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DOLORES.
.A. ID IE ZLIO-IH: T IFTJ L IST
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A CHARMING STORY.
DIANA CAREW;
OR,
IF O IR, A. -VSTO HUE.A HST'S S-A-I
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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 <rirl of seventeen or eighteen. Why, when you are
an old fellow of sixty, she will be one-and-thirty, just in her
prime. Now, my dear old boy, vanity never was your weak
point, and you always had a very fair share of common sense :
do you suppose that a handsome young woman (of course you
intend her to be handsome) is likely to be satisfied with the
battered remains of what has been a fine man ?"
Hang it, Fred," cries Sir Tristram, laughing, though not
particularly pleased, " I have not come to battered remains
yet, I hope. However, it is rather premature to discuss the
subject. I have not been in England a week ; and I certainly
have not seen any one, so far, whom I feel inclined to ask to
be Lady Bergholt."
I lark ye, Tristram," says his friend ; " I want to have a
little serious conversation with you. Your feelings are not
d so far, therefore my task won't be quite so hard.
Although you are a man of the world and have seen a good
deal of life, you were always rather an ingenuous and unsus-
picious youth, added to which you have been out of your own
country for three years, and you have not the least idea how
tin- honorable estate of matrimony has deteriorated and been
degraded in that time. Marriage is the curse of nine-tenths
of men nowadays. In the good old time, when women were
keepers at home, when they sewed and spun with their maids,
]>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<l falli-n upon me and I could go on for hours lashing the
Mark to the women ! Don't you remember
when \\e were young men, Tristram, how different society
was? A fast married woman was a very rare thing: you
hardly ever saw one dance a round dance. Indeed, young
never th m-lit of inviting them, except as a sort of
civility in return for hospitality. The young matrons used to
sit and look on with kind sympathy and interest at the girls :
tliev had had their day. Now, if you please, the girls are the
wallflowers and the married women their bitterest and most
implacable rivals. Why, the other night the Reds gave a
ball and there were only two unmarried women asked. What
bn.-iness have women who have husbands of their own, I
should like to know, with other men's arms around their
waists, other men's breath in their faces, with their flirtings
and whisperings, their oglings and meetings ! Then their ex-
travagance ! Why, our mothers thought a good deal of a
couple of new silk gowns a year, and had perhaps a velvet
and a moire 1 antique as standing dishes, but now the number
of dresses that a woman of moderate income thinks it neces-
sary to have is enough to make your hair stand on end. You
know Charlie D . He has about two thousand a year,
which he augments now and then by a little judicious horse-
dealinir, and his wife had four new dresses for Ascot last
besides evening toilettes and a gorgeous dressing-gown
fur the smoking-room. Begad ! one can hardly wonder at the
women, when the men make such asses and mountebanks of
themselves. Brocade coats and trousers lined with pink or
blue quilted satin to smoke in, and their monograms in gold
on their slippers. Bah !" And Fred's countenance is a sight
to see. " Well ! little Mrs. D informed me with great
glee about her four marvellous toilettes, and kindly offered me
a .-L'ht of them, but, as I declined, she insisted on describing
then). Three came from Paris, and the fourth from the most
extravagant woman in London."
"I wonder how poor Charlie will look when he gets the
bill." remarks Sir Tristram.
u I I'm!" says Fred, following the thin stream of smoke
that i> 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<i;j -t In T. They married. Three months later they were
humbly confessing their folly and asking help. Mr. Carlyle's
lather bought him his company, Mrs. Carlyle's pinched the
rest of his family to give her a hundred a year. The condi-
tions on both sides were stern : nothing more was to be asked.
Two daughters were born, and then it became necessary for
the dashing captain to sell out and exile himself to a neigh-
boring country, where provisions and education were less ex-
pniHve than in his own. Life went pleasantly enough for
some years in the little Anglo-foreign town among a coterie
of English similarly circumstanced, when a new embarrassment
befell them. This time it took the form of twins, Mignon and
Gerald.
If at that juncture Captain Carlyle's mother had not found
it convenient to shuffle off the mortal coil and in doing so to
leave her younger son three hundred a year and a charming
cottage, there is no knowing to what straits this virtuous but
unfortunate family might have been reduced. Captain Carlyle
and his family left the cheery little foreign watering-place,
where amusements and provisions were cheap and plentiful,
and came to lead a dull life at the cottage on the heath.
Mrs. Carlyle, who was still rather a pretty woman and had
been considered somewhat of a belle in the little Brittany
circle, had to forego society now and console herself as best
she might with rose-growing, worsted-work, and looking after
her children. She was a devoted mother, and wife too, for the
matter of that, and only grumbled now and then. Her hus-
band was much better off. He went to London at least once a
week, had his club, his stroll in the park, his little dinners
with friends, an occasional stall at the opera or theatre. As
his wife said, as all good self-denying wives say, " Oh, we
get on very well" (" we" meaning herself and her daughters) ;
" but a man must be amused, you know /" Captain Carlyle
followed this prescription to the best of his ability. Being a
handsome, well-dressed, pleasant-mannered man, he got invited
to country-houses, shooting-parties, a cruise now and then, or a
week's hunting. A good many of his friends did not even know
that ho was married ; he did not obtrude the fact, though
he admitted it with perfect frankness when questioned, and in-
deed could talk very sweetly about his " darlings at home."
MIGNON. 41
After his mother's death, he held out the olive-branch to
his elder brother (their father had been dead some time), and
it was accepted. Mr. Carlyle used to come frequently to the
cottage, took an immense fancy to Gerald, and led the sanguine
parents to hope that he would make him his heir. It was
improbable he would ever marry : the estate was entailed, and
Mr. Carlyle had what his brother was pleased to call an en-
tanglement ; that is to say, there was already a reputed Mrs.
Carlyle, but, though she bore his name, she did not live in his
house, and he distinctly and repeatedly assured his brother
that, greatly as he was attached to her, he had not the smallest
intention of marrying her. He was devoted to Gerald, had
him constantly to stay, sent him to school and afterwards to
Eton, gave him a pony, taught him to shoot, in fact, brought
him up as befitted a rich man's heir. The January before
this story opens, Mr. Carlyle went out one morning as usual
with his gun, and, getting through a hedge, it went off and shot
him dead on the spot. He left no will. Captain Carlyle naturally
supposed himself the heir : his grief for his brother was tem-
pered by the sudden and unexpected access of fortune. But now
Mrs. Carlyle came forward, showed her " marriage-lines," and
gave indisputable proof that she had been Mr. Carlyle's lawful
wife all along, though he had succeeded in persuading her (no
one knew exactly why) not to assert her claims. Worst of
all, she had two children, the younger a boy who came into
the property. The acrimony with which, in his disappoint-
ment, Captain Carlyle contested the widow's claims and the
validity of her marriage, made her a bitter and lasting enemy :
so poor Gerald, from being a young man of considerable im-
portance with the happiest prospects, was now only the son of
a poor man, having great ideas and no means of carrying them
out. He had to leave Eton, the sorest blow of all, and had
been at home ever since, waiting until some decision as to his
future could be arrived at. A nice bright young fellow he is,
of a happy disposition, and bears his disappointment bravely,
being helped thereto by the united love and petting of the
whole family, who idolize him.
As Captain Carlyle, having taken farewell of his guest,
smokes his cigar up and down the great path in the kitchen-
garden between two rows of gooseberry bushes, he finds much
food for reflection. Their new neighbor is a decided acquisi-
4*
42 MIGNON.
tion : he seems pleased with the place, and may in all proba-
bility, if i lie fancy grows, spend a good deal of time here,
rvm though he has a much larger place up in the North.
Why should he not take a fancy to one of the girls? say
lli-iiinsi. Mary is too sedate, quite the cut of an old maid,
Mignon too young. Regina is handsome, and agreeable when
she chooses : no one is to know she has the devil's own tem-
per, and she would probably keep it to herself until after she
had secured him. Here is an opening for the fortunes of the
family. He seems a thoroughly good sort of fellow, is rich
and of an old family, no doubt he would get Gerry a commis-
sion or provide for him somehow, and perhaps, if he should
prefer his Northern place, he, Captain Carlyle, would have
free quarters at The Warren and as much shooting as he liked.
In spite of the dodo and the tough mutton, he is in an excel-
lent humor when he joins his family in the drawing-room.
A fortnight elapses. Sir Tristram has been down five
times to The Warren, and his relations with the family at
the cottage grow more pleasant and intimate on every occa-
sion. As a matter of course, now, he always dines with the
Carl vies ; and, as he is expected and due notice given, the dis-
aster of the first evening is not repeated. He never comes
empty-handed : with his usual consideration, he is reluctant to
tax the hospitality of his new acquaintances ; and his offer-
ings are made with characteristic delicacy. Sometimes it is
a salmon caught by a friend in the Blackwater, sometimes
half a sheep bred on his own moors, hams acquired in some
exceptional way (every present has a history and an excuse),
clear turtle from the City, wonderful cases from Fortnum and
Mason's, a dozen of cabinet hock for the captain, and wine
brought unsparingly from the cellars of The Warren under
pretext of tasting it. To Mignon he brings strawberries such
as she lias never seen before, so big she cannot get one into
her pretty mouth all at once though she tries, and apricots
and peaches the price of which would have astonished the reck-
less young lady had she known it. Mignon divided them
pretty fairly with Gerry and Oswald ; and of course Sir Tris-
tram was immensely gratified by seeing the latter make four
mouthfuls of two costly peaches, and, not aware of his vicinity,
pronounce him afterwards a " good old bloke."
MIGNON. 43
Mignon nearly died of laughter ; and Sir Tristram's serenity
returned on the spot. Nothing in the world, he thought,
could be so beautiful as her laugh.
There is no possibility of a doubt now in any one's mind as
to who is the attraction at the cottage. No one could see Sir
Tristram with Mignon for five minutes without being certain
that he was desperately in love with her. The young lady
herself is perfectly aware of it; and, though she thinks it
'rather a presumption in this elderly man to admire her so
freely, she tolerates him on account of the nice things he
brings her and the superior consideration his attentions cause
her to receive from her family. But she will persist in think-
ing him old ; the young are very tenacious about the boundary-
line of youth and age. No matter that Sir Tristram looks as
he is, in all the prime and vigor of manhood, no matter that
his face has scarcely a wrinkle, that his hair is unthinned,
unwhitened by the hand of Time, that his teeth are as sound
as a schoolboy's, he is as old as her father ; ergo, he is old, ridic-
ulously long past the possible age of a lover. She insists on
calling him "a nice old thing," despite the remonstrances of
her family, and many a time galls him sorely by hints and
allusions to his antiquity, which up to the present moment he
has never felt ashamed of.
In this little time, she has twined and coiled herself round
his heart so tightly that the unclasping of her would be almost
more than he could bear, he thinks. He loves her passion-
ately, tenderly, with the wide difference that lies beween the
love of a boy and that of a man no longer young. The first
elements in a young man's love are the strength of its pas-
sion and its selfishness : it may be capable of sacrifice, but at
the root and core the love is for his own sake. How often
has one heard of a very young man giving up a woman for
her own good ! An older man's love (I am speaking of the
true love of a true man) has other elements in it. It may
have all the intensity of passion of the boy's love, but it is
capable of a greater tenderness : it is more thoughtful for
the beloved object, more careful of its welfare, more anxious
for its good, even though that good stands between it and
him. Sir Tristram loves Mignon with the love that her ex-
ceeding fairness, her (to him) bewitching ways, call forth ;
and he loves her also with the protecting tenderness of the
44 MIGNON.
full-iirown man for the child. His one idea is how in the
future, should he be so blest as to call her his, he can make
II.T happiest and most benefit her and hers. He knows all the
family affairs: Captain Carlyle has with unreserved frank-
"iifided to him the difficulties and disappointments that
have beset him ; he even tells him what he has carefully kept
i'miii every one else, that he is at this moment considerably
embarrassed by an unfortunate speculation. Sir Tristram is
rich and generous ; nothing would please him better than to
relieve Captain Carlyle from his pecuniary troubles and to pro-
vide for Gerald ; but between two men in their position a free
gift is as impossible to offer as to receive : there must be an
equivalent. In the minds of both men, though unhinted at
in the most remote manner, Mignon represents that equiva-
lent. Sir Tristram is the very farthest remove from a vain,
man. True, he has been loved and courted by women,
but personally, he feels, he has not enough to recommend
him to a lovely young girl as a suitor. But he has all the
consciousness that a man of his age and standing must
have, of the power and worth of his adventitious circum-
stances. All he has to endow her with is not enough, he
thinks (the beggar-maid's beauty made her worthy of King
Cophetua's crown), but all the same Mignon is poor, dower-
less, prospectless, and he can give her the rank and wealth that
will enhance her beauty and enable her to know and enjoy the
full value of it. He will be no niggard with her, no selfish
jealous husband ; all he has shall be hers ungrudged ; his
shall be the task of giving her everything that can contribute
to her happiness and enjoyment; he will not even ask any
return ; he will trust her implicitly.
Captain Carlyle's views on the subject are extremely simple.
If Mignon gets Sir Tristram, she will be a devilish lucky girl ;
he is rich, titled, generous, does not seem to have a fault of
heart or temper : he will make an unexceptionable husband.
That Mignon should regard the matter from a different point
of view never enters his brain.
That young lady, however, has as much idea of any marry-
ing or giving in marriage in the matter as of learning the dead
languages. She regards Sir Tristram much as Cinderella
might have regarded the beneficent old fairy godmother who
turned her pumpkin into a chariot. The idea of marrying
MIGNON. 45
him does not enter her brain : when it is put there, she treats
it with profoundest contempt.
One day Oswald says to her, in an access of jealous rage,
" I suppose you are already thinking what a fine thing it
will be to be * my lady' and to be decked out in diamonds."
Mignon is sitting on her favorite gate, digging her pretty
little teeth into a green apple in default of anything more
inviting.
" What do you mean ?" she asks, coolly.
" I suppose you will soon be Lady Bergholt," he answers,
with a scowl, viciously hitting the young green shoots in the
hedge with a switch.
Mignon throws her apple into the air and catches it again.
" You are a donkey," she remarks, placidly.
" Thank you. I dare say I am. At all events, I shan't
be donkey enough to come to the wedding : so you may save
yourself the trouble of asking me."
Mignon begins to laugh. The gate is rickety ; it will not
bear her weight and the want of balance caused by unrestrained
merriment : so she slips down on the grass and sits there
laughing until the tears roll down her cheeks.
Oswald stands regarding her with angry and most unwilling
admiration.
" I do not see anything so very funny in the matter," he
says, sulkily.
" I ! marry an old thing like that !" she cries, between two
peals of laughter. " It seems very funny to me, I can tell
you."
Oswald looks at her penetratingly, but there is evidently
nothing to penetrate.
" Mignon," he utters, presently, " you must either be very
deceitful or very I don't know whether to say silly or in-
nocent."
" Say the latter," she answers, taking another bite at the
apple and making a wry face over it : " it sounds better.
Or you might say green like this apple. Pah !" (flinging it
away), " I am sure you could have found me a better one."
" You know he is not old !" continues Oswald : " he is"
(reluctantly) " a very good-looking fellow, and what any girl
might fancy."
" She must be rather an old girl," retorts Mignon. " Not
4G MIQNON.
old !" (raising her voice) : " he is old enough to be my grand-
father r
" llather a young grandfather !" says Oswald, scornfully.
" He is thirty years older than me."
" How do you know ?"
" I asked him."
" Well, you are a cool hand, I must say !" remarks Oswald,
halting between surprise and admiration. " But" (jealously)
" why did you want to know ?"
" Because Regina said he was younger than papa. And
IK- isn't : he's a month older."
" Did he look pleased when you asked him ?"
" I didn't notice. Why shouldn't he ? What's the good
of being ashamed of your age ?"
" You know he's in* love with you," cries Oswald, returning
to the charge.
" Of course I do" (complacently). " Any one with half
an eye can see that."
" And you encourage him ?" (indignantly).
" To be sure."
" One of these days he will propose to you."
" I hope so. I want to have a real genuine offer. Some
girls have had offers at fifteen."
" So have you. You know, Mignon, I made you an offer
when you were fourteen."
Mignon laughs.
" My dear boy, you had nothing to offer. That doesn't
count."
" No ! I suppose the devotion of a faithful heart doesn't
count !" says the poor lad, bitterly, " unless one's got diamonds
and a title to offer as well. And pray, when he does ask
you what do you intend to say?"
Mignon clasps her arms round her knees and looks thought-
fully into the distance.
" I am not sure," she answers, reflectively. " I've thought
of half a dozen different ways of refusing him gracefully. I
hope to goodness" (with great earnestness) " I shan't laugh in
his face."
Oswald looks at her with genuine indignation.
" You are a heartless coquette !" he cries, angrily.
" You got that phrase out of a book," she answers, coolly,
MIGNON. 47
" You know you did. That's just the thing of all others I
have always wanted to be. I should like to have dozens of
lovers at my feet and to spurn them all." And Mignon gives
a kick with her pretty little foot at the imaginary lovers.
Oswald is quite angry by this time, so angry that he is
ready to champion his rival.
" And you mean to say you actually intend to let him pro-
pose to you, just for the pleasure of being able to say you've
had an offer from a baronet?"
Mignon nods.
" Then if Regina wants to lord it over me as she used to do,
I shall be able to shut her up."
" I wish to heaven," cries the young fellow, bitterly, " that
I had never seen you, or at all events that I could prevent
myself caring for you."
"But you can't," returns Mignon, placidly. " The worse I
behave to you, the better you'll like me : you can't help your-
self. Come, let us go into the orchard and look for a nice
apple : I saw one getting red on one of the high boughs.
You can climb up and get it for me."
" I am not going to be made a cat's paw of," says Oswald,
sulkily, turning away.
" Yes, you are," she answers, putting a hand through his
arm and rubbing her shoulder against it like a coaxing young
cat.
He pauses, irresolute. An inspiration seizes him.
" I won't unless you let me kiss you."
" All right !" says Mignon, putting up her peach-like cheek
with perfect sang-froid.
Oswald salutes it shyly, and then goes to the orchard, where
he all but breaks his back in getting her the coveted apple.
48 MIQNON.
CHAPTER VI.
" She called me silly creature, and asked me If it were not one of the
truest signs of Love when men were most fond of the women who were
1CU.-4 lit tor them and used them worst? These men, my dear, said she,
are very sorry creatures and know no medium. They will either, spaniel
like, fawn at your feet, or be ready to jump into your lap."
Sir Charles Grandison.
NEVER once has Sir Tristram mentioned Mignon to his
friend. He knows quite well what cynicisms Fred would pour
forth, how by fair words and foul, by invocations in the
name of common sense, by the stinging lash of his ridicule, he
would essay to turn him from his purpose. And he does not
mean to be turned. All Fred could say would be but spoken
to the " deaf adder who stoppeth her ears," and it might cause
a coolness between them. Fred suspects nothing : he thinks
his friend has taken a vast fancy to the place, and that in its
neglected condition it naturally requires a good deal of his
attention.
A month has elapsed since Sir Tristram first saw Mignon
in the green glade, crowned with the sunlight, her young
lover kneeling at her feet, and the time has come now, he
thinks, to put his fate to the touch,
" To win or lose it all."
He does not much fear that he will lose it, though he does not
for one moment believe that the girl is in love with him ; but,
from her saucy, unrestrained manner, her apparent content if
not pleasure in his presence, he believes she likes him well
enough not to entertain repugnance to the idea of becoming
Lis wife, and when the happy time arrives that he can endow
her with all her heart can desire, he does not despair of win-
ning her love. He is too sensible to have the supreme confi-
dence of a young lover : he does not scruple to acknowledge to
himself the value of his auxiliary circumstances. The manner
in which his oft'er shall be made has caused him some sleepless
MIGNON. 49
nights and a great deal of anxious thought. He concludes not
to make it personally. It might frighten her, or she might,
in one of her wayward impulses, turn the whole thing into
ridicule, and so pain him unspeakably. He decides to make
his proposal in the old-fashioned manner, to her father. Sir
Tristram believes himself sure of the good offices of the rest
of the family.
So he writes a frank, manly letter to Captain Carlyle, which,
whilst it conveys in unmistakable terms his affection for Mignon,
speaks no less plainly of his consciousness of the disparity of
their years and the efforts he is willing and ready to make to
surmount this barrier, or at all events to reconcile her to it.
He begs that Captain Carlyle and Mignon will take three days
to consider his proposal, at the end of which time he hopes
most anxiously for the answer that will make him the happiest
man in the world.
" A handsomer letter never was written !" exclaims Captain
Carlyle to his wife when he has read it to her. The mother
is intensely pleased and gratified : she has no more doubt than
her husband that Mignon will accept with delight so splendid
a future.
" I see Mignon in the garden," says Captain Carlyle, looking
out of the window. " I will go to her at once. Lucky young
puss !"
Mignon is regaling herself on raspberries when she sees her
father coming towards her, his face broad with smiles and a
general air of satisfaction with himself and benevolence to all
mankind pervading him. Mignon regards him inquiringly as
she puts a red raspberry to her ruddier lips.
" I have some wonderful news for you," he cries, coming up
to her. " Guess what it is !"
"Some one has died and left you a lot of money," she re-
plies, practically.
" Better."
" Better ! Then I cannot guess."
" How would you like some one to give you a lot of money
without dying?" (jocosely).
Mignon makes a little face.
" I had rather they died. They might want it back again."
Her father is in too great a hurry to tell the good news to
bandy words with her.
50 MIGKON.
" What do you say to being c My Lady' ? What do you
say to Sir Tristram Bcrgholt having proposed for you ?"
Mignon looks, as she feels, genuinely disappointed. She
has never contemplated anything so uninteresting and prosaic
as the offer being made through her father.
" Well," cries Captain Carlyle, " have you nothing to
say?"
" Yes : he is a stupid old donkey, and you may tell him so
with my compliments."
" Mignon !" (wrathfully) " this is no subject for jesting, if
you please."
" Jesting !" echoes Mignon.
Suddenly a new idea strikes her, and she stands still and
looks at her father.
" Papa," she says, incredulously, "you don't mean to say that
you would let me marry a man as old as youl"
" Why not," answers Captain Carlyle, angrily, " when he is
most desirable in every way ? He is quite a young man, de-
voted to you, and is everything, /should think, the most un-
reasonable woman could want."
Mignon's face assumes an unmistakably mutine look. She
says nothing, but recommences her occupation of eating rasp-
berries.
The expression of Captain Carlyle's face as he regards her
is not paternal.
" Well ?" he says, sharply.
" Well !" she replies.
" What answer am I to give him ?" (with increasing irrita-
tion).
" My compliments, and if he will refer to the prayer-book
he will find that a woman ' may not marry her grandfather.' "
Captain Carlyle utters a very naughty word with great em-
phasis, and goes off to the house in a rage. He has always
been used to spoil his youngest daughter, and has not checked
her pertness as he would have done that of any other member
of the family. He feels an unpleasant consciousness of his
inability to control her : she has become his master. A horrid
idea seizes him that, if she chooses to rebel, he cannot force her
to this marriage ; a dreadful misgiving takes him that she does
mean to rebel. He has seen that mulish look on her face once
or twice before, and he remembers that it has ended by his
MIGNON. 51
giving in. No one who had seen her lovely smile could imag-
ine how determined Mignon can look when she frowns.
Captain Carlyle goes to his own room, banging the door
behind him, and takes refuge in a cigar. Meanwhile, Mrs.
Carlyle has broken the happy news to her elder daughters, and
they are all sitting in joyful conclave in the drawing-room.
The possibility of Mignon refusing her good fortune is as far
from their thoughts as it was twenty minutes ago from her
father's.
Mignon comes in.
" Let me congratulate you, l My Lady!' " says Mary, play-
fully, going up to kiss her.
" And me," adds Regina, half enviously. " What luck some
people have I"
" God bless you, my dear child 1" utters her mother, with
humid eyes.
Mignon stares at them in wide-eyed surprise for a moment,
then bursts into a peal of laughter.
" What !" she cries, presently, " did you too think I was
going to marry that old creature ?"
" Mignon !" they all cry, in a breath, but with different ac-
cents. Mrs. Carlyle' s is one of horror, Mary's of mild reproach,
Regina's of sharp impatience.
The girl never heeds them, but continues to laugh.
" What a joke !" she exclaims, again. " I must go and
find Gerry, and tell him," and she turns to go.
" Stay, Mignon," says Mary, detaining her. Then, kindly
and firmly, " My dear, I do not think you consider what a
very serious matter this is. There is no fun in it."
" Are you a born fool ?" cries Regina, tartly.
Mignon is acute enough to see that all her family have
ranged themselves on Sir Tristram's side. She hardens her
heart and stiffens her neck and prepares to do combat with
them singly and collectively. She throws herself into a chair
and prepares for battle. Her mother commences the attack.
" My dear," she exclaims, with nervous energy, " you can-
not surely think seriously of throwing away such a wonderful
chance."
The mulish look comes into Mignon's lovely face : she
answers by never a word.
Mary Carlyle is a thoroughly good woman, good in every
52 MIGNON.
sense of the word, tender-hearted, charitable, unselfish, un-
worldly, the very last person in the world to advocate a mar-
riage simply for the worldly advantages it might bring. But
,shu has conceived the highest admiration and regard for Sir
Tristram : she has never seen a man yet to whom she would
so gladly have given her hand and heart, even without the de-
sirable adjuncts he possessed, had Fate willed his liking to fall
on her. With Regina it is the adjuncts, not the man, she
envies Mignon ; though she likes him well enough. As for
Mrs. Carlyle, she thinks him perfect in every way.
" Dear Mignon," says Mary, who has more influence over
her sister than all the rest of the family put together, except
perhaps Gerald, " what can you possibly find to object to in
Sir Tristram ? You have always seemed to like him."
" So I do. I like old Hawley and old Jones" (the doctor
and the clergyman), " but I shouldn't like to marry them."
" My love," interposes Mrs. Carlyle, looking shocked, " how
can you possibly compare them with Sir Tristram ? though of
course we know they are both excellent men in their way. I
am sure I should have thought him just the very man to take
a girl's fancy."
" But you only look at him with your own eyes, which are
old, mamma," retorts Mignon : " you cannot know the least
how a girl would feel."
" I have been young, my dear, and I do not think I am so
old that I cannot remember how I felt as a girl."
" Papa was young," interrupts Mignon. " You never were
asked to marry an old man."
