuberance of joy Down- Jock makes a doormat 
 of her dress, and rubs his paws affectionately against 
 it and licks her hand. 
 
 Of course, he escapes presently and runs after us ; 
 that is his best and most killing joke. Inwardly 
 one feels he is in a state of hardly suppressed laughter 
 as he tears down the road again barking with glee. 
 And then he gets a sober fit, walks demurely in front 
 of us in the narrow field-path, changes his mind 
 suddenly about going to church, stops dead short, 
 and trips us up; thinks after all he ought to go to 
 the morning service as an example to the servants; 
 toddles on again, and stops to say (with the air of 
 extreme old age again assumed) that, after all, he is 
 not up to the exertion, and would have to sit down 
 at the Psalms, so perhaps it would really be better to 
 stay quietly at home. Another stop. A rapid toilet 
 performed by scratching his head with his hind-leg, 
 " just in case I meet anyone coming out of church 
 whom I know " ; and then Down-Jock meets a boy 
 friend strolling off to the fields, and, running up to 
 
 112
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 him, says : " One must conform to conventionalities, 
 but between you and me I never had the remotest 
 intention of going to church." 
 
 Down-Jock, in his moments of most restless 
 activity, always reminds me of a servant of ours 
 who has occasional fits of the most intense energy. 
 It begins quite early in the morning, when she gets 
 up some hours before her usual time, and gives a 
 sort of surprise party to the rest of the household. 
 These parties take place two or three times a year, 
 and we do not get over them for weeks afterwards. 
 Every room in the house is visited in turn, and de- 
 linquencies of a year are laid bare. During the 
 morning cupboards are turned out in a magisterial 
 sort of way, and dusty corners are triumphantly 
 displayed. The most cherished rubbish is freely con- 
 signed to the waste-paper baskets, and collections 
 of all sorts are contemptuously swept away. We 
 hastily gather up books and precious oddments, and 
 hurry off with them to my den, where we take refuge 
 till the whirlwind is past. Curtains and tablecloths 
 are shaken with a sort of vindictive energy at the 
 back-door, all windows are flung open, and rugs are 
 rolled up, making a sort of obstacle race in every 
 passage and room. Down-Jock, who never recog- 
 nises a superior in anyone, is the only one of the 
 
 113
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 party who is not rendered an abject coward in these 
 days. He unrolls rugs, and runs away with dusters, 
 and snaps at the heels of the housemaid in a way 
 that provokes one's wonder at his temerity. My 
 sister and I, having locked away our most cherished 
 possessions, generally contrive to be out of the house 
 as much as possible on one of these tempestuous days. 
 And following the line of reasoning, not of the high- 
 est order, which suggests that if one cannot be happy, 
 one had better try and be good, Palestrina always 
 visits her old women at the workhouse on these days. 
 
 " I wish," she said to me, " that you would walk 
 into the village and meet me on my way home. I 
 don't think anybody is coming up to see you this 
 afternoon, and the house is so uncomfortable when 
 Janet is in one of her whirlwind moods. Come as 
 far as the corner, and go in and sit down at old 
 Pettifer's if you get tired." 
 
 " Shadrach Pettifer tells me," I said, " that his 
 affection for you is based on the fact that you are 
 so like his poor old mother. Perhaps while I am 
 waiting at his cottage he may give me further inter- 
 esting facts about you." 
 
 Shadey is an old man with a bent back and curious 
 bright eyes that gleam under a heavy thatch of eye- 
 brow. His wife is the very thinnest old woman that 
 
 114
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 I have ever seen; her cheeks have fallen In, and 
 are so very wrinkled that they always remind me of 
 a toy balloon that a child has pricked with a pin. 
 She is always ill and never complaining. Any ex- 
 pression of sympathy seems foreign to her compre- 
 hension, and the " Poor thing ! " or " I am so sorry," 
 so eagerly accepted by more fortunate folk, is re- 
 ceived by her with a certain air of independence. 
 Last winter Mrs. Pettifer was dangerously ill with 
 internal gout, but expressions of condolence to her 
 were always met with the rather curious reply, 
 " Well, you see, sir, we must have something to bring 
 us to our end." There is a whole world of philosophy 
 in this. 
 
 To-day the old couple spent the time while I 
 waited for Palestrina in their cottage in describing 
 to me the last days in the life of their tortoise, an 
 old friend and an animal of evidently strange and 
 unusual qualities. Towards the close of its life it 
 was, on the testimony of the Pettifers, taken with 
 screaming fits, and it even had to be held down 
 " when the high-strikes was wuss." Later, it used 
 to run round and round as never was. And at last 
 Shadey determined to release it from this earthly 
 tabernacle. He asked his friend Bridgeman, Anthony 
 Crawshay's head keeper, to come round some evening 
 
 115
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 and administer poison to the unfortunate beast, and 
 the effect of the dose was as strange as it was un- 
 expected. The poison was the first thing for weeks 
 that poor Toots the tortoise had seemed to enjoy. 
 It seemed, to quote again from the testimony of those 
 most intimately acquainted with the animal, to " put 
 new life into Toots," and the more poison that was 
 administered the livelier did he become, " until he 
 was that gay it seemed as if he would ha* laughed 
 at yer ! " Finally, I understand that when sufficient 
 poison had been given to kill two cart-horses the 
 afflicted animal yielded to treatment, and its shell 
 now adorns the kitchen dresser. 
 
 We returned home to find the house smelling of 
 furniture polish, and permeated with a certain cold 
 primness which succeeds a tidying up, and can only 
 be dispelled by a glowing fire. One by one things 
 were brought back to the hall, and we felt like snails 
 creeping out in the evening after a day of rain. 
 Banished property strewed the tables again, and 
 Palestrina opened the piano and spread it with 
 music. It was an act of defiance, but comfortable, 
 nevertheless, to collect the cushions which had been 
 dotted primly about in clean muslin covers, and to 
 pile them all on to the sofa before the fire. But 
 Down-Jock, who always goes one better than any- 
 
 116
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 one else, contributed still more completely to the 
 systematized disorganization of the house. He gaily 
 wiped his muddy feet on clean paint, and tore blithely 
 round after imaginary rats wherever order reigned. 
 Finally, in an exuberance of joy, he made a hearty 
 supper off Palestrina?s manuscript book of music 
 and barked with glee. 
 
 And yet some people say that dogs are not intelli- 
 gent! 
 
 117
 
 Chapter VIII 
 
 THE UNCLE, Sir John, is coming to stay at the 
 Taylors', and the town is in something of a flutter 
 over this event. It was hoped that the Taylors would 
 give a tea-party in honour of their guest, but there 
 is a shrewd notion abroad that no one will be allowed 
 to see very much of him except at a distance. The 
 Taylors had hoped that there would be some occasion 
 during his visit at which the Uncle might speak in 
 public, and Mr. Taylor has tried, half jestingly, to 
 induce his brother townsfolk to arrange what he calls 
 " something in the political line," while the august 
 relative is staying with him. I think we owe it to 
 the fact that the political meeting was found to be 
 an impossibility that we were asked to tea at the 
 Taylors'. 
 
 Invitations, instead of taking the form of a friendly 
 note, after the pattern of Stowel invitations in gen- 
 eral, were conveyed on one of Mrs. Taylor's visiting 
 cards, with " At home, Thursday the 17th, four to 
 seven," upon it. " A little abrupt," ladies of Stowel 
 were inclined to think, but, of course, the Taylors 
 are people of some importance in the place. No one 
 
 118
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 knew quite how to answer the invitation, and a good 
 many friendly little visits were paid on the afternoon 
 on which they arrived, at which the mysterious card 
 was produced from a bag or purse, with the smiling 
 apology, " I am sure fashions change so quickly 
 that one hardly knows how to keep up with them." 
 And then ideas were exchanged as to the reply suit- 
 able to such a form of invitation. Miss Tracey said 
 that she always thought that an invitation was ac- 
 cepted in as nearly as possible the same manner in 
 which it was given, and she announced that she and 
 her sister meant to return one of their own visiting- 
 cards to Mrs. Taylor, with the day and the hour 
 named upon it, and " With pleasure " written un- 
 derneath. This was considered suitable, for the most 
 part, but those who still had doubts upon the subject 
 made elaborate efforts to meet Mrs. Taylor during 
 the morning's shopping, and to say to her, in a 
 friendly way, " We are coming, of course, on Thurs- 
 day. Will you excuse our writing a note, at this 
 busy time? " 
 
 The Miss Blinds always send their thanks for a 
 " polite invitation " in the old style, but on this occa- 
 sion Miss Lydia was obliged to send regrets as well 
 as thanks, as she had not been very well lately. She, 
 I suppose, was the only person in Stowel who did not 
 
 119
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 accept Mrs. Taylor's invitation. Two parties are, 
 of course, never given on the same day, and it would 
 be considered eccentric to prefer staying at home 
 to going out. 
 
 " I am sorry Miss Lydia cannot come," said Mr. 
 Taylor, when the notes of acceptance were being 
 opened at breakfast-time ; " after all, it is not every 
 day that people have a chance of meeting so dis- 
 tinguished a man as the General." 
 
 " Miss Lydia was never intrusive," said Mrs. Tay- 
 lor. 
 
 Mrs. Lovekin was one of those who avoided the 
 difficulty raised by Mrs. Taylor's unusual form of 
 invitation, by meeting her accidentally in the baker's 
 shop, where an assortment of cakes was being ordered 
 for the tea-party, and signifying her intention of 
 coming to tea. " No need to write, I suppose? " said 
 Mrs. Lovekin lightly, " as I have met you." Both 
 Mrs. Taylor and the baker's wife thought it would 
 have been in better taste if Mrs. Lovekin had then 
 withdrawn, instead of remaining in the shop and hear- 
 ing what was being ordered. 
 
 Mrs. Taylor had made up her mind at an early 
 stage in the proceedings that she would be very firm 
 indeed upon the matter of dispensing tea herself in 
 her own house. She would appropriate one teapot, 
 
 120
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 and her daughter should have the other, and not 
 even to shake hands with a late-arriving guest would 
 they run the risk of letting this badge of office fall 
 into the hands of the co-hostess. 
 
 " And if," said Mrs. Taylor, " I find that she is 
 appropriating The Uncle too much, I shall not hesi- 
 tate to remove him, on the plea of introducing him 
 to some other and more important guests." 
 
 It was in church on Sunday that we were first 
 allowed to see The Uncle, and this is only following 
 the usual custom in Stowel. Church on Sunday is, 
 as it were, the public life of the town. After a death, 
 it is customary to wait until the family has appeared 
 in church to pay visits of condolence not so much 
 to avoid intrusiveness in the first hour of grief as 
 from a feeling that perhaps the crape mourning will 
 not have arrived. In the same way, if anyone moves 
 into a new house a very unusual proceeding we 
 are made aware that the carpets are all down, and 
 the drawing-room curtains are hung, when the new 
 arrivals are seen in their pew on Sunday. This, 
 also, is accepted as a token that calling may now 
 begin. Mrs. Taylor said afterwards, in describing 
 that first Sunday when The Uncle appeared in Stowel 
 Church, that her heart beat so painfully at the door 
 that she thought she would have been obliged to turn 
 
 121
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 back. It was a triumphal progress that the party 
 of four made up the centre aisle to their pew, but the 
 inward excitement of the Taylors made a natural 
 deportment difficult. Neither Mrs. Taylor nor her 
 daughter joined in the hymns or the responses that 
 Sunday morning. It is doubtful whether they heard 
 a word of the service. 
 
 Sir John is a very military-looking person, with 
 white whiskers and a bald pink head. He sat between 
 Mrs. and Miss Taylor, who supplied him with hymn 
 and prayer-books in as natural a manner as they 
 found it possible to assume; and Mr. Taylor sat at 
 the end of the pew with a genial expression on his 
 face and a look of tempered pride, due, no doubt, to 
 the fact that the General was " one of my wife's 
 people," and not a blood relation of his own. 
 
 It was a disappointment to Mr. Taylor that his 
 own sister, Mrs. Macdonald widow of a Scotch gen- 
 tleman, whom the Taylors always talk of as " the 
 Laird " was not able to come to this family gather- 
 ing. But Mrs. Macdonald pleaded spring cleaning 
 as an insuperable objection to leaving home at 
 present. 
 
 As Miss Taylor, Mrs. Macdonald used to be one 
 of Stowel's central figures, for she was a lady of con- 
 siderable means and an indefatigable housekeeper; 
 
 122
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 and Mr. Macdonald was considered to have done 
 well when he took her as his bride to the North. 
 
 The Sunday on which the Taylors appeared in 
 church with The Uncle was curiously hot for the time 
 of year. It was very stuffy in church, and Miss 
 Lydia had a slight fainting attack, and had to leave 
 before the service was over. Following the accepted 
 custom in Stowel, my sister called the next day to 
 ask how she did. But even indisposition, usually a 
 matter of solemn pleasure with us, was overshadowed 
 and shorn of its interest by the presence of The Uncle 
 amongst us. Even the Vicar looked keenly at him 
 from the pulpit before his sermon began, but no 
 one except Mrs. Lovekin was forward enough to ad- 
 dress the august party as they left the church. 
 Mrs. Lovekin, who always affirmed that she saw no 
 difference in rank, was the very first person in Stowel 
 to shake hands with The Uncle. She overtook the 
 Taylors before they had even reached the gate of the 
 churchyard, and was perforce introduced to their 
 relative, " who," Mrs. Taylor said afterwards, " was 
 almost more cordial than she could have wished him 
 to be; but, of course, his manners were always per- 
 fect." What annoyed everyone a little in the days 
 that followed was that Mrs. Lovekin constantly re- 
 ferred to the General as if he had been an old friend, 
 
 123
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 whereas, of course, it was well known in what an 
 intrusive way her precedence had been gained. Dur- 
 ing the week, however, we all had an opportunity of 
 seeing Sir John, for he was marched in triumph up 
 and down the village street regularly twice a day. 
 Miss Taylor even condescended to subterfuge in the 
 matter. For having taken The Uncle as far as the 
 baker's at the end of the town, with a view to 
 continuing the walk into the country at The Uncle's 
 request, she pretended to have forgotten something 
 at the draper's, and marched him down the street 
 again, in the proud knowledge that all eyes, whether 
 from pedestrians or from the interior of shops and 
 houses in the High Street, were turned upon her. 
 The tobacconist, where The Uncle bought some to- 
 bacco, gave Miss Taylor quite a sympathetic look 
 as he said : " Allow me to send it for you, Sir John." 
 And Miss Taylor said : " Do allow him to send it, 
 Uncle! I am sure that you ought not to carry 
 parcels for yourself." 
 
 On Thursday, when we went to the party, we saw 
 at once that the Taylors meant to make no snobbish 
 distinction between their guests, but that each and 
 every one of them was to be introduced to The 
 Uncle. 
 
 " I am no good at this sort of thing, Mary," The 
 124
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 Uncle said before the party began, " and I think I 
 will walk over and see Willie Jacobs, and spend the 
 afternoon with him." Mrs. Taylor turned pale at 
 the suggestion. " It will ruin it ! " she said. " I 
 shall feel as if I had been acting on false pretences." 
 And though the General remained as he had been re- 
 quested to do, he showed a most irritating tendency 
 to slip away, and sometimes he was not to be found 
 at the most critical moments. Mrs. Taylor stationed 
 him close to herself in the drawing-room, where she 
 received her guests. But at the very moment when 
 she turned round to effect an introduction between 
 him and some particular friend, it was discovered 
 that the General had slipped off to the smoking- 
 room or the tea-room, or was wandering aimlessly 
 about the garden looking at the flower-beds. 
 
 Altogether, that most successful afternoon (and 
 the Taylors really did feel that it had been a success 
 from the very highest point of view) had still some 
 drawbacks to it, which they regret, and always will 
 regret. For instance, when Miss Taylor had been 
 despatched into what the Taylors call the " grounds " 
 to see " what The Uncle is doing " (playfully) , " and 
 tell him to come and make himself agreeable," she 
 had hardly departed to fulfil her mother's request 
 when Mrs. Lovekin bore down upon the teapot, 
 
 125
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 poured out several of the most distinguished cups of 
 tea, and handed round macaroons as though they 
 were her own. Last of all, as the party was breaking 
 up, and Mrs. Lovekin's vicarious hospitality was 
 therefore at an end, she was actually heard inviting 
 The Uncle to come and call upon her. Even the Miss 
 Blinds, on being told of the incident, admitted that 
 this behaviour on Mrs. Lovekin's part could not be 
 called anything but forward. Miss Lydia could 
 only say, in a sort of sweet distress, " perhaps she 
 did not mean it"; but Miss Blind shook her head 
 vigorously, and said, " Bad butter, bad butter, bad 
 butter!" 
 
 Margaret Jamieson had, of course, been helping to 
 prepare the party, for Margaret Jamieson always 
 helps whenever there is anything to be done. And 
 Eliza, we thought, made a deep impression upon The 
 Uncle by her knowledge of literature, and the per- 
 fectly easy and natural way in which, without a 
 moment's preparation, she alluded to the " atomic 
 theory." 
 
 " Ah ! you are one of the Reading Society young 
 ladies that I heard about. Sorry I couldn't do more 
 for you in the way of books, but that's not in my 
 line at all, you know. I was educated at a Grammar 
 School, and I never had the advantages that you 
 
 126
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 young people have nowadays." (Mrs. Taylor thought 
 this statement unnecessary, but reflected that great 
 men often made allusions of this sort.) " However, 
 if I ever can be of any use to you getting you an 
 order for reading at the British Museum, or any- 
 thing of that sort I hope you will let me know." 
 
 For one brief day the Jamiesons were inclined to 
 teaze Eliza about having made a conquest, but the 
 Taylors would not have any nonsense of that sort 
 for a moment. It made Mrs. Taylor quite nervous to 
 think of such a thing, and she remarked that that 
 was the worst of having distinguished people to stop 
 with one ; there was always somebody running after 
 them. Eliza Jamieson, we noticed, was treated with 
 marked coldness by the Taylors for some time after- 
 wards, and Miss Taylor recollected darkly that it 
 was Eliza's suggestion in the first instance that The 
 Uncle should be consulted on the choice of books for 
 the Reading Society. " She may," said Miss Taylor, 
 " have had an eye on him from the first." 
 
 A purely visionary affair of this sort, however, 
 could not be considered satisfactory or exciting, even 
 by the Jamiesons, and the Taylors' suspicions and 
 anxieties were put on one side for the time being 
 ousted from their place, as it were, by the very dis- 
 tinct and exciting rumours which have reached us 
 
 127
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 about Maud. Maud has been saying with friends 
 at Hampstead, and has written home in a certain 
 veiled way which is very provoking, but which, never- 
 theless, gives the impression that Maud, to use The 
 Family's expression, " has had another." Another 
 man has come to the point, and proposed to Maud 
 Jamieson. Maud seems out of spirits, and has writ- 
 ten to say that she is returning, which makes the sis- 
 ters think that she must have accepted her present 
 suitor, and is coming home to shed a few natural 
 tears. Eliza, who walked over to tell us the news, 
 voiced The Family's opinion when she said : " We 
 have quite made up our minds that if Maud has said 
 * Yes ' she is to stick to it this time. She is always 
 in a panic directly she has accepted anyone, but we 
 know that it would be the same whoever it was, and 
 doubtless, unless we are firm, she will treat this 
 admirer just as she treated Mr. Reddy and Albert 
 Gore and the others. Mamma says that she will 
 not have Maud coerced, and I am sure no one 
 wants to coerce her; but why should she always get 
 to a certain point, and then begin to have doubts? 
 It is so unbusinesslike." 
 
 The very next day Maud Jamieson came to tea. 
 She looked well dressed, as usual, and had some 
 pretty spring finery about her yellow mimosa 
 
 128
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 wreathing a broad hat and some yellow ribbons about 
 her tasteful dress but her pretty face looked very 
 white, and Maud fidgeted nervously for half an hour, 
 and then told me I was so sympathetic she would like 
 to ask me something. 
 
 " I daresay," she said, " that you have heard some- 
 thing about Mr. Evans from The Family? " 
 
 I admitted that I had, and then there was a very 
 long pause. 
 
 " How is one to know," said Maud, " when it is 
 the real thing? " 
 
 Another pause. I wished with all my heart that 
 I could have been more helpful to this young lady 
 in such evident distress of mind; but the intricacies 
 of Maud's thoughts are most difficult to follow, and 
 I thought it better to wait until she had given me 
 her entire confidence. 
 
 " Little things," said Maud, " might annoy one so 
 much if one had always to live with a man. For 
 instance, I do not think I could ever truly love a 
 man who sniffs." 
 
 " Our friend Mrs. Fielden says," I remarked, " that 
 a man generally proposes when he has a cold in his 
 head; but I pointed out to her that these statistics 
 do her no credit." 
 
 " Mr. Evans doesn't sniff," said Maud. " I was 
 129
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 only citing that as an example of what one might 
 find very trying in a companion for life." 
 
 I assented, and could only suggest hopefully the 
 usual Jamieson remedy that such a defect might be 
 cured after marriage. 
 
 " But men are so obstinate about some things," 
 said Maud. " For instance, suppose a man were well 
 off and of a really excellent character, do you think 
 it would matter much if he wore a white watered-silk 
 waistcoat in the evening? Would it, for instance, 
 appear an insuperable objection to most minds?" 
 
 I replied that doubtless it was a serious fault, but 
 that I did not consider it an incurable one, and I 
 further remarked with what I hoped to show a broad 
 and liberal way of looking at things that all men had 
 their idiosyncrasies. Maud admitted this, and seemed 
 cheered by the reflection ; but she pushed the matter 
 further, and said she would like to know what sort 
 of a man I should presume anyone to be who wore a 
 white watered-silk waistcoat. 
 
 " If you care for Mr. Evans " I began, and 
 
 regretted that one's articulate expression is some- 
 times behindhand in the matter of conveying the com- 
 prehensiveness of the inner working of one's mind. 
 
 " I'm afraid I care for someone else," said Maud, 
 bursting into tears. 
 
 130
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " Let me see you home," I said, unable to think of 
 any but this very doubtful method of consolation 
 still, it seemed unkind to let her go home alone, when 
 she had been crying. 
 
 On the threshold of the Jamiesons* house several 
 of The Family were waiting for us, and they drew 
 me into the drawing-room, while by tacit consent it 
 seemed to be understood that Maud should not join 
 in the conclave, but should go straight upstairs and 
 take off her hat. 
 
 " Have you persuaded her? " said Eliza. 
 
 " I hope you have put a little common sense into 
 her," said Kate. 
 
 James was admitted to family discussions now, 
 and here remarked that he believed that all girls were 
 happier married. 
 
 " Though, of course," said Mettle, * f it is a great 
 risk." 
 
 " Did she tell you," asked Gracie, " that she cares 
 for someone else? " 
 
 I admitted that Maud had said something of the 
 sort. And her family exclaimed triumphantly that 
 this was always Maud's plea for releasing herself 
 from an engagement as soon as that engagement had 
 been made. 
 
 Mrs. Jamieson remarked that she would not like 
 131
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 any of the girls to feel that they were not welcome at 
 home, and all her affectionate daughters kissed her 
 in turn, or patted her hand and said that they knew 
 that such a thought as wanting to get rid of one of 
 them would never enter her head. 
 
 Mrs. Jamieson here left the room to seek her ban- 
 ished daughter and administer comfort, and the 
 members of The Family conclave said that they 
 hoped that Mrs. Jamieson did not think that they 
 had been unkind. 
 
 " If it had not happened so often ! " sighed Eliza. 
 " However, as we do not know Mr. Evans he can't 
 ask to come down and stay with us, as Mr. Reddy 
 did, so as to have an opportunity of pressing his 
 suit." 
 
 "He cried so much one afternoon," said Kate, 
 turning in an explanatory sort of way to Mr. Ward, 
 " that I really thought I should have to send for 
 mamma." James looked sympathetic, and Gracie 
 added : " We all really felt quite relieved when he 
 got engaged to someone else three weeks afterwards, 
 and we hear that they are most happy, and have got 
 a dear little baby." 
 
 132
 
 Chapter IX 
 
 MRS. FIELDEN'S motor car is still a matter of absorb- 
 ing interest to the inhabitants of Stowel. When it 
 breaks down, as it frequently does, there is always a 
 crowd around it immediately. Our friends and neigh- 
 bours in the town have an ingenuous respect for any- 
 thing that costs a great deal of money, and they are 
 quite congratulatory to anyone who has been for a 
 drive with Mrs. Fielden, and they talk about the 
 motor and its owner, and who has seen it, and who 
 has not, over their afternoon tea. 
 
 The motor car is a noisy, evil-smelling vehicle of 
 somewhat rowdy appearance, which leaves a trail be- 
 hind it as of a smoking lamp. It drew up at our 
 door to-day, and kicked and snorted impatiently 
 until we were ready to get into it. The next moment, 
 with a final angry snort and plunge, it started down 
 the drive and whizzed through the village and up the 
 hill on the other side without pausing to take breath. 
 
 " The worst of a motor car is," said Mrs. Fielden, 
 " that one gets through everything so quickly. In 
 London I get my shopping done in about a quarter 
 of an hour, and then I take a turn round Regent's 
 
 133
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 Park, and I find I have put away about ten minutes, 
 so I fly down to Richmond, and even then it is too 
 early to go to tea anywhere. Talking of tea isn't 
 everybody very hungry? I am really ravenous and 
 that is the motor car's fault, too, because one has 
 learned to want one's meals by the amount of business 
 one has got through, and when one has done a whole 
 afternoon's work in three-quarters of an hour, one 
 is dying for tea, just as if one had occupied the 
 whole afternoon." 
 
 " I have always been ravenous since I was in South 
 Africa," said one of Mrs. Fielden's Colonels, who had 
 driven over in the motor car to take care of her and 
 to bring us back. " I don't know when I shall satisfy 
 the pangs of hunger which I acquired on the veldt." 
 
 " I think I shall call on Mr. Ellicomb," said Mrs. 
 Fielden. " I believe he has excellent afternoon teas, 
 and he is making me an enamel box which I should 
 like to see." 
 
 Ellicomb said once or twice as we sat in his 
 picturesque house with its blue china and old brass 
 work that he only wished we had given him warning 
 that we were coming. We found him with an apron 
 on, working at his enamels, and when he had dis- 
 played this work to us he showed us his book-bind- 
 ing, and his fretwork carving, and his type-writing 
 
 134
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 machine. Afterwards we had tea, which Ellicomb 
 poured very deftly into his blue cups, having first 
 warmed the pot and the cups, and flicked away one 
 or two imaginary specks of dirt from the plates with 
 what appeared to be a small lace-trimmed dinner- 
 napkin. 
 
 Mrs. Fielden began to admire his majolica ware, 
 of which she knows nothing whatever, and Ellicomb 
 took her for a tour round his rooms, and asked her 
 to guess the original uses of his drain-tiles and spit- 
 toons and copper ham-pots. Afterwards we were 
 taken into the very small conservatory adjoining his 
 house, where every plant was displayed to us in turn, 
 and we were subsequently shown his coal-cellar and 
 his larder and his ash-pit before we were allowed to 
 return to the house. 
 
 Ellicomb smiles more often than any other man 
 I know, and he had only one epithet to apply to his 
 house. "It's so cosy," he said. "Isn't it cosy?" 
 " I do think it's a cosy little place." 
 
 Mrs. Fielden was charmed with everything, and 
 deprecated the idea that she might consider the little 
 house very small after Stanby. 
 
 " I always think," she said, " that I should much 
 prefer to live in a place like this, and then people 
 who came to see one really would pay one a little 
 
 135
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 attention, instead of talking of nothing but the 
 house." 
 
 The Colonel laughed and apologized. 
 
 " Oh, I know Fm not half good enough for 
 Stanby," said Mrs. Fielden, smiling. " But I really 
 can't help it. I was brought up in a house with hot 
 and cold water upstairs and white paint, and I sup- 
 pose I never can really appreciate anything else." 
 
 If I had to describe Mrs. Fielden I should say she 
 is almost impertinently modern. The dignity of her 
 surroundings has never affected her in the very 
 smallest degree, and I do not believe that the tradi- 
 tions of the house interest her in the very least. I 
 am quite aware that she asked me to write out the 
 history of Lady Hylda, for instance, simply because 
 it is part of her charm always to ask one to do some- 
 thing for her. It is the fashion to wait upon Mrs. 
 Fielden's behests, and it would appear almost an 
 unkindness to her many men friends if she did not 
 give them some commission to do when they go up to 
 town. Her manner of thanking one for a service 
 is almost as pretty as her manner of asking it, and I 
 am really not surprised that she is the most popular 
 woman in the country-side. 
 
 Mr. Ellicomb said ecstatically that the dim twi- 
 light at Stanby was one of the most impressive things 
 
 136
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 he knew, and he added with a shudder that he always 
 expected to see ghosts there. 
 
