A flower shot down amid the crowd. Page 19.
 
 Latter-Day Sweethearts 
 
 By 
 MRS. BURTON HARRISON 
 
 Author of "A Bachelor Maid," "The Carlyles," "The Circle of 
 a Century" "The Anglomaniacs" Etc. 
 
 "La Duchesse. 'L'amour est le fleau du monde. Tous 
 DOS maux nous viennent de lui.' , 
 
 "Le Docteur. 'C'est le seul qui les guerisse." 
 
 "Le Duel, Henri Lavedan, 
 
 r-riZe* C i f2, 
 
 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 EMPIRE BOOK COMPANY 
 Publishers
 
 COPYRIGHT, igo6, BY 
 CONSTANCE BURTON HARRISON. 
 
 Enttred at Stationert" Hall. 
 All Rights Reterved.
 
 (FACSIMILE PAGE of MANUSCRIPT PROM LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS) 
 
 2136070 '
 
 LATTER-DAY 
 SWEETHEARTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IN going aboard the " Baltic " that excep- 
 tionally fine October morning, Miss Carstairs 
 convinced herself that, of the people assembled 
 to see her off, no one could reasonably discern 
 in her movement the suggestion of a retreat. 
 The commonplace of a sailing for the other 
 side would not, indeed, have met with the 
 recognition of any attendance at the pier 
 among her set, save for her hint that she 
 might remain abroad a year. There had been 
 a small rally on the part of a few friends 
 who had chanced to meet at a dinner over- 
 night, to go down to the White Star docks 
 and say good-by to Helen Carstairs. Helen 
 sincerely wished they had not come, both be- 
 cause the ceremony proved a little flat, and 
 because, when she had time to think them 
 over, she was not so sure they were her friends. 
 
 But the main thing was that she had been
 
 8 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 able to withdraw, easily and naturally, from 
 a doubly trying situation. She had not wanted 
 to go abroad. All the novelty and sparkle 
 had gone out of that business long ago. She 
 knew foreign travel from A to Z, and she 
 loathed tables d'hote, even more than the grim 
 prospect of private meals with Miss Bleecker 
 in sitting-rooms redolent of departed food, in- 
 sufficiently atoned for by an encircling wil- 
 derness of gilding and red plush. The very 
 thought of a concierge with brass buttons 
 lifting his cap to her every time she crossed 
 the hall, of hotel corridors decked with 
 strange foot gear upon which unmade bed- 
 rooms yawned, of cabs and galleries and 
 harpy dressmakers, of sights and fellow tour- 
 ists, gave her a mental qualm. But it was 
 better than staying at home this winter in the 
 big house in Fifth Avenue where Mr. Car- 
 stairs had just brought a stepmother for her, 
 in the person of " that Mrs. Coxe." 
 
 There was apparently no valid reason for 
 Helen's shuddering antipathy to the lady, 
 who had been the widow of a junior partner 
 of her father, a man whom Mr. Carstairs had 
 " made," like many another beginning in his 
 employ.
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 9 
 
 Mr. Coxe had died two years before, of 
 nervous overstrain, leaving this flamboy- 
 antly handsome, youngish woman to profit by 
 his gains. Helen had always disliked having 
 to ask the Coxes to dinner when her father's 
 fiat compelled her to preside over the dull 
 banquets of certain smartly-dressed women 
 and weary, driven men, whom he assembled 
 at intervals around his board. She could not 
 say what she objected to in Mrs. Coxe; she 
 thought it might be her giggle and her double 
 chin. It had been always a relief when one 
 of these " business " dinners was over, and 
 she knew she would not have to do it soon 
 again. When Mr. Carstairs dined in return 
 with the Coxes, they had him at some fash- 
 ionable restaurant, taking him afterward to 
 the play. Mrs. Coxe had shown sense enough 
 for that! During the interregnum of Mrs. 
 Coxe's mourning following the demise of her 
 exhausted lord, Mr. Carstairs had had the 
 yacht meet Helen and himself at Gibraltar, 
 and cruised all that winter in the Mediter- 
 ranean. 
 
 That had been life abroad, Helen thought, 
 with a throb of yearning ! She was very fond 
 of her father, rather a stony image to most
 
 10 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 people, and immensely proud of the way peo- 
 ple looked up to his achievements in the 
 Street, the resistless rush of his business 
 combinations, his massive wealth, and his 
 perfect imperturbability to newspaper cavil 
 and attacks by enemies. She had loved to be 
 at the head of his establishment, and to re- 
 ceive the clever and distinguished and nota- 
 ble people, foreign and domestic, who ac- 
 cepted Mr. Carstairs' invitation to meet one 
 another, because they were clever and distin- 
 guished and notable, not because they wanted 
 to talk all the evening what they had talked 
 all day. 
 
 When they had come home from their 
 cruise, Helen spent the summer in Newport, 
 where her father rarely went. The yacht was 
 his summer home, he was wont to say; and 
 Helen did not suspect how often that season 
 the noble " Sans Peur " had been anchored 
 off the shores of a settlement in Long Island 
 where Mrs. Coxe was enjoying the seclusion 
 of a shingled villa with broad verandas set in 
 a pocket handkerchief of lawn. Back and 
 forth flew the owner's steam launch between 
 the " Sans Peur " and the landing, and yet 
 nobody told Helen. That autumn she had
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 11 
 
 affairs of her own to absorb her time and 
 give her a sobering view of humanity. For 
 the first time in her life her father had va- 
 cated his throne as masculine ruler of her 
 thoughts. She had passed into the grip of 
 a strong, real passion for a man " nobody ' 
 knew. 
 
 That is to say, John Glynn was too hard 
 at work to let himself be found out. Helen 
 had indulged in her affair with him almost 
 unknown to her acquaintances, most of 
 whom regarded the foot of the ladder of 
 wealth, where he distinctly stood, as the one 
 spot where dalliance in sentiment was to be 
 shunned. Her movements were hampered by 
 the fact that, although the daughter of a plu- 
 tocrat, she had only a trifle of her own; Mr. 
 Carstairs having announced, with the insolent 
 eccentricity of some men of his stripe, that 
 she should go dowerless to her husband, hop- 
 ing thus to protect her from fortune-seekers, 
 foreign and native. So long as she remained 
 unmarried under his roof she was to enjoy 
 great wealth and the importance it confers. 
 Until now Helen had not cared. Her brain 
 was clear, her head was cool, she had tastes 
 and occupations that filled every hour, and
 
 12 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 plenty of people who flocked around her, pay- 
 ing court to the dispenser of liberal hospi- 
 talities. 
 
 Her love passage had ended in disaster, but 
 exactly what had passed between her and the 
 unknown Glynn, no one was sufficiently in- 
 timate with Helen to ascertain. 
 
 The marriage of her father with Mrs. Coxe 
 had taken place in June, after which Mr. 
 Carstairs had withdrawn his apparent objec- 
 tions to Newport, and blossomed out there 
 as a villa resident of supreme importance. 
 The months of this but partially successful 
 experiment on the part of the new Mrs. Car- 
 stairs had been passed by Helen in sup- 
 pressed misery. She had gone into camp in 
 the Adirondacks, had visited friends at Dark 
 Harbor, and welcomed with thankfulness the 
 invitation to spend September with a young 
 couple of her acquaintance who had a house 
 at Lenox, filled, with the exception of one 
 spare room, with assorted dogs. 
 
 Early in October her father, visibly in- 
 spired by the lady who no longer giggled in 
 Helen's presence, but had not lost her double 
 chin, gave his recalcitrant daughter "a good 
 talking to." If she persisted in her rebell-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 13 
 
 ions demeanor towards her stepmother, the 
 more reprehensible because reserved, she was 
 at liberty to do one of two things, viz., take 
 a furnished house in town and engage Miss 
 Bleecker, or somebody, to be her chaperon; 
 or else go where she liked, abroad. 
 
 Choosing the latter alternative, Helen had 
 been considered fortunate in securing for her 
 companion the lady in question, who was cer- 
 tified by her believers to be rarely disengaged. 
 Miss Bleecker, in earlier days, had given 
 readings in New York drawing-rooms and 
 elsewhere about the country, until the grad- 
 ual fading away of audiences had turned her 
 thoughts into the present more lucrative and 
 less fatiguing channel of genteelest occupa- 
 tion. 
 
 Nature had gifted her with an ephemerally 
 imposing presence, large, cold, projecting 
 eyes, an authoritative voice and an excellent 
 knowledge of the art of dress. It was famil- 
 iarly said that to see her come into a room 
 was a lesson to any girl; and her acquaint- 
 ance with the ins and outs of New York so- 
 ciety and fond pride in the display of it, put 
 the dull lady beyond criticism as a general 
 conversationalist.
 
 14 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 The two travellers were attended by a 
 French maid, closely modelled in exterior 
 upon previous employers of rank abroad, 
 whose service she had relinquished for the 
 higher wage resulting from her American 
 decadence in social standing. Her large wad 
 of suspiciously golden hair, frizzed over the 
 eyebrows, was a souvenir of a " Lady Reg- 
 gie "; while the flat waist, girdled low upon 
 the hips of a portly person, was her best 
 tribute to the slim young Princess Bartolozzi 
 who had had her two years in Rome. This 
 composite rendering of great ladies did not 
 rob Mademoiselle Eulalie of the coarse mod- 
 elling of her features ; but, on the other hand, 
 as Miss Bleecker said, she was safe from 
 couriers, and her packing was a dream. 
 
 When Helen went to the cabin de luxe 
 secured by her father's secretary, into which 
 Miss Bleecker 's room opened, she felt im- 
 patient with the girls who followed her, ex- 
 claiming approvingly over its comforts ; with 
 the maid who stood sentinel by her gold-fitted 
 dressing-case; with Miss Bleecker, who, in 
 colloquy with a white-capped stewardess, was 
 already laying down the law as to their re- 
 quirements on the voyage. She hurried out
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 15 
 
 again, encompassed by her friends, to gain 
 the upper deck, where the men of the visit- 
 ing party, looking unanimously bored, awaited 
 anxiously the ringing of the last gong that 
 should drive them from the ship. All had 
 been said that could be said on either side. 
 Vague repetitions had set in. Helen's eyes 
 roved eagerly over the crowds on the pier be- 
 low, over the congested gangway. She was 
 hoping to see her father, and perhaps, but 
 improbably one other. Late in the fray a 
 brougham rattled along the pier and drew up 
 below. Helen recognized her father's big 
 brown horse and his steady coachman in 
 sober livery, the down-town outfit of the 
 financier, who, below Fourteenth Street, was 
 simplicity itself. Mr. Carstairs, with a pre- 
 occupied air, got out and ascended the gang- 
 way. The official in charge at the top of it, 
 who would have barred the way to a lesser 
 man, smiled and waved the magnate into his 
 daughter's embraces. Everything insensibly 
 yielded to the subtle power of this ruler of 
 the destinies of men. Helen, as she drew out 
 of the lax clasp of the paternal arm, felt a 
 thrill of her old pride in him; a sense of de- 
 spair that she was nevermore to be his chosen
 
 16 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 companion for a voyage ; a sharp pang of re- 
 sentment at the image of the absent inter- 
 loper of their peace. 
 
 " It was too good of you to find time to 
 come, papa! " she exclaimed, turning to nod 
 to the secretary who accompanied him. 
 " Who knows when we shall be together 
 again! ' 
 
 " Yes, there is a board of directors waiting 
 for me now, ' ' said Mr. Carstairs abstractedly. 
 " Of course, you will be all right, my dear. 
 Foster has seen to everything, and Miss 
 Bleecker will ah. Miss Bleecker, here you 
 are; glad to see you looking so fit for the 
 voyage. Nothing to speak of, though, a cross- 
 ing in this monster. Wish I were getting 
 away myself. I'm off now, Helen, my dear. 
 Wish you good luck and a good time gen- 
 erally! ' 
 
 " It won't be with you and the * Sans Peur,' 
 father," exclaimed the girl, with filling eyes. 
 
 " Well, well, we did get along pretty well 
 last cruise, didn't we? I was to tell you," he 
 added, lowering his tone, " that if you are in 
 the humor for it, in the Spring in the humor, 
 mind you, we'll be out, probably in March,
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 17 
 
 and take you and Miss Bleecker on at Ville- 
 franche, or anywhere you like." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Helen, rigid in a 
 moment, her eyes dried of moisture. 
 
 " Think it over, my dear! You'll find it 
 better worth while." 
 
 He kissed her again on the side of the cheek, 
 missing her lips somehow, and was gone. 
 Helen hardly saw his spare figure in the top- 
 coat that seemed too large for it, so quickly 
 the crowd closed behind him. She was con- 
 scious of impatience with Foster, who stood 
 there bowing in his sleek importance as the 
 millionaire's confidential man, extending his 
 dampish fingers for good-by. The party who 
 had come to see her off sprinkled their final 
 farewells with a few banal last remarks and 
 disappeared. Miss Bleecker, serenely proud, 
 took her station by the taffrail in a place 
 where no acquaintance or reporter could fail 
 to note her among the " well-known people 
 sailing this morning." Helen was at last 
 alone. 
 
 Alone as she had never felt before, in her 
 five-and-twenty years of active, independent 
 life. A gap in the double row of passengers 
 crowding to the rail forward gave her an
 
 18 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 opportunity. Slipping in, she looked down 
 upon upturned, ivory-tinted faces massed to- 
 gether like those on a Chinese screen; at the 
 windows of the company 's rooms, also crowded 
 with gazers, but saw nobody she knew. 
 
 Already the mighty ship began to stir in 
 her water-bed. When she ceased motion 
 again, Helen would be over three thousand 
 miles from home, and the memories of this 
 last trying year. It seemed to her there was 
 not one soul ashore to care whether she went 
 or stayed. Was this worth living for, even 
 as she had lived ? 
 
 A voice smote upon her ear. It issued 
 from a girl jammed in next to her a girl 
 younger than herself, extremely pretty, flash- 
 ily attired, recklessly unconventional. Hers 
 was what Helen recognized to be a Southern 
 voice, low of pitch and soft of cadence, but 
 just now strained to the utmost to make itself 
 audible to a young man in the act of forcing 
 his way through the resistant crowd, to reach 
 the edge of the outer pier from which the 
 ship was now swinging off. To further ac- 
 centuate her presence among the departing, 
 the young lady was waving a small American
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 19 
 
 "Jo-oh-n! Oh! Mr. Glynn! Look up! 
 Here I am! Up here! ' 
 
 Helen started electrically, for it was her 
 John Glynn, and none other, whom this un- 
 known person was thus shamelessly appro- 
 priating! He, whom she had been yearning 
 to catch a glimpse of, who she was convinced 
 must know from the papers that she was sail- 
 ing by this steamer. He, who she had felt 
 sure was in some hidden corner looking after 
 her, although, by her behest, they might not 
 again hold speech one with the other ! 
 
 " Got here only this minute. Best I could 
 do! " shouted John Glynn back to the stran- 
 ger, a smile lighting his handsome, manly 
 face. 
 
 4 ' Never mind ! I understand ! Good-by ! ' 
 
 A flower shot down amid the crowd. Sev- 
 eral men affected to jump for it, but John 
 Glynn caught it and put it in his coat. His 
 gaze never left Helen's neighbor; to her his 
 eyes were upturned, his hat was waved. In 
 a flash, Miss Carstairs had drawn out of sight 
 and fled within. 
 
 She found Miss Bleecker already extended 
 upon the couch in her own stateroom, taking 
 tea, the door opened between, whilst Eulalie,
 
 20 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 kneeling before steamer trunks and bags, 
 was littering everything near-by with luxuri- 
 ous belongings. 
 
 Helen accepted a cup of tea, changed her 
 street costume for a long, close-fitting brown 
 ulster with a sable toque and boa, in which 
 Eulalie told her she was parfaitement bien 
 mise; and, escaping again to the deck, walked 
 up and down a comparatively clear space 
 until the " Baltic " was well down the bay. 
 Then, fairly tired, but unwilling to face Miss 
 Bleecker's chatter, she found a chair for- 
 ward, where it was not likely she would sit 
 again during the voyage, and with a wisp of 
 brown chiffon drawn close over her face, 
 abandoned herself to melancholy thought. 
 
 So this was the end of John Glynn's la- 
 menting for her loss! She, not he, had been 
 faithful to the love they had shared so fondly 
 for a little while, in which she had no longer 
 dared indulge with him. This was the way 
 he had accepted her decision that they must 
 try to forget each other, finally. 
 
 During the one week of their secret en- 
 gagement she had felt immeasurable happi- 
 ness. But every moment of closer contact 
 with her young love, a boy in world's knowl-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 21 
 
 edge beside herself, though of her own age 
 in . actual years, convinced her of the fatal 
 mistake she had made in believing she could 
 give up her present life for him, and clog his 
 career by an early marriage. So she had 
 broken the bond ruthlessly, and her father 
 had never known of its existence. And his 
 consolation so quickly found! Helen's lip 
 curled disdainfully. Some girl he had met 
 in his boarding-house; the kind of thing he 
 had been accustomed to before Miss Car- 
 stairs treated her jaded taste to his virile 
 freshness and charming looks, his masterful 
 reliance upon himself, his willingness to take 
 her, poor or rich! The type of girl she had 
 seen in the tumultuous moment beside the 
 rail was puzzling. Not a lady, according to 
 her artificialized standard, but having the 
 frank assurance and belief in herself that had 
 attracted Helen to John Glynn, with a some- 
 thing of good breeding underneath. Cheaply 
 dressed, cheap mannered, perhaps, ignorant 
 of what Miss Carstairs considered elemental 
 necessities of training, but never vulgar. 
 
 But whatever the rival, the hurt was that 
 Glynn cared for Helen no more, while she 
 cared just the same. What a fool she had
 
 22 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 been to believe that masculine fidelity sur- 
 vives the blows of fate! 
 
 Masked in her brown veil, Helen sat in her 
 corner, turning this bitter morsel upon her 
 tongue, her eyes vaguely resting upon the 
 passing show of passengers as they came 
 straying up on deck to make the best of 
 a fine afternoon while getting out to sea. 
 Impatiently casting aside her unwelcome 
 thoughts, she tried to interest herself in these 
 people, to speculate upon their identity, pur- 
 pose, and personality, with the usual rather 
 poor returns, since a ship's company as- 
 sembled at first view has always the most de- 
 pressing influence upon the looker-on. Be- 
 side her, upon one of the rare seats of a liner 
 that belong to nobody, she espied a shabby 
 little man, in an overcoat like a faded leaf, 
 drop down furtively, then seeing no one in- 
 clined to disturb him, relax his muscles and, 
 taking off an ancient, wide-brimmed felt hat, 
 look about him with a beaming smile, pre- 
 pared for full enjoyment of the hour and 
 scene. 
 
 Something in the artless buoyancy of his 
 manner, his meek acceptance of a modest 
 place in life, his indifference to the considera-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 23 
 
 tions that oftenest vexed the souls of Miss 
 Carstairs' acquaintances upon making any 
 sort of public appearance before their fellow- 
 beings, struck her with an approach to ap- 
 proval. Her glance toward him was met in 
 the same spirit of prompt return that follows 
 patting upon the head a friendly dog. 
 
 " Beautiful weather we're having to go out 
 in, ma'am," he said. " I'm kind of glad to 
 settle down in this quiet corner 'n see the last 
 o' my native land. I reckoned I was in no 
 one's way occupying this little bench a bit. 
 Because, you see, I've walked and walked, 
 inspecting the White Star leviathan, every- 
 where they'd let me set a foot, till I'm about 
 worn out. Talk about i seeing New York 
 City '! It's not a patch on this ship for mak- 
 ing a man feel his lower limbs, if you'll ex- 
 cuse the expression before a lady. Why, 
 she's a wonder, ma'am, a marvel, and there's 
 literally no end to her. I find myself saying 
 at intervals, ' Thank God, I've lived to cross 
 the Atlantic Ocean, and what's more, to cross 
 it in a floating Waldorf-Astoria,' for so it 
 looks to me! ' 
 
 " You are fond of the water, then? " said 
 Helen, surprised at her own affability, but
 
 24 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 on the whole too wretched to care for risks. 
 
 " Well, ma'am, IVe, so to say, some little 
 experience. I resided formerly in Norfolk, 
 Virginia, and went round to Baltimo, Mary- 
 land, on several trips by sea. Know Bal- 
 timo, ma'am? Can't exactly compare it to 
 New York, I reckon, but still it's a fine city. 
 Celebrated for its monuments, canvasbacks, 
 and pretty girls, the saying used to be. 
 Worn't dead stuck on canvasbacks myself, 
 though; got overfed with them on my fa- 
 ther's plantation when I was a lad, preferred 
 bacon and greens any day in the year. But 
 I'll give in to the praise of Baltimo women 
 to my last breath. Married one of 'em, in 
 fact, an' if God ever sent an angel into a 
 man's life, 'twas she." 
 
 Miss Carstairs, to her surprise, detected 
 simultaneously with a tender adoring look 
 coming upon his withered face, a suspicion 
 of moisture in her interlocutor's eyes. She 
 sat up, felt that here was something so out of 
 the way as to verge upon impropriety, made 
 a movement to depart, and finally concluded 
 to remain where she was. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, she was too good for me, or 
 any man. Born among the best, as the say-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 25 
 
 ing is, and I, one of the small potatoes in the 
 heap. 'Tisn't any wonder I should be think- 
 ing of her to-day, the way she wanted all her 
 life to go to Europe and never dreamed of 
 managing to get there." 
 
 " I hope this thought won't spoil your own 
 pleasure in the journey," Helen said, embar- 
 rassed to find an answer. 
 
 " Oh! no, ma'am, no chance of that. Why, 
 she's been with me in spirit ever since we 
 parted, ten years ago, an' I always feel as if 
 she was sharing things. She'd need a good 
 deal to make up to her for the hardships she 
 had with me. You see, I was first leftenant 
 of infantry, just come out o' the war, 'n 'bout 
 as bare o' money as when I came into the 
 world, I reckon, when I met her first off in 
 Baltimo, where I was lookin' for a job. I 
 was bred up as a drug clerk, and so was glad 
 to take a place in a poor little store, 'n we 
 began life together in one room of a board- 
 ing-house, 'n a hall bedroom at that! She, 
 mind you, was a general's daughter of the 
 real old Maryland first chop stock, but as 
 poor as me. After her father was killed at 
 Gettysburg, you see, her mother went to pick- 
 ling for a liying, 'n 'twas hard work, with
 
 26 LATTER-DAT SWEETHEARTS 
 
 two other daughters on her hands, neither 
 one o' them likely to marry much, being the 
 kind the Lord makes homely for reasons of 
 His own. My wife, now, was a beauty, no 
 mistaking her! I never understood how she 
 came to take up with me, 'n when I asked her 
 why, she said she was just tired o' pickles, 
 anyway! That was only her fun, ma'am; we 
 had to have a little, to make the wheels go 
 round. Please excuse me for taking the lib- 
 erty of talking so sociably. We Southerners 
 have that way, I reckon, and, besides, it 
 seemed like my heart was so full of wife to- 
 day, I had to say something to somebody, or 
 break a trace." 
 
 Miss Carstairs hesitated, then gave way to 
 an unusual impulse, arising as she spoke. 
 
 " I must thank you, rather, for having re- 
 minded me that all men don't forget. I am 
 sure you deserved all the happiness you had 
 with her, and I hope there is a great deal of it 
 still left in life for you." 
 
 " Well, now, ma'am, that's beautifully 
 said. But I won't let you go without know- 
 ing that, though I've come to it by a long, 
 hard way, my luck has turned at last, and the 
 only trouble is that she's not here to share it.
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 27 
 
 The long years after we moved south to Ala- 
 bama (where I'd an opening, and after a 
 while set up for myself), when wife toiled 
 and moiled for me when we lost all the chil- 
 dren that were born to us, but the last one 
 how she used to sit in the evenings and read 
 about English cathedrals and Stonehenge, 
 and the like! She didn't seem to care so 
 much about visiting Italy and Paris and the 
 Riviera, but Switzerland tickled her awfully. 
 She had a picture of Mont Blanc on top of 
 a work-box. When I think how cheap the 
 post cards are in these days, I do wish wife 
 could have had a lot to paste in an album 
 that she kept. She always said I was to take 
 daughter, if we ever got money enough for 
 two to cross on, and that she would stay at 
 home. And now, the money's come, enough 
 for all of us, and I'm taking daughter, just 
 as she said, and we're to see England and 
 she isn't! I tell you, ma'am, things are 
 sorted out unevenly by our good Lord! ' 
 
 Miss Carstairs carried into her cabin the 
 wistfulness of the gentle old face, the irre- 
 sistible conviction of his honesty. What, in 
 the beginning, had tempted her to mock, now
 
 28 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 laid forcible hold of her better nature, and 
 impelled her to gentler thoughts. 
 
 A sharp awakening was the rencounter 
 with Miss Bleecker's apprehensions as to 
 where she should sit at table, and the effer- 
 vescence of that lady's regrets that the par- 
 ties with whom she had counted upon being 
 included, were all " made up." Helen re- 
 called previous voyages under the aegis of her 
 distinguished father, where their table was 
 the one most desired by social pretenders, 
 with its plats and wines served from his 
 private stores, its aura of plutocratic ex- 
 clusiveness in which revolved obsequious 
 stewards! She winced at thought of glory 
 fled, but while Miss Bleecker enlarged upon 
 the neglect of the secretary, Foster, in not 
 having arranged this matter for them, re- 
 flected bitterly that Foster, trimming his 
 sails to the wind of Fortune, was now the 
 devotee of the new Mrs. Carstairs' whims, 
 and unless especially ordered so to do, would 
 be likely to make no effort for the rebellious 
 stepdaughter's advancement. 
 
 Affecting indifference to the detail in ques- 
 tion, she found herself at dinner assigned to 
 a small table in one corner of the saloon, of
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 29 
 
 which five of the nine seats were already 
 filled, when Miss Bleecker, sparkling inter- 
 mittently in jet, sailed ahead of her charge, 
 and motioned Helen into place beside her. A 
 steward, who had identified the ladies, came 
 hurrying to overtake them, and express his 
 hope that Miss Carstairs would be satisfied 
 with his selection for her, assuring her, in a 
 whisper, that he had taken every care that 
 she should have only the " best " people as 
 her comrades. 
 
 Helen, who had not yet sat down, smiled at 
 the reassuring promise. The whisper, over- 
 heard by two of the gentlemen unfolding 
 their napkins opposite, produced an answer- 
 ing smile. Impossible to resist a voucher so 
 bestowed ! Bimultaneously the two men arose 
 and stood till Miss Carstairs had taken her 
 revolving chair and was safely installed be- 
 side her chaperon. The table was now com- 
 plete, save for the seat at the end and that 
 at its right adjoining Helen's. 
 
 Soup had hardly been placed before them 
 when the intended occupants of the vacant 
 places resolved themselves into a couple, at 
 sight of whom a cold tremor passed into Miss 
 Carstairs' limbs for they were none other
 
 30 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 than the mild little man with whom she had 
 been talking on the deck, and the girl who 
 had thrown John Glynn a flower! 
 
 The old fellow had made scant preparation 
 for the ceremonial meal of the day on ship- 
 board. His kind face shone with soap and 
 water, while a thin lock of gray hair was 
 laboriously trained by the same medium over 
 his bald crown. His mustard-colored " tour- 
 ist suit " of tweed, the red tie and rumpled 
 cheviot shirt, might, indeed, have served a 
 noble earl upon his travels through an Amer- 
 ican drawing-room; but whatever the ap- 
 pearance of her sire, it was at once lost to 
 sight in the radiant prettiness and extraor- 
 dinary self-possession of the girl who accom- 
 panied him. 
 
 A goddess of liberty in height, with the 
 complexion of a pink-and-white balsam flower, 
 and rippled hair of gold worn parted in the 
 middle and extending outward in exagger- 
 ated wings; her admirable young form was 
 attired in cheap China silk of an azure tint 
 incorporating transparencies of white lace 
 that revealed a dazzling neck and arms. 
 Decked with profuse jewelry of the inex- 
 pensive sort, she stood for a moment where
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 31 
 
 the rest of the company could fully profit 
 by the apparition before it went into eclipse 
 in her allotted seat! 
 
 The attention of their table, hitherto in- 
 directly converging upon the fine lines and 
 pate tendre coloring of Miss Carstairs, now 
 shifted its focus to a point not to be for- 
 saken for the remainder of the voyage (an 
 example promptly to be followed by the rest 
 of the passengers, the officers and personnel 
 of the big ship in general). The newcomer 
 possessed, in spite of her extreme youth, the 
 manner of some histrionic star who has the 
 conscience of her calling in producing ef- 
 fects not to be forfeited by a moment's neg- 
 lect of opportunity. Her present entrance 
 had the full effect of a sweep down to the 
 footlights, to pause with one hand upon the 
 desk from which the heroine is wont to dash 
 off her little notes to the leading man, whilst 
 reading them aloud to the audience. 
 
 But withal, so childlike were her contours, 
 so joyous her appeal for notice, one felt that 
 her vanity might still be the innocent belief 
 of a little girl secure of her own interesting- 
 ness to the public, when she comes into a 
 roomful of her mother's guests.
 
 32 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 All eyes following her movements, the 
 stranger surveyed the saloon briefly, and 
 spoke to her companion with good-humored 
 authority. 
 
 " Just what I told you, Dad. The older 
 gentlemen all sit in the end seats, and that's 
 the place for you." 
 
 " Now, Posey, child," came in audible re- 
 joinder, " none of your nonsense, but just 
 do as I said, and take the end yourself. No- 
 body wants to see an old fossil like me put 
 forward when they can get a nice young lady 
 to look at. Sit down, right away, and I'll 
 just slip in beside this lady. "Why, ma'am," 
 he added, interrupting himself with a face 
 of glad recognition in identifying Miss Car- 
 stairs, " if it ain't you, and I'm real pleased 
 to meet up with you again! A needle in a 
 haystack, I was thinking myself among all 
 these strange folk. And you'll be such prime 
 company for Posey, here. Let me make you 
 acquainted with my daughter, Miss Pamela 
 Winstanley, of Alison's Cross Roads, Ala- 
 bama." 
 
 Miss Carstairs inclined her head toward 
 the beaming newcomer, and almost imme- 
 diately turned to close converse in an under-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 33 
 
 tone with Miss Bleecker, who was herself 
 occupied in digesting unpleasant first impres- 
 sions. 
 
 For, after fortifying herself with soup, 
 and ordering a whiskey and soda for diges- 
 tion's sake, the chaperon had sent her eagle 
 glance around the board with this result t 
 
 Of the five gentlemen installed before their 
 arrival, two were mentally labelled, " Hope- 
 less, old, grumpy, no doubt, of no possible 
 use to us." Another, " A mere larky boy, 
 not knowing him, must keep him down," 
 and the pair who had arisen and stood at 
 their approach, " An Englishman, badly 
 bored, good figure, eyes and teeth, has been, 
 or is, in the army; the Frenchman with him, 
 rather like Mephistopheles, might be amus- 
 ing, but will, of course, be sea-sick all the way 
 over. A poor lot, and just wait till I get at 
 that head steward and find out what he means 
 by it! "
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 " MY dear Helen, I really may as well tell 
 you at once, that I don't like your walking 
 alone, in the dark, down on that lower deck 
 that looks steeragy, where there are no chairs, 
 and the men go to smoke after dinner." 
 
 " Do they? I hadn't noticed," said Helen, 
 indifferently. 
 
 She had come into their rooms with a 
 brighter look upon her face, born of the de- 
 licious swoop of salt air upon it, and the 
 sound of that churning music of the waves 
 with which the sea rewards the good ship 
 when she takes her ocean crests easily and 
 settles down to her grand Atlantic stride. 
 
 " I lost you, after dinner, when I was sit- 
 ting on the boat deck with Mrs. Vereker, 
 hearing all about her daughter's divorce and 
 her son's appendicitis. No wonder the poor 
 woman goes abroad for a change. And, 
 really, I'm glad, after all, we are not with 
 them at table, since she can talk of nothing 
 else, and much as one may feel for a friend's
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 35 
 
 troubles, it is nicer to hear a little about other 
 people's, too! I was telling Mrs. Vereker 
 though, dear me, she hardly lets one speak 
 how dreadfully they had served us about 
 the people they put us with, and, my dear, 
 what do you think? It never does to judge 
 by first appearances at sea, for as it turns 
 out, Mr. Vereker who is that kind of a fuss- 
 ing, Miss Nancyish man, and loves to study 
 the passenger list has discovered that every 
 soul at our table, except those dreadful 
 Southerners, has a title! The one with 
 glasses, who speaks such funny English, is 
 a German Graf, of a family of fabulous an- 
 tiquity, who has been to Washington to see 
 his ambassador about sending one of his sons 
 to learn agriculture in America. The one 
 who gobbles so, and complains of the draught 
 on his back, and had the port shut, is Prince 
 Zourikoff, a Russian savant, who has written 
 a book called i Etudes sur la cause de la de- 
 cadence des peuples.' The saucy boy who 
 went in for a flirtation with that Winstanley 
 girl, is Mr. Vane, a son of Lord Kennington, 
 whom they sent to Canada for a year to get 
 him out of mischief at home. The really in- 
 teresting person is who do you suppose?
 
 36 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 the man opposite you, Lord Clandonald, 
 whose story was in all the newspapers a year 
 ago. His wife, a beautiful Miss Darien, be- 
 haved scandalously, yet was so clever in 
 tricking everybody, it was hard to get the 
 divorce. But he got rid of her at last, and 
 then went around the world. Doesn't look 
 like a man of that sort, does he ? Rather shy, 
 I should say, and hold-off, but a splendid fig- 
 ure. The Frenchman is actually the famous 
 Mariol, whose books are my delight, though 
 he's a wretch the way he writes about women. 
 He's Clandonald 's great chum, and they have 
 been travelling together." 
 
 Helen's face had lighted. 
 
 " I know only one or two books of Mariol's 
 essays principally, but they are perfect of 
 their kind " 
 
 " I advise you to keep to the essays," said 
 Miss Bleecker, dryly. " He has an enormous 
 reputation in the literary world, and one likes 
 to meet them, now and again, if they are not 
 frumps." 
 
 " And provided he is not sea-sick," said 
 Helen, smiling. 
 
 " In this boat, in an ordinary sea, there'll 
 be no excuse for it. Why, one hardly knows
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 37 
 
 we are moving. To return to Clandonald, 
 don't you think people one reads about and 
 hears about are always disappointing? I 
 don't say there was anything wrong attrib- 
 uted to him; they said he was rather Quixotic 
 in his treatment of the worthless creature, 
 who had to give up his name and go under. 
 But he is so much like other people. Noth- 
 ing to show he was in such a notorious divorce 
 suit Helen, what are you smiling at? ' 
 
 " The thrilling thought that I had M. de 
 Mariol to ml* my salad dressing," replied 
 Miss Carstairs. 
 
 " Was it good? I am always careful the 
 first day out. Oh ! I must tell you about those 
 queer Dicks, the Southerners. It seems that 
 Lord and Lady Channel Fleet came on board 
 at the last minute, and took quite an ordinary 
 room that heavy-looking red-faced man and 
 the dowdy woman in big turquoise earrings, 
 who sat at the captain's table they had to 
 have those two seats, so the Winstanleys 
 were transferred to us. If we had only se- 
 cured the Channel Fleets, we should have 
 been so complete! Perhaps they and Clan- 
 donald don't speak, though, and the captain 
 found it out, or the purser, who always hears
 
 38 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 all the gossip. At any rate, we've got to put 
 up with the Winstanleys, and I'll give you 
 my frank opinion, Helen, that before this 
 voyage is over we '11 have cause to rue the day 
 when we laid eyes on them. The old man is 
 simply too absurd. Treats her as if she were 
 a princess and he her courier. How you 
 could stand his babbling in your ear, I can't 
 imagine. But she! she! The worst speci- 
 men of the travelling American who makes 
 one blush for one's country when abroad." 
 
 " One must own to her good looks," Helen 
 interpolated bravely. 
 
 Miss Bleecker snorted. 
 
 " My dear, that is unworthy of you. A 
 Twenty-third Street shop-girl would be 
 ashamed to do her hair like that; and her 
 frock bought in stock, and fitted in half a 
 day, probably. But even that doesn't count 
 beside her phenomenal assurance and self- 
 conceit. Fancy now, her addressing a re- 
 mark to me, before I had spoken to her. I 
 never heard such a string of words from a 
 young person in my life, and to take 'it upon 
 her to entertain the whole table! It really 
 silenced me. One comfort is that everybody
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 39 
 
 will put her down as I did, and sooner or 
 later she'll be left severely to herself." 
 
 " I noticed that Lord Clandonald and M. 
 de Mariol seemed much amused, and the 
 others couldn't keep their eyes from her," said 
 truthful Helen, who had her own cause for 
 blank wonderment at the further develop- 
 ment of John Glynn's acquaintances. 
 
 " Oh! that is the provoking part of men," 
 answered Miss Bleecker, tossing her head; 
 " give them a pretty face and a forward 
 manner, and they'll pretend to be enter- 
 tained. I'm very sorry, Helen, but if that 
 girl doesn't take my hint and tone down a 
 great deal, I shall be under the necessity of 
 making a complaint about our seats. It isn't 
 possible the line wouldn't wish to place your 
 father's daughter at least respectably at table. 
 These Winstanleys are, in my opinion, most 
 suspicious people, and I have asked Mr. 
 Vereker to make very particular inquiries 
 and find out if I am not right. Se says that 
 when she came into the saloon, every neck 
 on our side was stretched looking after her, 
 and he quite agrees with me no, Mrs. Vere- 
 ker agreed with me, her husband was weak 
 enough to say what were the odds when a
 
 40 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 girl is so deuced pretty that there must be 
 something wrong." 
 
 The latter part of Miss Bleecker's mono- 
 logue was spoken to space, since Miss Car- 
 stairs, melting away into her own room, had 
 closed the door between them. 
 
 Helen found Mile. Eulalie sitting on the 
 foot of the cane settee, comfortably warming 
 her toes at a small apparatus of shining brass, 
 which, with its red lamp inside, presented a 
 fair semblance of the forsaken fires of home. 
 Upon the bed lay her own satin quilt, her own 
 pillows of embroidered linen were prepared 
 invitingly, her peignoir billowed across the 
 couch. Upon every side gleamed and glit- 
 tered the little objects of cut-glass, tortoise- 
 shell and gold which she had heaped in the 
 balance against John Glynn's love, along 
 with a hundred other manifestations of the 
 outward and visible signs of a solvent exist- 
 ence. To-night she was strangely repelled by 
 them. She made a motion to go out again 
 into the half darkness of that same deserted 
 lower deck, where she could walk to the rush 
 of the wind and the inspiriting swish of the 
 water. She wanted to be alone with her 
 thoughts, to bid a last good-by to the love she
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 41 
 
 had known for a little happy while. Then 
 the image of Miss Posey Winstanley, with 
 her assured smile and undaunted self-satis- 
 faction, came to her with a new shock, and, 
 turning back, she let Eulalie take off her 
 dress and brush her hair, surrendering her- 
 self inertly to the warmth and perfume of 
 materialism, and trying to think she was bet- 
 ter so. 
 
 Far into the night Helen lay, physically at 
 rest, inhaling the pure air from her open 
 window, feeling the gentle uplift of the sea 
 as the huge bulk of the ship faintly answered 
 to its impulse, listening to the bells challeng- 
 ing one another from afar, but she could not 
 sleep. Tirelessly her memory went over 
 every incident of her acquaintanceship with 
 Glynn, and of the virtual break with her fa- 
 ther since the terrible substitution of the 
 woman she suspected into her old place at 
 home. To the last she had kept a brave 
 front, and no one should ever know what 
 this past year had cost her. She was leav- 
 ing America, without temptation to return. 
 The secret glimmering hope that had kept 
 alight within her, that some day John Glynn 
 and she might come together again, was now
 
 42 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 finally extinguished. It was as if a new era 
 of life were opening, and the question was, 
 how best should she shape it ? 
 
 For the twentieth time Miss Carstairs had 
 come around to the knottiest problem of all 
 those that kept her wakeful in her giant 
 cradle of the sea. She was wondering how 
 duty and dignity might combine to inspire 
 her action toward her successor in Glynn's 
 affections. Her chief apprehension regard- 
 ing Pamela Winstanley, was that John 
 Glynn should have made her ever so little 
 aware of that prior bond. A cold terror had 
 possessed her at thought of the exuberant 
 creature sharing or even suspecting her sa- 
 cred secret. But in the girl's helter-skelter 
 attempts at speech with every one at table, 
 she had given no hint that she had previously 
 heard of Miss Carstairs. Helen could only 
 hope that Glynn's name would never come up 
 between them. And, at this point, a soft, 
 swabbing sound and the tread of muffled feet 
 upon the deck beneath her window, gave no- 
 tice that the sailors were at their early morn- 
 ing tasks. The weird, self -pitying note of the 
 parrot in a cabin hard by seemed to grow 
 fainter and more dreamlike. Turning wearily
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 43 
 
 upon her pillows, she let sleep take her into 
 its merciful embrace. 
 
 " Certainly, Mariol, you have found your 
 American types ready to hand upon this voy- 
 age," Lord Clandonald was saying, as the 
 two men walked up and down with their 
 cigars upon the deck decried by Miss Car- 
 stairs' chaperon. " The most obvious one is, 
 of course, the astonishing young person who 
 aroused us from the spiritual lethargy of a 
 first meal at sea, when one is always on guard 
 not to be too accessible." 
 
 " She is like one of those Eastern shops, 
 where everything is in the window," Mariol 
 answered. " But adorably fresh and naive 
 and pretty. No other continent could pro- 
 duce her than the wide and liberal one we 
 are just quitting." 
 
 " Might we but keep her to ourselves! ' 
 said Clandonald, mockingly. " But I fare- 
 see that she will be the wonder and the joy 
 of the entire ship's company on our run over. 
 And the mild old boy who retires into the 
 background to give his Wonder every chance ! 
 I rather like the old boy, I think. ' ' 
 
 " My own taste would be for the young
 
 44 LATTER-DAT SWEETHEARTS 
 
 lady who is protected by Buddha reincarnate, 
 in the person of the disapproving chaperon. 
 Her beauty is rarer, more subtle, than the 
 other's; she is clearly of the fine fleur of the 
 American aristocracy of dollars. I suspect 
 a Colonial ancestor somewhere, and you ob- 
 served that the chaperon did not disdain us 
 too much, to let fall a hint or two concerning 
 the custom of splendor in her charge's life. 
 When they find you out, Clandonald, I'll 
 wager the sun will promptly shine between 
 the clouds for you." 
 
 " The old woman is in the apologetic stage 
 for America, and that's enough to give me a 
 strong disgust for her. Let them be any- 
 thing that's real, and I'm ready to meet 
 Americans ' hands across the sea.' But the 
 ones that affect to decry their nationality, to 
 convince us that they are of a small, segre- 
 gated class that stand on higher ground than 
 the rest, are abhorrent to me. Clearly, Bud- 
 dha's protegee belongs to that class, and will 
 not tarry to let us become aware of it." 
 
 " Grant that my Mdlle. Helene for I don't 
 know her other name is both beautiful and 
 finely bred, and I will abandon you the rest 
 of her sisterhood. She is full of an exquis-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 45 
 
 ite intellectuality, but it would not prevent 
 her loving if her heart were awakened and 
 if I am not mistaken, it has already been 
 awakened. Imagine a young girl, chez nous, 
 with that expression in her eyes, and yet that 
 delicate restraint of manner. I should like 
 to know the fair Helene's history." 
 
 " That you might dissect her with admir- 
 able grace in a feuilleton that tout Paris 
 would read and applaud and forget her 
 the next hour, in a new enthusiasm." 
 
 " Better to possess all the enthusiasms 
 than none, old chap. I am really in despair 
 over your failure to be aroused by the in- 
 finite variety of the diversions offered to you 
 in this journey of ours that, alas! must end 
 too soon." 
 
 " There is one pleasure that has never 
 palled on me, and that is the society of my 
 travelling companion. You are the ideal one 
 in many respects, Mariol ; but if I could point 
 out one virtue more than another that dis- 
 tinguishes you in that character, it is the let- 
 ting a man enjoy all his bad humors, his fads, 
 his follies, if you will, unchecked and un- 
 bridled. I have sometimes basely suspected 
 you of sacrificing me in order to make copy
 
 46 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 of my infirmities. But, at any rate, I have 
 enjoyed blessed liberty, and, whatever the re- 
 sult, I have profited by the semblance of a 
 perfect tact and consideration." 
 