" How you harp upon his being old !" cries Regina. " He is
just in his prime : there is not the slightest trace of age either
in his face or figure."
" He is thirty years older than [ am," says Mignon, with
fire, " and it is shameful of you all to want to sell me to an
old man. I won't be sold ! I would rather sweep a crossing."
" My dear," interposes her mother, " how can you talk in
such a dreadful way ! I don't know what your papa will say
if you refuse Sir Tristram : he will be quite broken-hearted."
" Broken-hearted !" echoes Mignon, scornfully. " How will
he be worse off than he was a month ago, before we ever saw
him ? I wish to heaven" (with angry energy) " he had gone
to the bottom of the sea, or been eaten up by bears, or mur-
MIGNON. 53
dered by savages, on his fine travels. Papa broken-hearted !"
(her voice more and more crescendo} "if he is, it will only
be because he can't get the man's shooting or wine or some-
thing or other, and it doesn't seem to matter to anybody
about my being broken-hearted !"
Mrs. Carlyle is too shocked to make any rejoinder, and,
besides, she has never had much control over her youngest
daughter. Mignon's organ of veneration, if she has one at
all, is of the very smallest. Mary is the only person for
whom she feels any approach to respect. Having lashed
herself up into a rage, she is not to be stopped.
" I am only seventeen," she cries, " not out yet, and I have
been looking forward to going out and dancing and and
having lovers and enjoying myself, and here you all want to
tie me down to an old man to mope my life out, and all for
the sake of his nasty, beastly, horrid money ! But I won't !
I WON'T ! I WON'T ! ! ! not for any of you, not for all of
you, if you worry me morning, noon, and night ! not if you
shut me up and keep me on bread and water for a year ! not
if you kill me!"
Mignon's lovely face is inflamed with passion, but it is still
lovely : I am not sure that it is not lovelier than ever. The
carnation is in her fair cheeks, her dark-blue eyes flash with
immense brilliancy, her quivering lips are pouted with scorn
and anger : she is a lovely picture of a lovely shrew ! the
world-famed Katherine never outdid her in expression.
" Mignon," says Regina, calmly, at this juncture, " if you
have attained, as I should imagine, the highest pitch of fury
of which your sweet disposition is capable, will you listen to
me for a moment?"
Mignon glares at her sister in silence. Regina takes the
silence for consent.
" You said just now," she proceeds, " that you wanted to go
out and dance and have lovers and enjoy yourself. How much
of that sort of thing do you suppose you are going to get
here ? You might judge of that by the immense amount of
dissipation you have seen Mary and myself enjoy. Now, if
you marry Sir Tristram, you can go to balls and parties every
night of your life, you will be presented at court, you will
have as many new dresses and as much admiration as your
heart can desire."
5*
54 MIGNON.
" What's the use of going to balls, if I can't dance ?" pouts
Mignon, giving ear, however, to her sister's discourse.
" Why should you not dance, pray ?"
" I thought people didn't dance after they were married."
"Ah !" returns Regina, dryly, " that was in the good old-
fashioned days. Now the married women dance and flirt,
and the unmarried ones sit out."
" Regina !" cries Mary.
Regina does not heed her, but continues. " You have not
a particle of affection in your composition, you are very vain,
you care for nothing but having your own way : what does it
matter to you that you are not in love with Sir Tristram ? you
would not care for the Archangel Michael long : it is not in
your nature. Who knows ? if you marry this man, you may
be the reigning belle in London next season. You are lovely,
as you are perfectly aware ; and if you are rich and titled,
your charms will be enhanced fourfold. It is worth consider-
ation whether you will be a woman of fashion, surrounded by
everything your heart can desire, or throw away this chance
and sink into a forlorn old maid, or perhaps Mrs. Oswald
Carey, with twopence a year."
" Mrs. Oswald Carey !" echoes Mignon, scornfully, going
out, that Regina may not have the satisfaction of seeing how
much impression she has made.
" Regina," cries Mary, with righteous indignation, " how
can you talk to the child in that way ? It is wicked of you ?"
"At all events," replies her sister, " my practical remarks
have done more good to the cause than anything you have
said or are likely to say."
" If I did not believe she would be happy with Sir Tris-
tram, and grow to love him for his own sake, not for what he
can give her, I would dissuade her from marrying him with
all my might, even if she were inclined to it," says Mary,
emphatically.
Captain Carlyle, after much cogitation and numerous cigars,
comes to a conclusion about the best mode of attacking Mignon.
He takes plenty of time to mature his ideas ; he even sleeps
upon them. His wife is forbidden to speak to him on the
subject. Mignon he treats with perfect kindness and good
humor : she begins to think that he has given up the idea of
marrying her to Sir Tristram. Regina's words have sunk
MIGNON. 55
deep into her breast. Oh, if she could only have all those
fine things without the husband ! She is not one whit more
inclined to the thought of that part of it than before.
The next morning, Mignon receives a message that her
father would like to speak to her in his study. "Ah !" she
thinks, " he is going to try again." And she shuts her small
red mouth and marches into the room, looking like a young
Corday brought before her judges, firm, resolved, composed.
Captain Carlyle realizes at a glance all he has to contend
with ; and it does not make his task easier. Of one thing he
is steadfastly resolved : nothing shall make him lose his
temper.
Mignon enters the room, and, still retaining the handle of
the door, says,
" Do you want me, papa ?"
" Yes, my dear" (affectionately). "Come and sit down.
I want to have a little talk with you."
" I had rather stand."
Mignon feels morally stronger when she is on her feet.
" Oblige me, my dear" (suavely), " by taking that seat."
The blue eyes and red lips look more rebellious than ever
as their owner obeys.
" You guess, no doubt, on what subject I wish to speak to
you," proceeds her father, assuming an air of ease he is far
from feeling. So much hangs upon this interview.
Mignon replies by neither word, look, nor sign.
" It has always been my endeavor," continues Captain Car-
lyle, " to make my children happy : in /act, I may say my life
has been one constant sacrifice to their interests."
He keeps his eyes averted from Mignon as he utters this :
he knows perfectly well that humbug will not go down with
her, and he would rather not see, or seem to see, the incredu-
lous look that he rightly guesses is expressed on her face.
The young are terrible critics when they are not imbued
with much faith or veneration. Even Fred Conyngham's
face could not betoken more cynical disbelief than this pretty
young girl's. Mignon is fond of her father in a way, but the
very selfishness she inherits from him makes her more keenly
alive to his. She is thinking, " Great sacrifices, indeed ! when
you are always going away and enjoying yourself whilst we
are moped to death at home and can hardly ever have new
56 MIGNON.
clothes because you spend all the money." She does not, how-
ever, utter her thoughts aloud : she has been brought up too
well to break into any open disrespect towards him. But all
the time of his oration she continues to make little cynical
inward comments.
" I should be the last man in the world, I hope," he pro-
ceeds, with the emphasis acquired from a rtiens conscia recti,
" to endeavor to influence a child of mine against her own
good and happiness. If I were not assured that a marriage
with Sir Tristram Bergholt would insure both, believe me, my
dear child, I would rather cut off my right hand than urge it."
Here Captain Carlyle turns his candid and affectionate gaze
upon his daughter's face ; but such open and utter disbelief is
expressed upon it that he removes it again.
" You are too young and inexperienced," he hurries on,
"to know the enormous worldly advantages such a marriage
offers you, the means of entering into society, the highest
society, the luxury which will permit you to gratify your most
extravagant desires, for I am sure Sir Tristram is the most
generous of men and would prove a thoroughly indulgent
husband." (Mignon makes a wry face.) " But, after all, this
is not what I am most anxious to speak to you about. I
want you to have some little thought for others." (" Ah !"
thinks Mignon, " now we are coming to the point.") " You
are fond of Gerry : poor fellow ! you know what a frightful
disappointment he has had, how he has been made a victim
of his uncle's cruel treachery, and I am afraid, poor lad !
there is worse misfortune yet in store for him."
Mignon pricks up her ears : the one soft spot in her hard
little heart is love for Gerry.
" Worse !" she echoes. " What worse can there be?"
( 1 aptain Carlyle averts his face.
" I am going to tell you something that I have carefully
kept from every one up to this time. If I tell you, will you
promise to keep my secret ?"
Mignon nods.
" I was anxious, as you know, to get a commission for him,
but could not afford the expense of it, nor of preparing him
for the army. I was told, by a person in whom I placed im-
plicit confidence, of an investment that was not only most
advantageous but perfectly safe "
MIONON. 57
" And you lost the money 1" interrupts Mignon. Then,
sorrowfully, " Poor Gerry !"
Her father bends his head. " So that I am worse off than
I was before ; and not only can I do nothing for Gerry, but
most probably we shall have to leave this place and go some-
where to retrench. As for Gerry, poor fellow, I hardly like
to think of it, but I'm very much afraid he'll have to go to
South America."
" South America !" cries Mignon, a horrible pain gnawing
at her heart ; " why South America ?"
" Because I have had an offer from a mercantile house there
to take him as a clerk, the only opening for him I can hear
of. . It will be an awful thing for him, poor lad, going so far
from home and having to associate with men utterly inferior
to him ; but he can't stop at home eating the bread of idleness."
Mignon clasps her hands and bites her lip hard to keep back
the rising tears. Gerry, her handsome, aristocratic brother,
with his grand ideas, thousands of miles over the seas, home-
sick, heartsick, compelled to herd with low associates ! She
walks across the room and stands in front of her father, and
looks him through and through with her deep, searching eyes.
" Is this true?" she says ; " or are you only trying to work
upon my feelings to get me to do what you want?"
" It is gospel truth," he answers, returning her look.
She goes to the window and looks out. A cold hand seems
to be grasping her heart : the roses in the garden upon which
she looks are blurred and misty : for the first time, sorrow has
crept into her heart and made itself at home there. Then she
turns away, and goes out of the room, without a word. Her
father does not attempt to stop her ; he knows he has made
his impression, and is content.
58 MIGNON.
CHAPTER VII.
"AnciTE. Yes, I love her,
And if the Lives of all iny Name lay on it,
I must do so, I love her with all my soul;
If that will lose ye, farewel Palamon."
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
"Oui, elle est capricieuse, j'en demeure d'accord : mais tout sied bien
aux belles ; on souffre tout des belles." Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme.
MIGNON picks up her hat from the hall chair where she
left it when she obeyed her father's summons, and takes her
way across the common to The Warren. It is so much her
habit to go there that she forgets to think whom it belongs to,
or, in her indignation against its owner for having placed her
in this horrible dilemma, she would probably turn her back
upon it. Her favorite haunt is a green glade where are big
trees with moss-covered boles and wild flowers run riot in the
long grass. Mignon rarely courts solitude, but to-day she
wants to think with no eyes to watch her save those of the
wild blossoms, deep blue and tender pink, gold-colored and
starry white. The little Scotch terrier, seeing her go out
alone, has followed to take care of her ; but he is not intru-
sive nor inquisitive ; he lies down at a little distance, with his
nose between his paws and one eye open ; he wishes it to be
distinctly understood that he has not come to pry, but is only
in attendance in case of being wanted. Dogs have a delicate
way of " effacing themselves" that their superior (?) masters
might now and then copy with advantage.
Mignon throws herself down on the warm, scented grass, and
leans her head against one of the great velvety boles. She is
thinking of Gerry. In her mind's eye, she sees him in a big
ship, ploughing the deep, sick, lonely, heart-broken. Gerry,
so refined, " the little swell" as he had been christened by his
companions, cut off" from all that was pleasant or worth having
in life. Gerry, whose one idea was to be a soldier, to be shut
up in a horrid counting-house with low clerks. Mignon has
the supreme contempt for trade that most children of poor
MIGNON. 59
soldiers entertain. And it lies in her power to avert this griev-
ous future for him and to replace it by one as delightful and
glorious as only young day-dreamers can conceive. But at
what a cost ! Mignon shudders. She is, as I have said, sel-
fish : the beauty of self-sacrifice is a sealed book to her. Then
Regina's words come back to her, and she pictures herself a
queen of beauty, the cynosure of all eyes (she has always
craved for admiration), wealth unbounded, unlimited (of this,
having no experience, her views are very vague, not to say
Oriental). She may save Gerry and open fairy-land to herself
at one stroke. But the husband ! horrid thought ! He might
die, though. Sir Tristram would feel highly delighted and
flattered, no doubt, could he be aware of what is passing in the
mind of his young love.
" Yonnie ! Yonnie !" Mignon hears herself called in the dis-
tance. The terrier pricks up his ears. It is Gerald, who still
calls her by the name his baby-lips first lisped. " Yonnie !
Yonnie !" cries the voice, coming nearer, and Mignon answers
it by a good, ringing, most unladylike " Hullo !"
" You little pig !" he cries, coming up breathless, " you've
stolen a march upon me and been after those gooseberries."
" / haven't" cries Mignon, stung to indignation by the base
^accusation. " I never thought of them."
" Oh, all right !" he answers, throwing himself down full
length on the grass and permitting the terrier to pay him the
delicate attention of licking his nose.
Mignon looks at the bonnie golden head lying on the grass,
and thinks again of the deep sea and the counting-house, and
her soul is troubled within her.
" Gerry," she says, presently, " how would you like to go to
South America?"
" I shouldn't mind," he answers, nonchalantly. " Hi ! good
dog, fetch him out! fetch him out!" as he and the terrier
catch sight simultaneously of a little white tuft bobbing up and
down among the bracken. Pepper, undeterred by the recol-
lection of many futile chases, dashes off ventre a terre. " You
get stunning sport there."
" I don't mean for sport," says Mignon, forgetful or regard-
less of her father's injunction for secrecy. " I mean, to go and
be a clerk in a merchant's house there."
" What !" cries Gerald, a red flush coming to his face, as he
60 MIONON.
raises himself on one elbow to look at Mignon. A horrid sus-
picion smites him that she is not joking.
She repeats the question coolly.
" What 1 go into a beastly office with a lot of horrid cads!
What rot you talk, Mignon I" (angrily).
" I am not talking rot," she replies. Then, after a moment's
pause, " which would you rather ? be out in South America
miserable, as of course you would be, and know that I was
happy at home, or get your commission and lead a jolly life
such as you've looked forward to, and let me be miserable?"
An inkling of her meaning comes to him, but he makes no
answer, only waits to hear more.
"Well?" she says.
" When you explain yourself, I will answer you."
" Can't you guess ? How dull you must be ! Sir Tristram
wants to marry me. If I consent, he will buy you a commis-
sion and start you in life, and I shall be wretched. If I refuse
(papa has been speculating and losing money), you will have
to go to South America and earn your living. He told me so."
Gerald looks at his sister's golden head lying against the
dark tree-trunk, and away into the distance where the sunlight
lies in a great flood upon the open. He looks, but does not
see the sunshine : all seems very dark and bitter to him.
He is a good-hearted lad: though he is like Mignon in face,
he does not share her selfish disposition : in character he is
like his mother, as she is like her father.
Mignon watches him. He is deep in thought ; his lip
quivers, his hand clutches the flower-strewn grass, his eyes have
a sightless, far-off look. Pepper has come back from his
fruitless hunt, breathless and panting, and is trying to enlist
his young master's sympathy : but Gerald does not notice him.
After a time, the lad lifts his blonde head and looks at his
sister.
" He is too old for you, but he is a good fellow. Could
you not like him, Yonnie?"
" Ah!" says Mignon, bitterly, "you are like all the rest of
them. You would sell me too."
" No, no, no !" he cries, springing up and putting his arms
round her ; " that I would ot. Don't think about me,
Yonnie dear. He is too old; it would be a shame: you
shan't make any sacrifice for me, I swear. I can earn my
MIGNON. 61
bread somehow without turning clerk. Why, I'd sooner go
as a private into a cavalry regiment : lots of gentlemen have
done it before me."
Mignon looks at his flushed, noble face : some strange
emotion seizes her ; she flings her arms round his neck and
bursts into a passion of tears.
Gerry has never seen her cry before, except in spite or
anger ; not often then. He is dreadfully distressed, and does
all he can think of to soothe her.
" Yonnie ! dear, darling little Yonnie, don't cry ! they shan't
marry you to him ! no one shall vex or hurt you while I'm
by!"
All this adds fuel to the fire, or rather water to the fountain,
for it makes Mignon cry more than ever. When people who
are not used to the melting mood give way to tears, it is a very
serious affair. Pepper is distressed beyond measure : he looks
from one to the other and wags his tail inquiringly, not know-
ing whose part to take, or whether he is called upon to defend
them both against some common foe.
After a time Mignon recovers herself and begins to smile
through her tears. She is not so pretty when she cries as
when she laughs, but nothing in the world could make her
face ugly : it is only less beautiful.
" Let us come and eat the gooseberries," she says, rising,
" or the workmen will get them."
She says no more about Sir Tristram, only enjoins her
brother to strict secrecy on the subject. In the afternoon she
seeks out Regina and puts various questions to her as to the
sort of life she may expect to lead if she becomes Lady Berg-
holt. Regina makes the most of the opportunity, and draws
such pictures of society, gay doings, Opera boxes, diamonds,
fair apparel, carriages and horses, servants and houses, that
Mignon, dazzled, begins to think there may be more compen-
sation for her sacrifice than the approval of her own conscience
and Gerry's gratitude.
That evening she announces to Captain Carlyle her intention
of accepting Sir Tristram.
" God bless you, my dear, dearest child !" cries the delighted
father, advancing in an access of paternal affection to embrace
her.
Mignon puts up both her hands with a gesture of repulsion.
6
62 MIGNON.
" No, no !" she says, with an accent of the liveliest emotion :
" do not come near me ! do not touch me !"
Captain Carlyle refrains himself. She must not be agitated
under any circumstances, he thinks.
" I accept him on one condition," she says ; "on one condi-
tion only. You will go and see him, writing won't do, and
you will tell him that I don't care two straws about him, and
that I never shall. Tell him that I am going to marry him
entirely on Gerry's account, and if he likes to have me after
that, he can, but I shall think precious little of him. Do you
promise me on your word of honor to tell him every word I
have said ?"
" Certainly, my dear, if you wish it."
"On your honor?"
" On my honor."
Therewith Mignon turns and goes out, and Captain Carlyle,
radiant with triumph, begins to consider how he can keep his
word to Mignon and yet give an answer to Sir Tristram which
shall not affront him. He knows quite well that if he gives
her message verbatim he will never have the baronet for his
son-in-law.
The following morning he starts joyously on his errand,
having first telegraphed to Sir Tristram to announce his visit.
The latter is in a fever of anxiety. A thousand times has
he cursed his own folly for giving Mignon three days to make
up her mind : he has undergone torments, expecting a letter
by every post, and going from the hotel to his club, his club
back to the hotel, to see if one has arrived. Why should
they keep him in this agonizing suspense? if the answer is
favorable, Captain Carlyle might have sent it at once ; if not,
there is all the more reason for not delaying. He dares not go
near Mr. Conyngham ; he is so restless he feels sure he should
betray himself, so he makes an excuse and keeps out of his
way. He receives Captain Carlyle's telegram with immense
satisfaction ; and yet he knows not whether to augur well or
ill from his seeking a personal interview. His anxiety is at
an end when Mignon's father, coming into the room, grasps
him by the hand, and, with joyful emotion, greets him as a
future and honored member of his family. A knot rises in
Sir Tristram's throat : he cannot speak for a moment, the
relief is so great : he can only grasp Captain CarJyle's hand
MIGNON. 63
with a firm, true clasp, vowing in his heart to be all a father
can desire, to his child.
The hardest part of Captain Carlyle's task is taken from
him by Sir Tristram's generosity. He speaks almost at once
of his intentions with regard to Gerald. He is Mignon's twin
brother, he looks upon him as part of her. Sir Tristram's
dearest wish is to provide, for his future as well as for Mig-
non's. Captain Carlyle is really touched : how can he deliver
the conditions under which Mignon's consent has been given?
He hesitates, hums and hahs. Sir Tristram, who is extremely
sensitive, sees there is something more to be said, and half
surmises its nature.
" Mignon has the highest regard for you," begins the un-
happy father, at last, dashing at his subject, " but of course
she is very young, a mere child, and you, you will not
expect too much of her at first."
Sir Tristram feels a pain shoot through his heart : it is the
first taste of the dregs of this sweet cup.
" Of course," he says, hurriedly, " I know I am very much
older than she is. I cannot hope to inspire any ardent feeling
in her all at once ; but but if I thought my devotion would
not ultimately win a return from her, I I nothing would
induce me to seek her hand."
" It will ; it will. I have not a doubt of it. All I meant
to hint was that she is very young and innocent and wayward ;
we have spoilt her sadly, I fear. I want to put you on your
guard : you have seen her wilful ways, you know what she is;
I mean, if she appeal's cold or shy or strange at first, you will
not be vexed or offended "
" Of course not ; of course not," Sir Tristram answers, the
pain at his heart growing deeper and deeper. " But let me
ask you one question. Has any pressure of any kind been
put on your daughter to induce her to accept me ?"
" No, I assure you. Your offer was put before her ; she
took time to consider it, and gave me her answer last night."
" And she is quite willing to marry me?"
" Quite willing."
" On your word of honor ? Forgive me ; but this is a very
serious matter."
" On my word of honor."
Sir Tristram is perforce satisfied, but his heart is not so light
64 MIGNON.
as he would have thought it needs must be, starting with
Million's father for the cottage as her accepted lover.
Mrs. Carlyle and her elder daughters have spent the morn-
iiiL' in entreating Mignon to receive Sir Tristram in a proper
and becoming way. Kegina's argument as usual makes the
most impression.
" If you look black at him and treat him as if you did not
care for him, he is just the sort of man to give you up there
and then ; and then good-by to all the fine future we have
been talking about."
Late in the afternoon, Mignon, in her room, hears the sound
of wheels at the gate. Looking out, she sees two figures, and
concludes that her martyrdom has commenced. She feels an
unreasoning hatred of Sir Tristram ; but for Regina's hint,
she would go to meet him with a sullen frown ; but she is
afraid, both for her own sake and for Gerry's. She will not
smooth her hair nor try to make herself more fair ; on the
contrary, she elects to go down with ruffled locks and dress
thrown on anyhow. But he never remarks it ; he is fighting
with his fears and nervousness ; he longs to take his beautiful
darling in his arms and kiss her, but dares not. Mindful of
her father's hint, he trembles lest he should alarm or disgust
her. So, when she enters, he goes towards her, takes her re-
luctant hand, kisses it with a noble courtesy, and says,
" You have made me very happy."
Mignon is relieved. A horrible suspicion has possessed her
all the day that he will want to kiss her ; and she is so grateful
for his forbearance that she smiles quite graciously upon him.
" Believe me," he utters, fervently, " that anything, every-
thing in the world I can do to win your love and further your
happiness I will do."
Here is a golden opportunity. Mignon has not a delicate
mind : she grasps it.
" Will you get Gerry his commission ?" she asks.
" Everything that I would do for my own brother, if I had
one, I will do for him," Sir Tristram answers, heartily, pained
nevertheless that this element of bargaining should be intro-
duced so quickly into his romance.
" And and " (Mignon has the grace to hesitate this time)
" will you let me do just as I like, and go to balls and theatres
and dance?"
MIGNON. 65
" You shall do and have everything you can desire as far as
it lies in my power," he answers, the pain growing ever deeper.
"Will you trust me?"
Mignon nods.
" Let us go out," she says : " it is too fine to stop in-doors."
And he assents, with a vague feeling of disappointment.
" Shall we go to The Warren ?" he says, and, Mignon being
agreeable, they start together. All the way the vain young
puss is stealing furtive glances at her little hand, upon which
big diamonds are flashing. They are the first token of glories
to come.
When Sir Tristram returns to town that evening, he goes
straight to Fred Conyngham's rooms. His friend is not there,
is dining out, his servant says. Sir Tristram sits down to
await his return j he has plenty of food for reflection to occupy
him meantime. An hour elapses before he hears Fred's step
on the stairs ; a moment later he enters.
" At last !" he exclaims. " I began to imagine you were lost,
and had serious thoughts of advertising for you in the ' agony
column.' Have you been ' in search of a wife,' in imitation
of Mrs. Hannah More's interesting hero?"
"I have not only been in search of but have found her,"
answers Sir Tristram. " I suppose it would be adding insult
to injury to ask your congratulations?"
Fred utters a deep-drawn sigh. " / congratulate you ?" he
says, in a melancholy tone. " Never ! but I will mingle my
tears with yours when the time comes for it, poor old boy !
Well" (throwing himself into a chair with a still deeper sigh),
" begin your rhapsodies ! get through them as quickly as you
can. Or stay ! let me guess. The adored object is a child,
your ideal seventeen ; she is as beautiful as an angel, and she
has not a penny to her fortune."
" Who told you?" cries Sir Tristram, eagerly.
" No one ! it was a pure guess on my part. And pray"
(looking fixedly at his friend), " is she fond of you?"
The color deepens in Sir Tristram's cheek ; he has never
told a lie in his life.
"I hope to make her so."
" Oh !" says Fred, not removing his shrewd eyes from his
friend's face. " And is she going to marry you of her own free
will, or has she been urged to it by her family ?" '
6*
66 MIONON.
" Of her own free will."
" So much the worse," utters Fred. " She must be hearC-
li-.-s and mercenary. It is unnatural for seventeen to marry a
man it is not fond of, of its own free will. Is she town-bred
or country-bred ?"
" Country," answers Sir Tristram, shortly. " She is fresh
and innocent as a daisy ; I I believe she does like me, but
she has little wilful, teasing ways, and Fred" (hotly), " I
take it as very unfriendly on your part to say these things.
You perhaps do not think how you hurt me with your caustic
speech."
Fred jumps up and holds out his hand.
" Dear old Tristram," he says, heartily, " forgive me. I am
a brutal old Diogenes, and only fit for a tub. If my tongue is
rough and bitter, you know my heart wishes nothing better
than to see the lie given to its prognostications. There ! I
have had my little spiteful say, and I wish you all the joy life
can give with your lovely little country rose; she must be
charming indeed if I ever get to think her half good enough
for you."
And so the friends clasp hands, with hearty sympathy on
one side and hearty forgiveness on the other.
CHAPTER VIII.
" On cite comme une grosse affaire un astronome tomb6 dans un puits,
pendant qu'il cherchait dans le ciel une etoile : qu'on essaye done de comp-
tcr ceux qui, sans tre astronomes, ont fait la meme chftte en cher-
chant uno femme, soil au ciel, soit sur la terre."