 Mrs. Fielden does not believe in ghosts except on 
 those occasions when she has someone very charm- 
 ing to defend her, and she spends her evenings in a 
 cheerful white boudoir in the modern part of the 
 house. 
 
 Having admired all the majolica plates in the 
 house, and having completely bewildered her host 
 by showing an interest in him and his possessions 
 one minute and complete indifference the next, Mrs. 
 Fielden relapsed into one of those little silences 
 which are so characteristic of her. Her silence is 
 one of the most provoking things about her. She 
 has been witty and amusing the moment before, 
 and then relapses into silence in the most natural 
 manner possible, and her face takes a certain wistful 
 look, and a man wonders how he can comfort her or 
 whether he has offended her. 
 
 " I think we ought to go now," she said, coming 
 out of this wistful reverie like a child awaking from 
 sleep. " Is everyone ready ? " 
 
 We got into the motor car again and sped onwards 
 along the smooth white road. Every turn made a 
 picture which I suppose an artist would love to 
 paint. There were red-roofed cottages smothered 
 
 137
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 in bloom of plum blossom and simple palings set 
 across a gap of hedge, with gardens beyond filled 
 with spring flowers. Now a labourer, gray-coated 
 and bent with age, passed by like a flash, as he 
 tramped slowly homewards from his work, and some 
 school-children, loitering to pick primroses under 
 the hedges, dropped their slates and satchels in the 
 ditch, and called to each other to take care, as 
 they clung together and shouted " Hurrah ! " as we 
 passed. 
 
 The park gates of Stanby are lion guarded and of 
 stone, and then a long carriage-drive takes one up to 
 the house. The park round the old gray pile was 
 starred with primroses, and ghost-like little lambs 
 were capering noiselessly in the fields. The scent 
 of wallflowers was blown to us from a great brown 
 ribbon of them round the walls of the lodgekeeper's 
 house as we swung through the gates. The sheep 
 in the park, bleating to their young, drew away from 
 the palings where they had been rubbing their woolly 
 sides, and made off to the further corner of the field, 
 and Mrs. Fielden's gray pony in the paddock tossed 
 his heels in a vindictive fashion at us at a distance of 
 fifty yards or more. And the motor car drew up with 
 a jerk at the great doors of the house. 
 
 Stanby is not quite so large now as it originally 
 138
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 was, immense though the house undoubtedly is, and 
 only some ruins on the north side show where the 
 chapel used to stand. A mound within the ruin's 
 wall marks the resting-place of Hylda Hylda, 
 whose history I wrote out at the request of Mrs. 
 Fielden and sent to her; but I don't suppose she 
 has ever read it. 
 
 The evening of our arrival at Stanby it pleased 
 Mrs. Fielden to put on an old-fashioned dress of 
 stiffest brocade, which she had found in some old 
 chest in the house. She wore a high comb of pearls 
 in her dark hair, and looked a very regal and beauti- 
 ful figure in the great dining-hall and drawing-rooms 
 of her house. She did not play Bridge as the others 
 did, but sat on a great high-backed chair near my 
 sofa, and told me some of the old stories of the 
 house, and asked me to write down some of them for 
 her. 
 
 " I sent you the story of Hylda more than a week 
 ago," I said, " and I don't suppose you ever read it." 
 
 " I did read it," said Mrs. Fielden gently, " and 
 I liked it very much." 
 
 She had put on an unapproachable mood with her 
 beautiful stiff brocade gown, and the gentleness of 
 her voice seemed to heighten rather than to lessen 
 her royalty. The radiance and the holiday air, which 
 
 139
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 are Mrs. Fielden's by divine right, were not dimmed 
 to-night, so much as transformed. There was a 
 subtle aromatic scent of dried rose-leaves clinging to 
 the old brocade dress, and about herself a sort of 
 fragrance of old-world dignity and beauty. The 
 pearl comb in her hair made her look taller than 
 usual. 
 
 A deerhound got up from his place by the fire- 
 place and came and laid his head on her lap, and 
 some footmen in old-fashioned bright blue liveries 
 came in to arrange the card-tables and hand round 
 coffee. Everything was stately and magnificent in 
 the house. 
 
 " And you pretend," I said, " that you do nothing ; 
 yet probably the whole ordering of this house de- 
 volves upon you." 
 
 " I am quite a domestic person sometimes," said 
 Mrs. Fielden. 
 
 " It is rather bewildering," I said, " to find that 
 you are everything in turn." 
 
 And the next morning she wore a short blue skirt 
 with a silver belt round her waist, and spent the 
 morning punting on the lake with Anthony Craw- 
 shay. 
 
 " I hope I look after you all properly," she said 
 at lunch-time, in a certain charming deprecating 
 
 140
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 way she has of speaking sometimes. " There really 
 are punts, and horses, and motor cars, and things, 
 if you want them. Will you all order what you 
 like? " 
 
 Each man at the table then offered to take Mrs. 
 Fielden for a ride, or a drive, or a row, and not one 
 of them could be quite sure that she had refused to 
 go with him. 
 
 " I want to go for a turn in the garden and talk 
 about books," she said to me as we left the dining- 
 room. And then I found that I was sitting in her 
 boudoir with her having coffee, and that everyone 
 else was excluded from the room how it was done 
 I have not the slightest idea and that by-and-by 
 we left the room by the open French windows, and 
 were strolling in the garden in the spring sunshine. 
 The garden, with its high walls, is sheltered from 
 every wind that blows, and there are wide garden- 
 seats in it painted white, and every border as bright 
 with early spring flowers. 
 
 "I call this my Grove of Academe," said Mrs. 
 Fielden. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because I think it has a nice classical sound ; 
 and it is here I come with my friends and discuss 
 metaphysics." 
 
 141
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " It seems to me you have a great many friends," 
 I said. 
 
 " I was thinking," said Mrs. Fielden thoughtfully, 
 " of adding another to their number." 
 
 " I have a constitutional dislike to worshipping in 
 crowded temples," I said. 
 
 Mrs. Fielden became silent. 
 
 It would be forging a sword against themselves 
 did men allow women to know what a powerful 
 weapon silence is. A soft answer turneth away 
 wrath, but a woman's silence makes a man's heart 
 cry out: " My dear, my dear, did I hurt you? For- 
 give me ! " 
 
 At the end of five minutes or so of silence, Mrs. 
 Fielden turned towards me and smiled, and the 
 garden seemed to be filled with her. There was no 
 room for anything else but her, and that bewildering, 
 provoking smile she gave me. 
 
 " How is the diary getting on ? " she said. 
 
 " The diary," I answered, " continues to record our 
 godly, righteous, and sober life " 
 
 " Oh," said Mrs. Fielden quickly, " don't you 
 think it is possible to be too good sometimes? That is 
 really what I wanted to say to you I brought you 
 into the garden to ask you that." 
 
 " It is an interesting suggestion," I remarked, 
 142
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " and I think we ought to give it to Eliza Jamieson 
 for one of her discussions." 
 
 " I do not wish to discuss it with Eliza Jamieson," 
 said Mrs. Fielden, " but with you. You know there 
 really is a great danger about becoming too good, 
 for although I do not think that you would grow 
 wings, or hear passing bells, or anything of that sort, 
 still, you might become a little dull, might you 
 not? " 
 
 " I don't think it would be possible to become 
 duller than I am," I replied. " You have more than 
 once told me that I am not amusing, and, so long as 
 my sister is not aware of the fact, I do not in the 
 least mind admitting that I find every day most 
 horribly tedious. I suppose I shall get accustomed 
 to it in time, but I don't enjoy being an invalid." 
 
 " You have helped the Jamiesons to make flannel 
 petticoats for the poor," went on Mrs. Fielden, " and 
 you have had the Curate to tea, and you have been 
 to the Taylors' party, and if it does not kill you, I 
 am sure you will become like people in those books 
 one gives as prizes to choir-boys." 
 
 " One so often mistakes monotony for virtue," I 
 said. " I believe I was beginning to think that there 
 was almost a merit in getting accustomed to a sofa 
 and a crutch." 
 
 143
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " Oh, but it is a sin ! " exclaimed Mrs. Fielden. 
 " It is a sin to get accustomed to anything that is 
 disagreeable. But that is what comes of studying 
 philosophy ! " 
 
 " I suppose reasoning is always bad," I said 
 humbly. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Fielden ; " and it is so unnatural, 
 too." 
 
 " I heard a man say the other day," I said, " that 
 solitude is always sententious. And he pointed out 
 that foreigners, who are never alone, base their 
 ethics upon conduct; but that English people, who 
 simply do not understand the life of the boulevards 
 and cafes and family affection, sit apart in the soli- 
 tude of their garrets or studies, and decide that the 
 right or the wrong of a thing consists in what they 
 think about it." 
 
 Then I recollected that this garden was the Grove 
 of Academe, and that it was here that Mrs. Fielden 
 discussed metaphysics with all her friends. . 
 " What cure do you propose? " I said shortly. 
 
 " Why not go to London for a little while and 
 enjoy yourselves? " said Mrs. Fielden. " Put off the 
 conventionalities of Stowel, as the Miss Traceys do, 
 and do something amusing and gay? " 
 
 "Did you ever hear of the man in the Bastille," 
 144
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 I said, " who had been in prison so long that when 
 he was offered his freedom he elected to remain where 
 he was? " 
 
 " But you must break out of the Bastille long be- 
 fore it comes to that," said Mrs. Fielden. " Couldn't 
 you do something exciting? I am sure nothing else 
 will restore your moral tone." 
 
 "How is it to be done?" I asked. "We must 
 recognize the limitations of our environment." 
 
 " You are going to be philosophical," said Mrs. 
 Fielden ; " you are going to quote Protagoras, or 
 Pythagoras, or Plato, which will not convince me in 
 the least. Philosophy tries to make people believe 
 that things are exactly the reverse of what they are. 
 I don't think that alters the sum total of things very 
 much. Because, by the time that you have proved 
 that all agreeable things are disagreeable, and all 
 unpleasant things are pleasant, you are in exactly 
 the same position as you were before. I daresay it 
 fills up people's time to turn everything upside down 
 and stand everything on its head, but it is not 
 amusing." 
 
 " What do you want me to do ? " I asked. 
 
 " Couldn't you enjoy yourselves a little? " said 
 Mrs. Fielden, putting on her wistful voice. 
 
 " As we are in the Grove of Academe, let me point 
 145
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 out that the pursuit of pleasure for its own sake was 
 one of the corrupt forms of a decadent epicurian- 
 ism," I said sternly. 
 
 " I am quite sure it was," said Mrs. Fielden, smil- 
 ing ; " but we were talking about your visit to 
 London, were we not? " 
 
 And so I knew that the thing was settled, and I 
 thought it very odd that Palestrina and I had not 
 thought of the plan before. 
 
 " As it is getting cold," said Mrs. Fielden, " I am 
 going to be a peripatetic philosopher," and she rose 
 from the seat where we were sitting, and gave me her 
 hand to help me up, for I am still awkward with my 
 crutch, and then let me lean on her arm as we walked 
 up and down the broad gravel pathway. 
 
 " Don't you think," she began, " that it is a great 
 waste of opportunity not to be wild and wicked some- 
 times, when one is very good? " 
 
 " I am afraid I do not quite follow you." 
 
 " What I mean is, what is the good of filling up 
 years of curates and Taylors and flannel petticoats, 
 unless you are going to kick them all over some day, 
 and have a good time. You see, if you and Pales- 
 trina were not so good, you would always have to pre- 
 tend to be tremendously circumspect. But it seems 
 such waste of goodness not to be bad sometimes." 
 
 146
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " Your argument being," I said, " that an honest 
 man may sometimes steal a horse ? " 
 
 " Yes, that is what I mean," said Mrs. Fielden 
 delightedly. 
 
 " A dangerous doctrine, and one " 
 
 " Not Plato, please," said Mrs. Fielden. 
 
 ... It ended in our taking a flat in London for 
 some weeks. It was a small dwelling, with an over- 
 dressed little drawing-room, and a red dining-room, 
 and a roomy cupboard for a smoking-room. 
 
 " Remember, Palestrina," I said to my sister when 
 we settled down, " that we are under strict orders to 
 live a very rapid and go-ahead life while we are in 
 London. Can you suggest anything very rowd} r 
 that a crippled man with a crutch and a tendency 
 to chills and malaria might undertake ? " 
 
 " We might give a supper-party," said Palestrina 
 brilliantly, " and have long-stemmed champagne- 
 glasses, and perhaps cook something in a chafing- 
 dish. I was reading a novel the other day in which 
 the bad characters did this. I made a note of it at 
 the time, meaning to ask you why it should be fast 
 to cook things in a chafing-dish or to have long- 
 stemmed champagne-glasses ? " 
 
 When the evening came Mrs. Fielden dined with 
 us, and she and Palestrina employed themselves 
 
 147
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 after dinner in rehearsing how they should behave. 
 My sister said, in her low gurgling voice : " I think I 
 shall sit on the sofa with my arms spread out on 
 either side of me, and I shall thump them sometimes, 
 like the adventuress in a play." 
 
 " Or you might be singing at the piano," said Mrs. 
 Fielden, " and then when the door opens you could 
 toss the music aside and sail across the room, and 
 give your left hand to whoever comes in first, and 
 say, * What a bore ! You have come ! ' or something 
 rude of that sort." 
 
 Mrs. Fielden's spirit of fun inspired my quiet sis- 
 ter to-night, and the two women began masquerading 
 in a way that was sufficiently amusing to a sick man 
 lying on a sofa. 
 
 " Or you might continue playing the piano," Mrs. 
 Fielden went on, " after anyone has been announced. 
 I notice that that is very often done, especially in 
 books written by the hero himself in the first person. 
 6 She did not leave the piano as I entered, but 
 continued playing softly, her white hands gliding 
 dreamily over the keys.' " 
 
 " I shall do my best," Palestrina answered, " and I 
 thought of calling all our guests by their Christian 
 names, if only I could recollect what they are." 
 
 " Nicknames would be better," said Mrs. Fielden. 
 148
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " We ought to have found out, I think, something 
 about this matter before the party began." 
 
 " What shall we do till they arrive? " said Pales- 
 trina. 
 
 " We must read newspapers and periodicals," 
 Mrs. Fielden replied, " and then fling them down on 
 the carpet. There is something about seeing newspa- 
 pers on a carpet which is certainly untidy, but has 
 something distinctly Bacchanalian about it." 
 
 " I wish I had a red tea-gown," sighed my sister. 
 
 " Or a white one trimmed with some costly furs," 
 said Mrs. Fielden. " Almost any tea-gown would do." 
 
 " One thing I will have ! " she exclaimed, starting 
 in an energetic manner to her feet. " I'll turn all the 
 lamps low, and cover them with pink paper shades. 
 Where is the crinkly paper and some ribbon? " 
 
 'After that we sat in a rose twilight so dim that we 
 couldn't even read the evening newspaper. 
 
 " I don't think they need have come quite so 
 early," I said, as the first ring was heard at the door- 
 bell. 
 
 Mrs. Fielden had insisted upon it that one actress 
 at least should be asked. " What is a supper-party 
 without an actress ? " she had said. And Mrs. 
 Travers, at present acting in Mr. Pinero's new play, 
 was the first to arrive. 
 
 149
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " I wonder if you know any of our friends who 
 are coming to-night? " said Palestrina. " We expect 
 Squash Bosanquet and Charles Fenwick." Palestrina 
 then broke down, because we had no idea if these 
 two men had ever answered to these names in their 
 lives. Also she blushed, which spoilt it all, and Mrs. 
 Fielden began to smile. 
 
 Mrs. Travers came to the party in a very simple 
 black evening gown, and Bosanquet and Charles 
 Fenwick came almost immediately afterwards. 
 Anthony Crawshay was amongst the friends whom 
 we had invited, because, Palestrina said, as we did 
 not seem to know many fast people, we had better 
 have someone who was sporting. There was an 
 artist whom we considered Bohemian, because he 
 wore his hair long, but he disappointed us by coming 
 in goloshes. 
 
 Altogether we were eight at supper. There was 
 an attractive menu, and the long-stemmed cham- 
 pagne-glasses were felt to be a distinct challenge to 
 quiet behaviour. 
 
 Palestrina thought that if she was going to be 
 really fast she had better talk about divorce, and 
 I heard her ask Anthony in a diffident whisper if he 
 had read any divorce cases lately. Anthony looked 
 startled, and in his loud voice exclaimed : " Egad ! 
 
 150
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 I hope you haven't ! " Palestrina coloured with con- 
 fusion, and I frowned heavily at her, which made it 
 worse. 
 
 Mrs. Travers seemed to have taken it into her 
 head that Palestrina was pious, and she talked a 
 great deal about factory girls, and Bosanquet talked 
 about methylated ether. What it was that provoked 
 his remarks on this subject I cannot now recall, nor 
 why he discussed it without intermission almost 
 throughout the entire evening, but I have a distinct 
 recollection of hearing him dinning out the phrase 
 " methylated ether." 
 
 It was, I think, the dullest party that even Pales- 
 trina and I have ever given, and I blame Mrs. 
 Fielden for this. Mrs. Fielden refused to be the 
 centre of the room. She became an onlooker at the 
 party which she had planned, and she smiled affec- 
 tionately at us both, and watched, I think, to see 
 how the party would go off. 
 
 The long-stemmed champagne-glasses were hardly 
 used. Several people said to me jocosely, " How is 
 South Africa ? " and to this I could think of no more 
 suitable reply than, " It's all right." We longed 
 for even the Pirate Boy to make a little disturbance. 
 Palestrina whispered to me that she thought I might 
 throw a piece of bread at someone, or do something. 
 
 151
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 But the action she suggested seemed to me to be in 
 too daring contrast to the general tone of the even- 
 ing; and really, as I murmured back to her, there 
 seemed to be very little point in throwing my bread 
 at a guest who had done me no harm. 
 
 " I wish," she said to me when we returned to the 
 drawing-room, " that I knew some daring little 
 French songs. In books the girl always sings daring 
 little French songs, and afterwards everyone begins 
 to be vulgar and delightful, like those people in ' The 
 Christian.' I think I'll light a cigarette." She did 
 so, and choked a little, and then wondered if Thomas 
 would like her to smoke, and threw the cigarette 
 into the fire. The Bohemian, who had travelled 
 considerably, asked for a map, and told us of his last 
 year's journeyings, tracing out the route of them for 
 us on the map with a pin. 
 
 And Mrs. Fielden was smiling all the time. 
 
 " I suppose," I said to my sister, when the last 
 guest had departed, and we sat together in the pink 
 light of the drawing-room before going to bed " I 
 suppose we carry about with us an atmosphere of 
 slowness which it is impossible to penetrate. You 
 are engaged to Thomas, and I am an invalid " 
 
 " But in books," said Palestrina wistfully, " men 
 talk about all sorts of things to girls whether they 
 
 152
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 happen to be engaged or not, and they ask them to 
 go to see galleries with them next day, or squeeze 
 their hands. Of course, I should hate it if they did 
 this, but, still, one rather expected it. To-night," 
 she said regretfully, "no one talked to me of any- 
 thing but Thomas." 
 
 " Charles Fenwick," I said, " who used to be con- 
 sidered amusing, has become simply idiotic since he 
 married. He gave me an exact account of his little 
 boy's sayings ; he copied the way he asked for sugar, 
 like the chirruping of a bird. You won't believe me, 
 I know, but he put out his lips and chirped." 
 
 " I remember being positively warned against 
 him," said Palestrina, " when I used to go to dances 
 in London." She sighed, and added : " Do you 
 think Mrs. Fielden enjoyed it? " 
 
 " I think Mrs. Fielden was distinctly amused," I 
 replied. 
 
 " Do you think," said Palestrina, still in a dis- 
 appointed tone, " that the men would have been more 
 more larky if we had been alone? Mrs. Fielden 
 always looks so beautiful and dresses so well that 
 I think she impresses people too much, and they are 
 all trying to talk to her instead of making a row." 
 
 " I think we may as well go to bed," I said. 
 
 Palestrina rose slowly, and went towards the bell 
 153
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 to ring for my man to help me. She lingered for a 
 moment by my chair. ' Yet books say that men 
 require so much keeping in order," she said sadly. 
 " I wish people would not write about what does not 
 occur." 
 
 154
 
 Chapter X 
 
 THE Jamiesons have taken lodgings in West 
 Kensington, which they describe as being " most 
 central " a phrase which I have begun to think 
 means inexpensive, and near a line of omnibuses. 
 George and the Pirate are assiduous in taking their 
 sisters to the Play, and other places of amusement, 
 and are showing them something of London with a 
 zeal which speaks much for their goodness of heart. 
 Even Mrs. Jamieson has been out once or twice, 
 and although doubly tearful on the morning follow- 
 ing any little bit of dissipation, her family feel that 
 the variety has been good for her. Eliza has found 
 that London is radio-active, hence enjoyable. And 
 Eliza had only been once to the Royal Institution 
 when she said it ! Maud's engagement to the Hamp- 
 stead young man has been finally broken off, and 
 Maud has cried so much that her Family have for- 
 given her. Maud explains that it is such an upset 
 for a girl to break off an engagement, and The 
 Family say soothingly that she must just try and get 
 over it. 
 
 155
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " We hope," said Kate, " that the next time things 
 will arrange themselves more happily, and at least 
 we can all feel that Maud might have married many 
 times, had she wished to do so." There would seem 
 to be a strong feeling in The Family that Maud will 
 go on having opportunities. Arguing from the Gen- 
 eral to the Particular, they have proved, with a sort 
 of tribal feeling of satisfaction, that Maud is un- 
 doubtedly very attractive to men, and that if one 
 man likes her, why should not another? 
 
 Still, we all felt that we could not have sym- 
 pathized immediately with another love affair of 
 Maud's, and it was refreshing, not to say most 
 pleasing and surprising, to find that since her 
 arrival in Town, it is Margaret who has attracted 
 the notice of a gentleman, Mr. Swinnerton by 
 name, a friend of George's, who brought him to 
 supper one Sunday evening. The Jamiesons could 
 see at a glance that Mr. Swinnerton was " struck," 
 and as he called two or three times in the 
 following week, Margaret made the usual Jamieson 
 opportunity of seeing Palestrina home, one afternoon 
 when she had been to call, to embark in confidences 
 about her lover, in the usual Jamieson style. 
 Margaret is diffident, bashful, shy, uncertain about 
 Mr. Swinnerton's feelings for her, and hopelessly 
 
 156
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 nervous lest her family should have had their 
 expectations raised only to be disappointed, and she 
 implored Palestrina over and over again to say 
 nothing about it to them, though it has been more 
 than obvious to us all along how full of expectation 
 every member of The Family is. It was a very wet 
 evening as Margaret and my sister left the Jamie- 
 sons' lodgings, but she hardly seemed conscious of 
 the inclemency of the weather, and begged Palestrina 
 not to think of taking a cab, as she particularly 
 wished to speak to her. 
 
 " At first," she began, " I thought it must be 
 Maud, for although she had but just broken off her 
 engagement to Mr. Evans, still, one knows she is the 
 pretty one, and if anyone calls often, it is generally 
 her." 
 
 It was a little difficult to follow Margaret's rapid 
 ungrammatical speech, but Palestrina and I both 
 knew that to the vigorous minds of the Jamiesons 
 there must be a direct purpose of every action, and 
 that therefore if Mr. Swinnerton came to call, he 
 must have a purpose, presumably a matrimonial pur- 
 pose, for paying his visits. After two or three after- 
 noon calls from a gentleman, the Jamiesons generally 
 ask each other ingenuously, "Which of us is it?" 
 It hardly seems to them respectable that a man should 
 
 157
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 continue to pay them visits unless he means to show 
 a preference for one of them. 
 
 Presuming that it was not Maud he came to see, 
 Margaret, with modest hesitation and many blushes, 
 asked Palestrina if she did not think it possible that 
 these visits might be intended for her. 
 
 " Please do not say anything about it to the others. 
 I have so hoped always that if ever I had a love 
 affair it would be when I was away from home. 
 Do you know at all what .they think about it? " 
 
 She did not pause for a reply, but began again: 
 " You see he has called three times in one week, but 
 [hopelessly] I am always surrounded by The Family, 
 and he couldn't say anything if he wanted to. Of 
 course I don't think it has come to anything of that 
 sort yet; still, you know we could get to know each 
 other better if there were not so many of us always 
 about. Maud doesn't mind a bit; she has had love 
 affairs in front of us all, and she does not mind 
 talking about them in the least, or even asking us 
 to let her have the drawing-room to herself on cer- 
 tain afternoons. But I don't feel as if I could bear 
 to have this discussed before anything is settled. 
 And then we have so few opportunities. Maud gen- 
 erally takes them to a distant church, and then they 
 have the walk home together. But I never quite 
 
 158
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 know whether she makes the suggestion about church, 
 or if she merely thinks it would be nice, and leaves 
 the man to make it." 
 
 " Maud," I remarked parenthetically to Palestrina, 
 " has raised love-making to a science an exact 
 science." 
 
 " I hope you don't think for a moment," Margaret 
 had gone on, " that I am abusing Maud ; you know 
 how fond we all are of each other." 
 
 Maud's experiences on matters matrimonial are 
 always quoted as precedent in the Jamieson family, 
 and she is cited whenever anything of the sort is 
 a-foot. Each phase in her experience is frankly dis- 
 cussed, and conclusions are drawn from it; and I 
 have heard the Jamiesons say " Mr. So-and-so must 
 be in love with Miss So-and-so; he looks at her in 
 exactly the same way that Mr. Reddy used to look 
 at Maud." Maud herself, unconsciously, as I believe, 
 makes a sort of calendar of her love affairs, and it is 
 quite usual for her to date an event by referring to it 
 as having happened " in the Albert Gore days," or 
 " when Mr. Evans was hovering." 
 
 Margaret's voice did not cease from the moment 
 they left the lodgings together. " It is, however, no 
 use trying to copy other people in your love affairs," 
 she said, " because it seems to come to everyone so 
 
 159
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 differently, and then, of course, different people must 
 call forth different feelings. I don't think I could 
 have felt for Mr. Reddy, for instance, quite as I do 
 now, even if he had been in love with me. You feel 
 so bewildered somehow." 
 
 The walk had by this time become very rapid, and 
 Margaret knocked against all the foot-passengers 
 whom she met travelling in the opposite direction, 
 in her short-sighted way. Her umbrella showered 
 raindrops upon Palestrina, and she became so in- 
 coherent that my sister suggested taking a cab to 
 our flat, and talking things over quietly when they 
 should get there. 
 
 It was about eleven o'clock that night when Mar- 
 garet Jamieson took leave of us, and by that time I 
 fancy the bridesmaids' dresses had been arranged. 
 
 A few days later Palestrina received a note by the 
 hand of a messenger boy ; it bore the word " imme- 
 diate " on the cover, and had evidently been addressed 
 in some haste. 
 
 " DEAR PALESTRINA (it ran), 
 
 " Can you possibly come to make a fourth at 
 a concert this afternoon? Do come, even if it should 
 be rather inconvenient to you. I want you so much. 
 Mr. Swinnerton has asked mamma and me, and he 
 
 160
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 has taken tickets. They are not reserved places, so 
 we could easily arrange to meet at the door and sit 
 together. Three is such an awkward number. I fear 
 mamma does not care for him, and that is a great 
 grief to me. I will tell you everything this after- 
 noon. 
 
 " Yours affectionately, 
 
 " MARGARET JAMIESON. 
 
 " P.S. It is all going to come right, I believe, but 
 I have had immense difficulties. Hardly ten minutes 
 alone with him you know we have only one sitting- 
 room but the family have been sweet." 
 
 " Hugo," said Palestrina, " this is an occasion 
 when you could give very substantial aid to a deserv- 
 ing family." 
 
 " I am sorry I am engaged this afternoon," I said 
 with an instinct of self-preservation, without, how- 
 ever, any definite idea of what Palestrina might say 
 next. 
 
 " It is I who am engaged this afternoon," said my 
 sister, smiling, " and you are perfectly aware of that 
 fact. Thomas is taking me down to Richmond to 
 introduce me to his aunt. Besides, Hugo, you know 
 you like music." 
 
 161
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " I am very sorry, Palestrina," I said, " but it is 
 quite impossible." 
 
 " Margaret is the Jamieson you like best," said 
 Palestrina, " and I hate to think of your being here 
 alone a whole afternoon. What were you thinking 
 of doing? " 
 
 I had been thinking of going to this concert, and 
 Palestrina guessed it, of course. . . . 
 