 " A roundabout way of warning me not 
 to intrude my advice upon you now. But 
 seriously, Clandonald, and at any risk, I 
 must tell you that you need rousing. That 
 past of yours, unsavory as it was through no 
 fault of yours, has been long enough decently 
 interred for you to forget it, and to recreate 
 your life's happiness. One can't be sore al- 
 ways, any more than we can love always, or 
 mourn always. And you, of all men the one 
 best fitted to wear the yoke of your staid 
 British virtues, to serve your country and 
 your king at home, to be a model landlord, 
 a husband and a paterfamilias, comme il y 
 en a peu! For heaven's sake, accept the 
 blessed opportunity of your present freedom, 
 and make up for that wretched first mistake. 
 You aren't happy, you have no ambition, no 
 purpose, no zest in living. Get yourself a 
 wife." 
 
 " This from Mariol, the scoffer, the celi- 
 bate! My dear fellow, I forgive you your 
 trespass upon forbidden ground, because I
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 47 
 
 know you are sincere. But you forget one 
 small, important fact. The person who bore 
 my name, and her various works of evil, have 
 so depleted my finances that, had I the cour- 
 age, I haven't the wherewithal to hawk my 
 wares in the marriage mart. I wonder if 
 you know what it costs to keep a Lady Clan- 
 donald in the enjoyment of the domestic at- 
 mosphere of which you speak. I know to 
 my cost. Unless she were a beautiful savage, 
 content to retire with me to one of those isles 
 of the South Sea poor Louis Stevenson ideal- 
 ized, I couldn't even give her a season in 
 town, or a trip to Paris or Homburg, much 
 less races, and all the bridge a woman needs ; 
 and so there 'd be the devil to pay, you see. 
 If she would set up a bonnet-shop, or a place 
 for horribly dear frocks, and keep me on the 
 proceeds ! but otherwise, I'm as poor as a 
 rat, Mariol, and haven't your resources, or 
 royalties, remember." 
 
 " A small matter, my dear lad, with the 
 ever-continuing flood of American dollars 
 pouring from West to East through the 
 facile clasp of the fair beings by whom we 
 are presently surrounded. And you would 
 not run great risks. There is this to be said
 
 48 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 for them, that American ladies rarely de- 
 generate into either bores, dupes or pieces 
 of household machinery : ' Le f amilier vul- 
 gaire, utile et sans bouquet, comme le via 
 qu'on boit avec 1'eau.' They progress with 
 the epoch and the civilization that claim 
 them. Take as a matter of illustration 
 merely either of the two young women who 
 grace our board." 
 
 " As a matter of illustration, merely," an- 
 swered Clandonald, laughing, "I'd prefer 
 to take the sweet child of nature, combining, 
 with the vulgarity of a powdered nose, the 
 eyes of an intelligent cherub recently short- 
 coated." 
 
 " As you please," said Mariol, arching his 
 brows resignedly. " My choice for you 
 would have been the fine-grained daughter 
 of the Puritans with hair the color of a hazel- 
 nut, the flat, straight back, and resolute fig- 
 ure gowned by Paquin. I dare say both 
 ladies are accessible to what you have to 
 offer them, or that either would soon fit into 
 place in the long walk at Beaumanoir, among 
 those strutting white peacocks against a back- 
 ground of clipped yews and sun-warmed 
 ancient brick. No American girl could resist
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 49 
 
 that walk and those white peacocks, Clan- 
 donald, take my word for it." 
 
 " Then marry one yourself, and I'll let 
 the place to you for a song." 
 
 " I have still to see Tibet," answered the 
 other, stopping to light a fresh cigar. 
 
 Their talk ended in a discussion wide afield 
 from the subject with which it had begun. 
 But when Mariol turned in, it was with a 
 throb of secret satisfaction that he had been 
 able, in the darkness, and apparently a I'im- 
 proviste, to wing in the direction of his 
 friend a shaft he had long held in reserve 
 for him. 
 
 He had been with Clandonald, side by side, 
 wading through the miserable mire of his di- 
 vorce case, and rejoiced when he saw him 
 rid for ever of the creature who had dragged 
 him down. The two men had met first in 
 South Africa, while Clandonald was lying 
 ill of enteric, and Mariol, coming upon him 
 by accident in the course of his own explora- 
 tions for observation and adventure at the 
 seat of war, had nursed him with the gentle- 
 ness and devotion of a woman, until he was 
 out of danger and ready for the voyage home. 
 During his first convalescence, Clandonald
 
 50 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 had received the plainly unwelcome news of 
 his wife's intended journey out, " to look 
 after her dear old boy." The arrival of her 
 errant ladyship, followed by the untoward 
 discovery of her real motives in making this 
 heroic effort, and the hardly concealed scan- 
 dal of her companionship on the voyage, 
 precipitated a relapse of Clandonald's mal- 
 ady, and the ultimate severance, some two 
 years later, of his heavy marriage bond, 
 borne during the lifetime of a boy who died 
 through her neglect. 
 
 In all this dreary time Mariol had stood by 
 him and held him up. The brilliant mocker, 
 the professed skeptic of all tenderness apart 
 from the metaphysics of the sex question, 
 had developed into the best of hard-luck 
 friends; and their agreement to travel to- 
 gether after Clandonald was free and had 
 left the army proved more than a success. 
 
 Now they were drifting homeward again, 
 Mariol to his boulevards and the fond con- 
 genial life of Paris, Clandonald to what? 
 Mariol, with his keen insight and ready sym- 
 pathy, saw that his friend was returning to 
 England, restless, unsatisfied, out of tune 
 with his future surroundings; well in body
 
 LATTEK-DAY SWEETHEARTS 51 
 
 and healthy in his mind, indeed, but in no 
 humor to pick up his life from where his late 
 partner had cast it, like a jewel, into wayside 
 dirt. 
 
 Mariol had hoped much from their visit to 
 America, where they had found themselves, 
 during the latter part of the season at New- 
 port, subjected to the overpowering hospi- 
 tality of the leaders of the great world. But 
 although Clandonald's antecedents were as 
 well known and familiarly discussed there, 
 as in England and on the Continent, and 
 there had been displayed no disposition on 
 the part of society to visit his evil fortune 
 upon him, the young man passed but ab- 
 stractedly through the ordeal of charms and 
 graces, defiled before his gaze, during the 
 hours when the world that entertains is in 
 evidence. Mariol sometimes wondered 
 whether his friend would not have been more 
 easily consoled in an atmosphere less sur- 
 charged with the art of pleasing. 
 
 The moment he had laid eyes upon Miss 
 Carstairs, whose patronymic he was yet to 
 learn, it had flashed upon the Frenchman's 
 active brain that here was the solution of his 
 perplexities. That the girl met so thor-
 
 52 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 oughly his own exacting taste in externals, 
 seemed to him a convincing proof she would 
 be the ideal angel to step down into Clan- 
 donald's troubled pool and make it clear. 
 Her looks, age, good breeding, reserve of 
 bearing, and evident fortune, added to the 
 fact that she, too, had in her eyes the shadow 
 of past sorrow, left the kind fictionist no 
 doubt of his own perspicacity in selection. 
 He had addicted himself to the task of mak- 
 ing friends with her, with a promptitude 
 facilitated by his secret hopes, and Clan- 
 donald's indifference proved the more pro- 
 voking in that it bore every aspect of prob- 
 able enduringness. 
 
 Mariol fell asleep, that memorable first 
 night at sea, congratulating himself that his 
 cares in connection with matters of senti- 
 ment were so purely perfunctory, and that 
 whatever the issue out of Clandonald's im- 
 passivity, no personal interest in any one of 
 the disturbing sex could ever afford his men- 
 tor other than the emotion of a scientist who 
 skewers a new butterfly for his microscope.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THERE was to be no complexity attending 
 the position taken by Miss Pamela Winstan- 
 ley, commonly called Posey, in the considera- 
 tion of her fellow-passengers of the " Bal- 
 tic." From the first day out, as has been 
 said, every one aboard became a prey to the 
 absorbing interest created by her daily move- 
 ments, sayings and doings. Beyond the fact 
 that she was travelling with her father, a 
 Mr. Herbert Winstanley, sometime of the 
 Army of the Confederate States, presumably 
 a person of very moderate social place and 
 fortunes, the antecedents of the radiant 
 young beauty were unknown, and she was 
 accepted upon her face value alone. It was 
 indisputable that, whenever she appeared, 
 conversation centered upon her to the ex- 
 clusion of more serious topics. And, in re- 
 turn, Miss Winstanley lavished her effer- 
 vescing good graces with impartiality upon 
 all admirers in attendance. The honors of 
 her smiles and pretty sayings were shared
 
 54 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 alike by Lord Clandonald and any minor in- 
 dividual of the impressible sex, who might 
 chance to be on hand. Jolly old Lord Chan- 
 nel Fleet, resembling Santa Claus with his 
 roseate face and white fringe of a beard, 
 found himself vying for her favors with 
 a succession of American college youths in 
 sweaters, one of whom, famed in university 
 circles as a thrower of the hammer, stood 
 about in attitudes expressive of rank jeal- 
 ousy, whenever his sportive lordship was at 
 her side. Lady Channel Fleet, indeed, was 
 known to be nervous lest the threatening 
 young man should do something dreadful to 
 her liege. 
 
 Miss Bleecker, Mrs. Vereker, and sundry 
 mothers of unentertaining daughters who 
 struggled into their deck-chairs without as- 
 sistance and walked with each other the di- 
 urnal mile, looking as if nothing would in- 
 duce them to descend to the companionship 
 of the supporting sex, formed a number of 
 ingenious theories to account for the fair 
 Pamela. She was a milliner's forewoman, 
 going out to secure fashions for Alison's 
 Cross Roads. She was a dashing divorcee, 
 who had resumed her maiden name. She had
 
 LATTEK-DAY SWEETHEARTS OD 
 
 been a barmaid in California, an artist's model 
 in New York, an assistant washerwoman in 
 the Klondyke, had tried on cloaks in a lead- 
 ing haberdashery of Chicago in all of which 
 capacities there was somebody aboard who 
 had known somebody else who had actually 
 seen her ! But of suppositions concerning the 
 charmer, the most popular was that she had 
 sung on the local stage somewhere in the 
 South, and was now going abroad to study 
 for comic opera. For in addition to other 
 devices for the bewilderment of mere man, 
 Miss Winstanley was found to possess a fas- 
 cinating gift of rendering little Creole chan- 
 sonettes that conjured up the warm velvet- 
 like touch of Southern air, the region of 
 palm and pine and mocking-birds, of orange 
 flowers and Cherokee roses, and the love 
 spells lingering around it. Then she could 
 croon " Mammy " songs, of a negress hush- 
 ing her nursling, in a way to bring tears to 
 the eyes of most hardened listeners. And 
 between the songs and croonings she would 
 describe scenes, and impersonate actors, with 
 a natural fire and pathos that are rarely 
 taught or teachable. But of this accomplish- 
 ment she was more chary than the rest, and
 
 56 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 there were those heard to declare that, on one 
 occasion on deck, she had sung tears into her 
 own eyes, and abruptly stopped, declaring 
 she did not care to do it before more than 
 one or two. The incident being repeated to 
 Miss Bleecker, that inveterate lady declared 
 it to be but a clever bit of acting to whet ex- 
 pectation of future appearances behind the 
 footlights. 
 
 Amid the successes of his daughter's me- 
 teoric rise, little Mr. Winstanley prowled 
 about the ship, a solitary and somewhat pa- 
 thetic figure in his evident belief that self- 
 effacement was the first duty of the parent 
 of such a Phoenix among maidens. Follow- 
 ing his abortive reopening of acquaintance 
 with Miss Carstairs, he withdrew into his 
 shell and spoke no more to her. Helen re- 
 proached herself that she had not been able 
 to conceal from him the repulsion at first in- 
 spired in her by her rival in John Glynn's 
 favor. Old "Winstanley 's mild twinkle of the 
 eye, the smile playing around his thin lips, 
 gave no hint, however, that his retiring at- 
 titude was inspired by offence. He seemed 
 to live apart in a world of his own thoughts
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 57 
 
 and memories, from which even his Posey's 
 triumphs could not extract him for long. 
 
 And Posey, Miss Bleecker to the contrary 
 (who from her end of the table consistently 
 glared down the intruder's right to be), con- 
 tinued to reign in her revolving chair, as the 
 established queen of every meal. Her quips 
 and cranks of fan, her lawless sallies at the 
 expense of those around her, had effectually 
 banished restraint and brought the diverse 
 elements of their party together; even Helen 
 parting with her formality to join in the talk, 
 when convinced by observation that Miss 
 Winstanley knew nothing whatever of her 
 prior acquaintance with John Glynn. 
 
 From the beginning, the Honorable Bobby 
 Vane, Lord Kennington's scapegrace boy, 
 had fallen head over ears in love with Posey, 
 and was ready to forfeit his not very bril- 
 liant prospects in life to marry her, no mat- 
 ter in what capacity she had previously ap- 
 peared. Posey laughed at and with the lad, 
 enjoying his off-hand gayety and mischief, 
 and there it began and ended. The Russian 
 savant, under the influence of Miss Win- 
 stanley 's presence, forgot to grumble about 
 draughts and sauces, and smoothed his grim-
 
 58 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 visaged front into affability, answering her 
 in English as choice as M. de Marlol's 
 French. The old German count, proving to 
 be the most kindly and merry of comrades, 
 developed a faculty for telling uproariously 
 funny stories, of which the effect was im- 
 paired only by such a strange mispronuncia- 
 tion of the English tongue that his auditors 
 were kept supernaturally grave in the effort 
 not to smile at him, and therefore did not 
 smile at all. 
 
 A volume of Mariol's clever (and happily 
 innocuous) short stories having been pro- 
 duced by somebody and put into circulation 
 on the ship, Miss Winstanley had familiar- 
 ized herself with them, and was engaged at 
 odd moments in translating the little chef 
 d'muvres of style, with Bobby Vane, in 
 whose imagination a book of any kind, save 
 a betting book, loomed larger than an ele- 
 phant. 
 
 Mariol, to whom direct address from casual 
 people upon the subject of his writings was 
 an affliction, had been rather dreading the 
 young lady's comments, and was relieved 
 when she disposed of him thus easily : 
 
 " I think they're just lovely, Mr. Mariol,
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 59 
 
 and am trying to make Mr. Vane agree with 
 me, but he declares they're too jolly dismal 
 and give him the awful blues. After this, 
 when people say they envy me being at table 
 with you, I can truly tell them you don't talk 
 the least bit like your books." 
 
 " Mrs. Kipling told me once," said Clan- 
 donald, following a laugh at Mariol's ex- 
 pense, " that when a gushing American girl 
 asked how she could endure the brilliancy of 
 a certain chat between her husband and Cecil 
 Rhodes on the Kiplings' veranda in South 
 Africa, she had been puzzled what to answer, 
 because, as a matter of fact, each of these 
 gentlemen had been trying to talk more de- 
 lightful drivel than the other. What good 
 luck for the rest of us, that great minds do 
 unbend in the intimacy of private discourse ! ' 
 
 " If one doesn't talk in brief paragraphs, 
 like those columns printed in American 
 newspapers for busy men to read in elevated 
 trains, one isn't listened to, I find," said the 
 author, ruefully. 
 
 " In most countries, nowadays," observed 
 Prince Zourikoff, looking anxiously to see 
 whether the portion of cold braised beef left 
 upon the platter was enough for his liberal
 
 60 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 appetite, " the fine arts of conversation and 
 correspondence have both been driven like 
 chaff before the wind of modern restlessness. 
 Nobody converses, few read, friendly com- 
 munication is achieved by wire or telephone. 
 And as to introducing a serious topic into 
 society perish the thought! One would be 
 voted a superannuated nuisance." 
 
 " I have always thought it the best com- 
 pliment a man can pay a woman," said Miss 
 Carstairs, blushing a little, " when he talks 
 to her, in earnest, about what dominates his 
 thoughts." 
 
 Mariol flashed an appreciative glance at 
 her. Clandonald cried out: 
 
 " Heaven defend your sex, my dear lady, 
 if they had to sit still and listen to most 
 men's governing thoughts. And, on the 
 whole, there is nothing so wearing as a per- 
 son with ideas that have never been applied. 
 To-day, we must think and act, and accom- 
 plish or fail, before we talk. And as far as 
 talk goes, it's everybody's plain duty to be 
 amusing and not long." 
 
 " To come down before the footlights, and 
 do one's turn, and then drop back again," 
 interpolated Miss Bleecker, with a glance at
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 61 
 
 the beauty, who was helping Bobby Vane to 
 a baked potato. " You are quite right, Lord 
 Clandonald. It is perfect audacity for any 
 one person, whether clever or insignificant, 
 to attempt to monopolize attention. Every- 
 body else is invariably bored by it, where 
 they are not laughing in their sleeves." 
 
 " Have you seen many persons laughing 
 in their sleeves, Miss Bleecker ? " asked Posey 
 Winstanley, innocently. " Did they do it 
 when you were young? I always wondered 
 how. Mr. Vane, please stop eating long 
 enough, to let's try laughing in our sleeves at 
 Miss Bleecker. I reckon she'll tell us if it's 
 the real thing." 
 
 " There are places, then, where they do say 
 4 I reckon, ' ' pursued Miss Bleecker, impas- 
 sively. " You mentioned, Lord Clandonald, 
 how much you were disappointed not to hear 
 more provincialisms of speech in America. I 
 should think Miss Winstanley could give you 
 all you care to collect. ' ' 
 
 " Did you ever hear, Miss Winstanley," put 
 in Mariol quickly, " the pretty speech made by 
 King William IV about a charming country- 
 woman of yours, whom some one asked, 
 ' Pray, do you come from that part of
 
 62 LATTEK-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 America where they guess and where they 
 calculate ? ' ' Lady Wellesley comes from 
 where they fascinate,' said the gallant 
 monarch." 
 
 Bobby Vane clapped his hands approvingly. 
 
 " That's rippin', ain't it, Mr. Mariol! My 
 goodness me, wish I weren't such a duffer at 
 writing things down an' spellin' or I'd make 
 a note of it. What?" 
 
 " Come to school at Alison's Cross Roads, 
 Alabama, and we'll teach you how," said 
 Posey. 
 
 " Helen, you will find me on the boat-deck 
 by Mrs. Vereker," said Miss Bleecker, ma- 
 jestically arising. " I have had quite enough 
 of this. And I consider it my mission to 
 spend as much time as I can give to poor Mrs. 
 Vereker, prostrated by care and anxiety as 
 she has been, and her husband never allowed 
 to come near her on the voyage. ' ' 
 
 A light sparkled in the wide-open blue eyes 
 of the ship's charmer, and a smile hovered 
 around her pretty mouth. She was well 
 aware that about the second day out, the crit- 
 ical and finical Mr. Vereker had joined in 
 the universal procession toward her shrine. 
 She had avoided an introduction as long as
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 63 
 
 possible, compelling her ancient admirer to 
 perform wonders of intrigue and diplomacy, 
 before he was admitted to the privilege of her 
 acquaintance. Since then, he had persecuted 
 her for walks on deck, secured for her white 
 violets, at vast expense, from some one who 
 was taking them out in the ship's ice-box for 
 sale in London; had sent to her table daily 
 tokens of regard, from pats of choice butter, 
 bunches of black Hamburg grapes, and broiled 
 birds, to Southern " pin-money ' pickles. 
 Not content with these tangible evidences, 
 Mr. Vereker had promised her a dog, and 
 invited her to motor with them through Tou- 
 raine. The poor man, who had, in Miss 
 Bleecker's parlance, " no stomach to speak 
 of," was expecting the return of one of his 
 periodical attacks, when he would be forced 
 to go upon milk and Educator biscuits, too 
 enfeebled to walk the deck and flirt, and 
 wished to make the most of his well mo- 
 ments ; but, so far, Miss Winstanley had been 
 constantly engaged with others, and could 
 not yield him the tete-a-tete desired. 
 
 Miss Bleecker, enlisted under the standard 
 of a complaining wife, was gratified to leave 
 the party, having hurled the final shaft.
 
 64 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 Mariol liked the self-control with which 
 Posey turned immediately to other topics, 
 no less than he appreciated the effort 
 Helen Carstairs made to atone for her com- 
 panion's venom by remaining awhile in con- 
 versation that included the girl attacked. 
 The Frenchman, who noted most things pass- 
 ing near him, had been making up his mind 
 that some strong personal reason existed to 
 keep Miss Carstairs in a state of mental self- 
 defence against the attractions of Miss Win- 
 stanley. A judgment so clear and cool and 
 fair as Helen's in ordinary matters, he had 
 rarely seen, and he believed her capable of 
 more than the allotted amount of feminine 
 generosity toward those of her own sex. As 
 far as he had been able to gather, she had 
 never before seen or heard of this mysterious 
 young person who had made their voyage so 
 gay. What could the reason be ? 
 
 It had not escaped him that the Southern 
 girl, taking heed of Helen's low-pitched voice, 
 of her quiet garb and reserved manner among 
 strangers, had profited by them to tone down 
 some of her own extravagances. Already, 
 Miss Winstanley's hair was brushed simply 
 back in a glorious golden sweep, allowing its
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 65 
 
 natural waves to reveal themselves untor- 
 tured. Already, the obnoxious blue dress 
 with its lace transparencies, the redundant 
 jewelry had gone into retirement, the young 
 girl appearing at dinner in white blouses as 
 simple as Helen's own. Better than all, she 
 no longer challenged people within earshot 
 with her sentiments and opinions. 
 
 From time to time, Mariol had detected 
 passing from her to Helen the glances of 
 homage a very unsophisticated girl bestows 
 upon one she has elected to make her heroine. 
 And, despite this artless worship, Miss Car- 
 stairs did not relent in her cool demeanor. 
 She was civil always, considerate often, but 
 never yielding in keeping Miss "Winstanley 
 at a distance. The men at their table were 
 unanimously beginning to feel that a girl 
 may win easily in the chief events of such 
 a contest, and yet be badly worsted in the 
 end. 
 
 The only one among them who seemed to 
 have preserved indifference on the subject 
 of Posey's wrongs, was the quiet little man 
 in the mustard-colored tweeds, with the cow- 
 boy hat of sunburnt felt, who accompanied
 
 66 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 the beauty to her meals, but was rarely seen 
 with her elsewhere. 
 
 One afternoon, however, she broke away 
 from her cordon of admirers, and finding 
 the old fellow walking alone, linked her arm 
 in his, adjusting her pace to his. 
 
 " Why, little girl, what's come to you, that 
 the beaux have left you no better company 
 than mine? " he said, with the jocular hom- 
 age of his habitual manner to her. 
 
 " There isn't much better company than 
 yours, dad, and I'm beginning to find it out," 
 she answered, caressingly. 
 
 " Well, well, a compliment from the belle 
 o' the ship! Reckon when I get to London 
 I'll have to be buying myself a new suit, and 
 a dozen o ' boiled shirts, though, come to think 
 of it, seems to me I'm no great way behind 
 that Lord Channel Fleet o' yours in the mat- 
 ter of clothes and footwear regular beetle- 
 crushers, those shoes of his, and his hat an 
 even match for mine." 
 
 " He's rather an old dear, anyhow," said 
 Posey; " but I've got another ancient on the 
 string that's too foolish to talk about. That 
 Mr. Vereker he's dyed and made-up, and 
 always fussing about his digestion. He has
 
 'There isn't much better company than yours' dad." Page 66.
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 67 
 
 a young doctor travelling with him to give 
 him hypodermics for his nerves, and they're 
 going to some queer place where he'll have 
 to walk barefoot on wet stones, and diet, with 
 a lot of grand dukes and things that he just 
 loves to talk about. Aren't they funny though, 
 these old society men ? Imagine you prancing 
 around after young girls! ' 
 
 1 i I can 't, ' ' said her father, simply. i i There 
 isn't a woman living, old or young, that could 
 take my fancy away from the girl I won in 
 Baltimo, after the wah. She's my love, the 
 same now as then. You're pretty good-look- 
 ing, Posey, so people seem to think. But 
 your mother. Lord ! She was a beauty, and 
 as soft and gentle as an evenin' breeze." 
 
 " I sometimes wish I had her now, daddy. 
 Since I've been eighteen, and everybody's so 
 good to me, I mean. There are such lots of 
 little things a mother could tell me. And to 
 think I was the only child she kept the very 
 last of your family and she couldn't have 
 stayed with me! Ah! well, don't mind me, 
 dad, I'm happy enough with you." 
 
 " You certainly don't often pull a long- 
 face, dearie. If there's anything troubling 
 you, out with it, and let's see if I can't help."
 
 68 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 " It's rather a big little secret, daddy. 
 Maybe I oughtn't have kept it so long, but 
 I was ashamed to tell, I reckon. You see 
 nothing like this ever happened to me be- 
 fore." 
 
 The old man's faded eyes kindled with sud- 
 den fire. He halted her suddenly, facing sea- 
 ward, and together they leaned over the taff- 
 rail. 
 
 " Posey, it hasn't got anything to do with 
 John Glynn, has it? " he asked with a tremu- 
 lous eagerness of joy. 
 
 " Yes, daddy." 
 
 " He spoke to you before we sailed? ' 
 
 " Just before. That last evening, at the 
 hotel, when you went off to smoke with the 
 nice old gentleman you fought beside at 
 Seven Pines, and left us sitting in the corri- 
 dor looking at the people. He said every- 
 thing that was nice about you, first ; how you 
 had been his father's dearest friend, and had 
 helped him through college, and started him 
 in New York, and he loved you dearly, and 
 never could repay the debt. Then he recalled 
 how he and I had known each other as boy 
 and girl, though he always thought of me as 
 nothing but a little kid, until he saw me last
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 69 
 
 year at home, and just now, in New York. 
 He told me how hard he was working, with 
 scarcely a minute to call his own, and what a 
 tough struggle it would be to get up top, but 
 that he meant to do it, if he lived " 
 
 " And he will he will! " interrupted Mr. 
 Winstanley, in accents of strong pride. 
 " He didn't tell you, I'll bet, that he never 
 took up my offer to stake him with funds for 
 his expenses in New York, till he got square 
 upon his feet, and that he never drew a 
 blessed cent of it? " 
 
 " He said you'd been more than good, but 
 he wouldn't impose on you. You see, daddy, 
 John knows that all these years you've had 
 as much as you could do to keep us going, 
 and have me educated. I suppose he was as 
 surprised as I, when he found you were tak- 
 ing me abroad in style you extravagant old 
 thing, you! ' 
 
 " Of course. Of course," murmured Mr. 
 Winstanley, acquiescently. " It does seem ex- 
 travagant, doesn't it? But we'll manage to 
 make two ends meet, I reckon, if we pinch, 
 afterwards, to make up for it. Go on, Posey, 
 go on. Tell me the rest about you and John. 
 It is music to my ears."
 
 70 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 " I thought so, daddy," the girl said, with 
 a tender sigh. " And though I wasn't quite 
 ready to do what he asked me, I couldn't say 
 no. So when he said you and his father had 
 always wanted us two to be married, some 
 day, and would I consider myself engaged to 
 him, until he was ready to give me a home 
 in New York, I just asked him to wait till 
 the next day, and I would telephone my an- 
 swer before the steamer sailed. And I did. 
 That's what I was doing when you called to 
 me that the carriage was waiting to drive us 
 to the pier. I was shut up in the telephone 
 booth at the hotel saying l yes ' to John." 
 
 " And you never gave the poor lad a chance 
 to see you face to face again? " exclaimed her 
 father, every wrinkle of his face luminous 
 with satisfaction at the news. 
 
 " Ye-es," said Posey, " I saw him for a 
 minute over the rail of the steamer. He just 
 rushed down from his office the minute he 
 could get off. I'd told him I'd write him all 
 the usual things by the pilot-boat, and from 
 Queenstown; and he'd laughed and said he'd 
 have to be satisfied with that! You mustn't 
 expect John and me to be silly, father, for 
 we aren't a bit, either of us. I ought to tell
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 71 
 
 you that he's been in love with another girl, 
 and it didn't turn out well, and he put her 
 out of his thoughts forever." 
 
 " So that was what ailed the lad last Spring 
 when I went North on that business of the 
 mine? I might have guessed it, poor boy, 
 he was blue as> indigo. Well, it was hand- 
 some of him to tell you, daughter, and, my 
 word for it, your marriage will be just as 
 happy as if he hadn't taken that other little 
 notion before he saw that you were the real 
 girl for him. It'll all be blown away like the 
 steamer smoke yonder, and he'll wonder at 
 himself for ever thinking he could have put 
 up with the idea of any wife but you. For 
 that's a man's way, my dear, since the world 
 began." 
 
 " Was it your way, daddy? ' ' asked Posey 
 archly. 
 
 " My child, I was ready to put myself be- 
 fore the mouth of the first cannon I met up 
 with when I went into service, and be blown 
 to atoms, through calf-love for a young lady 
 of our neighborhood. She jilted me to marry 
 a widower, a Baptist preacher by the name 
 of Simkins; no, it was Lawson, I think but 
 never mind. She had nine children when I
 
 72 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 saw her next, and we didn't recognize each 
 other. When we did, she talked to me about 
 Simpkins'es (it really was Simkins) asthma, 
 without a break for fifteen solid minutes, and 
 I got away, thanking the Lord it wasn't my 
 asthma, and my fat wife, and my nine chil- 
 dren, howling and doing stunts all over the 
 house yet I lived to be happier than any 
 king with the real angel of my life! But, 
 dearie, it isn't the time to be talking of any- 
 thing but you and John Glynn, and the joy 
 you've given me in promising to marry each 
 other some day. He is the finest young man 
 I know, and the one of all in the world I'd 
 choose to share what there, you do the talk- 
 ing, I can't trust myself." 
 
 " Daddy, do you want me to tell you the 
 whole truth and nothing but the truth, the 
 way I always have? Then here it is. What 
 I've promised to do, I'll do. I think just as 
 much of John as you do, in a way, and I was 
 proud to have him ask me. But I felt he was 
 doing it because he had made up his mind it 
 was the thing of all others to please you ; also, 
 because it was safe and right to anchor his 
 life to a girl who belonged to his own class, 
 and had no ideas beyond the plain, homely
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 73 
 
 things she had been brought up to. But he 
 doesn't know me, in the least. I'm not the 
 girl he thinks, only a vain, conceited creature 
 who loves admiration and flattery and pretty 
 things, and all the luxuries I see other people 
 having on this voyage, and the high-up places 
 of the world. I want to live, to have my 
 fling, and what's worse, I want to be loved 
 really, as I think it ought to be ! ' 
 
 Her voice dropped with her eyelashes; a 
 burning blush ran up and overspread her 
 face. Old Herbert Winstanley asked him- 
 self if this were, indeed, his little girl, his 
 romp in pinafores of a year or two back? 
 Whence had come the blooming vision of 
 young womanhood who had supplanted the 
 Posey of his recent lean and struggling 
 years'? What were these obsessions controll- 
 ing herl He could not tell, and meekly bent 
 before the blast. 
 
 " I reckon you know best, daughter," he 
 said, clearing his throat in some embarrass- 
 ment. " But this much I'm as sure of as 
 that the sun is in the sky. You've done a 
 wise thing, and a good thing, in engaging 
 yourself to John. Be true to him and to 
 yourself, and the rest '11 all come right. Only,
 
 74 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 it's fair to tell you that you and John aren't 
 a-going to begin as poor as poverty's back 
 door, the way we did. I've had a little streak 
 o ' luck lately, and there 's cash enough to give 
 you your fling in Europe, and start you and 
 John to housekeeping in New York in pretty 
 decent style. He's a luckier fellow than he 
 knows, is John, only I don't mean to tell him 
 so yet a while, or anybody else, and neither 
 must you, my girl." 
 
 " Could I have a cabin de luxe, and a 
 French maid and a chaperon to travel with, 
 daddy," she asked with a glowing counte- 
 nance, " instead of half a stateroom with a 
 horrid woman who drenches herself with 
 scents, and lectures me about keeping the 
 light turned on while I do my hair? Could 
 I have a little string of real pearls, and one 
 lovely pearl ring, and a rug for my steamer- 
 chair lined with otter, and tailor-made suits 
 that fit adorably like Miss Carstairs, who's 
 just my ideal, though she'll hardly look at 
 me?" 
 
 " We'll see, we'll see," mumbled Mr. Win- 
 stanley, looking as much alarmed as did the 
 fisherman in the " Arabian Nights," when he 
 had let the Genie escape and soar from the
 
 LATTEE-DAY SWEETHEARTS 75 
 
 Magic Bottle. " Seems to me you spent a 
 good lot shopping in New York the week we 
 were there." 
 
 " I wish I could throw all that trash I 
 bought overboard," said the girl, gritting her 
 teeth in vexation. " Nobody but an idiot 
 from Alison's Cross Roads would have chosen 
 such things and thought them stylish." 
 
 " It may be so," said her father, re- 
 signedly, " but putting one fact alongside 
 another, it looks as if you'd had as good a 
 show as any young lady on board, daughter." 
 
 " Daddy, you are the dearest old bat! ' 
 cried she, revealing to his astonished gaze 
 her eyes full of big, bright, childish tears. 
 " How can't you see that I'm only a peep- 
 show, an amusement for all these people, and 
 that most of the women on board hardly 
 speak to me? I don't care a bit about that 
 horrid old war-horse of the Scripture that 
 snorts and champs Miss Bleecker! I con- 
 sider her beneath my notice, and she may in- 
 sult me all she pleases. And Mrs. Vereker 
 is another, and all their set dull, stiff 
 women, with nothing but their wealth to 
 recommend them." 
 
 " Well, if it comes to that," murmured
 
 76 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 Mr. Winstanley, involuntarily clinking the 
 sovereigns he carried in a buckskin pouch in 
 his breeches pocket, then checking himself and 
 saying no more. 
 
 " They may say I'm a chorus girl all they're 
 a mind to. I know I'm not, and that you 
 are one of the most honored citizens of our 
 town, and we came of good old stock. I 
 don't deny I've wanted to go on the stage. 
 Till lately, I've simply yearned for it. But 
 that, and all sorts of notions I had seem to 
 have vanished away since I came aboard 
 since I've known Miss Carstairs." 
 
 " That's the young woman sits at our 
 table? Can't say I blame you, Posey, I 
 kinder took a shine to her, myself, the first 
 evening out; but she chilled on me after- 
 ward, and I'm never for troubling folks with 
 my attentions." 
 
 " She chilled on you because of me, poor 
 dear ; for any nice girl in her senses must see 
 you're a heavenly angel, if you do wear rusty 
 tweeds. She thought I was crude and ag- 
 gressive and cheap, and so I am, maybe, but 
 I don't mean to stay so; and if ever I get to 
 be anything better, it'll be Helen Carstairs 
 that's started me. But she won't know it,
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 77 
 
 and won't know me, and that's really what's 
 bothering me so dreadfully, daddy." 
 
 " Her father's the great Carstairs, isn't 
 he? Didn't I hear John say he'd indirectly 
 given him a lift last year, and said some 
 good things about the way the boy managed 
 a certain office job that came under Car- 
 stairs' eye? ' 
 
 " Did he? There now, daddy, is just the 
 girl John would have been wise to get, if he 
 could. She might have helped him up the 
 ladder by just putting out a finger-tip. And 
 he is so ambitious, so fastidious. I could see 
 that little trifles about me jarred on him 
 constantly the very things these lords and 
 grandees aboard admire the most it seems. 
 He called them provincialisms, and Lord 
 Channel Fleet says they're simply delicious. 
 Who am I to believe? " 
 
 " Ah, my little girl, I can't tell you, and 
 that's the truth. But John's apt to be right, 
 only whether or not Miss Carstairs is his 
 ideal, you just be yourself, and don't put on 
 any frills. You can't help being lively, thank 
 God, nor true, nor generous, for you're your 
 own mother's child. You'll make friends, 
 never fear, the only trouble to my mind is
 
 78 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 lest they should be those who care for you 
 only because " 
 
 " Why, daddy, one would almost think I 
 am something in disguise. You needn't be 
 afraid of any one on this trip, however. 
 They'll all forget me the day the ship touches 
 Liverpool." 
 
 " Well, it don't matter much when we've 
 got John behind us, does it, daughter? I 
 reckon he'll be proud as I am to hear what 
 a belle you've been. There's only one thing 
 it's crossed my mind he mightn't fancy over- 
 much your going around with that lord fel- 
 low that's been so much talked about that 
 Clandonald man, I mean." 
 
 " Oh! daddy, don't!" 
 
 Mr. Winstanley had thought himself, 
 through experience, prepared for most of 
 the idiosyncrasies of femininity as developed 
 by his daughter, but he could not have rea- 
 sonably counted upon the look that came into 
 her face as she made this protest. It caused 
 him to stare, shake himself like a wet dog, 
 scrutinize her again narrowly, then utter an 
 exclamation familiar to him only under stress 
 of strong emotion. 
 
 " Stonewall Jackson, daughter! I want 
 to know! "
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE measure of Mr. Winstanley's curi- 
 osity was, however, not to be satisfied on this 
 occasion; since, almost immediately, the col- 
 loquy with his daughter over the " Baltic's ' 
 rail was destined to interruption by Lord 
 Clandonald in person, who came up to ask 
 if Miss Winstanley were ready for their walk. 
 
 Since the first evening of their meeting, he 
 had fallen into the habit of seeking her out in 
 a half -shy, wholly unemotional manner, and 
 of spending a half hour or so in her com- 
 pany listening to her merry chatter and in- 
 sensibly lightening and brightening out of 
 the heavy lassitude that had possessed his 
 soul for so many weary months. With re- 
 turning animation, the real beauty and high 
 distinction of his face revealed itself. Posey, 
 who had thought of his title merely as a pleas- 
 ing toy, who had as yet acquired none of the 
 prevalent worship of her average country- 
 men for the glamour of a place among the 
 hereditary nobility of the lands they affect
 
 80 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 to surpass in achievement, liked to be with 
 him because of three things viz., the great 
 strength and beauty of his body, his gift of 
 beautiful diction, and the melodious speech 
 that rang upon her ear like a chime of per- 
 fect bells. She also enjoyed his way of brush- 
 ing his hair and putting on his clothes, and 
 not caring in the least what anybody on board 
 thought of him or said of him. At least, that 
 is what, had she possessed a confidante of her 
 own sex, Miss Winstanley would have ad- 
 mitted concerning her indifferent admirer. 
 
 He had come to her as a man who at thirty 
 considers himself to have done with life, and 
 consents to take up incidental diversion by 
 the way. He had never met a girl so ignorant 
 of the world, so inexhaustibly interested in 
 things and people, so fresh and healthy, yet 
 innately refined, so daring, yet so sure of 
 herself that no man might take a liberty with 
 her in speech or action; and above all, so 
 pretty. 
 
 So deliciously pretty! The woman whom 
 he had ruined his life by marrying, five years 
 before, had been accounted a beauty, and was 
 a gentlewoman by tradition and association. 
 As he had seen Ruby Darien last, in the di-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 81 
 
 vorce court, she seemed a mere made-up crea- 
 ture who would go to pieces at night in her 
 maid's hands, a thing of artifice and stimu- 
 lant, of base passions and shallow emotion- 
 ality, already a has-been, although barely his 
 own age. At what time of her existence was 
 it that she had made his pulses thrill with 
 her loveliness? Could he have ever consid- 
 ered Ruby the peer in looks of this stray 
 maiden come upon by chance to be soon 
 parted with, and never seen again ? He hated 
 to think he had believed himself Ruby's 
 lover during the time before he had found 
 her out. He loathed the days before he put 
 her away, when, for his boy's sake, he had 
 kept on terms with her outwardly. After his 
 child died, and he had taken his opportunity 
 to be a free man, he often thanked God, that 
 following that voyage of his wife's to South 
 Africa he had never thought of her as beau- 
 tiful. 
 
 But except for the somewhat languid admi- 
 ration excited in him, the young American had 
 not yet stirred the deeper fountains of Clan- 
 donald's feeling. Mariol, observing the prog- 
 ress of affairs, was quietly content. He 
 really considered the acquaintance with Posey
 
 82 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 a species of mild cure, like a visit to a Ger- 
 man health-place where one eats brown bread 
 and baked apples, and goes to bed at ten 
 o'clock. If it had been Miss Carstairs, now, 
 upon whom these desultory attentions of his 
 lordship had been bestowed, Mariol, having 
 ascertained this lady to be the daughter of 
 the world-famous financier, would have been 
 much more actively concerned in forecasting 
 for her a place among the white peacocks at 
 Beaumanoir. 
 
 It was about Beaumanoir that Clandonald 
 now found himself obliged to talk with Miss 
 Winstanley. With the lightning-like rapid- 
 ity of growth in steamer intimacies, they had 
 all come to discourse of one another's domi- 
 ciles and surroundings, and Mariol, whose 
 aestheticism rejoiced in his friend's noble old 
 forsaken home, had shown the girl a photo- 
 graph of it. Posey, like every Southerner, 
 had an instinctive love and reverence for the 
 historic element in English country homes, 
 and the ancient moated dwelling in whose 
 grounds monarchs had taken their pleasure 
 appealed keenly to her otherwise concrete 
 and contemporaneous view of things. To see 
 it was like stepping out of a modern railway
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 83 
 
 station into an old-world garden of ripe de- 
 lights. And to be actually walking up and 
 down decks with the owner, albeit he looked 
 like other men and had his hands thrust in 
 the pockets of an indifferently shabby ulster, 
 was a fillip her imagination had not pre- 
 viously known. 
 
 A little teased, a little flattered by her que- 
 ries on the subject, Clandonald yet felt as- 
 sured that her interest was impersonal and 
 genuine. When he remembered how Ruby 
 had hated to stay at Beaumanoir, preferring 
 any small stuffy hotel in Paris or Rome, or 
 on the Riviera, Miss Winstanley's real enthu- 
 siasm was refreshing. It almost made him 
 want to go back himself to that spot, haunted 
 by the ghosts of dead beliefs, near which the 
 poor little boy slept, under a tiny mound in 
 the churchyard that he was always trying to 
 forget. 
 
 Strange, now it always came to him when 
 alone in a balmy wood, with birds singing 
 and sun filtering through the branches; or 
 on Sundays when a church bell rang ; or if he 
 awoke suddenly in the middle of the night; 
 or in looking at a field of haymakers and dis- 
 tant grazing sheep! It was not a keen pain
 
 84 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 any longer, but only a sobering, tender 
 thought, and the man was better for it after- 
 ward. Now, again, as he thrust his hands 
 deeper in his pockets and strode up and down 
 beside the girl, dodging other walking pairs, 
 and wishing there were not so many people in 
 the world who wanted to do what he did, the 
 image of the little green mound arose across 
 the waste of wide Atlantic. Was it Posey who 
 inspired his one sacred remembrance? He 
 could not tell, but went on letting her draw 
 him out about his lovely impoverished Beau- 
 manoir, until she was touched and astonished 
 at the feeling he revealed concerning it. 
 
 " Oh! I am sure you will have it all once 
 more, and be able to enjoy everything as of 
 old," she exclaimed impulsively. 
 
 " Perhaps you don't know why this is im- 
 possible/' he answered, gulping down the 
 bitter fact. " It is quite hopeless for me to 
 live decently there, on all I am ever likely 
 to have in the way of income." 
 
 " And I, like a goose, keep always ignor- 
 ing the money question in connection with 
 those beautiful entrancing old English places. 
 I've read about them so often in a book we 
 have of ' Dwellings of the Aristocracy and
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 85, 
 
 Gentry,' and also in ' Country Life.' They 
 seem to have been created to go on for ages 
 by themselves, in a state of suspended ani- 
 mation, like the Sleeping Beauty's palace. 
 If you won't think me silly, I'll tell you that 
 when I get hold of a copy of ' Country Life,' 
 I imagine myself living in one house after 
 another of the illustrations, and I want to 
 buy all the horses and dogs and sheep and 
 everything in the advertisements, except, 
 maybe, incubators, which are horrid un- 
 natural things, and the smelly stuff they put 
 upon the grass and flowers that can't say 
 ' don't'! " 
 
 Clandonald laughed. 
 
 " Rather my own idea. But I supposed all 
 you people of the South owned large estates 
 and many acres to experiment upon." 
 