THE wedding is fixed for October. Sir Tristram does not
wish to lose more time than he can help: ever since he has
been in love with Mignon, the thought of his age, which never
before embarrassed him, troubles him : he would gladly give
two-thirds of his income to be put back ten years. The
hearty emprcsscment with which, on his return after three
years' absence, he has been greeted by his fair friends, might
have helped to reassure him ; but no ! Mignon shows him
MIGNON. 67
constantly by the most galling little words and hints that she
thinks him old, and all the flattery, direct or implied, of other
women can do nothing for him. His glass shows him every
morning a man in the very prime and vigor of life, in the posses-
sion of as perfect health and strength as he enjoyed at twenty,
a man to whom the word " old" is so totally inappropriate
that every one but a silly wayward child would laugh to scorn
the bare idea of its being applied to him. No matter ! Mig-
non has pronounced him old, and her verdict rankles bitterly
in his breast. Not for his own sake. He only wants her to
think him young enough to bestow her love on, young enough
to regard as a lover.
Since the marriage is irrevocably decided upon, Mignon does
not much care when it takes place. She considers being en-
gaged detestable, disgusting : better have the whole thing over
and done with. There are times when she regards her future
with extreme complacency ; for instance, when Sir Tristram
is absent, when Regina betrays envy of her, when she feels
herself the object of the respectful solicitude of their few neigh-
bors. It is pleasant to make excursions to London to buy
and order lovely apparel for which she has carte blanche, Sir
Tristram being Captain Carlyle's banker on the occasion,
although he insists upon his generosity being kept secret. It
is delightful to do a thing handsomely at some one else's
expense and to get all the credit of it: so Captain Carlyle
finds. A carriage-and-pair always awaits Mignon on her
arrival in London ; she does her shopping in grand style, ac-
companied usually by Regina, and charming little lunches
are prepared for her at Sir Tristram's hotel. On one occasion
she goes to lunch with Mr. Conyngham, who is in town for
a couple of days en route for Scotland and grouse-shooting.
Sir Tristram feels as nervous as a school-boy about this
meeting between Mignon and his dearest friend : he has an in-
tense dread that she will be wayward and he cynical. Neither
fear is realized. Mignon is as lovely and as gracious as an
angel. Fred assumes an air of bonhomie that no less aston-
ishes than enchants his friend. Mignon and Regina both go
away under the impression that if ever there was a genial,
benevolent mortal, a genuine lover of his kind, a perfect phi-
lanthropist, that mortal is Mr. Conyngham ; and Sir Tristram
is careful not to undeceive them.
08 MIQNON.
Fred, who has watched Mignon intently all the time, gives
utterance as soon as she departs to this involved reflection :
" She is very lovely. Poor Tristram !"
What does he mean?
The lunch is in perfect taste, recherche, ethereal-looking,
but satisfying. A profusion of flowers, fruit, delicious sweets,
choice bonbons, feasts the eyes, whilst the other senses are not
neglected. Mr. Conynghain's lunch is a perfect success. Regina,
ignorant of his anti-matrimonial ideas, entertains some hopes
that she has made an impression.
But Mignon does not always take a palmy view of her
marriage. There are occasions, not unfrequent ones, when
she is filled with rage and horror at the thought, and feels
like some wild young thing caught in a trap. She persists in
regarding it as a sacrifice made for Gerry: she will not allow
to herself for an instant that her own ambition had any share
in her decision. Gerry is away at a " crammer's:" she misses
him dreadfully: she has no one to exercise her exuberant
spirits upon: all the others are "so slow," Mignon gets the
spleen, and vents it upon every one about her, notably Sir
Tristram. Dearly as he loves her, inclined as he is to see
nothing but her loveliness and her perfection, he cannot but feel
hurt and shocked sometimes at her behavior. But he defends
her gallantly against himself. She is unsettled : when they
are once married she will return to the sweet winning ways
he fancies she had when he first knew her.
It is a lovely afternoon in September. Sir Tristram, who
has taken up his abode at The Warren, is away on business,
and Mignon is in one of her very worst tempers. She rages
violently against the thought of her marriage ; she has terri-
fied her family by declaring to them that she will tell Sir Tris-
tram to his face as soon as he returns that she hates him ; and
finally she departs across the common to her favorite glade in
order to have it out with herself. The heather is purpling
now, but Mignon is in no humor to heed nature's beauties; the
fern in the glade has grown up tall and strong and hides the
flower-gems in the " enamelled sward." Mignon flings her-
self down and tears up the moss and grass vindictively with
her pretty little hands : she cannot wreak her vengeance on
the fern ; it returns her violence with interest and makes her
fingers smart.
MIONON. 69
" What a shame !" she says, talking to the trees and the rab-
bits, " what a cruel wicked shame, to sell me to a man I hate !
Yes, I hate him for marrying me, and he knows I hate him, and
he still insists on buying me ! He shall know what I think of
him, if not before, afterwards. I wish he was dead !"
And Mignon, having lashed herself into unbearable rage,
bursts into angry, spiteful sobs. And so Oswald Carey, coming
to seek, finds her. Poor lad ! Ever since he heard of her en-
gagement he has been beside himself with misery. He has loved
her with such a faithful love all these years, and, though she has
gibed at and flouted him, made a slave and a scapegoat of
him, somehow he has always persuaded himself that she does
really care for him and that it is only a her way." He has
never built a chateau d 1 Espagne of which she was not chate-
laine, never pictured a future in which hers was not the most
prominent form, never had a thought of ambition except to
glorify her. And his ewe lamb is wrested from him by the strong
hand of the rich man, his youth and love are as reeds against
the arms of wealth and nobility. Poor lad ! heart-sore and
wretched as he is, he cannot tear himself from the sight of
her, though he never comes near when Sir Tristram is by, and
would sooner die of hunger and thirst than share one of his
gifts to Mignon.
She does not hear his footsteps on the velvet moss : he is
witness of her tears and sobs, and nothing intimates to her
that her pain and anger are watched by other eyes. Poor fel-
low ! his honest heart shares her distress, the tears are in his
own eyes, he wants to console her, but he hardly dares an-
nounce his presence. Suddenly she looks up, sees him, and
springs to a sitting posture. She is glad to have a victim
upon whom to vent her wrath.
" How dare you come and pry after me ?" she cries, with
flashing eyes in which the tears are still standing. "Don't
you know how mean it is to sneak about and spy upon one ?
No gentleman would do it !"
" Don't be angry with me, Mignon," he says, humbly. " I
only came to look for you. I never thought of finding you
like this."
" Then now perhaps you will go away again. It is enough
to make any one wretched only to look at your miserable,
cadaverous face."
70 MIGKON.
" It was not that made you cry," he says, gently, throwing
himself down in front of her.
" It is no business of yours. I shall cry if I choose" (with
increased petulance). " You need not think I was crying be-
cause I am unhappy. I was crying to to amuse myself."
" You were crying because you don't want to marry Sir
Tristram," cries Oswald, eagerly : " you can't deceive me. Oh,
Mignon, darling Mignon, stop before it's too late ! you will be
wretched if you marry him ; no amount of money or jewels
or fine clothes will make up for it. If you dread the idea,
what will the reality be?"
" You are not to call me darling," says Mignon, with dig-
nity ; then, happily bethinking her of the unkindest cut of
all, " Sir Tristram would not like it."
Poor Oswald bites his lip and clenches his fingers. Mignon
begins to feel better. In her heart she is rather fond of Os-
wald, fonder now than before, but he is her fetich : she loves
to bang and beat him when she is displeased. True, he is not
the offender, but that rather adds zest to her vengeance.
" You do not, cannot care for him," Oswald says, presently,
" a man nearly three times your age."
" Oh !" retorts Mignon ; " I thought you said once he was
a man ' any girl might fancy.' "
" Did I ? I don't believe it. If I did, I was a fool."
"That is too apparent to be contradicted," says Mignon.
She is getting quite good-tempered now she has some one to
make uncomfortable.
" Yes," he utters, bitterly, " that is true enough. I am a
fool, or I should not be here. You were quite right when
you said in the summer that the worse you treated me the
more I should care for you."
Mignon throws back her pretty head and laughs : she has
not a grain of sympathy for him : on the contrary, she likes
to make him suffer : she has to, and why should he not as
well?
" Don't pull such a long face, < Sir Knight of the Doleful
Countenance !' " she says.
"Ah!" he answers, more bitterly still, "I cannot always
dance because you pipe, nor laugh for your pleasure when I've
got the heart-ache."
" Heart-ache ! fiddlesticks ! Why should you have the
MIGNON. 71
heart-ache ? You haven't got to marry a man you hate 1"
says Mignon, betraying herself unintentionally.
Oswald comes nearer and takes her hand : for a wonder she
permits him. There is an impassioned look in his faithful,
dog-like eyes as he exclaims,
" Dearest Mignon, think seriously what you are going to
do ! Remember, it is not for a little while, it is perhaps for
all your life, at all events for the best years of it."
" I am afraid he is not at all delicate," remarks Mignon,
thoughtfully. " He might live to be eighty. Ugh ! I should
be fifty then."
"And when it's once done, it can't be undone," continues
Oswald.
" No," assents Mignon, gravely. " As the gipsy told me
the other day, I was going to tie a knot with my tongue I
couldn't untie with my teeth. Oh, Oswald ! it was such fun !
We were at the gate, and an old brown cunning-looking gipsy
came along and wanted to tell our fortunes, so I insisted on
having mine told. And what do you think she said ?" The
memory of it is so irresistibly mirth-provoking that Mignon
throws herself back and laughs one of those bewitching laughs
that harass the souls of her lovers. She has no view to effect
now : it is the pure ebullition of her delight. " She said,
there was many a heart sore with thinking of my bright eyes,
and one in particular (that's you, I suppose), and I was going
to meet a dark young man soon who'd fall in love with me the
first moment he ever clapped eyes on me, and and" (Mignon
laughs till the tears roll down her cheeks) " and she took Sir
Tristram for my father, and oh (my side aches so I don't think
I can tell you)!" Mignon is so convulsed she is obliged to
bury her face in the grass.
" Well ?" says Oswald, catching the contagion, though he
is not yet in possession of the joke.
" She said she was quite sure he wasn't one of the hard-
hearted fathers and wouldn't stand in the way of two fond
hearts."
Having jerked out her story between peals of laughter,
Mignon throws herself down again and gives vent to her un-
restrained mirth. Oswald laughs ; but he is a good-hearted
fellow and sensitive, and he cannot help feeling for his rival in
such an awful position.
72 MIGNON.
" What did he say ?" he asks.
" I don't know," Mignon answers, sitting up and wiping
the tears from her cheeks. " I turned and fled, and never
stopped till I got to my own room, where I nearly died."
Oswald contemplates her in thoughtful silence.
" A penny for your thoughts," she says, becoming conscious
of his attentive scrutiny.
" You would not care to hear them."
" Yes, I should." Mignon is intensely inquisitive. " Do
tell me !" (coaxingly).
" I was thinking, if you were not so lovely, how people
would hate you !"
Mignon colors.
" You are a beast," she says.
" Beast and fool !" he answers : " you have called me both
this afternoon. They are pretty words in a pretty girl's
mouth."
" And so you are, both," she answers ; " and I hate you.
Now you can go. If you don't, /shall."
" No, you won't," cries the poor lad, humbly. " I only said
if you were not lovely ; but you are : so you may do anything
and people only love you all the better."
Mignon is mollified, and they fall to friendly talk. Oswald
is urging her to fly with him from the hated marriage : he
has a pretty little plan cut and dried for carrying her off under
the very noses of both lover and father. She lets him talk
on : she has not the remotest idea of accepting his protection,
but the idea of an elopement is rather romantic, and pleases
her.
Oswald is all in hot, eager earnest : he verily believes he
has made some impression on her ; and she allows him to
think so.
The sun is well on his downward journey through the blue
sky ; he is giving broad farewell smiles to the big tree-trunks, to
the velvet moss and the green fern ; he lies redly on Mignon's
fair head and kindles her blue eyes, that look like sapphires,
only that no sapphire was ever so deep, so brilliant, or so ex-
quisitely blue.
" I must go," she says. " He is coming back to-night, and
we dine at eight."
As the words are yet on her lips, there is a sound of wheels,
MIGNON. 73
and Sir Tristram's dog-cart passes the end of the glade. He
sees the two standing together, and wonders with secret pain
if Mignon cares for the lad.
" You will think over what I have said, won't you, darling?"
says Oswald, eagerly ; and she nods assent.
All that evening Mignon is so supremely capricious and
tormenting that Sir Tristram's suspicions are confirmed. He
passes a night of sleepless misery. Early the next morning
he sends a note asking Captain Carlyle to come to him. When
the latter arrives, he is so agitated he can scarcely command
his voice.
" My dear fellow," cries his father-in-law elect, " what ails
you ? You look downright ill !"
" Look here, Carlyle," says Sir Tristram : " I fear I have
been guilty of an egregious act of folly in thinking it possible
your daughter could ever come to care for me. Don't inter-
rupt me ! it is evident from the way she treats me that she is
indifferent to me ; and, God knows 1 I would rather cut off
my right hand than marry her, poor child, if I thought she
shrank from me. It will be an awful blow to me ; but any-
thing" (agitatedly), " anything rather than let her suffer.
Let me still be the friend of the family, let me look on Gerald
as a brother, or a son ; but I entreat you to tell me if Mignon
does not care for me, or or cares for some one else. Don't
leave it till it is too late, for heaven's sake !"
Captain Carlyle is wellnigh distraught.
" What do you mean ?" he cries. " She has never seen any
one. Whom else could she care for ?"
"Young Carey," he replies. "I have seen from the first
that he was fond of her ; and last night I saw them standing
together, and he seemed agitated."
" Curse him !" mutters Captain Carlyle, under his breath.
What ! let Sir Tristram slip between his fingers, topple
down this tower of strength, snap the mainstay of his future !
Never ! Before he leaves The Warren, he succeeds in per-
suading Sir Tristram that there is no doubt as to Mignon's
affection for him, that she has freely and willingly chosen him,
and that all' these capricious airs are simply the result of her
wilfulness and her spoilt childishness.
As he walks back to the cottage he is " breathing ven-
geance" against Oswald and Mignon. He is a passionate man.
74 MIONON.
and his fury is roused to the highest pitch of which it is capa-
ble. Oh, how he longs for the good old days when fathers
could whip their recalcitrant daughters and shut them up in
a closet with bread and water till they returned to a sense of
their duty ! He is so angry that, hot as his haste is, he com-
pels himself to take a turn across the common before seeing
Mignon, lest he should be guilty of some act of violence
towards her. In spite of this precaution, he cannot restrain
his rago when he sees her, and heaps the most furious words,
upon her. Mignon does not answer a syllable: the doggedi
sullen look that is the most dangerous expression of her tem-
per comes into her fair face at the outset, and deepens as he
goes on.
When Captain Carlyle has poured all the vials of his wrath,
she leaves him, and goes to her room thirsting for and deter-
mined on revenge. When Sir Tristram comes to see her, she
never answers by a word to the knockings of mother and sis-
ters, who dare not rap too loudly lest he should hear them and
surmise the state of affairs. Fortunately, he is en route for
London, and cannot stay very long on account of losing the
train. Captain Carlyle accompanies him. In the afternoon
Miss MigQOD sallies forth, meets Oswald (her father has for-
bidden her ever to speak to him again), and tells him that she
is ready to fly with him. She will pretend illness next day ;
he is to have a carriage waiting on the common ; she will join
him shortly before nine, in time to catch the train for London.
She is to go to the house of Oswald's old nurse, who is mar-
ried to a butcher in the Borough, and who would do " any-
thing in the world" for him, he tells Mignon.
Oswald leaves her with winged heels to make his arrange-
ments, and Mignon goes back to the bosom of her family,
hugging delightedly to her breast the thought of the dire
revenue she is about to inflict on every member of it. When
Sir Tristram and Captain Carlyle return from town, she is in
the most charming humor in the world: the former is per-
suaded that his fears were unfounded, the latter congratulates
himself upon his " firmness" in the morning.
MIGNON. 75
CHAPTER IX.
" ( I know not/ said the Princess, ' whether marriage be more than
one of the innumerable modes of human misery. I am sometimes dis-
posed to think with the severer casuists of most nations, that marriage
is rather permitted than approved, and that none, but by the instigation
of a passion too much indulged, entangle themselves with indissoluble
compacts.' " Jtasselan.
THE day following, when Sir Tristram comes to pay his
usual visit, he brings Mignon a collar of pearls with a dia-
mond clasp, a magnificent diamond pendant, and ear-rings to
match. He also brings her a basket of peaches and a lovely
box of French bonbons. Mignon begins to think it would be
rather a shame to spoil Gerry's prospects. Sir Tristram has,
besides, a proposal to make to her. How would she like to go
abroad after their marriage and on by easy stages to Italy ?
He has had foreign travel enough to last him his life, but,
ever thoughtful for Mignon, he reflects that it might be a dis-
advantage to her to appear in the world never having been
anywhere or seen anything. This proposal charms the young
lady. She decides that every sacrifice must be made for Gerry
at whatever cost to herself. So, whilst poor Oswald is waiting
in an agony of impatience on the common, counting the mo-
ments, until, to his despair, he finds it is too late under any
circumstance to catch the last train, Mignon is calmly coquet-
ting with Sir Tristram in the garden by moonlight, and he,
charmed with her new-born graciousness, is more infatuated
than ever.
Mignon is rather sorry for Oswald, but she could not very
well warn him of her change of mind without betraying her-
self. He, poor lad, is the prey to a thousand wild fancies,
firmly believes that their plot has been discovered and she per-
haps put in durance vile. At last he sends the fly away in
despair, and creeps towards the house to try to find out what
is going on within. As he draws near, he hears the sound of
Mignon's ringing laugh : a moment later he catches sight of
her lovely face upturned in the moonlight to Sir Tristram, who
76 MIONON.
is regarding her with all the rapture of a favored lover. A
stony feeling creeps over Oswald, as though, instead of look-
ing on that golden head, he was gazing on the Medusa's
writhing snakes. He creeps away out of sight and hearing,
and then flings himself wildly on the common and gives vent
to his passion of rage and despair. When he takes his way
homeward, he is a sadder and a wiser man. Never again, he
swears, will he see that fair, false face. Nor does he ; and
Mignon is thus saved from a great deal of embarrassment.
Against her father she is bitterly enraged. He cannot win a
word or look from her save absolutely necessary Yeas and
Nays, though he tries his hardest to conciliate her. It will be
very unpleasant, he reflects, if as Lady Bergholt she should
turn against him and carry her husband with her. Besides,
she is really his favorite child ; and he feels remorse for his
outburst, which he no longer congratulates himself upon as
"judicious firmness."
The days wear on apace, and Mignon alternates between
self-gratulation and angry regret. The nearer her wedding-
day looms, the more unsatisfactory it seems to her, the more
of a martyr is she pleased to consider herself, something
between Iphigenia and Jephthah's daughter.
In spite of the evidence of jewel-cases and gorgeous ap-
parel, she persists in ignoring any advantage to herself: she
is the victim of her father's rashness and Gerry's ambition.
By her wayward and fractious behaviour she drives her family
to the verge of despair ; they long with ardor for the wedding-
day, after which Sir Tristram will have to bear the brunt of
her humors. He, luckily for himself, is called to his Northern
property on important business, and sees very little of her
during the ten days that immediately precede the " event."
He has been considerably exercised in his mind on the subject
of a best man : he knows it is no use asking Fred, who has
an utter horror of weddings ; every one of his intimate friends
is away shooting or abroad. What is to be done ? He meets
Raymond L'Estrange one day passing through town, and asks
the favor somewhat diffidently of him. Raymond accepts the
office.
At last the day arrives, the day impatiently looked for by
every one but Mignon. It is a windy, showery day, with fit-
ful gleams of sunshiue 3 not the sort of day one would choose
MIGNON. 77
for a wedding. Sir Tristram is too happy to care about the
weather, Mignon too miserable. She is within an ace of say-
ing " No" at the altar, but refrains, and issues from the
church-door, Lady Bergholt. The first gleam of satisfaction
she feels is when she hears herself called " My lady."
Raymond has not been able to get a good glimpse of her
yet : her costly lace veil somewhat conceals her face, which is
perhaps well, since its expression might startle some of the
bystanders. He can only see that she has ruddy, golden hair
arid an exquisite figure. But when her veil is removed, he
absolutely draws in his breath. Never in his life, he thinks,
has he seen anything so perfectly lovely as Lady Bergholt.
" I congratulate you, Sir Tristram ; you are fortunate," he
whispers, heartily, almost enviously, and the happy bridegroom
smiles radiantly. At this moment he would not change places
with any created human being ; three hours later I think he
would have considered himself the gainer by exchange with a
crossing-sweep or a galley-slave.
They are at breakfast. Raymond can scarcely take his eyes
from the bride. He is wishing devoutly that he had met her
before Sir Tristram, and the bride steals many a furtive glance
at him, and thinks she has never seen a man half so hand-
some. She is thinking, too, with intense bitterness, " If I
had not tied myself to this old man, I might have married
one who was young and handsome and rich too."
The carriage is waiting to convey the happy pair to a station
eight miles distant. It is drawn by four bays, and was to
have been open, but a shower is apprehended. Mignon comes
down, looking lovely in her charming toilette, but white as her
own lace. She does not smile, nor evince emotion of any
kind. Her own family are painfully conscious that there is
something strange about her. If so lovely a face could look
vindictive, one might say that was the expression of it. Ray-
mond says to himself, " By Jove ! she does not like him.
What a shame !"
Lady Bergholt -permits her mother and sisters to embrace
her, though she holds herself as rigid as an icicle ; she kisses
Gerry, the only one whom she thus favors ; from her father
she turns deliberately away, and he busies himself about the
carriage, afraid to seem conscious of her behavior. Sir
Tristram does not see this little episode j he helps his wife
7*
78 MIGNON.
into the carriage, jumps in after her, and the four handsome
: art with a flourish. At the last moment, the old slip-
pel's that have been carefully prepared for the occasion are
forgotten.
Sir Tristram feels the happiest man in the world. During
his engagement he has sometimes had nervous fears that
something would step between him and Mignon, and that
he would never know the intense bliss of calling her wife.
All fear and doubt have vanished now : this exquisite being
is his very own. In the fulness of his heart, he turns and
clasps her in his arms.
" Don't touch me !" she almost shrieks, disengaging herself
violently from his embrace. " I hate you /" And with that
she falls to bitter weeping.
Sir Tristram's arms fall nerveless by his side: an awful
horror seizes him. And yet she cannot mean it : her nerves
are unstrung ; that is all.
" You know it !" she gasps, between her sobs, all her pent-
up rage and misery breaking forth ; " you knew it all along !
but you would marry me."
Sir Tristram puts his hand to his head.
" Oh, God ! what have I done !" he mutters.
" I wish I was dead !" sobs Mignon.
" Child," he cries, hoarsely, " have some human pity upon
me ! If I had known this only this morning, I would rather
have put a bullet through my heart than marry you."
" You did know it !" she retorts. " I told you at first, in
the message I sent you by papa."
" What message ?"
" He promised me on his honor to tell you what I said."
" And what was that ?"
" That I did not care for you, and never should ; that I only
accepted you for Gerry's sake ; and that if you liked to take
me on those terms, you could."
In his heart, Sir Tristram curses Captain Carlyle. If he
had only told him the truth ! The future stands a yawning
gulf before him, an awful abyss, into which he has not only
plunged himself but this unhappy girl.
"As God is my witness," he murmurs, brokenly, " he never
told me this. I believed, at all events, that if you did not
love me now I could make you in time."
MIGNON. 79
" Make me 1" she echoes, scornfully. " How could you,
when you are more than old enough to be my father?"
This is the revenge Mignon has promised herself: it is the
thought of telling him these bitter truths that has buoyed her
up. It is not in her hard little soul to fathom the agony she
is inflicting on this noble heart : bitter words only make her
angry, and she can retaliate. Nothing any living being could
say could wound her a thousandth part as she is wounding the
unhappy man beside her.
What shall he do ? he wonders, in speechless pain. Shall
he stop the carriage and take her back home again, or shall
he go on to Dover, whither they are bound, telegraph to her
father, and, leaving her in possession of his title and wealth,
fly the country forever ? He is a proud man ; he shrinks from
public exposure, above all from ridicule. He leans back in
the carriage like one stunned, feeling as if some awful dis-
grace had befallen him, or rather as if he had brought it upon
himself. He ought to have known. Had he not had warn-
ings ? When Mignon treated him with caprice and disdain,
why had he not attributed it to its right source ? why had he
been fool enough to take her father's word for her liking ?
Mignon, having vented her spleen, feels better. She dries
her eyes, and lets down the window that the wind may cool
her hot cheeks, bethinking herself that she does not want
people to see she has been crying. She is not at all sorry nor
ashamed of her outburst, but rather congratulates herself upon
having had the Spartan fortitude to carry out her vindictive
intention. Then, quite oblivious of the man she has stricken
with such bitter agony, she falls to thinking about Oswald
and wondering if he is feeling very bad about her marriage ;
then the handsome Mr. 1'Estrange occupies her thoughts, and
is in his turn ousted by her new maid, whom she thinks an
awful nuisance. By the time she reaches the station, she has
quite recovered her serenity ; but Sir Tristram, as he hands
her out, is ashy pale and looks like a man who has seen some
awful vision. The valet and the maid remark it ; so do the
post-boys. Mignon does not condescend to glance at him until
he is seated opposite to her in the train.
" How old he looks !" she says to herself, " older even
than I thought before."
80 MIQNON.
CHAPTER X.
"Yes ! to lie beneath a walnut-tree or cedar in a garden
Quaint, old-fashioned, shut away from all the murmurs of the crowd,
Of whose gate some sculptured figure, Love or Time, should be the
warden,
And where only voice of singing birds should dare to breathe aloud."
Violet Fane.