 I was at the door of the concert hall at two-thirty 
 in the afternoon, and found Mrs. Jamieson and Mar- 
 garet and the young man already on the pavement, 
 looking as if they had stood there for a considerable 
 time. Mr. Swinnerton is a large, rather stupid- 
 looking man, with a red face, a crooked nose, and 
 curly hair. He wore a dark blue overcoat, so thick 
 and strong that it reminded one of some encasement 
 of plaster of Paris, or of some heavy coat of mail. 
 His hands were covered by yellow dogskin gloves, 
 equally unyielding, so that Mr. Swinnerton appeared 
 deprived of any agility or movement by his garments. 
 Mr. Swinnerton is in the volunteers, and has " Cap- 
 tain Swinnerton " printed on his cards. He gave 
 me the idea of seeming to think that every action of 
 his was some epoch-making event, and he frequently 
 referred during the afternoon to having seen a pic- 
 ture then on view at one of the galleries, as though 
 
 162
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 this were rather an up-to-date, not to say remarkable, 
 proceeding. Margaret seemed a good deal impressed 
 by his manner, and the Jamiesons had decided that 
 he was " smart," which was a further and quite un- 
 necessary addition to Mr. Swinnerton's vanity, and 
 very bad for a gentleman of his complacent char- 
 acter. 
 
 He ushered us into the Queen's Hall in an im- 
 portant sort of way, which gave one the impression 
 that the place belonged to him ; and the fact that I 
 was making a third in a party under his guidance 
 convinced me that I was in some sort adding to his 
 self-satisfaction. Mr. Swinnerton had chosen shill- 
 ing places, because, as he informed us a great number 
 of times, these were in the best position for hearing 
 the music. Mrs. Jamieson was disappointed. In 
 her class of life a treat is given on a more magnificent 
 scale. 
 
 "Shall I sit next you, Mrs. Jamieson?" I said, 
 for I believed that this was what I was intended to 
 say; but Mr. Swinnerton remarked to Margaret, 
 " I'll go next ; I like to divide myself amongst the 
 ladies." 
 
 Mrs. Jamieson looked uncomfortable in the small 
 amount of space a shilling had procured for her, and 
 she suggested apologetically that she would like a 
 
 163
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 programme; but the music was beginning, and Mr. 
 Swinnerton put up his large, stiff -gloved hand like a 
 slab, and said " Hush." 
 
 We went faithfully through the orthodox Queen's 
 Hall concert from the very first note to the " Ride of 
 the Valykrs," and after every item on the pro- 
 gramme our host turned to us, moving his whole body 
 in his stout coat, and said, " Isn't that nice 
 now very nice I call it ! " still with an air of owner- 
 ship^ 
 
 Mrs. Jamieson slept a little; but the hardness of 
 her seat formed an uneasy resting-place, and it is to 
 be feared that her mantle with the storm collar was 
 too hot ; but, she whispered to me, in a burst of con- 
 fidence, she was unable to remove it, owing to the 
 fact that the bodice and skirt of her dress did not 
 correspond. 
 
 " I always like these places," said Mr. Swinnerton 
 again, " they are exactly in the centre of the hall, 
 and another thing is they are near the door in case 
 of fire." 
 
 Margaret assented sweetly. I always thought until 
 to-day that Margaret Jamieson was a plain woman; 
 to-day I find she is good-looking. 
 
 " It is ridiculous," said Mr. Swinnerton, " to see 
 the way people throw their money away on really 
 
 164
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 inferior seats just because they think they are fash- 
 ionable." 
 
 Mrs. Jamieson stirred a little on her uneasy bench, 
 and Mr. Swinnerton said, in self-defence, " Don't you 
 agree with me, eh? " 
 
 " I think," said Mrs. Jamieson politely, " that 
 perhaps for a long concert the fotoys would be more 
 comfortable." 
 
 " Ah ! " cried Mr. Swinnerton, " you want to be 
 fashionable, I see; but there are many of the best 
 people who come to these seats. I know of a Mem- 
 ber of Parliament I don't know him, I know of him 
 [we felt that some connection with the Member had 
 now been established] who comes regularly to these 
 very places, and who declares they are the best in the 
 house." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Mrs. Jamieson simply, " he had 
 never tried the fotoys." 
 
 After the concert was over Mr. Swinnerton sug- 
 gested that Margaret and her mother should go and 
 have tea at a bun-shop, qualifying the suggestion 
 with the remark, " I know you ladies can never get 
 on without afternoon tea." When with Mr. Swin- 
 nerton ladies are never allowed to forget that he is a 
 gentleman and they are ladies, and that a certain 
 forbearance is therefore extended to them. He of- 
 
 165
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 fered his arm to Mrs. Jamieson, who gathered up her 
 skirt and umbrella in one hand, and accepted the 
 preferred support in some embarrassment. Mar- 
 garet fell behind with me, and whispered in a sort of 
 excited way: 
 
 " Hasn't it been lovely? Do tell me what you think, 
 I mean about him ? " 
 
 " I haven't had much chance of judging," I re- 
 plied stupidly; "but he seems all right, although 
 perhaps his ideas are not very large." 
 
 " Still, you mean that one could always alter 
 that," said Margaret quickly, with the true Jamieson 
 optimism, as applied to the beneficial results of 
 matrimony. There is hardly, I believe, a defect that 
 they think they will not be able to eradicate in a 
 future husband, save, perhaps, the conical shape of 
 Mr. Ward's head. " But I really do not think that 
 there is anything that I would like altered." 
 
 " His name is Tudor," she went on ; " George calls 
 him that now, and Maud is beginning to do so 
 Maud is being so kind, she says it promotes a fami- 
 liar tone which is very helpful to call him ' Tudor,' 
 but I can't call him anything but Mr. Swinnerton 
 
 yet." 
 
 After tea Mr. Swinnerton asked us how we had 
 enjoyed our entertainment, and Margaret expressed 
 
 166
 
 'A. Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 herself in the highest terms in praise of it. There 
 seemed to be a lingering tendency on Mrs. Jamieson's 
 part, to revert to the superior comfort of seven-and 
 sixpenny places, and armchairs, but we checked this 
 by saying with emphasis that it was a friendly 
 afternoon of this kind that we really enjoyed. Mr. 
 Swinnerton then put the Jamiesons into an omnibus, 
 and directed the conductor to " let these ladies out 
 at the top of Sloane Street," in a tone of voice that 
 suggested that they were to be caged and padlocked 
 until that place of exit was reached. He lifted his 
 hat with a fine air to them, and then, as I had called 
 a hansom, he put me into it rather elaborately, and 
 cautioned the commissionaire at the door to " take 
 care of this gentleman." 
 
 This man will call me a South African hero next ; 
 I wish he would keep his attentions to himself. 
 
 167
 
 LAST night we (dined at the Darcey-Jacobs'. Mrs. 
 Darcey-Jacobs is " enjoying one breath of life " at a 
 hotel with the Major, and she has left quite a pathetic 
 number of visiting-cards on all her friends, so that 
 her short London season may be as full of gaiety as 
 possible. Neither of us looked forward to the din- 
 ner-party being particularly lively, but we were a 
 good deal amused at the turn the conversation took 
 during dinner. I have often thought since that a 
 certain dumbness which falls upon some entertain- 
 ments can be dispersed if the subject of matrimony 
 is started, and I will class with it the discussion of 
 food, and of personal experience at the hand of the 
 dentist. Any of these three subjects can be thrown, 
 as it were, into the stagnant, deep waters of a voice- 
 less party, and the surface will be instantly rippled 
 with eager conversation. 
 
 Talk flagged a little in the private sitting-room of 
 the hotel where the Darcey-Jacobs gave their din- 
 ner-party. Major Jacobs, in his guileless way, gave 
 us an exhaustive list of the friends whom they had 
 invited for that evening, but who had not been able 
 
 168
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 to come, and this had a curiously depressing effect 
 upon us all, and within ourselves we speculated un- 
 happily as to whether we had been asked to fill up 
 vacant places. 
 
 " Why are men always allowed to blunder? " said 
 Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs, looking over her high nose at 
 the gentleman next her, and tapping him on the arm 
 with her lorgnettes. 
 
 Major Jacobs, from his end of the table, looked 
 penitent, but mystified. 
 
 " Happy is the woman," said Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs, 
 " who has no men about her." 
 
 " I should like to have been born a widow," said a 
 pretty girl with beseeching blue eyes and a soft, con- 
 fiding expression, who sat a little lower down on my 
 side of the table. And then the subject of matrimony 
 was in full swing. 
 
 " Marriage is just an experience," said a shrill- 
 voiced American widow, who sat opposite. " Every- 
 one should try it, but that is no reason why one 
 should not be thankful when it is over." 
 
 " I am much interested in what you say," said 
 Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs, with a certain profound air 
 suitable to so great a subject. One felt the want of 
 the Jamiesons sadly during the ensuing discussion, 
 and I almost found myself, in the words of 
 
 169
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 making the suggestion that marriage was a great 
 risk. 
 
 " I have always felt," a pale little man on the other 
 side of the table piped forth, " that I should not mind 
 much whom I married, so long as my wife was a good- 
 looking woman, and could keep me comfortably." 
 
 " Someone once said," ventured Major Darcey- 
 Jacobs, " that choosing a wife was like choosing a 
 profession it did not matter much what your choice 
 was so long as you stuck to it; it was a mere figure 
 of speech, no doubt " 
 
 " I hope so, indeed," said Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs. 
 
 " Marriage is the worst form of gambling," broke 
 in an elderly gentleman ; " it should be suppressed by 
 law! Talk about lotteries! Talk about sweepstakes. 
 Why, the worst you can do, if you put your money 
 into them, is to draw a blank. Now, this is fair 
 play, I consider; you either get a prize or you get 
 nothing. But matrimony, sir, is a swindle, compared 
 with which the Missing Word competition appears 
 like a legal document beside a forged banknote." 
 
 If the old gentleman had a wife present she was 
 evidently of a callous disposition, for I saw no wrath- 
 ful expression on any face. 
 
 Mr. Ellicomb even in London Ellicomb and 
 [Anthony Crawshay are asked to meet us gave it as 
 
 170
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 his opinion that a woman's hand was wanted in the 
 home. The voice was the voice of Ellicomb, the 
 sentiment was the sentiment of Maud, and Palestrina 
 and I very nearly exchanged glances. 
 
 After this several people began to describe at one 
 and the same time, in quite a breathless way, their 
 own personal experiences of the happiness of wedded 
 life. 
 
 " Of course," said Major Darcey- Jacobs, " a good 
 deal of forbearance must be exercised if married life 
 is to be a success." And Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs said 
 quickly : " I hope you do not intend to become per- 
 sonal, William." To which William replied that no 
 such intention had been his. 
 
 Anthony said in his cheery voice : " Of course it is 
 give and take, don't you know, and then it is all 
 right." 
 
 Everyone volunteered ideas on the subject not 
 once, but several times. And those who applauded 
 the happy state shouted each other down by quoting 
 examples of wedded bliss in such words as : " Look 
 at Hawkins ! " " Look at Jones ! " " Look at the 
 Menteiths ! " 
 
 Quite suddenly Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs leaned across 
 the table, smiled at her husband, and remarked: 
 "Look at us, William!" 
 
 171
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 I do not think I have ever seen anyone look so 
 astonished as Major Jacobs. " That was very pretty 
 of Maria," he said, in a low voice ; " very pretty of 
 her, by Gad ! " And we caught him looking at his 
 wife several times that evening as though she were 
 someone he had never seen before, or almost with that 
 look which is seen on a man's face sometimes when 
 we say, " He has fallen in love." 
 
 After dinner we played Bridge. " I disapprove of 
 the game myself," said Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs, who 
 certainly was the worst player I have ever met, " but 
 Mrs. Fielden likes it, and she has promised to come 
 in the evening." 
 
 Mrs. Fielden arrived with Colonel Jardine, and 
 they played as partners together, with me and the 
 American widow as opponents. Colonel Jardine 
 wore some kind of lead ring on his finger, which he 
 said cured gout, and gathered up his tricks in a stiff 
 sort of way. He had a pet name for almost every 
 card in the pack, and he babbled on without once 
 ceasing throughout the rubber. " Now we'll see 
 where old mossy face is. I think that draws the 
 Curse of Scotland. Kinky Bow-wow takes that," 
 and so on. It was perfectly maddening, but Mrs. 
 Fielden seemed quite pleased. I don't suppose she 
 ever feels irritated. The American widow, who was 
 
 172
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 my partner, was only just learning the game. When 
 I said to her, " May I play ? " she always replied, if 
 she had a bad hand, " No, certainly not." And when 
 it was pointed out to her that she had either to say, 
 " If you please," or " I double," she replied, " Don't 
 ask me if you may play, if you mean to do it whether 
 I like it or not." She always gave us such items of 
 information as " I know what I should say if it was 
 left to me this time," and she frequently doubled with 
 nothing at all in her hand, because she said she liked 
 to play a plucky game. 
 
 I have tried to cure Mrs. Fielden of saying *' dah- 
 monds " when she means diamonds," but it is quite 
 useless. She also says (with a radiant smile) " How 
 tarsome ! " when she has lost a rubber, although I 
 have pointed out to her that that is not the phonetic 
 pronunciation of the word. When we are all wrang- 
 ling over the mistakes and misdeeds of the last round, 
 Mrs. Fielden looks hopelessly at us and says, " Is 
 it anyone's deal? " And then we laugh and stop 
 quarrelling. She never keeps the score, or picks 
 up the cards, or deals for herself, or does anything 
 useful. 
 
 The American widow did not stop talking most 
 of the time, and the Colonel kept up his running 
 commentary upon the cards he was playing, and 
 
 173
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 then Mrs. Darcey- Jacobs joined us to look on, and 
 she and the American widow plunged into a dis- 
 cussion on clothes, which they kept up vigorously all 
 the time. This necessitated a number of questions 
 relating to the game from the American widow, 
 whenever she was recalled to the fact that she was 
 playing Bridge: " May I see that laast trick? What's 
 trumps? Does my hand go down on the table this 
 time? " Mrs. Fielden beamed kindly upon her, even 
 when the widow had debated five minutes which card 
 to lead, and Colonel Jardine had begun to play the 
 chromatic scale of impatience up and down the table 
 with his stiff fingers. 
 
 " Waal," said the American widow to Mrs. Filden, 
 " I think you are just lovely, and I would like to play 
 with you always. I believe most people would like 
 to kill me at Bridge. Caan't think why. Colonel 
 Jardine, did you play the lost chord? " 
 
 " I know the tune," said the Colonel ; " but I don't 
 play at all." 
 
 The American turned bewildered eyes upon Mrs. 
 Fielden, who said, smiling : " Colonel Jardine is prac- 
 tising the chromatic scale. I think he will be a very 
 good player some day." 
 
 " How was I to know," said the Colonel, splutter- 
 ing over his whisky-and-soda when the American 
 
 174
 
 1A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 widow had left, "that she meant the last card?" 
 That woman would drive me crazy in six weeks." 
 
 " I liked her," said Mrs. Fielden, " and she is very 
 pretty." 
 
 There is a certain large-heartedness about this 
 pretty woman of fashion and of the world which 
 constrains her to say something kind about everyone. 
 With hex* the absent are always right, and I do not 
 think I have ever heard her say an unkind word about 
 anyone. 
 
 At Stanby, when people who are staying 
 there make a newly-departed guest run the gauntlet 
 of criticism not always of the kindest sort Mrs. 
 Fielden says, in that loyal fashion of hers which 
 makes her approval the final decision in all matters, 
 " I liked him." And the departed guest's character 
 and reputation are safe. Her charity is boundless 
 and quite indiscriminate, save that she sends a trifle 
 more rain and sunshine on the unjust than on the 
 just. 
 
 " Come to lunch with me some day," she said to 
 me in the off-hand way in which she generally gives 
 an invitation. " I am always at home at two o'clock. 
 Why not come to-morrow? You are leaving town 
 almost immediately, are you not? " 
 
 Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs is also asked to lunch ; every- 
 175
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 one is asked to lunch. When one goes to the pretty 
 widow's house in South Street one generally finds a 
 dozen people lunching with her. 
 
 She came into the room late, of course 
 and found ten or twelve people waiting for lunch. 
 "I am so sorry! Do you all know each other?" 
 she asked of the rather constrained group of 
 strangers making frigid conversation to each other 
 in the flower-filled drawing-room. And then she be- 
 gan to introduce us to each other, and forgot half 
 our names, and we verc downstairs in a buzz of 
 conversation and laughter, and filled with something 
 that is odd and magnetic, which only comes when 
 Mrs. Fielden arrives, 
 
 As is always the way with her lunch-parties, her 
 carriage drives up to the door before anyone has 
 finished coffee, and then we all say good-bye, com- 
 plaining of the rush of London. 
 
 " I want you to drive with me this afternoon," said 
 Mrs. Fielden, when I with the others was saying 
 good-bye. I think she generally singles somebody 
 out for a drive or a long talk, or to take her to a 
 picture-gallery after lunch, and it is done in a way 
 that makes the one thus singled out feel foolishly 
 elated and flattered. 
 
 " I think we are going to drive down to Richmond 
 176
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 and see some trees and grass, and behave in a rural 
 sort of way this afternoon," she announced, as she 
 seated herself in the carriage. 
 
 " And what about all your engagements for this 
 afternoon ? " I asked. " And the red book, and the 
 visiting list, and the shopping list, and the visiting 
 cards, which I see with you ? " 
 
 " I never keep engagements," said Mrs. Fielden ; 
 " and everyone knows my memory is so bad that they 
 always forgive me. Someone gave me a little note- 
 book the other day, with my initials in silver upon it 
 I can't remember who it was and I put down in 
 it all the tarsome things I ought to do, and then 
 I lost the little pocket-book." 
 
 " If I ever find it," I said, " I shall bring it to 
 you, and read out all your tarsome engagements to 
 you." 
 
 " I didn't say ' tarsome,' " said Mrs. Fielden. 
 
 " I suppose you are whirling through the London 
 season," I said presently, " and going everywhere, 
 and having your frocks chronicled in the magazines, 
 and going to a great many parties ? " 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Fielden ; " I have been down at 
 Stanby." 
 
 " I wish," I remarked, " that you did not always 
 give one unexpected replies. Why have you been 
 
 177
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 down at Stanby? You didn't say anything about it 
 when I saw you last night." 
 
 " Do you know old Miss Lydia Blind? " said Mrs. 
 Fielden. " She is ill, and I got rather a pathetic 
 letter from her, so I went down to Stanby to look 
 after her." 
 
 She fumbled for the pocket of her dress, raising 
 first what seemed to be a layer of lace, and 'then 
 a number of layers of chiffon, and then, after rust- 
 ling amongst some silk to find her artfully-con- 
 cealed pocket, she produced a letter and handed it 
 to me. 
 
 "Am I to read it?" I said; and Mrs. Fielden 
 nodded. 
 
 "... One so often hears," so the letter ran, " of a 
 case of long illness in which the one who is strong, 
 and who acts as nurse to the invalid, breaks down 
 before the end comes. To me it has always seemed 
 to show that the strong one's courage has failed 
 somehow, and that, had zeal been stronger or faith 
 greater, she might have endured to the end. . . ." 
 [And, again, in a postcript : " When I was younger 
 I was very impatient, and I think I could not well 
 have borne it had I known that life was to be a 
 waiting time. I do not say this in any discontented 
 spirit, dear, and I only write to you because you 
 
 178
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 always understand. . . ." And then the letter broke 
 off suddenly, and I handed it back to Mrs. Fielden. 
 
 " So this is you, as Miss Lydia knows you," I 
 said. 
 
 " I want you to go and see her when you go back 
 to Stowel. Will you?" said Mrs. Fielden. "Miss 
 Lydia is an angel, you know ; the best woman really 
 that ever lived. Will you take her some things I am 
 sending her, and ask how she is when you go back? " 
 
 We drove under the trees of Richmond Park in 
 Mrs. Fielden's big, luxurious carriage. She generally 
 drives in a Victoria, and I asked her why she had the 
 landau out this afternoon. 
 
 "A whim," said Mrs. Fielden. "I am full of 
 whims." 
 
 But, of course, a landau is the only carriage in 
 which a lame man, who has to sit with his foot up, 
 can put it comfortably on the opposite seat. 
 
 We drove onwards, and she stopped the carriage 
 to look at the view from Richmond Hill, and the 
 soft air blew up to us in a manner very cool and 
 refreshing, and then we got out and walked about for 
 a little, and Mrs. Fielden gave me her arm. 
 
 " I don't really require an arm," I said, " but I 
 like taking yours." 
 
 " It is a very strong arm," said Mrs. Fielden ; and 
 179
 
 'A. Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 she exclaimed quickly : " I believe I am getting fat ! 
 My maid tells me all my dresses want altering. I 
 wish it was time to think about beginning to hunt 
 again." 
 
 " Do you know," I said, " I always thought, till I 
 got back to England, that my leg had been taken off 
 below the knee, and that I should be able to get 
 astride of a horse again. I never used to see it, of 
 course, when they dressed it ; and when I counted up 
 the things I should be able to do, riding was always 
 one of them. I didn't sell my horses till just the 
 other day." 
 
 Mrs. Fielden did not sympathize, but one of her 
 silences fell between us. We did not speak again 
 till she began to tell me an amusing story, which 
 made us both laugh; but when she was sitting in 
 the carriage, and the footman was helping me in, 
 and we were still laughing, I could have sworn that 
 her eyes looked larger and softer than I have ever 
 seen them. 
 
 180
 
 Chapter XII 
 
 IT is always rather melancholy arriving at home 
 alone, and I miss Palestrina very much at these 
 times, and I feel ill-disposed towards Thomas. Down- 
 Jock pretended not to know me, and barked furiously 
 when I drove up to the door, and then ran away on 
 three legs, making believe, as he sometimes does when 
 he wants to appeal to one's pity, that he is old and 
 lame. 
 
 It was still early in the afternoon, and the sun- 
 shine was blazing over everything when I hobbled 
 down the hill to inquire for Miss Lydia. The houses 
 in Stowel are all roofed with red tiles, and each 
 garden has flowering shrubs in it or beds full of 
 bright-coloured flowers, so that the little place has 
 a very warm and happy look on a sunny summer 
 day. A great heavy horse-chestnut tree hung over 
 the walls of the doctor's house, and scattered frag- 
 ments of pink blossom when the soft air stirred 
 gently. The wisteria on the post-office was in full 
 bloom. 
 
 One of the visions which an old prophet had of 
 the beauty and peace of a future existence in a 
 
 181
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 glorious city was that boys and girls should be 
 playing in the streets thereof, and I am sometimes 
 reminded of this as I pass down the broad High 
 Street with its bordering of rough grass, and its 
 trees that grow promiscuously on the road-side or 
 in the middle of the pathway. Boys and girls play 
 on the broad country road as though it were their 
 nursery, and the boys have successfully claimed as 
 their playground the bit of pavement in front of the 
 vestry hall, where they can spin their tops unrebuked. 
 When one returns to the country it is its essentially 
 rustic side that one finds most appealing. That one's 
 fish and groceries should be carried on a tray on 
 some rosy-cheeked urchin's head, across fields and 
 down flowering lanes, seems to one a most happy 
 arrangement. And a shopkeeper enjoying his news- 
 paper and a nap in a chair behind the counter cer- 
 tainly gives an air of restfulness to the shop. And 
 the place was so full of pleasant sounds this after- 
 noon of singing birds, and heavy rolling waggons 
 moving up the broad street, and the laughter of the 
 children, and the soft rush of the summer wind 
 through the trees, that one felt that a day like this 
 gave one a very strong leaning in favour of the happy 
 view that life is, after all, a good thing. 
 
 One had, of course, to stop and speak to several old 
 182
 
 r A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 friends, who said they were thankful to see me back, 
 as though a visit to London were an expedition 
 fraught with many dangers. 
 
 When I reached the little cottage with the green 
 gate and the maid opened the door to me, she told 
 me that Lydia Blind had died an hour ago. 
 
 The staircase of the little house is directly opposite 
 the front door. I could not but believe that if I waited 
 a little while Miss Lydia would descend the stairs, 
 as she always did, with a smile which never failed 
 to welcome everyone. Or, surely, if she were not 
 within doors, I would only have to pass out into the 
 little garden at the back of the house to find her 
 amongst her flowers. I thought suddenly of the 
 words of a boy I used to know at school, who, when 
 a young playfellow died, said between his sobs : " It 
 was so hard upon him dying before he had had a 
 good time." Certainly ever since we knew her, 
 Lydia's life had been one long sacrifice to a witless 
 invalid, and I couldn't help feeling that perhaps no 
 one would ever know the extent of her patient service. 
 Probably there never lived a more unselfish woman, 
 and I cannot think why she never married. 
 
 She was a person who lacked worldly wisdom, and 
 in worldly matters she was not prosperous she never 
 sowed that sort of grain. It was very touching to me 
 
 183
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 to find that she had not even a few trinkets to leave 
 behind, but that one by one each had been sold to 
 pay for something for the invalid a doctor's fee, 
 or a chemist's heavy bill. She left the world as un- 
 obtrusively as she lived in it. Her last illness was 
 very sudden and brief, and probably she would have 
 been thankful that the little household was spared 
 any extra expense. Even the sheet that covered her, 
 they tell me, was thin and darned. 
 
 The news of Lydia's death was unexpected by 
 everyone. When I turned and left the house and 
 was walking home again, I met Mrs. Taylor going 
 to inquire for her neighbour's health, with an offer- 
 ing of fruit in a little basket. She begged me, in 
 the Stowel fashion, to turn and walk back with her, 
 declaring that she felt so seriously upset by the news 
 that if I would only see her as far as her gate, I 
 should be doing her a kindness. In the garden the 
 General, who had run down to Stowel for a couple 
 of days, was reclining in a deck-chair, Indian fashion. 
 He was reading some cookery recipes in a number 
 of Truth, and he turned to his niece, as she crossed 
 the lawn, and said, " Do you think your cook could 
 manage this, Mary? Select a fine pineapple " 
 
 " Oh, uncle," said Mrs. Taylor, with a good deal of 
 feeling, " we have had such bad news ! Our dear 
 
 184
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 old friend in the village, Miss Lydia Blind, is 
 dead." 
 
 "What Lydia Blind?" said the General; and 
 Mrs. Taylor replied: 
 
 " You never knew her, dear. She wasn't able to 
 come to The Party; indeed, I think she has been 
 ailing ever since about that time, but we had no 
 idea that the end was so near." 
 
 " It can't be the Lydia Blind I used to know ? " 
 said the General. 
 
 " Oh, no, you couldn't have known her," said 
 Mrs. Taylor, with a sob ; " she was just a dear old 
 maiden lady living in the village on very small 
 means." 
 
 " She hadn't a sister called Belinda, had she? " 
 said the General. 
 
 Mrs. Taylor said she had, and I remembered sud- 
 denly how I had seen Lydia Blind standing one 
 .morning in front of the General's picture in the 
 photographer's shop, and her saying, " I used to 
 know him." 
 
 Mrs. Taylor went indoors, and I said good-bye, 
 but the General said to me abruptly, " I should like 
 to see her ; will you take me there ? " And he did not 
 say more until we found ourselves in the little porch 
 of the cottage. He looked very tall standing by the 
 
 185
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 low door of the house, and an odd idea came to me 
 that Miss Lydia would have been proud of her after- 
 noon caller. 
 
 " Let me go alone," he said gruffly, when he had 
 asked permission to go to her room, and I waited 
 in Lydia's morning-room, with its twine cases and 
 unframed sketches, and the photographs of babies. 
 
 " I cannot see the sister," said the General irrita- 
 bly, when he had rejoined me in the darkened room. 
 " Is she still dumb, poor thing ? If ever there was 
 a case," he went on, " of one life and, to my mind, 
 the sweeter and the better life being sacrificed to 
 another, it is in the case of Lydia Blind." He sat 
 down on the little green sofa, and looked about him 
 with eyes that seemed to see nothing. " I never 
 expected such a thing," he said ; " I couldn't have 
 expected a thing like this ... I didn't even know 
 she lived here. . . . Do you remember her," he said, 
 " when she was very pretty ? No, no, of course you 
 wouldn't. ... It doesn't hurt you to walk a little, 
 does it? I have lived nearly all my life out of doors, 
 and when anything upsets me I cannot stand being 
 within four walls " 
 
 We went out and crossed the field-path, into the 
 deep hush of the woods beyond. The paths of the 
 woods are narrow and uneven, and at first we walked 
 
 180
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 in single file, until we came to the broader road 
 beyond the stream, and then we walked on side by 
 side, the General suiting his pace to my slow, awk- 
 ward gait. 
 