 " Oh! dear, no! We personally never 
 owned anything bigger than a back-yard, 
 until my father was persuaded by a man to 
 go shares with him in some land I never saw, 
 where they found both coal and iron. Last 
 year the man died, and my daddy, who had 
 paid up most all the purchase money, came 
 into possession of the whole property. I be- 
 lieve it's turned out better than he thought,
 
 86 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 and he's lately got something good out of it, 
 else certainly we'd not have had this trip to 
 Europe. I'm glad you never saw Alison's 
 Cross Roads, Lord Clandonald. It's just 
 the homeliest, pokiest little place in Alabama, 
 and the people are good and kind, but com- 
 monplace to a degree. The houses are all of 
 wood with jig-saw trimmings and the paint 
 half worn off. Nobody thinks it necessary to 
 improve anything, and the negroes swarm 
 over everywhere, and rule the land." 
 
 " Then I suppose you'll call me jolly im- 
 pertinent," said he, " if I wonder how you 
 grew up as you are in the middle of it." 
 
 " I don't know! I just did. People have 
 grown tired, down there, of holding up their 
 hands over me. My teacher at school, who 
 was born North, was the only one that ever 
 understood why I wanted anything different 
 from the rest. She took several magazines, 
 and told me about others, that I persuaded 
 daddy to subscribe to. She lent me books 
 and talked to me, but two years ago she de- 
 cided to marry in New York, and I lost her. 
 She lives there now, dear soul, in an awfully 
 little flat. Her husband is in the insurance 
 business, and she edits a column of ' Advice
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 87 
 
 to Girls.' She says she fairly hates some of 
 the idiots who write to her asking the most 
 drivelling questions. But to please the edi- 
 tor, she has to dissemble, and call them dears 
 and answer like a guardian angel when she 
 had rather choke them and be done with it 
 because the work pays the butcher's bill 
 and half the gas ! ' 
 
 " Has she taught you that such poverty is 
 evened by the good to be acquired from the 
 married state? ' 
 
 " I think so. At least, she and Mr. Bart- 
 ley have a good deal of fun out of things. 
 Their greatest treat, when their maid's cook- 
 ing gets too impossible and Mr. Bartley is 
 growing thin, is to go to dinner at an Italian 
 restaurant, a dollar each, with wine, and to 
 eat enough spaghetti to last another little 
 while. Mrs. Bartley got fifteen dollars for 
 looking up facts and dates in the Astor Li- 
 brary for a fashionable lady, who was al- 
 lotted to read a paper on something she never 
 heard of before, at a meeting of her literary 
 club. Mrs. Bartley ended by doing the whole 
 thing, and the lady was so fascinated by her- 
 self in typewriting, that she sent a check for 
 fifteen instead of ten; so the Bartleys took
 
 88 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 me to their restaurant for dinner, and after- 
 ward to the play, in cheap seats. Yes, I think 
 the Bartleys are all right. If their kitchen 
 door could be kept shut, and the smell of 
 cooking be banished from the parlor, I be- 
 lieve they'd be as happy as most people who 
 are married, anyway." 
 
 " Perhaps, if you and your father are to 
 be in London, you would let me take you out 
 to dinner and cheap seats at the play? ' 
 
 " Wouldn't I love it? But you can't drag 
 daddy to the theatre, and I'm not like Miss 
 Carstairs, blessed with a chaperon. Do you 
 notice that, as we are getting ' half -seas over, ' 
 Miss Bleecker's English accent becomes more 
 pronounced? She is forever talking about 
 when we are ' in town, ' and regretting that it 
 is out of the season, because so few of their 
 great friends will be there to welcome them. 
 She calls all the American duchesses by their 
 first names, and the other United States peer- 
 esses that she didn't play with in infancy, 
 she must have brought up by hand." 
 
 " I am afraid I am too lowly a personage 
 to claim the lady's acquaintance in future," 
 said Clandonald, indifferently. " But I con- 
 fess I should like, for my friend Mariol's
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 89 
 
 sake, who has conceived a vast admiration 
 for her charge to manage to ask Miss Car- 
 stairs and himself to join you and your fa- 
 ther in a run down to Beaumanoir for lunch- 
 eon, while you are * in town.' It is pretty, 
 there, in autumn, and there are sure to be 
 some good peaches on the garden wall." 
 
 " How adorable! ' exclaimed Posey. 
 " Daddy might go to that, if I beg him, but 
 Miss Carstairs ! There's the difficulty. 
 She won't more than look at me. I wonder 
 why you, who are born really higher up in 
 the world than Miss Bleecker and Miss Car- 
 stairs, never let me feel that I am only a 
 druggist's daughter! ' 
 
 " In Athens, they tell you Aristotle kept a 
 chemist's shop," answered Clandonald, laugh- 
 ing. " And I have always understood that 
 some of the most illustrious of the families 
 in New York's Four Hundred were founded 
 upon drugs." 
 
 "If it wasn't pills, or capsules, or hair 
 tonic, it was some other kind of merchan- 
 dise! " said Posey, viciously. "And, any- 
 how, what does it matter? There was a sen- 
 tence I copied out of a book of Maarten 
 Maartens, that Mrs. Bartley lent me, about
 
 90 LATTEK-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 there being no other way of living than either 
 on the money you have earned for yourself, 
 or on the money that other people have earned 
 for you. As long as that simple fact remains, 
 the question will also remain whether money- 
 making is so very contemptible ! ' 
 
 " Try any man living, with an honest 
 chance, and see what he'd answer," said Clan- 
 donald with a sigh. "I'd give anything I 
 own for a respectable business that would 
 bring in the cash and the knowledge of how 
 to run it, bien entendu." 
 
 11 You poor thing! " exclaimed Miss Win- 
 stanley, guilelessly. " Why weren't you born 
 in dear America'? Of course if you could go 
 stalking around in chain-armor like those 
 ancestors of yours at Beaumanoir, it wouldn't 
 seem so appropriate. But just to look at you 
 as you stand, to-day, I should judge there 
 were the makings of a fair business man in 
 you. Look here, Lord Clandonald, I don't 
 know that I was ever better pleased in my 
 life than by that idea of yours of our going 
 to lunch at Beaumanoir with Miss Carstairs. 
 I don't mind telling you I just adore that girl 
 and the combination of her company with 
 a moat and yew trees, and wall-peaches, and
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 91 
 
 the chance of seeing English rooks and Miss 
 Bleecker not ' in it,' I'll be eternally obliged." 
 
 " It seems to me the host counts for unflat- 
 teringly little," said Clandonald, somewhat 
 piqued. 
 
 " I didn't mean to have you think so," an- 
 swered she with astonishing gentleness, " I 
 was only carried away to forget my manners 
 by realizing so many dreams at once. Indeed, 
 I am glad, or shall be, to meet you again after 
 this voyage. Now, I 'm going to ask you some- 
 thing that will make you laugh, perhaps, but 
 please don't. Could you give me the address 
 of a really good place in London where I 
 could get frocks and hats, ready-to-wear, that 
 would keep me from looking like a guy? ' 
 
 Poor Clandonald winced at thought of just 
 how he had become acquainted with the best 
 faiseuses in London, whose bills he 'had paid 
 to the uttermost farthing, after the ex-Lady 
 Clandonald had ceased to be. But he could 
 not help smiling at the earnest anxiety of his 
 questioner. 
 
 " I think I might help you a little, per- 
 haps, but surely " 
 
 " Surely there ought to be some woman 
 aboard to do it? Of course you think so,
 
 92 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 but if I could tell you half I've divined, and 
 some things I've overheard from them, you'd 
 know I'd never ask one of them. Why, I 
 heard that old Vereker tabby say to the old 
 Bleecker cat, as distinctly as could be, that 
 I was a freak in clothes and a bounder in 
 manners, and she wondered the captain let 
 me go at large." 
 
 "Oh! I say." 
 
 " Perfectly true, and I had it out of her by 
 trailing her half -dead husband after me all 
 over the ship, until he hadn't a leg to stand 
 on; and I put a rose in his buttonhole under 
 her very eyes. I've been ashamed of it ever 
 since, but when a girl's got to fight her own 
 battles, what would you have ? ' 
 
 " There should be always some one glad to 
 fight for you," he said, suddenly fired by her 
 proud young beauty in distress. 
 
 They had, while speaking, walked down 
 to the dividing rail that cuts off the prome- 
 naders of the second cabin from the first- 
 class decks, and for some moments tarried 
 there, Clandonald with his back to it, Miss 
 Winstanley facing him. As the English- 
 man spoke these unpremeditated words of 
 warm sympathy, for the second time that
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 93 
 
 day there had come into the girl's artless face 
 an expression she certainly had no idea of re- 
 vealing. It caused Clandonald to pull him- 
 self up with a jerk, and stay the vague, rather 
 affectionate, words he had been on the point 
 of uttering, without, perhaps, meaning to 
 have too much importance attached to them. 
 And it was further reflected in the shining 
 green eyes of a second-class passenger in 
 shabby black, standing near by the barrier, 
 wearing a veil of black gauze with large 
 coquettish velvet dots that half concealed her 
 undulated locks of unreasonably ruddy hair! 
 
 It was not the first time the green gleam of 
 those watchful eyes had been fixed upon Clan- 
 donald and his companions. He had, in fact, 
 been under their close observation whenever 
 practicable since leaving New York harbor, 
 in the course of their owner's predatory 
 walks, as she alternately drew near and re- 
 ceded with graceful feline tread, seeming to 
 look at nothing, yet forever alert where the 
 good-looking, lazy young Englishman was 
 concerned. 
 
 The youthful steward who distends himself 
 for the public good by blowing the bugle for 
 lunch was, on this occasion, the agent of
 
 94 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 Providence to relieve a strained situation. 
 Clandonald could not, in the face of such a 
 blast, go on with his implied offer of cham- 
 pionship. The second-cabin passenger glided 
 swiftly back across her little bridge, and was 
 seen no more. Miss Winstanley, announcing 
 herself half -starved, went to her stateroom to 
 wash her hands. And his lordship, to calm his 
 feelings, partook of a certain small, specially 
 reviving, bitter-sweet draught, which his ser- 
 vant had acquired the gentle art of mixing, 
 during their sojourn in San Francisco. On 
 the way into the dining-room, he found Mariol 
 just ahead of him, amid a conger ie of stew- 
 ards hurrying to and from their pantries with 
 their arms full of crockery, and in an atmos- 
 phere tinctured with out-rushing odors of 
 cauliflower and curried rice, gave his friend 
 a word of counsel. 
 
 " I have been talking with Miss Win- 
 stanley," he said. " The truth is, Mariol, the 
 poor girl is being pecked by all these women, 
 until it hurts. You have some friendship, 
 perhaps some influence, with Miss Carstairs. 
 Persuade her to be generous, and take the 
 outsider in. It will cost her nothing, and I 'm
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 95 
 
 hanged if I understand why she's been such 
 an icicle, as it is." 
 
 " Did Miss Winstanley invite your inter- 
 cession? " asked Mariol, dodging back from 
 contact with an inclined plane of mutton 
 broth, in a tilting china plate marked with 
 the White Star's emblem, borne aloft by a 
 deeply apologetic steward. 
 
 " No. Absolutely no. She'd fight to the 
 last ditch before she'd give in to them. But 
 I have an ulterior motive. I want to ask the 
 two young women with my dear old aunt, 
 Lady Campstown, to play propriety, to come 
 down with you to Beaumanoir some day next 
 week, and if they hardly speak " 
 
 " Under these circumstances, I will engage 
 to attempt the impossible, though whether I 
 achieve it is quite another story. I, too, have 
 been at a loss to fathom Miss Carstairs' ap- 
 parent intention to ignore our pretty table- 
 mate. I had fancied her too sure of her own 
 position to care about a mere difference in 
 social status. I have found her perfectly 
 amiable. But if, by any chance, the discus- 
 sion of Miss Winstanley comes up, there is 
 an immediate stiffening of the muscles of -the 
 neck and chin, the clear eyes become veiled,
 
 96 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 and she turns the subject. I could almost 
 fancy, but that they never met before, there 
 was some personal animus between them." 
 
 " Tell her the girl is her devoted lover from 
 afar, makes her a model in all things, and 
 that we owe the agreeable modifications of 
 the fair Posey's dress and manner exclusively 
 to Miss Carstairs' example." 
 
 " That is a happy suggestion, and may ac- 
 complish good results. But did you ever 
 know a man's eulogy of a woman effect any- 
 thing with her own sex? It is generally suc- 
 cessful only in confirming the worst predis- 
 positions, and in precipitating animosity 
 where latent antipathy had sufficed. Still, 
 who could resist the exquisite flattery of such 
 imitation as our Posey's of Miss Carstairs? 
 Fix your day for Beaumanoir, my dear chap. 
 I consider our cause gained in advance." 
 
 " Do you know, Mariol," said Clandonald 
 as the two men sat down at table, where the 
 ladies had not yet arrived, " I have some- 
 times fancied that you yourself are getting 
 rather under the spell of the young lady you 
 have engaged to placate in Miss Winstanley's 
 behalf." 
 
 " Do you know, Clan, that I never before
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 97 
 
 suspected you of the imaginative gift ? Noth- 
 ing but Jonah's gourd was it Jonah, and was 
 it a gourd? that grew up and withered in a 
 night, could have had so little time allotted to 
 its natural development, as a fancy by me for 
 Miss Carstairs." 
 
 " That is no argument. I have read of 
 love affairs beginning at the Statue of Liberty 
 and culminating before the Gulf Stream was 
 crossed. There is really no better medium 
 than mid- Atlantic air for the growth of the 
 tender passion. The leisure of a good voyage 
 is like the forty years of Europe compared 
 with the cycle of Cathay." 
 
 " It seems to me that you are exculpatory." 
 
 " I wish to heaven I might be! " exclaimed 
 Clandonald, smothering his very genuine re- 
 gret with a forkful of the roast beef of old 
 England pastured upon Western plains. 
 
 The talk that morning with Posey Win- 
 stanley had awakened in him certain emotions 
 of a simple elementary sort that, in spite of 
 him, still twanged upon his heart-strings, 
 pleasingly. He had, however, been by no 
 means prepared for that upward glance of 
 her childlike orbs when he had offered her 
 his sympathy. While the normal vanity of
 
 98 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 the male creature thrilled in quickened in- 
 terest in response to it, his judgment, his 
 sense of responsibility, nay, of honor, called 
 upon him loudly to let the thing go no fur- 
 ther. A patent and audacious coquette on 
 the surface, she was at heart a child who had 
 as yet tasted no reality of sentiment for one 
 of the dominant sex, and to whom such reality 
 would inevitably come with extraordinary 
 force. 
 
 The whimsicality of her having selected 
 him a battered plaything of the Fates, who 
 did not want her, who could not indulge in 
 her for the object of a dawning first pas- 
 sion, struck him hard. He resolved to keep 
 out of her way, and considered how he could 
 have his meals elsewhere, or take to his bed 
 for the remainder of the voyage. The pro- 
 jected luncheon at Beaumanoir should be car- 
 ried out, and that done, he would have ac- 
 quitted himself, en galant homme, of all that 
 could be reasonably expected of a travelling 
 Briton toward visiting Americans who had 
 contributed to cheer his voyage across the 
 Atlantic. 
 
 To begin the new order of things, he let 
 himself be absorbed in conversation by Miss
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 99 
 
 Bleecker, his pet aversion, who leaning over 
 the table, her ample bosom begarlanded with 
 chains and cords, each one sustaining some 
 necessary implement for the aid of vision, 
 far or near, and all of them entangled, was 
 in her best spirits. She, Lady Channel Fleet, 
 and Mrs. Vereker, had been in their deck 
 chairs since broth and biscuits to the pres- 
 ent moment, discussing the American women 
 who had married into the British nobility. 
 The three ancient heads cowled in veils and 
 furry hoods for the air off the Banks had 
 had in it a tang of ice had bobbed together 
 during this time with a vivacity of movement 
 suggesting the cinematograph. 
 
 Mrs. Vereker 's sciatic leg, which it was 
 the mission of her good-looking footman to 
 keep enwrapped with rugs, when he could 
 forego flirting with the ladies' maids, had 
 been frequently exposed to the biting wind, 
 and yet she did not notice it. Lady Channel 
 Fleet, who, with her husband and a maid, had 
 been doing America economically in some- 
 body's private car, at somebody's expense, 
 wisely kept quiet ; since, if she shivered, there 
 was no James to wrap her up. Miss Bleecker, 
 more serene, indeed, than Buddha, in her po-
 
 100 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 sition between a British matron of title and 
 one of New York's leaders, did not feel the 
 cold. Except in a parterre box at the opera 
 (with the best people), she had no greater 
 idea of happiness than such surroundings; 
 with a long, uninterrupted morning in which 
 to rehash old stories and acquire new ones 
 concerning the ladies under discussion, whom 
 she secretly considered the elect of earth. 
 
 Lady Channel Fleet, conscious of having 
 had more honors paid to her in America than 
 in the whole course of her undistinguished 
 life at home, was proportionately inclined to 
 be critical of Americans, now she had come 
 away. Her strictures upon their extrava- 
 gance in living, which she had enjoyed to the 
 top of her bent, the largeness of their houses 
 and the smallness of their grounds, their 
 ridiculous way of running after strangers, and 
 the extraordinary interchange of matrimonial 
 partners among people one knew and visited, 
 were interspersed with various bits of gossip 
 she had been able to pick up in England con- 
 cerning American peeresses who had not re- 
 ceived her at their houses and were, indeed, 
 unconscious of her existence. 
 
 It had been rather a bitter pill for Mrs.
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 101 
 
 Vereker, who was hand-in-glove with all these 
 fine people both in England and New York, 
 to have to listen politely to Lady Channel 
 Fleet. But, then, Mrs. Vereker had already 
 stood so much in the line of incivility from 
 the British dames of high place upon whom 
 she had lavished courtesy during their so- 
 journ in the land of the free, that she was a 
 little hardened. She knew that on arrival 
 out, she would go from Claridge's to stop at 
 country houses where Lady Channel Fleet's 
 star would never even faintly rise. She was 
 secure in being able to buy herself a good 
 time and the best of everything wherever she 
 might go, and felt, on the whole, content. Miss 
 Bleecker, on the contrary, who had no such 
 solid foundations as her friend, felt in listen- 
 ing to Lady Channel Fleet as acutely pained 
 as if she were reading one of Mr. Benson's 
 or Mr. Hichens' novels, wherein modern 
 Americans of good society are made to say 
 " Popper ' and " real nice." She could 
 hardly imagine how her nation could arise to 
 ignoring these dreadful accusations. 
 
 But when Lady Channel Fleet had inci- 
 dentally let fall that she always presumed 
 Miss Bleecker, from her speech and manner,
 
 102 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 to be an Englishwoman born, Miss Bleecker 
 had forgiven all. She redoubled her powers 
 of entertainingness, brought out a few newer, 
 racier anecdotes of persons known to all of 
 them, and the luncheon bugle had caught the 
 gossips unawares, making them feel the morn- 
 ing quite too short. 
 
 " I suppose we shall see you at Mr. Vere- 
 ker's little supper this evening, Lord Clan- 
 donald? " said the chaperon, suavely. " One 
 knows what to expect in the way of private 
 dainties, when Mr. Vereker entertains game, 
 wines, pates, caviare put up for him on the 
 Volga, flowers, grapes and melons from his 
 own glass houses, and such turtle soup as only 
 the Vereker chef can send aboard. And to 
 think the poor man has to sit at the head of 
 the table, drinking milk and swallowing little 
 tablets out of his waistcoat pocket, looking 
 gray as a ghost, and thin as a rail, not able 
 to touch a thing of all his delicious spread! ' 
 
 " Mr. Vereker has been so good as to in- 
 clude me," answered Clandonald. 
 
 " I believe most of those at our table are 
 expected," the lady went on, in a hardly low- 
 ered voice, " with, of course, one or two ex- 
 ceptions. When Mr. Vereker crosses alone 
 they say his parties are apt to be a little
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 103 
 
 mixed. But with his wife aboard she is so 
 thoroughly exclusive, one need never fear." 
 
 What might have been omitted from the 
 words, was accentuated by a manner of con- 
 tempt whose objects there was no mistaking. 
 Mr. Winstanley as usual appeared not to be 
 listening to the passing chat; but his daugh- 
 ter lost not a syllable or look; Helen Car- 
 stairs, also, fully appreciated the situation. 
 While Posey, with rare self-control, kept her 
 own counsel and remained silent, Miss Car- 
 stairs, flushing faintly, spoke so that all pres- 
 ent could hear her. 
 
 " I'm afraid I'm one of those who fail to 
 appreciate the honor of Mr. Vereker's invita- 
 tions, ashore or afloat. Who was it who said 
 to be left out by him was a greater compli- 
 ment than to be placed at his right hand ? ' 
 
 " Helen, I'm surprised to hear you talk 
 such nonsense," began her chaperon briskly, 
 but was interrupted by Posey Winstanley, 
 who with a grateful glance at Helen, spoke 
 in tones as quiet and measured as her own. 
 
 " Then I am certainly past getting the 
 benefit of Miss Carstairs' hint, Miss Bleecker, 
 since Mr. Vereker asked me first, before see- 
 ing if he could get the others ; and I was rash 
 enough to accept."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 MB. VEREKEB'S little supper proved all that 
 Miss Bleecker had claimed for it in the mat- 
 ter of exotic luxury. American beauty roses, 
 as fresh as if they had bloomed that morning, 
 decked the centre of the board, and a corsage 
 bouquet of royal purple violets lay beside 
 each lady's plate. The unpleasantly pallid 
 host, with skin drawn like parchment over 
 his lean jaws, his hair and mustache unnat- 
 urally black, sat at one end, and (to the dis- 
 may of Miss Bleecker, who had been made 
 to fit in at the side) Miss Posey Winstanley 
 upon his left, opposite my Lady Channel 
 Fleet in a rumpled cotton blouse, still wear- 
 ing the turquoise earrings, with the addition 
 of a turquoise chain to hold her eyeglasses. 
 
 Posey, in severely plain white voile, with a 
 picture hat and white feathers framing the 
 waves of her splendid hair, thanked her stars 
 that she had had Helen Carstairs' example 
 in dress long enough to profit by it for this 
 occasion. She saw in half a glance that her
 
 LATTEK-DAY SWEETHEARTS 105 
 
 frock, the result of the best skill of the .dress- 
 maker at Alison's Cross Roads, who called 
 her by name in fitting her, could not vie with 
 the dove-colored confection with its all-over 
 embroideries that sat so easily upon Helen's 
 erect form. But she knew that it was unob- 
 trusive, and the little slip of mirror above her 
 washing-stand had told she was at her best. 
 
 It had been an ordeal that of dressing while 
 her cross room-mate, who made a virtue of 
 what she called " retiring " early, continued 
 at intervals to extend her head like a turtle's 
 from its shell, and inquire whether Miss 
 Winstanley would be very much longer! 
 Posey was fain to go outside and have the 
 finishing touches put to her toilette by the 
 stewardess, Mrs. Gasher, the bib of whose 
 white apron covered sympathetic interest, 
 since she knew about the supper, and that the 
 ladies to be present were dead set against the 
 beauty of the ship. When she had stuck 
 the last pin, Mrs. Gasher maternally in- 
 formed Miss Winstanley that she looked 
 pretty enough to beat the Jews, and would 
 find her 'ot water covered with a towel when 
 she came in again to go to bed; and if she
 
 106 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 couldn't get undone herself, never to mind 
 ringing up Mrs. Gasher. 
 
 Under this cheerful inspiration, Posey had 
 marched into the saloon to find the others all 
 in place, an empty chair kept for her at the 
 host's left. 
 
 She had been hoping to be next Clandon- 
 ald for no reason but that she wanted it. 
 Instead, she had but a cold glance from him 
 across the table, at which she quailed because 
 she thought she read in it displeasure. And 
 immediately he turned back to his conversa- 
 tion with Prince Zourikoff about Silver or 
 Trusts, or Labor, or some of those tiresome 
 things, and looked at her no more. The only 
 consolation for this awful blow was that 
 Helen, sitting between Mariol and Bobby 
 Yane, had smiled at her kindly when she 
 came in late. 
 
 Miss Bleecker, beside the Graf von Bau, 
 who occupied the seat to the left of Mrs. 
 Vereker, decided that the world was out of 
 joint. Lord Channel Fleet, at the right of 
 his hostess, looked tired, and when Miss 
 Bleecker effusively addressed him upon topics 
 of contemporaneous interest in London, gave 
 her but scant answers. Graf von Bau, after
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 107 
 
 he had exhausted civilities with the lady of 
 the feast, had but eyes and ears for the spot 
 where Posey had already begun to outdo her- 
 self in characteristic nonsense. 
 
 " That girl! " said Miss Bleecker, between 
 her teeth, to Mr. Charley Brownlow, a seri- 
 ous-faced, clean-shaven New York clubman 
 of whom the utmost his friends and enemies 
 could find to say was that he was " always 
 everywhere!" "It is not enough to defy 
 poor dear Mrs. Vereker, who flatly said she 
 should not be asked, but to make herself so 
 conspicuous. See, every man at table, except 
 you " 
 
 " I don't know her, don't you know? 
 Never met her anywhere," interposed Mr. 
 Brownlow gravely. 
 
 " Of course you didn't as I was saying, 
 every man at table but you, and, I'm glad to 
 see, Lord Clandonald, can look at nothing 
 else. I suppose she went too far with Clan- 
 donald, and he wants to put her back in her 
 place. Everybody understands old Vereker 's 
 rage for a pretty face, though I, for one, can 
 never see good looks in a common person. 
 It's scandalous the way she's going on to- 
 night. Mr. Vereker 's trying to make her
 
 108 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 take champagne, and she pretending she never 
 drinks it ! Poor Lady Channel Fleet, what a 
 trial to sit opposite her ! Now, we shall have 
 a fresh batch of stories circulated in London 
 about the way American girls act; and the 
 worst of it is you can never get the English 
 to see the difference between people of our 
 stamp, and hers. Why, I don't believe Lord 
 Channel Fleet and Clandonald take in, at 
 this minute, the enormous distance between 
 my Helen and that impossible young person. 
 What's that they're laughing at? Some- 
 thing saucy she is saying to Lady Channel 
 Fleet, I'll wager." 
 
 " What do we do for chaperons, at home, 
 Lady Channel Fleet? " Miss Winstanley was 
 remarking, her head well in the air, and the 
 spirit of mischief securely seated in her eyes. 
 " Well, we don't need 'em greatly at Alison's 
 Cross Roads, where I live; but if there's a 
 party at the other end of town, your best 
 young man generally calls for you in a hack. 
 And when he brings you home again, about 
 three or four in the morning, you give him 
 your latch-key to open the front door, and if 
 you're not tall enough, you get him to turn 
 out the gas in the vestibule before he goes."
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 109 
 
 " Good Heavens! " ejaculated Lady Chan- 
 nel Fleet, growing purple. 
 
 " Why not, I'd like to know? " exclaimed 
 Posey, sturdily. " We consider it awfully 
 swell to be taken that way, and the fellows 
 that can't afford a hack generally bunch to- 
 gether with the girls and all go in the tram; 
 and it's lots of fun, I tell you. Just bully! ' 
 
 Mrs. Vereker exchanged glances of mute 
 despair with Miss Bleecker and Mr. Brown- 
 low. The others laughed frankly, Clandon- 
 ald, only, remaining smileless, and Helen 
 Carstairs coloring with a futile desire to ar- 
 rest Miss Winstanley's progress in confi- 
 dences. 
 
 As well attempt to stay Niagara! A de- 
 mon of recklessness had possessed himself of 
 John Glynn's promised bride, and poor Posey 
 went from bad to worse, talking continu- 
 ously, her cheeks flushed to the color of the 
 American beauties lavished upon the table, 
 her eyes glittering defiance; while old Vere- 
 ker, who had desired nothing better, ap- 
 plauded her every utterance, and urged her 
 to further daring. 
 
 " She should stop now," whispered Mariol
 
 110 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 to Miss Carstairs, who was looking very 
 grave. 
 
 " Oh, indeed I think so," answered Helen 
 earnestly. 
 
 " For her own sake, if there is no one else 
 whose interests are to be guarded." 
 
 Helen started perceptibly. No one else 
 whose interests were to be guarded? What 
 of John Glynn, and where was the friend- 
 ship Helen had promised to keep for him in 
 lieu of the love she had withdrawn? Im- 
 pulsively, she leaned forward, caught Posey 
 Winstanley's eye, and into her own beseech- 
 ing, all-womanly gaze threw an appeal not 
 to be resisted. 
 
 Clandonald, who had begun to be sicken- 
 ingly annoyed by the scene, and as far as pos- 
 sible avoided looking directly at the heroine 
 of the hour, happened to note this little epi- 
 sode. Remembering what Posey had told 
 him of Helen's influence over her imagina- 
 tion, he was touched but not surprised at the 
 younger girl's response. Posey, blushing 
 hotly, drooped her eyes, and in an instant, 
 as if with a garment cast aside, had parted 
 with her aggressive gaiety. During the re- 
 mainder of the meal she sat dull and spirit-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 111 
 
 less, and at its close, when she had promised 
 to sing one song for them, tried to get out of 
 it and leave the party. 
 
 There was a general outcry of remon- 
 strance. Bobby Vane, coming around to lead 
 her to the piano, whispered to her to do her 
 best and silence the tabby chorus. When she 
 finally yielded, and sat down, expectation ran 
 high among Mr. Vereker's faction that the 
 girl would give them something audacious to 
 be remembered. 
 
 It was but a " Mammy ' chant, she 
 breathed, rather than sang, in a voix d'or 
 that softened all hearts within hearing; and 
 before they could applaud it she struck 
 firmer chords, and began Lockhart's Span- 
 ish ballad: 
 
 " Rise up, rise up, Xarifa, 
 And lay your golden cushion down." 
 
 The song and its setting were unfamiliar 
 to most of those present. While it lasted, 
 they forgot the grinding of mighty screws 
 that bore the ship ever forward, they heard 
 not the wash of ocean coming through the 
 open ports. They were in ancient days of 
 warlike Spain, and all their sympathy was
 
 112 LATTEK-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 for the lovely Moorish lady forsaken by false 
 Abdallah. Everybody within hearing was 
 drawn irresistibly to listen in ravished silence. 
 And when for the last time the hapless Xarif a 
 refused to come to the window and " gaze with 
 all the town " at her recreant lover riding by 
 in state, the honors of the evening were clearly 
 for Posey Winstanley. At that moment, all 
 but a few of the audience were prepared to 
 be led or used by her, as one feels when Calve 
 softens to sing a folk-song of her native land. 
 
 Amid the patter of applause Miss Win- 
 stanley abruptly arose from the piano, and 
 said she was going out to get a breath of air. 
 There were protestations, but only the host, 
 who looked at her with bleared, enraptured 
 eyes, ventured to ask her to sing again. Then, 
 Mr. Vereker finding his proposition for Lillian 
 Eussell's latest success unheeded, allowed the 
 departure of his star, rejecting all offers of 
 companionship, to be the signal for breaking 
 up the affair. 
 
 Everybody scattered, the men to the smok- 
 ing-room, the ladies to their cabins. Helen 
 Carstairs, with her maid in attendance, came 
 back almost immediately, and stood for a mo- 
 ment hesitating in the companion-way of the
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 113 
 
 deck where she had last seen Posey. Here she 
 encountered Clandonald, who, like herself, 
 seemed to be at a loss. 
 
 " I am undertaking a formidable task," she 
 said. " To look for a missing person in this 
 ship ; but have you chanced to see Miss Win- 
 stanley anywhere? ' 
 
 She saw that his face was clouded, his calm 
 ruffled. 
 
 11 I myself have been on the same search," 
 he said, brusquely. " But we may as well 
 spare our pains. The young lady in question 
 appears to be at present under charge of Mr. 
 Vereker. ' ' 
 
 Helen had but time to let her face show the 
 annoyance of her feelings, when out of the 
 clear obscure of the deck beyond, against a 
 background of sky ' ' patined with such bright 
 stars " as never Shakespeare saw, came to 
 them a flying figure. It was Posey, flushed 
 with angry blood, and after her limped their 
 host of the evening, his spectral face wreathed 
 in apologetic smiles. 
 
 " Oh! please, Miss Carstairs, may I stay 
 with you? " exclaimed the girl with quiver- 
 ing lips, in her agitation putting herself be- 
 tween Helen and Clandonald, who involun-
 
 114 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 tarily interposed his stalwart form so that 
 none else could approach her. " I didn't 
 realize how late it was when I went out to be 
 by myself in the fresh air." 
 
 " Miss Winstanley is just a leetle nervous 
 after her triumphs of to-night," began Mr. 
 Vereker, who had come up with them 
 smoothly, but ill at ease. 
 
 " I am not nervous. I never was in my 
 life," cried the girl, stamping her foot. " It 
 is because because " 
 
 She ended in a burst of passionate tears. 
 
 " Let me go with you to your room," said 
 Helen, gently. " I had wanted to ask you 
 for a little walk, but it is late now, and the 
 deck people are for putting us all to bed." 
 
 " High-strung little filly, and green; green 
 as grass," observed Mr. Vereker to Clan- 
 donald, as Miss Carstairs disappeared, lead- 
 ing Posey down the corridor. " If you're up 
 to a little poker in the smoking-room, I can 
 tell you a thing or two about our bewitching 
 girl from Dixieland that will amuse you 
 greatly." 
 
 " You will excuse me," answered Clan- 
 donald, with lightning in his gaze. Mariol, 
 passing in at the moment, saw Vereker shrivel
 
 LATTEK-DAY SWEETHEARTS 115 
 
 under it and disappear. Clandonald gave his 
 friend a clue to the situation. 
 
 " If you had followed your impulse and 
 punched the old sinner's head," commented 
 Mariol, " it might have been a poor return 
 for his hospitality, but a mighty relief to 
 you. However, we can safely leave him to 
 the gods for punishment. He will probably 
 go under to-morrow, with one of his attacks, 
 because he drank champagne for supper. I 
 understand that a trained nurse for him 
 makes part of the Verekers' travelling suite. 
 He will become a horrid elderly infant in her 
 hands. I am glad Miss Carstairs came to the 
 relief. I hope you noticed that fine move- 
 ment of hers to check the exuberance of the 
 younger girl ? I had no time to put your sug- 
 gestion to enlist her into effect before the 
 thing occurred. And now " 
 
 " Now, I think we may count upon our 
 day all together at Beaumanoir. But till 
 then, and after it, Mariol, I mean to keep 
 my distance from Miss Winstanley." 
 
 "The trouble was that you began doing it 
 too suddenly. From the moment she caught 
 sight of your glum countenance at supper 
 the sparkle went out of things for her. But,
 
 116 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 bon Dieu, what a gift she has, that untrained 
 creature! Somebody ought to take charge 
 of her musical education, and in a few years 
 she would witch the world." 
 
 " There is something better for a pure, 
 straightforward being like that to do than 
 to witch the world behind footlights," said 
 Clandonald doggedly. " I can't think of it 
 for her." 
 
 " My advice to you is to get off at Queens- 
 town," answered Mariol as they separated 
 for the night. 
 
 " You are not sleepy? That's good, for 
 I'm not, either, and I'll just send away Eu- 
 lalie, and we'll go into my room and talk." 
 
 Posey's heart lightened with pleasure as 
 she followed Miss Carstairs inside the pretty 
 bower Eulalie's skill had contrived from her 
 young lady 's belongings for the voyage. What 
 a contrast to the half of a dull inside cabin 
 which Mr. Winstanley, in his simplicity, had 
 accepted for Posey from the agent of whom 
 he had purchased places; with the spinster 
 room-mate humped under the bedclothes on 
 the sofa; her clothes and hats hanging over- 
 head distractedly; their steamer trunks and
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 117 
 
 bags encumbering the narrow space between 
 hers and Posey's berths 1 
 
 Here were unimagined comforts, order, 
 nicety, a little brass bed with flowery cur- 
 tains, softest pillows and duvets, a bath room 
 opening out, with porcelain tub; an equip- 
 ment for the toilet that astounded Posey, till 
 then content with her little cotton night-gown 
 trimmed with tatting, her kimono of cheap 
 blue flannel bought ready-made, her one brush 
 and comb, and tooth-brush, and bottle of So- 
 zodont, her knitted slippers, and the steamer- 
 pocket of blue denim with the motto " Bon 
 voyage," presented to her on leaving Alison's 
 Cross Roads by her friend the dressmaker! 
 But she showed no more surprise than an In- 
 dian does on his first visit to the glories of 
 the White Father at Washington. Truth to 
 tell, she had already arrived at the stage of 
 development where things tangible have be- 
 come of secondary importance to feelings 
 and emotions. She had passed, that evening, 
 through so many varying phases of mental 
 experience, that Helen Carstairs' new kind- 
 ness seemed the opening of the gate of 
 Heaven. 
 
 " Now if you feel like it, and think it will
 
 118 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 do you good," said Helen, installing her in a 
 cushioned chair of Madeira wicker-work, and, 
 herself, perching school-girl fashion on the 
 settee, " you must tell me what troubled you, 
 though I think I can guess." 
 
 " He tried to kiss me, that hateful old 
 mummy that I've done nothing but make fun 
 of on the voyage," cried the girl, fiery blushes 
 streaming into her face. " If he hadn't said 
 such fool-words when he did it, I might have 
 thought he was just like old Grandfather 
 Billings of our town, that always dodders 
 along in the sunshine and kisses the girls 
 when they stop to speak to him, thinking 
 they're their own grandmothers. But even 
 Grandfather Billings has never kissed me. I 
 hate it, and never would put up with it from 
 a living soul, so when old Vereker tried it on, 
 I boxed his ears, and boxed to hurt, too, and 
 then I ran away. What business had he fol- 
 lowing me out on deck, anyway, when I'd 
 said I wanted to be by myself? If daddy 
 knew but he shan't know, he's too good to 
 trouble, and I reckon I can take care of my- 
 self." 
 
 She ended bravely, but one glance into
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 119 
 
 Helen's grave, kind face sent her again into 
 tears. 
 
 " Oh! Miss Carstairs, don't mind me. Let 
 me be a little while, and I'll promise not to 
 bother you again. After you looked at me 
 that time at supper, I seemed to shrink up 
 into such a poor pretending creature. I saw 
 in a flash how cheaply I'd been * showing off.' 
 It was mostly to make those people that looked 
 down on me sit up on their hind legs, anyway ! 
 I felt common and half-bred beside you, whom 
 I'd been trying so hard to imitate since we 
 came aboard. I do want to be a lady, your 
 kind, I do, I do. Not only for my own sake, 
 and my mother's, who was a real one, but be- 
 cause if you only knew " 
 
 " I am ready to know," said Helen, after a 
 pause, her voice, in spite of her, curiously flat- 
 tened. 
 
 " I am engaged to marry a man, to whom 
 it will mean everything that I shall be, let me 
 say, all you are. And there's a great reason 
 why I should try to please him in those things. 
 How strange that I should want to tell you 
 such an intimate secret, out of my very heart ! 
 But there is no other woman I can talk to,
 
 120 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 and that look you gave me seemed to open 
 every door within me! " 
 
 " I will help you if I can," Helen breathed, 
 rather than spoke. Her spirit, wrestling with 
 the certainty that crushed it, was yet ready 
 to rise to generosity. Was it not what she 
 had bid John Glynn do in the moment of his 
 acutest suffering? Find a younger, fresher, 
 more trustful life-partner than herself, and 
 put swiftly out of mind their disastrous ven- 
 ture together that could not end in happi- 
 ness ! What right had she to be feeling these 
 fierce heart-beats of rebellion against the 
 child's superior claim upon him, these des- 
 perate yearnings to have him back again? 
 
 " I am ashamed to let you know what will 
 make you think even less of me than you do. 
 When I promised myself to John Glynn 
 there I've told you his name, but it doesn't 
 matter I did so because I thought it would 
 make my dear daddy, who was in some sort his 
 guardian and his father's best friend hap- 
 pier than anything in the world. Also, I was 
 flattered that he should ask me. Down at 
 Alison's, where John lived as a boy, they 
 think he has taken the head of his firm into 
 business with him, and that all New York
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 121 
 
 looks on admiringly. He's about the greatest 
 hero we have after Lee and Davis. He's a 
 splendid man, Miss Carstairs, perhaps you 
 have heard of him? I remember now, daddy 
 said Mr. Carstairs had spoken well of John. 
 When that Lady Channel Fleet had the cheek 
 to say at supper, she considered the Ameri- 
 can men, as a rule, inferior to their women, 
 and decidedly so to Englishmen, I could have 
 flown at her, and asked her to wait till she'd 
 seen John." 
 
 Helen, conscious that something of the 
 same mental protest had formulated itself in 
 her during the same period of provocation, 
 could not forbear a smile. Fortunately, Miss 
 Winstanley, being fairly launched upon her 
 -confidence, did not pause for answer or com- 
 ment. 
 
 " You will see, then, that I do honestly 
 mean to be what I ought, to John that I 
 have no other wish or fancy and yet there 
 is another influence that's come without my 
 seeking one that could not bring me happi- 
 ness. It frightens me to think of it. I don't 
 know what to do, where to turn. Think of 
 putting the thing of a day and hour against 
 the other, the safe one, the true one! Yes,
 
 122 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 it frightens me. Miss Carstairs, you are older 
 and wiser than I, tell me what I shall do to 
 conquer it? ' 
 
 All the voices in Helen's heart sang in 
 chorus, in answer to this simple and pathetic 
 appeal. The voice of joy, the voice of tempta- 
 tion were louder for awhile than the others, 
 but she dared not let them prevail. She had 
 never been a demonstrative person, and the 
 touching of strangers, under no matter what 
 stress of sympathy, was an impossibility to 
 her. She did not. therefore, " lock Posey in 
 a warm embrace " and " kiss her upon the 
 virgin brow," bidding her be of good cheer, 
 as all would yet be well between John Glynn 
 and herself. But she told her, calmly and 
 dispassionately, that 'it is probable no girl 
 ever grew up to womanhood to escape some 
 errant fancy for a man whom she afterwards 
 thanked God she had not been allowed by 
 Destiny or her parents to marry. She coun- 
 selled her to indulge in no dreams or reveries 
 or self -questionings about the matter, but to 
 keep to the pledge she had made, and give all 
 her energies to the task of making a good 
 man happy. 
 
 Posey brightened wonderfully during Miss
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 123 
 
 Carstairs' little lecture. As she ran off to 
 bed, it was with the joyful step of a freed 
 school-girl and the feeling that she was not 
 altogether steeped in wickedness. Half-way 
 down the corridor, she turned, ran back, and 
 ventured to knock again at Miss Carstairs' 
 door. Her errand was the very feminine one 
 of asking Helen to be so good as to undo " two 
 wretched hooks " in the region of her shoul- 
 der-blades; a service she knew Mrs. Gasher 
 would never at that late hour be awake to 
 perform for her. When Miss Carstairs 
 opened the door, standing in the aperture in 
 some surprise to know what was wanted, 
 Posey felt sorry and puzzled to see that her 
 new friend's eyes were filled with tears. 
 
 As Miss Winstanley, finally relieved from 
 the apprehension of having to spend the night 
 in a cuirass of white voile with many little 
 pipings of satin and a good deal of scratchy 
 net, crept in like a thief at her own cabin- 
 door, her room-mate roused up and groaned 
 dismally. 
 
 " Seems to me I'm to have not a wink of 
 sleep to-night. Just as I'd settled down for 
 my first nap, there came a stupid steward 
 with a note for you. I told him to put it in
 
 124 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 your berth and go out as quick as he could, 
 and since then I haven't closed my eyes." 
 
 " Thank you. I'm sorry you are not rest- 
 ing well," said Posey, still under the influ- 
 ence of her recent gentle mood. " Is it any- 
 thing you've eaten, do you think? ' 
 
 " Eaten? I never eat at sea," sniffed the 
 sufferer. " It's my nerves, as usual, and 
 since you've roused me up completely, I'll 
 thank you to mix me another trional powder, 
 and not to turn up the light. While you're 
 about it, you may's well step outside and get 
 my rug off the rail, and put it over my poor 
 feet. Blocks of ice they are, cold feet are con- 
 stitutional in our family. Humph! Single 
 fold, not double, I don't want to smother. I 
 should think your father 'd know better than to 
 let a girl like you go traipsing around a ship 
 alone at this hour of the night. Perhaps, if 
 you'd heard what I did, since I've been lying 
 here trying to count sheep and say the ten 
 table, you'd haul in your horns a bit, and not 
 think yourself such a museum wonder. The 
 people in the next room were talking about 
 you, and I heard the man say as plain as 
 anything: * If I wanted my daughter to keep 
 her good name, I 'd not let her go out on deck
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 125 
 
 at night with that gay old bird, Tom Vere- 
 ker. ' And the woman answered : ' Some peo- 
 ple 's heads are so turned with vanity and fine 
 company, they don't take ordinary care. It's 
 the talk of all the decks how she's laying her- 
 self out to catch that disreputable lord, and 
 he and his French friend calling her " dead 
 easy sport," in the smoking-room.' 
 