MRS. STRATHEDEN always leaves London for her country-
seat the first week in July. Her instincts are gregarious, she
is fond of society, could hardly indeed (so her friends say)
live long without it, but she is passionately fond of the coun-
try. " One could not appreciate it thoroughly," she says,
smiling, " if one were not able to contrast it with the din and
bustle and weariness of cities. I should not know the delight
of coming back if I never left it." So, the first convenient
day in July, she, Mrs. Forsyth, her friend (she never calls
her by the hireling name of " companion"), and the greater
part of her establishment, take leave of May Fair and speed
homewards by the Great Northern express to The Manor
House. There, for a fortnight, Olga takes what she calls her
holiday. Not a guest does she bid, not a visit does she pay,
but roams about her grounds the live-long day, plucks gorgeous
or tender-colored roses, seeks crimson strawberries amidst their
green nest of leaves and gathers them with dainty fingers,
paces to and fro under the big firs whence the sun draws a
keen strong fragrance, over a velvety green moss so luxu-
riously soft, so delicately shaded, that no carpet from Eastern
looms could hope to vie with it. Or perhaps she lies indo-
lently among the cushions of her boat on the lakelet, and lets
the clear cool water trickle through her fingers, or swings
gently to and fro in her hammock between the trees on the
tiny island.
" A hammock," writes Edward Delaney to John Flemining
in that charming story " Marjorie Daw," " is very becoming
when one is eighteen, and has gold hair, dark eyes, and a blue
illusion dress looped up after the fashion of a Dresden china
MIGNON. 81
shepherdess, and is cTiaussee like a belle of the time of Louis
Quatorze." It is some time since Olga Stratheden was eighteen,
and her hair is not gold but dark, yet I take the liberty to
doubt whether many girls of eighteen could match her grace
or her chaussures as she " sways like a pond-lily in the golden
afternoon," to quote Delaney again. Olga has the most beau-
tifully shaped head in the world ; its poise is perfect. Her hands
have been modelled many a time ; so might her feet have been,
had she permitted it. Had Olga lived in the days of powder
and patches, she would have been a beauty : it was often said
to her, " You should have been a French marquise in the las"t
century." She had assumed the dress more than once at a
fancy dress ball, and had felt herself very near possessing the
gift she had longed for most of all. Why did she long for it ?
Most women desire beauty because it begets love. But Olga
has been loved more than many a beautiful woman.
This is her story.
Some years ago, the Bishop of Lawn was summoned to the
bedside of a dying man. To console him with the last rites
of the Church ? to steady his trembling feet on the brink of
the dark waters? to soothe the pangs of a young spirit
snatched from life, love, all the world deems fair ? No, none
of these. He has been sent for to marry him. Olga is the
bride ; the dying man is her first-cousin, George Stratheden,
of whose life she has been the sole love. Of those present
there is but one whose eyes are dry, whose voice is firm : it is
the bridegroom. He is content, nay, glad, for at this price
only he knows could he ever have attained the dearest wish
of his life.
When the ceremony is over, a smile comes into his fair
young face, a smile such as a bridegroom might wear who had
Life and Love, not the cold arms of the King of Terrors,
awaiting him, and, lifting his blue eyes, he whispers,
" Kiss me, darling wife."
Olga, heart-broken, flings herself down beside him ; it is
too much for her tense nerves ; she swoons.
One more retrospect.
Mr. Stratheden and Captain Sefton married two sisters,
daughters of a poor baronet. Mr. Stratheden was rich and
middle-aged, Captain Sefton young, handsome, not overbur-
dened with means. Each sister was content with, and happy
82 MIGNON.
in, her choice. Mrs. Stratheden was a woman of simple
tastes: the country life it pleased her husband, a thorough
sportsman, to lead, suited her admirably. She had only one
object in life, to make him happy ; this object divided itself
into two equal halves when her son and only child was born.
Mrs. Sefton was devoted to society. She and her husband'
lived in a vortex of gayety : neither was happy without it.
To them also was born one child, Olga, christened after a Rus-
sian princess, an intimate friend of Mrs. Seflon's, who volun-
teered to be her godmother. Some costly toys, various bonbon-
boxes, and a pair of diamond ear-rings bequeathed in her will,
testified to her discharge of the duties of sponsorship. Olga
never remembered to have seen her handsome, autocratic god-
mother ; she had been vexed as a child by the strangeness of
her name, on which other children made disparaging comment,
but as she grew up she came to like it, and what had before
given her a distaste for it, its singularity, became its charm.
Olga was fond of her mother, but she adored her father : so
that when Mrs. Sefton died, still quite young, the child could
sob herself to sleep on her father's breast, and wake, feeling
that what she loved best was still left to her. Captain, Colonel
Sefton now, devoted as he was to his little daughter, began to
discover the inconvenience of being left alone in the world with
a young lady who required to be educated, particularly as he
had a rooted aversion for schools. Olga, though she had a sweet
disposition, was proud and intensely sensitive. Colonel Sefton
understood her character, and saw perfectly that what Olga
was to develop into as a woman depended almost entirely upon
the person or persons who influenced her young years. Ah !
those young years, that are like the tendrils of the vine when
they begin to climb and twine, ready to grow either to the
stout wall and live at peace and shelter there, or to creep
round rotten sticks and worm-eaten lattice-work, to be blown
away and torn and ruined when the wild winds beat about
them. Ah, parents! take care you give your children the
stout wall to cling to, not the crumbled wood-work ! For
Olga's sake, then, Colonel Sefton desired to find a woman gen-
tle, firm, pleasant-mannered, lady-like, above all things sym-
pathiqiie (I think that word expresses the meaning better
than sympathetic), and who should possess a certain amount
of youth and comeliness. He had a theory about good looks,
particularly
woman unle
M1GNON. 83
in the opposite sex : he did not believe in a
woman unless she looked good, or, rather, was good to look at.
But when he set himself to the task of selecting this rara avis,
and tried to enlist the help of his fair friends, they one and
all, even the most charming and the most reasonable, arched
their eyebrows, drew down their mouths, and smiled or
frowned as the case might be, but gave as their ultimatum
that it was not to be done. If only now he would not insist
upon the governess being young and good-looking ! But on
that subject Colonel Sefton was as firm as his fair counsellors
were obstinate (I believe I have given the correct^?) adjectives
to the sexes).
" My dear Colonel Sefton, if you have a young governess,
you must not live in the same house, or you must have an
elderly person as chaperon." This is what one lady tells him.
11 But you know," says another, delicately, " though you may
have the very best intentions, I am quite sure you have,
the world will talk." " The end of it will be. Charlie," cries
the third and most intimate, "you will marry the horrid
creature ; and a great deal of good that will do Olga."
Colonel Sefton is thoroughly perplexed. At last Mrs.
Stratheden cuts the Gordian knot for him : she is a kind, good
woman, always more ready with help and comfort than advice.
" Let Olga come to us," she says. " Choose your own
governess : we have plenty of room for her ; she need not in-
convenience us in any way ; and as often as you like to see the
child, come to us, or she shall go to you. It will be good for
Georgie and us too. We are two very quiet stupid people,
and want brightening up." After taking much time to reflect,
and considering every pro and con, Colonel Sefton accepted
the kind offer, and there was not one of the parties interested
who had not thorough cause for self-gratulation on his de-
cision.
Olga was not told at first : she went, as supposed, on a visit
to The Manor House with her father ; but before a fortnight
was over, she was so devoted to every member of the family,
to every dog, cat, horse, and bird about the place, that the
mere hint of leaving, artfully thrown out one day, sent her
into such a torrent of sobs and tears that Colonel Sefton and
Mrs. Stratheden could scarcely forbear exchanging a smile
(rather a sad one on the father's part) at the success of their
84 MIONON.
stratagem. But it had not entered into Olga's mind that it
was a question of deciding between her father and her new
friends. When she realized that, she did not hesitate for a
moment. Ultimately, however, when Colonel Sefton promised
to come very often to see her, and assured her that she would
in reality see more of him if she stayed at The Manor House
than if she lived with him in town, Olga was persuaded, and
from that day to the present it has been her home.
After two or three failures, Colonel Sefton at last found the
ideal governess in Mrs. Forsyth, the widow of a naval officer.
She was scarcely more than a girl, but possessed all the attri-
butes that Olga's father considered most important. Besides
these, she had immense tact, the desire to please and by pleas-
ing to secure her own future. She soon gained unbounded
influence over the child, and used it faithfully and conscien-
tiously. Her maxims, it is true, savored rather more of worldly
wisdom than Christian precept : it was to Mrs. Forsyth indis-
putably Olga owed that gracious tact and savoir-plaire Fred
Conyngham admired so much.
At eighteen Olga was the most gracious, sweet-mannered,
distinguished-looking girl possible to imagine. Her father
and aunt adored her : as for poor George, her cousin, just
coming of age, he had always been her most devoted slave.
Mr. Stratheden had been dead four years, leaving his son a
very handsome unentailed property. Olga loved her cousin
very sincerely as a cousin, but refused to think of making the
tie stronger between them. Poor George would not be sat-
isfied with her cousinly affection, and fumed and fretted him-
self nearly into a fever. His mother pleaded his cause ; Olga
turned a deaf ear. Mrs. Forsyth was entreated to use her
influence, but declined, and thereby increased her power over
the girl fourfold. There was no persecution used : next to
her son, Mrs. Stratheden loved Olga : she wanted both to be
happy. Just before her eighteenth birthday, Olga wrote to
her father :
" My dearest Papa, Have you forgotten that I am nearly
eighteen ? When am I * coming out' ? Mary and Alice Vane
are going to be presented this season. I think, for more
reasons than one, that it would be good for me to leave home
for a little while, although I am as happy as the day is long
and shall miss them all dreadfully."
MIGNON. 85
On receipt of this letter, Colonel Sefton went at once to his
sister Lady Wyvenhoe, who agreed to present Olga and to take
charge of her for the season.
May comes, the fairest month of the year, lavish of sweet
scents and sounds and tender coloring ; but what are the
charms of nature to the charms of art ? How can the lilies
and pansies, the primroses and the blue hyacinths, the pink
hawthorn and the golden showers of laburnum, vie with the
guirlandes on a court train ? what worth have the dew-drops
spangling the green hedge-rows by the side of the imperish-
able dew-drops flashing on proud heads and white (or, it may
be, mahogany-colored) bosoms? what are the strains of the
nightingale, blackbird, and thrush, and the soft wooing of ring-
doves to the Italian Opera or Signer Squagliatowski's matinee?
what all the lovely variety of spring foliage to the two rows
of trees in Rotten Row which as yet give but sparse shelter
from the sun's ardent rays ? what the glorious floods of silver
moonlight in the country to the thousand wax candles at Lady
G.'s reception? What, indeed?
Olga feels stifled at first, after the boundless breathing-
space she has been used to in the country ; but it is not long
ere the subtle power of art begins to exercise its fascinations
over her. Her debut is most successful : Lady Wyvenhoe, a
very good judge, is perfectly satisfied with the impression her
niece creates. People do not say Miss Sefton is lovely, but
they call her charming (than which, if sincerely meant, few
words can be more flattering), elegant, distinguee, thorough-
bred. And men add, when appealed to, " Quite good-looking
enough for anything !"
In the vortex amidst which she is plunged, Olga has yet
time to lose her heart, poor Olga ! Among the men who
come frequently to Lady Wyvenhoe's house, who surround
her niece when she appears in the world, is the Honorable
Oliver Beauregard. He is no longer a young man, nor does
he aflect youthful airs. " I have lived a long time in the
world," is a saying frequently on his lips to women, uttered
with a charming tenderness of manner. Just before Olga
met him, he had taken the enormous leap that separates a
youngish man from a middle-aged or oldish one, had passed
from thirty-nine to forty. He had given the best years of his
life to the study of women : by this time he knew or thought
8
80 MIONON.
he knew them by heart, at every age, in every rank, con-
dition, and phase. " Far more interesting study than fossil
remains, the antiquity of man, the missing link, or any of
Nature's other vagaries," he had been heard to say. Not that
he wafr in the least given to swagger about his knowledge ;
nor was he ever known to speak of a woman individually ex-
cept in a merely commonplace manner. " A man who has
anything to talk about never talks," was one of his chief
maxims, although he forbore to enunciate it. Women were
often curious to see him and to make his acquaintance. They
were invariably disappointed at first. " Really ?" (with a
slight raising of the brows) " that the dangerous Captain
Beauregard ? there is nothing in the least Juanesque in his
appearance !"
On the contrary, he is a very quiet, gentlemanlike-looking
man, without the slightest approximation to the languishing,
fascinating airs commonly supposed to be inseparable from a
Lovelace. He is not even handsome, but has a good figure, a
low-toned voice, and wonderfully expressive eyes. With these
gifts he has contrived before Olga meets him to make more
havoc in the susceptible breasts of the fair than any acknowl-
edged " beauty man" of the age.
Captain Beauregard admires Olga: he looks upon her
with more respect than he is wont in his heart to accord her
sex. Outwardly no man could appear to feel a more reveren-
tial devotion for women : it is one of his great weapons. A
man who affects to make light of women, to sneer at them, to
speak coarsely to and of them, damages himself unspeakably
in their eyes. They may tolerate him, may laugh at and with
him, but in their hearts they dislike or despise him.
Oliver Beauregard saw at a glance that Olga respected her-
self, first and most important step towards gaining the respect
of others. She was full of laughter, of brightness, of gay
wit, but there was a pureness and dignity about her which
forbade any one to be coarse in her presence. And then
society had not arrived at the state where it is to-day, when a
man is permitted, if not encouraged, to be gross in the best
society, and may tell with impunity in Belgravia and May
Fair Ion mots (?) culled a good deal farther north or a very
little farther south of those aristocratic localities.
Every one knew that Captain Beauregard had no intention
MIGNON. 87
of marrying. Dowered maidens and wealthy widows had
flung themselves at his head, ready and willing to worship
him with their bodies and endow him with all their worldly
goods ; but he did not permit the sacrifice : he had enough
to live upon like a gentleman ; all the best houses in the
kingdom were open to him, all but a few which he had
closed forever upon himself. When he paid such devotion to
Miss Sefton, no one made much remark about it: it was
Beauregard's way to single out a fresh woman every season :
the only thing that was unusual was his wasting so much
time on an ingenue. Lady Wyvenhoe was rather pleased
at his attention to her neice : nothing brought a girl more into
notice than Captain Beauregard's approval.
" It is a great compliment to you, my dear," she said to
Olga. " He is not a marrying man, but he will draw others.
Only be sure not to lose your heart to him."
Olga only replied by a pensive smile. In her own heart
she was quite sure, as many a woman had been before, that he
loved her. It was true he had never told her so, never breathed
a word that the wiliest of her sex could have construed into a
hint of marriage ; but Olga did not look so far ahead as that :
her pure, fresh young heart, unbreathed upon by any other
love, was his to be had for the asking, nay, given without any
asking, amply repaid, she thought, by the preference he seemed
to give her. But in her heart of hearts, without a shadow of
vanity, she believed he loved her as she loved him : those
wonderful eyes of his told her so, and she would have staked
her life upon their truth. Every one else knew strange stories
of ruined hearths and lives laid waste that the wonderful eyes
had had their share in, but, somehow, people never told that
kind of story in Olga's presence. It was " always the woman's
fault," women said. Captain Beauregard had invariably be-
haved like a gentleman, was ready to give any satisfaction
demanded of him, and once, when his adversary had sworn
to have his life, had fired in the air. It was impossible to look
at him, to witness his quiet, irreproachable demeanor, and to
believe he had ever led a woman into error. Absurd ! it was
her own wilful wickedness. There were some women, how-
ever, with stainless reputations, who did not agree to this
verdict. Nevertheless they did not think fit to negative it.
What Captain Beauregard felt for Olga it is not easy to de-
88 MIONON.
cidc. That she possessed some charm for him was evident
from the time he devoted to her. It may have been her fresh-
ness, her purity, her arch gayety, the unmistakable presence of
a heart and soul that the touch of his master-hand had called
forth ; it may have been that she awoke in him the possibility
of a nobler and better future, awoke the power to believe
what he had disbelieved so utterly till now, that passion may
mingle with reverence, and that there is a love which defies
satiety.
Olga's ardent nature did battle royal with her pride. She
cared for nothing in the wide world but to be near him ; she
only counted the hours when he was present ; her heart beat
with triumph when he approached her, her lustrous eyes
shone with tenfold fire as she welcomed him ; and yet she was
fighting with all her might not to show what she felt to the
world. From him, believing what she did in her innocent
heart, she had no faintest desire of concealment : if there
were glory or triumph to him in her poor love, let him drink
the cup to the last drop. Olga was passionately fond of dan-
cing, but the most rapture-breathing strains, the most perfectly
accomplished partner, could give her no joy like that she felt
when she laid her little hand on Oliver Beauregard's arm when
the dance was over and he took her away to get cool, or to
find her aunt, or whatever the pretext might be. Captain
Beauregard did not dance.
Colonel Sefton was in Norway. After the first two or
three weeks of attendance upon his daughter, he left her to his
sister's care. London seasons had become a weariness to his
flesh. Had her father been with her, he would certainly not
have permitted her to see so much of Captain Beauregard ;
but he was innocently fishing the deep pools for big salmon
and going placidly to bed by daylight in the Norway summer
nights. Lady Wyvenhoe was unsuspicious: she saw that
( )l-a liked to talk to Captain Beauregard, but she also seemed
to take pleasure in the society of other men. When Olga re-
fused a very eligible offer of marriage, her ladyship was a
little puzzled and vexed : still, the girl was only eighteen ; there
was plenty of time.
The season came to an end at last. Olga, heavy-hearted,
went back to The Manor House.
MIGNON. 89
CHAPTER XL
" A little sorrow, a little pleasure,
Fate metes us from the dusty measure
That holds the date of all of us j
"We are born with travail and strong crying,
And from the birth-day to the dying
The likeness of our life is thus."
SWINBURNE.
DURING her absence, Olga had written frequently to Mrs.
Forsyth, not so voluminously nor so gushingly as the heroine
of " Sir Charles Grandison" to her " dearest Lucy," but she had
found time to keep her friend au courant of her proceedings.
Strange to say, she, who had never had a secret, scarce a
thought, from Mrs. Forsyth before, had only written of Cap-
tain Beauregard in the most casual manner. She was resolved
to keep her secret, ignorant of the extreme hardship of the
task she was setting herself. Olga, with her impetuous na-
ture, her keen want of sympathy, could not play her part long :
her heart was yearning to talk of the dear one, to pronounce
his name and to hear it from other lips. It is dull work
writing the darling name a thousand times to tear into frag-
ments next moment : whispering it to the birds, the flowers,
the rushes, gives scant comfort ; day-dreams, when no longer
fed by reality, grow tame and flat ; memory without certainty
of the future waxes easily from joy to pain. On the third
day after her return, Olga, sitting on the grass at her friend's
feet, with the July sun filtering through the trees upon her
ardent, upturned face, made her confession with a beating
heart and little trembling fingers that plucked nervously at
her gown, but eyes radiant, luminous, great with love and
hope.
How could she guess that the woman to whom she* was
making her tender confidences was pitying, not congratulating
her, in her heart, though her face smiled sympathy ? Mrs.
Forsyth thought all men selfish, false, cruel. Her own ex-
perience had been unfortunate. The one she had given all
8*
90 MIGNON.
--
her young heart to, abandoned her for a rich bride ; the one
!he married, and who professed boundless love for her, ill
treated her from a month after their marriage until his death
three years later. So she disbelieved utterly in men, and
would fain, for Olga's sake, have brought her up in her own
faith' or want of it, but refrained. " It is no use," she told
herself: " she is a woman : she must suffer. Some day, when
she has lost her first illusions, I will give her the weapons she
wants : they would be no use without the experience."
Olga, with radiant eyes and a flush of tender color in her
face, is telling her story. With fond hands Mrs. Forsyth
caresses the shapely head, with smiling eyes she looks into
the bright, triumphant ones upturned to hers, with willing,
untired ears she listens to the praises that glorify the girl's
idol. Surely no man was ever so noble, so altogether worthy
a woman's love, before ! Mrs. Forsyth listens with a face that
expresses only sympathy, but in her heart there lurks a grave
mistrust. She sees in Captain Beauregard, even from the
girl's innocent, enthusiastic description, not the true knight,
the Launcelot of Olga's dreams, only a man sated, world-
worn, in search of a fresh emotion and regardless at what cost
to this poor child he gratifies it. But it is too late to warn her
now : let her taste the only bliss she is likely ever to extract
from it, the delight of dreaming and talking of her love.
And so Olga enjoyed a short sweet trance of bliss. But, as
the days crept on, nor talking nor dreaming could satisfy the
hunger of her heart : she had a wild longing to see him again,
to hear the caressing tones of his voice, to meet the gaze of
his love-speaking eyes. She wondered painfully if he had not
the same desire, if his life too did not lack something away
from her ; not as hers did, no ! young as she was, she felt
love could not be the all-absorbing thing to a man it is to a
woman ; but still, if he loved her as she believed he did, he
would feel a yearning for the sight of her, and then he would
come to her. She remembered how it had pained her at the
time that he had not said anything definite about seeing her
again ; he had asked if she were going to Scotland, and ex-
pressed himself disappointed when she answered in the nega-
tive. She began to grow pale and hollow-eyed, to have pas-
sionate fits of crying, to lie awake at night, to be filled with a
wild desire to see him, even to go to him.
MIGNON. 91
Mrs. Forsyth saw it all, longed to help her, but knew not
how. Six weeks had passed away since her return: August
was waning. One day Mrs. Forsyth, reading the county
paper, came upon the following paragraph :
" Esclandre in high life. Considerable excitement has been
created in the highest circles by the elopement of Lady C.
N d with Captain the Hon. : r B r d. It
appears both were on a visit at S Castle, where a large
party had assembled for grouse-shooting. Some words passed
between Lady C. and her husband with regard to Captain B.'s
attentions, and the next day both the lady and her lover were
missing. It is believed that their destination is the Continent.
There are various rumors afloat concerning the action decided
upon by the injured husband : some assert that he started
immediately in pursuit of the fugitives, bent on chastising the
seducer, others say that he will await his revenge at the hands
of Sir Creswell Creswell."
Mrs. Forsyth put down the paper and reflected. She was
not surprised, hardly sorry, but she could not bear the thought
of Olga's suffering. How, with her impetuous passionate
nature, she would suffer ! what an awful wrench it must be
to tear all the love and faith and trust out of such a heart as
hers!
A long time elapses. Olga comes in. Mrs. Stratheden and
her cousin are out driving.
" Ma chere," says the girl (she always calls her thus),
" how melancholy you look ! What is the matter?"
" Come here, darling." And Olga sits down at her friend's
feet.
Mrs. Forsyth lays her hand caressingly on the shining hair,
and looks at her with troubled eyes.
" Olga, do you know why women were sent into the world?"
" To love and be loved," Olga answers, with smiling eyes.
The second post has just brought her a letter from Lady
Wyvenhoe, in which she mentions having heard from Captain
Beauregard, who had asked after her niece and hoped she had
not quite forgotten him.
" No," Mrs. Forsyth answers. " To love and to be repaid
by cruelty, by treachery, by falsehood ; to be made a tool of,
a vehicle for men's amusement, and then to be dropped for a
newer toy."
92 MIGNON.
" Ma chere," cries Olga, lifting eyes that have both pain
and wonder in them, to her friend's face, " what do you mean ?"
" My poor little darling !" whispers Mrs. Forsyth, and puts
both her arms round the girl, as if she could shelter her by
her embrace from the woes of the soul as she might from the
dangers of the body.
A look of terror comes into Olga's face and blanches it :
she looks as though she had seen some ghastly sight. Her
heart beats so loud, she can hear it.
" Tell me, oh, tell me quick !" she gasps.
Mrs. Forsyth gives her the paper and shuts her eyes : she
does not want to witness the slaying of trust and faith in the
child's heart.
Olga reads, re-reads, and reads again. A dull, dazed feeling
has come across her after the first shock.
" Ma chere," she says, in a low, quiet voice, leaning her
cheek on her hand and looking up with unfaltering eyes, "why
did you not tell me before ?"
" Tell you what, my darling?"
" All the while that I have been talking such nonsense to
you about him, why did you not tell me that he was laughing
at me and amusing himself? I wonder" (breaking off) " if
she is very lovely. How she must have loved him to give up
everything for him!" And then she rises and goes towards
the door, taking the paper with her.
" Where are you going, darling ?"
" I am going to my own room. Don't come to me yet. 1
want to think." Then, with a wan smile as she sees her
friend's grieved face, " You see I take it very well, do I not ?
I shall soon get over it."
And she goes, goes and hides herself in her chamber, and
cries out her passionate farewell to love and hope, and wonders,
as the young do, how the sun can shine, and the birds sing,
and life go on just the same as if her heart were not broken.
And Mrs. Forsyth, knowing what is best for her, leaves her
to fight out her long agony, and makes excuse for her absence,
and then at sundown goes to her.
" It is I, dearest : let me in !" And Olga unbars the door.
Her eyes are dim and heavy with long weeping ; her hands
are nerveless ; she is all unstrung.
Mrs. Forsyth unbinds her hair, bathes her aching head,
MIGNON. 93
makes her eat and drink, puts her to bed, and stays with her
until, worn out, she falls asleep. All night through Olga
sleeps the sound sleep of youth.
Who has not known the awful misery of waking to the
memory of some great grief? the first dim consciousness of
something wrong, the gradual dawning remembrance, until the
hideous shape stands revealed in all its horror.
The days go by somehow. Autumn comes, and changes the
green of summer to gold and bronze, to crimson and russet. It
gladdens the hearts of the sportsmen, and rings the death-knell
of hundreds of thousands of little plump soft-breasted birds
which in dying, it is to be supposed, fulfil the purpose of their
being. Autumn, with its fair hot noons and early twilights,
its picturesque, harmonious-colored decay, its gaudy scentless
flowers, its ruddy golden sunsets, thick dews, and chilly nights.
Winter follows.
"The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill,"
or more probably in the vale ; the scarlet coats come out, and
the glossy hunters, like giants refreshed after their long sum-
mer of idleness, are keen and full of life : the hounds are
thirsting for Reynard's blood. Let him garner up his store
of cunning : he will want it, poor beast ! Sport, always sport !
something must be torn and maimed, must suffer and die, to
appease the lust of blood in man's heart. It is the old savage
instinct of the race, that finds comparatively harmless vent in
the slaughter of small defenceless things nowadays. But it is
a glorious thing to be a sportsman ! it is for women to be
tender-hearted : would to heaven they all were !