 " . . . . Did you ever know the Bazeleys at all? 
 No, you wouldn't of course; that would be before 
 your time. They had a very pretty place in Lincoln- 
 shire a charming place with a veranda round the 
 house, and wicker-chairs with coloured cushions on 
 them more like an Indian house than an English 
 one. . . . Harold Bazeley was in love with Lydia, 
 too." (I believe the General was talking more to 
 himself than to me.) " It was one night sitting in 
 the veranda that I heard him begin to make love to 
 her for all he was worth, and I had to cut it. ... 
 Poor chap! he came into the smoking-room that 
 night where I was sitting alone, and he sat down by 
 the table and put his head in his hands. He may 
 have been saying his prayers (for he was always a 
 religious man .... he did a lot of good for the 
 men under him in India), and I sat with him till it was 
 time to go to bed. I don't know if it was any 
 comfort to him, but I knew from his face that Lydia 
 must have said no, and I thought perhaps he wouldn't 
 like being alone. . . . Well, then of course one 
 didn't like to rush in and ask one's best friend's girl 
 
 187
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 to marry one so soon after his disappointment. One 
 had very strict ideas about honour in those days; I 
 hope one has not lost them. ... It is very odd 
 that I was never here before until last spring. 
 Nearly all my service has been abroad, and I gen- 
 erally used to spend my leave hunting or in London, 
 and my niece used to come up and stay with me 
 there. ... I didn't care much for Taylor in 
 those days, but he really isn't a bad sort of fel- 
 low." 
 
 The sun began to sink behind the trees, and the 
 General seemed to wake from the reverie in which 
 he had been talking to me and said : " You oughtn't 
 to be out after sunset, if you have still got malaria 
 about you," and we began to walk slowly home- 
 wards. 
 
 " It was just such an evening as this," he said, 
 " when I bade her good-bye, meaning to come back 
 in a little while and ask her to marry me. She was 
 standing by the gate fine old gates with stone pil- 
 lars to them, and the sun shone full in her eyes. . . . 
 I suppose that gentle, sweet look never left them, 
 did it? They were closed, of course, when I saw 
 them just now. . . . She was wearing a white dress 
 that evening, I remember a sort of muslin dress 
 which, I suppose, would not be fashionable now, but 
 
 188
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 which looked very pretty then. It had a lot of pink 
 ribbons about it, and there was a great bunch of pink 
 moss-roses in the ribbon of her belt. . . . Do you 
 know I never picture her except as the girl who stood 
 by the gate with the sun behind her, and the roses 
 in her belt. I think I lost my head a little when it 
 came to saying good-bye, and I began to say things 
 which I had not meant to say she looked so pretty 
 with the red sunlight upon her, and her white muslin 
 dress almost turned to pink in the glare. ... I 
 don't think she was surprised, only sweeter and gen- 
 tler than before, and a curious happy look was in her 
 eyes. But I stopped in time, and stammered like a 
 fool, thinking of poor Harold Bazeley, and then I said 
 good-bye rather hurriedly. But I came back again 
 to the gate where she was still standing, and asked 
 if I might have one of the roses in her belt. And 
 she gave me the whole bunch. 
 
 ". . . It must have been after this that the father 
 died and left them very poor, and then the sister 
 (this one, Belinda) had a stroke of paralysis, and 
 there was no one to look after her but Lydia. . . . 
 I wrote and proposed to her before I went to India 
 asked her to come with me as my wife. But she 
 said she could not marry while her sister lived. It 
 isn't as though we could have remained in England, 
 
 189
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 and she could have lived with us; but, of course, 
 India would have been an impossibility for the poor 
 thing. We never thought in those days that poor 
 Belinda would live long. And then she made a sort 
 of recovery, but was still quite helpless, and Lydia 
 wrote and asked me to wait for her no longer. . . . 
 I never heard that she had come to live at Stowel." 
 
 The broad, wide village road was dim with twilight 
 when we walked home along it the Uncle and 
 I. The children had all gone home, and the flowers 
 in the little garden had lost their colour in the 
 dim twilight. There was a strange silence over the 
 little place, almost as though, in some way, which 
 I suppose is possible, the things which we call inani- 
 mate or unreasoning knew that the Angel of Death 
 had visited the little place, and had borne away a 
 very gentle soul from it. 
 
 As we passed by the cottage the General halted 
 on the quiet, deserted road and took off his hat ; then 
 he leaned over the little green paling and drew to- 
 wards him a branch of a moss-rose tree that Miss 
 Lydia had planted there. He plucked a bud from 
 it and held it to his face. Then he said gently, 
 " They are the same sort, but they do not smell so 
 sweet." 
 
 190
 
 Chapter XIII 
 
 MRS. FIELDEN came to Stowel for the funeral, and 
 did not return to London again. She went to pay 
 some visits, I believe, and afterwards she will go to 
 Scotland to stay with the Melfords, as she always 
 does in August. It was a very quiet summer. 
 Anthony went to Ireland to fish, and Major Jacobs 
 went with him instead of me: Anthony and I used 
 to take the fishing together. Even Frances Taylor 
 went north to stay with Mrs. Macdonald, and the 
 Reading Society postponed its future meetings till 
 the winter should come again. 
 
 Undoubtedly Kate Jamieson's wedding was a very 
 stirring event in a very dull time. The festivities 
 connected with it were carried out with the Jamiesons' 
 usual energy and lavishness. It is possible to be 
 lavish on five hundred a year! That is one of the 
 pleasing things that kind-hearted people like the 
 Jamiesons can prove. No one was omitted in the list 
 of invitations to the reception, which was held on 
 the lawn in front of the house. And there the whole 
 of the Jamiesons' wide circle of friends was gathered 
 together, forming an assembly which surely only the 
 
 191
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 censorious mind could find fault with. The Family 
 of Higginses were represented in large numbers, and 
 as it was a considerable pleasure to them to meet 
 people in a higher rank of life than themselves, and 
 as the little party gave these humbler of our neigh- 
 bours very much more enjoyment than it gave to 
 those in a higher social scale, it can only be con- 
 sidered right and fitting that they were asked to 
 Kate's party. The refreshments, these good Jamie- 
 sons informed us, with their ingenuous interest in 
 discussing detail, were prepared by Margaret, and 
 Kate contributed to the payment of their ingredients 
 from her small savings. The group of bride and 
 bridesmaids, which was photographed at the front 
 door, each wearing an expression of acute distress 
 upon her face, was George's own idea, and was nobly 
 paid for by him. 
 
 It was announced at the wedding-feast although 
 it had been whispered for a long time that there 
 was soon to be another break in the Jamieson Family. 
 We all instantly prepared a smile of congratulation 
 for Maud, and some disappointment was felt when 
 it was discovered that the remark applied to Mrs. 
 Jamieson's youngest son, Kennie. The Pirate had 
 for some time been informing his friends that the 
 Wild West was " calling to him," and that he had 
 
 192
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 the " go fever," and that " once he had known the 
 perfect freedom of life out there " it was impossible 
 to settle down to the conventionalities of English 
 society again. The Pirate had obtained a post as 
 purser on one of the ships of the company to which 
 he belonged, and he appeared at the wedding-break- 
 fast in a suit of white ducks, a gold-laced cap, and 
 the famous cummerbund. I have a strong suspicion 
 that he had a revolver concealed in a mysterious 
 pocket, from the way his hand, in moments of ex- 
 citement, occasionally moved towards it, but, fortu- 
 nately, the wedding party was of so peaceful a de- 
 scription that it was not necessary to produce the 
 weapon. 
 
 Since the exciting news of Kennie's proposed de- 
 parture for Buenos Ayres, Mettie has developed 
 nerves and hysteria. But so limited is the power of 
 imagination or discrimination in the human mind, that 
 I must honestly confess that I never once connected 
 her indisposition and low spirits with the news of her 
 cousin's departure. Mettie has added to a certain 
 helpessness, which always distinguishes her, a ten- 
 dency to tears, and to sitting alone in her bedroom 
 and sniffing dolorously; the big, thin nose requires 
 constant attention, and there are red rims round poor 
 Mettie's eyes. The Jamiesons, who trace every vari- 
 
 193
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 atlon in life to a love affair, were not long, of course, 
 in coming to the right and the sentimental nay, 
 from the Jamieson point of view, the only reasonable 
 explanation of this change in their little cousin ; but 
 Mettie has entreated them to say nothing, and to let 
 her suffer in silence, and they are too loyal to betray 
 her interesting confidences. Kennie himself is, I be- 
 lieve, still unaware of the interest he is exciting in 
 Mettie's gentle breast, but doubtless the little 
 woman's extreme timidity and her clinging disposi- 
 tion appeal in no small measure to the Defender of the 
 Sex. Mettie raises meek, adoring eyes to the Pirate's 
 ruddy face, under the gold-laced cap, and murmurs 
 with clasped hands: "You will never come back to 
 us I know it, I feel it! You will be murdered by 
 some gang of cutthroats, and then what will I I 
 mean your mother, do? " The Pirate plumes himself 
 and struts, and the dangers that his little cousin 
 has so powerfully depicted for him make his young 
 heart swell. 
 
 The village church was quite full of spectators and 
 friends ; nearly all our acquaintances in the village 
 wore new gowns or apparently new gowns for the 
 wedding. Mrs. Lovekin, in a black cloth mantle 
 with bead trimming, showed the guests into their 
 pews, and directed the children at the doorway into 
 
 194
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 giving a ringing cheer as the bride drove up to the 
 church. It was whispered by a wag that Mrs. Love- 
 kin would like to don a surplice and officiate at the 
 interesting ceremony herself. There was a party 
 in white cotton gloves who banged doors and 
 shouted " Drive on ! " and it was hard to realize that 
 this was the Jamiesons' odd man and gardener, trans- 
 formed for the occasion. He wore a large white rib- 
 bon rosette in his button-hole, and all the morning 
 he was busy erecting an archway over the gate at 
 Belmont with Union Jacks displayed thereon, out 
 of consideration, as he explained, to the late Cap- 
 tain Jamieson, he being military. The Miss Traceys 
 were resplendent in brown dresses and profuse lace 
 neckties, securely anchored to their chests by mas- 
 sive brooches ; the dresses were afterwards mentioned 
 in an account of the wedding in the local paper, and 
 it was cut out and carefully kept by the Miss Tra- 
 ceys, who pasted the interesting news in a small album 
 for news-cuttings which they bought for the pur- 
 pose. 
 
 At the Jamiesons' little house there was, I under- 
 stand, a wild state of confusion and energy from a 
 very early hour in the morning, and looking-glasses 
 and hand-mirrors were in great demand. The centre 
 of interest there, it seems, was Kate's bedroom, where 
 
 195
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 the whole of The Family congregated to give Kate a 
 last kiss before the veil was put on, and to wish her 
 happiness again and again. George, who through- 
 out the entire proceedings made a laudable attempt 
 to appear calm, at last told his sister that it really 
 was time to start, and the carriage rolled down the 
 hill, and Kate Jamieson alighted from it, and walked 
 up the aisle of the old church leaning upon her 
 brother's arm. Eliza Jamieson was busy with a note- 
 book the whole time, and almost one seemed to begin 
 to see the wedding through her journalistic eyes. 
 
 Our curate's wife, who is still far from strong, 
 asked Palestrina to look after Peggy, who expressed 
 a wish to see the wedding, and I was interested to 
 find how many little games Peggy had invented for 
 herself, by way of getting through the tedium of a 
 service games which I imagine she had been pre- 
 paring during the many services which a curate's 
 little girl is supposed to attend. 
 
 " If you press your eyes to the back of your head 
 as far as you can," she whispered to me, " you can 
 see green and red and blue spots, and then open 
 them and you can see green and red and blue spots 
 round father." And again : " I can say, * We be- 
 seech Thee ! ' seven times over while the choir are 
 singing it, if we have Jackson's Te Deum." And 
 
 196
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 then : " Do you know what George and I do, when 
 we are sent to church alone? we hide in the pew until 
 no one thinks we are there, and then we pop up in the 
 middle of the service and begin to say the responses. 
 When we sit with the Sunday-school children we 
 play at * My husband and your husband/ and then 
 we each choose in turn which husband we'll have in 
 the congregation; you see, the first man who comes 
 in is to be the first child's husband, and the second 
 the second child's ; that's how we manage ; last Sun- 
 day I got the baker's boy." 
 
 Mr. Swinnerton was at the wedding, somewhat 
 inclined to be consequential as usual; but as he 
 devoted his whole attention to Margaret, one could 
 not but feel that his presence was acceptable. (We 
 are on the tip-toe of expectation to know when Mr. 
 Swinnerton will " come to the point.") Margaret 
 Jamieson was more than usually gentle and kindly, 
 and I am still wondering how it came about that we 
 ever considered her plain. She was the one who 
 looked after the needs of the Higginses' relations, 
 and attended to the wants of all the humbler of the 
 guests. 
 
 There was still another element of interest in the 
 marriage-party in the person of Mr. Evans, who ran 
 down from Hampstead for it. " If Mr. Evans 
 
 197
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 comes," Maud said, with the characteristic, fine com- 
 mon sense of The Family, " I want you all to under- 
 stand that it is all quite over between him and me. 
 But what I have always thought about Mr. Evans is 
 this that he is the sort of man who would like The 
 Family, and I do not see why he should not take a 
 fancy to one of the other members of it. I am quite 
 sure his affection for me was based upon my suit- 
 ability. He often told me, for instance, that he 
 would like a wife that was brought up to do things 
 for herself, and could manage on a small income 
 and dress cheaply, and I am sure we can all do that. 
 And after all, if that is so, one of us is as suitable as 
 another. He had very definite ideas about a wife; 
 but I couldn't help feeling all the time that it was 
 someone like ourselves that he had in his mind. 
 He seemed to have a great dread of anyone who was 
 too smart; and I said to him at the time for, of 
 course, we both talked about our families a good 
 deal, as one does in the first stages that we were 
 all very homely sort of people. I could always 
 background myself if he seemed, for instance, to 
 take a fancy to Gracie. And Gracie herself has 
 often said that she thinks she would like a man to 
 wear a white watered-silk waistcoat." 
 
 Gracie looked quite pleased with the arrangement, 
 198
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 and Mr. Evans was asked down " as a friend." And 
 I should here like to record only, of course, it is 
 going too far ahead that before the summer was 
 over Mr. Evans, charmed with The Family, as 
 Maud felt he would be, and convinced of their 
 suitability, had chosen Gracie from amongst the 
 remaining Miss Jamiesons who were still at the 
 disposal of those who seek a wife. Gracie's energy 
 charmed Mr. Evans. He often said afterwards 
 that he believed he had got the pick of the basket 
 after all. 
 
 It was quite evident to me, and, I believe, to most 
 of the Jamiesons' guests, that one of the mysteries 
 so dear to the hearts of Stowel was in preparation 
 for the wedding afternoon. Not even my sister and 
 I had been initiated into the secret ; but Mrs. Jamie- 
 son, it must be confessed, took away from the shock 
 of surprise which might have been ours by referring 
 during the whole afternoon to the entertainment 
 which was to take place later. The Jamiesons had 
 decided that the lawn, newly mown, was to be 
 suddenly cleared of trestle-tables and garden-chairs, 
 and that a small band of musicians was to spring up 
 unexpectedly out of the ground, as it were, and that 
 everyone was to know suddenly that they were in 
 the midst of an impromptu dance. Now, Mrs. 
 
 199
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 Jamieson, nervously expectant, and half fearing 
 from the detached manners of her daughters (so 
 well did the Miss Jamiesons simulate their ignorance 
 of what was before them) that they must indeed 
 have forgotten about the dance, interrupted every 
 conversation by creeping up to them in her melan- 
 choly, quiet way, and saying, " Shall I get them to 
 clear away now? " 
 
 " It's to be impromptu, mamma," entreated the 
 Miss Jamiesons, in agitated whispers. It had been 
 decided between them that Gracie, as the youngest 
 of the party, should exclaim suddenly, by some 
 happy inspiration, " I vote we dance " ; and that 
 then, ,in a perfectly easy and natural manner, guests 
 and entertainers alike should, with the utmost friend- 
 liness, help to push back the tables and chairs into 
 the lilac-bushes, and then that the musicians should 
 he hastily summoned from the kitchen, where they 
 were to have tea. Before that time arrived the un- 
 fortunate Mrs. Jamieson had, as one might say, 
 almost skimmed the cream off the whole thing. Her 
 nervousness would not allow her to rest, and in the 
 end, she established the musicians in the three 
 chairs so artlessly prepared for them under the 
 chestnut-tree; and there they were with fiddle and 
 concertina long before Gracie had found an oppor- 
 
 200
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 tunity of making her impromptu suggestion. Their 
 sudden appearance, one could not but feel, detracted 
 from the unprepared effect that had been intended, 
 and they stood waiting to begin with quite a forlorn 
 appearance, until the Pirate, for whom the arrival 
 of the hour means the arrival of the man (if the 
 Pirate is anywhere about), called out in his loud 
 tones, " Strike up, you fellows, and let us have a 
 dance ! " and the very next moment the white drill 
 suit and the gold-laced cap of Kennie might have 
 been seen in the middle of the lawn. He gallantly 
 seized Mettie round the waist, and scattered the 
 guests by the onslaught and the fierce charge he 
 made upon them, and had soon cleared a space in 
 which he footed it gaily. The Higginses, who had 
 been rather shy during the reception, hastened to 
 find partners, and warmed to the occasion at once. 
 Young Abel Higgins, the handsome young farmer 
 from Dorming, said it was the pleasantest entertain- 
 ment he had ever been at. " There is no cliquism 
 about it," he remarked. " You just say to a girl, 
 'Will you dance?' and up she comes; it doesn't 
 matter if she's a lord's daughter ! " 
 
 Mr. Swinnerton devoted much of his attention 
 and his conversation to me during the afternoon. 
 He discussed what he calls military matters at great 
 
 201
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 length, pointing out the mistakes of every General 
 in South Africa, at the same time clearly stating 
 what Mr. Swinnerton would have done under similar 
 circumstances, and in lamenting the inefficiency of 
 the War Office. Later in the afternoon, however, 
 when he found me where, as I hoped, I had 
 effectually concealed myself behind a laurel-bush, 
 Mr. Swinnerton plunged heavily into the question 
 of marriage, and this, as Maud would say, was 
 surely a very hopeful sign. I was disappointed, 
 however, to find that his views regarding the happy 
 state of matrimony seemed to have been made almost 
 entirely from one point of view, and that point of 
 view himself. 
 
 " Don't you think," he began ponderously, as he 
 seated himself beside me after the rather heavy 
 fatigue of dancing on a lawn to the strains of a band 
 that did not keep scrupulous time " don't you think 
 that a man ought to see a girl in her own home 
 before he makes up his mind? " 
 
 I dissented, on the plea of over-cautiousness, but 
 Mr. Swinnerton did not hear me. 
 
 " What I think," he went on, " is that marriage is 
 a serious undertaking for a man, and that one ought 
 to be very sure of one's own mind." 
 
 I admitted the seriousness of matrimony, but 
 202
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 thought it applied equally to the woman, whose 
 sheltered life before marriage and added duties after- 
 wards rendered the venture perhaps even more serious 
 to her than to the husband. 
 
 This remark also seemed to escape Mr. Swinner- 
 ton's attention. Indeed, I found that what is ex- 
 tremely irritating about this fellow is that his mind 
 never diverges from his own topic; he seems quite 
 incapable of excursions into the thoughts and feel- 
 ings of the persons he addresses, but plods steadily 
 on his own path, pleased to give his own views, and 
 quite unaffected by the differences of opinion that 
 are offered him. There is a legend of my childhood 
 
 that records that a man once said, " It is bitt " 
 
 and then went to sleep for a thousand years, and 
 when he woke up he said, " erly cold." I am often 
 reminded of this story when I listen to Mr. Swinner- 
 ton's plodding conversation. 
 
 " What I feel is," he went on and one knew that 
 no fatigue on the part of the listener would be 
 noticed by him " what I feel is that the man being 
 the head of the woman, he should always choose 
 someone who is docile and good-tempered, and per- 
 haps, above all things, a good cook. That's the very 
 first thing I would teach a woman to be a good 
 cook. It's so important for a man to have his meals 
 
 203
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 really nice and nicely served. Don't you agree with 
 me? " 
 
 " It is very important," I said. 
 
 " I am so glad you agree with me." Mr. Swinner- 
 ton occasionally remarks on an agreeable clause in 
 one's conversation, whereas a disagreement never 
 even penetrates his mind. " Of course you fellows, 
 with your mess and all that, can scarcely realize 
 how necessary it is that a man's wife should be a 
 good cook, and then she ought to be thoroughly 
 domesticated," went on Mr. Swinnerton's heavy voice. 
 " A woman should not always be wanting to go out 
 in the evening. What I feel is that the home should 
 constitute the woman's happiness." 
 
 " And cooking? " I said. 
 
 " Yes, and cooking," said Mr. Swinnerton. " I 
 do not want my wife to have any money ; I had much 
 rather she had to come to me for things. I am not 
 greedy about money. I am comfortably off, but I 
 think a man should have entire control of the purse. 
 One could knock off any expenditure on a wife's 
 dress, if that is the case. Ladies like a new bonnet, 
 and I should always give my wife a new bonnet if 
 things had been nice." 
 
 I remarked that Mr. Swinnerton was very gen- 
 erous. 
 
 204
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " I know I am generous. Of course a man gives 
 up a great deal when he marries, but I do not know 
 that in the matter of expense it would cost me more 
 to keep a small house than to pay for lodgings." 
 
 " It depends," I said, " what wages you give your 
 wife. An occasional new bonnet would not be an 
 extravagant salary, if she turned out a really good 
 cook." 
 
 For the first time Mr. Swinnerton seemed struck 
 by the wisdom of my remarks. " No, it would not," 
 he said " it would not. I know that I would make 
 a good husband," he remarked ; " and I feel that I 
 have a future before me in the volunteers." 
 
 Margaret joined us at this moment, and Swinner- 
 ton smiled indulgently at her, without offering, how- 
 ever, to give her his seat. I do not think that 
 Margaret noticed this, as she did not notice any 
 omission on Mr. Swinnerton's part. " I hope you 
 are not very tired," she said. " Your journey from 
 London and then this little dance must be very 
 fatiguing, I am afraid." 
 
 " Men don't get tired," said Mr. Swinnerton 
 grandiosely, and he looked towards me for applause. 
 He did not, however, ask her to dance, and Mar- 
 garet moved away to attend to other guests. 
 
 " She's a very nice-looking girl," said Mr. Swin- 
 205
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 nerton approvingly, " and a well brought-up girl, 
 too." 
 
 So I suppose it is still hopeful, as the Jamiesons 
 would say. But I pray that Margaret Jamieson will 
 remove Mr. Swinnerton hence when she has married 
 him. 
 
 Kate and Mr. Ward drove to the station in the 
 best landau and pair of horses from Stowel Inn. 
 Mr. Ward was so upset from first to last by the 
 ceremonies and the heat that his conical-shaped 
 head, covered with the dew of nervous perspiration, 
 steamed like a kettle; but his affection for his bride 
 and his evident delight and pride in her were un- 
 deniable, and although resenting in his mild way the 
 stinging shower of rice with which he was pelted 
 and the usual facetious jokes that were made on 
 the bride and bridegroom, Mr. Ward nevertheless 
 beamed with good-nature all the time. 
 
 Palestrina made me laugh when she came home 
 in the evening. She had been down to the village 
 to see the Pettifers and to show them her wedding 
 finery, as she promised to do, for Mrs. Pettifer is 
 ill in bed again, and was unable to stand at the 
 church door with the rest of the crowd to see the 
 wedding-party. My sister found the old lady weep- 
 ing bitterly, and for a long time she could not guess 
 
 206
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 the cause of her distress, until at last a remark of 
 her husband's explained it. " She do take on like 
 that tur'ble queer," he said, " as soon as ever the 
 Bedding-bells ring after a marriage is over." 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Pettif er ; " I always say to my- 
 self, ' she's got him, and he ain't disappointed her 
 after all.' " 
 
 Kennie sailed for Buenos Ayres the day after the 
 wedding, and Mettle walked over to see us, being 
 sent on some errand, I have no doubt, where she 
 would be more usefully employed than in getting in 
 the way of the staff of workers who were clearing 
 up after yesterday's festivities. Mettie brought over 
 Mrs. Ward's first telegram, received that morning 
 from Dover, and said it was too funny to think of 
 Kate being Mrs. Ward. " Kate Ward," she said, 
 with one of her curious little chirruping laughs, 
 '* Kate Ward, do look at it ! " And we dutifully re- 
 plied that it certainly seemed the height of drollery. 
 
 Palestrina is not perfectly just to me when Mettie 
 comes to call. She always remembers something im- 
 portant which she has until this moment forgotten, 
 and with apologies to Mettie she flies off to do it, 
 and I am left with our caller. And then the mar- 
 riage question is in full swing before one can prevent 
 it. Mettie says she would never, never allow a man 
 
 207
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 to know that she cared for him, and that no nice 
 girl would. Did I think that if a girl never gave 
 any evidence of her love and died, that it would be 
 a very pitiful end? And, of course, I said that the 
 pathos of the thing would strike one directly. 
 
 " After death," said Mettie, " she might still be 
 his good angel. It is very strange," she said, " to 
 think of becoming a being with wings. Do you 
 know I often wonder what these wings can be like, 
 and I cannot imagine them made of anything but 
 white ostrich feathers, which, I must say, would 
 look very pretty. ... I am sure it is a brave thing 
 to part and say nothing, but do you think that one 
 might write? " 
 
 It was only then, at that precise moment that I in 
 any way connected Mettie's remarks with the thought 
 of the Pirate Boy, now a purser on the Line. 
 
 " My dear Mettie," I said, " I should certainly 
 write to him write often, write affectionately, send 
 him your photograph, work him a housewife for his 
 chain, carve him a frame for your photograph. I 
 am delighted " 
 
 " Oh ! but nothing is settled yet," simpered Mettie. 
 
 It has sometimes struck me since, although one 
 generally denies the suggestion, that the first symp- 
 toms of love-making may emanate from the woman's 
 
 208
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 mind. But probably the Pirate will never know that 
 it was not his own idea that he should fall in love 
 with Mettie. 
 
 This evening I was looking over a lot of old letters 
 such as our fathers and mothers used to keep, and 
 put away in drawers with bits of ribbon tied round 
 them, in the days when there was more time for that 
 sort of thing than there is now. And I came across 
 the following letter, written in ink that has grown 
 rather faded, and dated 1845. It describes a wed- 
 ding, and I have saved it from a number of other 
 letters which I have destroyed, to stick it into my 
 diary, as an appropriate sort of ending to my entries 
 for to-day. The letter is a genuine one, and I have 
 the original of it beside me now. 
 
 " MY DEAREST AUNT, 
 
 " You wished to hear all about our doings on 
 Thursday. Though I daresay you have heard many 
 editions of the affairs of that day, I take the earliest 
 opportunity of relating to you, as I promised, my 
 version of it, though how often was it wished that 
 dear aunt and uncle had themselves been present to 
 illuminate the picture. We all assembled at a quar- 
 ter past ten o'clock. The married ladies (and gen- 
 tlemen, whether they were in that happy state or 
 
 209
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 not) remained in the drawing-room, till, at a given 
 signal, the bride descended, followed by her brides- 
 maids first Emily and myself, then Anne and Jane 
 Schofield, then Anna and Eliza Schofield. The four 
 first were in pink, the two last in blue. After talking 
 over matters a little, we entered our respective car- 
 riages, mamma going in the first carriage, and papa 
 and Mary bringing up the rear. We went through 
 the ceremony very well. Mary responded in a 
 perfectly clear and audible voice; but once the 
 worthy bridegroom faltered, and as I stood next to 
 him could perceive he was somewhat agitated. The 
 ceremony of kissing being finished, we returned from 
 church, when numerous and costly presents were ex- 
 hibited to the eyes, and amongst them none more 
 beautiful than my dear uncle and aunt's. But, by 
 way of parenthesis, mamma wishes me to ask you, 
 as Mary has two silver canisters, whether you would 
 have any objection to change the kind and elegant 
 expression of your feeling for Mary into a silver 
 waiter. Knowing your kindness, we sent it by Uncle 
 Kelsall. Now to proceed. We descended to break- 
 fast a most important business, which occupied us 
 a considerable time in the middle of which Uncle 
 Ainsworth produced a bunch of grapes, and signified 
 his intention of drinking Mary Schofield's health in 
 
 210
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 the red juice of the grape. He immediately ex- 
 pressed the juice and suited the action to the word. 
 Robert Amcliffe made a beautiful speech quite a 
 gem. We then proceeded to dress the bride in travel- 
 ling attire. Then came the dreadful moment of 
 parting. Mamma and papa got over it most won- 
 derfully; suffice it to say sister's tears flowed most 
 copiously on that day. After her departure, we 
 took a drive to restore us to that harmony of spirits 
 so desirable when persons are the entertainers of 
 others. We drove through Hyde Park and Regents 
 Park in procession, and stopped to walk in the Zoo- 
 logical Gardens, coveting the society of the brute 
 creation as well as the rational. We then returned 
 to dinner, which was at seven, when, to our indescrib- 
 able horror, on calling over the names of certain 
 young ladies, we discovered their toilet was not com- 
 plete when dinner was announced. After a small 
 delay, however, the offenders appeared, and the busi- 
 ness of dinner was commenced with astonishing vig- 
 our. There is no occasion to describe to you the 
 manners and customs of a dinner-table, as a sameness 
 must naturally pervade all such employments. We 
 ladies at length signified our intention of leaving the 
 gentlemen masters of the field, and Uncle Jesse, being 
 a lady, came out amongst us and went to bed. We 
 
 211
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 proceeded to enjoy a small quadrille, till I suppose 
 the sound of feet called the other portion of the 
 community from below. After tea and a little dis- 
 play of musical powers, we had another quadrille; 
 but this did not occur until Emily was gone. We 
 finally separated at half -past eleven. We have heard 
 twice or three times from the newly-married people. 
 They are in Bath to-day. Will you excuse, my dear 
 aunt, this dreadful scrawl, but I have had so many 
 notes to write, added to which I have sprained my 
 right arm, which is now pleading to be spared any 
 further exertions. Hoping that dear uncle and 
 yourself, as well as dear Sarah, are well, and again 
 begging to be excused this unconnected epistle, With 
 united love to all, Believe me, 
 
 " Your very affectionate niece, 
 
 " MARGARET M. TAYLOR." 
 
