RECENT NOVELS BY THE AUTHOR OF THIS VOLUME. DOLORES. .A. ID IE ZLIO-IH: T IFTJ L IST 12mo. Extra Cloth. $1.SO " One of the beet novels out." New York Publishers' Weekly. " Tliis is a delightful book. One of the best romances of the day." PhiladelpJria Chronicle. "One of her best and strongest books." St. Louis Republican. " A capitally told story. Mrs. Forrester is already favorably known by ' My Hero,* a good, old-fashioned love-story of the very best school." Peterson's Magazine. A CHARMING STORY. DIANA CAREW; OR, IF O IR, A. -VSTO HUE.A HST'S S-A-I I2mo. Extra Cloth. $1.5O. "A utory of great beauty and complete Interest to its close." Boston Trarrlhr. "A lively, fiisrinating love-story, full of incidents, and with some novel features in the plot." Portland Transcript. " In its tone it is the book of the season." Aw York Evening Mail. *** For sale by Booksellers generally, or will be sent by mail, postpaid, upon receipt of tho price by J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., Publishers, 715 and 717 Market St., Philadelphia M I G- N O N. MKS. FOKRESTEK, AUTHOR OF "DIANA CAREW," "DOLORES," "FAIR WOMEN," "MY HERO," "FROM OLYMPUS TO HADES." PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 1877. tar MIGNON. CHAPTER I. IT is afternoon of the th of June. Mrs. Stratheden is " at home." But Mrs. Stratheden's " at homes" are very different from the general run of those vapid and dreary entertainments (heaven save the mark !) that are made nowadays to do duty for more genial and costly hospitality. Men go to them, yes, actually men ; not decrepit old fellows nor unfledged youths, but men, the sort of men you see in club windows, on four-in-hands, at St. Stephen's and elsewhere. The State, the Bar, the Army, are represented in her drawing-rooms, and, very occa- sionally, the Church. There is one pleasant-faced, cheery- mannered divine of most eloquent tongue and practical good sense, who thinks a half-hour now and then not at all ill spent at one of these reunions. People do not come here as they do to most " at homes," thinking it an awful bore and resolving to get away again as soon as possible ; and indeed who would not rather be rolling through the pleasant cheery streets in their carriage, than crushing toilettes and rubbing angry shoulders in a social bear-garden in the struggle to catch the hostess's eye poor bewildered woman ! that she may know they have not neg- lected to honor her reception. Reception ! there is not one Englishwoman in five hundred who knows how to receive, far less to entertain. I should doubt if there are ten women in London who could invite fifty people to an "afternoon" and send them all away pleased and satisfied. I should be sorry to be asked to put my hand upon the nine ; but Mrs. Strath- eden would be the tenth, or rather, perhaps, the first. To 1* 6 \itli, she did not issue cards for a series of days, as the common practice is, but sent a separate invitation for every ion and had the happy knack of asking the right people h other. Few houses could be better adapted for :ui -at II..MI. than hers. It was not a hundred miles from May l-'.iir. and it was, literally and truly, a "bijou residence," ptri kingly unlike what auctioneers love to designate by that taking title. A "bijou residence," being translated, usually means a poky, inconvenient little house, destitute of every comfort and convenience, and not improbably " giving" on a mews from the hack windows. Agents would undoubtedly have called this a mansion. It had six bond fide reception- rooms, dining-room, library, billiard-room, two drawing- rooms entirely separate, and a boudoir. There was therefore no difficulty in dUrihuting the guests. Mrs. Stratheden 1 in one drawing-room; in the other there was always 1 not depend upon her friends, but had profes- sionals, not eminent artists who sang their highly-paid song a compulsory hush and rushed away again immediately, - who if not of a wide celebrity invariably gave pleasure and satisfaction. One was a young man who sang h songs charmingly and played the newest and most popular waltzes; the other was a girl with the sweetest voice , ihle who >;m<; English ballads. Stray couples found their way to the boudoir, to admire the perfect taste of its a rr; i! or to look at photographs, or into each s. The billiard-room was very popular, there iiy nooks and corners in it, and the click of the bulls made l,iw-toned conversations easy to the speakers and Me to would-l>e listeners. There were whist-tables in the lihr.iry. if any one eared to play. In the dining-room, ..imled 1'hillis and a coadjutor served tea, coffee, straw- 68, and wine and liqueurs to the Ilieir lady did not number many tea-drinkm** IIIMIIJ her ae.juaint.: 1 me. then. Mrs. Stratheden is receiving. Let uie >ho\v her to -tands, a slim hand outstretched, a man who has just entered. Look at her well : she h.is u considerable part to play in this and her hi~t.,ry i. a very strange one. Not a beautiful nl no one would ever call her that, for her charm is MIGNON. 7 chiefly dependent upon expression. She is gracious, elegant, and has as much vivacity as is compatible with being "grande dame jusquau bout des ongles" A face that would never simper from a " Keepsake" nor a " Book of Beauty," but might be engraved on more than one man's heart. How old ? Old enough to know the world thoroughly, to have gauged the depth of its woes, the shallows of its pleasures, the vanity of its aspirations, the falseness of its illusions. How young ? Young enough to attract love and admiration ; young enough for it to be possible that the best of her life is still lying in the future. Many men have loved, many women hated her, and yet, strange to tell, no whisper of scandal has ever left its dulling breath upon the mirror of her fair fame. Few women live so free, so unrestrained a life, but no one suspects her of abusing her position : it is an enigma that has ceased to be one because the world has grown accustomed to it. Women assign as a reason her coldness ; men say, nay, I think they exercise the masculine virtue of reticence and say nothing. Mrs. Strath- eden is speaking : the timbre of her voice is delicious, low, soft, and clear. ^ " Sir Tristram 1 how glad I am to see you back !" It is pleasant to return to one's country after a long ab- sence ; it is pleasant to be welcomed by a charming woman whose eyes are in harmony with her lips as she gives you a glad greeting. So thinks Sir Tristram. " And I," he answers, " am delighted to see you again. How well you are looking ! Not a day older, and as charming as ever !" " You have not lost your civilized little habit of saying pleasant things in the wilds," she smiles. " I am dying to hear all about your travels. I tried very hard to persuade Mr. Conyngham to bring you to dine with me to-night, but men, some men" (glancing maliciously at the third member of the group), " are so selfish. He said he must have you to himself to-night." " I admit the soft impeachment," laughs Mr. Conyngham. "I am a confirmed, inveterate bachelor, and that genius is proverbially selfish. If I could have given him up to any one, it would have been to you." " When will you come and dine with me ?" Mrs. Strath- 8 MIGNON. eden asks Sir Tristram. " I want you quite alone. Alone, you know, means Mrs. Forsyth and myself." " Oh, any night," he answers. " I shall be only too de- lighted. To-morrow, though, I have to go into Surrey to see my new property. By the way, did you hear that my crotchety old uncle, whom I never saw, had left me his estate there?" " I saw it in the ' Illustrated,' and was delighted. I con- L r rat u lute you. Not" (smiling) " that you were much in need of it." " I am afraid I was ungrateful enough to think it rather a bore when the news reached me," says Sir Tristram. " It is an additional responsibility, of course." " Hand it over to me, my dear fellow," interrupts his fririid. " I should not feel the gene of that sort of responsi- bility in the least." " I shall not be back until late to-morrow night," Sir Tristram continues, addressing Mrs. Stratheden. " And I dine out to-morrow and Wednesday," she answers. "Shall it be Thursday?" " Yes ; on Thursday I shall be charmed."^ " And you will tell me all about India, China, and Mexico ?" lau-lis Mrs. Stratheden; ' Of moving accidents by flood and field, And of the cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders.' " In your three years of travel you must have seen almost as much as Othello." "And you will be Desdemona?" says Sir Tristram, play- " Fancy a dark, middle-aged Desdemona!" she laughs. "1 saw such an one once at a country theatre, and it made me laugh inordinately. No ! but I mean to find you a fair, young one ; for it is not to be supposed that you will be allowed to remain a bachelor much longer." " Thank heaven, it is not worth any one's while to insist on marrying me 1" interposes Mr. Conyngham, with a wry face. At this moment other guests are announced, and the two men make way for them. MIGNON. 