Winter ! leaves falling or fallen everywhere ; the coverts are
clearing of their tangle of wild flowers and fern and grasses ;
it is all one brown, sodden, uudistinguishable mass now, and
will no longer hide the gorgeous pheasants or the frightened
little rabbits. The frost has stripped the leaves from the red
berries in the hedges ; the sun is so far off he can scarce be
felt ; the warmth is within now, and the women read or work
and wax confidential over the crackling logs ; it is getting too
cold to go out with the shooters' lunch, and there is more
hunting than shooting now. They drive to the meet some-
times, but it is not very satisfactory : men are thinking a good
deal more of the day's business than of daintily be-wrapped
94 MIGNON.
and be-furred fair ones, and are devoutly wishing those who
have elected to go en Amazone and hint at following, out of
the way.
George Stratheden is a mighty hunter, and, unlike most
men, is always wanting the object of his affections to do like-
wise. Olga is a fearless and most graceful rider, but she never
goes a-hunting, thinks it unfcminine. She generally rides
to the meet and returns with her groom as soon as they find.
Poor George is more deeply in love than ever, and, now that
in her wrath against his sex she has dropped the old cousinly
affectionate manner towards him and treats him with some-
thing of scorn and impatience, his love takes new fire from
her disdain. She is callous to his sufferings : she has adopted
Mrs. Forsyth's theory. When a man wants a woman, she is
his tyrant ; when he has her, she is his slave. It is better to
be tyrant than slave. Mrs. Forsyth no longer refrains from
indoctrinating Olga with her own opinions, and Olga is hard-
ening her heart against men as though they were the natural
enemies of her sex.
So poor George wooes and prays and pleads in vain : Olga
tells him frankly she will never be his wife, never. He vows
she shall, and in the end he has his way. This is how it comes
to pass. One day he goes out hunting, strong and fair and
stalwart, and four hours later he is brought home with a broken
back, and three, four days', or it may be at most a week's,
life left in him. One half of him is alive ; he is perfectly
sensible, can speak and move his hands, his head, his arms ;
the other half is dead as marble, as clay. He insists on know-
ing the truth : so they tell him. He bears it bravely. A
slight quiver of the lips, a momentary dimness of his blue
eyes, are the only signs he gives of weakness. And yet to be
cut off in the heyday of his youth and strength, with all that
makes life worth having, before him, to go out alone into the
dark cruel night of death and leave behind those things that
seem even fairer and dearer now he must say good-by to them
forever ! He only expresses two wishes. He would be buried
in his red coat, and he would have Olga marry him.
" Mother !" he says in the night, as she is sitting heart-
broken by his bedside, " I could die happy if Olga would be
my wife. It is not only a whim, dear. You know Uncle
Charles is not very well off: we have no near relation we care
MIGNON. 95
for, and your tastes are very simple : you have this house for
your life, and more income than you spend. I should like to
leave all I have that you do not want or care for to Olga ; and
if she were my wife it would not seem strange, but would be
hers of right."
What could he have asked his mother, living, that she
would not have granted ? dying how much more !
Colonel Sefton, who has been telegraphed for, gives his con-
sent. Olga is net told a word about the money : they guess
rightly that such knowledge would be the greatest barrier to
her granting his wish. She is broken-hearted : now that it is
too Tate, she, like the rest of us, would sacrifice anything,
everything, to save him.
And so the special license is procured, and the bishop bid-
den, and the poor dying lad joyfully takes his grief-stricken
bride for the short time that remains until death them do part.
Sure no sadder wedding was ever celebrated on God's earth
than this one ! the poor mother weeping piteously in Mrs.
Forsyth's arms, who herself is quivering with sobs and using
the strongest effort of her will to be calm ; Olga with rivers
of tears raining from her eyes, and her hands pressed convul-
sively against her breast to check its agonized heaving ; Colonel
Sefton biting his lips hard as he holds his daughter with one
hand and brushes away the tears that will rise with the other ;
even the bishop with dim eyes and tremulous voice and a
strange, unwonted thickness in the voice that is celebrated for
its clearness.
" Little wife ! darling wife !" the word is scarcely ever off the
poor lad's dying lips : its utterance seems to give him infinite
pleasure. He will have her sign her new name, Olga Strath-
eden, and show to him ; he bids those about him address her
as Mrs. Stratheden, and has even heart to make a little joke
and tell his mother she is the dowager now ; and the poor
mother smiles, the wannest, sorrowfulest smile that ever
hovered on a woman's lips. The last words he utters are,
" Good-night, little darling wife."
They say people don't die of broken hearts. Mrs. Strath-
eden died four months after her son. The doctors could not
tell what she died of: she ought to have lived to a hundred,
they said. With the exception of a few legacies, she also
left everything to her niece. Olga, a young girl of nineteen,
96 MIGNON.
was a rich widow about whom every one was talking. But
she loathed her riches, and was inconsolable for her aunt and
cousin, nay, her husband, strange thought! At last Colonel
Sefton insisted on taking her abroad for change of scene, Mrs.
Forsyth of course accompanying them. Everywhere, the
young girl, travelling in widow's weeds, excited curiosity and
attention. This was odious to Olga: it seemed a mockery,
besides ; but custom exacted it.
They travelled for a year, by the end of which time Olga
had recovered her health and spirits and had begun to find it
pleasant to be rich and considered. She went into society.
Her godmother's daughter, married to a llussian prince of
distinction, took her by the hand, and she became the fashion
in Paris. There she acquired the art of dress, perfection in
the language, and the additional charm of manner which no
people possess to a greater degree than high-bred Frenchwomen.
Wherever she went, she excited interest and curiosity : her
really strange story was made ten times stranger by repetition :
she was reported to be fabulously rich. She had princes,
statesmen, soldiers at her feet, men who loved her for what
she had, men who loved her for what she was. Be it con-
fessed, she treated them with some cruelty: she refused to
believe men could suffer from love : if they did, tant mieux,
she was probably avenging some other woman.
Captain Beauregard, coming to Paris, having left Lady C.
N to a dull repentance or a shameful notoriety in some
disreputable continental town, heard of Olga's fame. It was
not long before they met. Mrs. Stratheden had always been
preparing for this contingency, and was able to meet the man
who had spoiled her life as a mere casual acquaintance. They
met often. Captain Beauregard, piqued by her indifference,
which was apparently sincere, used every art he was master
of to win back her regard. He was falling desperately in love
with her, he who had never allowed a woman to be anything
more to him than a momentary passion, a passing caprice.
He began to suffer what she had suffered, what many a woman
had suffered for his sake.
Olga never gave him any chance of seeing her in private ;
indeed, she never received any man unless her father or Mrs.
Forsyth were present. One afternoon, however, she was alone :
the servants believed Colonel Sefton to be with her, but he
MIGNON. 97
had gone out without their perceiving it. At last the oppor-
tunity comes that Captain Beauregard has so ardently desired:
he has come to call, and is ushered into the room where Olga
is alone. If she is not beautiful, nothing can be more gracious
or elegant than Mrs. Stratheden: she has something more
fascinating than mere beauty ; she is only a girl, and yet no
woman breathing could have more tact, more self-possession,
combined with the most perfect womanliness. Captain Beau-
regard, who has never in his life dreamed of asking a woman
to marry him, feels capable of the stupendous sacrifice as he
looks at her. He comes up to her, takes her hands, looks at
her with eyes that have all their old fascination and more, since
his soul shines through them, and says,
" Olga, have you forgotten ?"
She meets his look with a steadfast gaze. His voice and eyes
have still something of their old power over her, but she has
not acted over this scene a thousand times to herself for nothing.
There is the least quiver of her lip, the least tremor in her
voice, as she answers,
" No, I have forgotten nothing."
11 You have heard evil reports of me," he says, hurriedly.
"Nay, I do not want to defend myself: you can have heard
nothing so bad of me as what I feel myself deserving of at
this moment ; but give me a chance ; let me try to be some-
thing better in the future for your sake !"
Oliver Beauregard has never in his life until to-day hum-
bled himself before a woman, has never even felt conscious
of the superiority of one : he has always been the sportsman,
they the game to be snared or trapped or carried off by a
strong arm. Now he feels himself genuinely the inferior of
this slight girl.
" Listen to me," utters Olga, the tears standing in her proud
eyes. " I have thought sometimes that such a thing as this
might happen one day, and I always meant to say this to you,
not in any set words" (putting her hand to her head), " I have
forgotten the words, but the sense is this. It seems a light
thing to you to destroy women's reputations, women's souls :
perhaps" (with a shade of scorn) " you do not believe they
have any. Women are fair game for you. Well, perhaps
some of them are: I have seen something of the world lately,
and know more of its ways than when I met you first. But
98 MIONON.
is it a light thing, do you think" (passionately), " to take a
girl's heart, a heart quite pure and fresh and full of innocent
faith, a heart that believes in the man who makes her love
him as she believes in heaven, to take it just for sport's sake,
and then to fling it away to break or to wither ? You have
spoiled my life ; you have turned my faith into doubt ; you
have made me read falsehood on the lips that perhaps came to
me with truth on them ; you have turned the sweet of all my
young life to bitter, and made me incapable of tasting the
greatest happiness a woman can know."
" Forgive me !" he cries, remorsefully. " Let me atone to
you.''
He tries to take her hand ; but she tears it from him and
walks away to the end of the room. When she comes back,
she is smiling.
" I have finished my say," she says, quietly. " Let us talk
of something else."
" Olga" (passionately), " do not trifle with me. My whole
life, I swear, shah 1 be devoted to you. Give me this little
hand "
Olga smiles as she puts it in his.
" Take it in friendship," she says. " Sooner than give it
you as you ask it, I would hold it in the fire and let it burn
like Cranmer's."
" Are you so unforgiving?" he says, bitterly.
" No," she answers, looking at him with steadfast eyes. " I
have forgiven you long ago. Will you do something for my
sake?"
" I will."
" You have done much evil in your day," she says, still with
her brown eyes fixed on his : " you will do much more before
you die. One day think of me, and spare some weak woman's
soul for my sake."
Then she turns away and leaves him. In the solitude of
her own chamber Olga is crying her heart out. Poor child !
she loves him still.
Captain Beauregard does not despair. But a week later,
Colonel Sefton has a paralytic seizure, of which he dies in a
few months. It is long ere the world sees Olga again.
So much for retrospect. Now we come back to the Olga of
to-day, " swaying like a pond-lily in the golden afternoon."
MIQNON. 99
CHAPTER XII.
"Great roses stained still where the first rose bled,
Burning at heart for shame their heart withholds;
And the sad color of strong marigolds,
That have the sun to kiss their lips for love ;
The flower that Venus' hair is woven of."
St. Dorothy.
THE Olga of to-day is lying in her hammock, with eyes
raised heavenwards, though they cannot see heaven through
the green labyrinths of leaves that hide sky and sun, all but a
little trickling thread here and there. But in a hammock it
is easier to look upward than downward. Now and then, for
a change, she glances across the water to the flower rows,
where the old-fashioned single roses flourish on their sturdy
bushes, crimson, and pink, and pale with ruddy stripes, all-
yellow-eyed, gold-colored ones, too, and orange, tiny white
ones, and great soft moss roses. Beneath them grow great
patches of sky-colored nemophila and mignonette ; and there
are pansies and campanula, eschscholtzia, sweet-williams, Can-
terbury-bells, lavender, southernwood, and sweetbrier ; for
these are not the show-gardens, planted in stiff patterns of
vivid color, but the old flower-borders by "the water-side that
Olga loves for " auld acquaintance' sake." She can see the
cups of the white lilies riding on their broad leaves when she
looks down, and shining little fish leaping against the sun,
and the stately swans sailing down in a royal progress from
end to end of the lake ; but she looks oftener upwards. Her
hands are folded on a book ; it is a volume of Alfred de Mus-
set's : she has been reading, not for the first time, that mor-
bidly horrible conception of his that is clothed in such ex-
quisitely pathetic language. Who would think the charming
adored Mrs. Stratheden, who has everything heart can desire
(so the world says), is also given to indulging in morbid fan-
cies? Ay, the world, the busybody, stupid, short-sighted
world, that is so glib to judge, to say what should be, and
measures the length and breadth and depth of a heart with its
cramped inch-measure of custom and probability.
100 MIGNON.
Olga suffers from the feeling of a vie manque'e. She asks
herself constantly what good she is in the world. Others
could answer that question well enough, could point to her
poor, her model cottages, her charities, her universal sympathy
for every living being who needs it. Olga's great stumbling-
block is the gigantic misery of the whole creation, its suffer-
ings, its sickness, its heartbreakings, worst and chiefest of all,
the agony in its animal life. She carries her sympathy for the
dumb part of creation to excess: at least her friends laugh
and say so. " Most people who have hobbies," she answers,
smiling, " are apt to over-ride them a little. When I die, put
over my grave, ' The animal's friend,' the epitaph / should be
proudest of." Mrs. Stratheden never calls forth the animad-
versions of the other sex by joining them on shooting-expedi-
tions ; she would not see bird or beast shot for all the world
(she can even resist the fascinations of Hurlingham) ; she is
not to be converted to the delights of salmon-fishing ; she has
earned the contempt of fair ones with masculine tastes by utterly
refusing to assist at the performance of some favorite terrier
in a barn full of rats, contempt reciprocated fortyfold. If
there is one thing in the world that causes Olga to forget her
gracious tact, it is cruelty in a woman. " You men," she says,
with a fin sourire, " have naturally brutal instincts ; I suppose
the world would not go on, and we should not care for you,
without ; but a cruel woman is nature's most horrid deformity."
"But you," replies her interlocutor, "are yourself very
cruel to men."
" I would rather be the executioner than the victim," she
lauirhs. " With you, one must be one or the other."
Olga believes this firmly. The desire of her life is to love
and to be loved, but she has a morbid idea that love cannot
be reciprocal. More than once she has been on the point of
succumbing to a lover's entreaties, and has done violence to
herself to resist them.
" If I married him and grew to love him intensely, as I
should do," she tells herself, "I should lose my power over
him ; and then I should kill myself."
Besides this, Madam Olga is tant soil peu autocrafc : she
has held the reins so long, she is not quite sure whether she
could yield them gracefully to any one else now.
" Better perhaps as it is," she decides, with a sigh that
MIONON. 1-GJ,
comes from the bottom of her heart ; and Mrs. Forsyth fosters
this view of the case. She is not more selfish than most
people, but very few would care to give up such a position as
hers. She has as much benefit and enjoyment out of Olga's
possessions as Olga herself; more, since she has no responsi-
bility. She has immense influence over her former pupil, and
possesses her sincere and hearty affection ; but once let there
come a master at The Manor House, and then, instead of
honored friend and confidante, she must sink into an unwel-
come third. To retire, upon however handsome a pension,
would be to lead a life utterly tame and dull after her pleasant
luxurious one with Mrs. Stratheden. Mrs. Forsyth would
never have been guilty of unfair means to compass an end,
but she is not superior to taking advantage of Olga's doubts
and fears to retain a position as perfect as one that depends
upon another person can possibly be.
Mrs. Forsyth has come at last to a feeling of pleasant se-
curity : she has had her anxieties, but, now that Olga has come
scathless out of so many temptations to marriage, has refused
devotion, rank, good looks, there is not much left to fear.
And yet, if ever a heart ached for want of love and sym-
pathy, it was Olga's ; if there breathed a woman (despite her
proud exterior) more softly, femininely dependent upon the
sterner sex than another, it was Olga ; and her heart-hunger,
instead of deadening and dying out with time, grew stronger,
keener, harder to stifle, as the years rolled by. But of this
her friend knew and guessed nothing. Her experience of
men had been bitter ; she had leaned upon them, and they as
reeds had pierced her hand : she never wanted to lean on or
trust them again, to hang upon their smiles, to tremble at
their frowns.
Olga, having indulged her "sweet and bitter fancies" in the
"golden afternoon," and feeling her senses rested by the har-
mony of sight, sound, and coloring about her, begins to reflect
that time is drawing on, and that her horse will soon be at the
door. She always rides or drives when the day grows cool.
So she rises to a sitting posture, and puts out one dainty foot
from her hammock, but gets no farther at present, being be-
guiled by the scene on which her eyes rest.
" How wonderful nature is !" she thinks, dreamily. "Now,
if half a dozen people began to sing different tunes at the
9*
1-02" . ' ' MIGXON.
same time, what a horrid discord it would make ; but a thou-
sand bird* may sing at once, each with a different note, and it
is delicious harmony. If you put red, yellow, green, and blue
to-vther in art, the combination is hideous; and yet what can
be more charming than that patch of nemophila and esch-
scholtzia growing under those clusters of red roses on their
i:ivui bushes ? What texture did art ever invent comparable
to the tissue of the humblest flower? Ah, Nature" (sighing),
" the only thing you ever failed in is mankind : when you be-
stowed life and breath and speech and sight, you gave up your
own responsibility."
After this apostrophe to the universal mother, the other
little foot comes out of the hammock, and Olga strolls off to-
wards the house. The stable clock strikes five : she has
ordered her horse for a quarter-past, so she quickens her steps.
Mrs. Stratheden is one of the few punctual women on record.
Strange to say, she does not avail herself of her unbounded
liberty to keep her horses and servants waiting by the hour,
nor does she drive her cook to despair by coming down to
dinner when everything has been ready an unspecified time,
neither does she exercise that truly feminine prerogative of
making the man who adores her wait when he comes to see or
to escort her to some place of entertainment : this pet weak-
ness of her sex is not to be scored against Olga.
She has retired to the sacred precincts of her chamber to don
her habit, and whilst Mrs. Medly, the high-priestess of that
temple, is engaged upon her mysterious rites, we can stroll
round and come into the house by the front door, as strangers
should do.
When you entered the hall at The Manor House, you felt a
st ran ire desire to linger there. It did not seem as though any
drawing-room, morning-room, or boudoir could be half so at-
tractive or offer nearly so much to charm the eye. In winter
it i- the picture of comfort; in summer, deliciously cool and
J'nv from glare. One may fancy how the Yu\c logs crackle
and hla/e in that vast chimney framed in carved oak, trans-
formed now into a nest of ferns and flowers. In winter the
floor, polished like a mirror, is carpeted with rare skins ; now
its perfection is laid bare, except where a strip of India mat-
ives the unwary from falling headlong. It is lighted by
a window big enough for a church ; and, truth to tell, a con-
MIGNON. 103
Bidcrable portion of it stood for centuries in an Italian chapel,
casting on the kneeling worshippers rays of a southern sun
transmuted into such gorgeous hues as the hand of the crafts-
man can no longer create to-day. This window is draped by
immense curtains of deep-blue velvet. The ceiling ascends to
the roof. A flight of broad stairs leads up to the window,
then diverges into two flights that land you in the grand old
oaken galleries which run round the hall. Everywhere in the
hall and staircase where there is a niche or vacant spot stand
cabinets, carvings, empanelled pictures, stands of rare china,
curious clocks, brackets, a perfect museum of curiosities.
Every object is beautiful in some way, artistic in form or
dainty in coloring or workmanship. Olga has rare taste.
Nothing recommends itself to her simply because it is old,
uncommon, or grotesque, unless it possesses intrinsic beauty as
well. She will have no shams, no imitations, if she knows
it. Well, she is a rich woman, and can afford to gratify her
expensive tastes ; but I am very much tempted to think that
the feminine love of ornament is so strong in her that if she
had been a poor seamstress instead of a grande dame she
would have decorated her room with a few poor flowers in a
cheap vase and any little knickknacks the savings of her toil
permitted. Our taste very often hangs upon our power to
gratify it.
I said that on entering the hall a stranger felt inclined to
linger ; but such was the case in every room where you were
ushered : each was as perfect in taste, as harmoniously pleasing
to the eye and stimulating to the sense of curiosity. There
is one room, hall, nay, I know not what to call it, at The Manor
House, perfectly unique as far as I know, never having seen or
heard of anything similar elsewhere. Olga had it built after
her own design, and calls it her " Folly." It opens from the
entrance-hall by a small door concealed by a curtain ; it is not
a conservatory; it is not entirely composed of glass; it is
octagonal in shape, has a glass dome, and a great French
window in every octagon, to which on the outside there are
Venetian shutters. In the centre a fountain plays into a
marble basin, not a little tinkling, irritating, scented toy, but
a fountain that throws up a certain volume of water and comes
down with a musical splashing sound. Round it are low chairs
and couches, some of cane, some brocaded and luxurious, and
104 MIGNON.
the marble floor is laid here and there with Eastern rugs or
matting. There are orange-trees and myrtles and rose-trees in
great majolica vases ; ferns and mosses hang from the roof in
baskets and nestle against the marble basin of the fountain ;
rare creepers hide the trellised walls ; there are a few flowers,
only a few, for the predominant color is the cool velvety green
of leaves and mosses ; and here and there are five of the
statues of the world, the Venus of Medici, of Milo, of Canova,
the Apollo Belvedere, and the Perseus of the Vatican. Some-
where hidden behind a screen of leaves, is one of those ex-
quisite self-playing organs. It is not a resort fit alone for hot
summer days, though it is most like paradise then, but can be
heated to any temperature by invisible hot- water pipes.
" The Folly has been the one extravagance of my life,"
Olga says, laughing, " and I have never repented it. Nothing
soothes me like the sight and sound of water. When I go
away, there is nothing I miss so much as my fountain."
I will spare the reader any more " upholstery" for the pres-
ent, and emerge again from the hall door, where Mrs. Strathedeu
has sprung this moment to the back of her handsome chest-
nut. She has a mania for that color, and rarely rides or drives
any other. Mrs. Forsyth has come out on the steps as usual
to see her off. Olga throws her a smile as she rides away,
with the head groom, a triumph of art, behind her. There is
never any slackness about Jenkins : if he rode behind his
mistress every day in the country for ten years without meet-
ing a soul, his own attire, his bits and bridles, would be 'as
faultless, as unimpeachable, on the last day, as though they
were got up for the How. Certainly the saddle is the place
to see Mrs. Strathedeu : I am not sure the position does not
rival even that of the French marquise. Given a woman
with a perfect seat, perfectly mounted, a graceful figure, a
small head coiled round with glossy hair, a face piquante and
full of expression if not absolutely beautiful, and the result
must needs be striking.
Olga rides down the avenue on this quiet afternoon all un-
prescient how much of fate hangs upon the decision as to
whether she shall turn to right or left when she emerges from
the park gates. Fate decrees that she shall take the road
across the common to Alington. She is riding down a green
glade now : her canter has brought the color to her cheeks, an
MIGNON. 105
additional brightness to her eyes : she feels the delicious ex-
hilaration that nothing but riding or dancing can give. At
this moment she is conscious of the want of sympathy in her
pleasure. It is not far off. In the distance she descries two
horsemen coming towards her, and feels a certain curiosity as
to who they may be.
" It cannot be Raymond," she thinks : " he never comes
home so early as this."
Two minutes solve all doubts. It is Raymond L'Estrange
and another young fellow about the same age, unknown to
Mrs. Stratheden.
Two manly, good-looking, well-mounted young Englishmen
of a certain class present as comely a sight to the eye on a
summer evening as it can well desire, especially to a woman's
eye. So thinks Olga, .who has a genuine weakness for good
looks. Not that Mr. L'Estrange's companion can bear com-
parison with him as far as positive beauty goes. Raymond's
every feature is perfect ; but the other has that general fresh
Saxon comeliness that a dark-haired woman like Olga is sure
to esteem highly.
" I'm awfully glad to see you," cries Raymond, shaking her
by the hand as he rides up ; and his looks do not belie his
words. " Let me introduce an old Eton friend to you, Mr.
Vyner Leo, Mrs. Stratheden." Olga does not content her-
self with a bow, but gives the stranger her hand with the
frank grace that so well becomes her; and then the two young
men turn their horses' heads and ride one on either side of
her.
" How is it you have left town so early this year?" Olga
asks of Raymond.
" I don't know. I got bored with the heat and the noise
and the constant whirl, and longed for the country, and Leo,
who hates London, promised to come with me ; but now that
we are here and there is nothing to do, no shooting, no fish-
ing, we are at our wits' end to kill time, and have some idea
of going to Brittany, or Jersey, or Ems, or somewhere, for a
change. I didn't dare disturb your solitude, though I have
been longing to, and there's nobody else back yet but the
Foxes, and it's no fun going there now Kitty's engaged."
" Then it is really settled !"
" Settled ! oh, yes, irrevocably. Fancy that mercenary little
E*
106 MIGNON.
wretch taking a dull pompous ass like Clover just for the sake
of being * My lady,' a baronet whose father was a mechanic,"
adds Raymond, with the conscious disdain of a man able to
count several generations of ancestors who never soiled their
hands with despicable toil nor were of the least benefit to their
kind.
" Poor little Kitty ! I hope she will be happy," remarks
Mrs. Stratheden, thoughtfully.
" Oh, she'll be happy enough as long as she can get his
money to spend. She hasn't an atom of heart," says Raymond,
who has a slight grudge against Kitty for the flippant way in
which she has treated his attentions. Not that he had ever
thought seriously of marrying her, but little Kitty was pretty,
and it was pleasant to spoon her when there was nothing else
to do, as at the present moment. He felt considerably nettled
at her preferring Sir Josias Clover's definite intentions to his
indefinite ones.
" Now, Mrs. Stratheden," he says, changing the subject,
" you must let us come over and spend the day to-morrow.
We won't bore you very much. If you want to get rid of us
in the afternoon, you can shut us up in the Folly and let us
do a little * weeding.' "
Olga laughs.
" My dear boy, you are most welcome to come ; but how do
you suppose two old women can undertake to amuse young
men?"
Mr. Vyner turns and looks at her, thinking it a little bit of
uncalled for affectation to style herself an old woman : he takes
her to be about two or three-and-twenty.
" Leo likes old women," answers Raymond, mischievously :
" at least I conclude so, for I never saw him devote himself to
a young one."
" Perhaps he does not care for either," says Olga, turning
to him with a smile. " I have heard of such cases."
Leo colors a little.
" I have never been thrown very much with ladies," he says :
" my mother is dead, and I have no sisters."
u He thinks of nothing but sport," interrupts Raymond,
" sport and athletic exercises, and fills up the crevices with
smoking and reading."
" I am afraid you will find it too stupid at The Manor House,"
MIGNON. 107
Bays Olga, addressing hersolf to Leo. " As for this boy, I have
known him ever since he was in petticoats, and he comes over
when he feels inclined, makes himself perfectly at home, and
never wants any entertaining."
Leo, as he says, is not much accustomed to ladies. He does
not exactly know what sort of answer is expected from him,
so contents himself with saying that if it will not inconveni-
ence Mrs. Stratheden, it will give him much pleasure to ac-
company Ilaymond on the morrow.