 " Did any one say that such words had 
 been actually used about me by either of those 
 gentlemen ? ' asked Posey, stopping short, 
 her eyes blazing in the dark. 
 
 " How do I know all that's said, lying here 
 a wretched victim of nerves, and nobody car- 
 ing if I live or die ? ' 
 
 " I ask you, only, was it stated that either 
 of those gentlemen said anything approach- 
 ing to those words of me? ' 
 
 " For goodness' sake, speak lower, Miss 
 Winstanley, you'll be overheard. Some peo- 
 ple have no consideration for others, espe- 
 cially girls at night, when people are trying 
 to fall asleep. If there's a race I consider 
 utterly heartless, it is girls." 
 
 " I am not going to let you sleep or rest," 
 went on the avenger, calmly taking off her
 
 126 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 hat, " till you answer my question in plain 
 words yes or no." 
 
 " N-o-o. I don't know that it was actually 
 said, but the lady inferred that Lord Clan- 
 donald and his friend couldn't think any- 
 thing else, if you continued to give yourself 
 away, as you've been doing." 
 
 "Very well! I understand. And, since 
 we are due at Queenstown day after to-mor- 
 row, I shall ask you to oblige me by not ad- 
 dressing to ine a syllable, good, bad or indif- 
 ferent, so long as I have the misfortune to 
 remain your room-mate. If we collide with 
 something, and go down, don't even inquire 
 of me where the life-preservers are. And 
 now, since I want to read my note, I mean to 
 turn on the electricity and do so comfortably, 
 and you may wake or sleep, or go on invent- 
 ing spiteful fables, whichever you prefer. 
 From this moment, I am done with you." 
 
 Certainly, Posey knew how to take care of 
 herself. But there was always a swift follow- 
 ing of regret and penitence when she had let 
 her clever tongue loose upon an opponent, 
 and while the subdued spinster sobbed under 
 her bedclothes, the girl rather miserably 
 opened one of the ship's envelopes, to find,
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 127 
 
 written upon a slip of paper, in an angular 
 and illegible, but educated, woman's hand these 
 words : 
 
 " Wlien next you invite a certain friend of 
 yours to supply you with frocks and hats, take 
 care that it is not within hearing of one who 
 
 is well acquainted with Lord C 's limited 
 
 generosity to the reigning fancy of the hour. 
 Better fix your hopes upon the older and 
 more solvent of your swains. It will pay 
 well, and be a less dangerous game for you." 
 
 As the insult burned upon the girl's under- 
 standing, it seemed to her that the world must 
 stop revolving then and there. It was her 
 first experience of the poison of anonymous 
 correspondence, that, in an instant, ran 
 through her veins, paralyzing her with shame 
 and hum illation. How could she face day- 
 light and the society of honest folk, with a 
 stain of such suspicion upon her ? What had 
 she brought upon her honored father, upon 
 her trustful lover, by exposing herself to such 
 an imputation? Would Helen Carstairs ever 
 speak to her again, if she knew what had been 
 thought and said of Posey Winstanley ? 
 
 She turned out the light, and cast herself 
 upon her berth. Now, over the tumult of her
 
 128 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 self-flagellations, arose the actual sound of a 
 mighty wind arising to bear down upon the 
 ship. It had come up suddenly, their room 
 was upon the weather-side, and, in her al- 
 ready nervous state, the sounds seemed the 
 shrieking of all the demons chained in hell. 
 While the spinster, now avenged, snored 
 peacefully through the tumult of elements out- 
 side, Posey lay wide-eyed, trembling, imagin- 
 ing all horrors of the sea, and praying for the 
 comfort of Mrs. Gasher's friendly voice. 
 
 " If we are to be lost," passed through her 
 mind, despairingly, " everything will be for- 
 gotten that has been said of me, and it is bet- 
 ter so." She longed to go to her father, but 
 dared not, considering his distance from her, 
 and the unpleasant fact that he shared a state- 
 room with two other men. The silence of the 
 ship seemed as unnatural as the failure of 
 increase in its motion. The curtain drawn 
 over their doorway swayed ever so slightly 
 back and forth, there was no creaking of tim- 
 bers or crash of crockery, or rolling of small 
 objects upon the floor. A glass of water left 
 on the washhand-stand was not disturbed in its 
 equilibrium. Surely this was strange, weird,
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 129 
 
 unnatural, with such a tempest raging on the 
 sea! 
 
 Now Posey decided that, on the whole, she 
 did not wish to die. Driven by panic, she 
 arose, still dressed as she had been for the 
 supper, and stole out down the long, empty 
 passage-ways upon a tour of investigation, 
 to encounter no living soul save a sleepy 
 night-steward standing under a light, to con 
 an ancient newspaper. 
 
 The man looked up sleepily as the un- 
 wonted apparition drew near him. He recog- 
 nized the beauty, and from her pallor and 
 agitation decided she must be ill. 
 
 " Anything I can do for you, miss? " he 
 asked politely. 
 
 " Oh! no. Nothing whatever," answered 
 Posey hurriedly. " I was only not sleeping 
 well, and feeling a little nervous in the 
 storm." 
 
 " Storm, miss? " queried the steward ab- 
 stractedly, swallowing a yawn. 
 
 " Yes, a fearful one. On our side, it blows 
 like mad. Surely you must hear it? ' 
 
 With the ghost of a smile hovering upon his 
 face, the man walked over and gave a look out 
 into the night.
 
 130 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 " It might be half a gale," he said dubi- 
 ously. " But you see, miss, in these ships we 
 sort o' get out o' the way of knowing what is 
 going on outside! ' 
 
 Half a gale! Posey's inclination to resent 
 the belittling statement went back to bed with 
 her, but presently her sense of humor got the 
 better of the other poignant emotions, and she 
 laughed at her own alarms, of which the in- 
 terruption had, on the whole, proved a whole- 
 some one ; and at last, completely wearied out, 
 fell into deep sleep, amid the continued howl- 
 ing of the harmless wind. 
 
 The gay voyage that had begun so buoy- 
 antly passed, at the finish, beneath the shadow 
 of a cloud. The first sight of land gave but a 
 sorry welcome to the new-comers, as it im- 
 mediately disappeared under a dense curtain 
 of fog. The ship crept up the Irish coast to 
 the melancholy tooting of the siren, answered 
 by other craft, from ocean liners to humble 
 trawlers, made Queenstown toward morning 
 in an interval of clear weather, and, relapsing 
 into the embrace of fog, came next evening 
 finally to anchor for the night at some dis- 
 tance from Liverpool to await a safer oppor-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 131 
 
 tunity of docking the monster, and letting her 
 passengers ashore. During the dolorous 
 hours preceding their final parting the dis- 
 appointed passengers, before so friendly, 
 smiling, intimate, seemed to draw away from 
 each other, darkling and afraid. Smiles, 
 jokes, good stories, civil speeches and compli- 
 ments had been apparently packed up with 
 sea rugs and steamer chairs. The decks, drip- 
 ping and cheerless, offered no attraction to 
 promenaders, the library was filled to op- 
 pression with forms bending listlessly over 
 books that could not hold attention. Every 
 desk held diligent scribblers, glaring suspi- 
 ciously at each other through the top of the 
 separating screen, their places awaited by 
 more would-be correspondents impatient of 
 delay. In the companion-ways, subdued peo- 
 ple huddled together or walked over the un- 
 fortunate beings with buckets whose duty it 
 is to swab the sticky linoleum underfoot. A 
 reminiscent odor of their last sea-dinner arose 
 to mingle with suggestions, coming none 
 knew whence, of bilge, fresh paint, tarpaulin 
 and wet ropes. The only thoroughly lively 
 mortals to be seen were the stewards bustling 
 everywhere ; the tidy stewardesses, with their
 
 132 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 cap-streamers flying; and the ladies' maids 
 and valets who hoped to get their charges 
 early to bed, thus advancing their own time of 
 freedom and farewell. 
 
 At a comparatively early hour, the usual 
 spaces where passengers assemble were de- 
 serted, most people giving up the pretence of 
 being exhilarated by near approach to the 
 British Isles. The dining-saloon displayed 
 still a few groups sitting around the tables 
 sipping from glasses, reading or talking; the 
 smoking-room alone retained its usual fea- 
 tures of cards and conviviality. 
 
 Here, toward ten o'clock, Clandonald, look- 
 ing more than commonly bored, arose from a 
 game in which he had not acquitted himself 
 with brilliancy, and strolled outside, alone. 
 
 Since the night of the supper, he had not 
 been called upon to put into effect his stern 
 resolution of eschewing Miss Winstanley's so- 
 ciety. She had come to her meals late, or 
 early, contriving to avoid more than a pass- 
 ing contact with her acquaintances at table. 
 While the rest of them, notably Bobby Vane, 
 deplored this circumstance, attributing it to 
 a caprice or an indisposition; while Miss 
 Bleecker secretly chuckled with delight that
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 133 
 
 the enemy had so soon struck her colors, and 
 Helen wondered in silence why there was no 
 following up on Posey's part of the promis- 
 ing beginning of a friendship between them; 
 while even the astute Mariol was nonplussed 
 at the young girl's sudden drop in spirit and 
 voluntary abdication of her past as reigning 
 sovereign, Clandonald felt himself a prey to 
 more acute and genuine feeling concerning 
 her than he had ever dreamed of experiencing. 
 So far from going ashore at Queenstown, it 
 was now his ardent wish to stay on the ship till 
 he saw the last of Miss Winstanley at Liver- 
 pool; since Mr. Winstanley had announced 
 that instead of running up to town on the 
 special steamer train with their friends, his 
 daughter had taken a fancy to see Wales, and 
 they would accordingly stop over at Chester. 
 
 Up to the moment, perhaps, when Clandon- 
 ald had interposed himself between Posey and 
 her annoyer, it had not occurred to him that 
 he could feel for her anything more than 
 man's honest delight in youth and extraor- 
 dinary beauty, as well as the titillation that 
 came to his mental part from her amusing in- 
 difference to his rank, her straightforward 
 appeal to his comradeship. Even the fleeting
 
 134 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 revelation in her gaze that had occasioned his 
 resolve to fly, had excited until then in him 
 little more than regret at the misadventure. 
 
 When he had brusquely stood himself in 
 Vereker's way, Helen Carstairs had not ob- 
 served what caused a current of pleasure to 
 run through his veins, and a quick rush of pro- 
 tective tenderness toward Posey to fill and 
 overflow his heart. Involuntarily the girl had 
 pressed nearer to him, slipping her arm 
 through his, and, for the few seconds that this 
 attitude endured, he had wanted never to part 
 with her again ! 
 
 Then she had started away from him, al- 
 most guiltily, and Miss Carstairs had carried 
 her off in tears ! From thenceforward a blank, 
 as far as a return to their old relations went ! 
 Clandonald, puzzling himself wofully to 
 know what he had done to alienate her, had 
 spent hours in meditation upon the theme. 
 Now that he had lost her, the possession of 
 her guileless friendship, still more of her 
 possible love, had become of supreme value 
 and importance; to win it he was ready to 
 forfeit anything, even to throwing over his 
 excellent and devoted Mariol, whose keen
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 135 
 
 glances worried him, and whose wit and wis- 
 dom had temporarily lost their flavor. 
 
 And so the last hour of the last evening had 
 come around, and his last chance to speak 
 with her had gone! He knew how it would 
 be on the morrow. Nothing less conducive 
 to an exposition of the tender passion in any 
 of its phases can be found than the landing 
 on a foggy day at Liverpool, with its crowds 
 and coal smoke, its lowering skies, and dingy 
 surroundings, its hustling porters and water- 
 men, the rush and rumble of a great indus- 
 trial city beginning at the water's edge, after 
 the inspiring solitudes of three thousand 
 miles of salt water. 
 
 He would see her only amid a confusion of 
 sights and sounds that would effectually pre- 
 vent any but the most banal phrases of adieu. 
 She would pass away from him and become 
 as had all the other women he had met, like 
 the dissolving foam wreaths in their track 
 across the Atlantic. He was annoyed with 
 himself for feeling it so much. The thing 
 was out of all reason. Perhaps, after he had 
 speech with her once more, he might better 
 realize what an ass he had been to imagine 
 she cared for him. Things, in short, would
 
 136 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 adjust themselves on a common-sense foot- 
 ing. 
 
 But he could not get speech with her. An 
 overture to that effect, somewhat clumsily 
 conveyed before dinner-time, had been re- 
 jected by Miss Winstanley in such terms 
 that Clandonald felt vexed and mortified, 
 wondering what or who could have set her 
 so against him. 
 
 And here, at last, when he stepped out on 
 deck, into the glare of the electric lights, in- 
 tending to return to his own room and pro- 
 saically go to bed, the Fates would have it 
 that he ran upon Mr. Winstanley shivering 
 like a true Southron in the raw atmosphere 
 around the ship's anchorage, his daughter 
 clinging to his arm, looking most lovely in 
 her furs, her cheeks of a vivid carmine, the 
 little locks on her forehead drifting and curv- 
 ing in the moist air. 
 
 " Pretty dismal lookout, isn't it? " said the 
 old gentleman cheerily. " Kind o' evenin' 
 that makes one think o' a tumbler full of hot 
 Scotch, and a big snappin' wood-fire, with a 
 couple o' little darkies tumblin' over each 
 other to bring in the fat pine knots." 
 
 " If I could fly with the crow over in that
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 137 
 
 direction/' said Clandonald, pointing toward 
 the invisible shore, " I know of a hearthside 
 not far off, where at least part of those con- 
 ditions would be fulfilled to me! It is in the 
 house of an uncle of mine, where as a boy I 
 considered it Paradise to go, and still do, 
 sometimes for the shooting. One of those 
 homes of merry England (a misnomer now, 
 I grant you) that you have expressed so kind 
 a desire to see, Miss Winstanley. I sincerely 
 hope, by the way, that you haven't forgotten 
 your promise to persuade Mr. Winstanley to 
 give me a day at Beaumanoir, and that you'll 
 settle upon a date with Miss Carstairs who 
 has also agreed to honor me before we leave 
 the ship." 
 
 " You are very kind, but our plans are un- 
 decided," said the girl, in a low, tremulous 
 tone. 
 
 " Seems as if the sea hadn't agreed with 
 daughter this little bit," observed Mr. Win- 
 stanley. " She sort o' thinks she'll stop by a 
 few days, along the road, before we get to 
 London. So this is a British fog? A No. 1, 
 I reckon. I hope you won't think me impo- 
 lite if I call it a regular searcher, sir. At 
 this moment I feel it in the marrow o' my
 
 138 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 bones. But anything to please the ladies, and 
 when Posey said she'd a headache that 
 wouldn't leave her till she got a turn out- 
 side, out we came to admire your English 
 coast scenery, I tell her Great Scott, Posey, 
 I've gone and done it, now! ' 
 
 He had been fumbling in his breast pocket 
 for a handkerchief, and drew forth the miss- 
 ing article with a vexed look upon his mild 
 old face. 
 
 " Done what, daddy?" 
 
 " Left my letter of credit in a coat in the 
 steamer-trunk that was packed for storage 
 in Liverpool. And they've likely carried it 
 out a 'ready! I must find that steward right 
 away, dearie, and tip him to hunt it up." 
 
 " Let me go with you, please." 
 
 " You'd only be in the way. If you want 
 to finish our walk, stay here, and I'll come 
 right back for you. Perhaps Lord Clandon- 
 ald wouldn't mind 
 
 " Oh! no, father! I '11 stay alone." 
 
 The voice was decided, even positive. Clan- 
 donald, bowing, moved away in another direc- 
 tion than that taken by Mr. Winstanley. 
 
 It was over. He had done with iPosey Win- 
 stanley and all her kind. If she were so ca-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 139 
 
 pricious as her actions indicated, this decision 
 was a thoroughly good thing. 
 
 But all the same, like Lot's wife, he looked 
 back. Posey had taken out her pocket hand- 
 kerchief, and was wiping her eyes with the 
 little wisp half the ship had picked up after 
 her. Clandonald, in two strides, returned to 
 her side. 
 
 " I am not going to push myself into your 
 company. Just two minutes, and I'll be off. 
 But I think you owe it to me to say why you 
 are treating me like a scoundrel or an im- 
 postor." 
 
 11 Oh! not that, not that! " she cried pite- 
 ously. 
 
 " Have I done anything to forfeit a place 
 among your decent acquaintances since that 
 time you clung to my arm and I mean since 
 you let me feel that I might stand between 
 you and insult " 
 
 " Nothing. I believe in you just the same, 
 and always shall." 
 
 " Thank you for so much, at any rate. 
 But you believe in me, in spite of what ? ' 
 
 " Oh! Lord Clandonald, how can I say it 
 to you? " she exclaimed, driven to the wall. 
 
 " I have stood a good deal of evil speaking
 
 140 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 in my time," he said, in a grim undertone. 
 " And if it helps to clear the atmosphere be- 
 tween us, I can stand more." 
 
 " It is not you only, I, too, have been the 
 victim of cruel and slanderous sayings. I 
 have not told my dear father, who is so un- 
 suspicious. I wouldn't have him suffer as I 
 have for the world. For the last twenty-four 
 hours I have been receiving, in all sorts of 
 odd ways that I cannot trace, anonymous 
 notes about you and me that have cut me to 
 the quick." 
 
 " Let me see one of them," he said, grow- 
 ing slightly pale. 
 
 " Do you think I'd keep the horrid, poi- 
 sonous things'? Not a half hour since I tore 
 the whole batch into little bits, and threw 
 them overboard. Perhaps ... I ought 
 to tell you, they were written by a woman, 
 who says " 
 
 " Go on, Miss Winstanley." 
 
 " That you wronged her cruelly and 
 ruined her whole life." 
 
 " I thought so," he said, between his teeth. 
 His face had grown so dark and bitter that 
 Posey hardly knew the man. " There is only
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 141 
 
 one who could but how, in God's name, did 
 she get aboard this ship ? ' 
 
 " I suppose the writer thought I would not 
 have courage to tell you but I always believe 
 in speaking out, you know." 
 
 " It may be some low practical joke at our 
 expense," he suggested, his eyes lightening. 
 
 " No, even I, who never saw an anony- 
 mous letter before, could tell that this is hor- 
 ridly real. Whoever it is, Lord Clandonald, 
 you and now I have a desperate enemy. 
 I am threatened with a scene, an exposure, 
 she calls it, that will disgrace me utterly, if I 
 am seen again with you." 
 
 * ' Let me risk it for you ! Let me stand be- 
 tween you and all liars, evil speakers and 
 slanderers, for always " the man exclaimed 
 passionately, then stopped short. 
 
 There was that in the girl's look that 
 startled him from, his unconsidered speech. 
 The staring white light of the electric globe 
 immediately above them showed the bloom 
 forsaking her young face, the lips trembling 
 violently. 
 
 " It proves how little we know of each 
 other that I should let you say such words to 
 one who has no right to hear them," she said,
 
 142 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 recovering herself to speak in her natural 
 tone. " But if we mayn't be friends, after 
 this, please remember that I have believed 
 you, not your slanderer. Now, as my father 
 doesn't seem to be coming back, and this is 
 not my native air, if it is yours, I will say 
 good-by. We'll be too busy and too cross to 
 want to speak to each other to-morrow morn- 
 ing, even if it were wise. If you meet me 
 again, it will be a different Pamela Win- 
 stanley, one who knows more, perhaps, and 
 makes fewer mistakes, but who'll never for- 
 get your kindness on this voyage." 
 
 Clandonald was bewildered at her rapid 
 change back into the speech of convention- 
 ality, her self-control, her determination to 
 put him definitely away from her. His brain 
 was also dizzy with thoughts of the dread 
 presence on shipboard of the one woman he 
 had hoped never to see on earth again. What 
 he might, could or would have answered Miss 
 Winstanley was not said. 
 
 They stood together uncertainly for one 
 confusing moment in what seemed a moist 
 gray world, haunted by skulking shadows in 
 tarpaulin, the chill wind of the Channel 
 whipping them, overhead the repeated rau-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 143 
 
 cons roar of the fog-horn and then she was 
 gone, melted away into encompassing gloom! 
 His ship-idyl, his mad brief temptations of 
 a few moments since, were past. He was 
 back again in England with his bitter memo- 
 ries and cheerless future. 
 
 To Mariol he gave, before bed-time, an ac- 
 count of the outrage to which Miss Winstan- 
 ley had been subjected, begging him to try to 
 trace out the offender, and silence her at any 
 cost. 
 
 The Frenchman, promising to do this, and 
 relieved at the collapse of his friend's nascent 
 affair with Miss Winstanley, was hardly sur- 
 prised, on awaking next day, and finding 
 their ship safely alongside her dock in Liver- 
 pool, to be told that his lordship, impatient 
 of delay, had gone ashore during the night in 
 the tender that had nosed its way to the fog- 
 bound liner to carry off the mails, leaving his 
 servant to follow with his luggage. 
 
 Mariol, after attending unsuccessfully to 
 the business entrusted to him by Clandonald, 
 encountered Miss Carstairs, her chaperon 
 and maid, on deck awaiting the summons to 
 go ashore. He stood by them, commenting 
 with amusement upon the sudden disintegra-
 
 144 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 tion of the ardent intimacies of the voyage. 
 To judge from appearances, the chief aim of 
 the passengers was now to rid themselves of 
 one another as promptly as possible. People 
 who had sworn fidelity over night were offish, 
 mysterious, absorbed in petty anxieties about 
 customs, telegrams, trains and tips. As usual 
 to inexperienced tourists, the latter question 
 arose to be a cloud that was ultimately to 
 overshadow the glories of European travel. 
 What attendants had been remunerated ac- 
 cording to service done, what countenances 
 had darkened, who had seemed satisfied, was 
 discussed in whispers between anxious family 
 groups. Farewell sentiments bestowed upon 
 friends one thought one had seen the last of 
 were found to be superfluous, since the re- 
 cipients were sure to be found again pro- 
 vokingly popping up everywhere; on the 
 gangway, on the docks, and facing the cus- 
 toms officers. Lucky if one were not to be 
 thrust together with them into the same rail- 
 way carriage, all to arrive in London hating 
 each other heartily ! 
 
 M. de Mariol, without appearing to do so, 
 had scanned narrowly the outgoing crowd 
 from the steamer. No trace had appeared,
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 145 
 
 here or elsewhere, of the familiar figure of 
 Clandonald's former wife. A suggestion 
 occurring to him that the excursive Ruby 
 had been last heard of in America, and was 
 probably returning under an alias, made the 
 search in the passenger lists a futile one. 
 Whatever were the facts in the history of this 
 obnoxious and insufferable woman, he must 
 give her up for the present as a bad job. He 
 felt almost inclined to believe that some one 
 else had thrown suspicion upon her, in order 
 to cover a low attack upon Miss Winstanley 
 and Clandonald. 
 
 As he and Miss Carstairs started a little 
 later to walk together up the inclined plane 
 leading to the Euston Special, they beheld, in 
 the street, Mr. and Miss Winstanley getting 
 into a four-wheeler laden with archaic trunks, 
 from the window of which Posey waved to 
 them a sober last good-by. 
 
 At the same moment they were asked to 
 step aside to give place to an invalid chair 
 containing Mr. Vereker, greenish-gray of 
 complexion, scowling at all the world, and 
 escorted by his nurse and doctor. No vestige 
 remained of the effusive host, the ladies' gal- 
 lant, the purveyor of choicest scandal from
 
 146 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 the clubs! His wife and valet, with Mr. 
 Charley Brownlow and a train of servants 
 and porters, brought up the rear of the cor- 
 tege, pressing importantly forward to reach 
 their private car. 
 
 Miss Bleecker, whose soul always melted 
 tenderly to the sorrows of the rich, could not 
 lose this opportunity. Stepping up briskly, 
 she proffered her condolence to the suffering 
 magnate, to be repelled by a savage gesture 
 and a snarl of annoyance at being spoken to, 
 that caused the irate lady to retire in crimson 
 confusion. 
 
 She was the more perturbed by the inci- 
 dent, because not only did her dear friend 
 Mrs. Vereker decline to make amends for 
 her husband's ill-manners, but she mur- 
 mured audibly to Mr. Brownlow that " Sally 
 Bleecker never did know how to stay in the 
 back row." Additionally, the chaperon's dis- 
 comfiture was increased by the appearance of 
 Lord and Lady Channel Fleet, who with their 
 depressed maid hugging a jewel-case contain- 
 ing the well-known turquoises, were hasten- 
 ing away to the joys of home and their native 
 land. Lady Channel Fleet enjoyed the little 
 scene. She had just whispered to her hus-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 147 
 
 band that she'd be thankful to get to their 
 own house, where at last they wouldn't see 
 Americans or hear them talk. 
 
 The next acquaintance to pass by Mariol 
 and Miss Carstairs was Prince Zourikoff, who, 
 from between two porters carrying some 
 Aztec images he had secured in Mexico, gave 
 them an abstracted nod to supplement his po- 
 lite farewell achieved on board. Dear old 
 Graf von Bau was already in the embraces 
 of his loving spouse and two gigantic daugh- 
 ters, who were kissing him violently upon 
 both cheeks, and, attended by a secretary, 
 governess and maid, had come over from 
 Berlin to meet and reclaim their wanderer. 
 
 " Thus vanish Miss Winstanley and her 
 little court! " said Mariol in Miss Carstairs' 
 ear. "It is true, Bobby Vane clung to her 
 till forcibly taken possession of by his elder 
 brother, whom the Kenningtons sent down to 
 fetch him safely home. The lad was suffi- 
 ciently hard hit, and if the young lady had 
 been ambitious of making an English alliance 
 of rank, she might have secured him to the 
 disgust of the Kenningtons, of course, since 
 Bobby has nothing, and the Winstanleys are 
 evidently in modest circumstances."
 
 148 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 " I believe I can surprise you there," said 
 Helen. "As we are all scattering, it can 
 make no difference to any one certainly on 
 this side the globe," she added, with a faint 
 sigh. 
 
 " I like an apres coup. Please tell me," 
 answered he, smiling. 
 
 " First, tell me something. If you like, 
 that is, if not, let it go. From what you have 
 observed, does it strike you that a friend of 
 Miss Winstanley's would be justified in think- 
 ing that Lord Clandonald has fallen in love 
 with her? " 
 
 " Lord Clandonald left the ship without 
 making any arrangement for a future meet- 
 ing with the young lady," said Mariol, diplo- 
 matically. " And to my best knowledge, there 
 is no likelihood of his seeing her, unless by 
 chance." 
 
 Helen drew a long breath, but not one of 
 relief. 
 
 " Because," she went on, " her good old 
 father came yesterday to thank me for some 
 imagined kindness to his daughter, and, in the 
 course of conversation, told me that he had 
 recently become the owner of a large very 
 large fortune, but in his desire to protect
 
 \ 
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 149 
 
 her from ' interested ' suitors, had deter- 
 mined to keep the knowledge of it from her. 
 He asked my advice as to the wisdom of the 
 step, poor soul! I told him that I had had 
 some experience of paternal mismanagement 
 in this regard, in the case of a friend of mine 
 and that I thought Posey ought certainly 
 to know." 
 
 " I agree with you," commented Mariol, 
 astonished, and, for Clandonald's sake, just 
 a tiny bit depressed. " What a difference it 
 would have made on board, had it been sus- 
 pected that our social sovereign was possessed 
 of a golden foundation for her throne. And 
 since you have mentioned my friend Clan- 
 donald's fancy for the young lady -" 
 
 11 It was rather unfair for me not to have 
 told you at once," interrupted Miss Carstairs, 
 
 . . 
 
 that I am aware of reasons why such a 
 fancy on his part for Mr. Winstanley's heir- 
 ess, or of her for him, would have produced 
 disastrous results in America." 
 
 " She is, then " began Mariol, trying to 
 keep the vexation from his voice. 
 
 " Mr. Winstanley said that he thought it 
 best for any one interested in his daughter 
 that there should be no concealment of her
 
 150 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 engagement to marry a man whom she has 
 long known of whom he thoroughly ap- 
 proves, and that his daughter was willing to 
 have it known. A man whom such a mar- 
 riage will help in the best way, since when 
 they became engaged, he knew nothing what- 
 ever, nor does he now, of her improved for- 
 tunes." 
 
 " Lucky fellow! " said Mariol, swallowing 
 a grimace. " But I must own to you that the 
 circumstance robs the fair Posey of a good 
 deal of her interest in my eyes. You, Miss 
 Carstairs, are so far removed from their 
 estate of happy barbarism, you are so broad, 
 so far-seeing, you won't object to my sug- 
 gesting that the image of Miss Winstanley's 
 mate chosen from among her friends of early 
 years does not allure me. He is, in fact, a 
 total extinguisher of my desire to meet her 
 after she shall have become his wife. Now, 
 own that you yourself have a shudder of mild 
 distaste when you think of what he must 
 be!" 
 
 " On the contrary," said Miss Carstairs, 
 distinctly, " I have the pleasure of knowing 
 Miss Winstanley's fiance; and I consider 
 him not only one of the most manly men, but
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 151 
 
 the truest gentleman in the circle of my ac- 
 quaintance." 
 
 " Helen, here is a compartment that will 
 just hold you and me and Eulalie, comfort- 
 ably, and we will tip the guard to let us have 
 it to ourselves," came in Miss Bleecker's pene- 
 trating tones. " Good-by, M. de Mariol, we 
 shall always remember our pleasant voyage, 
 and I shall treasure that clever thing you 
 wrote in my birthday book. Sorry not to 
 have seen Lord Clandonald to say good-by, but 
 we shall all meet again, of course, people al- 
 ways do. Don't forget if you are in town, 
 any time, we are in Curzon Street for a fort- 
 night, and then Paris, Hotel Westminster. 
 Eulalie, you have Miss Carstairs' black 
 jacket? Porter, look out for those umbrellas 
 in the netting, put my dressing bag beside me, 
 the tea-basket overhead where is the other 
 rug ? Oh ! I see. Ten pieces, all right, porter, 
 here you are, for you and your mate. What, 
 not enough? Ample, and more than you de- 
 serve. Helen, how could you give him another 
 shilling, when you know that is what shows 
 any one with half an eye you are just from the 
 other side? "
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE luncheon at Beaumanoir, although 
 lacking the young lady for whose delectation 
 it had been proposed, came off to the satis- 
 faction of at least four of the five people 
 present, viz., Miss Bleecker, whom it had 
 been impossible to omit; M. de Mariol, who, 
 cynicism to the contrary, was delighted with 
 a chance of showing Helen Carstairs the 
 noble old place in a lambent day of mid- 
 October ; Helen, herself, frankly pleased with 
 the entertainment ; and good old Lady Camps- 
 town, whose mind having long set itself upon 
 the thought of her nephew's remarriage with 
 a wealthy American girl, as a happy issue 
 out of all his difficulties, chose to construe 
 the occasion into a presentation to her of the 
 future chatelaine whose dollars were to stop 
 the chinks in Clandonald's ancestral roofs, 
 and her virtues to gild anew the escutcheon 
 dimmed by her unworthy predecessor. 
 
 " If she's an American, she'll probably go 
 straight," thought Lady Campstown, after
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 153 
 
 i 
 
 having first informed herself through a New 
 York lady so long resident in London as to 
 suffer acute pangs upon being reminded of 
 the place of her nativity, that Helen's father 
 was " the Mr. Carstairs whom everybody 
 had heard about." When Clandonald had 
 proposed to his aunt to preside over his little 
 party, her ladyship had not dared ask him 
 the direct question that was burning upon her 
 lips. She had contented herself with his an- 
 swer to her rallying query whether upon his 
 travels he had met any of those wonderful 
 girls from the States the modern novelists 
 write about, that he fancied the supply would 
 always be equal to the demand for that com- 
 modity. And when Miss Carstairs, so quiet, 
 lovely and distinguished in mien and man- 
 ner, appeared amid the faded chintz of the 
 great drawing-room at Beaumanoir, admir- 
 ing its choice contents with knowledge and 
 without gush, treating Lady Campstown ex- 
 actly as she ought to be treated, the reality of 
 the old gentlewoman's hopes seemed as near 
 as it was grateful. 
 
 Even Miss Bleecker shone in a reflected 
 light, and Lady Campstown pronounced her, 
 afterwards, a most agreeable, chatty person.
 
 154 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 As she conducted both visitors through the 
 principal rooms of her childhood's home, her 
 little ladyship's frail face and figure seemed 
 to have stepped down for the occasion from a 
 frame of which the gilding had worn away. 
 Helen was in turn charmed by her simplicity 
 and frankness, and the two gravitated to- 
 gether naturally. The men found them in the 
 picture gallery, where Lady Campstown was 
 destined to receive her first disillusion, in the 
 fact that her nephew in asking Miss Car- 
 stairs if she were ready to see the white pea- 
 cocks on their famous strutting ground, in- 
 vited M. de Mariol to come, too! 
 
 But the good aunt utilized her talk alone 
 with Miss Bleecker to speak openly about 
 Lord Clandonald's excellences, his wrongs at 
 the hands of Ruby Darien, his desirable 
 domestic traits, the subjects, in fine, rarely 
 neglected when the female proprietor or 
 backer of a man in the marriage market sees 
 her chance. Lady Campstown was so genu- 
 inely unselfish in her desire to build up again 
 the shattered fabric of her dear Clan's life, 
 that another than the pachydermatous Miss 
 Bleecker would have perceived the pathos of 
 the situation, and condoned the openness of
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 155 
 
 the attack. Miss Bleecker, however, was 
 quite on her guard. She did not consider 
 Clandonald anything to jump at in the way 
 of a match for Helen. She was certain of 
 Mr. Carstairs ' disapproval ; she knew that he 
 could not be brought to supply cash for the 
 palpably exigent repairs at Beaumanoir, and 
 lastly, and more to the point, she had no idea 
 of relinquishing while she could hold it, her 
 comfortable billet as Miss Carstairs' chaperon. 
 But she was aware that Lady Campstown, 
 while possessing but a small and meagre 
 establishment in London, had a pretty villa 
 at Cannes, where she was a personage of un- 
 doubted influence and wide acquaintance. 
 And as Miss Bleecker 's doctor had advised the 
 air of that favored resort for her relaxed 
 throat, and Helen did not care where they 
 went, Cannes was the secret object of the 
 chaperon's intended movement southward at 
 the season's height. 
 
 Therefore, the conversation, while the two 
 elders strolled or sat under immemorial yews, 
 and enjoyed grapes and peaches plucked in 
 an enchanting old walled garden, waxed upon 
 one side, more gracious and evasive, on the 
 other, more perplexed and yet more hopeful.
 
 156 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 From all she could gather, Lady Campstown 
 was convinced that Helen had been sent by 
 Providence for Clan's regeneration. The 
 hint given on their return to the house, that 
 the American ladies would be in Cannes 
 after Christmas, to remain there until joined 
 probably by Mr. and Mrs. Carstairs in the 
 well-known yacht, " Sans Peur," seemed to 
 fit into her plans. A further suggestion from 
 the dowager, that Miss Bleecker and her 
 charge would allow Lady Campstown to have 
 the pleasure of introducing them to some 
 people and places in the south, came so 
 quickly, and was accepted so suavely, that 
 the stately little lady was herself a little 
 startled and taken aback by it. 
 
 At this moment Clandonald and his other 
 guests stepped in through a window opening 
 upon a stone-paved court with fountains and 
 statues and ancient trees, enclosed in walls 
 of ivy and maiden-hair fern, reproducing 
 prettily one of those haunts of Pan at Villa 
 d'Este in Tivoli, adored by a former owner. 
 Helen had been sitting upon a lichen-grown 
 stone bench, too lapped in pure pleasure to 
 want to move. A stable-clock striking some- 
 where back of shrubberies, had warned her
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 157 
 
 that it was time for them to be thinking of 
 their train up to town; and she rose regret- 
 fully. 
 
 " It has been a day to string upon Time's 
 rosary," she said to her host, to whom she 
 yielded the greater credit for his hospitality, 
 because she saw that he had been worried and 
 abstracted, and that it was Mariol's continued 
 sparkle of wit and bonhomie that had really 
 lent the occasion its subtle charm. 
 
 " It is very kind of you to have been will- 
 ing to give me so much of your valuable time/' 
 he answered, with an effort to throw off what 
 was possessing him, " and it has been a pleas- 
 ant second chapter of our voyage." 
 
 " I wanted to tell you and M. de Mariol be- 
 fore we separate," went on Miss Carstairs, 
 who had all day been trying for an oppor- 
 tunity to bring this in, and failed, simple as 
 the matter seemed, " that I had, this morning 
 only, a letter from Miss Winstanley. They de- 
 cided, you know, to put off their visit to Lon- 
 don till some later date, and have been wan- 
 dering through the apple country of South 
 Devon, to see the orchards and the cider- 
 making. Some book Mr. Winstanley read had 
 tempted him. They were to stop at Torquay,
 
 158 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 thence going to Dover and the Continent." 
 
 " Very nice and very American," said 
 Clandonald. " Fancy running after an apple- 
 crop the moment one lands in Britain, because 
 some man has put it into a novel! I hope 
 Miss Winstanley has recovered from her in- 
 disposition? ' 
 
 " She seemed to be well and happy. She 
 asked to be kindly remembered to you and 
 M. de Mariol." 
 
 Clandonald 's courtesy had taken wings, 
 in the emotion of a deeper sort that over- 
 came him inconveniently. He had hoped to 
 carry off easily this inevitable talk about the 
 girl who had laid so strong a hold upon his 
 broken life. But he said nothing at all, while 
 Mariol, as usual, came to the rescue. 
 
 " I have been telling Clandonald the two 
 interesting facts developed by you concern- 
 ing our Alabama friend," he said, gracefully. 
 " And we both unite in asking you to convey 
 to her our best congratulations upon her in- 
 tended marriage." 
 
 " What a glorious copper beech! ' ex- 
 claimed Helen, suddenly looking away past its 
 owner to where the trees arose like a fire 
 fountain from velvet sward. " I beg your
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 159 
 
 pardon. I will give her the message when I 
 answer her characteristic letter. Perhaps I 
 ought to have said before that, in a postscript, 
 she asked me to tell you both of her engage- 
 ment to Mr. Glynn, should I not have already 
 done so." 
 
 Lady Campstown, having taken cordial 
 leave of her nephew 's guests, whom de Mariol 
 escorted back to their private hotel in Curzon 
 Street, remained over with Clandonald at 
 Beaumanoir for tea. They drank it, thanks 
 to a perfectly warm and well-aired afternoon, 
 under the beech tree extolled by Miss Car- 
 stairs. Clandonald 's dogs, the only friends 
 of man who do not disappoint or change, clus- 
 tered around his knee, a homely but human 
 Schipperke gluing her faithful head upon 
 her master's boot. The day, the hour, the 
 pleasant rite, the dear old woman whose thin, 
 pearl-white fingers twinkled among the tea 
 cups as she looked over at him from time to 
 time in a sort of speechless longing, touched 
 and pleased the returned traveller, but could 
 not cheer his melancholy. 
 
 Finally Lady Campstown took heart of 
 grace to go to the point direct.
 
 160 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 "I'm sorry to see you so down, Clan, my 
 dear boy," she said, in handing him his 
 second cup. " To-day, of all days, when you 
 have had such a charming visitor. I can't 
 tell you how well I am pleased with Miss 
 Carstairs. You must know." 
 
 " Delighted, I'm sure, Aunt Lucy," he 
 answered, with refrigerating vagueness. 
 " But to talk of less agreeable subjects, I'm 
 sorry to say Ruby has broken loose again, 
 and is annoying me horribly. Having failed 
 recently to make a scene for me and an- 
 other person after her own heart, she has 
 taken to writing me infernal hypocritical let- 
 ters, saying she's back in England, stone- 
 broke, ill, penitent, Lord knows what, and 
 must have money." 
 
 " The old cry! " exclaimed Lady Camps- 
 town hotly. " Don't answer her, Clan, treat 
 her as if you were locked in behind walls, and 
 she in the street, outside." 
 
 " Her capacity for inventing malice and 
 mischief is too great. She will find some way 
 to circumvent me. Her price of peace is hard 
 cash, and so for the present, I can breathe 
 free again."
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 161 
 
 " You have been weak enough " began 
 
 his aunt, despairingly. 
 
 " I am not the only one involved," he said 
 shortly. " Now, Aunt Lucy, say no more to 
 me about it. I only wished to put you on 
 your guard against any assault she might 
 make upon your compassion." 
 
 " I am safe from that! " said the little lady 
 grimly, and indeed, for the moment, she 
 looked so, in her splendid wrath and scorn. 
 Clandonald did not pursue the subject, and 
 something warned her that neither was this 
 the time for pursuance of the light vision of 
 the American girl whom she had fondly pic- 
 tured taking Ruby's place in the desolate old 
 house. They talked of family matters, of 
 Clan's travels, of things present and to come 
 until Lady Campstown and her maid were 
 obliged to leave. When her nephew had put 
 her into the brougham to go to the station, 
 Lady Campstown rallied her courage for a 
 final appeal. 
 
 " You'll drop in for luncheon, tea or din- 
 ner whenever you've nothing better, won't 
 you, dear boy? " she asked, surveying him 
 wistfully. " You know I go out so little I'm 
 apt to be always there. I 'm to have luncheon
 
 162 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 on Tuesday, and go to some pictures with 
 these pleasant friends of yours who've just 
 left us; and, Clan, dear, isn't it nice that 
 they're coming to Cannes this winter? Miss 
 Carstairs' father is to be there in the yacht. 
 He must be a very interesting man. Such a 
 power, one can't fail to oh! thank you, Jen- 
 kins " (this to the gardener, arriving with a 
 huge nosegay of late roses and chrysanthe- 
 mums, and a basket of ruddy peaches), " they 
 are most lovely, I am sure. You will cer- 
 tainly not fail to make me that promised 
 visit in January? It seemed so lonely, last 
 year, nobody inhabiting your room. Come, 
 promise, Clan, and I know you will never 
 break your word! ' 
 
 " I am afraid, Aunt Lucy," he said, giving 
 her a final loving kiss, " that I had better not 
 promise anything, just now, if I'm to keep up 
 my good reputation in your eyes. Think what 
 you like as to my being spooney about a 
 pretty American. But it is arranged be- 
 tween Mariol and myself though we can't 
 agree about our destination that we are to 
 set out for somewhere early next week. Ma- 
 riol leans toward Tibet, I to the Balkans. To 
 decide it, we shall probably toss up a sover-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 163 
 
 eign. But this much is certain off: we go." 
 It was not until December, when Lady 
 Campstown was fairly established at Villa 
 Julia, on the slope of the Californie, under 
 house-walls obscured by bourgainvilia and 
 arbutilon and Grloire de Dijon roses, that she 
 felt in the least assuaged of her disappoint- 
 ment. She had left London swathed in a yel- 
 low fog of appalling density, had run down 
 to Dover in an atmosphere of pea-soup; had 
 found Paris under weeping skies; had trav- 
 ersed France in a murky mist; and only on 
 waking up in Cannes next morning had re- 
 newed acquaintance with the sun. 
 
 As she looked out of her window, the olives 
 and palms seemed to wave a welcome to the 
 south. The sea laughed in every ripple of its 
 wide expanse, the mountains slept under their 
 veil of azure, the light over all was almost 
 intolerably bright. The flowers that she so 
 well loved, blooming overhead and under- 
 foot, springing from wall crannies, gladden- 
 ing and glorying every available spot of 
 earth, made her ladyship feel once more like 
 her own even-tempered, happy self ! 
 
 She had not heard from the wanderers in 
 the Balkans, but had felt resigned that dear
 
 164 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 Clan had not pushed on to that dreadful far- 
 away Tibet, where men were flayed alive if 
 they happened not to please the rulers upon 
 whose land they were trespassing, which would 
 have been so much worse! She and her 
 maid, and a servant or two brought out from 
 England, occupied themselves for a day in un- 
 packing and readjusting ornaments, putting 
 flowers and plants about the rooms, and look- 
 ing over the garden, a lovely tiny place where 
 roses ran riot, and palm trees waved their 
 feathered tops or clashed together their spiked 
 leaves with a little metallic ring, when the 
 breeze stirred them from their majestic calm. 
 There were many finer, many larger, many 
 more cared-for gardens in the town, though 
 none that gave more satisfaction to its owner. 
 Lady Campstown knew and loved every inch 
 of it, but the spot most often resorted to by 
 her, in hot sunshine, was a tunnel cut in a 
 thicket of bamboos terminating her domain, 
 from which a gate led out under the wall of 
 the adjoining lordly pleasure house called 
 " Villa Reine des Fees." Above this wall 
 arose the symmetrical shafts of a cypress 
 avenue, into which, and far beyond it, Lady 
 Campstown had been accustomed to pene-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 165 
 
 trate at will, through a little green door hid- 
 den by verdure, placed there for the conven- 
 ience of the gardeners. The lodge-keeper 
 of this deserted dwelling, to whose child her 
 ladyship had ministered in illness, and all 
 the other employees of the place, had always 
 made welcome the little figure in black, wear- 
 ing a mushroom hat and carrying a long tor- 
 toise-shell stick, who from time to time ap- 
 peared among the alleys and under the flow- 
 ery pergolas of a veritable fairyland of trees 
 and turf and shrubs and blossoms. 
 