 MECKI.EMBKTIG SQUARE, 
 August, 1845. 
 
 212
 
 Chapter XIV 
 
 MY leg, " my best leg," as poor Beau Brummel used 
 to say, has been hurting rather, for the last week or 
 two o' nights. I do not know how Palestrina has 
 discovered this, but the dear little woman is looking 
 harassed and anxious, and she is trying to inveigle 
 me into going up to London again, to get further 
 advice from my doctor. She had broached the sub- 
 ject in several ways: There is a play going on at 
 present which she would much like to see, if I will 
 be kind enough to take her to Town for a couple of 
 days. Or there is some shopping which she wants 
 to do, and she must have my advice on the subject. 
 I believe that she does not like to allow, even to 
 herself, that I ought to go expressly to see the 
 surgeon, but she means to throw out the suggestion 
 when we shall be in Town together, and in this way, 
 she has decided, with her usual thoughtfulness, we 
 shall be spared the anticipation of hearing that I am 
 not going on as well as I ought to be doing. It is, 
 however, much too hot to think of going up to 
 London, so for the present none of Palestrina's deep- 
 laid plans have been successful. It is broiling hot 
 
 213
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 weather even down here in the country, but the morn- 
 ings are cool and fresh, and after tossing about half 
 the night, I generally get up and go for a feeble 
 sort of walk before breakfast. It is extraordinary 
 how new and fresh the world feels in the early morn- 
 ing, while the dew is still on the grass, and the birds 
 are singing without any fear that their concert will 
 be stopped or disturbed by passers-by. 
 
 On my way home this morning I passed the Jamie- 
 sons' little house, and I was hailed to come in by the 
 flutter of nearly a dozen dinner-napkins, waved to 
 me from the window of the breakfast-room. It is 
 impossible to pass Belmont without being asked to 
 come in, or to leave the hospitable little house without 
 an invitation to stay a little longer. Monday this 
 was Monday is what the Jamiesons call " one of 
 our busiest mornings," and I think that our good 
 friends talk almost more than usual on the days on 
 which they are most engaged. 
 
 As I entered the room, two of The Family had 
 already finished breakfast and were busy at a 
 side-table, driving their sewing-machines. The whir- 
 ring noise, added to the amount of talking that 
 was going on, had rather a bewildering effect at 
 first. There was, besides, the added confusion at- 
 tendant upon what is known as " getting George off." 
 
 214
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 The process seems to consist of shaking George into 
 his City coat, brushing it, patting him on the back, 
 telling him how nice he looks, hoping he will get 
 down in the middle of the week, or at least not later 
 than Friday afternoon, and giving him messages and 
 remembrances to quite half a dozen friends in Lon- 
 don. The Family chorus as I entered was something 
 like this: 
 
 " Cream or sugar, weak or strong? " 
 " Mettie, did you get your letters ? " 
 " Eliza, which is your napkin-ring ? " 
 " Please say what you will have, I have asked you 
 at least half a dozen times." 
 
 " Do you mind the window open ? " 
 
 " Does anyone hear the 'bus ? " 
 
 "Toast or rolls?" 
 
 "Which is your napkin-ring?" 
 
 " Did anyone hear the rain last night ? " 
 
 " You haven't said yet if you will have an 
 
 egg." 
 
 " Mother is not well, and is not coming down this 
 morning." 
 
 " Does anyone mind if we go on with our ma- 
 chines ? " 
 
 Over and above this, snatches of newspaper were 
 read, and numerous directions were given to a very 
 
 215
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 young servant as to how things should be placed 
 upon the table a proceeding which usually goes on 
 at every one of the Jamiesons' meals it is known as 
 " training one of our village girls." 
 
 Gracie and Eliza were the two who sat at the side- 
 table before their whirring sewing-machines, their 
 very spectacles nearly darting from their heads with 
 energy and speed. George said : " I wish one of you 
 girls would mend my glove before I start " ; and 
 Gracie said : " Give it to me, I can spare five minutes 
 off lunch-time to get this finished." 
 
 Margaret remarked : " Mamma seems very much 
 out of spirits to-day, and I think one of us ought to 
 go and play draughts with her." 
 
 Eliza took out her watch. " I can play draughts 
 for thirty-five minutes," she remarked " from 
 eleven-five to eleven-forty and then Gracie must 
 take my place, as Margaret will be baking, and I 
 have the soup-kitchen accounts to make up." 
 
 " I did not anticipate draughts this morning," 
 said poor Gracie. " I must just get this done when 
 I go to bed." This is the last refuge of the over- 
 driven, and one which is so frequently alluded to by 
 the Jamiesons that I often fear they deny themselves 
 the proper amount of sleep. 
 
 George here kissed each of his sisters in turn, and 
 216
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 ran upstairs to say good-bye to his mother, while 
 the omnibus waited at the gate. 
 
 Maud, who was trimming hats for the whole Fam- 
 ily, and who was surrounded by a curious medley of 
 ribbons and finery, said : " What about the Church 
 Council work? I am afraid we have forgotten 
 it." 
 
 " That's my business," said Gracie tragically ; 
 " and I must give this up ; " and she stopped her 
 sewing-machine, and rolled the purple cotton pina- 
 fore into a tight ball and placed it on the table. 
 
 " Dear Gracie," said Margaret, " could I not do 
 it? I could get it in between the Kaffirs and my 
 baking." 
 
 " I would offer to do it," said Eliza, with that 
 affectionate helpfulness which distinguishes The 
 Family, " only I am so full with soup." Eliza re- 
 ferred to her soup-kitchen accounts. 
 
 The small servant here appeared at the door, and 
 said that an old woman wanted to see Miss Gracie. 
 
 " My time ! my time ! " said Gracie, and went to 
 the back-door to give the last shilling of her quarter's 
 dress allowance to the poor woman in distress. 
 
 " The worst of playing draughts is," said Eliza, 
 " that one can do nothing else at the same time, 
 except it be to add up accounts in one's head, other- 
 
 217
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 wise I should have been only too glad. I tell you 
 what I can do though I can play instead of Gracie 
 this morning, if she won't mind my keeping the can- 
 dle alight to do my Browning article after I have 
 gone to bed." 
 
 Mettie always offers to help everyone, but so slow 
 is the little woman's way of working that the en- 
 ergetic family of Jamieson are quite aware that prob- 
 ably the business will be weeks in doing, so their an- 
 swers to Mettle's offers, given in a kindly voice, are 
 always : " My dear, you have got your letters to 
 write, and your practising we could not do without 
 your singing in the evening, you know." 
 
 Mr. Evans, who was a guest in the house for a 
 few days, was smoking his pipe in a leisurely way 
 in the garden, and Gracie said : " I really do feel 
 that I ought to give more attention to Mr. Evans, 
 if only I had the time for it. Could one of you run 
 into the garden and make a few pleasant remarks to 
 him until I am ready? " And this Eliza does, first 
 glancing at her watch in the characteristic Jamieson 
 fashion, and coming in presently to say that she had 
 sat " for ten solid minutes doing nothing, and that 
 she does wish men had more resources of their 
 own." 
 
 It would have been useless to suggest that the work 
 218
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 should stop for a whole summer day. A child came 
 in with some flowers as an offering to the Miss Jamie- 
 sons, and Eliza said : " Would you mind putting 
 them down somewhere, my dear? I will try to get a 
 minute to arrange them by-and-by." And then the 
 machines began again, and I walked on homewards, 
 and enjoyed a long, hot morning in the garden with 
 a book. The book is a little, old-fashioned calf- 
 bound one, which I found in the library the other 
 day ; it is called " A Father's Legacy to His Daugh- 
 ters," by Dr. Gregory, of Edinburgh. Here is an 
 extract from it which I rather liked: 
 
 " Your mother was educated in the Church of 
 England, and had an attachment to it, and I had a 
 prejudice in favour of everything she liked. It never 
 was her desire that you should be baptized by a 
 clergyman of the Church of England, or be educated 
 in that Church. On the contrary, the delicacy of 
 her regard for the smallest circumstance that could 
 affect me in the eye of the world made her anxiously 
 insist that it should be otherwise. But I could not 
 yield to her in that kind generosity ; when I lost her 
 I became still more determined to educate you in 
 that Church, as I feel a secret pleasure in doing 
 everything that appears to me to express my affec- 
 tion and veneration for her memory." 
 
 219
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 And continuing one's reading, one is never dis- 
 appointed in the old doctor, into whose character 
 these letters give us glimpses. Always one sees the 
 kindly old Scot, simple-hearted, broad-minded, and 
 dignified. Allowing for the prejudices of more than 
 one hundred years ago, one enjoys what he says 
 about women : " We naturally associate the idea of 
 feminine softness and delicacy with a corresponding 
 delicacy of constitution, so that when a woman 
 speaks of her great strength, her extraordinary ap- 
 petite, or her ability to bear excessive fatigue, we 
 recoil at the description in a way she is little aware 
 of." 
 
 " There is a species of refinement in luxury just 
 beginning to prevail among the gentlemen of this 
 country to which our ladies are as yet as great 
 strangers as any women upon earth. I hope for the 
 honour of the sex they may ever continue so I mean 
 the luxury of eating. It is beyond expression in- 
 delicate and disgusting." 
 
 And, withal, the doctor is a stickler for women's 
 rights. And he shows a certain shrewdness in his 
 advice to his daughters in their treatment of the 
 sterner sex : " If you love a gentleman," he says, " let 
 me advise you never to discover to him the full ex- 
 tent of your love no, not although you marry him. 
 
 220
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 And Heaven forbid that you should ever forego the 
 ease of independence to become the slaves of a fool's 
 or of a tyrant's caprice ! " 
 
 So much for Doctor Gregory, father of the famous 
 doctor of that name, and grandfather, therefore, of 
 Doctor Gregory's powder. Surely King Herod him- 
 self was not more truly the children's enemy than 
 he! Gregory's powder, red and thick, in a wine- 
 glass, with a penny laid on the table beside it, to be 
 ours if we took the nauseous mixture " like a lamb." 
 What child of the old stern period the period of 
 porridge and milk, and eight or ten brothers and 
 sisters has not gone through the experience of con- 
 templating that penny and that glass of powder, 
 and considering gravely whether the reward at all 
 compensated for the anguish of that horrible taste, 
 and whether there would be any hope of getting off 
 altogether if he were boldly to choose poverty and 
 immunity from suffering. 
 
 The garden was very shady and pleasant, and one 
 thought regretfully of the Jamiesons sitting indoors 
 with their sewing-machines. Palestrina came out 
 presently in a gray dress, very soft and cool-looking, 
 and a big sunshade over her head. She sat down 
 beside me, and said in an off-hand way and a deter- 
 mination to be congratulatory which was very sus- 
 
 221
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 picious : " I have got a pressing invitation for you." 
 And she handed me a letter from Kate Ward. 
 
 Mrs. Ward wrote upon the almost immaculate note- 
 paper which is affected by brides. I have often 
 noticed that this superfine quality of paper is one of 
 the first extravagances of young married life, as it is 
 one of the first economies at a later date, and a little 
 judgment will soon show how long a woman has 
 been married by merely looking at her notepaper. 
 Cream-laid, with a gold address at the top, bespeaks 
 the early days of matrimony, and a descent through 
 white stamping, no stamping, Hieratica to Silurian 
 note, marks the different stages of the rolling years. 
 
 Kate said (on the best Court note) that she would 
 never forgive us if we did not come and see her in 
 her new home. James had been generous in the ex- 
 treme, and they had bought everything plain but 
 good for the house. And the whole expense of it 
 had been covered by exactly the sum of money that 
 they laid by for the purpose. Kate continued : " But 
 I will not bore you with a description of the house, 
 for I want you to see it for yourselves," and then 
 entered upon the usual Jamieson descriptive cata- 
 logue of every piece of furniture and every wall- 
 paper which she had purchased. 
 
 I handed the letter back to Palestrina, who was 
 222
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 sitting in an exaggerated attitude of ease and in- 
 difference on the edge of my deck-chair, and said 
 to her: "Why leave Paradise? London will be 
 atrocious in this hot weather, and I believe it would 
 be tempting Providence to quit this garden." 
 
 " I am afraid it will give great disappointment to 
 Kate if we do not go," said Palestrina, in a tone of 
 voice which suggested that she had been prepared 
 for opposition, and had rehearsed her own arguments 
 beforehand. " After all, she lives in the suburbs, and 
 has a garden of her own, and we need not stay more 
 than two or three days." 
 
 61 We shall have to do so much admiring," I said, 
 smothering a yawn. " I know what brides are ! You, 
 Palestrina, probably know exactly the right thing to 
 say about newly laid linoleum and furniture which is 
 plain, but good. But I never do." 
 
 " I think I should like to go," said Palestrina, 
 putting the matter upon personal grounds, as I knew 
 she would when she had entirely made up her mind 
 that I must go up to London. What pressure she 
 had brought to bear upon Mrs. Ward to induce her 
 to invite us to the new house I cannot say, but 
 some instinct told me that Kate had been warned 
 to write a letter which might be handed to me to 
 read. 
 
 223
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 I pointed out to Palestrina that, much as I should 
 miss her at home, I should not stand in the way of 
 her paying a visit to her old friend. 
 
 " I have accepted for us both from Thursday to 
 Tuesday," said Palestrina firmly. " Oh, by-the-by," 
 she said, rising and going indoors, " I just sent a 
 line to Dr. Fergus at the same time to say that you 
 would look in and see him one morning, just to see 
 that you are going on all right." 
 
 " You also were up early ? " I said to the diplomat, 
 who smiled at me from under her big umbrella 
 without a vestige of shame at her own cunning. 
 " I don't think it is fair on a crippled man to get up 
 early and send off letters by the early post. It's a 
 mean trick." 
 
 " You were up half the night," said Palestrina, 
 nodding her head at me, " for I heard you." And 
 she crossed the lawn and went indoors again. 
 
 The following Thursday we took train for Clark- 
 ham. I have never stayed in this part of the world 
 before till we came to visit Kate, and the suburb 
 where she lived seemed to me to be rather a pleas- 
 ant place, with broad roads over whose walls and 
 palings shrubs and red maples and other trees 
 hang invitingly. And it is so near London that a 
 very short run in the train takes one to Victoria 
 
 224
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 Station. But the neighbourhood is not fashionable, 
 and I could not help remarking the apologetic 
 tone in which everyone we met spoke of living 
 there. 
 
 The Wards' house is a very nice little place, with 
 very new wall-papers and very clean curtains and 
 slippery floors, upon which art rugs slide danger- 
 ously. There is a small garden with a lawn and a 
 brown hawthorn tree upon it, and there are two trim 
 little maids who wait upon one excellently well. Kate 
 is a thorough good manager, and her whole household 
 reminds one of those pages on household manage- 
 ment which one sees in magazines, describing the 
 perfect equipment of a house its management and 
 the rules to be observed by a young housekeeper. 
 
 There is a place for everything, and Kate says her 
 wedding-presents are a great assistance in giving a 
 homely look to the house. 
 
 Mr. Ward leaves home at half-past nine every 
 morning, and Kate shakes him into his coat in 
 exactly the same way George used to be shaken into 
 his, and stands at the hall-door with a bright smile 
 on her face, until James has got into the morning 
 'bus and driven away, in a manner that is very 
 wifely and commendable. 
 
 The unpretentious little household seems to be a 
 225
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 very happy one, and Kate was quite satisfied with the 
 praise which Palestrina bestowed upon everything. 
 " Of course," she said, " the great drawback is that 
 the place is so unfashionable ; " and we warmly pro- 
 tested against that mattering in the very least. But 
 Kate said, with her usual common sense : " It does 
 matter, really. No one thinks anything of you if 
 you live here, and nearly everyone who has enough 
 money always leaves directly. Still" cheerfully 
 " one must expect some drawbacks, and I do think I 
 have been very lucky. James is goodness itself, 
 . . . and quite a number of people have been to 
 call." 
 
 We found to our dismay that Kate had, with the 
 laudable intention of amusing us, accepted several 
 invitations to what are called " the last of the summer 
 gaieties." There were tea-parties and garden-par- 
 ties given by her neighbours, to which we were ex- 
 pected to go, and her very nearest neighbours, who 
 are generally known as the " Next Doors," actually 
 invited us to dine. 
 
 " This afternoon," Kate said, " is the day of the 
 Finlaysons' garden-party. They are frightfully 
 rich people ironmongers in the city ; but you never 
 saw such greenhouses and gardens as they have got ! 
 Do put on your best dress," she said to Palestrina, 
 
 226
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " and look nice ; people here seem to dress so smartly 
 for this sort of thing." 
 
 I think, indeed, it was the very grandest party to 
 which I have ever had an invitation. Everyone 
 seemed to sail about in a most stately fashion, in a 
 gown of some rich stuff, and there was such an air 
 of magnificence about the whole thing that one 
 hardly dared to speak above a whisper. There was 
 a marquee on the lawn, with most expensive refresh- 
 ments inside, and a great many waiters handing about 
 things on trays. Mrs. Finlayson spoke habitually 
 at least, at parties in an exalted tone of voice, 
 which one wondered if she used when, for instance, 
 she was adding up accounts or saying her prayers. 
 It was difficult to imagine that the voice could have 
 been intended for private use it was such a very 
 public, almost a platform, voice, and the accent was 
 most finished and aristocratic. 
 
 The Miss Finlaysons, in exquisite blue dresses and 
 very thin shoes, also sailed about and shook hands 
 with their guests, in a cold, proud way which was 
 very effective. Young Finlayson was frankly super- 
 cilious and condescending; his manners left much to 
 be desired, and there was a schoolboy in a tall hat 
 who was always alluded to as " our brother at Eton." 
 The excellent old papa of the firm of Finlayson & 
 
 227
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 Merritt was really the most human and the least 
 alarming of the whole party. He seemed quite 
 pleased when Palestrina, in her soft, gurgling way, 
 admired his greenhouses and peaches, and he led 
 her back to where his lady (" wife " is too homely a 
 term) was standing in a throne-room attitude on the 
 lawn, and remarked genially : " This young lady has 
 just been admiring our little place, Lavinia." " In- 
 deed," said my sister, " it seems to me very charming, 
 and " 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " said Mrs. Finlayson playfully, 
 but with an undercurrent of annoyance in her party 
 voice : " I won't hear a word said in its praise it is 
 just a step to the West End." 
 
 " What is the actual distance," I began. 
 
 It was old Finlayson who rescued me from my 
 dilemma, and explained that until five years ago they 
 had had a very tidy little 'ouse at 'amstead, and 
 that this present location, although so magnificent, 
 was, in the eyes of his lady, really a stepping- 
 stone to further grandeur and a more fashionable 
 locality. 
 
 The " Next Doors " were introduced to us at this 
 party, and we were much struck by the fact that, 
 although they seemed appropriately lodged in a place 
 well suited to them, and in a society certainly not 
 
 228
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 inferior to themselves, they, too, instantly began to 
 apologize for living at Clarkham. 
 
 " One feels so lost in a place like this," said Mrs. 
 Next Door, " and although the boys are so happy 
 with their tennis and things on Saturday afternoons, 
 I cannot help feeling that it is a great drawback to 
 the girls." 
 
 A band began to play under the trees, and Pales- 
 trina said to me, with one of her low laughs : " I 
 wonder if I shall begin to sail about soon? Isn't it 
 funny! They all do it, and now that the band has 
 begun I feel that I must do it, too." 
 
 The Miss Finlaysons came up at intervals and 
 introduced young men to her, in a spasmodic sort of 
 way. When one least expected it, someone in a tall 
 hat and long frock-coat was placed before Pales- 
 trina, and a Miss Finlayson said, quite sharply: 
 
 " May I introduce Mr. Smith " and then as 
 
 suddenly retired. There was nothing for it but to 
 make a little tepid conversation to the various Mr. 
 Smiths, and Sonnenscheins, and Seligmanns who 
 were in this way presented, and we noticed that 
 almost every one of them began his conversation by 
 saying, " Been going out a great deal lately? Done 
 the Academy? " And then moved off to be intro- 
 duced to someone else. 
 
 229
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 The young men were very supercilious and grand, 
 and we could only account for it, on discussing the 
 matter afterwards, by supposing that they thought 
 Palestrina was a Clarkham young lady, and that this 
 was their way of showing their superiority to her. 
 One or two had certainly said to us with a dubious 
 air, " Do you live in the Pork? " But it was not 
 until the quieter moments that followed the stress of 
 this regal party that we at all realized that this 
 meant did we live in Clarkham Park. 
 
 Kate Ward was very agreeable and pleasant to 
 everyone, and was voted a nobody directly, and we 
 heard it remarked that she had " no style." I think 
 Kate must have overheard the remark, for she be- 
 came a little nervous towards the end of the after- 
 noon, and presently said : " Perhaps we ought to be 
 going? " But young Finlayson was here suddenly 
 introduced to her by one of his sisters, and Kate 
 thought it necessary to make a few remarks before 
 saying good-bye. She said something pretty about 
 his sisters, who are undoubtedly handsome girls, and 
 Mr. Finlayson said bitterly : " Yes, a good many so- 
 called beauties in London would have to shut 
 up shop if my sisters appeared in the Row. It 
 is a beastly shame they have got to live down 
 here!" 
 
 230
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 Kate said : " But I suppose they go to Town oc- 
 casionally ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Finlayson ; " but they ought to 
 have their Park hacks, and do things in style. It is 
 a shame the governor does not take a house in the 
 West End." 
 
 My sister tried to look sympathetic. 
 
 " However," said Mr. Finlayson more hopefully, 
 " we have taken a bit of a shoot in Scotland this 
 year, so I hope the girls will have some society. 
 Well, it is a deer forest really, and a very fine house 
 and grounds," amended Mr. Finlayson, with a burst 
 of candour. 
 
 Mrs. Finlayson sailed up, and stooped to make a 
 few remarks about the gaiety of the past season to 
 us. She said that she and her daughters were in 
 demand everywhere, and that the other night in a 
 West End theatre every lorgnette in the house was 
 turned towards their box. " Rupert, of course, has 
 his own chambers in St. James's, and knows every- 
 one." 
 
 The Miss Finlaysons shook hands, and said good- 
 bye with their usual lofty condescension, and each 
 said, " Going on anywhere? " to which we could only 
 reply humbly that we had no further engagements 
 for that afternoon. 
 
 231
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 Kate praised the party all the way home, and 
 then said, with a burst of feeling: "Oh, how I do 
 wish I were a swell! I know it's wicked, but I 
 would snub one or two people." 
 
 The next morning, being Sunday, we went to 
 church, and the feeling of equality with the rest of 
 mankind which this gives one was very refreshing 
 after the magnificence and social distinctions about 
 which we had been learning so much during the last 
 few days. But even in church one may notice 
 how superior some familes in Clarkham are to 
 others. 
 
 The pew-letting of the church seems to have been 
 conducted on principles other than those recom- 
 mended in Holy Writ. Richer folk, those with gold 
 ,chains, for whom we learn precedence should not be 
 accorded, occupied the front pews, which were 
 furnished with red cushions and Prayer-Books with 
 silver corners, while the humbler sort were accom- 
 modated with seats under the gallery. The Finlay- 
 sons sailed in rather late, with a rustle of their smart 
 dresses, and kneeled to pray on very high hassocks, 
 their elbows just touching the book-board in front 
 of them, their faces inadequately covered with their 
 tightly-gloved hands. The " Next Doors " had a 
 pew half-way up the middle aisle. The day was hot,
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 and the clergyman, a small devout-looking man, very 
 earnest, and really eloquent, was guilty sometimes 
 in moments of excitement of dropping aitches. 
 This, of course, may have been the result of the hot 
 weather. It was something of a shock to notice 
 that the little " Next Doors " terrible children, of 
 high spirits and pugnacious dispositions were al- 
 lowed to giggle unreproved at each omission of the 
 aspirate on the part of the preacher. The " Next 
 Doors " overtook us on our way out of church, and 
 two of the pugnacious children, having dug each 
 other with their elbows, and fought round me for 
 permission to walk home with me and talk about the 
 war, threw light upon their behaviour in church by 
 remarking with smiling self-satisfaction, " Papa says 
 we ought always to giggle when Mr. Elliot drops 
 his aitches, to show that we know better. .., ..; ..." 
 Little brutes ! 
 
 We spent a lazy afternoon under the brown haw- 
 thorn tree on the little lawn, and Thomas drove 
 down to see Palestrina, and good Kate Ward put 
 forth her very best efforts to give us a sumptuous 
 cold supper. We found, to our surprise, that night- 
 ingales sing down here, and we sat on the lawn 
 till quite late listening to them. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Ward slipped their hands into one another's in the 
 
 233
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 dark, and appeared to be most happy and con- 
 tented. 
 
 " I am glad we came," said Palestrina, that night 
 when Mrs. Ward had quitted the room. " Dear old 
 Kate!" 
 
 234
 
 Chapter XV 
 
 ON Monday I went to see Dr. Fergus about my leg, 
 and did not get a very good report of it. 
 
 We returned from Clarkham on one of the hottest 
 days I ever remember, and found Mrs. Fielden wait- 
 ing for us in the hall. 
 
 " Everyone seems to have come over to hear about 
 your London visit," said Mrs. Fielden lightly, " for 
 I found Mr. Ellicomb and Maud Jamieson here when 
 I came in." She began pouring out tea for us both 
 as she spoke, and she signalled something to Pales- 
 trina, who replied, as she stooped down to cut some 
 cake : " Another operation yes, four or five weeks 
 in bed at least." 
 
 " I sent Maud and Mr. Ellicomb home together," 
 said Mrs. Fielden, raising her voice and laughing. 
 " He, poor man, is in a great state of mental per- 
 turbation, for it seems that he has heard that in 
 South Africa pigs are fed upon arum lilies, and that 
 so delicate is the flesh of the pork thus produced 
 that some flower-growers in the Channel Isles are 
 cultivating arum lilies for the purpose of feeding 
 
 235
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 pigs and to produce the same delicious pork. He 
 was so agitated that he got up from his chair and 
 walked up and down the room, repeating over and 
 over again : " Arum-fed pork ! Monstrous, mon- 
 strous ! " I really did not know how to comfort him, 
 so I sent him home with Maud Jamieson, which 
 seemed to please him very much." 
 
 " And you," I said, following the Jamieson tram 
 of thought, " have been saying to yourself ever since, 
 ' Is there anything in it? ' 
 
 " She certainly had a soothing effect upon him," 
 said Mrs. Fielden. 
 
 " Then," said I, " the second stage has been 
 reached. When all the Jamiesons are married I 
 think I shall feel that romance is over." 
 
 " I know they have been to tea at the farm," said 
 Mrs. Fielden, " because Mr. Ellicomb talked so much 
 about his blue china, and Maud said a woman's hand 
 was needed in the house." 
 
 " I wonder," I said, " what will be the special 
 objection that Maud will raise when she becomes en- 
 gaged to Mr. Ellicomb ? He is not called Albert ; he 
 does not wear a white watered-silk waistcoat; his 
 hair is certainly his own ; and his mother is dead. It 
 cannot be said that he too closely resembles her." 
 One of the objections raised by Maud to a candidate 
 
 236
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 for her hand was that he was far too like his mother 
 a really delightful woman but Maud declared, 
 with tears, that she could never really look up to a 
 man who was so like his mamma. 
 