When they have wished Olga good-by, Raymond turns to
his friend.
" Mind you don't fall in love with her," he says.
Leo laughs.
" Not much fear. I think I am not very susceptible. Is
she so dangerous?"
" Ah," says Raymond, " more fellows have come to grief over
Olga Stratheden than over any other woman I ever knew."
"Really?" utters Leo, indifferently.
" I know I nearly broke my heart about her once," says
Raymond. " But that's an old story ; and we're the best
friends in the world now."
" Why, my dear fellow, you must have been in your teens,"
laughs Leo. " What is she ? a widow ?"
Raymond proceeds to tell his friend the story that so many
people have found strange and interesting.
108 MIGNON.
CHAPTER XIII.
" The sound of the strong summer thickening
In heated leaves of the smooth apple-trees :
The day's breath felt about the ash branches,
And noises of the noon, whose weight still grew
On the hot, heavy-headed flowers, and drew
Their red mouths open till the rose-heart ached."
SWINBURNE.
" WHAT are we to do with those boys ?" asks Olga of her
friend the next morning at breakfast.
" What a question for the most accomplished hostess in the
world !" returns Mrs. Forsyth, with a smile.
" But at the present moment, ma chere, there is nothing
available but the beauties of nature, to which young men of
sporting tendencies are not usually very sensitive. A lake or
stream only suggests fish to be caught ; a wood, good covert ;
a view, the probability of its being a desirable hunting
country ; even the charm of a garden is the thought of cut-
ting down the trees."
" Let them smoke and play billiards."
" They have evidently done that until they are tired of it.
No. I tell you what I propose. I cannot have them with
me all the afternoon : after lunch, I shall send them into the
Folly and set the organ going, and about five we'll ride, and
after dinner they shall row us on the lake."
" An excellent arrangement," Mrs. Forsyth agrees.
Two o'clock comes, and with it the expected guests. It is
a decided relief, after the burning glare outside, to come into
the deliciously cool dining-room, looking out on a sea of turf
with a grand cedar in the distance. No flowers outside, but
plenty in the room, in crystal bowls and vases, nestling among
delicate ferns. Everything is cold, the wines are deliciously
iced, the dishes are of the choicest, the salad is " a dream,"
and the piles of crimson strawberries, and the cream that only
a model dairy can produce, deHght two senses at once. Kay-
mond and his friend quite forgot that half an hour ago they
MJGNON. 109
pronounced the day unbearable, and that no limit of time
under a week could get them cool.
Leo Vyner is surprised. As he told Olga last night, he has
not seen much of ladies, and is not at all au fait of their
graces and refinements. His father's house is conducted on
the rough and ready principles of a man who has no woman-
kind belonging to him, and to whom every other consideration
is secondary to that of sport. Leo has been little in women's
society : it. bores his father, and the two are almost inseparable.
" Your mother was a most excellent woman," Mr. Vyner
senior has told his son ; " she was, of course, a very great
loss, an irreparable loss, I may say. But women are curious
creatures : it is not good for a man to have too much to do
with them ; they are not rational ; they cannot understand
that there are considerations in a man's mind that must
naturally come before them ; they are always wanting to be
first, and making scenes when they find they cannot. A
woman who is her own mistress is about as dangerous as a
tiger let loose in a crowd."
Leo has for the first time in his life the opportunity of con-
templating this dangerous animal, a woman uncontrolled. He
is quite ignorant on the subject of art ; he knows nothing of
pictures, statues, china, or such matters ; he is not even a good
judge of the appointments of an elegant house ; but he is far
more impressed in the few minutes since he entered The Manor
House than he has ever been upon going into a strange house
before. The refinement, the harmonious beauty of every object
that meets his eye ; the perfectness of every arrangement : the
comfort that goes even beyond, the elegance. The charm of
Olga's manner is stealing across him : he knows little of style
or dress, but Mrs. Stratheden's gives him a vague idea of per-
fection ; she seems to make no effort, and yet talk flows on
pleasantly, smoothly. Leo feels almost abashed : until to-day
he has never been embarrassed by the consciousness of superi-
ority in a woman. Olga's voice and smile give him a strange
unaccustomed pleasure : he wishes the exigencies of society did
not forbid his sitting and staring at her as a simple spectator.
" I am going to leave you to yourselves," Mrs. Stratheden
says, when the pleasantly-protracted lunch has come to an end.
" You can find your way to the Folly, Raymond. The organ
is wound up : you have only to set it going."
10
110 MIGNON.
" But you will come too ?" persuades Raymond : " it won't be
half so nice without you; and we won't smoke if you don't
like it."
" Smoking does not frighten me away, as you ought to
know," she answers, smiling ; " but I have some letters to
write. I will look in upon you presently."
" Do not be long, then," he says, going.
When Leo finds himself in the Folly, he stands still and
draws a long breath : it looks to him like fairy -land.
" She is a wonderful woman," he says to himself, for about
the tenth time since his arrival. Raymond is too much accus-
tomed to the place to be in any way affected by the beauty of
it, and proceeds at once to set the organ going. Leo is fond
of music, although he does not in the least understand it.
(Why should I say although ? is it necessary for the purpose
of admiring a picture that one should know how to mix colors,
or is the pleasure we feel at a beautiful statue incompatible
with ignorance of the art of modelling ?) With the organ, the
illusion is complete. The cool plashing sound of falling water,
the velvety richness of the surrounding green, the tender scent
and coloring of the roses, the gleaming statues of exquisite
form, and the melting strains of the loveliest waltz that ever
stirred the veins. Leo is strangely subdued. He has never
occupied himself with the search of stimulants for his senses.
Most young fellows who came into the Folly said, with enthu-
siasm, " What an awfully jolly place !" but it made unsophis-
ticated Leo dumb : he almost felt as if his feet profaned such
a temple.
Raymond, having set the organ going, flings himself upon a
low couch and takes out his cigar-case.
" Raymond," cries Leo, in a tone of horror, " you are surely
not going to smoke here /"
Raymond stares at him, then laughs.
" My dear fellow, this is the smoking-room par excellence of
the house ; though Mrs. Stratheden will let you smoke any-
where, except in the drawing-room. That's what makes her
such a favorite : she's so awfully sensible, and always likes
everybody to be happy and do what they like. Come ; light
up."
Somehow, Leo does not feel inclined to obey his friend's
behest, but, sitting beside the fountain, allows his senses to
MIONON. Ill
drink their fill of pleasure. Without being aware of it, he
has an imagination ; but it has steadily been kept under by the
constant bodily exercise to which he has been accustomed
almost from his cradle.
" Awfully jolly this, isn't it ?" says Raymond, pufling indo-
lently at his cigar.
The two words by which the rising youth are apt to desig-
nate everything that gives them pleasure, from the most trivial
to the most exciting, somehow jar upon Leo, though he is
quite as much a slave to paucity of expression as other young
men of the day. Their inadequacy and inappropriateness strike
him unpleasantly. Jolly ! applied to this paradise of refine-
ment.
" I suppose you don't think much of it," proceeds Ray-
mond, not taking his friend's silence for consent. " Not in
your line, eh? Now, /think it the most delightful place in
the world."
" So do I," returns Leo, briefly.
" Oh, that's all right. You've seemed so glum and silent
ever since you came, I thought the women bored you."
" Not at all," replies Leo, rather indignant with his friend,
he does not quite know why. " It's too hot to talk. You
smoke, and let me go to sleep."
" All right," returns Raymond. " I feel rather drowsy
myself," and he shuts his eyes : " I can't do any more damage
than burn a hole in my coat if I do go to sleep."
Leo never felt less sleepy in his life. Lying back in the
luxurious chaise longuc, with the music of the water in his
ears, the strains of the waltz still pouring on, the subtle scent
of flowers stealing through his fresh young senses, he expe-
riences a new pleasure in life. The less ethereal part of him
reflects on the choiceness of the cuisine t the delicate flavor of
the wines with which he was lately served. The whole thing
seems to him rather like a chapter out of the Arabian Nights.
Many of his friends would have only pronounced everything
" uncommonly well done ;" Olga herself is far from feeling
that she has attained perfection in her menage ; but to Leo, to
whom Sybaritism is a sealed book, everything is wonderful
and delightful.
" She is a sort of Circe," he says to himself, apostrophizing
Olga, " a good Circe. She could not do anything wicked or
112 MIGXON.
cruel, "with those eyes. She is not beautiful, but there is some
charm about her more taking than beauty. I can fancy men
being tremendously in love with her, as Raymond said ; though
I don't know that I should be one of her victims. By Jove !
he's off." This as he hears a heavy, regular breathing from
the other side of the fountain. " I wonder if his cigar's out?"
And Leo raises himself on one elbow to look. "It's all right."
Then, stopping to look a moment longer, " By Jove ! what a
handsome fellow he is !"
And certainly Mr. Raymond L'Estrange might have borne
not unfavorable comparison with Apollo, Antinoiis, or any of
the young gods renowned for beauty. The only defect in his
face, if one may be permitted so contradictory a mode of ex-
pression, is its perfection which detracts from its manliness.
The small head, pencilled brows, broad low forehead, Grec-k
nose, the delicate oval of the face, and, chief beauty of all,
the exquisite curves of his mouth, are indisputably effeminate ;
and were it not that nature has endowed him with five feet
ten inches of height, and a taste for masculine pursuits, that
fickle goddess might have been accused of spoiling a woman
without making a handsome man. As he is, his claim to
beauty is acknowledged by both sexes. Fortunately, he is too
handsome to be vain, though he well knows how to take ad-
vantage of his royal prerogative. Olga, who is a slave to
good looks, spoils him ; so does almost every other woman :
even his men friends are prone to look over a certain amount
of waywardness and selfishness on account of his handsome
face. He is gifted with a charming manner, too, when he is
allowed his own sweet will uncontradicted, and, being his own
master, well born and well endowed, life is a very pleasant and
uncomplicated problem for him at the present moment.
Leo Vyner has not a tithe of his advantages. He has a
fair, frank, good-looking (not handsome) face, a high spir.it,
immense pluck (an ugly name for courage), a certain amount
of passion and determination, more brains than are- necessary
to prevent his being a fool, and an excellent digestion, which
is, no doubt, in part the cause of his excellent temper. He is
taller than Raymond by two inches, but does not look so, on
account of his perfect development.
Raymond continues to sleep the sleep of the just. Leo is
deep in day-dreams, a perfectly new occupation for him, when
MIGNON. 113
the door uncloses and admits Olga. He jumps to his feet in
a moment. Raymond sleeps on.
"Hush!" whispers Olga, putting her finger to her lips.
"Do not wake him." She stands for a moment looking down
upon the sleeper. " Is it not a beautiful face ?" she murmurs :
"like a Greek god's."
Leo assents ; but his admiration for his friend is evidently
not so keen as Olga's, since one glance contents him.
"We will leave him," she says, presently. "Would you
like to go over the stables ?"
Has she fresh surprises in store for him ? Leo wonders. He
does not believe that a woman can know anything about horses,
although he has seen one or two ride very straight to hounds,
a sight eminently disagreeable to him. If there is one thing
in the world he cares more for than another, if there is one
subject upon which his modesty permits him to think he knows
more than another, it is horse-flesh.
As they stroll out together through one of the great win-
dows of the Folly, he wonders to himself whether he is going
to be quite desillusionne or more astonished than ever. True,
he remembers noticing how well her horse and groom were
turned out last night ; but if she had a good head man that
would be only what one might expect.
"The men are at tea," she tells him. "I always prefer
coming when they are out of the way." And she conducts
him from stall to stall, from loose box to loose box. For every
animal she has a word and a caress, and one and all receive her
with the friendly greeting noise that is the language of the
Houyhnhnms. Leo looks on with unqualified approval : if he
were master here and his watchful eye had supervised every-
thing for a twelvemonth and his pocket been able to carry out
his ideas, things could not be better done. That is a tremen-
dous admission for a man who fancies his own judgment on
equine matters. The construction of the stables, the horses'
clothing, the temperature, even to the pattern of the plaited
straw edging, everything is just as he would have it. He
examines the horses with a critical eye, the ponies Olga
drives, if one can call fifteen hands ponies, her carriage- and
saddle-horses, and the two hunters she keeps for her friends.
Happy friends ! thinks Leo, who has nothing of his own to
touch them. Then they go to the harness-room, and he looks
10*
114 MIONON.
over harness, bits, and bridles. No sign of slackness or sloven-
liness here.
" You must have a first-rate man," he says to Mrs. Strathe-
dcn, not crediting her, however disposed he may be to admire
her, with being the ruling genius of this department.
"Yes," answers Olga: " he is very painstaking. I had a
good deal to teach him, but he has quite got into my ways
now."
She makes the remark without the slightest vanity or
consciousness, without any desire or idea of elevating herself
in Leo's eyes. Why, indeed, should she be moved to any
such consideration ? She simply looks upon him as something
about two removes from an Eton boy, whom being her guest,
she is endeavoring to amuse.
Leo stares at her. She is sufficiently a thought-reader, and
his face is expressive enough for her to arrive at a close ap-
proximation to his thought. She laughs merrily.
" I suppose you think women have no business to know
anything about such matters."
" I think you are the most wonderful woman I ever met
with," he says, and then blushes crimson at his own temerity.
Olga laughs again.
" When one has lived a great many years in the world,"
she remarks, " one ought to have gained a certain amount of
experience. It is the only compensation one has for growing
old."
" Why do you talk like that ?" cries Leo, almost indignantly.
" You are as young as as any woman need wish to be."
His very downright and evidently sincere compliment is
not unacceptable to Olga.
" Come," she says, not affecting to notice it ; " let us go
and see if Raymond is awake." They find that young gentle-
man in the act of rousing himself.
" Come and sing us something, won't you ?" he says to
Mrs. Stratheden. She is very good-natured, particularly as
a hostess, and complies.
" For five minutes," she says : " it is too hot to sing to-day."
And, without further prelude, she sits down and sings two
simple ballads with a voice that seems to Leo the sweetest he
has ever heard.
" Raymond," she says, rising, and shutting the piano as an
MIGNON. 115
intimation that the concert is over, " I want to show you my
new pistol : there is just time to try it before I put my habit
on."
" All right," he answers. " I'll get the target. The usual
place, I suppose?"
They go out on the lawn, the shady side of the house, and
Raymond puts a bullet in the pistol.
" Be careful !" says Olga : " the pull-off is very light."
He fires three times to the left of the bull's-eye.
" I don't think it's quite true," he observes.
Olga takes it from him and fires straight into the bull's-eye.
She hands it to Leo. His shot hits the target a little to the
right.
" Let me have another try," says Raymond, reloading. At
the instant that his finger is on the trigger, a dog he brought
with him, and which has just escaped from the stables, rushes
up to him, frantic with delighted excitement. He turns
sharply to chide it, his hand turns with his body, the pistol
goes off, and does not hit the target.
" Confound you, you brute !" he cries, angrily, to the ani-
mal, who is more excited than ever by the sound of the report.
He is stooping to pick up a fresh bullet, when Olga utters a
little cry and runs towards his friend. At the same instant,
Leo feels a curious sensation in his left hand : blood is trick-
ling through his fingers. He tries to raise the arm, but can-
not for the pain.
" I expect I am shot in the shoulder," he says, quietly,
putting up his other hand to it. As he speaks, Raymond
looks up, sees the blood dripping in a pool upon the grass, and
turns ghastly white ; his legs seem giving way under him.
" Good God ! what is it ?" he cries.
" Come into the house," says Olga, not losing her presence
of mind. " Do not move your arm more than you can help.
Raymond, send William off on the fastest horse at once for
Mr. Rushbrook ; no, stop ! tell Jenkins to drive the bay in
the little dog-cart and to bring the doctor back with him.
Don't lose a moment !"
Leo tries to make light of it, but a sick feeling is creeping
over him, and the blood is running in streams down his arm
now. Mrs. Stratheden hurries him into the first room they
come to : she remembers with a sort of misgiving that it was
116 MIONON.
here poor George was brought after he broke his back. She
makes him lie on a sofa near the open window, and rings the
bell violently. The impassive Truscott appears in swift, answer
to this unusual summons. In a few words she explains what
has happened, and bids him call the housekeeper and bring
bandages and cold water.
The first thing to be done is to get his coat off. It is done ;
but by his deathly pallor she sees it has been almost too much
for him. Not for one instant does she lose her head, although
she is in an agony of terror at the sight of the blood continuing
to stream from him. She remembers hearing somewhere that
a man bleeding from a wound should be laid flat on the ground ;
she makes him lie on the floor, and sends for brandy ; with
her own hands she cuts his shirt from his shoulder and arm :
the grande dame, the prude, are forgotten in the emergency,
nothing but the woman is left. The bright-red blood spurts
out in little jets with every pulsation, and Olga remembers,
with sickening apprehension, to have heard that bright-colored
blood comes from an artery. Raymond has come in, and is
standing looking at her, ghastly white and shivering, helpless
as a child. Her delicate laces are stained and dabbled, her
white fingers are red, and yet she does not falter nor shrink.
Truscott and the housekeeper are sickly pale, and tremble like
leaves as they help her. Leo sees everything as if in a dream :
he has no inclination to speak, but somehow he feels safe in
Olga's hands. The wound is in the fleshy part of the arm :
she straps and bandages it as tight as she and Truscott can,
but the blood still oozes through the bandages. He has
already lost a frightful quantity: everything about is saturated
with it. The sight is horrible. Mrs. Forsyth, hearing of an
accident, conies running, but at the sight staggers and nearly
falls.
" Take her away, Raymond," cries Olga, imperiously, glad
to be rid of them both ; and he obeys.
Olga is distracted. She thinks the poor boy will die under
her hands. Oh, how the moments creep ! She looks de-
spairingly at the clock ; it is only twenty minutes since all this
happened. With Bonnibel's best speed, Jenkins can but just
be getting into Althani ; and the doctor may be out. Oh, why
had she not thought to tell him to bring any doctor, the first,
the nearest? What can she do? what can she do? she thinks,
MIGNON. 117
in an agony, seeing that the bandages seem to have no effect ;
and all at once she remembers that her father used to tell how
a woman had once saved the life of a friend by pressing her
fingers into the wound until the surgeon came. It was horri-
ble ; but what did that matter in comparison with this boy's
life? She undid the bandages: the blood welled out again.
She shut her teeth hard, and pressed her fingers tightly upon
the bleeding arm. The effect was magical : one of her finger-
tips was on the artery, and checked the flow at once. And
there she sat beside him on the floor for thirty -five minutes,
during which the position became positive agony to her ; but
she only set her teeth harder and refused to move. When
Mr. Rushbrook arrived and relieved her, she fainted. On
coming to herself, she was on her own bed, with Mrs. Forsyth
and" the doctor bending over her. She had not the faintest
recollection of what had happened, only had a shuddering
instinct of something horrible.
" Come, come, that's right !" are the first words she hears
in the voice of Mr. Rushbrook, who has known her from a
child. " We shall do now."
" What is the matter," she asks, faintly, a strange confusion
making havoc with her senses. " Have I been shot?"
" No, no, my darling," answers Mrs. Forsyth, hastily : " it
was Mr. Vyner, Raymond's friend. He is doing quite well
now, thanks to you."
" Thanks indeed," echoes the doctor. " But for you it's
very doubtful whether he wouldn't have been in a better world
by now."
" What have you done with him ?" asks Olga, faintly.
" I have stopped the bleeding and left Truscott to look after
him. He must not be moved. I have ordered a bed to be
put up in the room. You'll have him for a visitor longer than
you bargained for when you asked him to spend the day."
118 M1GSON.
CHAPTER XIV.
" And the breath
Of her sweet tendance hovering over him
Filled all the genial courses of his blood
With deeper and with ever deeper love,
As the southwest that blowing Bala lake
Fills all the sacred Dee. So passed the days."
Enid.
RAYMOND is distracted, and wanders about like a restless
spirit : the poor fellow feels as if his unlucky accident 'had
marked him with the brand of Cain. Mrs. Stratheden is in
her room, Mrs. Forsyth with her, and the doctor will not hear
of his going near Leo, who is to be kept perfectly quiet. So
he elects dismally to go home and carry the dreadful news to
his mother. .
" Have my horse put to," he says, dolefully, to Jenkins ;
" and I shall be glad if you'll keep that brute of a dog here
till to-morrow. I can't bear the sight of him. I feel as if I
should shoot him if I took him home."
" Very good, sir," responds the automatical Jenkins.
So poor Nep, howling and tugging at his chain, hears his
master go off without him, all unsconcious, poor beast, of the
dire misfortune he has brought on that beloved head. After
a couple of hours' persistent efforts, he succeeds in slipping
his collar, and arrives at home in time to appear, like Banquo's
ghost, at his master's dinner. He is forthwith consigned to
the stables, still ignorant of his crime.
Meanwhile, Leo having been put to bed, remains in a state
of drowsiness and helplessness perfectly new to the young
athlete : he feels no inclination to think or speak, and does not
even feel surprised or concerned at the very unusual position
in which he finds himself. In the evening Olga comes to see
him. He experiences a sensation of pleasure, and has a vaLrne
remembrance that she has done some great thing for him. He
wants to thank her, and opens his lips, but the words do not
come readily.
MIGNON. 119
" Hush !" she says, putting her finger to her lips : " you
are not to speak a word." And then, without the slightest
consciousness, just as if she were his nurse, she lays her cool
hand on his brow. Leo's eyes glisten at her soft touch : it is
a new sensation to him, a most pleasant one.
" Don't take it away," he murmurs ; and Olga sits down on
the edge of the bed and continues to pass her hand over his
forehead and his fair cropped curls until it has the mesmeric
effect of sending him to sleep.
Mrs. Forsyth, who has come in with her, sits in an arm-
chair and contemplates the picture. A little smile, half
amused, half malicious, plays on her lip.
" I am very sorry for that boy," she says, when she and
Olga are sitting, a little later, in the latter's boudoir.
" So am I," answers Olga.
" I do not mean so much for the accident as for the probable
results."
" You think it will leave him weak for a long time?"
" Weak in his head," replies her friend. " Seriously, Olga,
I think it would be kinder of you to leave him to me and
Truscott."
" Ma chere," says Olga, " I think you are pleased to speak
in parables."
" It is a very dangerous position for a young man to be
nursed by a charming woman. He will fall in love with you."
" Absurd !" exclaims Olga, petulantly. " I am old enough
to be his mother."
Hardly."
"At all events, I shall nurse him as if I were," answers
Olga, with determination. " Would you have me leave the
boy to servants ? I did not think you were so heartless, ma
chere."
u I will take care of him : and he would have no difficulty
in looking upon me as a mother."
" Certainly not" (with decision). " The accident happened
to him in my house, and I consider it my duty to look after
him."
" Well, my love, you will prove an excellent nurse, I am
quite sure," returns Mrs. Forsyth. " It is wonderful that such
a fragile creature should have so much nerve. Very few
women could have done what you did to-day. I am afraid /
120 MIGKON.
behaved like a sad coward ; but the sight was too dreadful.
I never could bear to see blood."
" Ma chere," returns Olga, " if there had been no one else
to do it, you or any other woman would have done the same:
you could not have let the poor boy die before your eyes. It
was a most unfortunate thing altogether. I think poor Ray-
mond is almost the most to be pitied. I wish he had not
gone without my seeing him. I never will have a pistol or a
rifle out again for amusement. Poor papa always said it was
the most dangerous thing in the world."
Mrs. Stratheden gets very little sleep that night. Her
nerves have been terribly shaken. All night, between sleep-
ing and waking, she enacts the horrible scene again and again,
and is thankful when morning comes and she can go out into
the air. Having heard that he has passed a quiet night and
is still sleeping, she orders her horse, and at eight o'clock is
in the saddle. This very unusual event does not find Jenkins
unprepared : he and his horses are as well turned out as if the
time were five o'clock P.M. and the scene May Fair.
It is such a morning. " How can people remain in bed the
best part of the day !" thinks Olga, as she canters swiftly
across the common, with the delicious breeze kissing her cheek
and rippling her dark hair. There was once a great poet who
wrote the following lines, or something like them, apropos of
those who slumber in the morning :
"Who would in such a gloomy state remain
Longer than Nature craves, when every Muse
And every blooming pleasure waits without
To bless the wildly devious morning walk ?"
The author of those celebrated lines was a proverbially late
riser. Madam Olga's usual breakfast-hour is ten ; and that is
" positively her first appearance." On this occasion she is far
more conscious of the virtue of being up so early than she
had ever been of the sin of losing the best hours of the day.
She is on her way to L'Estrange Hall, to set Raymond's mind
at rest about his friend : his place is something under four
miles from The Manor House. She has not ridden quite half-
way, when she meets him bowling swiftly along in his stan-
hope. He turns pale at the unexpected apparition of Mrs.
Stratheden out at this unearthly time of the morning, as he
considers it.
MIGNON. 121
" He has had a good night : he is going on famously,"
Olga hastens to say, as he stops beside her.
" Thank God !" cries Raymond, with a sigh of relief
that comes from the very bottom of his heart. " It's no use
going on to inquire, then," he proceeds, rather plaintively :
" though heaven knows what I'm to do with myself all the
livelong day, now I've got up so early."
" Have a ride with me," says Olga, " and come back to
breakfast. You can ride Jenkins's horse, and he can go home
with your man."
" I should like it awfully," cries the young fellow, giving
the reins to his groom and jumping down with great alacrity.
" I'm not exactly in riding trim ; but that doesn't matter this
time in the morning."
Jenkins dismounts, lengthens the stirrups, and Raymond is
on the chestnut's back in a second.
" Olga, what a darling you are !" he cries, putting his hand
on hers when the grooms are out of sight.
(I must explain that, in consideration of his youth and his
having once fancied himself broken-hearted on her account,
Raymond is now and then permitted, generally under protest,
to give way to his affectionate feelings.)
" You behaved like a heroine, and I stood gaping like a
fool and didn't know what in the world to do. I believe he
would have died if it hadn't been for you."
" Nothing of the sort," returns Olga ; " but I have often
thought how necessary it is to know what to do in case of
sudden emergencies : I mean, to get up the treatment of
casualties."
" How docs he look ? Have you seen him ? Do you think
the doctor will let me have a peep at him to-day ?" Raymond
asks. " And to think of the awful trouble I've put you to !
Now, if it had happened at home, it wouldn't have been half
so bad : only I suppose it would have killed my poor mother.