9 " Come into the music-room," whispers Mr. Conyngham, and Sir Tristram follows him. As they enter, a slight dark girl is singing an old English ballad very sweetly to a considerable and evidently appreciative audience. When it is finished, Sir Tristram finds himself the centre of a group of old friends and acquaintances, who greet him with evident pleasure. When at last Mr. Conyngham succeeds in carrying him off, he is booked for about a dozen entertainments of different kinds. " What a thing it is to be rich and titled !" says his friend, with latent sarcasm. " You old cynic !" replies Sir Tristram, gayly. " Is that why you are so fond of me?" " I want to show you the boudoir, the most perfect woman's-room I was ever in. We shall probably drop upon a stray couple of lovers ; but they won't take any notice of us, if we don't of them." He pushes open the door, and discloses two young people seated on a couch. The man looks up with a real English stare which says, plainly, " What the deuce do you mean by your impertinence in disturbing me ?" but it gives way to quite a different expression when he recognizes the intruder. " Sir Tristram ! is it you ? I did not know you were back. I'm awfully glad to see you." " Raymond 1'Estrange?" utters Sir Tristram, half in doubt. " Why, my dear boy, I should not have known you. You are big enough for a Life Guardsman !" And he shakes him warmly by the hand. " What a handsome fellow !" he thinks to himself. " He was always a good-looking boy ; but I never dreamed of his turning into this." "Then of course you would not have known me," inter- rupts an arch voice, and the prettiest, most piquante, mignonne creature jumps up off the sofa and joins the group. " Not Kitty not Miss Fox !" ejaculates Sir Tristram. " Yes. Kitty Fox." " By Jove !" he cries, with a glance of mingled admira- tion and affection at the gold-framed cherub face upturned to him. It only wants one glance to see that this is the most arch, mischievous, impertinent little sprite in the world. A* 10 MIONON. 1 last time I saw you," continues Sir Tristram, "I rescued vmi and vards of torn frock from an apple-tree, whilst your poor governess stood bathed in tears at the foot." I, by Jnve, it's me !" she retorts, with glee ; " and I'm out. I'm I ;ind three-quarters; I was presented this season, and I'm going to get married before it's over. / don't in, an t.i n main a dniir in the market, I can tell you." I 'ray." a.-kcd Sir Tristram, laughing, "is it any use my putting in a claim ? But I suppose you think I'm old enough VMiir 'grandfather?" " Oh, no ; I won't have you," she says, her eyes dancing with fun. " You are too nice ; and I mean to bully my hus- band. It's so vulgar to be fond of each other nowadays. And I'm nut i:iiii: to marry Raymond, though you did find us in such >u>pieioiis proximity just now: he has the most awful temper, and we should lead a cat-and-dog life." I low should I suit you, Miss Kitty?" inquires Mr. Conyngham. " Very well indeed, as far as not caring for you goes," re- torts the impertinent minx ; " but you haven't enough money." " Every misfortune has its consolations," he says, making her a little bow. " You mean that to be ' sarcastical,' " she laughs. " For- tunately for me, I am very stupid, and don't understand your dark savii " How's the colonel, Kitty ?" interrupts Sir Tristram. " I suppose I must call YOU Miss Fox, though, now." " Not worth while, as I don't mean to be Miss Fox much (Hi. papa's very well. Playing whist in the library, I think. Jle'll be delighted to see you (if he isn't in the middle of a rubber). Let's go and find him." How is your mother, Raymond?" asks Sir Tristram, as ml the stairs. " Is she in town?" " Yes, and about the same as usual. I hope you'll come and see her soon. She'll be so awfully glad to see you." " To be sure I will. Give her my love, and say I'll call to- morrow ; no, not to-morrow ; the next day." Ten minutes later Sir Tristram and Mr. Conyngham emerge from .Mrs. Stratheden's house and wend their way iilly wards. If you wanted to exhibit to a foreigner a perfect type of MIGNON. 11 an English gentleman, you would probably (had you known him) have selected Sir Tristram Bergholt for your specimen. No longer a young man, yet not too old to be pleasing to women, frank-mannered but lacking nothing of dignity, cour- teous, well bred, utterly devoid of slanginess (the fashion and the taint of the age), refined without affectation, genial, generous, kind-hearted. Proud, perhaps, but only proud in the right way, proud of sustaining the honor of his house, too proud to be guilty of a meanness, proud in resenting im- pertinent familiarity ; not proud, as is the fashion nowadays, of the bare possession of a title and wealth and using them, as is too often the case, to procure unworthy indulgence or to cover mean or base actions. Without being strictly handsome, he is particularly good- looking and has a thoroughly distinguished air. His six-and- furty years sit lightly on him : there are not a great many silver hairs among his brown locks, nor has Time as yet traced a very elaborate pattern about his brow or mouth ; his handsome gray eyes are full of brightness and vivacity ; his teeth are strong and white. A man " in the prime of life," most people would have said. Fred Conyrigham, the one great friend of his life, is rather younger, but looks years older. He has a plain, shrewd face, and looks what he is, a thorough man of the world. A sceptic, with a vein of cynicism, a strong sense of humor, as much selfishness as goes to the making of a man of the world, a caustic wit, and really and truly, though he is very much ashamed of and would not admit it, a kind heart. He loves Sir Tristram nearly as well as himself, and better than any other living human being. " What a wonderful woman that is !" says Sir Tristram. " What a charming house ! what perfect taste she has !" " Perfect," assents his friend. u You have not seen it be- fore? No ! she took it just after you went abroad. It was a very different-looking place then, but she got a long lease and has almost rebuilt it." " And yet," says Sir Tristram, thoughtfully, " she does not look a happy woman. I wish she would marry some nice fellow." " Pshaw ! she has everything she wants, and is sensible enough not to give any one the chance of making her misera- 12 MIONON. ble. She married once to some purpose, and now, like a wise woman, is content to rest upon her laurels." " Nonsense, Fred ! you can't call going through a ceremony with a fellow on his death-bed, mam in-. ' " Can't you ? by Jove ! Anyhow, the ceremony you speak of with Mich contempt converted her from a penniless girl into a (-harming widow with any quantity of thousands a year. The odd part of it is, she has all the aplomb and dignity of a man led woman. It always takes an effort of memory on my part to remember her real story." or Olga!" ejaculates Sir Tristram: "she might have made some fellow very happy." " And as it is," retorts his friend, " she extends her benefi- cence to a hundred. Her cook and cellar are perfect, and a good many men would like to hang their hats up at No. 1000." " Do you think there are not lots of fellows who would marry Olga Stratheden without a penny?" cries Sir Tristram, warmly. "Can't say," returns Fred Conyngham, with a cynical twist of his mouth. "Fortunately for her, they haven't been put to the test. I think the tender passion is greatly augmented in our selfish breasts when the fair object of it has as many adventitious adjuncts as Mrs. Stratheden." d, I'm a>hamedof you! You don't believe in anything, you old reprobate !" Vrs, I do. I believe in my appetite and my digestion. When either of those fail me, faith will be a word of empty sound in my ears." " Where do we dine ? Boodle's, or the Wyndham?" " Neither. I have a little surprise for you. I am sick of clubs, especially this time of year. We are going to dine at Here we are 1" MIQNON. 