 The dwelling at Beine des Fees, sheltered 
 from prevailing winds by a thick olive grove 
 resting like a gray cloud upon the hillside 
 above it, was of considerable size and preten- 
 sion. Ascending, by a long flight of white 
 marble steps, the two terraces with their mo- 
 saic pavements and marble balustrades, over 
 which orange and lemon trees hung their 
 fruit and flowers, one reached an imposing 
 portal, where roses climbed upon the white 
 fagade of the many-windowed house, to fall 
 back in rivulets of bloom. The gardens were 
 a marvel of skilfully massed semi-tropical 
 shrubbery and trees, shutting out the view of 
 other villas and revealing at happy turns
 
 166 LATTER-DAT SWEETHEARTS 
 
 vistas of the Mediterranean, the two islands, 
 and the blue jagged line of the Esterels ; while 
 tall box-hedges, cypresses, fountains and per- 
 golas wedded the tender grace of Italy to the 
 warm witchery of Provence. 
 
 The place had been originally constructed 
 by a wealthy Russian as a bower for his 
 young wife who had died there in early mar- 
 ried life; and for a long time had remained 
 unoccupied, although scrupulously kept up. 
 
 Upon the death of the owner it had passed 
 to his younger brother who, intending to live 
 in it according to his luxurious tastes, had put 
 in " lifts," baths, and sundry up-to-date con- 
 veniences; had renewed the furniture, china 
 and glass, prepared the stables for many 
 horses, and then vanished from sight of man 
 into a house he had in the Caucasus melan- 
 choly mad ! 
 
 For two years Villa Reine des Fees had 
 now been in the market for a tenant, yet 
 none had presented himself. Whether or 
 not the house had a name for bringing ill- 
 luck to its inhabitants, or that the price fixed 
 upon it was prohibitively high, it had re- 
 mained vacant, as before. Lady Campstown 
 could not regret this circumstance.
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 167 
 
 So long the enchanted ground behind the 
 rose-wall had seemed an annex to her own 
 modest property, she begrudged the idea of 
 its overflowing with noisy gay people, with 
 their dinners and dances, their motor cars 
 puffing up the drive, their tennis matches and 
 tea-parties, piano-practising and perhaps 
 spoiled children and dogs, to invade her syl- 
 van solitudes. 
 
 The one fate that Lady Campstown kept in 
 reserve as the most painful that could pos- 
 sibly overtake Villa Reine des Fees, was for 
 it to be inhabited by Americans. Now, upon 
 her return (although recently born again, as 
 it were, to a new sense of the excellent possi- 
 bilities of her transatlantic kinsfolk!) she 
 learned with dismay, from her gardener, that 
 the house had actually been leased to an 
 American family, who were to arrive the 
 following day! Details of the calamity she 
 could not at first bring herself to acquire. It 
 was enough that her worst fears for her cher- 
 ished playground were about to be realized. 
 She turned pale at thought of the changes 
 sure to come. 
 
 Directly after luncheon Lady Campstown 
 took down her mushroom hat and an Inver-
 
 168 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 ness cape that her maid had hung on a peg 
 in the entry, armed herself with her tortoise- 
 shell stick a gift from Clandonald, by the 
 way and trotted down the walk of her own 
 garden leading out under the bamboos to the 
 little green door in her neighbor's wall. This 
 was open, and she went in, sadly resolved to 
 make a final pilgrimage to all the familiar 
 spots henceforward to be blocked from her 
 view as effectually as newspaper paragraphs 
 by the ink-marks of a Russian censor. 
 
 The day was glorious, earth, sea and sky 
 lustrous with intense sunshine, the air filled 
 with odors of orange-blossom and violet, jas- 
 mine and rose, the palms bending gently 
 under a summer breeze. Never had the 
 grounds of Villa Reine des Fees seemed in 
 more perfect order. She gave one glance up 
 at the gleaming house-front above the stately 
 balustrades, and saw that its windows were 
 open, new curtains fluttering in the breeze. 
 In the loggia adjoining the boudoir of the 
 poor little dead princess, wicker chairs, gayly 
 cushioned, were grouped under the rose 
 wreaths. The signs of coming habitation 
 were too evident. 
 
 Lady Campstown would not look again.
 
 She saw coming toward her, beneath the arch of palms, a 
 very tall young woman, modishly attired. Page 169.
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 169 
 
 Sorrowfully she directed her steps along the 
 lower terrace, her tortoise-shell stick tapping 
 impatiently upon the renaissance birds and 
 beasts of its pavement. She even hoped not 
 to meet any of the friendly Provencals who 
 worked upon the place, with whom she had 
 been wont to stop and talk about themselves 
 and families, the prospects of the flower-crop 
 for neighboring cultivators, and affairs of 
 the town in general. 
 
 At some distance from the house this ter- 
 race was rounded into a lookout, command- 
 ing a wondrous avenue of palms, their trunks 
 enwrapped in roses and jasmine, at the end 
 of which the hillside fell sharply away, re- 
 vealing an unimaginably lovely view of the 
 sea and islands. From here, as the visitor 
 now seated herself to gaze her last at a fa- 
 vorite prospect, she saw coming toward her, 
 beneath the arch of palms, between bor- 
 ders of violets, a very tall young woman, 
 modishly attired in white embroidered cloth, 
 with a large white-plumed hat that breathed 
 of the Rue de la Paix, in Paris. 
 
 Lady Campstown wished that she could be- 
 lieve this engaging person to be some one 
 who, like herself, had strayed into Villa
 
 170 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 Reine des Fees through curiosity a guest 
 from one of the adjacent smart hotels. 
 
 But she could not. She knew in her British 
 soul that it was none other than one of the 
 temporary owners of the property, and that 
 she herself stood revealed a trespasser. In 
 her intense vexation, the dowager arose again, 
 striking her stick on the hot marble under- 
 foot, till two little green lizards scampered 
 a^ay in fright at its sharp resonance. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," she said in her well- 
 bred old voice, " I live in the next house, and 
 of course had no idea that the villa was yet 
 inhabited." 
 
 " Please don't speak of it," was the sur- 
 prisingly friendly answer. (The girl was 
 thinking, " Here, surely, is the Fairy God- 
 mother.") " We decided at the last minute 
 to come a day earlier, so anxious were we to 
 get out of gloomy, wet Paris. You see, my 
 father has been very ill, and the doctors 
 rather wanted to hurry him to Provence. 
 We took the night train, arriving this morn- 
 ing, and already he seems to feel the benefit, 
 and is now getting a good sleep." 
 
 As she spoke she came up upon the terrace, 
 and stood by Lady Campstown's side.
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 171 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," answered the old 
 lady, forgetting her resentment. " I should 
 explain that this house has been so long un- 
 occupied, I have felt at liberty to stray in 
 from time to time, and see the flowers and 
 so " 
 
 " Indeed, you are not to say another word," 
 said the hostess, with pretty emphasis. " If 
 you had the least idea how I was just bursting 
 to let out of me some of my delight ! ' 
 
 " ' Bursting to let out of me '! " Lady 
 Campstown was certain that she knew no one 
 who would have been responsible for that pe- 
 culiar phrase, but the joyous appeal of the 
 young voice and eyes, the radiantly smiling 
 mouth, were not to be resisted. 
 
 " You feel it, then? " she said, smiling in 
 return. 
 
 " Down to the ground! " said the tall girl. 
 " I don't believe I ever had such thrills in my 
 life before. I've been walking up and down 
 under these oranges and lemons and palms, 
 wondering if it can be I? To think we're to 
 have this little heaven all to ourselves for 
 daddy to get well in ! You see, there are only 
 my father and myself, and we know very few
 
 172 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 people over here in Europe. We are Ameri- 
 
 cans/ 
 
 " I believe so," said Lady Campstown, with 
 restraint. 
 
 " The villa was taken for us through our 
 doctor in Paris, who had seen it, and told 
 daddy. I thought the rooms in our hotel in 
 Paris too lovely for anything, but this goes 
 a long way ahead. I've got that splendid big 
 front chamber with the dressing-room and 
 bath, and the sort of little porch covered with 
 vines, where the servants seem to expect me to 
 have my breakfast by myself. The truth is, 
 I don't care where I eat these old continental 
 breakfasts; only rolls and coffee, and per- 
 haps one miserable little egg, and that extra, 
 I'm always hungry again by eleven. Daddy's 
 got a huge room opposite mine, all carved fur- 
 niture with a bed like a church pew, but he 
 likes it, and the man nurse that takes care of 
 him says he's better already for the change. 
 It's ridiculous for only us two to try to fill 
 this regular little palace, isn't it? If I were 
 home, I could ask some of the girls, but, over 
 here, I don't know any but one, and we 
 haven't actually got a chaperon for me yet. 
 We talked of it, you know, but when it came
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 173 
 
 to the point, daddy dreaded her being perched 
 up between us like Poe's raven, at meals, and 
 everywhere, and so we put it off. Perhaps, if 
 you live here you wouldn't mind giving me a 
 word of advice about how to do things. 
 There's a housekeeper that goes with the 
 house, and she engaged the extra servants, 
 such a lot I never saw! I came out into the 
 garden to get rid of the whole kit and boodle 
 of them ! But after a while I'll learn my way, 
 and then not feel so awkward as I do now. 
 Maybe you are thinking it strange why I 
 don't know these things, but I've no mother, 
 and no near relations but daddy, and till now 
 we've lived in a very plain way, at home." 
 
 Lady Campstown's heart melted inconti- 
 nently. The rapidity and scope of the girl's 
 confidences were atoned for by her youth and 
 the direct gaze of her childlike eyes, to say 
 nothing of the beauty that had been sinking 
 into the old lady's impressionable senses. 
 Also, her ladyship was always genuinely in- 
 terested in the details of a perilous illness; 
 and those of the invalid's recent grave attack 
 of pneumonia were received with not to say 
 satisfaction, but something that nearly ap- 
 proached it. She gave the girl much sound
 
 174 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 advice, and as they strayed together onward 
 from point to point through the grounds, 
 which Lady Campstown knew con amore, 
 she found herself equipped with an astonish- 
 ing relish for the situation so unexpectedly 
 attained. When they were both quite out of 
 breath with talking and walking, she further- 
 more accepted, graciously, an invitation to 
 step indoors and rest. She had thought her 
 new friend a tyro in social arts, but when 
 they reached the top of the long, hot gleam- 
 ing flight of white marble stairs, and stood 
 together between the potted bamboos and 
 pelargoniums in the vestibule, was pleased to 
 have her step back with charming grace and 
 execute a little curtsey, saying: 
 
 " I don't think you can know that my 
 name is Pamela Winstanley, and I'd be very 
 glad if you wouldn't mind telling me yours." 
 
 It is not, therefore, to be numbered among 
 things incredible that soon after four o'clock 
 that afternoon, when the sun like a ball of fire 
 had dropped behind the blue barrier of the 
 Esterels, leaving the world to darkness and a 
 sudden glacial chill, Miss Winstanley, attended 
 by one of her bran-new footmen carrying a
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 175 
 
 sheaf of rare roses, repaired, in her turn, 
 through the little green doorway in the flowery 
 wall dividing Villa Reine des Fees from Villa 
 Julia. She was wrapped in a smart fur-lined 
 cloak, and her mission was to take tea with 
 Lady Campstown! 
 
 A trim maid ushered her into the long, low 
 drawing-room with its hangings of sunflower 
 yellow, its mirrors and consoles and twin 
 Empire sofas, its square of dull red Turkey 
 carpet in the centre of a slippery waste of 
 parquetry, its brass-trimmed tables and chairs, 
 bought with the house and never altered. 
 But over all had been diffused a look of 
 home that Villa Reine des Fees could not at- 
 tain. There was a folding screen covered with 
 miniatures, behind the couch whereon Lady 
 Campstown sat crocheting in rosy wool one of 
 the new pelerines neigeuses; there were flow- 
 ers and books and a wide writing-table, with 
 silver bound blotting book and silver fittings. 
 A small table, covered with a web of white 
 linen and lace that a Cardinal might have 
 worn upon a day of festa, was spread for the 
 tea to be brought in by and by; and Posey 
 did not know that, to fit it to her guest's age 
 and supposed tastes, Lady Campstown had
 
 176 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 sent a special messenger to the rue d'Antibes 
 for marrons glaces and wondrous crystallized 
 fruits ! 
 
 A little fire of gnarled olive roots, pine 
 cones, and eucalyptus boughs was blazing on 
 the hearth. The girl, carrying her own flow- 
 ers now, paused on the threshold with an ex- 
 clamation of delight. 
 
 * ' Oh ! how good, how sweet of you to let me 
 come! " she cried, " and, please, would you 
 think me very rude if I sat down on the rug 
 and played with your Orange pussy? ' 
 
 The tea over, the new friends talked with 
 ever-increasing cordiality. Lady Campstown 
 soon knew all there was to know of the girl's 
 former modest position in life and her recent 
 information by her father that she was ex- 
 pected to spend his large income as she 
 pleased. 
 
 " He asked me, poor dear, not to hold back 
 for anything in reason, but to find out all that 
 we ought to have, and order it. And you'd 
 better believe, Lady Campstown, that an 
 American girl knows how to do that same! 
 It seems he had a talk on our steamer, just 
 before we landed, with a friend both he and
 
 LATTEK-DAY SWEETHEARTS 177 
 
 I trust in, and she told him it was his duty to 
 live up to his fortune. He's known he had 
 all this money for nearly a year past, but had 
 no idea how to begin to spend it. And so we 
 branched right out in Paris, and got a suite of 
 rooms that a royalty had before us. I went 
 straight off to the Only Adorable Worth, and 
 bought everything in the way of gowns. I 
 had masters in French and singing, and when 
 we drove in the Bois, or went to the galleries 
 and shops, and everybody stared, I took to it 
 as naturally as a duck to water. But I must 
 say it was lonesome. I longed and longed for 
 somebody to tell how I felt about it all in my 
 inmost heart. . . . Then, my darling old 
 daddy fell ill, and his life was in danger, and 
 all the grandeur fell flat as a pancake. I 
 didn't care a straw for my clothes, my car- 
 riage, my fine maid, even my new pearls the 
 whirling wheel of life stood still, still, and I 
 heard only my heart-beats! I thought I was 
 going to lose the dearest, tenderest father in 
 the world, and be left a poor wretched orphan 
 with nothing but things to comfort me ! ' 
 
 She had sprung up from the rug and was by 
 this time seated on the couch beside Lady 
 Campstown, and that lady's kind little hand
 
 178 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 had found its way into hers. If the dowager 
 felt, at moments, a little dizzy with the speed 
 at which this episode of new acquaintance had 
 progressed, she had only to look across the 
 room at the portrait of a girl who would have 
 been thirty had she lived, but in her mother's 
 eyes seemed forever just eighteen. Maybe 
 she would have been ungrateful, unloving, 
 mondaine or devote; she might have married 
 ill, or died in bringing a child into the world ; 
 or any one of a thousand every-day happen- 
 ings might have robbed the mother of joy in 
 her companionship. But, to Lady Campstown, 
 her lost daughter was always young, prosper- 
 ous, lovely, beyond reproach; and for her 
 sake, Pamela Winstanley, with all her imper- 
 fections of bringing-up upon her golden head, 
 was forgiven much! What wonder that be- 
 fore they separated Posey had received assur- 
 ance that Lady Campstown would look after 
 her in various substantial ways ; and that Mr. 
 Winstanley 's new motor car, ordered from 
 Paris, being yet to come, the girl should be 
 invited to take her first view of the riant lit- 
 tle town from the cushions of Lady Camps- 
 town's well-known old landau, with the quiet
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 179 
 
 black horses and sober coachman? When 
 they had thus agreed to go shopping together 
 in the tempting, if narrow and sunless, rue 
 d'Antibes, and Posey, for the second time, had 
 arisen to take her leave, her eye fell upon an 
 imperial photograph, framed in silver, of a 
 man she recognized with a swift leap of the 
 heart. 
 
 " My nephew Clandonald," said the dow- 
 ager, heaving a little affectionate sigh. " Al- 
 most all I have left to love. He is a dear fel- 
 low, and has been much sinned against. Just 
 now he is somewhere in the Balkans loafing, 
 as he calls it, with his friend M. de Mariol, 
 but I trust he will come back soon, and that 
 certain things I hope for him will become re- 
 alities. I don't mind telling you, my dear, 
 that there is a young lady in the case, and 
 that she's a countrywoman of your own. I 
 have met her, and love her already for his 
 sake, but there's been mischief made, and it 
 will take time to straighten out the tangle of 
 my poor Clan's heart affairs, and, when you 
 and I know each other better, I will explain. 
 In the meantime, we won't talk of it. You'll 
 be ready at half -past ten to-morrow, when I
 
 180 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 call for you? I'll take you around to the 
 right tradespeople, and afterwards we'll have 
 a little turn on the Croisette." 
 
 " An American girl! " Posey said within 
 herself. " It must be said he found consola- 
 tion very soon." She was conscious of feel- 
 ing rather blank.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 in doubt where to go, stay in 
 Paris," had been for some years of travel 
 Miss Bleecker's favorite saying. Helen, who 
 had no great love for the place from her chap- 
 eron's point of view, simply acquiesced when 
 told it was too early to go south. She begged 
 Miss Bleecker to go on with her own routine. 
 Mornings in the shops were followed by lunch- 
 eons with old friends among the American 
 residents, where, after luxurious eating and 
 drinking of light wines, the women sat for 
 hours rooted upon down couches, propped by 
 silken cushions, exchanging hearsays of stu- 
 pendous gossip about their common acquaint- 
 ances. Upon Miss Bleecker's return from one 
 of these intimate entertainments, Helen's 
 views of human nature were lowered for days 
 to come. 
 
 In the afternoon, Miss Bleecker generally 
 drove out with her charge, or left cards upon 
 people who would have resented her getting 
 in as earnestly as she. In her smart wrap
 
 182 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 and voluminous furs, with her plumed hat 
 and dotted veil, the chaperon justly flattered 
 herself that some of the glances bestowed 
 upon their victoria in the Bois and along the 
 Champs Elysees were a late plum fallen to 
 her share. In Central Park, at home, and in 
 Fifth Avenue, every one knew it was only 
 the same old Sally Bleecker in a new French 
 hat. Miss Bleecker had heard it suggested 
 that one must come abroad to find a proper 
 deference paid to years of maturity, which 
 secretly was not what she desired. Her taste 
 was neither for the cold-blooded pushing to 
 the wall of her generation by young Ameri- 
 cans, nor yet the reverent hand-kissing of the 
 ancient, observable in high life abroad. Since 
 her morals were above reproach, all she really 
 asked was a recognition by the public of her 
 successful illustrations of the methods of 
 Paquin and Alphonsine. 
 
 There were always teas to drop in for, after 
 the drives, at the cosmopolitan resorts of 
 Ritz, or Columbin, or Rumpelmayer, or in 
 private dwellings. In Paris, the division of 
 time between five and seven in the afternoon 
 has become as important for the achievement 
 of social idling of both sexes as in London.
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 183 
 
 It is in New York where the tea-drinking 
 habit is a graft among the men, and to the 
 women an intermittent sacrifice to fashion's 
 shrine. Miss Bleecker was of the sort whom 
 the steam of the tea-kettle inebriates as well 
 as cheers. She could better exist without her 
 evening orisons than her cup of tea between 
 four and five. 
 
 When the ladies returned to their hotel, 
 there was barely time to dress for dinner or 
 the play. Miss Bleecker 's dinner list in Paris 
 was larger than in New York, where Sally 
 Bleecker was beginning to be vieux jeu. 
 Abroad, she was welcomed by the translated 
 Americans living in various capitals, who were 
 sure of hearing from her the few things about 
 the private lives of their friends at home that 
 had not got into their newspapers. Lastly, 
 but decidedly not least, she had had the wisdom 
 to perfect herself in bridge, which Helen de- 
 tested, in common with all games of cards. 
 Whenever Miss Carstairs elected to go off 
 with friends of her own to dine and pass the 
 evening, and her young lady put on a tea gown 
 and ordered a plate of soup and a wing of 
 chicken in their own salon, the chaperon was 
 in glory. In a black net dress, largely be-
 
 184 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 spangled, with a dog-collar of excellently im- 
 itated pearls around the doubtful portion of 
 her throat beneath the chin, with her hair ad- 
 mirably groomed and her nails perfectly 
 manicured, wearing her best evening manner 
 and longest gloves, old Sally would run down 
 stairs nimbly to the fiacre that was to take 
 her to her earthly Paradise of bridge! Or 
 else in company with a playmate of seventy- 
 two, who smoked cigarettes eternally, wore 
 low scarlet gowns and rarely dined at home, 
 she would go on from place to place, exhila- 
 rated beyond fatigue, whispering inwardly to 
 herself there was nothing like this at her home 
 across the sea. 
 
 Helen would have been wof ully tired of this 
 life had she not possessed the resources of a 
 rational cultivated woman, and the ability to 
 extract the real kernel of Parisian life, in ad- 
 dition to the acquaintance of a few clever 
 people with whom she could fraternize in her 
 own way. After all, as well Paris as else- 
 where for the living down of a great clutch- 
 ing emotion such as her brief passion for 
 John Glynn! She had been spared hearing 
 Posey Winstanley talk about him as her pos- 
 session, since the Winstanleys had quitted
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 185 
 
 Paris early in December, just before their own 
 arrival there. She had heard in various ways 
 how old Herbert had taken her advice liter- 
 ally, and enrolled himself among the money 
 spenders of their liberal nation. With aston- 
 ishing rapidity, the fame of the stunning 
 young Southern beauty had been bruited 
 abroad. It was related that a semi-royal per- 
 sonage who had seen her going up the stair- 
 case of her hotel had addressed to her father 
 a proposal for her hand, which had been re- 
 fused by the wise old gentleman without con- 
 veying the fact to his daughter. It was known 
 that she had been " taken up " by the best 
 people in Cannes. A little breeze of lauda- 
 tion concerning her was forever blowing 
 where gossips congregate in le monde ou I' on 
 s' amuse. In two expressive words, Miss Win- 
 stanley " had arrived! ' 
 
 Helen used to wonder most how this reacted 
 upon John Glynn. She pictured his amaze- 
 ment at finding the Cinderella he had wooed 
 had turned into a Princess in Glass Slippers. 
 But as that is the sort of a shock to which 
 most sensible men become easily habituated, 
 she felt that he had, by now, probably ceased 
 to wonder at his good luck. If he thought at
 
 186 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 all of Helen, it would be with gratitude for 
 having set him free for this. 
 
 She was not so certain that Posey had 
 reached the same stage of satisfaction with 
 existing bonds. Helen was too clever at read- 
 ing character not to have seen more than 
 Posey meant to admit about her feeling for 
 Clandonald. She saw also that Clandonald 
 was immensely taken by the girl, and believed 
 that if Glynn were not in existence the Eng- 
 lishman would some day return to the charge. 
 But she knew nothing of the anonymous let- 
 ters, and their vile attacks upon Posey, which, 
 long after silence had set in in the direction 
 of the enemy, continued to burn and sting in 
 their object's clean, sensitive soul. Since she 
 had told Clandonald, Posey had spoken of 
 this insult to no one. It made her feel, how- 
 ever, that she could never be quite the same 
 again. 
 
 Helen had exchanged a letter or two with 
 her, but the acquaintance had seemed to drift. 
 It was Miss Carstairs' feeling that until Posey 
 and Mr. Glynn were safely married, it would 
 be more honorable of her to keep out of sight 
 altogether ; which goes to show that deep down 
 in the bottom of her heart Miss Carstairs was
 
 LATTEE-DAY SWEETHEARTS 187 
 
 not altogether certain she had lost all hold 
 upon her former lover's sensibilities. 
 
 One of the strangest experiences ever com- 
 ing to Helen befell her at this time. It was 
 nothing less than a declaration of his love in 
 a letter, en route, from M. de Mariol. He 
 had written to her intermittently since their 
 parting in London charming airy missives in 
 his best vein, his critics would have said ; let- 
 ters of rambling travel, of European politics, 
 of observation; graceful, incisive, glowing 
 with color, sparkling with happy phrases; 
 the letters of a poet, a cultured eclectic of the 
 twentieth century to his inspiration. But she 
 had not imagined until she finished reading 
 the last of the series it could come to his 
 doing her the honor of asking her to be his 
 wife. She was profoundly moved, more even 
 than flattered. She had loved Glynn because 
 he was young, handsome, un jaded, therefore 
 broader than most of the men surrounded by 
 whom she had grown up ; because it had made 
 her smile to be near him, and the touch of 
 his stalwart hand had thrilled her with a thrill 
 that sometimes came back now. Mariol, ap- 
 pealing to her intellectual side, to her sense 
 of high companionship, repelled her as a lover,
 
 188 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 and what lie asked her to do seemed, on the 
 face of it, grotesque. His suggestion that if 
 she could be brought to look upon him favor- 
 ably, he would return immediately to Paris, 
 filled her with panic. Her letter sent in re- 
 turn was purposely gentle and simple and ap- 
 parently unstudied, although nothing had 
 ever cost her such epistolary birth-pangs. 
 
 M. de Mariol did not return to Paris, and 
 in the course of some days Miss Bleecker 
 also received an important letter, although 
 not of a matrimonial cast. It was from Mrs. 
 Carstairs, in New York, proposing an inter- 
 position of diplomacy between her step- 
 daughter and herself. Mrs. Carstairs, self- 
 confessed a suffering angel who had borne 
 in silence Helen's malignant opposition to 
 her, was about to come abroad to spend the 
 spring in yachting with her husband in the 
 Mediterranean, and would be glad to have 
 Miss Bleecker and Helen join them anywhere 
 that was convenient. If Mr. Carstairs him- 
 self did not write to repeat this invitation, 
 Helen would know it was because the poor 
 dear was overworked and brain-weary. For 
 that reason, if for none other, Helen should 
 put aside her unjust, and injurious, and miss-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 189 
 
 ish fancies, and become one of their family 
 circle in the eyes of all the world. 
 
 (" Naturally," said the astute chaperon to 
 herself, " there is one of two reasons for this 
 urgency to have Helen with them. Either 
 some man she is flirting with is to make one 
 of the party, or somebody has refused to re- 
 ceive Mrs. Carstairs until her step-daughter 
 has done so first.") 
 
 If Helen would prove herself the devoted 
 daughter she had always boasted of being, 
 and subscribe to her father's wishes, Mrs. 
 Carstairs was empowered by him to say that 
 he would give her at once the fortune, inde- 
 pendently of himself, that he had previously 
 withheld. (Incidentally, she named a sum 
 of which the magnitude made Miss Bleecker's 
 frog-like eyes distend and her dull heart beat 
 excitedly.) Helen would be free to come, to 
 go, to marry as she pleased. 
 
 (" And she'd be certain to do it, right 
 away," interpolated the reader, " so I don't 
 see where I come in at all.") 
 
 Helen would in fact be one of the most en- 
 viable young women in America. In conclu- 
 sion, while urging upon Miss Bleecker the 
 necessity of prompt and vigorous action in
 
 190 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 this delicate matter, Mrs. Carstairs made an 
 offer to her own account. To the chaperon, 
 if successful in effecting the reconciliation, 
 she would give, unknown to any one, a check 
 for so many dollars, that, again, the frog-eyes 
 opened widely, and Miss Bleecker slapped the 
 letter upon her knee. 
 
 " The woman mayn't be well born, and she 
 certainly deserves all Helen's done to her; but 
 she's got brains, and I think she'll get there," 
 said Miss Bleecker, in conclusion. 
 
 The beginning of February saw Miss Car- 
 stairs, her companion and the admirable Eu- 
 lalie who, of course, started the journey with 
 a headache in order to justify her claim to 
 be a first-class ladies' maid leaving Paris in 
 the Cote d'Azur Rapide, their destination the 
 Riviera. So great was the exodus for that 
 coveted spot that not only had the travellers 
 been unable to secure for themselves places 
 in the melancholy resort of a dames seules 
 carriage, but the compartment in which they 
 found cards bearing their names over the end 
 seats was ominously placarded in all the 
 other divisions. In vain Miss Bleecker 
 fumed and fussed and put on her best grand
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 191 
 
 duchess manner ; in vain Mile. Eulalie looked 
 like an early Christian martyr; the guard 
 could give them no promise of better things. 
 
 After adjusting her many belongings in the 
 racks and settling down with a look of grim 
 resolution to bear all for Helen's sake, it oc- 
 curred to Miss Bleecker to get up again and 
 read the names of their yet absent fellow- 
 passengers. Two of them were foreign, un- 
 distinguished, presenting nothing to her im- 
 agination, and as their owners took posses- 
 sion at the moment, the lady sat down in some 
 confusion at being detected in her access of 
 curiosity. 
 
 " If the other man comes, we'll be knee-to- 
 knee all day, and there won't be breathing 
 space," she whispered across to Helen, next 
 whom, in the middle seat, the fair Eulalie was 
 installed, leaving one place vacant near the 
 door upon the corridor. 
 
 " If it's a man, so much the better," whis- 
 pered Helen back. " Imagine another head- 
 ache, beside Eulalie 's." 
 
 " Oh! but I saw the name. English or 
 American, * Mr. John Glynn,' ' returned the 
 unknowing chaperon, who having cast her 
 bombshell, opened a Paris New York Herald
 
 192 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 and began to read the column of social move- 
 ments in America. 
 
 Helen sat bolt upright, the blood tingling 
 in her veins. Before she could recover from 
 the first stupor of astonishment, the train was 
 in motion, and, simultaneously, the guard hur- 
 ried into his place the one person in the world 
 whom Miss Carstairs had least dreamed of 
 seeing. 
 
 She had shaken hands with him, and named 
 him to Miss Bleecker, who wondered where 
 Helen had picked up this surprisingly good- 
 to-look-upon young man, before her heart 
 ceased its wild palpitation, and she could 
 fairly control her voice. He was direct from 
 Cherbourg, it appeared, had crossed Paris in 
 a slow fiacre, barely catching the Cote d'Azur, 
 in which his place had been retained by wire, 
 and was on his way to the Riviera in answer 
 to a summons concerning important business 
 for a friend resident there for the winter. 
 
 " I fancy I know your friend," said Helen, 
 determined to let no grass grow under her 
 feet. " I crossed with good old Mr. Win- 
 stanley in October, and he told me of your 
 engagement to his daughter." 
 
 " Yes, that has been for some time an-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 193. 
 
 nounced," answered Glynn, the color deep- 
 ening in his clear brown skin, while Helen 
 remained quite pale. " You have heard also, 
 perhaps, of Mr. Winstanley's bad break in 
 health? Although better, he is not yet able 
 to do business for himself, and a question 
 came up in connection with the mines, in which 
 it was necessary to have his verbal instruc- 
 tions; hence, my run over. Rather a jolly 
 change for me from my office work. Since 
 October, I have had my own place, you know, 
 representing Mr. Winstanley's interests, with 
 headquarters in New York." 
 
 " I congratulate you doubly, then," said 
 Helen. " How very strange that you should 
 have come into this carriage of all others. 
 And how nice for you, getting out of the bliz- 
 zards and the high-piled, dirty snow of New 
 York streets in February, to have a glimpse 
 of obstinately azure skies and acres of rose 
 and jasmine! ' 
 
 Although they were running smoothly, con- 
 versation across Mile. Eulalie's large hands, 
 in slightly soiled white kid gloves clasped over 
 Helen's jewel case, did not progress in com- 
 fort. Miss Bleecker, who always wanted to 
 be entertained, imperiously signed to the maid
 
 194 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 to change places with Mr. Glynn, which was 
 done, bringing him close to the ladies for a 
 long day's run. 
 
 In New York, Miss Bleecker might not 
 have looked twice at a man not in Mr. Charley 
 Brownlow's set, and unknown at any of the 
 clubs of which she considered membership to 
 be the hall-mark of gentility. But those 
 things settle down amazingly abroad, and 
 she now saw Glynn with unclouded eyes. 
 While Helen was wondering how Posey Win- 
 stanley could ever have turned aside to fancy 
 Lord Clandonald, when she was free to marry 
 this far handsomer, more imposing, young 
 American, Miss Bleecker was subjecting 
 Glynn to a rapid fire of questions about home 
 matters, from the new Subway to the wran- 
 gles in City politics. 
 
 It was noticeable that when the chaperon 
 now touched upon the subject of the Win- 
 stanley family, she did so in a key greatly 
 altered from her former contemptuous one. 
 A man who had risen in a night from com- 
 monplace obscurity to his present wealth 
 and growing importance was a type of her 
 country she could not conscientiously over- 
 look. She recalled to Mr. Glynn that she
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 195 
 
 had thought his future father-in-law " so 
 quaint yet forceful." She was not as en- 
 thusiastic over Mr. Glynn's fiancee, but there 
 are limits to what we must expect of women. 
 
 Still, her active mind was even then spring- 
 ing ahead of the present. If she succeeded, 
 as now seemed probable, in bringing about the 
 reconciliation between Helen and her father's 
 wife, and Helen consented to return to them 
 for the present, obviously Miss Bleecker, al- 
 though with a warm nest-egg in her pocket, 
 would be, vulgarly speaking, out of a job. 
 What better than to annex herself to the Win- 
 stanleys, to have the credit of forming a young 
 creature who was destined to conspicuous 
 place before the world and even, per- 
 haps ? 
 
 Miss Bleecker, at this juncture, cast a fur- 
 tive glance at her reflection in the little slip 
 of mirror over Helen's head. It was not ex- 
 actly favorable, since she had risen before 
 the world was aired, her complexion looked 
 yellow where it ought to be red, and certain 
 fatal lines around nose and mouth, elusive in 
 the evening, stood out, abnormally plain! 
 Miss Bleecker looked away. By and by, hope 
 springing eternal, whispered to her that what
 
 196 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 a rich old man wants in a wife is not youth 
 and beauty, provoking the eternal triangle of 
 the modern situation, but agreeability, tact, a 
 knowledge of how to make the wheels go round. 
 She rallied, smiled at Mr. Glynn in the man- 
 ner of a sweet old-time friend and counsellor, 
 then taking out a French novel and a pearl- 
 handled paper-cutter, subsided into apparent 
 literature and actual plan-making. 
 
 Helen wondered if ever girl in her posi- 
 tion were more curiously hounded by odd cir- 
 cumstance. She saw that Glynn, like herself, 
 was profoundly moved by their rencontre. 
 And what wonder, since when they had last 
 met she had sobbed her farewell upon his 
 breast, his arms had tightly closed around 
 her, and he had declared that he could not, 
 would not give her up ! 
 
 He had been forced to give her up, how- 
 ever, and gradually to acquiesce in the com- 
 mon sense of her decision. The offer of him- 
 self to Miss Winstanley, made without knowl- 
 edge of Posey's altered circumstances, had 
 been joyously approved in a letter posted at 
 Liverpool by Mr. Winstanley, who had bid- 
 den John remember that he was now his son, 
 and, as such, entitled to a full share of the
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 197 
 
 good luck that he proceeded to unfold. When 
 Glynn had assumed charge of Mr. Winstan- 
 ley's interests and business, he had for the 
 first time learned the full meaning and ex- 
 tent of that good luck! Mr. Winstanley also 
 told him that under the circumstances of 
 Posey's call to a much higher position in life 
 and society than had even been expected, he 
 desired her to spend some time longer in pur- 
 suance of education and wider experience 
 before returning home to be married. 
 
 A little dazed by the turn of events, Glynn 
 had acquiesced in this latter decree, almost 
 too easily, he feared. He told himself that 
 he needed time to adjust his ideas to the pros- 
 pect of riches. As a matter of fact, he was 
 relieved not to become Posey's husband until 
 he knew her better. The pretty, half-baked, 
 freakish creature, who offended his sense of 
 conventionality, who dealt with him so unemo- 
 tionally, seemed about as practical a bride as 
 Undine must have been to her long-suffering 
 knight! Between Posey's image and himself, 
 that of high-bred Helen Carstairs, stepping 
 down from her proud pedestal to give him the 
 first passion of her woman's love, had, in the 
 beginning, perpetually come. Latterly, this
 
 198 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 had been wearing off, and stern habit had as- 
 serted itself, as it fortunately does. 
 
 Posey's letters, surely the strangest ever 
 penned by a betrothed maiden to her lover, 
 came to Glynn regularly. She had told him, 
 with appalling frankness, that after engaging 
 herself to him (by telephone!) she had suf- 
 fered many pangs of fear that the whole thing 
 was a mistake ; also, she must confess, she had 
 met another man with whom, had there been 
 no obstructions in the way, she might have 
 been happier. During her father's illness, 
 seeing the enormous stress he laid upon her 
 promise to marry John, she had come to see 
 things more clearly, had recognized in herself 
 a vain, silly child, and was now resolved to 
 devote her whole future life to being more 
 worthy of her good fortune as Glynn 's wife. 
 
 To read these artless effusions had been like 
 looking into a crystal globe. Whatever came, 
 Glynn could not complain that she had de- 
 ceived him. During his benefactor's danger- 
 ous illness, when it was essential for Glynn 
 to remain where he was, and he could only 
 cable his anxiety and sympathy, his heart 
 had become more awakened to Posey's claim 
 upon him, and he had felt for her loyal ten-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 199 
 
 derness. When the summons from Mr. Win- 
 stanley arrived that was to bring him once 
 more in actual touch with her, he had set out 
 to obey it, believing that he was at last effectu- 
 ally cured of old weakness, and panoplied to 
 begin the new life. 
 
 And he had hardly set foot in France be- 
 fore he found himself seated side by side with 
 Helen Carstairs in a railway train, flying 
 southward, with nothing to disturb their in- 
 tercourse during a long day and evening, and 
 actually bound for the same goal! 
 
 Simultaneously, Glynn and Helen rose to 
 the occasion, put behind them the temptation 
 to revert to the fond chapter lived in their 
 young lives, and took up again the sort of 
 intercourse that had so pleased and refreshed 
 her at the beginning of their acquaintance. 
 It was like one of their old talks at the house 
 of Helen's friend who had introduced them 
 to each other, and fostered their intimacy; a 
 woman who had the cleverness to find inter- 
 esting people in the whirlpool of business and 
 pleasure and money-spending that calls itself 
 New York society, and the courage to draw 
 them out of it to herself. 
 
 Glynn felt that he would long have cause
 
 200 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 to remember that February day. The new 
 fast train justified all that had been claimed 
 for it in speed and comfort. It tore down 
 the Rhone valley as the mistral tears, it left 
 behind Avignon, city of Popes, and other 
 spots of classic interest, as if it had been a 
 " Flyer " between Chicago and New York. 
 The light carriages rocked and swayed, stones 
 from the road-bed rose up like a fusillade of 
 small-arms, striking the bottom of the train; 
 one dared not leave one's seat for the dining- 
 car for fear of falling; people who had not 
 exchanged a word previously began, by com- 
 mon consent, to talk all together, and all their 
 talk was of the speed of trains they had 
 known and heard about. Miss Bleecker went 
 yellow in her nervous anxiety, declaring she 
 had no use for a train in which one could not 
 brew a cup of tea for fear of setting things 
 on fire. Mile. Eulalie wept under her v,eil, 
 and accepted brandy offered her from Miss 
 Bleecker 's flask. The two solemn travellers 
 who filled the other seats, and now joined in 
 general animated talk, turned out to be one 
 a French railway engineer, to whose utter- 
 ances all listened humbly, the other an Italian 
 musical genius, en route for Monte Carlo. In
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 201 
 
 the confusion of tongues and exclamations, 
 the little string of toy carriages bounced and 
 flew onward, until suddenly the air brakes 
 were put on, and with a long protracted jolt- 
 ing, they came to a full stop! 
 
 Something had happened, but what ? Glynn 
 and the engineer, going outside to investigate 
 matters, in the falling dusk, returned to re- 
 port that their carriage was to go no farther, 
 and its passengers were to be transferred to 
 the one ahead. 
 
 " As well as I can make out, it is the com- 
 plaint not unknown to our railways of a 
 ' hot box, 7 ' said Glynn. " The- bother is, 
 that you ladies must take what seats you can 
 get till our journey's end." 
 
 Officials, coming to hurry them, showed but 
 scant sympathy with Miss Bleecker's indig- 
 nant protests, with Eulalie's fresh burst of 
 tears. Helen, following her chaperon quietly, 
 had an odd sensation that nothing mattered 
 much so long as Glynn was at her elbow speak- 
 ing cheery, merry words ! 
 
 They threaded their way into the carriage 
 ahead, to be received with what enthusiasm 
 by the tired, nervous, over-strained passengers 
 already filling its full space, may be imagined.
 
 202 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 Miss Bleecker was accommodated with the 
 odd seat of a compartment reserved by a 
 French couple of her acquaintance, who, feel- 
 ing rather bored by so much of each other's 
 society, made a virtue of necessity in welcom- 
 ing the stranded American lady. Eulalie was 
 tucked somewhere happily out of sight. For 
 Helen and Glynn there remained but two 
 camp-stools, produced by a guard, and placed 
 in the corridor at the rear! 
 
 " I have heard of blessings in disguise," 
 he said significantly, when they were speed- 
 ing forward again toward Marseilles. 
 
 ' i This is really better than that stuffy place 
 we had," she answered, made happy, despite 
 herself, by the meaning in his tones. 
 
 " If any one had told me that I should be 
 to-day sitting beside you, rushing through the 
 darkness headlong to the unknown, I would 
 have counted it a fable." 
 
 " You are not rushing to the unknown. I 
 cannot think of any one whose life and work 
 are more clearly cut out for him or more 
 sure of a happy ending." 
 
 " I I suppose so," he said, with a sigh. 
 
 " You know it, Mr. Glynn." 
 
 " Has it come to Mr. Glvnn? "
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 203 
 
 " Don't make things worse for me than 
 they are," she exclaimed confusedly. She 
 felt frightened that one moment of isolation 
 with him had brought back into his voice the 
 lover's cadence, after their months of blank 
 separation, and their day just passed in re- 
 nunciation and good behavior. The admis- 
 sion in her speech, the forlorn droop of her 
 mouth, were too much for his strained reso- 
 lution. 
 
 " Tell me one thing only, Helen as if we 
 two were standing on the verge of everlasting 
 parting have you cared? ' 
 
 " When have I not cared? " she said im- 
 petuously. 
 
 " jffadittobe?" 
 
 " I thought so, then. I haven't always 
 thought so since. Latterly " 
 
 " Go on. Latterly ? " he said, in a dreary 
 tone. 
 
 " I have made a compromise with my father 
 about something in dispute between us. He 
 has made me more than independent of him. 
 Isn't it always so in life, that relief comes 
 too late? " 
 
 " What did that ever matter, anyway? 
 Wasn't I ready, willing, eager, mad, to take
 
 204 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 you as you were? Would it have been the 
 first time an American man married an Amer- 
 ican woman without a penny between them, 
 except what he could earn? The trouble was 
 that you couldn't trust me." 
 
 " That I couldn't trust myself," she said 
 bitterly. " I knew my world better than you 
 did, John." 
 
 " But you say you haven't always thought 
 the same since," he exclaimed, searching her 
 eyes with a desperately anxious gaze. 
 
 " It is not fair to wring from me such ad- 
 missions. It isn't like you to persist in talk 
 like this. After all, you were the first to 
 console yourself." 
 
 His face fell into gloom. He drew away 
 from her and, for a while, sat in silence. 
 Helen turned to look out of the window to 
 hide her gathering tears. 
 
 It was a miserable time for both, yet neither 
 would have yielded up an inch of it in ex- 
 change for any imaginable pleasure. Helen 
 was thinking, " Oh, that the train would only 
 go on forever, and let me sit by him on this 
 horrid little stool without a back ! " and Glynn 
 would have fought any guard or conductor 
 who came to offer them the usual seats among
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 205 
 
 other people. They said very little, but felt 
 the more. At Marseilles, where they went out- 
 side for a whiff of soft, delicious air, fancying 
 they smelt orange blossoms, and saw stars 
 looking into the sea, and during the rest of 
 the zigzag run along the lovely coast to 
 Cannes, each knew that the other was dread- 
 ing the finale of their strange experience. 
 