She's in a dreadful way, as it is."
" I am very thankful it happened where it did, as it was to
happen," answers Olga.
" When will he be able to be removed ?" asks Raymond.
" Oh, that's not to be thought of for ages ; and it will be a
little excitement for Mrs. Forsyth and myself, having a young
man to nurse."
T 11
122 MIGNON.
" Olga" (rather jealously), " don't make too much fuss over
him. He'll be falling in love with you."
" Don't be ridiculous !" answers Mrs. Stratheden. " I am
an old woman, as I have told you before. And I will not
allow you to call me Olga : it is not respectful."
" I will when no one is by," he answers, with a petulant
Hash of his hazel eyes. " Olga ! Olga ! You look about
nineteen this morning ; and I should like to kiss you."
Mrs. Stratheden cannot help laughing.
" My dear boy, you are getting far too precocious. If you
behave like this, ancient as I am, I shall be obliged to have
a chaperon by when you come to see me, and ma chere's office
will no longer be a sinecure."
" I wish to heaven I was ten years older," cries Kaymond.
" Would you marry me if I were ?"
She turns and looks admiringly at his handsome face.
" No, my dear," she answers, after a pause. " I never met
any one more calculated to give a wife chronic heartache than
you." To soften her words, she gives the hand so close to
hers a little squeeze, and sets her horse going at a hand-gallop
over the short turf in the direction of home.
All day Leo remains tolerably quiet and easy, but towards
night his mind begins to wander. lie fancies himself in the
Folly, with the water plashing into the marble basin and the
origin playing softly and the white marble statues gleaming
through the leaves. Presently he looks up and sees Olga
standing in the doorway, smiling and putting her finger to
her lips. Then, as he looks, she turns ghastly pale, her white
dress is stained crimson, and she is bending over something
that lies at her feet. He tries hard to raise himself to see
what or who it is, but unseen hands drag him back. Over
and over again this scene repeats itself. Then he sees her
standing in the same place, only three times more beautiful,
with a golden crown on her head. Raymond is lying on the
other side of the fountain, asleep. A malicious smile comes
into her eyes : she raises her wand, and Raymond's beautiful
face begins to change and change to the semblance of a swine's,
and downwards to his limbs creeps the horrid transformation,
till he grovels at her feet. Then she turns her eyes to him,
and he shrieks out. Olga comes into the room at midnight to
look at him, and hears him cry, " Circe ! Circe !" and fancies
MIGNON. 123
it is a race-horse, or a favorite dog. Little does she dream
that it is herself, in the form of the dangerous enchantress of
jEaea, whose pity he is invoking.
For a week Leo lies in bed. The bullet has been extracted :
he is doing remarkably well, the doctor says, but perfect quiet
is necessary. His arm is painful, but he is very brave and
patient, and will scarcely admit that he suffers. Olga devotes
herself to him, watches over him like a child, and one day,
noticing that his dinner is not nicely cut up, she undertakes
the task of feeding him herself. She has such exquisitely
gentle delicate ways. Leo watches her as if she were a being
from another sphere, and, watching her, no wonder that he loses
head and heart too.
Ten days go by. With this tender nursing and his iron
constitution, Leo is convalescent : he is permitted to lie on the
sofa by the window : in a day or two he is to go into the
Folly. Strange to relate, this young Hercules, who has never
had a day's illness, who one might imagine would chafe furi-
ously at his enforced confinement, looks forward with positive
pain to getting well, and will not be induced to take a hopeful
view of his case.
" I never knew such a fellow," exclaims Mr. Rushbrook :
" he gets quite irritable when I try to cheer him up. But
there ! that's the way with the strong ones : they always insist
on taking the worst possible view of the case when they ail
anything."
Leo has become considerably attached to Truscott, who,
besides being an admirable servant, is very kind-hearted and
as gentle as a woman. Truscott is devoted to his mistress,
and Leo has a mania for hearing over and over again Mrs.
Stratheden's heroic behavior after his accident, which Truscott
seems equally fond of expatiating upon.
" Poor young fellow !" he says to himself: " he's going the
way of most of 'em. But there ! I don't wonder at it : only it
does seem a pity she can't give over those ways of hers that
does so much mischief."
Raymond comes over regularly every day to see his friend, an
attention which the latter is sometimes ungracious enough not to
appreciate, especially when he sees Olga's graceful figure sail-
ing across the lawn with Raymond in close attendance, or gets
glimpses of them from his window rowing to and fro on the
124 MIGSON.
lake. Besides, when Raymond is not there, Mrs. Stratheden
brings some little delicate shred of lace-work and sits with him,
or reads to him, or, best of all, mesmerizes him. Olga believes
to a certain extent in mesmerism, and rather fancies her own
gift of electricity : therefore, when Leo, with a duplicity very
much opposed to his open nature, pretends to the most marvel-
lous effects of her mesmerism, and actually feigns to go to sleep
under it, she readily consents to use her soothing influence for
his benefit. It is mesmerism, no doubt, and of a very danger-
ous character, the delight that he feels at the touch of her deli-
cate fingers on his brow and hair (for he refuses to believe in the
efficacy of passes of the hand made at a distance). Olga, who
is sympathetic to a fault, and who would take the utmost
trouble to alleviate the sufferings of horse, dog, cat, or any
other animal in pain, benevolently puts herself to no small
trouble for Leo's pleasure and comfort, and is firmly convinced
that she is doing him good. From having done so much in
his behalf, she feels an interest in him that a month of close
acquaintance in an ordinary way would have failed to produce.
Now he is getting well she talks to him : the freshness, the
healthiness of his ideas please and almost surprise her : he has
not acquired the blase, superficial, sceptical tone affected by
the jeunesse of this age.
As for Leo, he is as madly in love as a man only can be who
loves for the first time in that golden space between youth and
manhood, who has not wasted his best years on unworthy
passions, nor grown, from contact with impurity, to doubt
purity, but who loves with all passion and reverence combined,
and who believes in the woman he loves as he believes in God.
And if the woman, as sometimes happens, is older than him-
self, if, as does not often happen, she is gifted with an exqui-
site tact and delicacy, a perfect savoir ftiire, an entourage of
wealth, luxury, and perfect taste, well, all that can be said is
that to fall in love under such circumstances is a woful misfor-
tune for a young fellow, if there seems as little chance as there
docs in Leo's case of fruition crowning his hopes, and that it
is likely to go very hard with him.
Leo lets the delicious poison steal through his veins: he
never tries to check it, nay, fosters it by thinking of his idol
when she is absent, and gazing at her picture. For one day
when she brought him a book of photographs to look over, he
MIGNON. 125
found a colored vignette of her that pleased him, and carefully
abstracted it. But, after gazing at it for a few hours with
secret delight, and running the risk of injuring the colors by
pressing it to his lips, his mind began to misgive him that he
had done an ungentlemanlike thing in taking it without per-
mission. The next time Olga came in, he told her with a
deep blush what he had done, and asked permission to retain
it. Mrs. Stratheden smiled, and consented : after all, it is not
a very unusual or audacious request in the present day for a
man to ask for a lady's portrait, especially under such excep-
tional circumstances.
" You must give me yours in exchange," she smiles, thereby
making matters still easier for him.
" I shall be delighted," he answers ; though I haven't been
taken since I was at Oxford, and that was in flannels. A
man looks such a fool in a photograph ; and I take worse than
most fellows. One eye is generally twice the size of the other,
and my mouth literally from ear to ear."
Olga looks at him. It is a comely face enough, though
utterly wanting in those fine curves and contours that make
the beauty of Raymond's. The skin, though pale now, is of
that fair and healthy hue through which you may see the
swift blood course when he is excited by exercise or strong
feeling ; the white of his eyes is almost as blue as a bird's
egg, and clear, without vein or speck ; his teeth are white,
regular, and pearly-looking (though he was once foolhardy
enough to bite a nail in two with them for a wager) ; and he
has that generally fresh, clean look that especially distin-
guishes an Englishman. Olga has conceived quite an affec-
tion for her nursling. She will be sorry when he is well
enough to leave her.
" I should think you might very well be moved to the Hall
in a day or two," remarks Raymond, cheerfully, one morning,
nearly three weeks after the accident.
Somehow, Leo does not jump at the suggestion.
" I don't know," he says, rather coldly. " I don't fancy
I could bear four miles of jolting just yet."
" Well, you know, old fellow," pursues Raymond, confi-
dentially, " the truth is that I feel frightfully, giving Mrs.
Stratheden all this trouble. She has behaved like an angel
about it, but all the same one can't help feeling it must have
11*
126 MIGNON.
been a dreadful bore for her. And I am entirely responsible
for it."
Leo is not very strong yet : his lip quivers ; he has some
little difficulty in commanding his voice.
" No one can feel more keenly than I do," he says, at last,
in a cold voice, " the trouble I have given Mrs. Stratheden,
and and every one else : still "
" My dear old Leo, don't talk like that ! Why, if it had
only been at home, you know I wouldn't have minded what
had to be done. I would have sat up with you all night my-
self ; anything I could do to atone for my dreadful misfortune
I should have done thankfully ; you know that. It was only
on Olga on Mrs. Stratheden's account."
Gall to wormwood ! he calls her Olga ! A pang of bitter
jealousy gnaws poor Leo's heart. Raymond loves her still;
perhaps away, horrible perhaps ! At this moment Olga
comes in, carrying a lovely rosebud.
" For you," she says, with a smile, giving it into Leo's
hand.
poor tender little rosebud ! what had you done to deserve
so cruel a fate ? to be scorched by the hot kisses of a mortal ;
to have your tender leaves crushed against his strong beating
heart ; when you were faint and athirst, to have only two salt
tears for drink. This is your doom hereafter ; but now you
are taken with a gentle hand, placed in water, and looked at
and praised and glorified. Some such a story one has heard
of out of the flower-world before to-day.
" I am telling Leo," cries Raymond, cheerfully, " that I
think he might soon be moved now, in a day or two, per-
haps."
" I have been a trouble to you and your household too
long already," says poor Leo ; but Olga detects a tremor in
his voice.
"But I shall not let you go," she answers, smiling, " how-
ever anxiously you may want to get away."
Leo's eyes are so extremely expressive at this moment that
Olga looks out of the window, and Raymond says to himself,
in disgust,
" Hang me if I don't believe the fellow is falling in love
with her !"
" I am very proud of my patient," pursues Olga, " and I
MIGNON. 127
am not going to risk a relapse. I shall keep you, at all events,
for another week ; not a day less."
Leo feels this to be the happiest moment of his life. The
certainty of another week, seven whole days, seven times
twenty-lour hours, in the adored presence, well, not exactly
that, but to be under the same roof with her, is intensest
bliss.
Raymond is by no means so enchanted. An hour later,
when he is strolling beside Mrs. Stratheden under the trees,
he says, petulantly,
" I suppose you know that Leo is head over ears in love
with you. Under the circumstances, I think it is neither very-
wise nor very kind to keep him staying on here, when he is
perfectly well able to be moved."
" Don't talk nonsense, Raymond !"
" It is not nonsense, Olga, and you know it perfectly well."
" It is nonsense," retorts Olga, with a little stamp, and a
flash of her eyes ; " and I forbid you to say such a thing to
me again."
But, truth to tell, Olga is not quite easy in her own mind.
" Of course," says Raymond, huffily, " that's only what one
might expect from a woman. But I did think you were
different."
" Oh, indeed !" answers Olga, with a gleam of mischief in
her eyes. " It was very kind of you to except me from the
common herd. Still, as a rule, if you have a theory it's more
comfortable to have it entirely free from exceptions."
" I don't know why women were invented," says Raymond,
gloomily.
" Well," replied Olga, with a little smile, " < taking it all
round,' as you would say, it might have saved a good deal of
misery and discomfort if there had only been one sex ; but I
am apt to think we might all have found it a little dull at
times."
128 M1GNON.
CHAPTER XV.
" Have you discovered what variety of little things affect the heart,
and how surely they collectively gain it ?"
Lord Chesterfield' s Letters.
THE happiest week of his life, so Leo chronicles his seven
days' reprieve. Now that the term of his visit is definitely
fixed, it costs him little effort to throw off the invalid. He
walks about the garden with his hostess, spends some time
every morning in the stables, even goes out driving with Olga
in her pony-carriage.
To think he could ever became such & faineant as to find
utter happiness in lounging by a woman's side, asking nothing
more than to watch her as she holds the ribbons. Still, such
a case is not without a precedent, even besides the notable one
of Ornphale and her hero.
Olga is conscious of a pang. There can be no doubt now
as to his love for her : nay, it is so transparent that butler,
footmen, and grooms, unless they are as blindly unobservant
as they have the good manners to pretend to be, must be per-
fectly aware of it. True, he never addresses her but with the
most reserved respect, but his blue eyes have a gift of expres-
sion which he does not himself suspect, and even a child
might notice the adoring looks he turns upon her when she
addresses him on the most trifling subject. Olga is genuinely
sorry, all the more so because it is impossible for any doubt to
creep into her mind as to the utter truth and disinterestedness
of his affection. And yet he has not spoken a syllable on the
subject. Perhaps mesmerism has established a rapport be-
tween them that enables her to comprehend his feelings as she
does. Not that she can gauge their depth, their passion, their
intensity : to do that she must have known a like passion
herself. And if once in a measure she did, it is so long ago
that the memory has grown dim. Mrs. Forsyth, after her
first hint, has seemed as unconscious of what is going on as
Truscott or James or William. When Olga does not ask her
MIGNON. 129
opinion upon a subject she religiously abstains from giving it :
this is the key to her influence. Olga would not have liked
interference from her best friend, and has enough common
sense to guide her on the rare occasions when she does not
choose to ask advice. As a rule, she consults Mrs. Forsyth
upon every subject, small and great, particularly on the not un-
frequent subject of her lovers.
The days go by, the golden grains of pleasure mix with the
infinite sands of Time, and drip away remorselessly through
the hour-glass, howsoever Love's hands may outstretch to stay
them, and Leo begins to look unwillingly at the future that
will so soon make this happiness a past. He has regarded life
as a thing to look forward to joyously, boldly, as a young eagle
soars at the sun : the one thing that has seemed to him awful,
terrible, is the idea of being cut out of it, struck down in
youth. And now, though the prospect before him is precisely
what it was a month ago, though he may hunt, and shoot, fish,
leap, run, box, as ever, though the sports and pastimes that
made life what it was to him may be his as freely as of yore,
he has a horrible misgiving that it is not going to be the same
joyous thing as hitherto. Can one face, one voice, make
pleasure pain, pain pleasure ? He would not have believed it
a few little weeks ago ; not in his own case, at least.
The possibility of winning Olga is as remote to him as that
of winning an angel from heaven, Olga, who (in his opinion,
at least) possesses every charm, who is fit for the highest
sphere a woman can attain, and who, he has learned from Mrs.
Forsyth, has refused high rank and wealth. Wealth ! that
obstacle is enough, let alone any other, to fix an insuperable
gulf between them. She has everything, he nothing, com-
paratively speaking, at least. His father has a fair income
and makes him a handsome allowance. But suppose the posi-
tions reversed, and he were rich and Mrs. Stratheden poor :
how could he for an instant presume to think the mistress of
so many perfections would see anything in him to care for ?
Leo is none the worse for having such a modest opinion of
himself.
The last day comes. There is still something to cling to :
he is to stay with Raymond until the llth, when they start
for Scotland together ; but it will be quite different. She will
ask him over to lunch and to dine, perhaps in a formal way,
F*
130 MIONON.
and Raymond will always be there. This last day is full of
sunshine and sweetness : he spends all of it with her, looking
with hungered eyes at the dear face that will be out of his
horizon to-morrow, learning by heart every turn of the grace-
ful head, every curve of the lip, the droop of her broad eye-
lids, the languorous beauty of her eyes. Leo, unversed in
feminine perfections, has yet observed with delight the small-
ness of her arched feet, the delicate beauty of her hands.
Little does Olga credit him with such powers of observation :
like a woman who loves to please and who is not vain, she is
always more conscious of the graces she thinks she lacks than
of those it is obvious she possesses.
The short day is sped. He has been like her shadow all
day, in her boudoir, in the Folly, in the garden, on the
water, in her pony-carriage. Raymond has not been much at
The Manor House during the last week ; he is a little bit
offended with both Olga and Leo, though he scarcely knows
why himself, and there is rather a pretty girl come to stay
with Kitty Fox. Olga is genuinely sorry to lose her guest,
though one might imagine that to entertain a stranger for
nearly a month would be apt to grow irksome. It has given
her something to do, something to think about, the greatest
boon to a woman of her temperament, apt as she is to grow
morbid when left to herself.
" If it had been Raymond," she tells herself, " fond as I
am of him, he would have worried me to death long before
this. He would have grown cross and restless and bored, and
would have spent part of the time making love to me, and the
rest in enveloping me and the whole sex in a comprehensive
torrent of abuse. But this boy has been so patient and gentle,
so thankful to everybody, and so good-tempered. And it must
have been frightfully tedious to such a strong young fellow to
lie on a sofa or wander about after a couple of women all day."
The moon is riding aloft in the deep sky when they come
out from dinner.
" Ma chere," says Olga, " send for a shawl and come out:
it is a positive sin to be indoors this lovely night. Come, Mr.
Vyner, let us go down to the water."
Leo needs no second command : he is by her side on the
lawn. Mrs. Forsyth nods pleasantly, saying, " I will follow
you," which, however, she has no intention of doing.
MIQNON. 131
" I like to win people's gratitude," she has told Olga, on
occasion, " and I know no way of doing it thoroughly or so
cheaply as by occasionally depriving them of the pleasure of
company. I do not mean you, my dear."
Mrs. Forsyth also finds a nap after dinner much pleasanter
than doing duenna. So Olga and Leo take their way across
the lawn to the water-side. It is " as bright as day," some
people would say; but, oh, how utterly different is the moon's
lovely light either from dawn, or garish day, or soft twilight !
Who is proof against the beauty of a moonlight night ? the
radiance, the tenderness, the exquisite hush of it. Even
when the moon shines on a stone pavement between two rows
of houses, it is pleasant to look upon : how much more when
she lies on the bosom of a lake, on broad meadow-lands, on
the folded cups of the flowers ; when she trickles through the
leaves of the great trees, makes a silver mirror of each little
water-pool, and, great alchemist that she is, transmutes even a
gravel path into gold inlaid with precious stones ! Poor be-
songed, besonneted moon ! whom the prosiest pen cannot
scribble of without trying to invent a bit of original flattery
for ! how weary must thou be in thine own eternal perfection
of men's labored adulation !
Olga's keen senses are filled with the beauty of the night ;
she feels little inclination to talk ; and Leo's soul is disturbed
by love, by present pleasure, by remembering how these de-
licious moments are trickling away, bearing him towards to-
morrow, a barren, cold to-morrow, since she will have gone
out of it for him. They have strolled up and down, and are
now sitting under a tree, watching the water. It lies there
like a sheet of glass, and in it you may see the dark yews and
junipers, the tall shrubs, the lofty trees : so bright it is you
may see, too, the colors of the reflected flowers, azure and
orange, sapphire and amaranth. A tiny ripple steals across
and shivers the mirror into a thousand sprays of diamonds.
Silence is perilous : the moon is allowed to be dangerous to
the senses. All at once, with an irresistible impulse of passion,
Leo throws himself down beside the woman he loves, and, in
a voice shaken and quivering with strong feeling, cries to her,
" What shall I do without you this time to-morrow !"
Olga is startled. Her immense fund of tact and savior-faire
does not at this moment supply her with the precise knowledge
132 MIGNON.
of what to do and say. She feels intuitively that this genuine
and unpremeditated burst of feeling is not to be treated like
an ordinary vulgar declaration. The moonlight shows her the
workings of Leo's face, the mixed passion and reverence in it,
the love of the woman controlled by the -worship of something
higher that he imagines in her. And, to tell the truth, a simple
passion that had nothing of a higher adoration in it would
have found but scant favor in Olga's eyes.
She acts more on the impulse to console him than on the
consideration of what prudence demands, as she puts out her
hand to him and says, " I shall miss you very much, too."
The touch of her little hand thrills him to his heart's core :
he covers it with kisses. And then his heart breaks into a
rushing torrent of words, like a mountain-stream that has burst
its banks.
" Don't be angry with me ; don't think me mad. I never
meant to tell you I don't know what came over me just now,
but I love you. Love you ! ah, I think it must be something
deeper, stronger than love. Love seems such a poor little weak
word to express what I feel. Don't laugh at me ! no, you won't
do that ; you are too good and kind ; but I have never loved a
woman before, and I feel that I cannot bear to think of life
away from you. I always looked forward to life : it seemed
to me as long as I could hunt and shoot I must be happy ; and
now I don't know how I shall live through the days without
the sight of you."
If pity is akin to love, Olga must be very near loving Leo,
she is so sorry for him. His strong young frame is shaken
like a reed, his blue eyes devour her face for one gleam of hope.
She lays a hand softly on the fair-haired head. A feeling of
tenderness creeps over her such as a woman can only feel for a
man younger than herself, or who is sick or somehow needs
her protection. To the most impassioned words of a man of
the world she would have listened, nay, had listened, with cold-
ness, even shrinking. Leo inspired no such feeling. Indeed,
she was very much inclined to stoop down and kiss him for
sheer pity's sake, only that such a proof of sympathy might be
dangerous.
" My dear boy," she says, looking genuinely grieved, and
speaking in the most maternal tone she can command, " you
know every one must be in love for the first time : it is quite
MIGNON. 133
a natural disorder" (she smiles, but he does not respond), " and
has to be gone through, like measles or whooping-cough. But
you know I am years older than you. Think of me as a friend,
an elder sister, think that I am fond of you, as indeed I am.
and that when you want sympathy or help you have only to
come to me."
This magnanimous offer does not seem to make much im-
pression on Leo. He looks at her with some reproach.
" I have read in books of women saying those sort of
things," he says. " Of the two, I had rather you had been
angry with me for my presumption."
" Presumption ! nonsense !" replies Olga. "A woman is
always flattered by a sincere affection being offered her."
" Sincere affection !" groans the poor lad. " Oh, if I could
only make some enormous sacrifice to prove to you that ) love
you for all time, all eternity!"
At this moment he is capable, were it in his power, of com-
mitting a sublime folly equal to that of the Duke of Medina,
who for love of Elizabeth of France, Queen of Spain, at a
fete he gave, burned his palace, and with it pictures, tapestries.
all he possessed, for the sake of holding her in his arms one
moment and whispering his love in her ear as he bore her
from the flames. Olga smiles a sad little smile. She has
heard these passionate declarations before, uttered in as good
faith ; she knows how these tropical flowers, the growth of
burning suns, languish and die under the cold shadow of
custom and satiety. And yet there is something in this young
fellow that stamps him different from those who have gone
before : she has a warmer liking for him than she has had this
many a long day for a man. If love could only last ! the thought
comes swiftly into her brain, and takes flight again as quickly.
" I know you are as far removed from me as if I were the
poorest beggar," Leo hurries on, in his impassioned tones.
" How could I expect you, the cleverest, the most beautiful,
most charming woman in the world, to look upon me as any-
thing but a stupid young lout, whom you would have never
stooped to notice but for that blessed accident !"
" Leo," she whispers, calling him by his name for the first
time, " I will not have you talk in that way. My dear boy,
all that I am and have would be a very poor excuse for your
throwing away the best years of your life upon an old woman."
12
134 MIGNON.
" What do you mean?" he cries, a bright-red flush mount-
ing to his brow.
" I mean nothing," she answers, hastily. " I will be your
best friend, as I told you ; you may come to me when you
like, and as often as you like ; but never think, never speak of
this again."
"And do you imagine," he cries, hotly, " that I could
bear to see you day after day, to look at your dear, beautiful
face, and know that I was never to be anything more to you ?
perhaps to see some other man come and steal you away from
before my very eyes ? No !" (passionately), " I would rather
throw myself into that lake !"
It is marvellous what great results spring from trifles.
Leo, who half an hour before had not presumed even to hint
at his love for Olga, is now using language so bold to her that
it startles him when he recollects it later.
There is silence between them : he dares not plead his
cause, dares not ask for hope, and yet he feels that to leave
her thus is like tearing the heart from his body.
" You will soon be able to shoot, now," Mrs. Stratheden
says, wishing to break the awkwardness of the pause ; " then
hunting will begin : you will go back more keen than ever to
your old pursuits. It is only idleness that has put this mis-
chief into your brain."
He looks up at her.
" Do you believe what you say ?" he asks, in a low, mortified
voice. " You have even a poorer opinion of me, then, than I
thought for."
To this she makes no answer, but looks with far-off eyes at
the water. After a time she says, gently,
" It is getting late : we must be going in."
" Not yet ; not yet," he pleads ; and his soberer senses come
creeping back to him. " Forgive me," he murmurs, very
humbly. " I never meant to say a word of all this. Say
you forgive me."
Olga turns her luminous eyes upon him : she does not see
his soiTowful face quite clearly, by reason of a mist that has
gathered before them.
" Forgive you !" she says, softly. " What have I to forgive?
I feel honored by your love, your first love, as you tell me.
But you know" (with a half smile) " people never marry their
MIGNON. 135
first loves. Good-by, dear Leo. I shall wish you good-by
to-night ; I am going over quite early to-morrow to Kitty Fox,
who wants to see me, and Raymond comes for you at eleven.
You will be gone before I return."
An icy chill creeps to Leo's heart. The last moment has
come, then, the actual moment of parting ; perhaps he may
never see her again. A deadly sickness comes over him :
garden, water, trees, seem reeling before his eyes. Olga sees
his distress, and longs to comfort him. No one ever hated to
give or to see pain as she does ; her sympathy is the only feel-
ing that can outrun her prudence. She stoops, and lays her
lips on his fair close curls. As if a flame had scorched him,
he starts up with kindling eyes, his impassioned face almost
handsome in the intensity of its expression.
" Kiss me once more," he whispers, in a choked voice,
" only this once." He raises his lip to hers, and she stoops
and kisses him. Then she rises, and says, in a quick, imperi-
ous voice, " Do not touch me ! do not follow me !" and goes
swiftly from him towards the house. He follows her with his
eyes until the last fold of her lace has disappeared, and then
he flings himself down beside the spot where an instant ago
she stood.
His strong young frame is shaken by a storm of sobs. Sobs ?
this young Hercules six feet high ? He must be very weak
still from his wound.