13 CHAPTER II. " I follow a more easy and, in my opinion, a wiser course, namely, to inveigh against the levity of the female sex, their fickleness, their double dealing, their rotten promises, their broken faith ; and, finally, their want of judgment in bestowing their affections. These, gentlemen, are my reasons for the discourse you heard me address to my goat, whom (because she is a female) I despise, although she be the best of the fold." CERVANTES. MR. CONYNGHAM takes out his latch-key and opens the door of a pleasant-looking house in Piccadilly, facing the Green Park. He precedes his friend up two nights of stairs and throws open the door of a large, airy room. " This is a great improvement upon your last quarters," remarks Sir Tristram, as he enters. " Yes. I begin to feel the want of a home now. Club life is dull and lonely after a certain time : one's contemporaries get married or die. ' Marriage and death and division Make barren our lives.' I get a better dinner at home, and don't have to wait for it, and I like to sit at my window afterwards and smoke. I've got used to the noise, and the look-out over the Park is charming." The room is a thorough man's room. By that I do not mean a young man's room such as has been described by the novelist ad nauseam, an assemblage of foils, whips, guns, boxing-gloves, cigar-chests, etc., etc., mixed up with pictures of favorite racers and sirens more or less lightly clad ; but I mean the room of a man who has outgrown the swagger and affectations of boyhood and settled down into a steady-going, respectable member of society. Fred Conyngham's room is the perfection of neatness and comfort ; everything is hand- some, solid, and useful ; there is nothing " gim-crack" through- out its length and breadth. The only indication that its owner is a votary of "le sport" is the neat mahogany gun-case fastened 2 14 MIGNON. to the wall, through the glass windows of which you may Ill-hold two pair.- of vrorknunlike-looking breech-loaders and a ..mi. A large, well-tilled book-case occupies two-thirds w.ill. a writing-table that holds everything a writer could possibly want stands near the window, an inviting sofa ami various ea>y-ehairs court repose, there are stands for news- aml m.igazines, a handsome mahogany what-not and mi.- nr two cupboards happily combining the useful with the ornamental. Of bond fide ornament there is very little: a magnificent clock and pair of bronzes on the mantel-piece, BOOM genuine old brass dogs on the hearth, a few bright, charming pictures on the wall, of whose value the names on the frame are sufficient guarantee, and the catalogue of orna- ment is finished. The table is laid for dinner. Every appointment damask, plat I-, glass is perfect. In the centre stands a bowl of roses whirh do not in the least look as though they had come from the green-grocer's, as indeed they have not. Truth to tell, they were plucked only this morning by a fair maid's fingers in a garden not twenty miles from London, where green wil- lows dip their feathery branches into the Thames and past bank proud graceful swans sail. Fred has friends among that sex which he loves to revile. I see you have become a confirmed old bachelor since I 1-Tt Kngland," says Sir Tristram, as they return from an tion of tin- rest of Mr. Conyngham's " appartement" u Confirmed," replies the other. "As I told Mrs. Strath- cden, thank heaven it is not worth any one's while to insist on marrying me." " And yet," says Sir Tristram, reflectively, " I am not sure if one had a nice wife " " If!" retorts Fred : " that is about the biggest if you can well pitch upon. Well, I suppose you will have to come to it sooner or later ; but give me my dinner of herbs witli peace, or, better still, a stalled ox with peace. I don't know why the two should be incompatible. Come ! here's our stalled ox, or a bit of him, in the soup-tureen. I don't know how you feel, but I don't eat lunch and am quite ready for my dinner. Here's the menu. I won't answer for the spell- ing ; but indifferent English is better than bad French, in my opinion." MIGNON. 15 The dinner is of the choicest, everything is cooked to per- fection, the champagne iced to a turn, and Mr. Conyngham's servant is as quick and noiseless as a slave in an Eastern tale. The great event of the day is over, and the two friends are placidly smoking their cigars by the open window. Sir Tris- tram is complimenting Fred upon his cook. " Quite a cordon bleu" he says, with a smile. " Not so bad," Fred answers, a conscious smile widening his mobile lips. " Not so bad ! By Jove ! I'll answer that no two men in London have dined better than you and I to-night. Where did you pick her up ?" " D'Aubray sent her me from Paris." " A Frenchwoman !" " No, but she learned her art there." The days are at their longest : it is not yet dark : the rattle of omnibuses and cabs has subsided ; conversation is no longer an effort. Nevertheless the pauses are frequent and of con- siderable duration, as is the case with men who are intimate enough to follow their inclination without feeling the necessity of playing at company. It is not because they have nothing to say, but, on the contrary, so much, that it is difficult to begin. This difficulty is not uncommon with friends who have not met for a long time. " Tristram,'' says Mr. Conyngham, after an interval of silence, following aloud a thought that has been occupying him, " I'm afraid your doom is sealed." Sir Tristram rouses himself with a little start : he too has evidently been away on a mental journey. " Doom !" he echoes. " What are you talking about, Fred?" " I have observed an undercurrent of it pervading your letters for some time," pursues Mr. Conyngham, " and I have been preparing myself to meet it. You have been thinking seriously lately of marrying. You can't deny it ! Pshaw !" (as Sir Tristram hesitates) " I know all about it, old property, no direct successor, future generations unborn, etc., etc. My dear fellow, you've led a very comfortable easy-going life for forty-six years; take my advice and spend the twenty-four remaining ones in peace, as I intend to do." " Every one to his taste," answers Sir Tristram, gayly. " If you can look forward to a lonely old age with equanimity and IQ MJONON. find books your pleasantest companions and your dinner the only consideration of importance, I won't attempt to convert you ; hut I confess, for my own part, I feel the want of some- thing more. The companionship and sympathy of a bright young creature " "Good heavens!" interrupts Fred, regarding him with serio-comic horror ; "young did you say?" " You don't suppose," retorts Sir Tristram, the color deep- en! ni: in his bronzed cheek, "you don't suppose I am going to marry an old one! My own age, for instance?" " There are degrees. You wouldn't surely be fool enough t marry a rc] lared conserves and confectionery, physicked the poor, and ' made their own souls,' it may have been a bearable institu- tion, though I expect female tongues were as shrill and female tempers had as many angles as now ; but to-day, when women only take a husband as an irksome appendage to free- dom, to unbounded extravagance and unbridled license of MIONON. 17 behavior, heaven help the poor fool who runs his head into that noose ! Look around you, Tristram, before you take a step from which there is no return but through a shameful gate, and, when you see a poor wretch writhing under the fetters he has manacled himself with, say, ' There, but for my friend Fred, goes Tristram Bergholt.' Women are not what they were, though for the matter of that nothing is. Don't talk to me about the doctrine of perfectibility ! as far as I can see, everything is going to the dogs as fast as it can. Look at the army ! I'm not a soldier, but I know deuced well what these new systems and pretended economies are bringing it to. If the British tax-payer doesn't have to put his hand into his pocket twice over to make up for it, I shall be very much astonished. I saw a batch of recruits the other day. Pah 1 it made me positively ill : no chests, no legs, no stamina, no height, no anything there ought to have been. Navy not much better. As to the lower classes, heaven help us ! what with school-board education, what with cheap papers, with unprincipled ruffians persuading them that they are equal to their masters and better, what with strikes, high wages, emi- gration, etc., by Jove ! we shan't have any lower orders soon. Oh for the good old Tory days, when betwixt class and class there was a great gulf fixed, when a servant looked up to his master and ' the maiden to the hand of her mistress,' when every family had its faithful old servants, a thing that, mark my words, won't exist in the next generation, Tristram." " I am afraid they are dying out," he assents. " When you go into a shop now," continues Fred, " you are served by ' young ladies' and ' gentlemen.' I don't so much mind an elegant young female, be-flounced and be-panniered, tripping up to one with a condescending smile ; but when a wretch of my own sex minces up to me in a frock-coat and a crimson tie, with his perfumed handkerchief and perhaps a flower in his button-hole, a Cain-like feeling comes over me, and I thirst for his blood." Sir Tristram laughs. " The garrulity of age is creeping over you, Fred," he says. " You began with matrimony, and you have wandered off, heaven knows where." "I'll go back," returns Fred, promptly. " We have all the night before us, and I feel as though the mantle of Juvenal 2* 18 MIONON. lia making its way from his lips to the window, "these are odd times, when a man may think himself fortunate if he M asked to pay his wife's bilk It seems to me the only MIONON. 