 As they ran into the Cannes station toward 
 eleven o'clock, and it became necessary to 
 rouse up nodding Miss Bleecker, and collect 
 woful Eulalie, with her bags and bundles, 
 Helen and he rose simultaneously, with a 
 shiver of apprehension. 
 
 " This is the last time, John 1 ? " 
 
 " The last time, Helen darling," he said, 
 in a hoarse undertone of yearning tenderness. 
 
 Their hands met and strained together. Her 
 eyes answered his, and he did not again 
 doubt. 
 
 " It has been all one great, terrible mis- 
 take," she went on, more steadily. " We have 
 got to meet, if you stay here, and after this 
 there's to be no more weakness, remember! 
 We'll be pretty poor stuff if we can't conquer 
 ourselves, don't you think so? ' 
 
 Hers was the last word, for Miss Bleecker,
 
 206 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 tottering like a somnambulist, issued forth 
 to interrupt them. Helen and she were as- 
 sisted out of the train by Glynn, and placed 
 in custody of their hotel's station-porter. A 
 moment more, the ladies were in the 'bus 
 alone, threading the back streets of the sleepy 
 little town, to ascend the hill to a stately hos- 
 telry, where their arrival was the signal for 
 a theatrical effect of house-porters in scarlet 
 jackets issuing from a brilliantly lighted en- 
 trance around which roses and bougainvillea 
 twined. 
 
 " Really, Helen," observed Miss Bleecker, 
 whose good-humor returned as she looked 
 complacently around their pretty suite of 
 rooms, where lights and flowers and a small 
 fire of olive-wood combined to make the 
 travellers forget their woes. " I must say 
 they have done very well for us. I believe we 
 shall be comfortable here until the yacht ar- 
 rives. And how delightful it is to think you 
 sent that cable, yesterday, consenting to join 
 your dear father and his wife. When you lay 
 your head on your pillow, every night after 
 this, you will sleep more sweetly with the 
 thought of having why, child, you're white
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 207 
 
 as a ghost! I suppose you're a little train- 
 sick, after the shaking-up we got. It was too 
 bad your having to sit out on that wretched 
 little camp-stool, but you seemed to get along 
 well enough with Mr. Glynn, and there wasn't 
 an inch left in Countess de Saint Eustache's 
 compartment. Do you know, she told me the 
 whole story, from beginning to end, of Kate 
 Ravenel's unfortunate marriage with the 
 Marquis de Contour. My dear, he is an ab- 
 solute decadent! And to think how the Ra- 
 venels bought and paid for him in hard 
 cash, and how wretchedly they were sold in 
 the transaction! By the way, the Countess 
 knows our friend, M. de Mariol, intimately, 
 and says that for people to get him to their 
 dinners or country houses is the greatest 
 feather in their caps ! He is de tout, she as- 
 sures me, which, of course, makes one enjoy 
 his writings so much more. I hope we shall 
 certainly meet him again. Helen, speaking 
 of young Glynn, if ever a man was born with 
 a gold spoon in his mouth, it's he. To be 
 marrying Mr. Winstanley's only child, and 
 they having gone up like a house afire ! The 
 Countess says the Winstanleys have been 
 floated here by Lady Campstown, and already
 
 208 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 know everybody, and are much liked. It 
 seems they have one of the most desirable 
 villas, own a smart motor, the girl has no 
 end of stunning gowns you remember they 
 showed us at Worth's the evening frocks 
 they were sending down to her and will soon 
 be entertaining lavishly. The question is, 
 where did Lady Campstown pick her up? 
 We must call on both of them to-morrow. I 
 am all anxiety to meet dear Lady Campstown 
 again, and I confess I am anxious to get a 
 peep inside Villa Reine des Fees." 
 
 " I fancy you will find Miss Winstanley 
 changed in many respects, Miss Bleecker," 
 said Helen, wearily. " But it seems to me 
 hardly probable she has lost her high spirit 
 in this little time. And she may remember 
 your conduct to her on shipboard." 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear! " answered the chap- 
 eron, complacently. " As we live now, it is 
 always easy and generally convenient to for- 
 get. The girl, for all her barbarisms, seemed 
 to have a level head. She will be charmed to 
 see us, and so will Lady Campstown, who had 
 set her heart upon marrying you to that 
 nephew of hers, Clandonald. If it were not 
 for young Glynn, I should imagine that the
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 209 
 
 Lady Campstown had gone off on another tack 
 in her heiress cruise. Looks like it, don't you 
 think? If Miss Winstanley hasn't told her of 
 her engagement to Glynn, there'll be a pretty 
 row on presently. We'll call, at any rate. I 
 am glad to hear Mr. Winstanley is no worse, 
 and may be counted upon to recover perma- 
 nently from this attack. I wonder if he 
 likes being read aloud to, Helen? To show 
 that I bear no ill-will to the girl for her pert- 
 ness to me, I'd just as soon offer to sit with 
 him, sometimes. I was always said to have 
 great success with invalids. And we'd bet- 
 ter be prompt in looking them up, for who 
 knows whether this is really a business trip 
 of Glynn 's? I should be much inclined to 
 think he has run over to look after his heir- 
 ess, and see that she does not slip through 
 his fingers, with all these fine people with 
 titles hanging around her. Glynn looks like a 
 positive, if not self-willed, fellow, Helen. In- 
 deed, I shouldn't in the least wonder if the 
 business pretext is a blind, and M . le fiance 
 won't go back to America without his bride. 
 In that case, we shall have a smart wedding 
 at Cannes, and poor Mr. Winstanley will be 
 left all to himself at Villa Reine des Fees.
 
 210 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 They say there is nothing like that entrance 
 hall and staircase in the town, all marbles of 
 the rarest and most beautiful colors ; and the 
 dining-room, with its wall tapestries and 
 screens, is fit for a palace. Poor Mr. Win- 
 stanley! There is nothing so sad in life as 
 a person of well, middle age left alone by 
 young people for whom he has done every- 
 thing. There should be some congenial and 
 sympathetic soul to poor Mr. Winstanley ! '
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 " COME a little way down this walk, John," 
 Posey said, the morning after her lover's 
 arrival, while engaged in showing him the 
 place, " and you will see exactly where the 
 woman was sitting yesterday, when she got 
 up and spoke to me in that dreadful way. I 
 never dare tell my father, and it would worry 
 dear Lady Campstown out of her wits to 
 think any suspicious outsider had been seen 
 lurking about the grounds. I rather fancied 
 this person was out of her head, and so, when 
 she vanished abruptly, I just told the gar- 
 dener that a doubtful-looking stranger had 
 been in the garden, and his men must be on 
 the watch to see that it doesn't occur again." 
 
 " Quite right," said Glynn. " I dare say 
 you won't hear of her any more. What sort 
 of a lunatic was she ? Young or old, smart or 
 shabby, English-speaking or foreign? ' 
 
 " Oh! English decidedly, with one of thein 
 lovely low voices, from the throat. A lady, 
 I suppose, one would call her, but shabby and
 
 212 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 deadly pale with glittering brown eyes, and 
 lips with no color. I should think she took 
 morphine, or some of those horrid things. 
 Her clothes had been handsome once, but 
 were put on in a slovenly way. ' ' 
 
 " Probably some poor soul here for her 
 health, who had escaped from her care- 
 takers. Certainly, you can have no enemies, 
 my dear girl? ' 
 
 " I didn't think so," answered Posey, 
 flushing, " until I received a number of 
 anonymous letters on shipboard, and several 
 afterward. Then they stopped suddenly." 
 
 " Do you mind telling me their drift? ' 
 
 Posey 's cheeks became crimson, but she 
 looked him bravely in the face. 
 
 " They were all full of lying things against 
 me and the man I told you I met at sea and 
 have never seen or heard from since." 
 
 " Thank you, dear," said Glynn, simply. 
 " We have both need of consideration for 
 each other, and I trust you thoroughly. But 
 this gives me an idea. You say the mor- 
 phine lady told you she had a favor to ask of 
 you " 
 
 " Yes, but before she could get further, 
 the gardener's man came in sight, and she
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 213 
 
 took flight. She said that I was luckier than 
 she, since I could buy my peace, and she'd 
 advise me not to hold back now when I'd a 
 chance to do so." 
 
 " That's blackmail, not insanity. The 
 woman has probably spent her last sou at 
 Monte Carlo, and reading about you in the 
 papers, thinks you're a good object to attack 
 for funds." 
 
 " It's no use, John. I can't tell half a 
 thing, to save my life," exclaimed the girl, 
 desperately. " At the moment she ran down 
 that alley of laurustinus, she called back, 
 ' You can't expect your friend, Lord Clan- 
 donald to pay all, and you nothing, to shut 
 mouths. ' 
 
 Glynn walked beside her in moody silence. 
 The matter was worse than he had feared. 
 To find Posey in the toils of an obnoxious 
 scheme for torment and money-getting, was 
 more than annoying. He justly considered 
 that it was paying too high for her successes, 
 her magnificent establishment in life. For 
 the moment it blotted out the blue of sky and 
 blurred the exquisite beauty of their sur- 
 roundings. 
 
 He had, like everybody else, heard of Clan-
 
 214 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 donald and his matrimonial infelicities, his 
 divorce, and his visit to the States. A strong 
 resentment took possession of the young 
 American at the idea that this Briton, bat- 
 tered by foul tongues and associations, should 
 be the one who, even for a moment, had won 
 Posey's allegiance away from himself. 
 
 " You are angry. I knew you would be," 
 she burst out finally. " I at first thought of 
 telling Lady Campstown, and asking her ad- 
 vice. But Lord Clandonald is her nephew, 
 almost her son, and I was ashamed. She has 
 not the faintest idea there was ever anything 
 between us." 
 
 " Between you? What can you mean? ' 
 wrathfully demanded Glynn, whose merit 
 was never that of tolerance. 
 
 " I don't know myself. It was all so sud- 
 den, and passed so quickly. He used to come 
 and talk and walk with me upon the ship. I 
 began by being sorry for him, because his 
 life had been so spoiled. He never said a 
 word of flattery or silly talk like the others. 
 He seemed to me a man." 
 
 " Well, go on, please," said Glynn, curtly. 
 
 " One evening when that old wretch Mr. 
 Vereker tried to kiss me out on deck "
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 215 
 
 " What! ' thundered Glynn, his brows 
 meeting, his eyes darting ire upon her. 
 
 " He didn't do it, John; just missed the tip 
 of my ear, and I hit him in the face. I ran 
 away to Miss Carstairs and Lord Clandonald, 
 and told them, or rather didn't tell them they 
 understood. Clandonald looked just as you do 
 now, and put himself in front of me, and I 
 was so glad to be protected, when all the ship 
 was saying mean, spiteful things of me, that 
 for a little while I thought I must be in love 
 with Lord Clandonald " 
 
 " This alone is worth crossing the ocean to 
 hear," commented Glynn with bitter sar- 
 casm. 
 
 " Well, you know I told you of it at the 
 time. It was a perfectly hopeless thing, 
 anyhow. Even if you hadn't been there, I 
 couldn't marry a divorced man whose wife 
 is living. It's just one of those fashionable 
 habits that doesn't happen to appeal to me." 
 
 " Posey, you are unconquerable," he said, 
 a gleam of amusement coming into his eyes. 
 
 " You might as well hear all the rest. 
 After I had those nasty letters, I kept away 
 from him and got daddy to give up London, 
 because I'd promised we would go down to
 
 216 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 lunch at Beaumanoir, his home. It was my 
 first and last chance at an English ancestral 
 mansion, I reckon. The last night aboard, 
 when we were at anchor near Liverpool, in 
 a fog, daddy and I met him, by accident, on 
 deck. Dear old dad, who can't be made to 
 suspect anybody, would run off after his let- 
 ter of credit, that he'd packed in a steamer 
 coat and almost sent ashore. I was left with 
 Lord Clandonald. I tell you, John, you 
 couldn't have treated me better than he did 
 then. There was one little minute when I 
 was scared, though. He was furious when 
 I told him of the anonymous letters. He 
 said there was only one who could have done 
 it, but how, in God's name, did she get upon 
 that ship? And then he asked me to let 
 him stand between me and all such people 
 always " 
 
 " You let him ask you that? " 
 
 " John, you know when a man and a girl 
 are together things get said that they never 
 dreamed of saying. I knew like a shot I 
 ought to have told Clandonald about you be- 
 fore. But how could I introduce the subject 
 in cold blood "
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 217 
 
 " I am afraid it was cold blood, " interpo- 
 lated John ruefully. 
 
 " Well, you couldn't expect me to thrill 
 and tremble, and all those things they do in 
 novels, when I'd said yes in a telephone 
 booth, and never seen you after. I tried to, 
 John. Honestly, I did, but it wasn't the 
 least use." 
 
 Glynn would have been more than mortal 
 not to laugh at her look of humble apology. 
 
 1 ' Ah ! well, Posey dear, I '11 not be hard on 
 you. But tell me, please, what further passed 
 between you and Lord Clandonald? ' 
 
 " Absolutely nothing. All I could do was 
 to turn the conversation away from him and 
 me. I couldn't find the least little way to 
 bring you into it, or to say, * Unhand me, sir, 
 my heart and faith are another's,' since his 
 hands were in his pockets and mine in my 
 muff, and we were both saturated with Chan- 
 nel fog. I just thanked him for all his kind- 
 ness to me on the voyage, and told him what's 
 true, that I'd never forget it; though, if he 
 ever met me again I'd probably be a very 
 different sort of Posey Winstanley. And 
 then he calmed down, and it was all over for- 
 ever, and I ran away to see if daddy had found
 
 218 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 his letter of credit and and I've never 
 seen or heard from Clandonald since." 
 
 " Posey, you are a child still, a charming 
 child, and I love you for it, dear." 
 
 " It's awfully good of you, John, and the 
 greatest possible relief. If you knew what a 
 double-faced sort of thing I've felt myself to 
 be all these months, remembering that I'd let 
 another man almost propose to me, when I 
 had given you my word of honor there's one 
 thing I'd like to ask before we've done with 
 the subject, though. What does it mean when 
 a person is by you and you'd give, oh! any- 
 thing if they wouldn't go away? ' 
 
 John started genuinely. A vision flashed 
 to him of those blessed maddening hours in 
 the train the day before, when Helen and he 
 had sat together, and he jealously begrudged 
 every revolution of the iron wheels that, with- 
 out mercy, carried them toward their parting. 
 
 ' I don't know, Posey," he murmured guilt- 
 ily. ' ' Why in the world do you ask me that ? ' 
 
 " Because I thought you would tell me, 
 honestly," said she, with a speculative ex- 
 pression. " It has bothered me often, won- 
 dering. But it doesn't matter. Now you are 
 here, everything seems straight and clear be-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 219 
 
 fore me. Shall I ever forget daddy's raptur- 
 ous old face when he sat by your supper-tray 
 at the library table, last night, forcing you to 
 eat indigestible food, and looking from one to 
 the other of us?" 
 
 " But he has aged, dear," said Glynn, with 
 a twinge of pain. " One sees the spirit in 
 his face above the flesh. We must never let 
 him know care or trouble again, little girl. 
 We must strengthen his arms, one on either 
 side of him, and make him walk easily through 
 life." 
 
 " How beautifully you talk, John! " cried 
 she. " Ah! No Englishman could ever have 
 felt that way toward my daddy. No other 
 man could give him what you do. Yes, you 
 are right. It's our life-work to put him be- 
 tween us, and look out for him every day." 
 
 " And to do so," went on Glynn resolutely, 
 " we should marry soon." 
 
 Posey started visibly. 
 
 " Must we, John? Oh! I hadn't thought of 
 that." 
 
 " Is the idea a pain to you? ' 
 
 " Perhaps. I don't know. I've always put 
 it out of my mind when it weighed on me. 
 Daddy gave me a year, John," she added
 
 220 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 pleadingly. ' ' And the year began in October. 
 This is only February. We're all so happy 
 
 as we are.' 
 
 Happy! Again that clutch of iron upon 
 Glynn's heartstrings! 
 
 " Happiness will come more fully and 
 freely, my sweetheart," he said, striving for 
 words, " when we have put his heart's desire 
 beyond all chance. I think you will both have 
 to come back with me to America this Spring, 
 if I'm to serve his interests as I should. Let 
 me take my wife with me, Posey." 
 
 " What, now? " she cried, with wide-open, 
 panic-stricken eyes. " Oh! goodness gracious, 
 I hope not now ! ' 
 
 " I am due again in New York almost imme- 
 diately, but will be free to return the beginning 
 of next month, or a little later. By that time 
 the heat will be sending you away from the 
 Riviera, and would it not be best for us to be 
 married very quietly here, and let Mr. Win- 
 stanley's son and daughter take care of him 
 upon the voyage? ' 
 
 " A wedding here? What a funny idea! ' 
 cried Posey. " Not a girl I know to ask as 
 bridesmaid at least, the only one I'd want 
 would be Helen Carstairs, who has just arrived
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 221 
 
 in Cannes, and I don't know about her. Per- 
 haps she mightn't wish; but she was too dear 
 to me, John, on shipboard, as I wrote you. By 
 the way, you didn't seem to take the least in- 
 terest in my friendship with Helen, and yet it 
 has done me a world of good. Not a girly- 
 girly affair in the least, I assure you. We'd 
 both have scorned that. She has written to 
 me several times, and I was simply wild with 
 pleasure to hear she was coming down to 
 Cannes. I think if you'd realized what Helen 
 is, John, at least what she is to me, you'd not 
 have been so indifferent. I must tell you the 
 truth, I was really quite hurt with you. But 
 you'll meet here, and then you'll see for your- 
 self, and end by adoring her as I do oh, 
 John," she exclaimed, interrupting her light 
 chatter with an exclamation of terror, * ' there 's 
 that woman now! ' 
 
 11 What woman, Posey? " he asked, bewil- 
 dered at her rapid change of subject. 
 
 ' * Hush ! The one I told you of, who fright- 
 ened me yesterday the mad woman. Don't 
 turn suddenly, but, after a second, look be- 
 tween those two lemon trees. She just glided 
 past as we were speaking, down the walk from 
 Villa Julia, and is hiding behind the shrub-
 
 222 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 bery. She's waiting for me, John. This is 
 getting terrible ! ' 
 
 " She shall have me" said Glynn grimly, 
 his senses alert in a moment to the danger 
 Posey ran. 
 
 " Don't make a scene with her don't alarm 
 daddy," she went on. 
 
 4 * Trust me, ' ' he answered briefly. ' ' Do you 
 go into the house, and stay there till I come. 
 Say nothing to any one, and I'll rid you of 
 your nightmare." 
 
 As Posey mutely obeyed him, albeit with a 
 blanched face, Clandonald's saying came into 
 Glynn 's mind, " There's but one woman who 
 would do this thing." Verily, Glynn would 
 not have to go far to find her. 
 
 She arose from her bench as he approached 
 evidently badly scared. A man of his years 
 and vigor and mastery of the situation had not 
 entered into her calculations of this experi- 
 ence. 
 
 " You look surprised at seeing me here," 
 she said rapidly, with perfectly well-bred 
 ease. " I suppose it is trespass, but the villa 
 had been so long unoccupied, we had got into 
 the way of running into the garden from my
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 223 
 
 aunt, Lady Campstown's, whose house is 
 across the lane yonder." 
 
 He was for a moment thrown off his guard 
 and bowed, acquiescing, as any gentleman 
 would have done. 
 
 " However, I am just going," she added. 
 " The little green door is very familiar to me, 
 I assure you." 
 
 " Might I delay you one moment," he said 
 courteously, " to ask what can be your motive 
 in annoying and threatening the young lady 
 of this house? I ask in her father's name, 
 and we wish you to know that this must be 
 absolutely the last time that you come into 
 these grounds." 
 
 "What difference does it make?" she 
 asked fretfully, throwing out her hands with 
 a weary gesture and losing her self-control. 
 " I can always reach her, somehow. She has 
 not done with me yet, I can tell her. Unless," 
 she added, with a low, meaning laugh, " her 
 friends are ready to make it well worth my 
 while to disappear." 
 
 " You will not find her friends unwilling 
 to aid in that desirable result. But I have 
 first to know your motive in annoying her so 
 cruelly."
 
 224 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 " Call it rivalry, call it revenge," she said, 
 with a shrug. " Either one of these causes is 
 strong enough. She is, if you must know, the 
 only woman I ever feared could take my place 
 in my late husband's life permanently, I 
 mean/' she added, with an ugly smile. 
 
 " I take it that I am speaking to Lord Clan- 
 donald's divorced wife? ' 
 
 " Really, my good sir, you give yourself, or 
 rather Miss Winstanley , ' away, ' as they say in 
 the vernacular of your richly-gifted country. 
 You are evidently well-informed of the prog- 
 ress of that immaculate young lady's affair 
 with Clandonald continued on shipboard 
 doubtless from America, and who knows 
 when and where since? ' 
 
 " The young lady, whose name I forbid 
 you to mention here," cried Glynn, with a 
 darkened countenance, " met the gentleman 
 in question on shipboard for the first time, as 
 she did twenty others, and has never seen or 
 communicated with him since." 
 
 " She has convinced you of that fact 
 then rumor is right for once, and there is a 
 confiding fiance from America? After all, 
 yours is a younger civilization than ours, and 
 you still believe in your girls? "
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 225 
 
 Glynn interrupted her. He had got all he 
 wanted from Ruby Darien. 
 
 She had been a striking beauty, had, even 
 now, a certain reckless grace of manner. 
 Her face was as Posey had described it. He 
 read there untruth, degradation of moral 
 fibre, and the ravage of disease and drugs. 
 There was no use in dealing with her in 
 heroics. Money would buy her, and money 
 she should have. 
 
 " If Miss Winstanley's friends agree to 
 make it worth your while substantially 
 worth your while " (her eyes glittered) " to 
 keep at a distance from her, never again to 
 approach her in deed or speech, at the risk 
 of forfeiting a monthly allowance of say " 
 (here he mentioned a sum which caused Ruby 
 Darien's haggard face to flush high with cov- 
 etous delight) " it will certainly not be with- 
 out an understanding on their part of how 
 you contrived to present yourself through 
 Lady Campstown's premises without identi- 
 fication by her servants. ' ' 
 
 11 That was a small matter," she said 
 eagerly. " Although my respected aunt-in- 
 law has long since instructed her staff not 
 to admit me to her presence, there remains
 
 226 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 in her employ a child of nature, an untutored 
 Provengal housemaid, who in former days 
 chose to idealize me, and even now would do 
 anything reasonably atrocious at my bidding. 
 She it was who contrived to let me in from 
 the lane, to which a cab from the station 
 brought me up the hill. I should tell you 
 that I am stopping temporarily at Nice, in 
 an hotel where they accept me wdthout ques- 
 tions, but which has proved, alas, too fatally 
 convenient to Monte Carlo! ' 
 
 " Then, if you will allow me, I will myself 
 see you into another cab for your return. 
 There is a station for carriages at no great 
 distance down the road from here. To-mor- 
 row I will present myself at your hotel in 
 Nice, with the necessary papers insuring to 
 you the allowance I named, and an agree- 
 ment, which I shall in return ask you to sign, 
 pledging yourself to keep your side of the 
 bargain." 
 
 " American promptitude in business is 
 proverbial," she said, essaying an easy laugh, 
 and darting a side glance, not unmixed with 
 admiration, upon her interlocutor. " How 
 nice it must be to be disgustingly rich as all 
 you Yankees are ; to be able to confound the
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 227 
 
 politics and frustrate the knavish tricks of 
 your enemies by the prompt administration 
 of hard cash! I always thought that if I'd 
 had money enough to be good on, I might 
 have graduated as a saint." 
 
 When Glynn walked up the steps at Reine 
 des Fees, feeling a mixture of disgust and 
 pride in his victory achieved, Posey ran out 
 to meet him, slipping her arm in his. 
 
 * ' You Ve triumphed, I see. Oh ! John, 
 dear, what daddy needs is a real son like 
 you, and I, just such a brother. Don't tell 
 me anything about that horrid creature now, 
 let's be happy for a while. Let us speak of 
 something as far from her as one pole of 
 earth is from the other of dear Helen Car- 
 stairs, whose card I found on the hall table 
 when I went in after leaving you. If it 
 hadn't been that I was with you, I'd have 
 begrudged missing her for anybody's sake. 
 Of course the stupid servants said I was not 
 at home. Now, why couldn't they have shown 
 her into the garden, and then she could have 
 been introduced to you, and how nice that 
 would have been! The two people of all 
 others I most admire, and shall expect and
 
 228 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 insist upon being friends with each other! 
 Say, John, to please me that you are long- 
 ing to meet Helen! " 
 
 " Posey," began Glynn, and his voice to 
 his own ears sounded unnaturally thin, " I 
 have been waiting a chance to tell you that 
 I have known Miss Carstairs; that I ran 
 upon her by chance at the Gare de Lyons 
 yesterday, just as the train for the South 
 had started. That we were, in fact, compan- 
 ions in the same compartment, and talked 
 of you together, more than once, during our 
 day's run." 
 
 " You! Helen! Wonders will never 
 cease! " cried the girl exultingly. " But," 
 a sobering thought seizing hold of her, " how 
 was it possible you never mentioned her to me 
 in a single one of your letters ? ' 
 
 " Try to think why, Posey," the young man 
 said gravely, as they paused together in the 
 hall filled with dead marbles and living blos- 
 soms of the Spring. 
 
 " It was Helen, then, Helen? ' Her eyes 
 flamed the rest of the sentence. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Ah! I might have guessed it. And I 
 was vain enough and rash enough to think
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 229 
 
 I could fill her place to you. Poor, dear 
 John, what you have lost, and what have you 
 got instead? " 
 
 " Far more than I merit in any case, dear. 
 It is her secret, and, but that I dared not de- 
 ceive you, should never have passed my lips. 
 It is over, Posey, buried forty fathoms deep. 
 You see, now, that each of us has need of 
 charity and forbearance with the other, and 
 you must set me an example of kind forgiv- 
 ingness for all I have done or left undone to- 
 ward you." 
 
 " My dear boy," said Mr. Winstanley, who, 
 at this moment, came shuffling out from the 
 library to join them, " you are late for lunch- 
 eon, but how long wouldn't I wait to see you 
 and Posey standing there together? It's 
 better than any sun-bath to have you around, 
 I tell you! I feel years younger since you 
 
 came." 
 
 "So do I, father," said Posey. ' After 
 this I am going to wear a collar with a little 
 bell and a leash, and let John lead me upon 
 the Croisette. It is good to have some one to 
 be will and conscience, both, for me ! ' 
 
 " I'm afraid I've spoiled her for you, just 
 a little, John," added her father wistfully.
 
 230 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 " You and others, perhaps. But such as 
 she is, she's a lot too good for me, sir or 
 any man. All the same, I think you'll have 
 to be giving me Posey before the time you 
 fixed for our probation. We are young and 
 will grow together, and she'll help me to do 
 big work. And it seems to me, Mr. Win- 
 stanley, that she's got a dose of this Old 
 World at the start that'll make her willing 
 to settle down in our own country." 
 
 " We'll see," nodded the old gentleman. 
 And, indeed, the idea of an earlier marriage 
 chimed in with his own notions. Since the 
 wing of the Angel of Death had brushed so 
 near his face in passing, Herbert Winstan- 
 ley often thought that to put the future of 
 his impetuous child into safe hands would 
 give him a happier feeling when he lay down 
 to sleep o' nights. 
 
 Thus Miss Bleecker was wiser than she 
 knew, in predicting a matrimonial conclu- 
 sion to the Winstanley winter in Cannes. 
 When she and Helen accepted Posey 's in- 
 vitation to dine with them " to meet a few 
 friends " on the night but one following their 
 arrival an invitation, needless to say, ac-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 231 
 
 cepted by Miss Carstairs with perturbation 
 of spirit and the feeling that she was walk- 
 ing up to the cannon's mouth things seemed 
 to point that way. They found Mr. Win- 
 stanley, simple and gentle as ever, standing 
 to receive his guests in the drawing-room 
 with its famous tapestries, surrounded by 
 gems of art that for the first time in years 
 had emerged from their Holland cerements. 
 The stately room had flowers massed in its 
 corners, and a great fire of logs was leaping 
 under a carved stone mantelpiece also banked 
 high with plants and blossoms. At her fa- 
 ther's right hand stood Posey, blushing and 
 dimpling with artless pleasure in receiving 
 her friend under circumstances so radically 
 different from those in which they had met 
 and parted a few months before ; but in dress 
 and bearing so perfectly adapted was she to 
 her luxurious entourage, that Miss Bleecker 
 blinked when looking upon her, and refused 
 to believe her eyes. And on Mr. Winstan- 
 ley's other side, quiet, grave, a little pale, but 
 collected and fully determined to maintain 
 his position with dignified acceptance, stood 
 Glynn as handsome and bonny a lad as ever 
 rejoiced a father's heart, Mr. Winstanley
 
 232 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 was saying inside his own warm receptacle 
 of human emotions. 
 
 As Helen's eyes met John's and dropped 
 away; as he clasped her gloved fingers, mar- 
 velling at her grace and distinction in the 
 trailing dinner gown of pale rose satin with- 
 out frill or furbelow, each felt that this oc- 
 casion had for them the solemn significance 
 of a final renunciation of their love. It was 
 as if she were standing in the church seeing 
 Glynn take Posey to be his wife. A keen 
 pang of shame for the weakness that had 
 overcome her on their journey shot through 
 her being. Ah, well! Fate had been too 
 strong for her then. That was the last, the 
 very last like a farewell breathed into al- 
 ready deadened ears. 
 
 Posey 's attitude toward Helen also touched 
 Miss Carstairs acutely. That there was in it 
 a new consciousness she felt immediately. 
 She recognized that Glynn must have eased 
 his honest heart of its burden by telling his 
 betrothed of his former love for her, and 
 felt that this was as it should be, if Posey 
 were to remain her friend. It was not ten- 
 der apology, or loving sympathy, that Posey 
 showed, nor yet bashful consciousness that
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 233 
 
 she had in some way taken the ground from 
 under Helen's feet, but an exquisite mixture 
 of all these. Her high spirits had for the 
 moment deserted her. She kept close to her 
 father's side, answered Miss Bleecker's ful- 
 some greetings with no attempt at tart or 
 witty answers, and, as their other guests came 
 in, proceeded to do the honors as if " born 
 to the purple " (so Miss Bleecker whispered 
 to John Glynn). 
 
 The chaperon's day of wonder was upon 
 her, while the room rapidly filled with a com- 
 pany of people distinguished in the world's 
 eye of their winter colony, all of whom bore 
 themselves toward the tenant of Reine des 
 Fees and his youthful chatelaine with the 
 friendly consideration of accustomed inti- 
 mates. To each of the new-comers, Glynn was 
 presented by his host; without special an- 
 nouncement, it is true, yet in fashion so in- 
 tentional that there was no mistaking the 
 attitude in which he stood toward father and 
 daughter. As they presently went in to din- 
 ner, in a salle with carved panels of French 
 walnut and great lustres of Venetian glass 
 illuminating its four corners, to gather 
 around a table that left nothing for fastidi-
 
 234 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 ous taste to criticise, Miss Bleecker wanted 
 to pinch herself upon taking off her gloves, 
 to feel assured that she was not in a dream. 
 The old gentleman, yonder, well turned out 
 by a good valet, in appropriate evening clothes, 
 seated between a great lady of France, whose 
 neck was wrapped in historic pearls, and an 
 Englishwoman of rank and exclusive habit, 
 could he be the little old man of shipboard, 
 whom Helen's chaperon had despised and 
 derided as the veriest pretender to good so- 
 ciety ? It was incredible ! And the strangest 
 part of the situation in old Sally's eyes was 
 that, save in externals, Herbert Winstanley 
 had not altered in any particular from the 
 shrewd quiet observer of the game of life, the 
 mild commentator upon the ways of men and 
 women, the almost childlike recipient of cour- 
 tesy and kind words, whom she remembered 
 with amused contempt. 
 
 Such as he was, these people had taken him 
 up with a good-will there was no denying. 
 Miss Bleecker had the pleasure of finding 
 herself at table told off to an old beau of 
 nativity American, overlaid with years of 
 veneer Continental, who seemed to find satis- 
 faction in extolling to her the " solid " success
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 235, 
 
 of the Winstanleys; the girl's extraordinary 
 ease in presiding over this banquet of state, 
 and the good luck of that fellow G-lynn, whose 
 significant appearance this evening was evi- 
 dently intended to put all of Miss Winstan- 
 ley's other admirers out of the running. 
 
 Old Sally, who had long ago learned how to 
 trim her sails, listened with bitterness, and 
 while comforting her inner woman with the 
 long succession of " plats " and wines pre- 
 sented at her elbow, made up her mind that 
 she would stray over to Heine des Fees, with- 
 out Helen, next morning (under her most be- 
 coming parasol), with the hope of finding Mr. 
 Winstanley engaged in taking his sun-bath on 
 the terrace. " And, if I only get my chance," 
 she meditated, " trust me for following it up." 
 The announcement, by cable from America 
 that day, of the engagement of a contemporary 
 of her own, long abandoned in appearance to 
 celibate joys, to marry " the last man anyone 
 would have expected to see pick her up " a 
 recent widower of large means and uncertain 
 temper accelerated the spinster's thoughts 
 and lent a false brilliancy to the evening that 
 had begun for her so dolefully. 
 
 To Helen Carstairs, naturally, the ordeal of
 
 236 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 the dinner was interminable. Separated from 
 Glynn by a wide extent of flower-decorated 
 table, amid which candles gleamed softly, and 
 silver lent its sheen to illuminate beds of 
 maiden-hair and cyclamen, she dared not look 
 in his direction. All of her efforts were given 
 to self-control. The man who took her in, a 
 handsome blond young Russian, with all the 
 languages of earth seemingly at his disposal, 
 decided that the American heiress not appro- 
 priated at this feast was as cold as the snows 
 of his own Caucasus. The Roumanian prince 
 on her other side gave her up also as a person 
 impossible to interest. She went through it 
 like an automaton, her one desire to see Posey 
 signal to the lady with the pearls that it was 
 time to arise from table. 
 
 Lady Campstown, watching this little drama 
 of every day, felt worried and puzzled. She 
 had never given up the idea that Clandonald 
 had cared for Miss Carstairs, and was only 
 debarred from telling her so from his pride 
 of poverty and the clog attached to his career. 
 Although her ladyship's secret heart yearned 
 over Posey, and she would have given worlds 
 to see Clan's allegiance transferred to her, the 
 American rival well disposed of in some other
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 237 
 
 way (nature not settled in her mind) and 
 Posey becoming a member of their family, her 
 very own to cherish through life, the joyous 
 regenerator of her nephew's hopes and for- 
 tunes she now felt this to be a fairy tale 
 beyond chance of reality. Much as she had 
 talked to Posey about Clan that winter (and 
 one must have experience of the wealth of con- 
 versation a lonely old woman lavishes upon 
 the young, strong, vigorous manhood that 
 belongs to her and has gone out to the world, 
 forsaking her, to know just how much that 
 was), the girl had never in return given her 
 a hint of interest in him beyond the common. 
 She had spoken of their meeting on shipboard, 
 had acceded to Lady Campstown's appeals for 
 interest in the chief events of his life, but had 
 ventured nothing on her own account. 
 
 Slowly, but surely, therefore, Lady Camps- 
 town had seen the evanishment of this hope, 
 conceived in secret and brought forth in fear, 
 without a suggestion of it having been con- 
 signed to Miss Winstanley. The arrival of Mr. 
 Glynn, duly presented to her ladyship in form, 
 had shown the dowager the futility of her 
 hopes. The engagement with Glynn was real, 
 tangible, not a boy-and-girl fancy that might
 
 238 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 drift into smoke it was undeniably " there to 
 stay." 
 
 Lady Campstown, perhaps unwillingly, 
 could not withhold from Glynn the tribute of 
 admiration his manly exterior, his fearless 
 earnestness of character, were wont to extort 
 from strangers. She had failed, though, to 
 discern in Posey any of the usual signs and 
 tokens by which a girl takes the world into her 
 confidence concerning her joy at a lover's com- 
 ing. She marvelled at the child's matter-of- 
 fact demeanor, her off-hand bonhommie, her 
 warm spirit of comradeship to Glynn. It must 
 be, thought the old lady, a little put out by 
 these conditions, which were not according to 
 her recollections or her views, " that is the 
 way they do it in America ! ' 
 
 Thus, perforce falling back upon the Helen 
 Carstairs idea again, that young lady's arrival 
 in Cannes had seemed little short of Providen- 
 tial. Clandonald must, according to his prom- 
 ises and forecasts of travel, be shortly in the 
 field. There was no question that he had once 
 admitted to his aunt it was some American 
 lady who had caused the trouble from Ruby 
 shortly after his return to Beaumanoir. He 
 had been vague, elusive, as men always are in
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 239 
 
 telling what their womenkind want to know 
 about other women ; but there had been a girl, 
 an American girl; Ruby had attacked him 
 through this girl, he had paid dearly to silence 
 the base tormentor, and then, in an access of 
 wounded pride and disgust, had again shaken 
 the dust of his native land from his feet, and 
 journeyed into the unknown. Months had 
 passed, long enough for Clandonald's angry 
 feelings to subside. He must soon come back 
 to Villa Julia, where he had known so many 
 happy hours. His aunt would make him thor- 
 oughly comfortable, happy, as she well knew 
 how to do. She would go slowly, leaving 
 Helen and himself to drift together again in 
 the natural order of such things. It must, it 
 must come out all right! 
 
 While indulging in this optimistic thought 
 for the twentieth time in two days, Lady 
 Campstown had happened to catch a glimpse 
 of Helen's face between two candelabra. It 
 was the first time she had seen it in repose 
 since the young lady's visit to Beaumanoir, 
 and she was struck with an increase of thought 
 and pain in the rare, fine countenance. At 
 once she decided that Helen was fretting after 
 Clan, and her warm heart bounded with sym-
 
 240 LATTER-DAT SWEETHEARTS 
 
 pathy. She went up to Miss Carstairs when 
 the women were together after dinner and 
 spoke to her cordially, flatteringly. Posey, 
 from where she sat with her two greatest 
 ladies tarrying there, however, just long 
 enough to say a few modest words, then leav- 
 ing them to what they desired, conversation 
 with each other saw the talk between her two 
 friends, and longed to join in it. Hastening 
 upon her rounds as a hostess, she in due time 
 came up with them. 
 
 " What a nice time you two dear souls are 
 having!" she exclaimed. " And how I've 
 wanted to be with you! It is so much nicer 
 always to be with the few one loves than with 
 the many one merely has to know." 
 
 " You have been gleaning golden opinions, 
 all the same," said Helen. " Lady Camps- 
 town has been telling me what Princess Z 
 
 says of you as an entertainer that you were 
 born, not made." 
 
 " I reckon no, I fancy I came by it hon- 
 estly," laughed Posey. " I always enjoy the 
 things we give so much more than those we go 
 to." 
 
 ' ' I am asking Miss Carstairs to come to me 
 to-morrow for luncheon," said Lady Camps-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 241 
 
 town, putting with loving fingers a stray bit 
 of Posey's lace in place. " And I do hope, 
 dear, you haven't promised anybody else." 
 
 " I'll come, surely," exclaimed the girl. 
 " Though I suppose I ought not to forsake 
 daddy and John these few days we have to- 
 gether. But to tell you the mortifying truth, 
 they are continually falling knee-deep into 
 talks of which I can't understand a thing. 
 And sometimes I slip out with my dogs, and 
 they don't even know that I have gone." 
 
 " ' Slip out ' to-morrow, then, at 1.30, and 
 bring the dogs," said Lady Campstown. 
 " But, my dear, what does this mean that I 
 hear, Mr. Glynn is for leaving us on Thurs- 
 day? " 
 
 " He's going to catch the l Kronprinz ' at 
 Cherbourg, Saturday, and must have a few 
 hours in Paris. It's awfully stupid, I tell 
 him, but when an American man gets hold of 
 a scheme that spells business you can no more 
 induce him to loose hold of it than my darling 
 Maida will consent to give up a particular pet 
 bone. ' ' 
 
 " But he's coming back very soon, they tell 
 me. How you Americans can go racing back 
 and forth across the Atlantic as you do "
 
 242 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 " Yes, he's coming back very soon/' said 
 Posey, faltering a little, and pulling to pieces 
 a superb white rose with purple-red outside 
 petals that hung from a vase on the console 
 next to her. " I may as well tell you both, 
 what I meant to do to-morrow, that daddy and 
 he decided to-day the wedding's to come off 
 at the end of March. John will accordingly 
 rush through a lot of things in New York, 
 tear back again, probably via Genoa, if they 
 put on one of the fast ships, and where his 
 trousseau's to come in, I can't imagine. My 
 own will take every minute from now till then, 
 and all of the missionary aid you two dears 
 choose to lend me, to make it an accomplished 
 fact." 
 
 " You can count upon me in all things," 
 Helen said very quietly. 
 
 " Oh, my dear lamb, and you ask me to be 
 glad when it means that I've got to lose you," 
 put in Lady Campstown, thinking for the mo- 
 ment honestly about herself, and thereby cov- 
 ering what might have been a trying pause 
 to both girls. A servant, presenting a tray of 
 coffee-cups at Lady Campstown 's side, helped 
 further to bridge the moment, and others of 
 Posey 's guests surrounding her with chat and
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 243 
 
 laughter, the question of the marriage floated 
 away into space. Helen, however, took it back 
 to her hotel with her, wrestled with it during 
 sleepless hours, and next day, to stave off in- 
 tolerable thought, set out for a long walk alone. 
 
 Whither she went she neither cared nor 
 knew. She had a vague remembrance of hav- 
 ing passed through the flower-market, and 
 being set upon to buy, by a soft- voiced, smiling 
 woman who stood behind great blurs of red and 
 yellow and white and purple, shrined in ver- 
 dure, from which luscious scent arose. To get 
 rid of her, she had paid a persistent child a 
 franc for a big bunch of violets, and the girl, 
 with a saucy, merry face, thrust into her hand 
 also a spray of orange blossom. Helen threw 
 this last away impatiently. Impossible to be 
 rid of the suggestions of that wedding, ten- 
 fold more abhorrent to her now that she had 
 seen for herself and knew beyond a peradven- 
 ture that it was inspired by no such love as she 
 and John had felt for each other only a day or 
 two before ; such love as she must feel for him, 
 God help her, till she died. 
 
 She walked on through the town, far into 
 the outskirts, till seeing a sign of " New Milk " 
 upon a chalet near the road made her suddenly
 
 244 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 remember she had set out without even her 
 morning coffee. Going inside the building, she 
 sat for a few moments at a table while a woman 
 served her with rolls and a glass of milk, and 
 then, starting forth again, was vaguely 
 tempted to ascend a hillside which rose 
 abruptly above the spot, crowned with a noble 
 growth of trees. 
 
 Helen had no sooner gained the smooth 
 plateau of the summit than she remembered 
 where she was. Long ago, as a child, in charge 
 of her English governess, journeying from the 
 Italian seashore to join her father at Mar- 
 seilles, they had stopped over for a midsummer 
 fete at Mont St. Cassien, where, in blazing 
 heat, the Cannois and their rustic neighbors 
 from miles around had fulfilled an old custom 
 of Provence in holding service at a little chapel 
 on this hill, the remainder of the day and even- 
 ing being spent in feasting at tables spread on 
 the slopes and in the green valley below. She 
 could shut her eyes and see again the lights 
 gleaming around the tables, as the hot dark- 
 ness fell, the gay costumes, and the chain of 
 dancers threading its way among the trees. 
 
 The grass was growing wild and coarse 
 where she followed a shaded path to the little
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 245 
 
 hut in which a holy hermit had once lived and 
 died. A peasant woman in the kitchen of the 
 hermitage was cooking something in a cas- 
 serole over a tiny fire, but she left it civilly to 
 conduct the stranger through to the chapel 
 adjoining. A girl grown to woman's height, 
 but, alas, a child in intellect, began pulling and 
 tugging at her mother's gown, asking witless 
 questions and being repeatedly, but tenderly, 
 thrust aside by the woman, and told to stay in 
 her own place. 
 
 Helen hardly knew why she had acceded 
 to the woman's suggestion that she should visit 
 the uninteresting sanctuary, with its cheap 
 emblems and smell of stale incense, and deco- 
 rations of paper flowers. 
 