 " At present," said Mrs. Fielden, " the blue china 
 seems to be all in his favour; but one cannot feel 
 sure that it will not be an obstacle later on, or Mr. 
 Ellicomb's High Church principles, perhaps, may 
 prove a deterrent to her ideas of perfect happi- 
 ness." 
 
 " I wish," said Palestrina, " that Margaret's af- 
 fairs were more settled. This summer has been a 
 trying one for her." 
 
 " Oh, I forgot to tell you," said Mrs. Fielden, 
 " that that was one of Maud's reasons for coming 
 over to see you. She told me that Mr. Swinnerton 
 is coming to pay them a visit. He has written, it 
 seems, to make the offer himself, and Maud says she 
 thinks it will be all right now." 
 
 Mrs. Fielden was in one of her most light-hearted 
 moods this afternoon. There were no odd little si- 
 lences. After the heat of the day there came a de- 
 lightful coolness, and she stayed chatting till nearly 
 dinner-time, and then decided that she would remain 
 to dinner if we were to ask her to do so. 
 
 " I have three dear old sisters-in-law staying with 
 237
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 me," said Mrs. Fielden, " and they will doubtless 
 drag all the ponds for my body." 
 
 " Won't they be anxious about you ? " asked Pales- 
 trina. 
 
 " Perhaps," said Mrs. Fielden, raising her pretty 
 eyebrows in the old affected way ; " but then they 
 will appreciate me so much more when I come back 
 to them from the grave." 
 
 We sat out on the lawn after dinner till it was 
 quite dark, and only Mrs. Fielden's white dress was 
 visible in the gloom. For some reason, best known 
 to herself, she put off her wilful moods out there in 
 the gloom of the garden. She was not regal, not even 
 amusing, only charming and full of a lovely kindness. 
 Half the conversation between her and Palestrina 
 began with the words, " Do you remember? " as they 
 recalled old jokes and stories. Then the woman's 
 ever-present gaiety broke out again, and she laughed 
 in a girlish sort of way (she is not much more than 
 a girl still) , and said : " I believe I am becoming 
 reminiscent? Why doesn't someone sit upon me, 
 or tell me they will order the carriage for me, if I 
 really must go? But it is heavenly here in the cool; 
 and in heaven, you know, we shall probably all be 
 reminiscent." 
 
 Ten o'clock struck from the tower of the church 
 238
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 down below in the village, and Mrs. Fielden said 
 that now she really must go, or she would find the 
 sisters-in-law saying a Requiem Mass for her, and 
 Palestrina went indoors to order the carriage. 
 
 " To-morrow," I said, " I am going to have my last 
 dissipation. I am going to the Traceys' tea-party." 
 
 " I am certainly going too," said Mrs. Fielden. 
 " I believe I am getting as gay as the Miss Traceys 
 themselves, though I can't help remarking that no 
 one who goes to these tea-parties ever seems to be 
 amused when they get there." 
 
 " Judging from my own standard of what I find 
 amusing," I said, " I should be inclined to say that 
 Stowel never enjoys itself extravagantly. Our 
 neighbours never refuse invitations to even the 
 smallest party; but the pleasure that they get from 
 them, if it exists at all, is carefully concealed." 
 
 " I have felt that myself," said Mrs. Fielden. " I 
 really don't begin to enjoy them till I get home." 
 
 " I believe you always enjoy yourself," I said 
 resentfully. 
 
 After a little time Mrs. Fielden said wistfully: 
 " You don't think there is only a certain amount 
 of happiness in the world, do you, Hugo? And that 
 if one person gets a great deal it means that another 
 will get less ? " 
 
 239
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 She asks one questions in this way sometimes as 
 though one were a superior being, who could dispel 
 her perplexities for her. " Probably," I said, " you 
 know ten thousand times more about the subject 
 than I do. You are happy, and I philosophize about 
 it. Tell me which of us is most fitted to give a 
 lecture on the subject? " 
 
 I thought Mrs. Fielden was going to say some- 
 thing after that, for she stretched out her hand in a 
 certain impulsive way she has got, and gave mine 
 just one moment's friendly pressure in the dark. 
 And then Palestrina came back to say the carriage 
 was at the door, and Mrs. Fielden said " Good- 
 night." % 
 
 I remember two things about the Miss Traceys' 
 party first, that Mrs. Fielden was not there, for 
 one of the old sisters-in-law was ill suddenly, and 
 she could not leave her; and the other thing I re- 
 member about it is that it was the last occasion 
 on which I ever saw Margaret Jamieson look pretty. 
 
 There have been some strange innovations in tea- 
 parties ever since Mrs. Taylor gave hers to meet 
 The Uncle, Sir John, and sent out visiting-cards 
 instead of notes. Instead of having tea in the 
 dining-room, all sitting round the table, as used to 
 
 240
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 be the custom, it seems that dressing-tables are 
 most often brought down from upstairs and extended 
 across the window. These are covered with white 
 tablecloths, and behind them two maids stand and 
 wait. The dressing-tables are called the " buffet," 
 and both tea and coffee are provided, suggesting the 
 elegance and savour of London refreshments, which 
 is distinctly pleasing, though it is felt that a single 
 cup of tea partaken while standing has not got 
 the comfort of former old-fashioned days. Miss 
 Belinda lives on at the little cottage with the green 
 gate; and through the kindness of the General a 
 lady has been found to wait upon her, and take her 
 out to these small gaieties which she loves, and she 
 sits shaking her poor, weak head, and muttering, 
 " Glory, glory, glory ! " It does not occur to her to 
 stay at home during her period of mourning, and it 
 is acknowledged on all sides that she does not miss 
 Lydia much. (Poor Lydia! And, really, she sacri- 
 ficed everything to her sister!) The General has 
 not come to stay with the Taylors again. In a long 
 letter which he wrote to me after he left he said he 
 would probably never come back to the place, and 
 at the same time he thanked me in courteous, old- 
 fashioned phraseology for being with him through 
 what he called " one of the dark days that come 
 
 241
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 sometimes." He would never see Miss Belinda, in 
 spite of the many kind things he did for her; and I 
 always feel that he resented the poor creature's long 
 illness and weak, silly ways, which was only natural, 
 no doubt. 
 
 The Vicar was present at his sisters' tea-party, of 
 course, although, as Miss Ruby explained to me, " it 
 is not as though this were an evening entertainment. 
 My sister and I often give these little routs without 
 him. Still, a gentleman is always something of an 
 ornament at a party." There were seven Jamiesons 
 present, and two of them, Margaret and Maud, 
 offered in their usual friendly way to walk home with 
 Palestrina and me. Maud, one feels sure, engaged 
 Palestrina in confidences directly; and Margaret 
 whispered in a shy way to me : " Do you mind 
 coming round by the postoffice? I am expecting a 
 letter." So we walked round by the High Street, 
 and Margaret told me that Tudor had had to give 
 up his visit to them, but that he was writing. 
 
 So we went into the postoffice, and Margaret 
 had her letter handed to her across the counter by 
 the post-mistress, upon whom she bestowed a radiant 
 smile. When we got outside she opened it and 
 read it without a word, and then, quite suddenly, 
 she gave a cry as though someone had struck her, 
 
 242
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 and she handed the letter to me, and said : " Oh, 
 Hugo, read it ! " And I read : 
 
 " I am sure you will be surprised when I tell you 
 that I am going to be married; it will explain to 
 you why it was that I was unable to fulfil my 
 promise to come to see you. But sudden though 
 my engagement to Miss Lloyd has been very sud- 
 den, much more sudden, indeed, than I ever felt 
 that such a serious step as marriage would be under- 
 taken by me I cannot but feel that it is for my 
 happiness. Some day I hope you will make Miss 
 Lloyd's acquaintance ; she is staying with my mother 
 just now, and she is already a great favourite. I 
 cannot but feel that having seen so much of you 
 and of your family last summer, and during your 
 stay in London, that I may have raised expectations 
 which I find myself unable to fulfil; but I am quite 
 sure that a man's first duty is to himself in these 
 matters, and that he should not undertake matri- 
 mony until he is thoroughly convinced it is for his 
 happiness. Had I not met Miss Lloyd, I may say 
 that my intentions to you were of the most seri- 
 ous nature; and I know that I have the power 
 in me to make any girl happy. We shall live with 
 my mother for the first year, and then I hope to settle 
 
 243
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 somewhere near London, where it will be nice for 
 me to get into the fresh air after my work in the 
 City. 
 
 " Yours very truly, 
 
 " TUDOR SWINNERTON. 
 
 " P.S. Miss Lloyd and I are to be married next 
 month in St. Luke's Church, quite near here." 
 
 I handed the letter back to Margaret, and we 
 never spoke the whole way home. And that was 
 the last day I ever saw Margaret Jamie-son look 
 pretty. 
 
 244
 
 Chapter XVI 
 
 AFTER the operation on my leg I was laid up for a 
 long time, and when I got about again Palestrina 
 and Thomas were married. Thomas had lately 
 come into his kingdom in the shape of a lordly castle 
 in Scotland, and for the life of me I can't say 
 whether or not Palestrina hastened her wedding be- 
 cause the doctor ordered me to the North. If it were 
 so, my sister's plans were frustrated by the fact 
 that Thomas's ancient Scottish seat was pronounced 
 uninhabitable by a sanitary surveyor, just as we pro- 
 posed entering it under garlanded archways and 
 mottoes on red cotton. Our old friend, Mrs. Mac- 
 donald, hearing of our dilemma, very kindly invited 
 us to stay with her while Palestrina and Thomas 
 looked about for some little house that would take 
 us in till their own place should be ready. The 
 finding of the little house occupied some days, owing 
 to the powers of imagination displayed by people 
 when describing their property. One lady, to whom 
 Palestrina wrote to ask if her house were to be let, 
 replied, " Yes, madam ; this dear, delightful, pretty 
 house is to let " ; and she pointed out in a letter 
 
 245
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 some four pages long all the advantages that would 
 accrue to us if we took it, ending up with the sugges- 
 tion, subtly conveyed, that by taking the house we 
 should be turning her into the street, but that she 
 would bear this indignity on consideration of receiv- 
 ing ten guineas a week. 
 
 Palestrina went to see it, and returned in the 
 evening, almost in tears, to say that the house was 
 a semi-detached villa, and that she had found the 
 week's washing spread out on the front lawn. 
 
 Thomas said that the railway companies ought 
 to pay a percentage on all misleading advertise- 
 ments which induce people to make these useless 
 journeys. 
 
 The following day she returned from another 
 fruitless expedition, having been to see a very small 
 house owned by the widow of a sea-captain, with a 
 strong Scotch accent. I have often noticed that 
 the sea-faring man's one idea of well-invested capital 
 is house property perhaps he alone knows how 
 precarious is the life of the sea. And I shall like to 
 meet the sailor who has invested his money in a 
 shipping concern. The widow's house was so very 
 small that it was almost impossible to believe that it 
 contained the ten bedrooms as advertised in my 
 sister's well-worn house list. So small, indeed, were 
 
 246
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 the rooms, that Palestrina said she felt sure that 
 they must have been originally intended for cup- 
 boards. Nevertheless, the rent of the house was 
 very high, and my sister ventured gently to hint this 
 to the lady of the house the sea-captain's widow 
 with the strong Scotch accent. " Of course, it is a 
 very nice house," she said politely ; " but the rent is 
 a little more than we thought of paying for a house 
 of this size." 
 
 " I ken it's mair than the hoose is worth," said the 
 old dame; "but, ye see, I'm that fond o' money 
 aye, I'm fearfu' fond o' money." 
 
 Palestrina and Thomas spent most of their days 
 in their search for a suitable house, and Mrs. Mac- 
 donald spends the greater part of her life house- 
 keeping, so I was rather bored. What it actually is 
 that occupies my hostess during the hours she 
 spends in the back regions of her house, I have 
 never been able to discover. But the fact remains 
 that we have to get up unusually early in the morn- 
 ing, to allow time for Mrs. Macdonald's absorbing 
 occupation. An old-fashioned Scotchwoman of my 
 acquaintance used to refuse all invitations to leave 
 the house on Thursdays, because, as she explained, 
 " I keep Thursdays for my creestal and my napery." 
 The rest of her week, however, was comparatively 
 
 247
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 free. At Mrs. Macdonald's house-keeping is never 
 over, and so systematic are the rules and regulations 
 of the house, so many and so various are the lady's 
 keys, that one finds one's self wondering if the rules 
 of a prison or a workhouse can be more strict. The 
 Times newspaper arrives every evening after dinner ; 
 by lunch-time next day it is locked away in a cabinet, 
 so that if one has not read the news by one o'clock, 
 one must ask Mrs. Macdonald to let one have the 
 keys ; this she does quite good-naturedly, but I have 
 never discovered why old newspapers should be 
 kept with so much care. On Saturdays an old man 
 from the village comes in to do a little extra tidying- 
 up in the garden. At nine o'clock precisely Mrs. 
 Macdonald is on the doorstep of her house with a 
 cup of tea in her hand, and a brisk, kindly greeting 
 for John, and she stands over the old man while he 
 drinks his tea, and then returns with the empty cup 
 into the house. 
 
 Tuesday is the day on which her drawing-room is 
 cleaned. At half -past nine precisely on Monday 
 evenings Mrs. Macdonald says : " Monday, you 
 know, is our early closing night ; " and she fetches 
 you a candle and despatches you to bed. Mrs. 
 Macdonald and her housemaid there seems to be 
 plenty of servants to do the work of the house 
 
 248
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 walk the whole of the drawing-room furniture into 
 the hall, Mrs. Macdonald loops up the curtains her- 
 self, and covers some appalling pictures and the 
 mantelpiece-ornaments with dust-sheets. At ten 
 o'clock she removes a pair of housemaid's gloves 
 and an apron which she has donned for the occasion, 
 and says : " There ! that's all ready for Tuesday's 
 cleaning ; " and she briskly bids her housemaid good- 
 night. 
 
 On Tuesdays we are not allowed to enter the 
 drawing-room all day, and on Wednesday the same 
 restrictions are placed upon the dining-room. In- 
 deed, on no day in the week is the whole of the 
 house available, and upon no morning of the week 
 has Mrs. Macdonald a spare moment to herself. 
 After breakfast, when Palestrina and Thomas have 
 gone, she conducts me to the morning-room, and 
 placing the Scotsman (the Scotsman is used for 
 lighting the fires, and is formally handed to the 
 housemaid at six o'clock in the evening) by my chair, 
 she says, " I hope you will be all right," and shuts 
 the door upon me. During the morning she pops 
 her head in from time to time, like an attentive 
 guard who has been told to look after a lady on a 
 journey, and, nodding briskly from the door, she 
 asks, "Are you all right? Sure you would not like 
 
 249
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 milk, or anything? " and then disappears again. 
 With a little stretch of imagination one can almost 
 believe that the green flag has been raised to the 
 engine-driver, and that the train is moving off. At 
 lunch-time she is so busy giving directions to her 
 servants that she hardly ever hears what one says, 
 and the most interesting piece of news is met with 
 the somewhat irrelevant reply. " The bread-sauce, 
 please, Jane, and then the cauliflower." Turning to 
 one, she explains, " I always train my servants my- 
 self. . . . What were you saying just now?" 
 
 " I saw in the newspaper this morning," I repeat, 
 " that H.M.S. has foundered with all hands." 
 
 " In the middle of the table, if you please," says 
 Mrs. Macdonald ; " and then the coffee with the 
 crystallized sugar not the brown and open the 
 drawing-room windows when you have finished 
 tidying there. . . . What were you saying? How 
 sad these things are ! " 
 
 The house is charmingly situated, with a most 
 beautiful view over river and hills ; but I really think 
 my preoccupied friend hardly ever has time to look 
 out of the window, and that to her the interior of 
 a store cupboard with neatly-filled shelves is more 
 beautiful than anything which the realms of Nature 
 can offer. 
 
 250
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 When Palestrina is present Mrs. Macdonald gives 
 her recipes for making puddings and for taking 
 stains out of carpets, and she advises her about 
 spring cleanings and the proper sifting of ashes at 
 the back-door. Mrs. Macdonald was brought up in 
 the old days, when a young lady's training and 
 education were frankly admitted to be a training 
 for her as a wife. She belonged to the days 
 when a girl with a taste for music was encouraged 
 to practise " so that some day you may be able to 
 play to your husband in the evenings, my dear," and 
 was advised to be an early riser, so that the house 
 might be comfortable and in order when her husband 
 should descend to breakfast. And now that that 
 husband having been duly administered to is dead, 
 Mrs. Macdonald's homely talents, once the means 
 to an end, have resolved themselves into an end, a 
 finality of effort, themselves. Mrs. Macdonald was 
 brought up to be a housekeeper, and she remains 
 a housekeeper, and jam-pots and preserving-pans 
 form the boundary line of her life and the limit of 
 her horizon. 
 
 Eliza Jamieson would probably tell us that even 
 though Mrs. Macdonald's soups and preserves are 
 excellent, these culinary efforts should not be the 
 highest things required of a wife by her husband, 
 
 251
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 and that therefore they are not a wife's highest 
 duty, even during the time that her husband re- 
 mains with her, and she would probably point out 
 that servants and weekly bills, and an endeavour to 
 render this creature complacent, have ruined many 
 a woman's life. And I laugh as I think of Pales- 
 trina's rejoinder: "But then it is so much pleas- 
 anter when they are complacent." 
 
 One certainly imagined that the late Mr. Mac- 
 donald must have been well looked after during his 
 life, and it was something of a shock to me to hear 
 the account of his death, which was given to me by 
 the lodge-keeper's wife one afternoon, when she had 
 come in to help with the cleaning, and was arranging 
 my dressing-table for me. The rest of my bedroom 
 furniture was then standing in the passage, and I 
 had found my cap in one of the spare bedrooms and 
 all the boots of the house in the hall. 
 
 " He was a rale decent gentleman," said Mrs. 
 Gemmil, " and awfy patient with the cleaning. But 
 I am sure, whiles I was sorry for him, he was shuftit 
 and shuftit, and never knew in the morn whichna 
 bed in the hoose he would be sleeping in at nicht. 
 And we a' ken that it was the spring cleaning, when 
 he was pit to sleep ower the stables, that was, under 
 Providence, the death o' him. He had aye to cross 
 
 252
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 ower in the wat at nicht time, and he juist took a 
 pair o' cauld feet, and they settled on his stomach." 
 
 The day following my chat with Mrs. Gemmil 
 was the day Palestrina found the house such as she 
 had been looking for all along. The day was Sat- 
 urday. Overnight she had announced her intention 
 of being away all day, and Mrs. Macdonald had said 
 delightedly that that would suit her admirably. " I 
 do like the servants to have the entire day for the 
 passages on Saturday." Even when the day dawned 
 wet and cloudy, Palestrina had not the courage to 
 suggest that she should stay at home, and thereby 
 interfere with the cleaning of the passages. 
 
 The house seemed to be everything that was 
 desirable, and Palestrina returned in an elated 
 frame of mind. " It is far away from everything," 
 she said, " so far as I can make out, except the 
 village people and the minister, and the * big 
 hoose,' as they call it, which some English bodies 
 have rented for the autumn." 
 
 " It can't be far from the Melfords'," said 
 Thomas, pulling out a map. "Yes, I thought so; 
 they are just the other side of the loch." 
 
 " We * mussed the connaketion ' on our way back," 
 said Palestrina ; " and I do believe there's nothing a 
 Scotch porter enjoys telling one so much as this." 
 
 253
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " I hope I am not unduly disparaging the railway 
 system of my native land," said Thomas, "when I 
 say that if you go by steamer and by train it is the 
 remark that usually greets one, and it is always 
 made in a tone of humorous satisfaction." And 
 Thomas, with an exaggerated Scotch accent, which 
 he does uncommonly well, began to tell me of their 
 adventures. " We had a rush for the train," he said, 
 " and I told an elderly Scot, who couldn't have 
 hurried if he had had a mad bull behind him, to run 
 and get our tickets. He walked slowly down the 
 platform, muttering, ' Furrst, furrst,' and then he 
 opened the door of a third class carriage and shoved 
 us in, saying, * Ye've no occasion to travel furrst 
 when there's plenty of room in the thurrds.' '* 
 
 254
 
 Chapter XVII 
 
 THERE does not seem much to record about our life 
 in the Highlands. It is distinctly a pleasant time, 
 and it's a blessing to feel so much stronger, and 
 everything looks so jolly after one has been for weeks 
 in bed that I often find myself saying, " I'm glad I'm 
 not beneath the sod." 
 
 Behind the little house there is a solemn glen with 
 hills on either side, and a long white road wandering 
 between them. To get to the house one takes a 
 steamer to the head of the loch, and from there old 
 Hughie drives one in the coach, and deposits one at 
 the cross-roads, where the turf, short and green, is 
 cut into the shape of a heart. On this green heart 
 in the old days the girls and men of the glen were 
 married. They stood side by side on the upper part 
 of the heart, which is indented, and the minister 
 stood at the point and wedded the pair. Here one 
 leaves the coach, and a " machine " must take one on 
 to the little house. A red creeper grows up its 
 white walls, and from the terrace in front of the 
 house one looks down upon the little Presbyterian 
 
 255
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 chuvch and the village, and these in their turn look 
 on to the loch and the hills on the other side. 
 
 The people in the village afford one a good deal 
 of amusement, but we have observed that the con- 
 versation is always of theology or of the Royal 
 Family. There is one story of the late Queen and 
 the crown of Scotland which I have heard repeated 
 many times with the utmost gravity in the High- 
 lands. 
 
 " A gran* wumman," say the old villagers, " but 
 we were not gaein* tae gie her the croon o' Scotland. 
 Na, na. She would hae liked fine tae have had it, 
 but we were no gaein* tae gie her the croon o' Scot- 
 land. Ye'll mind when she went tae Scotland it 
 was the foremost thing that she spiered tae see. 
 And when they showed it tae her, * I would like fine 
 tae pit it on ma heid, 5 said she. But they said * No.' 
 And syne she says, ' Wad ye no let me haud it in 
 ma haund? 5 But they say ' No. 9 'Weel, 5 she says, 
 ' Juist haud it aboon ma heid, and let me staun' 
 underneath it, 5 but they said * No.' '* 
 
 The villagers formed our only society until Evan 
 Sinclair's tenants, who were known as " the folk at 
 the big hoose," came to call upon us. It was very 
 difficult indeed, and for some time we could hardly 
 believe that these were the Finlaysons whom we 
 
 256
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 had met at Clarkham, and whom, we now remem- 
 bered, had told us that they were going to take a 
 place in Scotland. The change in the Finlaysons 
 is startling and complete. It has taken them exactly 
 two months to become Highlanders, and it is not 
 too much to say that now the whole family may be 
 said to reek of tartan. Only Mrs. Finlayson is un- 
 affected by her life in the Highlands, although she 
 says that she knows it is fashionable to be Scotch. 
 " And so written up as it is at present," she adds : 
 " and all the best people taking the deer-moors. 
 Papa and the girls think all the world of Scotland. 
 But no one can say it is comfortable, I'm sure." 
 
 The Finlaysons have a piper, and young Mr. 
 Finlayson wears a kilt, and I think they are, without 
 exception, the most strenuous supporters of Scottish 
 customs whom I have ever met. The young ladies, 
 whom we had always associated in our minds with 
 silk dresses and thin shoes, came to call clad in the 
 very shortest and roughest tweed skirts that I have 
 ever seen ; and old Mr. Finlayson, whose mother was 
 a Robinson, has discovered that that is pretty much 
 the same as being a Robertson, and that therefore, 
 in some mysterious way, he is entitled to wear the 
 Macdonald tartan. They asked us to tea in a very 
 polite and friendly way, and the old rooms were 
 
 257
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 shown off to us with a good deal of pride. The 
 architecture of the house* seemed to throw a reflected 
 glory on Mr. Finlayson. 
 
 "Pure early Scottish," he said, pointing to the 
 tall, narrow windows with their shelving ledges. 
 
 " So dangerous," said Mrs. Finlayson, " for the 
 servants cleaning the windows." 
 
 The drawing-room vases were all filled with 
 heather, and the room smelt of damp dog and 
 herrings. The Miss Finlaysons came in to tea in 
 thick skirts and brogues, with tartan tam-o'-shanters 
 very becomingly placed upon their heads, and affixed 
 to their hair with ornamental bonnet pins. They 
 ate cake with damp, red hands, and seemed to pride 
 themselves upon the fish-scales which still clung to 
 their skirts, and imparted the rather unpleasant 
 odour which I noticed in the room. Young Finlay- 
 son in his kilt showed a great expanse of red knee, 
 and told tales of remarks made to him by the boat- 
 men, which he considered equal to anything in Ian 
 Maclaren's books. 
 
 Mrs. Finlayson took us out after tea to see the 
 garden and tennis court and the game larder. " I 
 always like a walled garden," she said, " it is so 
 stylish." Mr. Finlayson found a reflected glory even 
 in the loch and the hills, and he waved his fat hand 
 
 258
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 towards them and said : " We are able to do you a 
 nice bit of view here, aren't we? " 
 
 " I tell papa," said Mrs. Finlayson, " that he will 
 ruin the girls for anything else after this. The only 
 thing we regret is the want of society. However, a 
 few of the best people round about have called, and 
 we are giving quite an informal little dinner-party 
 to-morrow night." 
 
 Mrs. Finlayson then invited us to dinner, and 
 when we hesitated, on the plea that we should have 
 one or two friends with us, Mrs. Finlayson, in the 
 most hospitable manner possible, said that she always 
 had a " profusion on their own table," so there was 
 nothing for it but to accept her invitation. 
 
 The dinner was one of those rather purposeless 
 feasts which are given in the country, and the 
 Finlaysons' neighbours, who had been bidden to it, 
 bore upon their faces the peculiar homeless look 
 which one observes in the expressions of one's men 
 friends especially, when they come out to dinner 
 the look that says as plainly as possible that they 
 are moving about in worlds not realized nor found 
 particularly comfortable, and that they would infi- 
 nitely prefer their own armchairs at home. 
 
 The minister took Palestrina in to dinner, and 
 occupied himself throughout the evening by putting 
 
 259
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 the most searching questions to her of an inquisitive 
 nature. He asked how many servants we had, 
 whether we were satisfied with our cook, where we 
 came from, and why we had come. And he did it 
 all with such keen interest and intelligence that 
 Palestrina admitted that she really had felt flattered 
 rather than provoked. His friend, Evan Sinclair, 
 who, having let his house to the Finlaysons, is living 
 on a little farm close by, contradicted everything 
 that the minister said, and the two quarrelled the 
 whole evening. 
 
 Old Tyne Drum, who lives a good many miles 
 away, but who with his wife had already been to 
 call upon us, brewed himself the very largest glasses 
 of whisky-toddy which I have ever seen, even on 
 a big night at mess, and he proposed healths and 
 drank the steaming mixture throughout dinner in a 
 very commendable national spirit. His piper, who 
 stood behind his chair, refused at last to pour out 
 any further libations, and I heard him mutter to 
 himself : " Ye'll no need tae say that Sandy Mac- 
 nichol ever helpit ye tae the deil." 
 
 Certainly old Tyne Drum had had quite sufficient 
 to drink, but he began to cry a little when more 
 whisky was refused him, which was depressing. 
 Young Finlayson is always very jocose upon the 
 
 260
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 subject of whisky, as befits his ideas about the 
 Highlands; and even the Miss Finlaysons in their 
 faithful loyalty to all things Scottish, were quite 
 pleased with Tyne Drum's performance, and would 
 have scorned to look as though a whisky-drinking 
 laird was a novelty to them. 
 
 Mrs. Finlayson told Thomas, in a very severe 
 manner, and in her platform voice, which I always 
 find so impressive, that she considered intemperance 
 a sin, but that that was what came of all this 
 nonsense about Scotland. She gave him quite a 
 lecture upon the subject, as though he, being Scot- 
 tish born, was responsible for the old laird's 
 backsliding. 
 
 When the unfortunate old gentleman came into 
 the drawing-room to join the ladies and sat down 
 next him, Mrs. Finlayson looked at Thomas as 
 though she thought he was in some sort to blame 
 for this behaviour. 
 
 Tyne Drum dropped heavily on to the otto- 
 man, and I heard him say: "Do you know my 
 wife?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Thomas. " I have met her several 
 times since we came to the cottage." 
 
 " Hoo old should ye think she was? " (Tyne Drum 
 is always broadly Doric in his cups.) Thomas cal- 
 
 261
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 culated that the lady must be a long way the wrong 
 side of sixty, and humbly suggested that she might 
 perhaps be forty-five. 
 