19 reputation women want to have (a good many of them), is a bad one." " Fred," cries Sir Tristram, " I am not going to be demoral- ized ! if you are a cynical old misogamist, you shall not per- vert me into one. I confess it, I want to marry ; and, as you keep kindly reminding me I have not much time to lose, I shall take the earliest opportunity of presenting my wife to you (after I have found her). Marriage is a lottery ; we all know that trite old saying by heart. I believe it's the happi- est state in the world if things work reasonably well. Why, what the deuce ! I'm not an ogre ; I feel as full of life and health as I ever did. I can give my wife most things that satisfy a woman moderately easy to please : why should I not make her happy, and she me?" "Ah," returns Conyngham, " I too have my ideas of how marriage could and should be the happiest state in the world ; but they would be laughed to scorn nowadays as old-fash- ioned, exploded, impossible." " I should like to hear them," says Sir Tristram. " To begin with, I would not marry a woman under the age of three- or four-and- twenty (I mean if I were ten or fifteen years younger than I am). At that age she ought to have attained as much perfection physically and mentally as she is capable of. Only conceive to yourself the mischief moral, social, physical of making a little romp of seventeen like Kitty Fox the head of your house, the keeper of your honor, the mother of your children ! And yet she was perfectly seri- ous this afternoon when she told you that she meant to marry before the season was over. Marriage means to her and the girls of her set, not an awful responsibility, not the sealing of her doom for life and for eternity (if there is one), but the means of throwing off all restraint, of being unlimitedly/as, of eclipsing her friends by the splendor of her dress and the number of her lovers." " Come, come, Fred, you are exaggerating ! For my own part, I do not see why a woman should not be well dressed and admired after her marriage as well as before. Why, you confounded old Turk, I believe you would like to shut them all up and only let them go about veiled." " No, certainly not. The only veil I would have should be their own sense of modesty and propriety." 20 MIGNON. " I should like my wife to be charming and to entertain my friends," says Sir Tristram. " So should I ; but there are different ways of charming and entertaining. You don't want her to entertain them by flirt in*.: with them and letting them make open love to her In-hind your back! Good heavens! the state of society is such now that they would probably do it before your face. You don't want her to turn every acquaintance into an object of distrust and suspicion, and your bosom friend into the man you may some day shoot, or want to." " Stuff and humbug !" says Sir Tristram. " You are af- flicted with a moral jaundice, Fred. Now go back from women as you say they are to your ideal woman." " I came too late into a world too old," quotes Conyngham, with a grim laugh. " I doubt if I could find her now. Well, the ideal woman is to be on the right side of five-and-twenty. By that time she ought to be old enough to know her own mind, to have fixed her wandering fancy, and to.be sure what sort of man is likely to make her happy." " But suppose she cannot get him !" " Don't interrupt 1 Once married, if she is as lovely as Venus, she will not care for nor accept, far less try to win, the admiration of any man but her husband. She will rule his house with prudence and discretion, bring up his children to be good and useful members of society, she will be religious without being bigoted (if such a thing is possible for a woman)." " Why, Fred, you old sceptic ! I thought " An irreligious woman is a monstrosity. All women are superstitious ; and therefore it is as well they should believe in something that can do them and society no harm, but may, on the contrary, do a great deal of good." "Well?" " Well, if she is not frivolous, which the ideal woman would of course not be, she will have plenty of time, with- out neglecting her children and household, to cultivate her mind and to make herself a pleasant, intelligent companion for her husband and capable of charming and entertaining his friends as you would have her do." MIGNON. 21 " The ideal woman is a prig," says Sir Tristram, rising, with a laugh, " and you are very welcome to her, for my part. Of the two, I would rather have little Kitty Fox." " Ephraim is joined to his idols: let him alone !" ejaculates Fred. " Well, I would have warned you, but you would not let me. Don't come puling to me when it's too late. Now, then, tell me something about your travels." CHAPTER III. " Her face more fair, Than sudden-singing April in soft lands : *-%#** There is no touch of sun or fallen rain That ever fell on a more gracious thing." SWINBURNE. SIR TRISTRAM is on his way to visit his new possession. He has been detained by business all the morning, and the afternoon is considerably advanced before he arrives at The Warren. He has elected to come incognito and without giv- ing notice to the housekeeper in charge. So he leaves the fly that has brought him to the station at the tumble-down village inn, and does the rest of the thousand yards to the lodge-gates on foot. It is a bright, hot day, but delicious airs come floating across the common, airs straight from heaven, airs that have never been filtered through other human lungs but come to him pure and virginal, perfumed with the faint wax-like odors of gorse and the aromatic scent of the firs. On his left is the long belt of trees that skirts his park, and before him a great expanse of common, dotted here and there with clumps of firs. Wave upon wave of golden-yellow gorse and broom floats before his eyes, mingled with the pink of budding heather. Sir Tristram looks at the scene with a feeling of complacency: he is no longer bored by the sense of the " ad- ditional responsibility." " What a delicious air !" he says, taking off his hat and 22 MIGNON. 1 1 tin- tin- breeze play softly over the dark close-shorn locks \ct tiiiu! has not thinned. "A charming view ! only want* one thing, water. No scene can be perfect without that !" Tin! lodge which stands at the entrance-gate looks dreary and deserted : it is evidently untenantcd. He opens the gate and admits himself. The drive is sadly neglected and grass- grown ; the trees and evergreens that skirt the path on either Bide are raukly luxuriant and need to be pruned with no spar- ing hand. A fine cock pheasant runs across the road in front of him, and he counts a dozen little white scuts bobbing up and down among the bracken. "By Jove ! that looks well !" he thinks, with the keen pleasure of a genuine sportsman. Presently he arrives at a spot where two ways meet, and pauses for a moment in uncertainty. A ringing laugh falls upon his ear, the laugh of a sweet full young voice : it is joined in and swiftly drowned by two louder ones. " There is some one of whom I can ask my way," he tl links, proceeding in the direction of the voices. In another moment he comes upon a group which the thick branches of the evergreens have till now hidden from his sight. He stands mute before one of the most charming pictures in the world. A young girl is sitting on the topmost rail of a five-barred irate. Her hat has fallen off, and her golden hair is all smit- ten through with the broad sunbeams that glint between the sparsely-covered branches of an ancient oak. One long curl has escaped, and falls far below her waist. She is the loveliest creature, thinks Sir Tristram, who has visited many lands, that his eyes have ever yet fallen upon. At her feet is a good- looking boy of some eighteen or nineteen, on one knee, an arm aloft holding a cabbage-leaf full of big strawberries. Another boy, strikingly like the girl, leans laughing against the tree's trunk. "Accept, Queen " begins the kneeling youth, but at this moment they all simultaneously catch sight of Sir Tri>t ram's smiling face. The youthful gallant springs to his feet, red as the straw- I which he in his confusion scatters among the long grass ; but the girl sits quite still, only a fair faint blush deepens in her lovely face. " I beg you ten thousand pardons," says Sir Tristram, tak- ing off his hat and addressing her, " will you kindly tell me MIGNON. 