 But she understood, when through the now 
 opened front door a gentleman stepped from 
 broad sunshine into the chill interior, appar- 
 ently as aimless as herself, and came up to her 
 side. 
 
 " Helen! You are alone? " 
 
 ' ' You here 1 ' she answered under her 
 breath. " When I have come all this dis- 
 tance to be away from you! ' 
 
 "It is the same with me, Helen," Glynn 
 said in a sombre voice. " I have wandered
 
 246 LATTEK-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 and wandered up here for no reason in par- 
 ticular, trying to believe you are not in 
 Cannes, trying to master my ungovernable 
 desire to be with you only once again." 
 
 " It is all of a piece with our being thrust 
 together that day upon the train," she cried 
 impetuously. " What have we done that such 
 things should be forced upon us? ' 
 
 " Come out at least into the sunshine," he 
 said, taking her cold hand. " You will be 
 chilled in this dreary place." 
 
 Giving a douceur to the poor guardian of 
 the premises, they went together to a point of 
 the hillside whereon the trunk of a fallen tree 
 offered a semblance of a seat. 
 
 Helen, actually nerveless, dropped upon it, 
 Glynn standing beside her, neither daring to 
 speak first. 
 
 " You know that I am leaving to-morrow? ' 
 he asked finally. 
 
 " Posey told me so last night," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 " She told you what was to follow my re- 
 turn at the end of March? ' 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " The question is, Am I a man of honor or 
 a scoundrel? " he went on with a frowning
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 247 
 
 brow. " I have thought of it so long, so in- 
 tensely, that my judgment has ceased to act. 
 Helen, you have the clearest mind, the most 
 well-balanced conscience I ever knew " 
 
 " You can say that, when I was so false to 
 myself and you as to let you go that time in 
 New York, before all these complications came 
 upon us? ' she interrupted him bitterly. 
 ' ' But there, what is the use ? We have parted, 
 there is no hope, let us never speak of our- 
 selves together again. If it is your duty to 
 Posey, to her father, that torments you ; I bid 
 you keep your pledge. It is impossible that 
 you should now make any motion to withdraw 
 from it. The one terrible thing to me was 
 that we should all go on and Poesy have no 
 idea what you and I once were to each 
 other " * 
 
 " Nobody could know that," the man said 
 sturdily. Helen shivered. 
 
 " But you have relieved me of that fear," 
 she hurried on. " I saw at once, last night, 
 
 that you had told her " 
 
 " Only that you were the woman I had 
 loved before plighting myself to her. She 
 knows nothing of the circumstances of our
 
 248 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 acquaintance. That is my secret, mine only, 
 to be treasured till I die." 
 
 " She knows enough, however, to make clear 
 the way between us," Helen made further 
 haste to say. " If you are kind now, you will 
 end this conversation that ought never to have 
 begun. I shall be leaving Cannes shortly. My 
 father is coming for me in his yacht. Before 
 I see you again you will have in your keeping 
 the happiness, the trust, of one no, two, of 
 the kindest, most confiding creatures God ever 
 made. Never think that it is I who could try 
 and weaken you at the outset of such a task. 
 If necessary, rather let Posey think that I 
 have grown cold to her than run the risk of 
 such a re-awakening of old feeling as we two 
 have innocently suffered from to-day." 
 
 Her voice dropped to a whisper. Violet 
 tshadows had formed under her eyes, the lines 
 around her mouth had deepened painfully. 
 But when she looked at him full in the eyes, 
 he knew there would be no more weakening 
 in his direction. Presently she arose, and 
 they walked together to the foot of the hill, 
 where Helen hailed a passing carriage and 
 asked him to put her in it. A moment more, 
 and Glynn was indeed alone.
 
 LATTEE-DAY SWEETHEARTS 249 
 
 As he walked rapidly homeward, he forced 
 his mind away from the overpowering interest 
 of this last chance interview to dwell upon 
 minor things, among which he was inclined to 
 classify even the settling of the affair with 
 Posey's tormentor, Mrs. Darien. He had, ac- 
 cording to his engagement with that lady, gone 
 over to Nice by an early train the day follow- 
 ing their interview in the garden. He had 
 found her in the melancholy splendors of a 
 saloon bedroom in a cheap hotel, with a screen 
 half encircling an untidy couch, a dressing- 
 table littered with strange scents and unguents, 
 shabby finery hanging upon hooks, and a 
 chaise longue of rusty plush drawn up before 
 a writing-table containing, in addition to its 
 blotter and inkstand, a case of liqueurs and 
 glasses. 
 
 Mrs. Darien, for which he yielded her credit, 
 made no attempt to apologize for her poor 
 surroundings. She received her visitor with 
 astonishing ease and vivacity; talked rapidly 
 and cleverly of contemporaneous topics, and 
 when he came, without overmuch delay, to the 
 point of the business that brought him, treated 
 Mr. Glynn in a semi-coquettish, rallying 
 spirit, as though he were proposing to her a
 
 250 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 very good joke. She closed upon his offer 
 like a vice, however, and affixed her name to 
 the paper forfeiting the liberal allowance he 
 had decided to make her should she be again 
 heard of as molesting Miss Winstanley with 
 an eager, trembling hand. Glynn had de- 
 cided, as he walked away from her into purer 
 air, that drink or morphia, or both, were driv- 
 ing the ex-Lady Clandonald to an end at a 
 fearful rate of speed. He had paid high for 
 this visit to Nice, but it counted as nothing 
 provided she left Mr. Winstanley 's little ewe 
 lamb in peace. 
 
 The two girls met at luncheon at Lady 
 Campstown's, who had spent the morning in 
 letting Posey experiment upon her nerves 
 in the Winstanley 's automobile. Posey felt 
 proud indeed of this success, when she brought 
 home the dowager (at the utmost limit of 
 speed disallowed by law), thrilled and en- 
 chanted, after beginning her expedition with 
 closed eyes and a prayer upon her lips. Mr. 
 Winstanley, who had long since abandoned 
 himself to sharing risks with his girl, sat be- 
 side his guest, exhibiting to the public the ex-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 251 
 
 terior of a diver for pearls combined with a 
 hippopotamus. 
 
 Flushed by conquest, Posey had recovered 
 her buoyant spirits, and their meal was en- 
 livened by her old daring sallies. She even 
 ventured, in the welcome absence of Miss 
 Bleecker, upon introducing an imitation of 
 that lady, in an entanglement of eye-glasses, 
 trying to read the dinner menu at sea. Lady 
 Campstown, who thought less of Miss 
 Bleecker than she had before seeing her re- 
 cent barefaced designs upon Mr. Winstanley, 
 enjoyed this very much ; but Posey confessed 
 it had not been a success at home, owing to 
 Mr. Winstanley not relishing satire directed 
 toward acquaintances, and considering Miss 
 Bleecker, on the whole, " a very polite and 
 agreeable lady." 
 
 When Posey separated from Helen after 
 lunch she felt that a little frost had fallen 
 upon their friendship. She instinctively real- 
 ized that things could not be between them 
 what they were before Glynn had owned to 
 her he had first loved Helen. Something told 
 her that it needed time to smooth over a situa- 
 tion like their own. After John left on the 
 morrow she would, perhaps, see dear Helen 
 with a lighter heart.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 MR. GLYNN had sailed away again, and 
 preparations for the wedding had already be- 
 gun to absorb Miss Winstanley. She had been 
 gone for a week in Paris with Lady Camps- 
 town when Mr. Carstairs' yacht, the " Sans 
 Peur," made its appearance in the harbor. 
 Previous to this, it may be told, Miss Bleecker 
 had privately received and cashed a draft 
 upon her bankers that had put the chaperon 
 in unprecedented funds and spirits. She had 
 received also a telegram of instructions from 
 Mrs. Carstairs, at Gibraltar, directing her to 
 engage for their party a suite of costly apart- 
 ments at the Grand Hotel. Full of impor- 
 tance, she swelled here, there and everywhere, 
 detailing to all ears the grandeur and impor- 
 tance of her employers, and basking in the rays 
 of glory they sent before them. She needed 
 a little cheering at this time, since Mr. Win- 
 stanley had remained inflexible, declining her 
 offers to bear him company on his terrace, and 
 treating her persistently as a worthy elderly
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 253 
 
 person, beyond the pale of pleasures that do 
 not belong to the late afternoon of life. 
 
 For Helen the days preceding the arrival 
 of the " Sans Peur " were profoundly sad 
 ones. Putting aside her feelings upon another 
 theme, her dread of reunion with Mrs. Car- 
 stairs robbed her of all joy in her dear father's 
 coming. In vain Miss Bleecker drummed into 
 her ears how nobler far it is to give than to 
 receive, how a self-sacrifice like hers would 
 bring its own reward, how Helen was destined 
 to be the blessed medium through whom joy 
 and harmony would descend upon the Car- 
 stairs family for evermore. 
 
 If a faint ever so faint hope survived in 
 Helen's mind that her stepmother's specious 
 assurances of good-will to her and devotion 
 to her father were to be credited, this faded 
 upon her first visit to the yacht. In the cabin 
 where she herself had once reigned as queen 
 she found Mrs. Carstairs, coarsened, indefin- 
 ably repellant, although still superb in bloom 
 and with a Rubens lady's plenitude of phy- 
 sique. Around her were grouped two or three 
 men, making up the party of which Helen was 
 expected to be the bulwark of respectability. 
 One of them, a Mr. Danielson, Helen disliked
 
 254 LATTER-DAT SWEETHEARTS 
 
 promptly and instinctively; none would she 
 have admitted into the circle of her acquaint- 
 ances at home. When Mr. Carstairs, after 
 some delay, made his appearance, Helen was 
 shocked beyond measure to behold in him a 
 mere weary wraith, beside whom his wife 
 seemed to flaunt her beauty and splendid 
 health with insolence. His greeting of his 
 daughter was indifferent, abstracted. She 
 found it impossible to have a word alone with 
 him. The thought of the cruise before her 
 lay like ice on Helen's heart. 
 
 Before Mr. and Mrs. Carstairs had spent 
 a week in Cannes the lady declared it to be a 
 poky hole and wished she had gone to Nice. 
 To Nice they accordingly repaired, and in due 
 course of time sailed for Naples. While Mrs. 
 Carstairs rattled and joked noisily with her 
 other guests, she reserved for the handsome 
 cad at whom Helen had taken special umbrage 
 a reserve of manner more suspicious to an 
 interested looker-on. To Helen, a petty 
 agony of the cruise was that Mr. Danielson 
 should conceive himself obliged to devote most 
 of his leisure hours to attendance upon the 
 owner's daughter, refusing with fatuous per- 
 sistency to be shaken off. A few brief scorn-
 
 LATTEK-DAY SWEETHEARTS 255 
 
 ful words of remonstrance on this subject, 
 addressed to her stepmother, were met by the 
 laughing assurance that there was really 
 nothing for Helen to apprehend, and that a 
 man so universally run after as was Mr. 
 Danielson, by what Mrs. Carstairs called the 
 " fair sex," must meet the risk of having his 
 casual attentions misinterpreted at times. 
 
 Proud, wounded, scornful, feeling that her 
 standard of life had dropped to an unendur- 
 able point, Helen got into the habit of keep- 
 ing to herself as much as practicable. At 
 Naples she would take her own maid and 
 absent herself for hours from the yacht and 
 its dubious company. To her father there 
 was actually no chance of being what she had 
 hoped. He was mostly captious, preferring 
 to be left alone when his wife did not vouch- 
 safe him her companionship which was now 
 a rare event. The great Mr. Carstairs was, 
 indeed, socially a cipher among these half- 
 breeds, who drank his wines and allowed him 
 to pay their expenses of travel. 
 
 Miss Bleecker, under the infatuation of 
 Mrs. Carstairs' liberal money-spending, of 
 their luxurious living and continual seeking 
 of pleasure and excitement in which she was
 
 256 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 included when, as usual, Helen refused to go 
 beqame as a broken reed in support of her 
 charge's movements. Poor old Eulalie, with 
 some sense of the loss of refined surround- 
 ings they had sustained, and a hearty dislike 
 of the imperative chaperon, ranged herself 
 exclusively upon the side of her young lady 
 refusing to fraternize with Mrs. Carstairs' 
 maid, whom she regarded as a second-rate 
 creature in every way, and going through the 
 routine of life in general with a dogged deter- 
 mination to endure unto the end. 
 
 A day came at last when Miss Carstairs 
 went out to Pompeii with her maid, instead of 
 to the museum in Naples, where she had an- 
 nounced her intention of spending the after- 
 noon. 
 
 She left Eulalie sitting upon an immemo- 
 rial stone and wandered off alone through the 
 beautiful sad place. To the guardian, who 
 would fain have followed her, she gave a 
 piece of money and a gracious smile, explain- 
 ing that she knew it all by heart, and wanted 
 only to gain a general impression of the dead 
 city on that day of radiant spring. She had 
 been standing for some time near the tomb of 
 Mamia, looking out over the bay and moun-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 257 
 
 tains of Castellamare melting together in sun- 
 shine, and, recalled to the present by the late- 
 ness of the hour, started to walk back to where 
 she had left the monumental Eulalie. 
 
 Her resolution to leave the yacht, to aban- 
 don the party, and if needs be to forfeit all 
 that her acquiescence had secured for her, 
 was now definitely taken. To avoid discus- 
 sion, she would simply ask her father to allow 
 Miss Bleecker and herself to go up to Rome, 
 where Mr. Carstairs could never abide visit- 
 ing, on the ground that he did not like living 
 over catacombs and being face to face with 
 so many things already done for. He knew 
 Helen's tender passion for the Imperial City, 
 and might excuse her from going on with 
 them to Sicily. 
 
 From Miss Bleecker she felt sure of meet- 
 ing fierce and stubborn resistance to her plan. 
 The dream of Miss Bleecker 's life had been 
 a cruise in the ' ' Sans Peur, - ' and it was hardly 
 to be supposed she would easily relinquish it. 
 But Helen felt that upon occasion she could 
 be stubborn too. Any clash of wills, and sub- 
 sequent victory for her, was worth under- 
 taking, to rid her of the offensive companion- 
 ship of Mrs. Carstairs and one other.
 
 258 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 She could not be sure of what she suspected 
 between them. She scorned to make herself 
 assured. She could not stoop to the miser- 
 able method necessary to the acquirement of 
 dread certainty. And yet " she was walking 
 every day with bare feet on a burning pave- 
 ment without feeling the burn." 
 
 Passing with noiseless step before a house- 
 wall arising like a screen before her path, she 
 paused for a moment to enjoy one last gaze 
 at the pageant of sea and sky in the light of 
 waning day. In this brief time the sound of 
 her own name spoken by low voices behind 
 the ruined wall forced themselves upon her 
 hearing. They were those of her stepmother 
 and the man Danielson. 
 
 Two phrases interchanged, but they told 
 Helen all. She could never again indulge in 
 the misery of doubt. 
 
 She stood for an instant as if overtaken 
 by the lava flow that had devastated the homes 
 of seventeen centuries ago surrounding her. 
 The one despairing, driving impulse was to 
 steal away unseen by the woman who dis- 
 honored her dear father's name. Helen 
 thought she had rather fall down and die and 
 become embedded with the dust of ages than
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 259 
 
 go back to face Mrs. Carstairs and let her 
 know she had found her out. 
 
 As the couple, without discovering her 
 neighborhood, moved in an opposite direc- 
 tion, Mr. Carstairs' daughter took wings to 
 her feet and flew to pick up Eulalie and find 
 the cab they had left before the Hotel Diomed. 
 The maid, sluggish though were the workings 
 of her mental part, saw that her mistress had 
 had a fright, and blamed herself for losing 
 sight of her. Helen's cheeks were white, her 
 hands shook as though palsied, as she sprang 
 into the cab and bade the man drive fast, fast, 
 back toward the town. She wished, at all 
 events, to avoid being caught up with or 
 passed by the pair, who could not at that hour 
 linger much longer within the enclosure. 
 
 During the long joggling drive through in- 
 terminable stony streets, encumbered by the 
 populace of the Neapolitan suburbs, perform- 
 ing their domestic avocations out of doors, 
 she came to a desperate conclusion. She was 
 of age sufficiently mature to act for herself. 
 She could not, would not, give her reasons to 
 her father. But she would carry out her re- 
 cent determination to leave the yacht at once, 
 forfeit the price that had been paid her to be
 
 260 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 an infamous blind, and, at any risk, sever her 
 present connection with Mrs. Carstairs. 
 
 Helen possessed the American woman's 
 promptitude in action. She drove with Eu- 
 lalie to an hotel formerly frequented with her 
 father, engaged a room for the night, and 
 sent the maid to the yacht with a note re- 
 questing Miss Bleecker to come to her. The 
 interview resulting with her estimable chap- 
 eron was perhaps one of the most painful of 
 her experience. The lady, to whom she gave 
 in explanation of her resolve a bare state- 
 ment that she could no longer endure the trial 
 of life with her stepmother, exhausted her- 
 self in remonstrance and reproach. She 
 pointed out to Helen that the money from her 
 father could still be, and no doubt would be, 
 withdrawn upon announcement of Miss Car- 
 stairs' extraordinary move. Helen declared 
 that, well aware of this fact, she was prepared 
 to live on the small income coming to her from 
 her mother's estate. Miss Bleecker reminded 
 her that her father was in evidently wretched 
 health, and that no whim or temper should 
 stand between him and his daughter's at- 
 tendance at his side. Helen, blushing scarlet, 
 with tears in her eyes, recalled to Miss
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 261 
 
 Bleecker that she had not been allowed ac- 
 cess to her father's own cabin since they had 
 been together on the cruise, and that, fur- 
 thermore, he did not appear to want her. Miss 
 Bleecker called Heaven to witness that she 
 had no patience with family jars, had no axe 
 to grind on her own account, but that if Helen 
 persisted in her wilful determination she 
 should feel it her bounden duty not to for- 
 sake poor Mrs. Carstairs if wanted to remain. 
 
 That evening, between nine and ten, Mrs. 
 Carstairs called upon Miss Carstairs, but was 
 not received. Helen sent back, in a hotel en- 
 velope, her stepmother's card, across which 
 she had written these words: 
 
 " I happened to be at Pompeii this after- 
 noon, but no other than myself shall know 
 under what circumstances you also were there. 
 It is enough that we must part." 
 
 Next day Mrs. Carstairs announced to her 
 guests that they were sailing for Sicily, and 
 as Miss Carstairs did not desire to go farther 
 South, she had decided to return by train to 
 the Riviera, to visit her friend, Miss Win- 
 stanley, at Cannes, and would rejoin the " Sans 
 Peur " later, somewhere in the Mediterra-
 
 262 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 nean. Then the " Sans Peur " steamed gal- 
 lantly away, bearing Miss Bleecker, now in- 
 stalled as companion to the owner's lady, and 
 Mr. Carstairs, keeping his cabin, it was said, 
 with a bad attack of some trouble undeclared. 
 The same evening, as Helen was about tak- 
 ing her train for Genoa and the Riviera at 
 the Stazione Centrale, she met, face to face 
 on the platform, Lord Clandonald and M. de 
 Mariol, returning by way of Corfu, Brindisi 
 and Naples from the Peloponnesus, where 
 they had finally brought up after their ramble 
 in Eastern Europe. The two men greeted her 
 with cordial courtesy, receiving in sum the 
 explanation of her presence made public by 
 Mrs. Carstairs. Mariol, from whom she 
 shrank a little, in the fear that he might re- 
 member against her with rancor the refusal 
 of his addresses, showed no consciousness that 
 this episode had occurred between them. He 
 was his old self, gentle, sympathetic, with an 
 exquisite intelligence in dealing with her such 
 as no other man had exhibited. He saw her 
 into her own compartment with her maid, and 
 before bedtime returned there several times, 
 to take the seat vacated by Mile. Eulalie, who
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 263 
 
 had carried her accustomed headache to an 
 open window in the corridor. 
 
 Before they had talked ten minutes Helen 
 realized that her great crisis was understood 
 and felt by him. In her overstrained and 
 overburdened state the relief of finding a soul 
 in tune with her desolate one was infinite. She 
 let him know just as much as was necessary 
 of the impelling cause of her action, and also 
 that in accepting Miss Winstanley's invita- 
 tion in a recent letter to return to Cannes, " if 
 only to see the spring flowers, ' ' she was doing 
 so until she could make up her mind just how 
 to readjust her life to altered circumstances. 
 
 M. de Mariol said little, but thought much, 
 after he had left Miss Carstairs for the night. 
 Clandonald had come once to look after both 
 of them, and their talk had turned into cheer- 
 ful channels. Both men were brown and 
 healthy and in good spirits, Mariol on his way 
 to Paris, Clandonald to Cannes, to visit his 
 good aunt. They touched upon the subject of 
 the Winstanleys' rise into fortune and worldly 
 vogue, Clandonald saying that Lady Camps- 
 town had written him of Miss Winstanley's 
 approaching marriage with Mr. Glynn. In 
 his frank, untroubled face Helen failed to dis-
 
 264 LATTEK-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 cern any symptom of corroding care, and once 
 more she registered an experience of the brev- 
 ity of men's attachments when their object is 
 removed. 
 
 During the day's journey that followed, 
 dashing in and out of tunnels, catching 
 glimpses of Paradise cut short by the black- 
 ness of the Inferno or, as some one has aptly 
 said, " Travelling through a flute and seeing 
 daylight through its stops " M. de Mariol 
 absorbed the chief part of Miss Carstairs' 
 society, putting forth for her the best of his 
 rare powers of charm and companionship. 
 When Clandonald and herself finally left the 
 train at Cannes, and Mariol went on his way 
 Paris-wards, Helen breathed a genuine sigh 
 of regret for a void not to be filled. 
 
 The welcome she received from the Win- 
 stanleys went far toward reconciling Miss 
 Carstairs to the necessity for a continuance 
 of interest in human existence. Those warm 
 and simple-hearted people, refusing to allow 
 her to stop at an hotel alone with her maid, 
 opened their home to her with rejoicing hos- 
 pitality. Nothing that she had ever seen of 
 a kindred nature seemed to her as broad and 
 warm as their delight in offering her a shelter.
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 265 
 
 Posey's quick wit divined that a terrible break 
 had occurred between Helen and her father's 
 party; her delicacy withheld all questions as 
 to its cause. It was enough that Helen Car- 
 stairs, to whom she had looked up with the 
 veneration of a devotee on his knees before 
 his shrine, had come upon a time of sorrow, 
 of disillusion, of deep and lasting despond- 
 ency, and that it was Posey's privilege to af- 
 ford her protection and sympathy until the 
 dark hour was past. It never entered into her 
 generous nature to draw the contrast between 
 the days, not so long past, when Helen had 
 kept her at arm's-length, and she was the 
 outsider. Nothing that she could do was too 
 much to cheer Helen, to make her feel one of 
 their innermost circle of home, more than a 
 welcome, a cherished guest. 
 
 In this atmosphere of tender prevenance 
 Helen's bruised spirit quickly recuperated. 
 She did not relax in her intention to make a 
 small independent home for herself some- 
 where, a condition of things her father's con- 
 tinued silence seemed to bring ominously near. 
 She had no illusions as to the fact that Mrs. 
 Carstairs had represented her conduct to her 
 father in the most unfavorable, unpardonable
 
 266 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 light. A little while she would remain as the 
 Winstanleys' guest, then would tell Posey 
 that she had found it obligatory to shift for 
 herself and to live upon far less than she had 
 ever done before. 
 
 The means of escape from her impasse came 
 to Miss Carstairs from an unexpected quar- 
 ter. Three days after her arrival at Reine des 
 Fees, while sitting with Posey in the orange 
 walk, a letter was handed her addressed in 
 M. de Mariol's handwriting. 
 
 Helen blushed violently, then grew pale, as 
 she laid it aside to read in private. She felt 
 that it must contain a renewal of his former 
 offer of marriage, and this time the old feeling 
 of unfitness was lacking. She was conscious 
 only of the great unselfishness and generosity 
 which this man of intellectual distinction and 
 wide renown had always shown to her. She 
 could see now that life is possible without 
 either the thrills of young passion or the costly 
 material pleasures that wealth provides. Her 
 future, as the wife of M. de Mariol, would be 
 assured of certain elements of happiness quite 
 apart from the demands of her past, but on 
 the whole as satisfying to a reasonable being. 
 He had told her that his means enabled him
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 267 
 
 to be independent of the charge of fortune- 
 hunting. He knew that she was now, by her 
 own act, almost impoverished, and yet he still 
 wanted her. He was well-born, admirably 
 bred, in a social surrounding that would con- 
 tinually interest her, and was, as always, a true 
 and loyal gentleman. Above all, her future 
 home would be far removed from the unspeak- 
 able black cloud that must hang over it in 
 
 America. And yet 
 
 Posey's happy voice sounded in her ear. 
 " You aren't going to read your letter, now 1 ? 
 Then you'll let me talk? You haven't for- 
 gotten that we're dining to-night at Villa 
 Julia? Do you think I had better wear my 
 rose chiffon, or the little white crepe de chine 
 with silver embroideries that came from the 
 bazaar in Cairo? It was so strange Lord 
 Clandonald should have taken the hour to 
 call yesterday, when we were sure to be at 
 the Golf Club with all the world. You say 
 he looks well, Helen? Bigger, browner, 
 stronger? I have been thinking all yester- 
 day and to-day of dear Lady Campstown's 
 joy in his return. When she heard he was 
 coming she quite forgot me, and my poor 
 diminished shade crept into insignificance.
 
 268 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 With her own dear little thin hands she 
 smoothed his bed-linen, and put flowers on 
 his dressing-table. Ah, how much love means, 
 Helen! It's been growing on me every day, 
 that all the rest is poor flimsy stuff. . . . 
 I think Lady Campstown has made me over, 
 and my breast swells in gratitude to her. I 
 even love daddy better for loving her. . . . 
 If I can only end by loving John as much as 
 I love them!" 
 
 " Posey! " said her friend, shivering. 
 
 " Don't say you feel the mistral, Helen. It 
 simply can't get to us in this sheltered spot. 
 Dear, I wish you'd be happy, too. For some 
 reason that I can't tell, I'm simply bubbling 
 over to-day. One of my wild fits, I reckon. 
 It began when I got your wire saying you 
 were actually going to be good enough to 
 come and stay with me, without that hateful 
 old Bleecker there, I feel better. ' Celd 
 soulage! ' as the woman in that play at the 
 Gallia said when she had boxed her hus- 
 band's ears and then, and then " 
 
 " Posey!" repeated Helen, with a sort of 
 awe in her voice. 
 
 She had noted, with astonishment and pain, 
 the girl's uncontrollable delight at the knowl-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 269 
 
 edge of Clandonald's actual vicinity to her. 
 She had watched her, all the day before, flut- 
 tering with excitement and expectation, drop- 
 ping for a while into bitter disappointment 
 when they had returned home, to find only his 
 cards ! 
 
 " Helen, you think I'm impatient for this 
 evening to come, but I 'm not. I can wait per- 
 fectly well to see Lady Campstown with her 
 * boy.' But you know how the person some- 
 body you love is always talking about and 
 waiting for, seems the one you want most to 
 see. Not a day this winter that the old dar- 
 ling hasn't talked to me of ' Clan.' I believe 
 I know about every incident of his life, except 
 the gloomy ones connected with his marriage 
 his first pony, his scarlet fever, all the rest 
 of it " 
 
 Helen's anxious brow cleared. 
 
 " I suppose it's natural, but you mustn't 
 forget, my dear, that he 's very handsome and 
 charming, and your fancy took a little turn 
 that way on shipboard and that you are soon 
 to be married to John Glynn." 
 
 Posey heaved a long, genuine sigh. 
 
 " I don't forget. I'm all right for John, 
 only I wish I could be free a little longer. I
 
 270 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 should think you'd know nothing would tempt 
 me to be in love with a man whose wife isn't 
 dead. Anyhow, I told John every single thing 
 that ever passed between Clandonald and me, 
 not the tiniest thing hidden. Of course John 
 saw I couldn't help being more interested, in 
 a certain way, in Clandonald than in any man 
 I ever saw before." 
 
 " Not of course, Posey," said Helen, half 
 smiling. " There are even some people who 
 might consider the man you have more ' in- 
 teresting ' than the man you might have had." 
 
 " Oh! John is a darling. Everybody 
 knows that, but their looks are not to be com- 
 pared why, Helen, he's not as tall as Clan- 
 donald by several inches he hasn't that beau- 
 tiful set of the head upon the shoulders, just 
 such as I should think a king would have 
 and that rich, thick brown hair Helen, it's 
 really dreadful how thin John's hair is get- 
 ting on the top." 
 
 Helen dropped her book upon the ground. 
 
 " Don't, Posey," she exclaimed, almost 
 sharply. " It isn't worthy of you to talk 
 such nonsense." 
 
 " Ah, well," said the girl, mischievously, 
 " I feel like saying those little things some-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 271 
 
 times, it seems to relieve the tension. . . . 
 Helen, don't look at me with such a face," 
 she added, with sudden gravity. " It almost 
 makes me think that though John is going 
 to marry me, you haven't entirely stopped 
 caring for him. . . . How pale you are! 
 You frighten me ! . . . You know you do, 
 you know you do, and he ? How could he 
 love me when he had you near? I see it all 
 now. He would like to get you back; he has 
 never really wanted me, and I'm only to be 
 taken because of his duty to my father." 
 
 The April mood had changed. Great drops 
 of crystal welled into her blue eyes and 
 dropped upon her cheeks. Impelled by des- 
 perate resolve, Helen sprang upon her feet. 
 
 " Don't cry, dear. Don't cry, my darling 
 Posey. You are over-nervous, and it isn't 
 wise for us to prolong a talk like this. I will 
 leave you for a little while alone, to go in and 
 read my letter, and when we meet again at 
 luncheon, I may have something to tell you 
 about myself that will take away all fear of 
 my ever coming between you and your John 
 Glynn."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 CLANDONALD had now been two whole days 
 in Cannes without treating himself to a 
 glimpse of the young woman with whom he 
 had parted in a fog off Liverpool. And yet 
 this was not through indifference, or forget- 
 fulness, for in all his wanderings the image 
 of the fair American, his " Goddess of Lib- 
 erty," as he liked to think of her, had gone 
 with him persistently, in spite of the unpleas- 
 ant fact that he knew her to be engaged to, 
 and now on the point of matrimony with, an- 
 other man. Even Mariol had not found out 
 how keenly the news of the forthcoming nup- 
 tials of Miss Winstanley and Mr. Glynn had 
 cut into his friend's sensibilities. Rather 
 than meet her, Clandonald would fain have 
 avoided the Riviera altogether, to go on direct 
 to London, but for the pleading image of his 
 dear old aunt, who was counting upon him 
 to come to her. Nobody suspected that in a 
 long, flat pocket-book of Viennese leather, 
 presented to him at parting by Lady Camps- 
 town and for a wonder in woman's gifts,
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 273 
 
 actually available by the male recipient he 
 carried a picture of Posey, cut out of an Eng- 
 lish illustrated paper, found in a wayside inn 
 in Roumania, among other " Beauties of the 
 Day and Hour." It was a charming charac- 
 teristic pose in which the photographer had 
 caught her, and the gown and coiffure showed 
 the girl's advance in worldly style and knowl- 
 edge of how to make the most of her advan- 
 tages. Here, indeed, would have been a Lady 
 Clandonald, amply equipped to take her place 
 in the picture gallery of Beaumanoir among 
 the beauties of their line! And in her frank 
 young face he could read no trace of the un- 
 wholesome tastes and proclivities that had 
 wrecked him through Kuby Darien. It was 
 a folly, a childish weakness, to treasure this 
 scrap of paper in his breast pocket close over 
 his heart, and he had resolved that he would 
 soon violently dispossess himself of the same 
 by casting it in the fire. Let him meet her 
 once again, have speech with her in the or- 
 dinary way, realize that she was entirely ab- 
 sorbed in preparations for her union with 
 another, and it would be easier to be done for 
 good and all with this strange, obstinate, en- 
 during obsession.
 
 274 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 It was not the best atmosphere for a man 
 in his state of mind to find himself in daily 
 intercourse with his impulsive old aunt, whose 
 life had been for weeks and months saturated 
 with the influence of Posey's personality. 
 Although Lady Campstown honestly believed 
 herself to be doing everything that feminine 
 tact and zeal could inspire to extol to him the 
 desirability of Helen Carstairs as a wife, she 
 was really setting forth Posey's charm from 
 morning until night. She told Clandonald 
 how the girl had first come to her, tall and 
 nymph-like, through the avenue of palms, 
 with violets, white and blue, clustered around 
 her footprints. How, immediately, her first 
 distaste of the dreaded American neighbor 
 had been swept away in the girl's sweet ap- 
 peal to her friendship ; how she had then only 
 done for her what she would have had an- 
 other woman do, in like case, for her own 
 Lucy, had she lived. And how, little by little, 
 she had grown to wait upon Posey's daily 
 coming, to laugh with her, to sympathize in 
 her needs and perplexities, until she counted 
 a day lost when Miss Winstanley did not ap- 
 pear to irradiate it. 
 
 " At the same time, my dear," the dowager
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 275 
 
 said, interrupting herself, " I am not going 
 to pretend that there are not other girls in 
 the world as engaging and lovable as she. 
 Miss Carstairs, for example, is er most 
 distinguished in her appearance, and has ad- 
 mirable manners. Posey tells me that her 
 friend Helen is so highly educated she makes 
 her feel as ignorant as a street Arab. Of 
 course, that's only the child's American habit 
 of exaggeration. She really reads and studies 
 part of every day, and her literature teacher, 
 Miss Barton, says Miss Winstanley's mem- 
 ory for facts and grasp of ideas is something 
 quite out of the common. As I was saying, 
 Helen Carstairs is just the kind of person I 
 should think would bear transplanting into 
 English life. She is so simple and unemo- 
 tional and self-contained. When you go to 
 Reine des Fees to call when did you say 
 you were going to call, Clan dear? v 
 
 " I don't think I said, Aunt Lucy," an- 
 swered her nephew, with a twinkle in his eye. 
 
 " All, well, dear, probably it will be to-day, 
 as you have now had time to draw breath 
 after telling me all about your travels. You 
 must have had a very pleasant journey from 
 Naples in company with Miss Carstairs."
 
 276 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 " Yes, very pleasant, what Mariol would 
 let me have of her. He was very absorbent, 
 it must be said. You know I told you once, 
 long ago, that I believed good old Mariol had 
 actually knocked under to a fair Yankee, and 
 I have now every reason to believe that this 
 lady is the object of his secret cult." 
 
 " I never heard of such a thing!' 1 ex- 
 claimed Lady Campstown, for her, almost 
 sharply. " I can't imagine a more unsuit- 
 able idea. These marriages with Frenchmen 
 rarely turn out well. At least, unless the man 
 has a title and a chateau, and the foreign wife 
 would have some interests in the country. A 
 mere brilliant, drifting, scoffing creature like 
 M. de Mariol! Think of that book of his 
 I found on your table and tried to read. 
 Why, there were ideas in it that made my 
 hair stand on end." 
 
 " Moral: Aunt Lucys shouldn't carry off 
 the French books they find on their nephews' 
 tables," answered he, teasingly. " It is a 
 fact, however, that Miss Carstairs seemed to 
 find extreme satisfaction in her long-con- 
 tinued duet with my clever chum. It was as 
 much as I could do to get a word in edgewise. ' ' 
 
 " I am surprised, and I must say a little
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 277 
 
 put out, Clan. I shouldn't think you'd have 
 given her up like that to any man, however 
 friendly he might be." 
 
 " To give up argues to have had. And I 
 cannot truly claim to have established any 
 monopoly in the young lady's society. Aunt 
 Lucy, dear, I won't tease you any more. As 
 our American friends say, i you've been bark- 
 ing up the wrong tree.' It was never Miss 
 Carstairs that turned my poor, weak brain. 
 I admire, esteem her cordially, and think 
 Mariol would get an ideal wife if she would 
 smile on him but love her never in this 
 world." 
 
 " But you said I might think what I pleased 
 as to your being spooney about an American 
 girl, that day you brought her to Beauma- 
 noir and afterward told me you had de- 
 cided to go away again. It was virtually 
 acknowledging that you loved her, and but 
 for the abominable interference of a person 
 who shall be nameless, would have pressed 
 your suit." 
 
 " They said that in Lord Byron's days, 
 Aunt Lucy, or was it Miss Edgeworth's? 
 And you have been dwelling on that rash 
 admission of mine, and building air castles
 
 278 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 with me and Miss Carstairs looking out of 
 the windows all these months in consequence ? 
 No, best of aunties, you are horribly out of 
 focus. You've got hold of the wrong per- 
 son altogether. I don't in the least mind let- 
 ting you know that I made all kinds of a fool 
 of myself on that voyage over last October. 
 I dreamed dreams never to be realized. And, 
 as the powers of mischief willed it, Ruby 
 seeing my name announced for that sailing, 
 had taken a second-class passage on the same 
 ship, with the laudable hope of i making it 
 hot for me,' she said. She succeeded but too 
 well. She peppered an innocent young girl 
 with vile anonymous notes that made her 
 shun the sight of me. After I got to town, 
 she wrote to me directly, and to buy her off I 
 made certain sacrifices I could ill afford. As 
 far as I know to the contrary, I did buy her 
 off. I count any money well spent that would 
 keep shame and sorrow out of the life of the 
 girl I set out to champion. She never knew 
 of it, she very likely wouldn't care. She prob- 
 ably went on her straight, clean path of life, 
 and forgot everything connected with me. 
 Yes, it was an American girl, Aunt Lucy, but 
 she wasn't Helen Carstairs."
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 279 
 
 " My poor boy, my darling Clan," began 
 the dowager, then choked and remained silent. 
 
 " I know you'll never ask me who it was, 
 dear, so I'll make haste and put you out of 
 your misery. Did it never occur to you that 
 your admiration for Miss Winstanley might 
 be a family failing? ' 
 
 " Oh! not that, Clan. Never that! To 
 think you got so near anything that would 
 have given me such pure joy " 
 
 " I didn't get near, that was just the trouble. 
 I believe she liked me, perhaps better than 
 any other man on board, till Ruby's doings 
 came between us. But she gave me unmis- 
 takably to understand there could be nothing 
 again after we parted then. Of course, when 
 I heard later that she was engaged to this 
 man Glynn " 
 
 ' ' Who is really a fine, manly fellow, Clan ; 
 you couldn't help liking him. But, oh! why 
 couldn't he have fancied the Carstairs girl 
 and left my Posey for you? And, my dear, 
 it is just a marvel to me. Posey, who is as 
 open as a spring morning when there isn't a 
 cloud in the sky; Posey, who never prevari- 
 cates or hesitates about the truth, how could
 
 280 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 she let me go on, day after day, hour after 
 hour, talking about you " 
 
 " A fine evidence of her polite endurance, 
 Aunt Lucy. Poor Miss Winstanley! ' 
 
 " How could she, I say, without giving me 
 the least little hint that you had fallen in love 
 with her? " 
 
 " I suppose because she considered that my 
 secret." 
 
 " Now that I think it over, it seems to me 
 that she almost always managed to turn the 
 conversation in your direction. She certainly 
 showed the utmost relish in whatever I had 
 to tell her, good, bad or indifferent." 
 
 " There was no occasion for the use of 
 either of the two last adjectives, when I was 
 your subject," said Clandonald, looking at 
 her with tenderness, more touched than he 
 chose to show. 
 
 " No, my dear, there wasn't, I must say. 
 Oh ! Clan, it all comes back to me with a rush. 
 Why, Posey has been just living on talk of 
 you and reminiscences of you ever since we 
 have been together. And I thought it was 
 only I!" 
 
 " Take care, Aunt Lucy," the man said, 
 getting up to stride back and forth across
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 281 
 
 the room. " This is dangerous doctrine you're 
 preaching, when Miss Winstanley's wedding- 
 day is set." 
 
 " God forgive me, so it is," answered Lady 
 Campstown, the tears rushing into her eyes. 
 
 11 Let us make a pact, will you? " said Clan- 
 donald, stopping presently. " I have gone 
 over and left my pasteboards in due form at 
 Reine des Fees, at a time when you told me 
 the ladies were likely to be at the Golf Club." 
 
 " Yes, and I was really quite put out about 
 it, but I see now that it was better so." 
 
 " And I shall meet the young lady at din- 
 ner here this evening, according to your plan. 
 There will be several outsiders. I shan't 
 have much chance to speak with her, and 
 after that " 
 
 " Clan, don't suggest that you will leave 
 me after that. Indeed, I couldn't stand it; 
 you positively must stay. I should tell you 
 that you won't run much chance of seeing 
 Posey privately, in any case. She's tre- 
 mendously taken up with fitters and people 
 who come down from Paris to bring things for 
 her to see. Besides, Miss Carstairs isn't in 
 good spirits, I find, and no wonder I believe 
 she just broke and ran away from that dread-
 
 282 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 ful vulgar stepmother. We heard enough of 
 Mrs. Carstairs' doings the little time she was 
 here to be thankful she took herself off. 
 There's trouble brewing for the husband, if 
 all one is told is true. Posey watches over 
 Helen like a mother-bird, and hardly leaves 
 her. Besides, they are expecting at any day 
 or time the return of Mr. Glynn. He hasn't 
 cabled, but it was understood he was to get 
 aboard the first available ship sailing for 
 Cherbourg or the Mediterranean ports the 
 hour after he finished some critical business 
 he had on hand for his chief. (The way 
 these Americans fly fairly takes one's breath 
 away!) So there is no reason for you to go 
 from here, if you think there's to be any em- 
 barrassment resulting from your meeting 
 with her. The days will glide on fast enough 
 to the wedding! " she ended with a deep and 
 heartfelt sigh. 
 
 " I don't want to run in face of the enemy, 
 indeed," he said, trying for a more cheerful 
 face. " I think I'll stroll out in the garden 
 and smoke a pipe, and try and settle my per- 
 turbed spirit. And you, dear, what will you 
 do with yourself this afternoon ? ' 
 
 " The carriage is ordered, soon, for a round
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 283 
 
 of visits I have to make. How much rather 
 had I spend the time, as I often do at this 
 hour, going in through the green door to sit 
 with Posey in the orange walk near the 
 fountain with the broken-nosed Triton, you 
 remember. It's her favorite spot, and noth- 
 ing but rain will prevent her sitting there 
 for an hour with her book or work." 
 
 " Then I'll see you at tea-time, if not be- 
 fore. ' ' 
 
 " I'll be back, you may trust me. Nothing 
 I dislike more than having my tea out, at 
 houses where a woman sits behind a little 
 table, talking to everybody that comes, and 
 mixing the most abominable doses of half- 
 cold tea, and too much cream and sugar, for 
 her unoffending guests, forgetting whether 
 the water boils or the tea-pot has stood too 
 long ! Keep to the bamboo walk, my dear, the 
 mistral is blowing hard to-day, and you're 
 not like me, acclimatized to it. Down there 
 you'll be sheltered and private, and can smoke 
 your pipe in peace." 
 
 Clandonald had hardly left his aunt stand- 
 ing before the fireplace in her sunny draw-
 
 284 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 ing-room, pondering upon the surprising in- 
 telligence he had communicated, when Lady 
 Campstown's parlor-maid came in with a 
 rather frightened face. 
 
 " Well, Parks, what is it? Have you 
 broken a piece of my old Sevres in putting 
 out the dessert service, or has pussy had a 
 fit!" 
 
 " It's only, my lady," said the girl, halt- 
 ingly, " that the er lady you gave us 
 orders not to admit has driven up to the 
 gate in a cab, and insists upon seeing you 
 on business of the highest importance, so she 
 says." 
 
 " You mean the person calling herself Mrs. 
 Darien? " asked the dowager, in icy tones. 
 
 " That were the name, your ladyship." 
 
 " What can I do? " passed through Lady 
 Campstown's much-perturbed and angered 
 brain. " Clan's being here complicates mat- 
 ters dreadfully. She is quite capable of mak- 
 ing a scene that will echo through the neigh- 
 borhood. I have declared that I will not again 
 hold speech with her. If she were herself, I 
 believe even she would not push into my house 
 and presence. The horrible fear is that she 
 is not herself, but under the influence of
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 285 
 
 drink. In that case I must get old Rosa, 
 who loves her still, to take her off quietly. 
 
 " Say that Lady Canrpstown will see Mrs. 
 Darien for ten minutes before she goes out 
 to keep an engagement. And, Parks, tell the 
 cab to wait. Not outside the front gate, but 
 in the lane at the bottom of the garden. And, 
 Parks, send Rosa to me at once." 
 