 " Presairve us ! " said the Laird. " This lad here 
 says my wife is forty-five ! " He began to sob bit- 
 terly, and, putting his handkerchief to his eyes, 
 cried : " My pretty wee Jeannie, my bonnie wee wife, 
 wha daurs tae say ye was forty-five ! " 
 
 Thomas was so sorry for him and for what he had 
 done that he did his best to cheer him up by telling 
 him that what he meant to say was twenty-five; but 
 Tyne Drum was inconsolable, and went to sleep with 
 tear-drops on his cheeks. 
 
 When we got home in the evening Palestrina 
 said : " We are far behind the Finlaysons in all 
 things Scottish. I shall buy a Harris tweed skirt, 
 and you and Thomas must buy something too." So 
 we drove down in the coach to the ferry on a 
 very wet and windy day to cross over to the 
 " toon." 
 
 Our place on the coach we shared with a gentle- 
 man bound for the other side of the water, who had 
 evidently taken far too potent precautions against 
 sea-sickness. 
 
 No one dreamed of mentioning his condition in a 
 more direct way than this, for there are certain 
 
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 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 things and people whom a native delicacy forbids to 
 call by name in the North. The devil has quite a 
 number of appellations, some of them of a humorous 
 turn, and these are all used to describe him, and 
 what might be called his proper name is reserved 
 for pulpit utterances. In the same way a man who 
 is intoxicated will have his condition explained in 
 the word, " He has just been the length o' the 
 toon " the toon being the nearest place at which 
 liquor is obtainable. 
 
 Thomas said : " I should describe him as being 
 roaring drunk if I had been asked." But the words 
 sounded out of place and uncivil. 
 
 The wind was high as we drove in the coach, and 
 the rain fell heavily once or twice, but the spirits of 
 the gentleman who " had been the length o' the 
 toon " rose higher and higher as the rain descended. 
 He alluded to himself alternately as a Highland 
 gentleman, a total abstainer, and a sinner who 
 expected mercy. But Hughie the coachman chided 
 him with no stint of words on the unmannerliness 
 of his condition, and at every burst of eloquence on 
 the passenger's part he remarked : " Another wurrd 
 and '11 pit ye in the ditch ! " 
 
 This method of treating the disorderly passenger 
 suggested the possibility of the coach being over- 
 
 263
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 turned in order to punish him, and Palestrina grew 
 alarmed. 
 
 " I do hope," she said to Hughie, " that you will 
 remember that we are not all inebriates, and that 
 therefore, we do not require the same treatment 
 meted out to us." 
 
 The guard at the back of the coach here showed 
 his head over the pile of boxes covered with tarpaulin 
 on the roof, and called out : " Pit him inside the 
 coach wi' Mrs. Macfadyen, and she'll sort him! 
 She'll gie him the Gaelic ! " 
 
 Hughie chuckled and remarked : " Ay, she's the 
 gran' wumman wi' her tongue ! " And during the 
 rest of the drive his threats to the cheerful passenger 
 took the form of : " Another wurrd, and I'll pit ye 
 in wi' Mrs. Macfadyen ! " 
 
 There was a marked improvement in our cheerful 
 friend's behaviour after this. The poor wretch, 
 however, was in great difficulties when he came to 
 get into the ferry-boat. It was easy enough to throw 
 his first leg over the side while holding on by a 
 thole pin, but the balance required to convey the 
 remaining limb into the boat was quite out of his 
 power. And having made one or two ineffectual 
 hops on the beach with the shore-loving member, 
 he turned to the boatmen, and said gravely : " Lift 
 
 264
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 in my leg, Angus! Juist gie me a hand wi' ma 
 last leg!" 
 
 Palestrina chose the tweed for our coats and her 
 skirt, and then we walked up to the Castle and 
 called on the Melfords, who told us that Mrs. Fielden 
 was coming to stay with them. They sang her 
 praises, as most people do ; she has heaps of friends. 
 Then Palestrina did some shopping at the flesher's 
 and the baker's, and we went down to the ferry again 
 a boy behind us laden with queer-looking parcels 
 containing provisions, and Aloa yarn to knit into 
 stockings, and paper-bags with ginger-bread cakes 
 in them. When we got in and sat down under the 
 brown sail of the heavy boat, the two sailors re- 
 mained in their places and did not show the least 
 sign of getting under way. Thomas said to the 
 elder of the two men, a fine old fellow with a face such 
 as one connects with stories of the Covenanters: 
 
 " Why don't you get off? " 
 
 And the old man replied unmoved, " I'm waiting 
 for the Lord." Palestrina, who is sympathetic in 
 every matter, put on an expression of deep religious 
 feeling, and we thought of the Irvingites, and wished 
 that we had Eliza Jamieson with us " to look it up." 
 As far as we knew, the Irvingites wait to perform 
 every action until inspired to perform it. We had 
 
 265
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 heard that in the smallest matter, such as beginning 
 to eat their dinner, they will wait until this inspira- 
 tion, as I suppose one must call it, is given to them. 
 The question then arose, how long would it be 
 before we would be likely to get under way? The 
 two sailors sat on without moving, and the elder of 
 them cut a wedge of tobacco and was filling his pipe 
 preparing to smoke. We wondered if the Irvingites 
 often waited for an inspiration in this contented way. 
 The big, red-funnelled steamer from Greenock was, 
 meanwhile, preparing to depart. It had poured its 
 daily output of tourists for their half -hour's run in 
 the town, which time they employ in buying 
 mementoes of the place, and we had hurried down 
 to the sailing-boat to escape this influx. 
 
 Thomas endeavoured to assist inspiration by say- 
 ing it didn't seem much use waiting any longer, 
 and that as time was getting on, did not our friend 
 (the gray-bearded Covenanter) think that it was 
 time to be moving? The Covenanter wrinkled up 
 his nose, which already was a good deal wrinkled, 
 and gazed upwards at the sail, or, as we interpreted 
 it, to Heaven. Palestrina pressed Thomas's hand 
 and said gently, " Don't urge him, dear ; we shall 
 get off in time." And the younger sailor said, 
 " We are waiting for the Lord" So we knew 
 
 266
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 that they were both Irvingites, and the only 
 scepticism that intruded itself upon us was this: 
 Suppose inspiration never came, how should we 
 get home? 
 
 The steamer now began to move away from the 
 pier with a great churning and hissing of water, and 
 seething white foam fizzing round the staples of the 
 pier. A band began to play on board, and the 
 paddles broke the water with a fine sweep. Two 
 youngsters on shore, to whom " the stimmer " is a 
 daily excitement, then called out in shrill, high voice : 
 "There's the Lord! She's aff!" 
 
 The Lord of the Isles had moved off on her return 
 journey to Greenock, and the notes on Scottish 
 religion which Palestrina was carefully preparing 
 were hastily destroyed. The Lord had departed, 
 and we sailed across the loch without waiting any 
 longer. 
 
 When we got home we found the minister 
 awaiting us in the drawing-room, he having sug- 
 gested that as we were not at home, he had better 
 stay till our return. I found out in the course 
 of conversation that he is a distant relation of old 
 Captain Jamieson's the Jamiesons' father so we 
 had quite a long talk about our friends. The min- 
 ister is one of those Scots whose national character- 
 
 267
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 istics are always stronger than individual character. 
 Take away his nationality from him, and Mr. 
 Macorquodale would be nothing at all; if matter is 
 but a cohesion of qualities, and those qualities are 
 entirely Scottish, it is only logical to assume that 
 if Mr. Macorquodale were not Scottish, he would 
 be nothing. 
 
 Palestrina came out on to the little terrace where 
 we were sitting, and I explained to her that the 
 minister was a cousin of the Jamiesons. 
 
 " How interesting ! " said Palestrina, in her usual 
 nice, kind way. 
 
 " Why? " said the minister. He has sandy hair 
 and very round, gray eyes, and looks like a football 
 player. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," said my sister ; " it's always 
 interesting, isn't it, to find that people are related ? " 
 
 " Everyone must have some relations," said 
 Mr. Macorquodale, " and if my choice had been 
 given me, I do not think I should have chosen those 
 five gurrls." 
 
 " We like them so very much," Palestrina said, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Is that the truth? " said Mr. Macorquodale; and 
 she replied firmly that it was. 
 
 " Um umph ! " he said, as though considering a 
 268
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 perfectly new problem, and then added : " Well, 
 each man to his taste. How many of them have 
 got husbands?" 
 
 I replied that Kate was married and Gracie 
 engaged. 
 
 " Gracie? " said the minister simply. " Was 
 that the one with a nose like a scone? " 
 
 We considered Gracie's nose silently for a 
 moment, and then admitted that perhaps the simile 
 was not unjust. 
 
 "How did she get him?" said the minister 
 pleasantly. 
 
 The minister has a curious way of eating which 
 fascinates one to look at, while all the time there is 
 a distinct feeling that an accident may happen at 
 any moment. When the tea was brought out he ac- 
 cepted some, and filled his mouth very full of cookie, 
 stowing into it nearly a whole one at a time, and 
 then raised his tea-cup to his lips. He persists in 
 keeping his spoon in his cup as he drinks, and he 
 prevents it from tumbling out by holding it with his 
 thumb. A long draught of tea is then partaken of 
 with a gurgling sound, and as the minister swallows 
 one sees a line of the beverage appearing between 
 his closed lips. It is almost impossible to prevent 
 one's self watching this process of eating and drink- 
 
 269
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 ing during the whole of tea-time. For it seems so 
 uncertain whether the spoon will remain in its place, 
 and the cookie and the line of milky tea. 
 
 The minister is a very young man, with the pug- 
 nacity of an Edinburgh High School boy, and the 
 awful truthfulness which distinguishes his nation, 
 but which is accentuated in such an alarming degree 
 in a minister of the Kirk. 
 
 " I sent Kate a scent-bottle when she married," 
 he remarked. " I won it at a bazaar for sixpence, 
 so it was not expensive. I don't disapprove of 
 raffles," he added, although he had not been asked for 
 this piece of information " that is, if ladies do not 
 cheat over it, as they often do." Palestrina bristled 
 at the insinuation, and the minister consoled her by 
 saying. " Women sin in such wee ways that's what 
 I can't understand about them. However," he said, 
 " I have never known a woman steal a thing yet 
 that a man has not reaped some benefit by it. I 
 can quote authority for my views from Adam and 
 Eve downwards to the newspapers of yesterday. I 
 am engaged to be married myself, and I find the 
 subject of feminine ethics absorbing. Good-bye," he 
 said presently, " I hope you will not be disappointed 
 with the clothes I hear you've ordered." 
 
 Alas! the tweed coat and skirt in which my sister 
 270
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 hoped to rival the Miss Finlaysons proved an utter 
 misfit, and she drove round the loch on the following 
 iday to take the garments back. Palestrina had 
 prepared a severe reprimand for the tailor, but the 
 old man took the wind out of her sails by stopping 
 in amazement at the first word of annoyance which 
 she uttered, and standing in the middle of the little 
 fitting-room, with a yellow tape measure round his 
 neck, and a piece of chalk in his hand, he shook his 
 gray beard at us with something of Apostolic fer- 
 vour, and thus addressed us: 
 
 " I'm amazed at ye ! Do ye ever consider the 
 system of planets, and that this world is one of the 
 lesser points of light in space, and that even here 
 there are countless millions of human beings, full of 
 great resolves and high purposes. Get outside your- 
 selves, ladies and gentlemen, and realize in the 
 magnitude of the universe, and the immeasurable 
 majesty of the planetary system, how small a thing 
 is the ill-fit of a j acket." 
 
 We felt much humbled, Palestrina and I. And it 
 was only when we were driving home afterwards 
 that it even dimly suggested itself to us that we had 
 right on our side at all. " After all," Palestrina 
 said, " the coats did not fit ; I really do not think 
 he need have lectured us so severely." 
 
 271
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 At the time, however, I confess that our feelings 
 were distinctly apologetic. 
 
 One wonders how a tailor who advanced the 
 planetary system as a reproof to complaining cus- 
 tomers would get on in London, and one realizes 
 that English people have a great deal still to learn. 
 
 272
 
 Chapter XVIII 
 
 WHEN Mrs. Fielden came to stop at the Melfords* 
 we saw a good deal of her. Their yacht used to 
 steam up in the early morning, and they would take 
 us off for a day's cruise on the loch or a trip round 
 to Oban. Mrs. Fielden used to sit on deck with a 
 big red umbrella over her head and a white yachting 
 gown on, and seemed serenely unconscious that she 
 was looking very pretty and very smart, and quite 
 different to anyone else. My sister tells me she never 
 feels badly dressed till she meets Mrs. Fielden. 
 
 The Melfords have very pleasant people stopping 
 with them always, and there are very jolly little 
 parties on board their yacht. Mrs. Fielden, how- 
 ever, is in her most provoking and wilful mood. 
 Every day it is the same thing laughter and 
 smiles for everyone. But she has absolutely no 
 heart. All the beautiful, kindly things she does are 
 only the whim of the moment. They bespeak a 
 generous nature, as easily moved to tears as to 
 laughter; but she loves everyone a little, and prob- 
 ably has no depth of affection or constancy in her. 
 Lately she has added another provoking habit to the 
 
 273
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 many she already possesses. She exaggerates her 
 pretence of having no memory, and, indeed, it may 
 be she has not any. 
 
 When I left home, rather a wreck as regards 
 health, and drove to the station in Mrs. Fielden's 
 luxurious carriage, it was her hand that piled the 
 cushions as no one else can, behind me, and the last 
 thing I saw was her smile as she waved her hand to 
 me from my own door. 
 
 Last week, when we met again at the Melfords', 
 she nodded to me in a little indifferent sort of way. 
 She sat under a big cedar-tree on one of the lawns, 
 and laughed and talked a sort of brilliant nonsense 
 the whole afternoon. 
 
 By-and-by I said to her probably clumsily, cer- 
 tainly at the wrong time " I never half thanked 
 you for being so good to me when I was ill ; " for 
 she had come in like some radiant vision day after 
 day in her beautiful summer gowns and rose-gar- 
 landed hats, and had sat by my couch, reading to 
 me sometimes, talking to me at others in a voice 
 as gentle as a dove's. 
 
 Why will she not allow one to admire her? One 
 only wants to do so humbly and at a distance. It 
 was so pleasant up here in the Highlands, with my 
 good sister spoiling me, and the dear memory of 
 
 274
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 those long days to look back upon. But Mrs. 
 Fielden ruthlessly robbed me and sent me away 
 empty the very first day of our meeting. 
 
 "Was I kind to you? I don't believe I was, 
 really. If I was, I'm sure I forget all about it. Let 
 me see, how long were you ill? It can't have been 
 a bit amusing for you," and so on, laughing at my 
 dull face and serious ways. 
 
 And this has gone on for a whole week. At the 
 Melfords' parties she selects, quite indiscriminately 
 and in a royal way which she has got, this man or 
 that to be her escort or her companion. Now it is 
 a mere boy whom she bewilders with a few of her 
 radiant smiles, and now one of her elderly Colonels 
 whom she reduces to a state of abject admiration in 
 a few hours. One man goes fishing with her and 
 another rows her on the loch. A third, hearing that 
 Mrs. Fielden's life will be a blank if she does not 
 possess a certain rare fern which may be found 
 sometimes on the hillsides of Scotland, spends a 
 whole day scrambling about looking for it, and 
 returns triumphant in the evening. Mrs. Fielden 
 has forgotten that she ever wanted it. When we 
 sulk she does not notice it. When her Colonels offer 
 her their fatuous admiration she goes to sleep, and 
 then, waking up, is so very, very sorry. " But you 
 
 275
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 can't have amused me properly," she says, " or I 
 should have stayed awake." When anyone tries by 
 avoiding her to show displeasure, Mrs. Fielden is 
 oblivious of the fact. And when the penitence and 
 boredom which immediately ensue when one has de- 
 prived Mrs. Fielden of one's company have led one 
 to end the one-sided quarrel with an apology, it 
 is only to find that Mrs. Fielden has been blissfully 
 unconscious of one's absence. Summer and the air 
 of the Highlands seem to be in her veins. Her 
 happiness, like the quality of mercy, is twice blessed, 
 making her, through her talent of enjoyment, diffuse 
 something beautiful and gay about her. 
 
 After all, why should she care? Life was evi- 
 dently made to give her pleasure. Why should a 
 woman always be blamed for being loved? Mrs. 
 Fielden's charm is of the irresponsible sort. To live 
 and to be lovely are all one ought to demand of her, 
 and at least she is without vanity. She seems to be 
 entirely unconscious of the admiration she receives, 
 or perhaps she is simply indifferent to it. 
 
 The Melfords adore her, and allow her to see it. 
 They say no one knows her as they do. Probably 
 we all feel that. This is one of Mrs. Fielden's most 
 maddening charms. We have all found something 
 in her that seems to belong to ourselves alone. 
 
 276
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 Lately I have discovered that she loves to wander 
 up the hillside by herself, and listen to the plover's 
 solitary cry, and sit in the sunshine with no com- 
 panion near her. And one wonders why so frivolous 
 a woman should care for this, and why when she 
 comes back amongst us again her eyes should wear 
 the wistful look which covers them like a veil some- 
 times. 
 
 When she left the Melfords', Palestrina asked her 
 to come and stay with us, and, rather to my surprise, 
 Mrs. Fielden came. It seems to me she must find 
 us a very dull lot after the Melfords 5 cheery house- 
 parties. She arrived late one afternoon in the yacht, 
 and the whole party came up to dine with us before 
 returning to the castle. The little house was taxed 
 to its utmost capacity, even to provide teacups for 
 our guests; but the Melfords have a happy knack 
 of seeming to find pleasure in everything. Mrs. 
 Fielden's gaiety was infectious, and her light- 
 heartedness knocked all one's serious world to 
 pieces, while her beauty seemed almost extravagant 
 in the plain setting of the little house. 
 
 She began to give us some of her experiences in 
 Scotland. " Do you know," she said, putting on a 
 charming gravity and lifting her eyebrows in a 
 provoking, childish way, " that every single person 
 
 277
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 in Scotland gets up at five o'clock in the morning? 
 and all the coaches and excursions start at daybreak, 
 and when you want to hit off what they call a ' con- 
 nection ' anywhere, you have to get up in the middle 
 of the night? " 
 
 " I am afraid you had a horribly early start to 
 join the yacht the other day," said Lord Melford, 
 " but it was the only way we could manage to get 
 to the Oban gathering in time." 
 
 " I was there before you," said Mrs. Fielden ; 
 " and I had to rouse up the people at the inn to take 
 me in and give me breakfast. Even they were not 
 up at that hour! But after ringing twice, such a 
 nice boots came and opened the door to me dressed 
 in a pink flannel nightgown. I thought at first he 
 must be walking in his sleep because he didn't try 
 to get behind the door or conceal himself any- 
 where." 
 
 " What did he do? " said Lord Melford, laughing. 
 
 " He stood on a very rough, prickly doormat," 
 said Mrs. Fielden, " and rubbed one poor bare foot 
 against his leg to keep it warm. We had quite a nice 
 chat," she went on. " And when I told him how hun- 
 gry I was, he disappeared down a long passage, and 
 dressed himself in about a minute and a half, and 
 brought me some breakfast." 
 
 278
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " The kilt is a great educator," said Thomas. 
 " No doubt an English boots would have blushed." 
 
 " The gathering was very good this year," said 
 Lord Melford. "Why didn't some of you come? 
 By-the-by, your friend Mrs. Macdonald was there. 
 Indeed, it was she who insisted in taking Mrs. 
 Fielden to the Gaelic concert." 
 
 " Gaelic is rather an alarming language," said 
 Mrs. Fielden. " I always feel as if I was being 
 sworn at when I hear it." 
 
 One of Mrs. Fielden's admirers, who had reached 
 the savage and sarcastic stage, here interposed, and 
 said : " Poor Mrs. Fielden ! I saw you at the con- 
 cert. How did you manage to sit out a whole evening 
 between Mrs. Macdonald and a wall? " 
 
 "Mrs. Macdonald is quite a dear!" said Mrs. 
 Fielden. (Who, in the name of Fortune, would 
 Mrs. Fielden not find charming?) 
 
 " I don't know what you and Mrs. Macdonald can 
 have found to talk about," said Palestrina, laughing. 
 
 " We discussed the training of servants most of 
 the time," said Mrs. Fielden simply. 
 
 Everyone laughed; and my sister, with a recollec- 
 tion of our visit to Mrs. Macdonald, said at once: 
 " Did she give you any useful household recipes ? " 
 
 " It is very odd that you should have asked me 
 279
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 that," said Mrs. Fielden. " Do you know that the 
 whole of to-day I have been puzzling over a letter 
 which I received this morning? I did not know 
 the handwriting, and it was merely headed : * Two 
 recipes for boiling a ham, as requested.' Now, I 
 cannot really have asked Mrs. Macdonald for recipes 
 for boiling a ham, can I? " 
 
 We thought it highly probable that she had done 
 so, and had done it, too, with an air of profound 
 interest; and I think we said this, which Mrs. 
 Fielden did not mind in the least. 
 
 " There is something rather horrible, don't you 
 think so," she said, " in knowing how a thing is 
 cooked ? " 
 
 The minister, who is assiduous in calling, walked 
 up after tea with his friend Evan Sinclair; and as 
 we were already far too large a party for dinner, we 
 asked them to stay, too. 
 
 Mr. Macorquodale has frequently described him- 
 self to us as a grand preacher. He and Evan 
 Sinclair live quite close to each other, and they are 
 friends whose affection is rooted and maintained in 
 warfare. For the minister and Sinclair to meet is 
 one strenuous contest as to who shall have the last 
 word. Politeness is not a strong motive with either 
 of them indeed, one would imagine that from the 
 
 280
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 first it has been ruled out of place. The friendship 
 and the warfare began at the Edinburgh High 
 School years ago, and both the friendship and the 
 warfare have lasted without intermission ever since. 
 They meet every day, and often twice a day; they 
 fish together, and in the winter they spend every 
 evening at each other's houses. Scottish people seem 
 to have a sneaking liking for those who dislike them, 
 and a certain pity mingled with contempt for those 
 who show them favour and affection. The friend- 
 ship of Evan and the minister is based upon feelings 
 of the most respectful admiration for their mutual 
 antipathy. 
 
 To keep alive this laudable and self-respecting 
 warfare is the highest effort of genius of both Mr. 
 Sinclair and the Reverend Alexander. To foster it 
 they apply themselves to what they call " plain 
 speaking " whenever they meet, and they conceal 
 as much as possible from each other every single 
 good quality that they possess. 
 
 The minister, who is a big man, always talks of 
 Evan as " wee Sinkler," and sneers at " heritors " ; 
 and Evan invariably addresses Macorquodale as 
 " taur barrels," a name which he considers appro- 
 priate to the minister's black clothes and portly 
 figure. 
 
 281
 
 A. Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " The minister," said Evan, when he had walked 
 up the hill to see us, " has been reading Josephus. 
 We shall have some erudite learning from the pulpit 
 for the next Sunday or two." 
 
 The minister was announced a moment later, and, 
 before taking the trouble to shake hands with us, 
 he looked Evan Sinclair over from top to toe, and 
 remarked : " Ye're very attentive in calling upon 
 ladies." 
 
 "I was just talking about your fine preaching," 
 said Evan. 
 
 " I admit my gift," said the minister ; " but I fear 
 that I very often preach to a deaf adder which stops 
 its ears." He nodded triumphantly at us, and it 
 then occurred to him to shake hands. 
 
 Evan said at once that he got a better sleep in 
 kirk on Sundays than he got during the whole of 
 the week. 
 
 " Evan Sinclair," said the minister, " if I find you 
 sleeping under me I'll denounce you from my pulpit, 
 as a minister has the right to do." 
 
 " And we'll settle it in the graveyard afterwards," 
 said Evan drily. " And ye're not in very good train- 
 ing, my man." 
 
 Palestrina broke in gently to discuss a theological 
 point which had puzzled us for several Sundays. 
 
 282
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 On each Lord's Day as it came round we had prayed 
 that we might become " a little beatle to the Lord." 
 Doubtless the simile is a beautiful one, but its imme- 
 diate bearing upon our needs was not too grossly 
 evident. And it seemed almost dangerous to those 
 who believe in the efficacy of prayer to put up this 
 petition in its literal sense. We had decided for 
 some time past that on the first occasion we should 
 ask Mr. Macorquodale what it was exactly for which 
 we made a petition when we prayed that we might 
 become a " little beatle to the Lord." 
 
 " Similes," said Palestrina, in her serious way, 
 " are beautiful sometimes, but we can't quite under- 
 stand one of the references that you make in your 
 prayers on Sundays." 
 
 " We have prayed so fervently," said Mrs. 
 Fielden, " without, perhaps, entirely understanding 
 the portent of the petition, that we might become 
 a * little beatle to the Lord.' " 
 
 The thing was out now, and our curiosity, we 
 hoped, would be gratified. There was a pause which 
 suggested that our hearers were puzzled, and then 
 Mr. Sinclair put a large pocket-handkerchief into 
 his mouth and roared with laughter, and Mr. 
 Macorquodale turned to my sister, who was trem- 
 bling now, and remarked, in an awful voice, that 
 
 283
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 he wondered that we didn't understand plain 
 English. 
 
 Of course she apologized, and an explanation came 
 afterwards from Evan Sinclair, who told us that the 
 Minister's prayer was that we the church might 
 become a little Bethel, and that Beethel was his Doric 
 pronunciation of the word. 
 
 It began to rain on Sunday, as it often does in 
 Scotland Nature itself seems to put on a more 
 serious expression on the Sabbath and it continued 
 raining for four whole days. The rain came down 
 steadily and mercilessly, shutting out the view of 
 the hills and turning the whole landscape into a big, 
 damp gray blanket. " I suppose," said Mrs. 
 Fielden, who is never affected by bad weather, " that 
 we shall all get very cross and quarrel with each 
 other if the rain continues much longer." 
 
 " I think I shall write a number of unnecessary 
 letters to absent friends," said Palestrina. " And 
 Mr. Ellicomb and Sir Anthony Crawshay will arrive 
 to-morrow, and we must tell them to amuse us." 
 
 It was a disappointment to find that Mr. Elli- 
 comb's nerves and temper were seriously affected by 
 the weather, and in moments of extreme depression 
 his low spirits vented themselves in a rabid abuse 
 of the Presbyterian Kirk. I cannot understand why 
 
 284
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 Ellicomb should elect to wear a brown velvet 
 shooting- jacket, and a pale-green tie, and neat boots 
 laced half-way up his legs, in Scotland. He went to 
 the village church in the rain on Sunday, and he has 
 not been the same man since. 
 
 " Don't call it a church ! " he cried, as we went 
 homewards up the hill where the road was a water- 
 course and each tree poured down moisture. He 
 seemed to think that he had done his soul an 
 irreparable injury by entering a Presbyterian 
 kirk. 
 
 Anthony said : " Oh ! don't be an ass, Ellicomb." 
 But even on Monday morning poor Ellicomb was 
 still suffering from the weather and the effects of 
 his church-going. 
 
 "Can he be in love?" said Palestrina; "and if 
 so, as the Jamiesons would say, which is it? " 
 
 Palestrina is pinker and prettier than ever since 
 her marriage. She still says : " Oh, that will be 
 delightful ! " to whatever Thomas and I suggest, 
 and she never seems to have any occupation except 
 to be with us when we want her, and to accede 
 to everything we say, which, of course, from a 
 man's point of view, is a very delightful trait in a 
 woman. 
 
 " I rather wonder," said Palestrina, " that I have 
 285
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 not heard from any of the Jamiesons lately. They 
 are usually such good writers." 
 
 " Depend upon it, there is a great bit of news 
 coming," said Thomas. " The Jamiesons always 
 maintain a dramatic silence just before announcing 
 some tremendous piece of intelligence." 
 
 Thomas had hardly spoken the words before a 
 telegram was handed to Palestrina, containing the 
 following enigmatical words: 
 
 " Engaged Cuthbertson. Greatly surprised. 
 Deeply thankful. ELIZA." 
 
 This rather mysterious message was followed later 
 in the day by a letter four pages in length, and 
 marked on the outside, for some reason best known 
 to Eliza, " Immediate." The letter explained more 
 fully the cause of Eliza's thankfulness, and who it 
 was that was greatly surprised. 
 
 " If you had told me," wrote Eliza, " six weeks 
 ago, that I should now be engaged to Mr. Cuthbert- 
 son, I should hardly have believed it. I really had 
 not a notion that he cared for me until he actually 
 said the words. Is it not, too, strange to think that 
 perhaps, after all, Maud may be one of the last of 
 us to get married ? " 
 
 Here followed the usual descriptive catalogue, so 
 characteristic of the Jamiesons' letters. " Mr. Cuth- 
 
 286
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 bertson looks like a widower, though he is not one." 
 Strangely enough, I could never think of any other 
 words, when I came to know Mr. Cuthbertson, that 
 described him so well as these, and I can only 
 account for it by saying that the man's deep melan- 
 choly and the crape band that he habitually wore 
 round his hat must have given one the feeling that 
 at some time Mr. Cuthbertson must have suffered a 
 heavy bereavement. " I have only known him," 
 Eliza's letter went on, " for six weeks, but even that 
 time has shown me his worth. He has a very straight 
 nose and a black beard, and his forehead is distinctly 
 intellectual. I met him first at Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs', 
 where, as you know, I had gone to stay to catalogue 
 their library, and to do a little typewriting for her. 
 You know, of course, that she has become a member 
 of the S.R.S., and their library is a mine of infor- 
 mation. 
 