23 the way to the house? there are two roads, and I am un- certain which to take." "That leads to the house," she answers, pointing to the road on the right : " this goes to the garden and stable." Her voice is perfectly self-possessed ; there is neither mauvaise honte nor boldness in it, nor does she seem to feel any unpleasant consciousness of the position in which she has been discovered. His question answered, what is there for Sir Tristram to do but to thank her and go ? And yet he would fain stay. But, finding no excuse, he takes one more look at her lovely face, and goes. " Entre or et roux Dieu fit ses longs cheveux," he murmurs, as he wends his way up the avenue, and ever afterwards when he thinks of her those two lines flit through his brain. Ere long he comes upon an old-fashioned house, built in gothic style and overgrown by rank luxuriant creepers. It looks as deserted as a haunted castle in a fairy-tale. The front door is ajar, and he enters without ringing. He finds himself in a good-sized hall, furnished like a room, with heavy lumbering old furniture, and carpeted with a threadbare Tur- key carpet. Cases of stuffed birds line most of the walls and surround the ponderous hat-stand that is now bare and deprived of the purpose of its existence. He opens a door arid enters the drawing-room, a melancholy specimen of the taste of fifty years ago. The curtains are of dingy gray, striped with faded green ; the carpet of dull drab is ornamented with huge bunches of impossible flowers ; a heavy rosewood table stands in the centre of the room, and on it are a glass-shaded basket of uninviting wax fruit and a few dull books ; the small oblong mirror that graces the chimney-piece is protected by yellow muslin; an ancient and high-backed piano stands in one corner. All the furniture is solid, ugly, unshapely. Sir Tristram walks to the window and looks out on the deserted garden. He sees in a moment its capabilities for being made charming; he notes where a glade may be cut through yon tangle of trees, giving a lovely peep at the distant common ; in his mind's eye, carpenters, upholsterers, gardeners are already at work making the gloomy old place into a paradise. He turns, and crosses the hall to the room opposite. It is, as he con- 24 MIGNON. j.vtun-s, tlic diriing-room. If possible, it looks more desolate . A faded carpet, moreen curtains that have once been red, huge hideous mahogany furniture covered with worn-out leather, some dingy old portraits, and a dark lookout on a sea of evergreens that are running rampant and un- j.niih .I at their own sweet will. " We will make a clean sweep of all these," says their new lord to himself, " and let in the light and air. Faugh ! it smells like a vault! My poor old uncle must have had strange tastes." Ilr remarks, however, with satisfaction, that everything is scrupulously clean and neat. A door opens from the dining-room into another room ; he turns the handle, and finds himself face to face with a fine, gentlemanlike-looking man. The latter grasps the situation at once. " Sir Tristram Bergholt, I presume ?" he says. " I fear I must seem in the light of an intruder, but Mr. Tristram always allowed me the range of the library, and " " It is I who am the intruder," returns Sir Tristram, in his jili'iisiiit courteous manner. " I dislike fuss and preparation, and thought it would be pleasanter to run down quietly and take my first look." " Poor Mrs. Bence will be in a great state of mind at not brini: allowed to welcome you with due state and ceremony," Bays the stranger. " She is an excellent creature : in fact, she lived some years in my family, and it was I who recom- mended her to Mr. Tristram. I must introduce myself" (smiling), "as there is no one else to perform the ceremony. My name is Carlyle Captain Carlyle. I live opposite to you in a little cottage on the common : you must have passed it on your way here." Sir Tristram remembers to have seen a low long house with gabled roof and a pretty garden full of roses and flower-beds. He likes the look of his neighbor, and thinks he detects a striking resemblance to Miss Goldenlocks on the gate. Cap- tain Carlyle has had the same colored hair, though it is liberally sprinkled with silver now, but his face is fresh-colored, his moustache chestnut : in spite of his gray hair he does not look a day older than Sir Tristram himself. " What a pity the place should have been so neglected 1" MIGNON. 25 remarks the latter. " My uncle, I believe, was eccentric. I never saw him." " Rather more than eccentric," answers Captain Carlyle, smiling. " For five years before his death he never allowed a stick of wood to be cut nor a gun to be fired on the place. It was a great loss to me : I used to shoot his game for him before that time.'* " I hope we shall reap the benefit of his eccentricity," says Sir Tristram. He has taken a fancy to Captain Carlyle, and feels as if he had known him for years. Captain Carlyle receives the same impression of the new master of The "Warren. " I had a difficulty in finding my way to the house," says Sir Tristram. " I was obliged to ask the road of a young lady." This is a cunning device to get information about Miss Goldenlocks. " Oh ! Mignon, I suppose : my youngest daughter. She came up with me to-day. Young puss ! I fear she has made sad havoc among your strawberry-beds, she and her brother between them." " I hope they have : they are most heartily welcome." " Thanks. Are you going back to town to-night?" "Yes, by the 9.30 train." " After you have looked round, will you come and take pot-luck with us ? There is no decent inn nearer than four miles ; and I fear Mrs. Bence will not be prepared to entertain you." Captain Carlyle gives the invitation with the frank incon- siderateness of a man, utterly unmindful of the probable con- dition of the larder at home. Sir Tristram accepts the invitation as frankly as it is given. "Entre or et roux" the two haunting lines come back to him : he has a curiosity to see that golden head again. "I am going home now," says Captain Carlyle. "Do you think you will have finished your business here in an hour?" " Thanks, yes. I am only going to take a very cursory view to-day." " Then I will return at six to show you the way." Captain Carlyle leaves the house in a very pleasant, self- congratulatory frame of mind. " Charming fellow ; tremendous acquisition. I hope he B a 26 MIGNON. will be here a good deal. Evidently a sportsman. Glad I happen. -d to In- there and thought of asking him to dinner, vel I wonder if there is anything for dinner, by the way." This arr&re-pcnste makes the current of his thoughts a .shade less pleasant. At this moment he comes in sight of the rmup whom Sir Tristram had surprised some half an hour earlier. The tableau has undergone a change now : all three are seated on the grass under the old tree ; the scattered stnnvhen-ies have been recovered and demolished; nothing ivinains hut the discarded cabbage-leaf. H Well, I suppose you know the news," he remarks, gayly, as he comes up to them. " Sir Tristram Bergholt has arrived." " I said that was him," cries Mignon. " Heedless of grammar they all cried, ' That's him.' " spouts her twin brother, quoting from " Ingoldsby." " And what do you think of him ?" asks their father. " Awfully good sort, I should say," replies Gerry Carlyle. " Didn't look at all like warning us off the premises, although he did catch us in flagrantc dclicto with his best strawberries." " Horrid old wretch ! I wish he had not come," pouts Mignon. '"We shall never be able to come here with any comfort now." " Mignon !" exclaimed her father, sharply. " You have not a very ladylike way of expressing yourself, and nothing could be less appropriate than your adjectives. He is the most charm- ing, gentlemanlike fellow I have met for an age; and as for being old, I do not believe he is a day more than forty." " Forty !" echoes Mignon, derisively, looking at her father from the depths of her dark-blue eyes. " What a juvenile ! Forty ! Why, that is almost as old as you, papa !" And Mignon throws herself back and laughs d gorge di- ployie. As a rule, it is not becoming, even to a pretty woman, t<> laiiLih heartily and unrestrainedly ; but to see Mignon laugh was the most charming thing in the world. It made you rack your brain to say something droll enough to set her off again the moment she stopped. Her lovely mouth uncurled as wide as it could, which was not very wide, you could count all her lovely pearls of teeth, and the sound of her mirth was like . water rippling over little stones. Even her father could not MIGNON. 