 The Provencal servant, called Rosa, with a 
 rather pale and guilt-stricken face and man- 
 ner, came hastily into the drawing-room, 
 stepping back to hold open its door for Mrs. 
 Darien, who followed close upon her heels. 
 
 " Stop where you are, Rosa," said the mis- 
 tress of the dwelling, now the great lady in 
 every muscle and fibre of her stately little 
 form. She spoke in the woman's own tongue, 
 and her low, clear voice was charged with in- 
 dignant emphasis. " From this lady's ap- 
 pearance in my house, I assume that she is 
 in some degree irresponsible for her actions, 
 and that she needs a caretaker to escort her 
 back whence she came. I desire you to make 
 yourself ready to go with her, now, directly, 
 without delay, and not to return under my 
 roof until you can report to me that you have 
 done so."
 
 286 LATTEK-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 " No such great hurry, Aunt Lucy," said 
 Mrs. Darien, with careless insolence. " 1'rn 
 really in a very normal and pacific state of 
 mind, considering the way the mistral is blow- 
 ing, and that I, last night, spent my last sou 
 at Monte Carlo, and will be turned out of my 
 room at Nice if I can't pay for it before a 
 couple of days have passed." 
 
 " You can stoop to ask me for money? ' 
 said Lady Campstown, in English. 
 
 " When one's flat on the ground one hasn't 
 to stoop, you know," answered the visitor, 
 calmly arranging the folds of her veil drawn 
 over a cheap plumed hat, under which a chalk- 
 white countenance with gleaming eyes re- 
 vealed itself menacingly. " I chanced to see 
 in the local paper that Clan had arrived to 
 stop with you, and so simply timed my visit 
 when you would feel most impelled to pay to 
 get rid of me. What, for instance, if he were 
 to step in at this moment, through that win- 
 dow into the garden? Wouldn't it be rather 
 cheap at the price to see the last of me for a 
 couple of hundred francs or so ? ' 
 
 Lady Campstown, with a swelling heart, 
 walked over to her escritoire, unlocking a 
 compartment thereof to take out two bank-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 287 
 
 notes of the amount indicated. She despised 
 herself for the action, but could not trust her 
 voice to speak. 
 
 " Thanks, so very much," said Ruby, su- 
 perbly putting her gains into a bag of gilded 
 meshes hanging at her waist. " And as I see 
 you flashing the lightning of your virtuous 
 eye upon that poor, shuddering numbskull of a 
 Rosa there, let me at least exonerate her from 
 any complicity in the arrangement for my 
 visit here to-day." 
 
 " I have heard that you have been seen 
 lately in the lane below my garden," ex- 
 claimed the dowager hotly, " and that some 
 one in my household is under suspicion of 
 having been holding conversation with you 
 in the bamboo walk. I can only say that if 
 this happens again Rosa goes out of my ser- 
 vice on the minute." 
 
 Ruby, who had been covetously looking 
 around the luxurious, familiar room, shrugged 
 her shoulders indifferently. 
 
 11 I suppose I must not detain you," she 
 said conventionally, turning to withdraw. 
 " But since you have suggested it, I would 
 be really quite glad to have Rosa escort me 
 back to my hotel. The effort of coming here
 
 288 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 perhaps the force of old associations has 
 proved something of an ordeal to me. My 
 heart is rather spinning around, and I am not 
 altogether sure I can answer for the strength 
 necessary to support my legs on the retreat." 
 
 " Go, Rosa, put on your hat and jacket as 
 I bid you, and accompany Madame," said 
 Lady Campstown, nervously anxious to end 
 the scene at any cost. A fuller view of Mrs. 
 Darien's face had showed her the awful ex- 
 tent to which time and an evil life had ravaged 
 it. She would not look at her a second time, 
 but, shuddering, walked away to the window 
 and set it wide open, standing with her back 
 to the offender, in speechless disgust and 
 misery. 
 
 To be one minute unobserved was enough 
 for Ruby Darien. She had been standing 
 near a little cabinet, on a shelf of which was 
 accustomed to lie Lady Campstown 's own 
 especial pass-key through the little green 
 door into the garden of Reine des Fees. Since 
 the occupation of the place by tenants this 
 had not been used. But things were not wont 
 to change their position often at Villa Julia, 
 and the key still lay in its old corner undis- 
 turbed. Ruby's nimble fingers closed upon
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 289 
 
 and transferred it to the interior of her little 
 gilded bag, while Lady Campstown, resolved 
 not to speak to her visitor again, kept her po- 
 sition at the window. 
 
 " I suppose, then, I may go? " said Ruby, 
 laughing softly. " In view of your inhospit- 
 able attitude, I have really no excuse for lin- 
 gering. Au revoir, Aunt Lucy. I will return 
 to you your old Rosa unspotted by the world. 
 And if it will add to Clan's pleasure to hear 
 I am near him, give him my compliments."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 CLANDONALD, meantime, was walking up and 
 down in the bamboo avenue, chewing the cud 
 of sweet and bitter fancy. Lady Campstown's 
 loving babble had put him in possession of 
 an idea that haunted him like sweet music. 
 " Posey has been fairly living on talk of you 
 and reminiscences of you ever since we met." 
 With all due allowance for the predisposition 
 of the kind speaker in his favor, there was a 
 suggestion of conviction in her manner that 
 he could not forget or put away. Was ever 
 flattery so subtly delicious as this thought? 
 The fine stern resolution he had made to flee 
 from Posey 's vicinity seemed to take to it- 
 self wings and vanish in thin air. What? 
 Go without seeing her once alone, without 
 thanking her for her kind thought of him, 
 her mission of ministration to his relative in 
 his absence? It would be a truly unheard-of 
 thing to do. He even chose to forget the 
 swiftly advancing marriage the betrothed 
 lover who was doubtless now upon the ocean,
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 291 
 
 speeding as fast as steam could bring him to 
 make sweet Posey Ms. Nothing weighed, 
 nothing counted, beside Clandonald's strong, 
 overpowering desire to look upon her face, 
 to touch her hand again, to have her clear 
 eyes search the recesses of his soul. 
 
 In two words, he had come down off his 
 high horse, and was now madly anxious to 
 get inside the Reine des Fees garden on the 
 chance of finding Miss Winstanley sitting 
 alone in the spot indicated by his aunt as her 
 favorite retreat at that hour of the day 
 the orange walk, near the fountain with the 
 broken-nosed Triton. It was one of the most 
 secluded spots about the grounds, he remem- 
 bered. Anything might happen there and 
 the inhabitants of the villa be none the wiser 
 for it. What good fortune if he should have 
 the luck to find her alone and undisturbed in 
 this sequestered nook! And even if Miss 
 Carstairs should be with Posey, he would 
 trust to her woman's tact to leave them alone 
 for a little talk. 
 
 With an artful affectation of going toward 
 the town, he proceeded to stroll down the 
 walled street for a bit, then turning, doubled 
 on his tracks, and went in at the large gate
 
 292 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 of the Villa Reine des Fees, inquiring of the 
 woman who sat in the vine-wreathed doorway 
 of the lodge playing dominoes with an old, old 
 man, and who admired milord Clandonald 
 greatly, whether " the ladies " were at home. 
 Upon receiving from her a smiling assurance 
 that she knew them to be somewhere about 
 the grounds, since her husband, the gardener, 
 had just then called to Miss Winstanley 
 where she sat in the orange walk, to receive 
 some orders about a new flower-bed, he bowed, 
 thanked his informant, and took his way to 
 the designated spot. 
 
 Clandonald had regained his boyish beauty 
 after so many days in the saddle and nights 
 under the stars. His complexion was well 
 with healthy blood, the haggard look had fled 
 from his eyes, his magnificent form was in 
 perfect condition, his heart beat like a school- 
 boy's beneath his summer flannels. As he 
 walked on with a rapid, springing step, he 
 brandished in his hand a Makila stick of 
 tough Pyrenean wood, of which the handle 
 was formed of a single rounded pebble, and 
 having at the lower end an iron spike one 
 of the dangerous canes fabricated by the 
 Basque peasants, dear to the heart of North-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 293 
 
 ern Spain, brought by Mm from Biarritz, 
 long ago, and left hanging by its leathern 
 loop in his aunt's entry, where, as a relic of 
 her nephew, it was religiously preserved. His 
 hat, of fine Panama braid, shaded his eyes 
 from the too glaring ardor of the Provencal 
 sun after the middle of the day. 
 
 The gardener's wife, looking after him, 
 smiled appreciatively. She knew his hard 
 luck story, and, like everybody else, hoped 
 that Clandonald had at last emerged again 
 from under the shadow of the undeserved 
 cloud of Ruby Darien. When he had disap- 
 peared behind the shrubbery, and was well 
 out of hearing, the good woman curved her 
 hand around her mouth and remarked to her 
 ancient sire, in a patois hard for an outsider 
 to understand, that she hoped at last the Bon 
 Dieu was going to make up to this poor young 
 milord for the troubles He had sent to him 
 just, for all the world, as if he had been a 
 peasant like themselves ! 
 
 Clandonald did not notice her further, nor 
 other inhabitant of the enchanted garden 
 than himself, until he arrived through a flow- 
 ery arch directly in the presence of Miss 
 Winstanley, seated alone upon a marble bench
 
 294 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 in a niche of glossy green, wiping tears out 
 of her eyes, like a naughty dryad put in a 
 corner for punishment. 
 
 At the same moment, ascending the hill 
 from the town, came another young man, 
 whose destination also was the orange walk, 
 where Posey sat disconsolate. John Glynn, 
 finding at the last moment in New York that 
 he could get a quick passage to Genoa by an 
 ocean greyhound put on for an occasion, had 
 returned to Europe several days before he 
 was expected, and neglecting to wire from 
 Genoa, expected to take his friends here by 
 surprise. He had walked from the station, 
 entering the villa grounds from the lower 
 gate. It seemed to him something queer was 
 inspiring the forces of Nature that afternoon. 
 A strange, weird, exciting wind was astir 
 under brilliant sunshine a wind to provoke 
 and condone any act of nervous irritability. 
 Glynn felt glad to take refuge from its fury 
 by pausing under a great eucalyptus at the 
 foot of the garden, and resting there a while. 
 
 All during his quick eight days' passage 
 across the southern route of the Atlantic, he 
 had been alternately drawn and repelled by the
 
 Like a naughty dryad put in a corner for punishment. 
 Page 294.
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 295 
 
 consideration of his forthcoming marriage. 
 At the idea of his benefactor, the maker of 
 his fortunes, the dear confiding old man 
 whom he could never repay for benefits con- 
 ferred, he felt ready to march up to the 
 church door and surrender himself to Posey 
 without a look behind. But it was different 
 when the reverie centred upon the young girl 
 whose innocent thoughts were translated into 
 words as fast as her impulse gave them birth, 
 whose fun and daring, joy and pain, suc- 
 ceeded each other like ripples on a summer 
 sea; he wondered if he had a right to make 
 of her an unloved wife. 
 
 For since that fateful hour when he had sat 
 close to Helen in the railway train, and since 
 their meeting at the wayside chapel on the 
 hill, their hearts pulsing together, their 
 thoughts yearning each toward the other, 
 stern resolve forcing them apart, he had 
 known that to say he would cease to love 
 Helen had not made it any better with him, 
 as far as the only woman he had ever desired 
 to marry was concerned. Absence from her, 
 a voyage to and from America, tough work 
 which he had surmounted successfully, a 
 negotiation so skilfully concluded that it had
 
 296 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 saved Mr. Winstanley grave loss, none of 
 these circumstances had lessened his passion- 
 ate yearning for her whom he had first held 
 in his arms and kissed as his future wife. 
 When, after one of these outbursts of feeling 
 for Helen, he thought of Posey, it was always 
 with keen shame and abiding pity; it did not 
 seem to him that he was " playing fair " 
 and yet, here he was, back again at Cannes, 
 the day of the wedding was shortly to be set, 
 and, as Posey 's husband, he was to enter upon 
 a career in his native country, the breadth and 
 magnitude of which would surpass the fondest 
 dreams of his ambitious boyhood. 
 
 So strong had been the current of inclina- 
 tion turning him from his destined way, that 
 he had actually come afoot from the station, 
 and sent his belongings by a cab, rather than 
 expedite his progress to Reine des Fees by 
 driving. He had no idea that Helen had be- 
 come a temporary inmate of the establish- 
 ment. His one letter received from Posey 
 during his swift run home, had described her 
 friend as having sailed away on the " Sans 
 Peur," in company with that " utterly odious 
 Mrs. Carstairs," and " looking so sad and 
 spiritless it wrung one's heart to see her."
 
 LATTEE-DAY SWEETHEARTS 297 
 
 Helen in Naples or Sicily, even if he knew 
 her to be far from happy, was better than 
 Helen in Cannes, looking on at his wedding 
 with Posey ! 
 
 If Glynn could have suspected that at the 
 identical moment, when he was sitting under 
 the eucalyptus tree trying to screw his courage 
 to pushing boldly up the hill, Miss Carstairs 
 was at the writing-table in her room, inditing 
 with hot hands and desperate resolve a letter 
 to Mariol, telling him she would be his wife ! 
 
 But he dreamed of none of the threads of 
 Destiny weaving together that day and hour 
 while the mistral blew fiercely around Villa 
 Reine des Fees. He only thought he would 
 tarry a little while longer, his legs and spirits 
 feeling weighted as if with lead, before an- 
 nouncing himself at the house, the hero of 
 the " happy event " to come. 
 
 A third unexpected visitor to the garden 
 now also advanced from the direction of Villa 
 Julia, and moved furtively behind the hedges 
 toward the Triton fountain. 
 
 As Ruby had found herself in the lane about 
 to get into her carriage, with Rosa in attend- 
 ance, she had caught sight of Clandonald
 
 298 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 lightly striding ahead of her, his evident des- 
 tination the gilded iron grille opening into the 
 drive of Reine des Fees. Instantly, the burn- 
 ing, unreasoning jealousy of Posey, that had 
 never forsaken Mrs. Darien, sprang up again 
 to madden her into action. 
 
 What she desired to do, to say, to accom- 
 plish, she knew not, but (the bad wind, no 
 doubt, aiding) an evil spirit in her blood com- 
 manded her imperatively to enter and lurk in 
 the forbidden garden, with the hope of hearing 
 or seeing something pass between the two. She 
 knew from public announcement that Miss 
 Winstanley was about to marry Glynn, the 
 man who had supposed he had bought Ruby's 
 forbearance from troubling his fiancee. If 
 any prick of conscience assailed the desperate 
 creature it was at thought of her sworn prom- 
 ise to John Glynn a promise about to be for- 
 feited in most treacherous fashion to say 
 nothing of her loss of his indispensable allow- 
 ance. For, in stealing the key of the green 
 door from Lady Campstown, she had really 
 meant to be more mischievous and offensive 
 than openly aggressive. She intended to keep 
 it until the chance came to give, as she termed 
 it, " that vindictive old hag, Aunt Lucy," a
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 299 
 
 rousing fright, and at the same time, perhaps, 
 satisfy her curiosity as to how things were 
 going on between Clandonald and the Win- 
 stanley girl. 
 
 And here was her opportunity sooner than 
 she had hoped. She had sharply ordered the 
 alarmed Rosa to keep watch in the cab until 
 her return; had heeded not the woman's be- 
 seechings, for the love of all the Saints, not 
 to run this risk of offending Milady Camps- 
 town ; and had let herself into Reine des Fees 
 by means of the key which Posey had begged 
 Lady Campstown to use at will, now that the 
 green door was kept permanently locked. 
 
 To cross the forbidden threshold seemed to 
 inspire Ruby with more rancorous thoughts 
 than ever before. Why should Clandonald, 
 also Glynn, have paid her so heavily to protect 
 this girl, already favored by fortune, whilst 
 she wandered in outer darkness? She hated 
 Posey the more, not only because these two 
 men stood before her, but because Ruby's best 
 endeavor had not seemed to do her material 
 harm ; because the girl had ceased being insig- 
 nificant and was now rich and powerful ; and 
 lastly, because Lady Campstown was her best 
 friend.
 
 300 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 Ruby knew that by taking the nearer way 
 she would arrive upon the scene before Clan- 
 donald could do so, and be safely in ambush 
 watching him. If he were merely to enter the 
 house for a conventional call she could do 
 nothing, and might slip back to rejoin Rosa, 
 unseen. But she counted rather confidently 
 upon what she had ascertained from question- 
 ing her tool, that Miss Winstanley and her 
 friend were generally to be found out-doors 
 at this hour of the afternoon. 
 
 The sight of Clandonald walking unconcern- 
 edly ahead of her, twirling the Makila stick, 
 which she recognized as a souvenir of their 
 joint visit to Biarritz, was as fuel to her flame. 
 He looked so young, so normally vigorous, so 
 full of bounding life ; he was so well groomed, 
 so well turned out, as the men were not with 
 whom she associated in the present phase of 
 her existence. How long it was, with the ex- 
 ception of her talk with Glynn, since she had 
 held converse with a clean, wholesome, and 
 courteous gentleman! 
 
 And she was so thin, so bloodless, so un- 
 beautiful; her empire over his sex was so 
 nearly gone, she had so little left to hope for ! 
 
 The immediate result of this contrast be-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 301 
 
 tween herself and the man who had once taken 
 her, for better, for worse, at the altar, was to 
 make Ruby Darien furiously angry. As Clan- 
 donald passed out of her sight, between the 
 ivied walls of the steeply descending street, 
 she felt that she would have liked to spring 
 upon him like a panther, and ah ! it was bet- 
 ter that he had passed on! 
 
 Clandonald, as has been said, had unex- 
 pectedly stepped in through an arch of crim- 
 son ramblers, to find Posey, whom Helen Car- 
 stairs had just left to go in to write her let- 
 ter to Mariol, weeping alone, and lovelier than 
 even he had remembered her. 
 
 If Miss Winstanley had been on her guard, 
 or chatting with a friend, or sitting with her 
 book and looking up with a pleasant smile as 
 he drew near, Lord Clandonald might not have 
 forgotten himself, as he now unquestionably 
 did! 
 
 Without a moment's forethought, following 
 out the impulse one has to console a child whom 
 one finds in distressful solitude, he made tow- 
 ard her a buoyant movement, taking her hand 
 in both of his, and dropping upon the bench 
 beside her.
 
 302 LATTEK-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 In her present period of believing herself, 
 as it were, deserted by John and Helen, who, 
 so fitted for one another, had, figuratively, 
 soared away out of her ken upon a rosy cloud, 
 the girl welcomed Clandonald with lips and 
 eyes too eloquent to be mistaken. Feeling that 
 he must speak, knowing that he ought to choose 
 his words most carefully, he ended by doing 
 nothing of the kind. 
 
 " Oh, please don't cry! " he simply said. 
 " You are too dear and lovely ever to shed 
 a tear! If you were mine " 
 
 In books it is where people make the beau- 
 tiful set speeches that come out just right as 
 to semicolons and periods, besides fitting ex- 
 actly into place in conversation. In real life, 
 under strong emotion, things are said brokenly 
 that often have neither grammar, rhyme nor 
 reason. This man certainly never meant to 
 make love to this girl out of a clear sky. But 
 his voice, his face, his manner, were all those 
 of a lover such as Posey had not known in her 
 brief experience. And the worst of it was, the 
 same unaccountable, unbidden feeling of de- 
 light again rushed over her that she had felt 
 for him upon the ship. It seemed sufficient 
 for him to be near her for that to tingle in her
 
 LATTEE-DAY SWEETHEARTS 303 
 
 veins ! She thought he was the brightest, no- 
 blest object her eyes had ever rested upon, 
 not a mere faulty man idealized. In plain 
 words, " the old, old story was told again ' : 
 in the garden of Reine des Fees ! 
 
 But Posey had gained in self-control since 
 her experience of the world. She checked the 
 radiant return movement toward Clandonald, 
 who, also pulling himself together, guiltily 
 arose and stood at some distance away from 
 her, holding his hat like a shy schoolboy, with- 
 out saying another word. 
 
 "I'm not crying," she remarked, somewhat 
 untruthfully. " I'm only thinking over a s-ad 
 sort of talk I've just had with my friend, Miss 
 Carstairs, who 's staying with me, as you know. 
 She told me, by the way, you'd been so nice 
 to her on the journey, and so had M. de Mariol. 
 We were sorry to miss you yesterday, and 
 are looking forward to the dinner this even- 
 ing. I didn't think you would call again to- 
 day." 
 
 " Neither did I," he said, " but when it 
 came to waiting for my aunt's dinner hour 
 I had to. I hope you won't mind my taking 
 the short cut to Paradise, without ringing at 
 your front door. It got me here the sooner,
 
 304 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 see? And as my aunt had happened to let 
 fall that you always came to the Orange Walk 
 about this time, I ventured upon the liberty. 
 But I didn't dare expect such good luck as 
 finding you quite alone." 
 
 11 Helen has just left me," she answered, a 
 little confused by his ardent gaze. " I can 
 see that it astonished you to find me so much 
 grander than I was. But for me, I'm already 
 used to it. Oh ! Do you know, I had the great- 
 est satisfaction yesterday. That Mrs. Vere- 
 ker, who snubbed me so on the ship, you re- 
 member, and that stuffed image of a Mr. 
 Brownlow, were both lunching at the Gold 
 Club, at a table by themselves ; and seeing us 
 with some people they thought ' worth while,' 
 came up and spoke to me, almost humbly ! ' 
 " How did you treat them in return? ' 
 " I said, ' Oh ! really. Are you in Cannes ? ' 
 And then the Grand Duke asked me some 
 question, and I turned away to him. If the 
 Grand Duke hadn't happened to be there it 
 would have been no fun at all. You see how 
 wicked and worldly I have grown. Then Mr. 
 Brownlow asked if he might call at Villa des 
 Fees, and I said we were so much engaged we 
 hadn't any day at home. Mrs. Vereker is
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 305 
 
 dying to know Lady Campstown, who doesn't 
 care whether she meets a leader in New York 
 or a leader in Allison's Cross Roads. I won't 
 ask you to tell me about your travels, for dar- 
 ling Lady Campstown has read me every line 
 of your late letters, and even some you wrote 
 her as a boy. I know how you stroked the 
 crew of that splendid boat-race at college, 
 and when you shot the lion on the Upper Nile, 
 and what you ate in South Africa. After my 
 talks with her this winter I used to go home 
 thinking you certainly the biggest and great- 
 est and bravest person in the world ! ' 
 
 Her girlish raillery seemed to him the most 
 delicious fooling. He tossed his hat and stick 
 into the flower-border behind them, and 
 dropped again upon the bench beside her. 
 Beside the cool green shadow of their verdu- 
 rous niche, the sunshine seemed to lie on the 
 marble pavement beyond, like a slab of gold, 
 the mad wind whistling outside harmless. And 
 neither noticed that Mrs. Darien, who had been 
 standing dark with menace, still as Fate, in 
 the shrubbery at their rear, had leaned over 
 and possessed herself of the dangerous Makila 
 stick.
 
 306 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 A few moments later, Glynn, where he sat 
 down in the lower garden, heard Posey scream 
 once, then silence. 
 
 He sprang up and flew to the spot whence 
 the sound issued, some under-gardeners reach- 
 ing it at the same time. They found Miss 
 Winstanley upon her feet, with horror in her 
 eyes, Lord Clandonald endeavoring to lift 
 from the ground the form of a senseless wom- 
 an, his right arm hanging helpless, an ugly 
 bleeding wound upon his brow. 
 
 " It's all right! " he exclaimed to them 
 grimly. " This person attacked Miss Win- 
 stanley, and I caught the blow, that's all." 
 
 " Oh! John, John, how thankful I am to see 
 you! " cried Posey. " Help Lord Clandonald, 
 please; he is badly hurt. It is Mr. Glynn, 
 Lord Clandonald, and for my sake you must 
 let him serve you." 
 
 Clandonald, wavering upon his feet, was 
 glad to be assisted to the bench where they 
 were sitting when Mrs. Darien aimed her 
 deadly blow. But he retained sufficient un- 
 derstanding to thank Glynn, and urge on him 
 the necessity of having the woman, who had 
 been evidently overtaken by some kind of 
 a seizure, removed quietly from the place, and
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 307 
 
 put in charge of Lady Campstown " who will 
 understand. ' ' After which brief direction, he 
 uttered one sigh, and fainted. 
 
 So Helen found the little group whom 
 tragedy had grazed ! Posey, holding Clandon- 
 ald 's head in her arms, his limp body lying 
 across the seat! Helen was carrying in her 
 hand the letter she had come outside to show 
 Posey, in fulfilment of her promise to the 
 girl the letter to Mariol, telling him she 
 would be his wife ! 
 
 To her, with a hurried explanation of the 
 affair and of his presence there, Glynn con- 
 signed Posey, who seemed scarcely conscious 
 of where she was and what had happened, beg- 
 ging Miss Carstairs to take her to her room. 
 Before all things, it was desirable that Miss 
 Winstanley's name should be kept out of the 
 business, which he believed would end favor- 
 ably for Clandonald. Helen led her away, 
 obedient as a child, although trembling vio-. 
 lently, and holding her hand over a spot upon 
 the breast of her white gown where Clandon- 
 ald 's blood had stained it. 
 
 Glynn, fetching some water from the foun- 
 tain, soon brought Mrs. Darien's victim back 
 to consciousness. Clandonald 's first act was
 
 308 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 to look about for the murderous weapon, and 
 ask Glynn to suppress it ; his second to eagerly 
 question the two gardeners, who, having borne 
 Mrs. Darien away, had now returned with 
 remedies from the servants at Villa Julia, se- 
 cured under pretence that one of their num- 
 ber had met with an accident. 
 
 " Quant a la dame, milor," said one of 
 these men, who had been for a long time on 
 the place and knew very well the skeleton in 
 his neighbor's closet. " It was not found 
 necessary to trouble Milady Campstown with 
 her. The housemaid, Rosa, was waiting in 
 the cab, much frightened, since she thought 
 that Madame Darien had looked exceedingly 
 ill when she went into the garden against 
 Rosa's advice. Madame Darien had revived 
 and bidden the men assist her into her car- 
 riage, and the housemaid had driven off with 
 her to the station. It was not needful to tell 
 anyone else what occurred, since, the Virgin 
 be praised, no serious harm appeared to have 
 been done. 
 
 Glynn, whose French fell short in moments 
 of emergency, tried to explain to the men that 
 his and Mr. Winstanley's gratitude for their 
 excellent service and consideration would con-
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 309 
 
 tinue to be remembered substantially in pro- 
 portion to their reticence upon the subject. 
 He emphasized it by a transfer of gold to each 
 brown right hand, which the Provencals re- 
 ceived with blushes of becoming modesty. 
 
 " And now, you will go back to your work, 
 comprehended vous? " added John, " leaving 
 me to conduct ce monsieur to Villa Julia, ex- 
 plaining that a branch fell from a tree across 
 his cheek and arm! ' 
 
 Clandonald smiled wanly. 
 
 " That will do for a stop-gap," he said. 
 " But I have my fears that the woman who 
 committed this unexplained assault will again 
 be heard from on the subject. I fancy you 
 know, Mr. Glynn, who she is, and that Miss 
 Winstanley has been for months an object of 
 her virulence." 
 
 " I should tell you," said Glynn, while aid- 
 ing him to get upon his feet, " that I had some 
 experience of Mrs. Darien upon my former 
 visit to Cannes. I, in fact, then found it bet- 
 ter to go to her lodgings in Nice, and try to 
 perfect a little arrangement for Miss Win- 
 stanley 's protection. That, it seems, has 
 failed." 
 
 " The person is irresponsible," answered
 
 310 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 Clandonald, a dark flush, coming into his face. 
 " And, I am afraid, incorrigible." 
 
 " All the same, I am going to ask your per- 
 mission to interfere so far as to look her up 
 again to-night." 
 
 ' ' You know that is what I most want ? ' 
 " I think so. I put myself in your place." 
 " More than that no man can do for an- 
 other," said Clandonald warmly. 
 
 After Glynn had gotten him into his own 
 bedroom, called up his servant, and telephoned 
 for the family physician of Lady Campstown 
 (who, herself, remained still fortunately ab- 
 sent upon her round of calls) , they parted like 
 friends of years.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THERE was no little dinner at Villa Julia 
 that evening. Clandonald, wretched and 
 feverish, tossed upon his bed. Posey's white 
 face and strained expression of anxiety kept 
 the other villa in a state of suspended anima- 
 tion while Glynn, in the motor car, was run- 
 ning over to Nice on business not stated. 
 
 Helen Carstairs met him early next morn- 
 ing upon the terrace, at his request. 
 
 " How has she slept? " he asked eagerly. 
 
 " Like a tired baby. Toward morning she 
 awoke sobbing, and I soothed her till she fell 
 asleep again. Just now, when*I went into her 
 room with the news that Lord Clandonald also 
 had passed a good night, she was very much 
 more like herself gentle, yet plucky, and de- 
 termined to keep up." 
 
 " I hate a nervous shock for an impression- 
 able woman. Thank God, it is all no worse! 
 Suppose you and I had happened not to be 
 with her it makes me sick to think of it!
 
 312 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 Helen, this isn't the time to beat about the 
 bush to find phrases. Tell me the honest 
 truth. Does Posey love Clandonald? ' 
 
 " I think so. But she has fought against 
 it from the first. Don't let your sympathy with 
 her at this moment lead you to any rash act of 
 renunciation. She is so young. She will get 
 over it. Besides, she has told me most posi- 
 tively that she could never bring herself to 
 marry a man whose divorced wife is living." 
 
 " If that is the only obstacle, it need not 
 count," said Glynn gravely. " The woman 
 who called herself Mrs. Darien died last night 
 and a blessed solution it is to a miserable 
 snarl. She went back with the housemaid to 
 her hotel in Nice, and they got her into bed. 
 By the time I reached the place the woman, 
 crying bitterly, came down to tell me ' her 
 ladyship ' was dead. It was apoplexy the 
 second attack precipitated by her insane pas- 
 sion of jealousy of Posey." 
 
 " Thank Heaven, it wasn't a murder she 
 had to carry with her into eternity ! Our poor 
 darling, Posey if that horrid flint had struck 
 her in the head where the woman aimed to 
 hit I can't bear to think of it " 
 
 " Don't. We have shaved the narrow edge,
 
 LATTEE-DAY SWEETHEARTS 313 
 
 but have escaped. Helen, one of the strangest 
 things that ever happened to me was that Mrs. 
 Darien left in the blotter on her table a sealed 
 letter addressed to me. I took possession of 
 it by showing the landlord and the doctor my 
 visiting card. I don't know what they thought 
 of me. I don't much care. In it she asked 
 my pardon for breaking her pledge to me. 
 Said she was tempted beyond resistance to re- 
 turn to Villa Reine des Fees, that she was dead 
 broke, desperate, expected to die suddenly 
 some day, and wanted me to know that if she 
 ever could have gone straight again it was be- 
 cause of the way I had trusted her. ' ' 
 
 " But your trust was in vain," said Helen, 
 with the hardness of most good women to- 
 ward bad ones. " Therefore I can feel no sen- 
 timent for her but one of thankfulness that 
 she is out of your hands, in Higher ones." 
 
 They walked back and forth for a few mo- 
 ments in the crisp morning air, Nature smiling 
 as she always does after the poignant scenes 
 enacted in her sight. Mr. Winstanley, who 
 was having his breakfast in the rose-wreathed 
 loggia upstairs, and from whom the incident 
 of the attack on Posey had been kept, saw 
 them and waved his kind hand cordially.
 
 314 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 Glynn stopped. 
 
 " It's no use, Helen. All the things I long 
 for upon earth would lose their flavor at the 
 cost of ingratitude to him. Even if Posey 
 does believe that she cares most for Clandon- 
 ald and if you had heard the words the poor 
 child spoke when she held him, without life, 
 bleeding, against her heart, you would not 
 doubt it it is not I who can withdraw from 
 my pledge to her." 
 
 Helen could not speak. She was thinking 
 of that letter to Mariol, not yet sent. Although 
 she felt now that Glynn meant to keep to his 
 engagement at all costs, she was sure she could 
 never send it; that Mariol's brief mirage of 
 winning her must fade into the desert sands 
 of friendship, if he would be content with that. 
 
 During the days that ensued she kept almost 
 altogether with Posey, who was not allowed 
 by her physician to leave her room. And as 
 Helen was in the act of making up her mind 
 to go to Paris to enter as a boarder in the 
 family of a governess of former days, who 
 now gave shelter to art students and girls 
 whose voices were in training for the stage, 
 she received a startling telegram.
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 315 
 
 It was from her father at Taormina, requir- 
 ing her presence there without delay. ' ' I am 
 alone and ill," were the magic words that sent 
 her speeding back to him, to find the hapless 
 gentleman deserted by his wife, whose affair 
 with Danielson had ended in guilty flight! 
 Aged, mortified, broken, clinging to Helen in 
 his humiliation, Mr. Carstairs had yet made 
 short work of ridding himself of the unwel- 
 come visitors who had preyed upon his money, 
 while deriding him for a blind old fool not to 
 have seen before the condition of affairs. In 
 the flotsam of the wreck Miss Bleecker, too, 
 floated off, Helen refusing to see her or listen 
 to explanations, and Mr. Carstairs making 
 short work of her prayer to be allowed to re- 
 main with poor darling Helen in this awful 
 time. 
 
 At last, then, she was again alone with her 
 father, free to cheer and comfort his life with 
 her best endeavors, a new object given to her 
 for daily care and sacred ministration. Mr. 
 Carstairs would not hear of dallying in the 
 hateful spot where his shame had come to 
 him. He insisted that the " Sans Peur ' : 
 should take them to an English port, whence 
 they might embark immediately for home.
 
 316 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 And Helen had reluctantly to acknowledge 
 that the only medicine for a wrong and grief 
 like his was a return to the life of great af- 
 fairs, in which he was signally a leader. 
 
 At Liverpool, where she had landed so list- 
 lessly the previous autumn, Miss Carstairs re- 
 ceived a letter of loving farewell and God- 
 speed from Posey Winstanley at Cannes. The 
 girl could not keep out of her phrases of affec- 
 tion the note of common sense, which made 
 Helen's humiliating experience a subject of 
 ultimate rejoicing by her friends. She was 
 sure that Helen was going home to new hap- 
 piness, new occupation, a generally broaden- 
 ing horizon. In the continual circling of mod- 
 erns around this little globe the friends were 
 sure to meet again, '" early and often," Posey 
 prayed. She had entirely regained her health, 
 the weather was getting piping hot, Reine des 
 Fees was too dreadfully dull now that dear 
 John Glynn had gone back " for good " to his 
 office in New York; even Lady Campstown 
 had been taken off by Lord Clandonald for a 
 visit to Beaumanoir ; and lastly it was on the 
 cards that Mr. Winstanley and Posey might 
 also soon go to make acquaintance with Eng- 
 land in the Spring.
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 317 
 
 No word of her marriage. While Helen was 
 pondering upon this theme a steward brought 
 her another letter that had been taken out of 
 a later mail-bag. It was a mot d'adieu from 
 Lady Campstown, containing, among other 
 items of information, a statement that Posey 's 
 wecfiding was " indefinitely postponed." 
 
 The perennial Miss Bleecker, although 
 smarting still under the contemptuous dis- 
 missal given her by Mr. Carstairs at Taor- 
 mina, was next seen that Spring at Cadenab- 
 bia, hanging on, rather miserably, to the skirts 
 of Mrs. Vereker. The two ladies, waiting 
 there for Mr. Vereker (who had been walk- 
 ing barefoot at Brixen, in wet grass), were 
 heard to bicker continually, to the discomfort 
 of all within earshot. In due time they were 
 joined by and accompanied Mr. Vereker to 
 a new cure he had heard of, at a place in 
 Switzerland, where the regime consisted of 
 skim milk and electricity. 
 
 The hotel which sheltered the party proved 
 to be situated upon a sylvan hill-top, sur- 
 rounded by a park stocked with tame deer, 
 with " Verboten " placarded over every spot 
 where one most desired to go. A merry Swiss
 
 318 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 lad was hired by the management to jodel in 
 an adjacent grove, but there were no visible 
 cows. One beheld, instead, a flock of theatri- 
 cal sheep, perpetually conducted up and down 
 verdant slopes by a shepherd and a dog. Also, 
 a band of native singers, the men in tweeds 
 and Derby hats, the women in custom-made 
 blouses and gored skirts, who came often to 
 warble disconsolately upon the terrace. There 
 was even a cuckoo sequestered in the woods, 
 of which Miss Bleecker snappishly com- 
 plained, as a horrid clock, striking all out of 
 order to wake people up at 5 A.M., until some 
 one told her it was the genuine bird of Shakes- 
 peare, when she called it a darling little thing. 
 
 For a long, long time it rained at this resort, 
 and the guests sat on damp iron chairs in the 
 veranda and looked at where the view had 
 been some weeks before. After that it was 
 grilling hot, and as Mrs. Vereker and Miss 
 Bleecker were obliged to stay on for the com- 
 pletion of Mr. Vereker 's treatment, the tem- 
 per of the party became something too awful 
 for words. 
 
 The chief solace of the two ladies was to 
 read French novels and English weekly news- 
 papers. When the " Queen ' ; published,
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 319 
 
 among " Americans in London," a picture of 
 the beautiful Miss Winstanley in her presen- 
 tation gown, describing the glories of its 
 " white and silver, with lilies-of-the- valley 
 bunched around the train," together with de- 
 tails of the young lady's success in the fashion- 
 able world under the sponsorship of Lady 
 Campstown, Miss Bleecker may have been 
 said to have received her punishment for 
 many follies in the past. 
 
 A perfect day of early July saw the visit 
 of Miss Winstanley and her father to Beau- 
 manoir, so long projected and so rudely inter- 
 rupted, at last an accomplished fact. Lady 
 Campstown, who had taken up her residence 
 with her nephew under the supposition that 
 he still needed her care, sat outside, after 
 luncheon, with Mr. Winstanley, between whom 
 and herself an excellent comradeship had 
 sprung up. She saw nothing odd in the old 
 fellow's quaint manners, his homely exterior, 
 his shyness and reverence toward women. She 
 had always liked his having come out of the 
 Southern rather than the Northern portion 
 of the States, feeling, somehow, more in touch 
 with people from below the fabled line of 
 Mason and Dixon than with their aggres-
 
 320 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 sively prosperous neighbors. She liked his 
 showing nothing of his wealth and potential- 
 ity, and enjoyed his shrewd talk. Above all, 
 it must be said she liked him for being the 
 progenitor of Posey, who had finally wound 
 herself and tangled herself in the dowager's 
 heart-strings, not to be dislodged. 
 
 They had been talking of the girl, and the 
 fact that despite her brilliant little sortie into 
 London society, she did not look quite happy 
 quite herself. 
 
 " It will be as well for her when it is all 
 over," said Lady Campstown, plying her 
 knitting-pins. " But I don't think it's done 
 her real harm to have seen things the way we 
 do them. And another year, perhaps who 
 knows? There are always changes." She 
 ended with a sigh. 
 
 " If you are alluding to my daughter's mar- 
 riage, ma'am," said Herbert Winstanley, 
 speaking with authority and swallowing a 
 lump of final disappointment, " I was want- 
 ing a chance to tell you that she's about con- 
 cluded that John Glynn and she will be better 
 friends than lovers. I had been suspecting 
 something of the kind when she told me on 
 the Fourth it was, and I had to laugh when
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 321 
 
 she said she chose that day on account of 
 George Washington and the cherry tree, be- 
 cause she couldn't tell a lie. That's Posey, 
 Lady Campstown. Always a laugh on her lip 
 when a tear is in her eye. I saw how hard it 
 went with her to have to rob me of a dear hope. 
 But I reckoned if her mother 'd been living 
 it'd not have been let go so far. It's a hard 
 thing for a man of my age to play on a little 
 delicate musical instrument like a girl's heart. 
 It's over, anyhow, and she's written giving 
 Glynn his freedom. I think Posey would like 
 you to know these circumstances, ma'am, see- 
 ing you 're the best substitute for a mother the 
 little girl has had. She doesn't want you to 
 think her light or triflin' in such things; she 
 tried hard to be loyal to him and me. . . . 
 But even if she'd loved John well enough to 
 be his wife, there was an obstacle. He had 
 kept company with another young lady first, 
 and they'd been separated by his being poor. 
 . . . I presume you'll agree that a young 
 fellow who 'd once been in love with Miss Helen 
 Carstairs couldn't find giving her up as easy 
 as it seemed." 
 
 " So that's the meaning of it all? " cried 
 her ladyship, dropping her knitting, which
 
 322 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 
 
 the Schipperke proceeded to guard as if it 
 were a Dutch baby asleep in a canal-boat. " I 
 often wondered, but could not be sure. I al- 
 most thought it was M. de Mariol." 
 
 " Well, I shouldn't think that would suit, 
 exactly," said the old man, cautiously nod- 
 ding his Anglo-Saxon head. " Not but what 
 he's a nice man, the Monseer. But, as things 
 look now, my boy is a better match for Mr. 
 Carstairs' daughter, and John '11 feel more 
 sure of himself to ask her again. She 's had a 
 hard time, that sweet lady, and I wish her 
 many years of happiness to forget it in. You 
 see, ma'am, my Posey thinks John will ask 
 her again." 
 
 Lady Campstown, who had long since re- 
 signed herself to see the vision of Helen at 
 Beaumanoir fade from her imagination, here 
 felt a great new jet of hope spring up in her 
 heart and water everything around it. Her 
 withered cheek glowed rosy red, her eyes had 
 a girlish lustre. She hardly presumed to put 
 her thoughts into words, and yet the mild blue 
 orbs of old Mr. Winstanley had fixed them- 
 selves upon hers with a singular significance. 
 
 " Mr. Winstanley! You have another 
 idea? " she exclaimed, nervously trembling.
 
 LATTER-DAY SWEETHEARTS 323 
 
 " Several, ma'am," said Herbert Winstan- 
 ley. " You know by this time, I reckon, that 
 your nephew got that bad hurt on the cheek 
 and just missed losing his eyesight, to save 
 Posey from a mad woman. Girls set store by 
 such experiences, I suppose. But long ago, 
 on the steamer, I saw she fancied him might- 
 ily. ... I won't conceal from you, ma'am, 
 it isn't what I'd have picked out for Posey. 
 Doesn't seem suitable for such a Hail Colum- 
 bia sort of girl, now, does it? But Clandon- 
 ald's a white man, I '11 say that for him. . . . 
 And m' wife set a great store by English peo- 
 ple and their homes. . . . They're stay- 
 ing away a good long time, those young folks. 
 . . . The doctors threaten I '11 have to spend 
 my winters in Cannes, the years that are left 
 to me, but I reckon Villa Rain des Pays is big 
 enough for us all. ' ' 
 
 When Clandonald and Posey came back at 
 last from seeing the white peacocks they were 
 walking hand in hand, and a great peace had 
 settled upon their faces. 
 
 THE END
 
 Other Works by Mrs Burton Harrison 
 
 A BACHELOR MAID 
 
 12mo, Cloth, $1.25 
 
 i 
 
 SWEET BELLS OUT OF TUNE 
 
 I2mo, Cloth, $1.25 
 
 CROW'S NEST AND BELLHAVEN 
 TALES 
 
 I2mo, Cloth, $125 
 
 A VIRGINIA COUSIN AND BAR HARBOR 
 TALES 
 
 I6mo, Cloth, $1.25 
 
 AN EDELWEISS OF THE SIERRAS 
 
 Post 8vo, $1.25 
 
 THEOPHANO 
 
 Post 8vo, $1.50 
 
 HELEN TROY 
 
 I6mo, Cloth, $1.00 
 
 A TRIPLE ENTANGLEMENT 
 
 12mo, Cloth, $1.00
 
 Other Works by Mrs Burton Harrison 
 
 THE UNWELCOME MRS. HATCH 
 
 I2mo, Cloth, $1.25 
 
 SYLVIA'S HUSBAND 
 
 I2mo, Cloth, $125 
 
 THE CARLYLES 
 
 I2mo, Cloth, $150 
 
 THE CIRCLE OF A CENTURY 
 
 /2mo. Cloth, $125 
 
 THE ANGLOMANIACS 
 
 I6m, Clolh, $125 
 
 GOOD AMERICANS 
 
 I2mo. Cloth, $125 
 
 AN ERRANT WOOING 
 
 /2m.. Clolh, $1.50 
 
 FLOWER DE HUNDRED 
 
 I2mo, Cloth, $125 
 
 A DAUGHTER OF THE SOUTH 
 
 16mo, Clolh, $1.25
 
 000 127 91 4