 " At first I was afraid to say, or even to allow 
 myself to think, he showed me any preference, but 
 Maud thought from the first that he was struck, and 
 I asked her not to appear at all until everything was 
 settled, for you know how attractive she is. But I 
 really don't think that even then I thought that 
 there was anything serious in it." (For an intelli- 
 gent woman Eliza's letter strikes one as being 
 
 287
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 strangely lacking in concentration.) " I have just 
 been to the meeting of the Browning Society our 
 first appearance in public together and I read my 
 paper on * The Real Strafford,' but I could hardly 
 keep my voice steady all the time. I wear his own 
 signet-ring for the present, but we are going up to 
 London next week, when he will buy me a hoop of 
 pearls. I am sure that you will be glad to hear that 
 he is comfortably off. When the right man comes 
 preconceived objections to matrimony vanish, but it 
 must be the right man" 
 
 Palestrina said that she was " thrilled " to hear of 
 Eliza's engagement, because an engagement was 
 always thrilling, and she instantly went to tell the 
 news to Mr. Ellicomb. She told me afterwards that 
 when she had said that one of the Jamiesons was 
 engaged, Mr. Ellicomb became suddenly very pale in 
 his complexion, and exclaimed, in a most anxious tone 
 of voice: "Which?" 
 
 The cold weather has set in very suddenly, and 
 already there is a sprinkling of snow on some of the 
 distant hills. The robins still sing cheerily, but the 
 gulls on the shore, flying over the yellow seaweed, 
 call to each other plaintively in the gray of the early 
 twilight. The heavy-winged herons stand in an atti- 
 
 288
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 tude of serious thought for hours on the cold rocks ; 
 then, as if suddenly making up their minds to some- 
 thing, they stretch out their red legs behind them, 
 and flop with large wings over the waters of the loch. 
 The red Virginian creeper on the walls has begun to 
 drop its leaves regretfully after a night or two of 
 white frost, and the dahlias hang their heads, heavy 
 with the moisture which their cups contain. The 
 sun wakes late in the mornings now, but shines strong 
 and warm when it does get up. Cottage lights and 
 fires burn cheerily o' nights, and within the cottages 
 the old folks and the young ones draw round the 
 fires and speak eerily of wraiths and whaurlochs, and 
 some will tell of death-lights which they have seen 
 on the lonely shore road. The herring fishers, who 
 sail away in the early twilight, wear good stout jer- 
 seys now and red woollen " crauvats," which the 
 " wumman at hame " has knitted. The Lord has 
 sailed away to Dunoon to lay up for the winter, and 
 the shepherds have gone away down South " to winter 
 the hogs." The shepherds' wives sit alone in the little 
 hillside cottages away up on the face of the brae, 
 and " mak dae " with their slender money till their 
 men come home again. 
 
 The old women in the village have begun their 
 winter spinning, and the tap, tap, tap of the treadle 
 
 289
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 on the floor gives a pleasant sound as one passes 
 outside on the dark road. Old men tell tales of 
 snow in the passes in winter time, and of death 
 on the bleak hillsides, and some wife shuddering 
 will say, " Aye, I mind I saw his corp-licht the 
 very evening he was lost." And then they tell 
 tales of fantasy and signs and premonitions of 
 death. 
 
 The Finlaysons are going to wind up their very 
 successful autumn in the Highlands by giving what 
 they insist upon calling a gillies' dance, though 
 probably the revels will mostly be indulged in by 
 their large retinue of English servants. Good-na- 
 tured old Finlayson has more than once said that he 
 hopes we shall all come to the gillies' dance, and that 
 it will give ourselves and our guests a chance of 
 seeing some Highland customs. A good many of us 
 come to Scotland most years and have seen gillies 
 and pipers before, but our good-natured neighbours 
 certainly out-distance anyone I know in their High- 
 land sympathies. 
 
 They invited us to dine with them before the dance 
 should begin, and six of us went, feeling very like 
 the Jamiesons, and resolved that when we got home 
 we should never put a limit to their numbers when 
 we send them an invitation again. 
 
 290
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 We talk of returning home at the end of next 
 week, and Mrs. Fielden and our other two guests are 
 leaving on Monday, I believe. 
 
 Mrs. Fielden looks much prettier in the Highlands, 
 I think, than anywhere else. One used to imagine 
 that nothing would suit her half so well as her 
 favourite wide hats, with the roses on them that she 
 used to wear in the summer time except, perhaps, 
 the dark habit and the long riding-boots which she 
 loves to tap with her hunting-crop. And yet there 
 is something so fresh and bouyant and splendidly 
 youthful about this beautiful woman that it is im- 
 possible not to feel that, after all, nothing suits her 
 so well as the boating dresses, with some sort of loose 
 bodice or shirt I do not know what it is called 
 which she wears when rowing, or the well-cut tweed 
 in which one sees her swinging over the moors. 
 Young Finlayson is in love with her, and I believe 
 has offered her his heart and the ironmongery busi- 
 ness with it; but I think of all her lovers Anthony 
 Crawshay is the one she likes best. He is the only 
 one for whom her moods never alter, and to whom 
 she is always gracious and charming and sweet. 
 Perhaps it is in a quiet, less radiant way than that 
 in which she treats others, but it is with a quiet 
 loving-kindness which I have not seen her bestow 
 
 291
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 elsewhere. And Anthony Crawshay is a good fellow 
 one of the best. 
 
 Old Mr. Finlayson actually donned a kilt for the 
 gillies' dance; young Finlayson also wore the na- 
 tional dress, and Thomas tells me that they have 
 sported the Macdonald tartan, and wants to know 
 why. Old Finlayson met us at the door of his baro- 
 nial hall in a clannish, feudal sort of way, and, seiz- 
 ing his Glengarry bonnet from his head, he flung 
 it down upon the oak settle in the hall, and exclaimed, 
 in hearty accents : " Welcome to the Glen." The 
 Miss Finlaysons wore sashes of royal Stuart tartan 
 put plaidwise across their shoulders. Mrs. Finlayson 
 was dressed in a very regal manner, which I cannot 
 attempt to describe, and her platform voice was in 
 use throughout the entire evening. 
 
 Ellicomb said the dance was barbaric, but Thomas 
 enjoyed the evening immensely, and so did Crawshay, 
 who said in his hearty way : " The Finlaysons did us 
 uncommonly well," and shouted out, " Not at all bad 
 people, not at all bad." 
 
 After dinner old Finlayson showed us all the pic- 
 tures in the hall by the light of a long wax taper 
 which he held above his head, and he pointed out 
 the beauties of the house in a proprietary way, even 
 to Evan himself, to whom the place belongs. Evan 
 
 292
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 Sinclair, in a shabby green doublet, accepted all Mr. 
 Finlayson's wildest statements about his own house 
 with a queer, humorous grin on his face, and sub- 
 mitted to being patronized by the Miss Finlaysons, 
 whose commercial instincts, no doubt, caused them to 
 despise a young man who was obliged to let his place. 
 
 One of the Highland axioms which the Finlay- 
 sons have accepted is that " a man's a man for a* 
 that," and they shook hands with everyone in an 
 effusive way, and condescended to a queer sort of 
 familiarity with the boatmen and keepers about the 
 place. The daughters of the house, with flying 
 tartan ribbons, swung the young gillies about in 
 the intricate figures of the hoolichan, and talked to 
 them with a heartiness which one would hardly have 
 thought possible of the Clarkham young ladies. 
 The Finlaysons had a number of English guests 
 staying in the house for the dance. These all made 
 the same joke when the pipes began to play. " Is 
 the pig being killed? " they asked, and looked very 
 pleased with their own ready wit. 
 
 Red-headed Evan Sinclair carried his old green 
 doublet and battered silver ornaments very well, and 
 his neat dancing was in pleasant contrast to the 
 curious bounds and leaps of the Finlaysons. Old 
 Mr. Finlayson spent his evening strutting about in 
 
 293
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 a kindly, important fashion, and in making Athole 
 brose after a recipe supplied by Tyne Drum, who 
 superintended the brewing of it himself. 
 
 I hope I am not fanciful when I say that the pipes 
 when I hear them have to me something irresistibly 
 sad about them, and that they conjure up many 
 fantasies in my head which I am half ashamed 
 to put down on paper. They seem to me to gather 
 up in their bitter sobbings all the sorrows of a people 
 who have suffered much and have said very little 
 about it. There is the cry in them of children dying 
 in the lonely glens in winter-time when the wind 
 howls round the clachan and the snow fills the passes. 
 One almost sees the little procession of black-coated 
 men bearing away a tiny burden from the cottage 
 door into the whiteness beyond, with its one heaped- 
 up patch of brown earth on either side of the little 
 grave. They wail, too, of the killing time, when the 
 Covenanters were crushed, but never broken, under 
 persecution; and one seems to see the defiant gray- 
 haired old men, with their splendid obstinacy, un- 
 moved by threats not defiant, but simply unbreak- 
 able. Thinking of the Covenanters as they pass 
 slowly before one to the sighing of the pipes, one 
 wonders if it is possible to punish by death the man 
 who is content to die? 
 
 294
 
 r A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 The tuneful reeds sob out, too, the story of the 
 Prince for whom so many brave men bled, and they 
 tell again of the days of song, and of noble legends 
 and deeds of daring, when the nation spent its 
 passionate love on its King. " Come back ! come 
 back ! " The desolate cry of the times. Almost one 
 seems to hear it sounding across the hills, and it 
 seems to me that all that it is so hard to speak, so 
 hard even to look, may perhaps be told in music, 
 and I think loyalty and love speak very beautifully 
 in the old Jacobite airs. 
 
 Again, as Evan's piper marches up and down in 
 the moonlight playing a lament, the romance of life 
 seems lost in the hardness of it, its stress and its 
 loss. " Hame, hame, hame ! " the pipes sob forth, 
 crying for the homes that are sold to strangers and 
 for the hills and the glens which pass away from the 
 old hands. It is " Good-bye, good-bye," an eternity 
 of farewells. And still, wherever life is most diffi- 
 cult, comforts most few, work most hard, in the dis- 
 tant parts of the world, are the Scottish exiles. But 
 I know that all the world over the sons of the heather 
 and the mist, in however distant or alien lands they 
 may be, feel always, as they steer their way through 
 life, that there is a pole star by which they set their 
 compass, and that some day, perhaps, they or their 
 
 295
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 children may steer the boat to a haven on some 
 rocky shore, where the whaup calls shrilly on the 
 moors above the loch, and the heather grows strong 
 and tough on the hillside, and the peat reek rises 
 almost like the incense of an evening prayer against 
 a gray, soft sky in the land of the North. 
 
 I suppose that even in a diary I have no business 
 to mix this up with an account of the Finlaysons* 
 dance. 
 
 Palestrina came up to me, after conscientiously 
 dancing reels with Thomas, looking very pink and 
 pretty, and thoughtful of me, as usual. 
 
 " Don't stay longer than you feel inclined," she 
 said. " I told them to come for you in the dog-cart, 
 and to wait about for you between twelve and one." 
 
 " I will take a turn down on the shore," I said, 
 " and have a cigar, and then I will come back and see 
 how you are getting on." 
 
 Palestrina gave me my crutch, and I went down 
 towards the loch, which looked like a sheet of silver 
 in the moonlight, and I found Anthony and Mrs. 
 Fielden sitting on a garden bench beneath some wind- 
 torn beeches by the shore. To-night there was not 
 a breath of air stirring, and Mrs. Fielden had only 
 thrown a light wrap round her. 
 
 " Have you come to tell me that I am to go in and 
 296
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 dance reels with old Mr. Finlayson?" she said. "It 
 is really so much pleasanter out here. Do sit down 
 and talk to Sir Anthony and me." 
 
 (She would never ha.ve allowed one to know that 
 one was in the way, even if one had interrupted a 
 proposal of marriage.) 
 
 Anthony made room for me on the bench, and 
 said heartily : " I am awfully glad to see you able to 
 sit up like this, Hugo. Why, man, you're getting as 
 strong as a horse ! " 
 
 " Oh, I'm all right again," I said. " I'll begin to 
 grow a new leg soon. And the first thing I mean 
 to do when that happens is to dance reels like the 
 Finlaysons." 
 
 " I believe I ought to be going in to supper now 
 with Mr. , Finlayson," said Mrs. Fielden. " Does 
 anyone know what time it is? He said he would 
 ' conduct me to the dining-hall ' at twelve o'clock." 
 
 ** It is a quarter past now," said Anthony, looking 
 at his watch in the moonlight. " Don't go in, Mrs. 
 Fielden. Wait out here, and talk to Hugo and me." 
 
 But old Finlayson in his kilt had tracked us to 
 our seat underneath the beech-trees, and he took 
 instant possession of our fair neighbour, and told us 
 to follow presently. He thought all the supper- 
 tables were full just now. 
 
 297
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " We shan't eat everything before you come," said 
 hospitable old Finlayson, walking away with his 
 beautiful partner on his arm. 
 
 Mrs. Fielden was dressed in white satin, with some 
 pretty soft stuff about her, and she wore some white 
 heather in her hair. 
 
 " What a good sort she is ! " said Anthony, in a 
 loud voice, almost before Mrs. Fielden was out of 
 hearing. It wasn't, perhaps, the most poetical 
 way that he could have put it, but one didn't 
 want or expect Anthony to express himself poet- 
 ically. 
 
 " Utterly spoilt ! " I replied, because at that 
 moment I happened to be feeling supremely miser- 
 able, and I did not want Anthony to know it. 
 
 " Not a bit," he replied ; " and you know that as 
 well as I do, old chap." 
 
 " Allow me, Anthony," I said, " to be as savage as 
 I like ; it is one of the privileges of a cripple." 
 
 " Oh, blow cripples ! " said Anthony. " You will 
 be shooting next autumn, man." 
 
 " And what will you be doing? " I said. I rather 
 hoped in this manner to elicit a confidence. After 
 all, we have been pals all our lives, and I think 
 Anthony might tell me about it if there is anything 
 to teU. 
 
 298
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 " Oh, I'll be shooting, too, I suppose," said 
 Anthony. 
 
 We smoked for some time in silence. 
 
 And then Anthony began, and said that he had 
 enjoyed himself amazingly up here in the North, and 
 he went on to say a good word for everyone. Old 
 Finlayson had been a brick about his shooting and 
 deer-stalking, and it was beastly hard luck that I 
 hadn't been able to come, too. The minister wasn't a 
 bad fellow, even when he was jocose, and Evan Sin- 
 clair was one of the best : and so on. 
 
 " What shall you be doing when you go back, 
 Anthony? " I said, harking back to my old question 
 and hoping for more information than I actually 
 asked for. " Are you going straight home? " 
 
 " I'll be at the first shoot at Stanby. Shall you 
 be there?" 
 
 " I'm afraid not," I said. " I haven't learned to 
 do cross-stitch yet, and I'm sure all the women would 
 think me a great bore, sitting about in their morn- 
 ing-rooms all day. Except Mrs. Fielden, of course ! 
 Mrs. Fielden would probably persuade me into think- 
 ing that the only thing that made her house-party 
 successful, or had saved herself from boredom, was 
 the presence of a lame man in the house." 
 
 " I don't think you are quite just about Mrs. 
 299
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 Fielden, Hugo," said Anthony, moving rather re- 
 sentfully on the garden bench. 
 
 " That doesn't matter much," I replied. " One 
 voice will not be missed much from the general chorus 
 of praise that follows Mrs. Fielden wherever she 
 goes." 
 
 " No ; but still " began Anthony ; and then he 
 
 stopped, and we smoked on for some time without 
 speaking. " You see," he began at last, " she is the 
 best friend I ever had." He did not lower his voice, 
 because I suppose Anthony finds it impossible to do 
 so, but went on steadily : " You see, I once cared for 
 a little cousin of hers, and she died when she was 
 eighteen. I don't think anybody ever knew about it 
 except Mrs. Fielden. But she knows how much cut 
 up I was, and I suppose that is why she is so nice to 
 me always." 
 
 " I'm awfully sorry, old chap ! " I said. 
 
 " I never meant to speak about it," said Anthony, 
 in a brisk, cheerful voice. " Oh, don't you bother 
 about it, Hugo! I mean I'm awfully keen about 
 hunting, and I have an excellent time, only I don't 
 suppose I will ever care for anyone else." 
 
 " Thanks for telling me, Tony." 
 
 " I wouldn't have said anything about it," said 
 Anthony, " if it hadn't been for what you said about 
 
 300
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 Mrs. Fielden. Y'see, she has been so awfully good 
 to me, and I don't think you quite understand all 
 she is really." 
 
 " Why, man," I cried, " I love her with every bit 
 of my heart ! And I worship her how does one say 
 one worships a woman ? as if she were the sun ! " 
 
 And I think that was the very first moment that I 
 knew I loved Mrs. Fielden. 
 
 301
 
 Chapter XIX 
 
 THE minister and Evan Sinclair came to say good- 
 bye; the minister has accepted our approaching de- 
 parture with his usual philosophy. " You would 
 soon tire of this place in the winter-time," he said. 
 " And even looking at it from the other point of view, 
 I believe that summer visitors should not prolong 
 their stay above a few months. I admit that we 
 have enjoyed your sojourn amongst us; but were 
 you and your sister to become residenters in the 
 place, our intercourse would have to be reconstructed 
 from the foundation." The minister crossed his 
 legs, and, without being pressed to continue the sub- 
 ject, he went on: "There is a certain convention- 
 ality, not to say forbearance, admitted and allowed 
 between friends with whom one's acquaintance is to 
 be short ; but there is a basis stronger than that upon 
 which any lengthy friendship must be made." 
 
 " And that basis ? " I asked. 
 
 " That basis, I take it," said the minister, " should 
 be a straightforward disregard for one another. I 
 do not believe in politeness between near neighbours ; 
 it cannot last." 
 
 302
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 '* I had hoped," said Palestrina, pouting a little, 
 " that you would all miss us, Mr. Macorquodale." 
 
 " We shall miss you," said the minister quickly, 
 " but with judgment. We shall see the merits as 
 well as the demerits of the case. For instance, one 
 of your friends cost me a sovereign for a favourite 
 charity of hers." 
 
 Mr. Sinclair said very kindly, blinking his fair 
 eyelashes in a shy way : " Well, I know I shall miss 
 you. The place will seem very dull with only 
 Alexander and me left in it." 
 
 " 7 shall have my wife," said the minister brutally. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Sinclair ; " and her mother ! You 
 have kept that pretty dark from us, Taur Barrels." 
 
 " It is only a visit," said Mr. Macorquodale 
 shortly. And he went on in a truculent tone : " And 
 I need not have her unless I want to." 
 
 " I hear she is strict," murmured Evan. " I hope 
 you will be allowed to look out of the window on the 
 Sabbath, my man." 
 
 " I am master in my own house," said Mr. Macor- 
 quodale magnificently. 
 
 " Believe me," said Evan, " that's a courtesy title, 
 supported by no valid claim, and still less precedent. 
 A man never has been master of his own house when 
 there is a mistress in it. I remember when my 
 
 303
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 brother got married he had just your very ideas, and 
 he gave his wife the keys of the linen-press and the 
 store cupboard, ( But the rest of the bunch,' he 
 said, * I keep to myself.' And he put them all in 
 his pocket. It was not six months after that," said 
 Evan, " that I went to stay with them, and I heard 
 him ask my sister-in-law if she would mind his having 
 two pocket-handkerchiefs on Sundays." 
 
 Palestrina and I were alone, for Ellicomb had left 
 us a few days before, and we hear from the Jamie- 
 sons that he is a daily visitor at their house. Thomas 
 and Anthony were out shooting, and Mrs. Fielden 
 had gone for a walk over the hills. 
 
 " I have a thousand things to do," said Palestrina, 
 when Evan and the minister had departed. 
 
 " I also have a thousand things to do," I replied. 
 
 " Don't tire yourself," said Palestrina. " What 
 are you going to do ? " 
 
 " I am going to re-write my diary," I said. 
 
 " But, my dear," said Palestrina, " that would be 
 the work of months." 
 
 " I am only going to correct all the mistakes I 
 have made in it," I replied ; and I took my book and a 
 pen and went and sat in the little room on the ground 
 floor which they call my den. 
 
 We once had an old aunt, Palestrina and I, who 
 304
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 kept a diary all her life, and when any of the relatives 
 whom she mentioned in its pages came to die, she 
 used to go through all the back numbers of her 
 journal and insert affectionate epithets in front of 
 the names of the deceased. For instance (my aunt's 
 existence was not marked by any thrilling events), 
 the entry would perhaps be as follows : " Maria was 
 late for breakfast this morning. In the afternoon 
 she had her singing-lesson, and afterwards we did 
 some shopping, when Maria tried on her new gown." 
 But the amended entry after Maria's death would be, 
 " Our darling Maria was a (little) late for breakfast 
 this morning; in the afternoon she had her singing- 
 lesson " and here would probably be a footnote 
 praising Maria's voice " afterwards we did some 
 shopping, and " Maria struck out " my sweet girl 
 tried on her new gown." Anyone's death, or even 
 a successful marriage of one of the family, would 
 cause her to revise and correct her diary in this way, 
 and she used to fan the wet ink with a piece of 
 blotting-paper to make it dry black, and thus pre- 
 vent posterity knowing that the words written over 
 the lines were an afterthought induced by subse- 
 quent events. 
 
 It was manifestly an unfair way of keeping a 
 diary. But I can claim her example and hereditary 
 
 305
 
 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 taint as an excuse for my own dishonesty this after- 
 noon. I read through my diary with a sense of utter 
 shame, and wherever I found, for instance, that I 
 had said that Mrs. Fielden was frivolous, or even 
 that she raised her eyebrows in an affected way, I 
 corrected the misstatement by the light of the mag- 
 nificent discovery I had made, that Mrs. Fielden was 
 faultless, and that I loved her. Oh! the beauty of 
 this woman and her blessed kindness! the cunning 
 with which she conceals her unselfishness, and her 
 ridiculous attempts at pretending she is frivolous or 
 worldly. 
 
 Alas ! there were so many misstatements to correct, 
 and so many dear adjectives to fill it, that I was not 
 half way through my task before Mrs. Fielden her- 
 self tapped at the window and looked in. 
 
 I believe I must have grinned foolishly, but what I 
 wanted to do was to stretch out my arms to the 
 beautiful vision framed in the hectic Virginian 
 creeper round the window and call out to her to 
 come to me. 
 
 Mrs. Fielden came in for a minute and said, with 
 the adorable lif t of the eyebrows : " I have been edu- 
 cating a pair of young boots by walking through all 
 the bogs on the hillside. Listen, they are quite full 
 of water." She raised herself on her toes with a 
 
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 squelching sound of the leather, and gave one of her 
 joyous soft laughs. 
 
 "You must change directly," I said, with an 
 idiotic sense of proprietorship. 
 
 " When I have done so, I think I shall come and 
 have tea with you," said Mrs. Fielden. And of course 
 then I knew that she had come home early on pur- 
 pose to have tea with me, and that probably she had 
 given up something else which she wanted to do in 
 order that she might sit by me when I was alone 
 because, of course, I have found Mrs. Fielden out 
 now, and exposed her hypocrisy. 
 
 Fortunately, she took nearly a quarter of an hour 
 to change her wet boots, and this gave me time to 
 ask myself why I was behaving like a raving idiot, 
 because I had found out that Mrs. Fielden was 
 absolutely perfect, and that I loved her. 
 
 It was quite the worst quarter of an hour that I 
 have ever spent, because in it I had time to re- 
 member that I was a crippled man with one leg, and 
 that Mrs. Fielden was a beautiful young woman, 
 whom, of course, everyone loved, and that she owned 
 an old historical place called Stanby, and probably 
 I realized this also she would continue to come 
 over and sit with a dull man and bewilder him with 
 her beauty and her kindness only so long as he did 
 
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 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 not allow her to know the supremely impertinent fact 
 that he had fallen in love with her. 
 
 I must plead ill-health, and a certain weakness of 
 nerve, which, no doubt, always follows a surgical 
 operation, for the fact that I turned round and put 
 my face in the pillows for a moment and groaned. 
 
 Mrs. Fielden came in in my favourite pale-blue 
 gown, which she sometimes wears when she changes 
 her frock at tea-time. She came and took a chair 
 beside me, and as she never hurriedly plunges into a 
 conversation, we sat silent for a time. The after- 
 noon was darkening now, and the light of a blazing 
 fire leaped and played upon her pale-blue dress and 
 turned her brown hair to a sort of red gold. 
 
 Mrs. Fielden thinks she is the only person in the 
 world who can make up a fire. And she is perfectly 
 right. She arranged the logs with a long brass poker, 
 shifting them here and there, while her dear face 
 glowed in the light of the fire. She is not a luxurious 
 woman, in spite of being surrounded always by 
 luxury. For instance, she stands and walks in a 
 very erect way, and I have never seen her stuff a lot 
 of sofa cushions at her back in a chair, nor lounge 
 on a sofa. Her glorious, buoyant health seems to 
 exempt her from need of support or ease, and her 
 figure is too pretty for lounging. 
 
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 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 When she had finished arranging the logs, she put 
 down the poker and looked at me with that dear 
 kindliness of hers, and said, in her pretty voice: 
 " What have you been doing with yourself this 
 afternoon? " 
 
 " The minister and Evan Sinclair came up to say 
 good-bye," I said. 
 
 " And since then? " 
 
 I took my diary, which still lay on my knee, and 
 hid it under the sofa cushions. 
 
 " Since then," I said, " I have been correcting 
 that is, writing my diary." 
 
 " Oh, the diary ! " exclaimed Mrs. Fielden delight- 
 edly. " I had forgotten about that ! " 
 
 " No, you hadn't," I said to myself. " It is only 
 part of your wilful, uncomprehendable, untranslat- 
 able charm that makes you pretend sometimes that 
 you have no memory. As a matter of fact, you knew 
 from the first that it would be a relief to an egotis- 
 tical grumbler to get rid of his spleen sometimes on 
 blue-ruled essay paper, and so you set him the task 
 to do, and you have often wondered since how he is 
 getting on with it." 
 
 " I think I must see the diary," said Mrs. Fielden. 
 
 " That you certainly shall not," I said ; and I 
 pushed the book still farther under the sofa cushions 
 
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 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 just as if it were necessary to fight with Mrs. 
 Fielden for anything, or any use either. 
 
 " I thought you promised," said Mrs. Fielden. 
 
 " If I did, I have changed my mind," I said firmly. 
 
 " You know you mean all the time to let me see 
 it," said Mrs. Fielden. 
 
 " I know I do not mean to let you see it for even a 
 minute of time," I replied. 
 
 One of Mrs. Fielden's special odd little silences 
 fell between us. " No," I said to myself. " I will 
 not say I am sorry. I will not say I have been a 
 brute. I will not feel a desire to comfort her, even 
 if her eyes take the wistful look upon them." 
 
 Mrs. Fielden sat still and looked into the fire. 
 
 What unexpected thing will she do next, I wonder? 
 Will she suddenly burst out laughing, or will she 
 turn and take every bit of manhood out of me by 
 smiling? Or shall I find when I turn and look at 
 her face simply that she has gone to sleep? 
 
 Good heavens ! What if she should be crying ? 
 
 In an agony of compunction I turned and looked 
 at her; and Mrs. Fielden not only smiled, but held 
 out her hand for the book. ... I rummaged under- 
 neath the sofa cushions, and passed it over to her. 
 She bent forward till the fire from the blazing logs 
 fell full on the open page, and she read every one of 
 
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 A Lame Dog's Diary 
 
 those corrected lines. She saw where I had once 
 put " affected " I had now put " beautiful," and for 
 " frivolous " I put a " lovely gaiety," and she read 
 till she came to the last correction of all. I had run 
 a line through the words " Mrs. Fielden came to sit 
 with me," and had written over it, " My darling 
 
 came to see me " 
 
 Then Mrs. Fielden closed the book, and left her 
 chair where she had been sitting. She crossed the 
 hearthrug quite slowly till she reached my sofa. And 
 then she kneeled down and took both my hands in 
 her dear strong ones, and looked at me with misty 
 blue eyes, like wet forget-me-nots. " But, Hugo, 
 dear," she said, "why did you not tell me so long 
 ago?" 
 
 THE END 
 
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 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
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