27 but forgive her irreverence, seeing how lovely she looked as she was guilty of it. As for poor Oswald Carey, the other mem- ber of the group, he has looked his heart away long ago. Mignon has been sole empress over that organ ever since he was twelve years old ; and right royally she uses the preroga- tive of her fairness in lording it over him and every one else who is under its sway. " He is coming to dine with us," says Captain Carlyle. " Gerry, run home, there's a good fellow, and tell your mother." " Oh, papa, you are joking !" cries Mignon, looking up amazed. " You know it is Tuesday ; and there is never any- thing for dinner on Tuesday." " Nonsense ! what do you mean ?" cries her father, coloring a little. " I heard mamma say only at lunch that there was nothing in the house, and that you would have to put up with bacon and eggs to-night." Captain Carlyle's rosy views take a gray hue : he thinks it more than probable that Mignon is speaking the truth. As usual with a man when a difficult problem of domestic econ- omy has to be solved, he waxes irritable. " I suppose they can contrive something," he says, sharply. " I don't know what's the use of a pack of girls, if they can't turn their hands to something useful." Mignon is the only member of the family who does not stand in awe of her father. " Well, papa," she retorts, " if we could all of us cook, we couldn't make the butcher invent a new animal or kill on any day but Tuesday. I don't see why you should make such a fuss over the man because he is a baronet. Why shouldn't bacon and eggs do for him as well as us ?" " Damn eggs and bacon !" cries her father, in an access of wrath. " He might have had some of his own strawberries, if we hadn't eaten them all," proceeds Mignon, imperturbably. " I don't suppose you could find a dozen more if you hunted the beds all over, Oswald: could you ?" Oswald shakes his head. He is quite the enfant defamille : there are no secrets from him. " I'll tell you what, sir," he says. ' " I'll go off to the butcher and bring something back at all events." 28 MIGNON. " Do, there's a good fellow !" cries Captain Carlyle, relieved. " You must In- quick about it, though, for there's only an hour and a half to dinner." So Oswald, accompanied by Gerald, goes off at full speed to the butcher's, and Captain Carlyle and Mignon wend their way homewards, the former's sense of triumph at having the new owner of The Warren as a guest sadly impaired. Mrs. Carlyle and her two elder daughters are sitting together in the pretty little drawing-room when they enter. Mrs. Carlyle is a faded-looking woman with some remains if In-anty. Her eldest daughter, Mary, has a kind, placid, Madonna-like face ; the second, Regina, is handsome, haughty, discon ten ted-1 ooking. There is no time to be lost. Captain Carlyle does not waste his breath unnecessarily, and he is an autocrat at home. So he says, with outward peremptoriness though a misgiving heart, " I met Sir Tristram Bergholt up at The Warren just now, and he is coming to dine here at seven." If a thunderbolt had fallen in their midst, dismay could scarcely be more vividly pictured upon the faces of the three ladies to whom this curt announcement is vouchsafed. Tears spring to poor Mrs. Carlyle's eyes. Much as she stands in awe <>f lur husband, she cannot but feel a mild indignation against him for having placed her in this cruel dilemma. "It is impossible!" she says. "There is not a thing in the house. You must make some excuse ; you must, indeed." " Excuse !" retorts the captain, irefully : " you talk like a child ! Invite a man to dinner, forsooth, and put him off half an hour after !" Here Mignon interposes. " Oswald has gone to the butcher's, mamma. He said he would be sure to bring back something. I dare say he will be here directly with half a sheep on his back." " Mutton killed this morning !" utters Mrs. Carlyle, in the accent of profound despair. " Of course you must make the worst of everything," cries her husband. " Upon my soul, it's enough to make a man cut his throat to live in a house where you can't bring any one to dine without calling forth a waterspout !" " Papa," says Mignon, who is of a practical turn of mind, MIGNON. 29 " I have heard that if a chicken is cooked as soon as it is killed it is quite tender." " Bravo, Mignon !" cries her father. " You are about the only one who has a head on her shoulders. Go and tell James to kill one 1" " We had the last chicken on Sunday," interrupts Miss Carlyle : " there are only the Dorkings now, and they are all laying." " One of the youngest must be killed," decides the captain, promptly. " We are to dine at seven." " It is half-past five now," utters his wife, looking mourn- fully at the clock. " I only hope Oswald will bring a neck of mutton, that we may have a dish of cutlets ; there is not time for a joint." A quarter of an hour later, Oswald comes in, crimson and out of breath. He brings in triumph a basket out of which sticks the shank of a huge leg of mutton. Tableau ! CHAPTER IY. "Yea, and if men have gathered together gold and silver, or any other goodly thing, do they not love a woman which is comely in favor and beauty ? " And letting all these things go, do they not gape and even with open mouth fix their eyes fast on her '(" Book of Esdras. MEANTIME, Sir Tristram, unconscious of the woe he has brought on an innocent and deserving family, is calmly con- tinuing his inspection of The Warren. Mrs. Bence has been made aware of his arrival, and hurries to his presence in ex- treme trepidation. His kindly manner soon reassures her : her terror gives way to admiration of her new lord. " The handsomest, affablest gentleman, I think, I ever set eyes on," she describes him later to the niece who helps her keep house. " I says to myself at once, ' There's a husband for Miss Carlyle or Miss Regina, if they have the luck to get him.' " 3* 30 MIQNON. " Captain Carlyle was a friend of my uncle's, I suppose ? ; ' Sir Tristram says, when he has succeeded in stemming the torrent of her apologies. " Well, sir, so to speak, he was," she answers : " at least he was the only gentleman that ever come to the house of late days. But poor master wasn't one for friends. He seemed to turn against every one the last year, and used to sit and read and mutter to himself. He was quite an old gentleman, though, in his seventy-sixth when he was taken. One time lie used to like to see the young ladies and Master Gerry; indeed, he was quite fond of him and Miss Mignon up till about this time twelvemonth, and then he says to me, ' Let 'em come and rob the garden of every bit of fruit, that's all they want, but don't let 'em ever come near me. I don't want to see or to hear 'em.' Poor young things !" says Mrs. Bence, warmly, " it's only nat'ral they should like good things, like all young folk ; but," she adds, ruefully, " if I'd have known you'd been coming, Sir Tristram, they shouldn't have been near the strawberry -beds this week past." " I don't eat fruit," answers Sir Tristram ; " and please re- member that I wish them to come just the same as usual. I saw them as I came up. There were two youths : are both Captain Carlyle's sons?" " Oh, no, Sir Tristram ; he has only one, Master Gerry, and he's twin with Miss Mignon. I lived nurse there when they was born. The other was Mr. Carey, Mr. Oswald Carey : he's just like Miss Mignon's shadow when he's at home." Improbable as it may seem, it is nevertheless a fact that a faint feeling of chagrin flitted over Sir Tristram at Mrs. Bcncc's last words. " Are they engaged ?" he asks. " No, no, sir. Why, Miss Mignon's not long turned of seventeen, and she doesn't care two peas for him, nor never will for nobody, I don't believe," exclaims the housekeeper, with an impressive plurality of negatives. " The captain had a sad disappointment about poor Master Gerry ; but there ! I'm K-ttinr my tongue run on and never thinking to ask you whether you'll please to take a bit o' something to eat ; though, not knowing you was coming, there's not much to offer. There's plenty of old wine in the cellar, however, that MIGNON. 31 poor master was very choice over. Shall I go and get the key?" Sir Tristram assents : the richest and least covetous man in the world cannot be other than gratified by the acquisition of a cellar of old wine. He makes an inspection, thinks it looks promising, and betakes himself to the grounds. " My nephew has done the gardening single-handed the last five years," Mrs. Bence tells him : " there used to be four up to then ; but poor master got very near of late years, and eight wouldn't be too many to keep it up properly as a gentleman's place should be kept, Sir Tristram." " Well," he says, pleasantly, " I hope you will see them here some day." " I've lived here a many years," utters the worthy soul, a sudden dimness clouding her vision, " and I've got very fond of the place, but I suppose I must expect to have to make way for others now, sir." " Not at all ! not at all !" he answers, kindly. " We shall see how we get on. At all events, you need not trouble your- self with any thought of leaving for the next twelve months. By that time we shall see how we suit each other." " I am sure you will suit me, sir," returns Mrs. Bence, heartily ; and Sir Tristram nods and smiles at her, and goes off to the garden, where soon afterwards Captain Carlyle joins him. Poor man ! the debonnair, jovial look has gone from his face : he forces himself to seem cheery and at ease, but the thought of the huge leg of mutton and the ungainly Dorking hangs over him like the sword of Damocles. He knows what is right oh, miserable unprofitable knowledge, curse of those who cannot " ' Not only know' But also practise what they know." 1 Fain would he charm his guest with an elegant, recherche* little feast; and he must set before him a limb that only yesterday trotted across the heath and led its owner to " crop the flowery mead," and a bird that laid his egg for breakfast this morning and would have laid it for many a day to come had not his own imprudence sacrificed it to an untimely fate. Sir Tristram, ignorant of the sad thoughts at work in his companion's breast, talks cheerfully away, and does not even 32 M1QNON. remark the alteration in Captain Carlyle's manner. The latter is en lining over to himself what excuses he shall make for the untempting meal when it is placed on the table. He is poor and proud, but he has not the pride that would prompt him to confess his dilemma with a frank grace that would rob the situation of half its difficulty. When they arrive at the cottage, the drawing-room is untenanted. Mrs. Carlyle and llegina are dressing for the dreaded ordeal, Mary is assisting and directing in the kitchen, Oswald and Gerry are shelling peas and enjoy- ing it as a capital joke ; even Mignon is gathering roses for the dinner-table. Captain Carlyle leaves his guest with an apology whilst he goes to select the best wine from his moder- ately-furnished cellar. Sir Tristram looks out of the French windows, sees Mignon, " one arm aloft, Gowned in pure white that fitted to her shape," and an exquisite shape it is, looks and longs for a moment, then steps diffidently out and joins her. She sees him, and gives him an. unembarrassed smile of welcome. " Will you give me a rose?" he asks her. She is a saucy minx, and in a moment she cuts a huge full- blown cabbage rose and presents it gravely to him. Then, looking up and meeting his half-perplexed, half-discomfited look, she laughs her rippling laugh and with it takes his soul captive. " I should prefer a bud, if you will give me one," he says, smiling. " What will you do with it ?" she asks. " I don't like a man with a flower in his button-hole, it looks like a shop- man out on Sunday ; and you cannot carry it about all the even- ing." " I will take it home and treasure it," he answers, half in jest, half in earnest. " And label it Mignon," she says, saucily. " By the way, perhaps you don't know that my name is Mignon?" " Yes, I do." " It is an odious name, is it not ? so silly, too ; and nearly every one mispronounces it." ^ " It is a charming name," says Sir Tristram, bethinking him of a quotation, MIGNON. 33 11 The sweetest name that ever love Waxed weary of." If she had been a woman of fashion, he would have told her the lines : being a fresh young girl, and, as such, the incarna- tion of all innocence and purity to him, he would have thought it a folly, nay, more, an impertinence, to utter them aloud in her presence. Mignon trips from tree to tree, robbing each with ruthless hand of its fairest children : crimson, blush and golden, snow-white and rosy pink, are pressed together in the firm grasp of her small lithe fingers, and Sir Tristram follows, watching her every movement and drinking in her perfections in charmed silence. Nature was in a happy mood, he thinks, when she dowered this god-child with so lavish a hand. As she stands on tiptoe to reach a crimson blossom, Sir Tristram, instead of gallantly bringing his superior height to the rescue, is taking the opportunity to look at her feet. There is a certain noble lord (with whom in this matter my ideas are perfectly d'accorcT) who refuses to pronounce a woman beautiful until he has seen her eat. Sir Tristram never gives his verdict upon one until he has seen her feet. The momentary glance afforded him satisfies his critical eye. Mignon's feet are encased, it is true, in shabby slippers, but they are small and well formed. And upwards to her shapely hands, her creamy throat, her dimpled mouth, the exquisite upper lip and dainty nose, the long-lashed eyes and white brow whence springs an aureole of ruddy golden hair, there is not one point the ravished beholder would wish more perfect. A strange desire seizes him to add to all that nature has done the graces of art. He is not a believer in " beauty unadorned :" he would like it to be his task to put dainty slippers on the little feet, rare stuffs and samites on the shapely form, to crown the golden locks with pearls arid diamonds. All these thoughts, that take so long to write, flash through Sir Tristram's mind in an instant. Unknowing how rapt his thoughts are in her, or how flattering their nature, Mignon is thinking meanly of his powers of being entertaining. " You won't mind my leaving you a moment, will you ?" she says. " I want to take these into the house ; they are for the dinner-table." " You will not be long," he asks. " You are not going to dress for dinner, I hope, as I am in morning dress ?" 34 M1GNON. "Dress for dinner?" she repeats. "Oh, no; I am not LT'.ini: to dine. I hate dining late." Not going to dine ?" (in some dismay). " No. Oswald and Gerry and I are going to have eggs and bacon in the school-room. We never dine with the old people ; we have so much more fun by ourselves." Mignori's naivete is decidedly of a thorny character; she is in the habit of pricking her auditors even without being actuated by any evil intent. " Confound Oswald ! I suppose she looks upon me quite as an old fellow !" are the two distinct thoughts that flash simultaneously across the mind of her interlocutor. " Why may I not have bacon and eggs in the school-room too?" he asks. " You !" she echoes ; and then, apparently struck by some intensely droll idea, she laughs one of her wonderful, bewitch- ing laughs. Sir Tristram forgets, in his exceeding admiration, to think whether she is laughing at him. He has not seen her laugh before : it seems to him the most charming, fascinating thing he has ever seen in a daughter of Eve. Whether saucy Miss Mignon is conscious of this natural and involuntary grace, I am unable to state : at all events, she does not attempt to check her jubilance. " I wonder what amused you so much," he says, his curi- osity awakening as her laughter dies away. " Nothing," she answers, smiling, " only papa was so dis- gusted with me for suggesting that you should dine off eggs and bacon, and you have actually proposed it yourself." " Let me join your party, may I?" he entreats, quite seri- ously. Sir Tristram thinks as much of his dinner (not more) as most men who have arrived at his time of life, and whom cir- cumstances have permitted to be critical, if not fastidious, as to what they cat. We must conclude that by his preferring to dine off bacon and eggs in Mignon's society to having a lotiafide dinner with her parents (remember, he is not in the secret of the family dilemma), that bewitching damsel must have made no slight impression upon him. " Oh, that would never do, after papa and mamma have been making such preparations for you." MIGNON. 35 When the words have escaped her, a misgiving as to their discreetness seizes Mignon, and she takes refuge in flight. " I will come back," she cries, as she trips lightly off to the house. Whilst Sir Tristram is debating in his mind whether this is a ruse to get rid of him, she reappears. " Would you like to see the pigs and the chickens ?" she asks, and carries him off in the direction of the pig-stye. On their way to it they pass a gate that leads to the common. " How delicious the air is here !" he says, pausing to lean upon it and drawing in the flower-scented breath of the north wind with epicurean enjoyment. " I should think the people about here never die, do they ?" "Oh, yes; they are rather given to it; the water and the drainage are bad." Sir Tristram registers a mental vow to alter the sanitary conditions of his property. Mignon leans over the gate a little apart from him. The " wanton zephyrs" are kissing her sweet lips and ruffling the little stray locks about her brow and throat. The man who stands beside her is fast losing his head over her loveliness, despite his forty-six years, despite its being half an hour beyond the promised dinner-hour and his being exceedingly hungry. " You will not let my coming here prevent your going to The Warren as usual, will you?" he says, presently. " Thank you" (with a tinge of regret in her voice), " but of course it won't be the same." "Why not?" Mignon answers with characteristic frankness, " I mean I cannot go about anyhow, as I have been used to do : you might come upon me round a corner when I least expected you, like you did to-day." " Suppose I did ? It would not harm you, and it would give me pleasure." Mignon laughs. " Did it give you pleasure to come upon me c red-handed,' as Gerry said, in the act of eating your best strawberries ?" " Are they good ones ?" " Pretty good : nothing wonderful," she answers, suspecting him of meanness in her heart. Perhaps if she tells him how good they are } he will not be so generous. But he is thinking 3G MIONON. that he would like to send her a cartload of the biggest he can procure from Covent Garden. " I wish," he ventures, diffidently, " you would let me brini: you some really worth having when I come next." Mignon acquits him. " Oh, thank you," she says, " but " "Do not say 'but:' do you care for other fruit, apricots and peaches?" " I like everything that is good," she laughs ; and, truth to tell, Miss Mignon is not only gourmet but gourmande. Meanwhile, grief and despair are raging inside the cottage. Captain Carlyle is stamping furiously about, girding bitterly at his meek and distressed partner: it has been pronounced im- possible for the colossal joint to bear any approximation to eatableness before a quarter to eight ; and at a quarter to nine, punctually, Sir Tristram must start in order to catch the last up train. The host is registering savage vows against hospi- tality ; never, never, if he lives to be the age of Methuselah, will he give an impromptu invitation to dinner again ! Poor Mrs. Carlyle, though she dare not say so, devoutly hopes he will keep the vow. The captain has stormed once or twice into the kitchen, where cook stands hot, flustered, and wrathful : kind Mary, the peacemaker, is striving to help and to pour oil on the troubled waters, llegina is locked in her room, to be out of the way of domestic disagreeables, as well as to arm herself for conquest. She is handsome, and dying to get away from home, and is in no humor to despise the godsend that chance seems to have thrown in her way. Little docs she dream how her young sister's loveliness is making the master of The Warren impervious to the charms of the rest of her sex. At last, at last, dinner is on the table, and Sir Tristram is brought to it by his host. He has gathered from Migmon's unintentional hints that Captain and Mrs. Carlyle have been at some pains to do him honor, and he is prepared with his innate good breeding and kindness of heart to make their efforts a success. But, with all his tact, he cannot help feel- ing disconcerted (not for his own sake) when the covers are removed. Before the captain steams the hinder limb of * co- lossal sheep; in front of poor Mrs. Carlyle is a bird which could remind one of nothing but that antediluvian biped the dodo. MIGNON. 37 Its ungainly limbs are thrust in various directions ; in her haste, poor cook has forgotten to singe it, and long black hairs assert themselves through the gelatinous white sauce with which its bony framework is sparsely covered. Poor Captain Carlyle ! the perspiration stands on his brow with anguish. Poor Mrs. Carlyle ! she could thin the white sauce with her tears. Regina talks fast, to conceal her chagrin. Sir Tris- tram seconds her ably, and falls to with the greatest appear- ance of enjoyment when his mutton, the lesser evil of the two, is put before him. But, alas! he too is soon of those who can testify to the truth of the poet's saying, " How far apart are will and power I" even his teeth, which are as useful as they are ornamental, rebel against the affront put upon them ; they positively refuse to meet upon this sinewy fragment. He is not to be daunted : he swallows it whole, regardless of consequences. Mercifully, the peas are excellent. He bestows such praise upon them, and falls into such rapture over the delight of having one's own kitchen-garden, you might have thought he had never enjoyed a dinner so much in his life. He is so pleasant and cheery that he almost succeeds in restoring the amour-propre of his hosts. Virtue is its own reward : he wins golden opin- ions from them, than which there are few things he is more anxious for. Only one thing perturbs him. Where he sits he can see Mignon seated on the gate where he left her. Os- wald Carey is her companion. He can hear now and again her ringing laugh which he is dying to see. Presently they come towards the house. A little later he hears peals of laughter proceeding from (he concludes) the school-room, and a savory smell of bacon makes him wish, for more reasons than one, that he could join the party. Captain Carlyle, as it steals across him, thinks he might have done better if he had not pooh-poohed his daughter's suggestion of bacon and eggs. The second course arrives. Dear good Mary Carlyle, by severe study of the cookery-book, has succeeded in transforming five delicious new-laid eggs into the consistency and appearance of an old shoe. Happily, the last state of things is better than the first : there is an excellent cheese and a delicious salad ; and on these the two men appease their hunger. Women never 4 38 MIGNON. have any appetite when things go wrong, if they are weighed upon by any srnse of responsibility. The fly is at the door ; there is no time to spare. Captain and .Mrs. Carlyle and Regina wish him a joyful good-by, how thankful to " speed the parting guest" none knows but the entertainer with whom everything has gone wrong. Sir Tris- tram is full of thanks and kind words, but his eyes are wari- clciinLT in search of Mignon. She does not come to take leave of him; and he is bitterly chagrined. As the fly drives off, he gets a glimpse in at the school-room window, where there is a li^ht. Oswald is apparently drawing, and Mignon leans familiarly over his shoulder. Sir Tristram unconsciously gives vent to a movement of impatience. Two hours later he walks into Fred Conyngham's rooms, where he is expected. His friend greets him with the usual British salutation. Well ?" Sir Tristram returns the usual British answer. " Well !" " Is it well?" Fred interrogates. " Very well indeed, I think. I never saw a place with greater capabilities of being made charming, on a small scale. Nicely situated, good house, very fair sport, I imagine, and within an hour and a half of London." " Sounds well," says Mr. Conyngham. " Any neighbors ?" " Very few, I should think. I met one at the plape. Very nice fellow indeed ; asked me to dinner." " What sort of dinner did he give yon ?" Now, I should really like to know why, seeing that Fred Conyngham is his bosom friend, the man in whom he is in the habit of reposing all his confidences, even of the most trifling nature, Sir Tristram should utterly forbear all mention of the unhappy failure of the dinner. Even when asked so leading a question, he only replies, " Oh, not so good as yours last night. I could not expect that." " What sort of aged man ?" " Oh, about my own age." Somehow the words jar upon him. " Any daughters ?" " Three, I believe ; but only one dined." MIGNON. 39 "Good-looking?" " Rather handsome. Dark." " Then you haven't met your doom yet," chuckles Fred. " Have a cigar and something to drink. My mind is relieved." CHAPTER Y. " Oh, purblind race of miserable men, How many among us at this very hour Do forge a life-long trouble for ourselves, By taking true for false, or false for true !" TENNYSON. WHEN two young English people (I am happy to think they manage these things better abroad) agree to unite in a reckless disregard of consequences, and a selfish confidence in, or obliv- ion of, the future, by joining their hands, their wants, and their impecuniosity, the act is glorified by the name of a "love- match." They are applauded by all the young of their species, and looked upon with sympathetic interest by friends who are not likely to be called upon to assist them in the impending struggle to make (as some one has said) " what is not enough for one, enough for two," or more probably for half a dozen. Their distracted families alone look at the matter from a practical, common-sense point of view, and refuse to join in the hero- worship accorded by outsiders to the foolish young couple. It would be all very fine, they hint, sternly, if the aesthetic pair meant to live on air and love, or, better still, if the man were willing for his passion's sake to turn bread-winner in earnest, and his fair helpmate to cook, to wash, and to sew ; but it only means that, having had their own way and becoming rather disgusted thereat, they come back to beg of their friends, who are obliged in the long run, however they may grumble, to do what they can for them. Captain and Mrs. Carlyle's had been a love-match. He was a handsome subaltern in a marching regiment, she a pretty penniless girl, both well connected. They loved as no two human beings had ever loved before (of course). Come pov- 40 MIGNON. erty, coine all the ills that flesh is heir to, but let them bear them t