Olga enters the house and goes to her room like one in a
trance. She flings herself into a chair ; it happens to stand in
front of a long mirror.
" How could I do it ? how could I do it ?" she says over
and over again to herself, and looks at the figure in the mirror
to see if some strange change has come over her. A slow
red color, born of vexed shame, mantles in her cheek ; she hides
it even from herself with her two hands.
" He was such a boy, and I was so sorry for him."
That is the answer she gives to her own question. But still
it does not satisfy her.
156 MIGNON.
CHAPTER XVI.
"La jolie femme n'est plus qu'un luxe importun, tin apanage inquie"-
tant, une enseigne p6rilleuse, qui a son beau cot6 tourne vers la rue, et
dont vous n'avez quo le revers ; ce n'est plus qu'un engin a attirer la
foudre." OCTAVE FKUILLET.
MIGNON has been married three months. After that
outbreak of passion on her wedding-day, the reader will prob-
ably expect to find her at home with her parents, whilst her
husband wanders the world broken-hearted. Very different,
however, is the reality. Sir Tristram and Lady Bergholt are
in Rome, living apparently in perfect amity. Mignon is like
a spiteful child : when angered, she morally pinches and
scratches the offender vigorously, but, being pacified by her
vengeance, soon regains her equanimity, and expects her victim
to forget the outbreak as she herself forgets it. She is capable,
on no very great provocation, of saying things bitter and cruel
enough to alienate friends and lovers for all time, but trusts to
the same lovely mouth that has given the offence to atone for
it by a smile or a kiss.
Lady Bergholt is perfectly satisfied with her position. She
has adopted the role of a fine lady as if she had played it all
her life, and is keenly alive to the advantages conferred by
rank and wealth. She had undervalued them a few months
ago, simply because they were a sealed book to her ; now she
appreciates them to the full. Her respect for Sir Tristram is
increased by the attention she sees universally paid to him,
nor can she help being impressed by his perfect breeding and
unfailing courtesy towards people in all ranks of life.
His tenderness towards herself is infinite. The world,
observing it, smiles, and says, " No wonder he is devoted to
such a lovely creature ;" though had the world been witness
of a certain scene we recall on an October afternoon, it might
deem it less a matter of course. Mignon finds the adoration
of a middle-aged husband the most irksome feature of the
situation ; and yet how careful he is not to weary nor disgust
her 1 Her words are cut into his heart : " You knew I hated
MIGNON. 137
you all along , but you would marry me" The fear lest she
should some day repeat them makes an arrant coward of him.
If they had never been uttered, he would probably have adored
and spoiled her, but he would not have been the slave to the
fear of contradicting her that he is now. Loving her as idol-
atrously as he does (none the less for her cruelty, as is the
habit of men), he desires more than anything on earth to
make her love him in return, and thinks to do so by gratifying
her every wish, ignorant, as people in love ever are, that by
too much adoration he humbles himself in the sight of his
divinity.
Mignon, fortunately perhaps for herself, is cold : the benefi-
cent Providence who awards that attribute to many lovely
women gives a security to their possessors that no amount of
locks and bolts could bestow. " Love laughs at locksmiths ;"
but a beautiful icicle laughs at Love, which disconcerts that
young gentleman far more. It is very improbable that Mignon,
in spite of her youth, her loveliness, and her comparative
indifference to her husband, will ever risk her position and
personal comfort for an imprudent passion. She has no ardent
aspirations, no hunger of the heart : to be beautifully dressed,
to feel herself the cynosure of all eyes, to live daintily, are
things infinitely more desirable in her eyes than the uncertain
bliss and the certain suffering that accompany the tender
passion.
Mignon has enjoyed her foreign travel immensely, the
utter novelty of it, the cheerful bustle of Continental towns,
the perpetual feast of shop-gazing, heightened by the delight
of having plenty of money to spend, to say nothing of the
change from being an unconsidered insignificant person at
home to a great lady, the object of universal solicitude and
attention.
" And to think I was so near giving it all up !" she has
said to herself more than once, and a little flutter agitated her
breast at the recollection of her narrow escape. " I might
have been sitting over tea and shrimps in an attic now as Mrs.
Oswald Carey, or perhaps tea without the shrimps. And I
never cared two straws for him, either."
There is one thing that bores Mignon stupendously, and
that is Art.
" I never want to see a picture again as long as I live," she
12*
138 MIQNON.
remarks, pettishly, to Sir Tristram, on her arrival in the Eter-
nal City; " and as for statues, I hate the very sight of them."
This is apropos of his suggesting a visit to the Vatican and
telling her of the treat in store for her in the contemplation
of its treasures.
" Hush, my child 1" he answers, smiling : " don't let any
one hear you utter such a barbarism !"
Mignon pouts her adorable mouth and assumes the mutine
expression that is almost as irresistible as her smile.
" I don't care who hears me," she exclaims. " I have seen
Holy Families enough in the last two months to pave London
with, besides getting the horrors from pictures of every kind
of torture, to say nothing of the ugly saints and cadaverous
martyrs of whom I should like to have a bonfire made for Guy
Fawkes's Day. And as for the statues" (with an injured air
that makes him laugh), " I wonder you like to take me to see
them. I don't think they are nice at all."
The idea of the wonders of all time, that millions have
gazed upon with devout adoration for their transcendent art,
not being nice is so intensely ludicrous to Sir Tristram that he
goes off into a peal of laughter, whereat Mignon reddens with
displeasure.
" I dare say I seem very ignorant to you," she says, with a
Parthian glance, " but you must remember that I am very
young. You of course cannot enter into my feelings."
My lady knows the exact joint of the harness where to send
her shaft, and is a very expert markswoman.
Her husband winces.
" You shall not go anywhere that you do not like, my dar-
ling," he answers. " Go and put on one of your pretty Paris
toilettes. We will drive in the Pincio, and can take a look at
the Colosseum first."
This proposition finds favor in Mignon's eyes : she smiles,
and runs away to make herself beautiful. Sir Tristram looks
after her with a sigh.
" If I were twenty years younger !" he thinks to himself.
There are a good many English in Rome, and among them
Sir Tristram finds several friends and acquaintances. It is
with no little pride that he presents his lovely young wife to
them and observes the unqualified admiration that she excites.
Mignon is delighted : life is beginning, she feels, the life
MIGNON. 139
for which she bartered her beauty. Just now she is inclined
to think herself no loser by the transaction. If my lady has
occasional fits of temper, she keeps them, as a well-bred woman
should, for her husband and her maid. No one can be sweeter,
more angelic, than Mignon when she likes ; and, truth to tell,
she is not at all ill-tempered. Why indeed should she be,
with everything her heart can desire (love not being at the
present included among its desires), a magnificent constitution,
and perfect immunity, both physically and morally, from the
pains and troubles flesh is heir to ? Her occasional habit of
riding rough-shod over the feelings of others proceeds more
from a lack of fine feeling and perception than from absolute
cruelty. People who are very thick-skinned are not apt to
study the shades and inflections that may torture more deli-
cately organized subjects. Mignon takes pains to be charming,
and succeeds perfectly : has not her lovely face already robbed
the task of half its difficulty? She has not the slightest
mauvaise honte, and, in the majesty of her own beauty, her
self-complacency makes her feel the equal of a duchess.
Among the English in Rome are Sir Josias and Lady Clo-
ver, nee Kitty Fox. What need to say that since her marriage
she is known to her friends by no other name than that of
" Sweet Kitty Clover" ? Marriage has not had a sobering
effect upon the frolicsome little lady : she is quite as arch and
full of fun as in her maiden days. She has married a man
whom (if you were a tyro in the world's ways, and in those
ways much more past finding out, the ways of a woman) you
would pronounce utterly unsuited to her, and the last man in
the world you would have expected her to choose. But if you
had qualified yourself to judge of the matter by a study of the
curious combinations of opposite characteristics in the sexes
that go to the making of that exceptional state of bliss, a
happy marriage, you would have observed that, as a rule, that
bliss has fallen to the lot of those whose natures are most op-
posed to each other.
A witty, brilliant man, married to a woman with the same
gifts, will be far less likely to be happy with her than with
one who is rather dull, but who has a thorough admiration
and respect for his talents ; and vice versa. A man with a
high spirit is not the happier for having a wife of the same
temperament, and so on through almost every phase of char-
140 MIGNON.
acter. Certainly Miss Kitty's chief idea in accepting Sir
Josias was that he would be an excellent match ; but the
capricious little damsel had also a kind feeling for the man
whom people wondered at her choosing.
" Kitty, my dear," Mrs. Stratheden said to her, one day
soon after the fian ailles were announced, " are you quite sure
that the choice you have made will satisfy you ? Remember
that, on an average, you can only enjoy society and the advan-
tages your husband's money will give you for about four
hours of the twenty-four : there are still the twenty left. For
the rest of your life, or the greater part of it, you will prob-
ably see him ten times as often as any other person ; is the
idea pleasing to you?"
" My dear, good angel," returns Miss Kitty, mischievously,
" I think that ten times as much of Sir Jo's society as of any-
body else's might be apt to pall upon me. He is like good
old furniture, heavy. But at the same time, you know, I want
a make- weight for my own lightness. Fancy if I married a
madcap like myself! I know you don't think so" (more se-
riously), " of course no one does, but really and positively,
though he is nearly twenty years older than me, and though
he is slow and matter-of-fact, there is something about him I
do like ; and you and everybody else will see that we shall be
very happy."
At such a long and sensible speech from Miss Kitty, Mrs.
Stratheden feels encouraged, gives her a kiss and subsequently
a diamond locket which figures handsomely in the Court Jour-
nal among the papier niache trays, card-cases, pen-wipers and
flat candlesticks presented on the auspicious occasion of her
marriage.
Sir Josias Clover is " a very good sort of man." To no one
could such a designation be more thoroughly applicable. His
father rose from the ranks, and ended by making a fortune
and receiving a baronetcy. So the blood in Sir Josias's veins
is a good sturdy British red ; nor does he ever pretend to him-
self or the world that it is anything else. There is nothing
of the parvenu about him. His father married late in life the
daughter of a poor curate ; Josias went to Eton and Oxford,
and some years later, after one or two unsuccessful attempts,
became a member of the " House." He is the reverse of
brilliant, but has sound common sense and more than ordinary
MIGNON. 141
powers of application. He is thoroughly well read, and never
opens his lips upon any subject he is not conversant with.
When he does get on his legs in the House, he is always
listened to with attention. His constituents are so well satis-
fied with him that at the last election no one caine forward to
contest the seat. In appearance he is plain and quiet, as far
removed from looking vulgar or snobbish as he is from having
the air that poetry and tradition ascribe to a duke with eight
centuries of Norman blood in his veins. He is manly, good-
hearted, and humble in his own conceit : even now that for
two months he has been blessed in the possession of Kitty,
he can scarcely realize his good fortune. For he positively
adores this little mischievous fairy, with her quips and pranks
and wiles, and, though no one would give such a sober middle-
aged man credit for it, he is capable of a love and devotion
that would make many a young Adonis's passion fly up like a
feather in the scale.
Kitty is aware of it, and, as she is strong, she is generous,
protecting him with a little ostentatious air as delightful to
behold as a kitten patronizing a Newfoundland. She bewilders
him a little at times with her intense vitality and fund of spirits,
but he looks on at it all with stolid benevolence, like the aforesaid
Newfoundland when the kitten takes liberties-. He would
rather, for instance, that she did not call him Jo and Sir Jo,
the abbreviation as applied to him being particularly ludicrous ;
but this of course is its intense charm for the little madcap, so
he e'en lets her have her way. He has been weak enough to
express to her his astonishment at her choice.
"Kitty," he has said, " how could you possibly, such a little
fairy as you are, have anything to do with a dull matter-of-fact
middle-aged fellow like myself? I have no doubt people call
us Titania and Bottom."
" My dear," replies the wicked sprite, demurely, " I am of
a jealous turn of mind, and you offer me a perfect secu-
rity. You are not handsome, nor brilliant. I do not think
any woman but myself is the least likely to fall in love with
you."
He lays his hand with an adoring gesture upon her golden
head.
" My darling," he says, " all the loveliest women ever created
would not be worth one curl of this little head to me."
142 MIGNON.
" Ah !" she returns, with approving patronage, " a very
proper frame of mind for a married man. I trust it will last.
Now, dear, order the carriage, and come and choose me a
bonnet at Madame Chiffon's."
Mignon and Kitty become friends at once. Lady Bergholt
is delighted to have a friend of her own age and way of think-
ing, nor is she less pleased to be relieved of the constant attend-
ance of Sir Tristram. No more of the Vatican, no more of
the Capitol, no more cold hands and feet with standing about
vast, vaulty palaces, staring with wearied vacant eyes from the
dull pictures to Murray, *nd from Murray back to the dull
pictures.
" A good Holy Family. A Holy Family. A boy in a red
cap. A good Virgin and Child. Two large landscapes with
figures. A Virgin and Child. A Holy Family. Portrait
supposed to be Poggio Bracciolini. A fine male portrait. St.
Sebastian. St. John preaching in the wilderness. Crucifixion
of St. Peter. A Holy Family."
After Lady Clover's arrival, she resolutely refuses to enter
church, palace, or picture-gallery again : she will hardly even be
induced to drive round Rome's environs. Every day she calls
for Kitty, or Kitty for her, and, beautifully apparelled, the two
charming brides drive in the Pincio, listen to the band, and
distract the hearts of the young Italians and English who con-
gregate there and stare at them with no feigned admiration.
Kitty is in point of real beauty far inferior to Mignon, but there
is something so vivacious, so piquante and sparkling about her,
that she comes in for no mean share of the general approbation.
Kitty is clever in her way, too, and well informed : she speaks
French perfectly. Mignon does not possess a single accom-
plishment, nor does she care to. Sir Tristram had diffidently
suggested when they first came to Rome that she should take
ioMMis in singing and French, but "my lady" repudiated the
idea with scorn.
" There is no occasion for me to be clever," she remarked,
magnificently : " it's all very well for plain women. Besides^
I have always heard that men hate blue-stockings."
So Sir Tristram is fain to leave his lovely wife in her igno-
rance : she can talk like other women, for in these days ele-
gancy and propriety of expression are not necessarily distin-
guishing characteristics of the conversation of people of birth.
MIGNON. 143
Sir Josias (poor man ! his godfathers and godmother were
very hard upon him in giving him such a name) Sir Josias's
great delight was to take a quiet walk in the Pincio, and to
watch, unobserved if possible, the carriage containing the two
lovely women, one of whom was to his loyal heart the sweetest
and fairest object in creation. Others might yield the apple
to Mignon, but not Kitty's husband.
" She is very lovely, of course," he responded to Kitty's
enthusiastic admiration of her friend ; " but "
" But me no buts," quoth Kitty, imperiously ; " she is the
loveliest creature / ever saw ; she is tne loveliest creature you
ever saw. Come, say so directly !"
" But you. May I not but that hut ?" asks her husband,
with a quiet smile.
" In consideration of the unusual brilliancy of your repar-
tee, I excuse you," replies Mrs. Kitty. " But don't let any
one else hear you say so, or they will be persuading me to shut
you up in a lunatic-asylum."
Sir Tristram does not often turn his steps to the Park :
once or twice it has made him unconquerably melancholy to
see Mignon so radiant away from him, nay, so much more
radiant away from him. And it is absurd, he tells him-
self, impatiently, to see the two old husbands always running
after the two young wives. Sir Josias is nearly ten years
younger than Sir Tristram, though, except in age, the older
man has every advantage. No, he lacks one for which he
would exchange a good deal with the other. Sir Josias's wil-
ful incomprehensible little wife is fond of him ; and in his
most sanguine moments he dares not lay the flattering unction
to his soul that Mignon feels any affection for him. So he
betakes himself to the Colosseum and falls into reveries about
the dead and gone times when Rome was empress of the world,
or to St. Peter's, or to the Vatican, where he spends most of
his time in the Cortile di Belvedere. Sometimes he calls on
old friends ; but the most delightful moment of the day is
that in which he runs up-stairs and finds Mignon sitting over
the fire before she dresses for dinner. It is not always fraught
with pleasure it is a frightful position for a man, to be dying
to make love to a woman, with the conviction that she will
consider it a stupendous bore. The fact of being the fair
one's husband and having the right only makes the position
144 MIGNON.
more painful for a delicate-minded man like Sir Tristram.
Mignon, not having a delicate mind, cannot of course be touched
by his forbearance.
He is longing to get home, but his wife must see Naples,
and they are to stay in Paris on the way back, to which she
looks forward immensely on account of all the lovely things
she intends to buy there.
" It will be so nice," she tells Kitty, " if we are there to-
gether. You know all the best places, and, as I can't talk
French, you will do everything for me, won't you ?"
And Kitty promises, nothing loath. Besides, she has carte
l^ niche from her husband, and intends to be very magnificent
in the coming season.
CHAPTER XVII.
" Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and hath all those requisites
in him that folly and green minds look after."
Othello.
MIGNON and Kitty have become so inseparable that it is
impossible for the indulgent husbands to think of parting
them. So it is arranged that they shall all go to Naples to-
gether first, and then to Paris.
Mignon lias lost much of her interest in Naples since some
one told her that coral was not becoming to fair people, her
desire to go there having been stimulated by contemplated
purchases in that delicate ware. Of Vesuvius and Pompeii
she knows little and cares less. Still, being so near, it is the
proper thing to go there. So the lovely young wives and their
staid husbands set off together, and the same evening find
themselves at a hotel on the Chiaja, facing the Bay of Na-
ples. People cannot travel together without becoming ac-
quainted with each other's little weaknesses : thus Kitty makes
the discovery before very long that Lady Bergholt is rather
selfish, and not quite so angelic as she looks ; indeed, her maid
has confided to Lady Clover's maid that she has once been
called a fool, and once had her face slapped, on the severe pro-
vocation of pulling " my lady's" golden locks. Mignon wishes
MIGNON. 145
Kitty would not be always making fun of everybody and
everything. Still, the two are as fast friends as ever, and
rarely apart. Brides of a few months are, as a rule, fond of
being left tete-a-tete with their husbands, and are apt to be a
little jealous of intruders, especially of their own sex ; but
this is not the case with the two in question, and they have a
perfect security against any rivalry in each other in the small
value they place on the conquest of their lords.
" Kitty," hazards Sir Josias one day, in his quiet way,
" your friendship with Lady Bergholt is so very warm that I
fear it will come to an untimely end."
" Not yet," replies Kitty, who is perched upon a table, nod-
ding at him like some wise little bird.
" How long is it warranted to last ?"
" How long ?" (reflectively). " Oh, until we both take a
fancy to the same man."
Sir Josias opens his eyes a little wider than usual.
" Oh, then you contemplate such a possibility ?"
" Of course I do" (demurely). " Don't you ?"
" I confess that contingency had not occurred to me," re-
plies Sir Josias, with a shade of stiffness that makes the
corners of his malicious little wife's mouth twitch.
" Well," proceeds Kitty, " here we are perfectly safe : she
is not afraid of Sir Tristram falling in love with me, and I"
(slyly) " have every confidence in you, dear ; but in Paris, or
at all events in London, we shall both have many amiable and
handsome young men in our train, and ill luck may order it so
that we shall both take a fancy to the same one. Then of
course our friendship will come to an end."
" Kitty !" expostulates long-suffering Sir Josias, " I think
you carry your love of joking a little too far."
"Joking!" repeats Kitty, calmly. "I never was more
serious in my life. Pray, have you not told me a thousand
times that I am the loveliest, the most charming creature in
the world?"
Sir Josias is silent.
" Answer me directly, Jo, if you please" (with a little
stamp). " Have you or have you not told me so?"
" And if I have been so foolish, what then ?"
" Oh, you did not mean it, I suppose ?"
" Yes, I did. But "
a 13
146 MIONON.
" You know I hate that word," says Kitty, tyrannically.
" Well, if I am so lovely, and if I am to go into society (I
suppose you intend me to go into society?) "
" Certainly."
" Do you not suppose that other men besides yourself will
fall victims to my charms? Every one knows that / have
no heart ; Mignon has less still ; but we have vanity," utters
" my lady," superbly, " and some day our vanity will probably
cause us to clash."
" Oh !" utters Sir Josias, relieved. " Still "
" If anything, I dislike still more than but" interrupts
Kitty. " Jo, dear."
" Should you like to kiss me ?" Arid she purses up her
rosebud of a mouth in the most inviting manner.
Sir Josias is about to avail himself of this affectionate invi-
tation, but he is never very quick in his movements. As he
comes close up to her, she slips off the table, and, with a
wicked little peal of laughter, escapes through the door.
They have done Naples, have been to the Museum, to the
church of many steps, to the Opera, have inspected the coral-
shops, have driven up and down the Chiaja and seen pretty
Princess Marguerite, they have been to Sorrento, Herculan-
eum, Pompeii, have bought basketfuls of flowers from the
Neapolitan flower-sellers, and been delighted by hearing Santa
Lucia sung under their windows. The weather has been
lovely : they have had ten days of golden sunshine and sap-
phire seas and skies. But their hearts are in Paris, the fair
ones' hearts, at least, and the husbands have the consoling
thought that there they will be near home, which both are
beginning to long anxiously for. They are to return by
Florence, Bologna, Genoa, and Nice : a friend of Sir Tris-
tram's has offered to bring his yacht round from Naples to
Genoa, and take their party from the latter place to Nice,
wind and weather favoring. The elements are propitious, and
they all agree that this is one of the most charming days of
the whole tour. There is a sun that makes you think of an
English June, though it is only the first week in February,
the sky is " Italian," the waters blue and dancing, not dancing
enough to give any one an uncomfortable sensation but the
maids (maids have quite exceptional faculties of being sea-sick),
MIGNON. 147
and the scenery is lovely. It is a charming drive along the
Cornice road, with its alternate wild picturesqueness and rich
cultivation, the bold precipitous cliffs lashed by surf, the
great expanse of many-colored sea, blue, purple, rosy-hued, or
emerald in the varying light, the ruined strongholds standing
in bold relief from their rocky background, the narrow streets
and sharp turns round which your vetturino loves, with a wild
whoop, to send his team full gallop, and did it so happen that
another carriage met yours at that particular angle, it would
be difficult to show cause why you should not then and there
be launched into eternity. And besides the wild grandeur of
frowning rocks, of breakers, and of Saracen towers, there are
groves of sad-colored olives and green pines, there are cacti and
gigantic aloes, oleanders, citrons, myrtle, orange-trees and
feathery palms. Sometimes you come across a little church
peeping heavenwards out of a cluster of cypresses, sometimes
a pretentious cathedral rears its head proudly from an ancient
town ; here you may see the remains of a Roman bridge, there
the decayed palace of some once powerful Italian noble, whose
very name is forgotten to-day. But still I incline more to the
view from the sea ; for, if you are not a victim to mal de mcr,
to what scene does not the sea lend beauty and grandeur, most
of all the heaven-colored Mediterranean ?
" fair green-girdled mother of mine,
Sea that art clothed with the sun and the rain."
So sings our grandest poet of to-day. What pity that, with
his transcendent genius, his divine gift, he has used it so
that if one quotes his exquisite lines one hesitates to name
their author !
From the deck of the Merveilleuse, Mignon contemplates
the lovely panorama, whilst the yacht's owner watches her
furtively and thinks "Idalian Aphrodite" herself could not
have been more dangerously fair. " What luck some men
have I" he ejaculates, the object of his envy being at this
moment Sir Tristram. Mignon is looking at the range of
mountains, now and again snow-capped, at the wooded hills,
the cliffs crimson and purple in the sunshine, the many-tongued
sea, oh, so blue, so blue, lapping against their base, and creeping
up the bays to the feet of little villages nestling against a back-
ground of olives and pines, with here and there a church
148 MIGNON.
standing erect, whose faint call to prayer is borne to them over
the glittering water, and the gloomy frowning towers that once
WITC dircly needed against the lawless crews who sailed under
the black flag. Even Mignon, with so narrow a soul for beauty,
linds the scene passing fair ; and Kitty is so enthralled that
she is almost silent.
It is moonlight when they are put on shore at Nice. Four
days later they are in Paris. Mignon is delighted, enchanted :
no matter how her companions croak and bemoan the altera-
tions since the war. She looks out of her room in the Hotel
Bristol on the Place Vendome : how should she be shocked by
the absence of the grand column that she never knew ? the
Tuileries is a picturesque ruin to her, not a heart-breaking
sight, as heart-breaking almost to English as to French eyes ;
the grievous change in the Bois cannot affect one who knew it
not in the days of its glory. There are the shops, the big
diamonds and pearls in the Rue de la Paix, the fabulous bon-
bons, the bouquets of exquisite flowers thrice, nay, five times
the size of English bouquets, the silversmiths' windows piled
up with what looks at a little distance like thousands of silver
eggs, but proves to be the bowls of myriad spoons, the fan-,
glove-, lace-shops, the wonders of the Palais Royal. " My
lady," too, has a taste for dainty dishes, and enjoys extremely
the delicious little dinners at restaurants of note. The fact
that dinners there since the war cost a small fortune is also,
or would be if she knew it, a matter of perfect indifference
to her, as, with her accession to wealth, her ideas have ex-
panded until they are nothing less than magnificent. Sir
Tristram is rich and generous : it has not occurred to him yet
to question any fancy of Mignon's, if its gratification only de-
pends upon money.
They have been in Paris only three days. Kitty and
Miguon are driving up the Champs Elyse"es towards the Bois,
when suddenly Lady Clover utters an exclamation and calls
to the coachman to stop.
" Raymond, by all that's wonderful !" she cries, as the car-
riage stops, arid that very handsome young man disengages his
arm from another man's and comes towards her.
" Kitty, by all that's charming !" he replies, taking off his
hat. " I beg ten thousand pardons, Lady Clover '
Therewith his eyes wander to her companion, and as he
MIONON. 149
recognizes the lovely face a slight color deepens in his own, a
faint pink responds to it from Mignon's.
" Lady Bergholt, Mr. L' Estrange I am not sure if you
know each other," exclaims Kitty. " Have you met before ?"
" Once," he answers, with a meaning smile ; and the color
deepens still more on Mignon's peach-like cheek.
" What are you doing ? Who are you with ? Would you
not like to come with us ?" asks Lady Clover in a breath.
" I should, immensely oh, I can leave him. We were only
having a stroll," answers Raymond, in inverse order to the
questions propounded ; and thereupon, with the inconsiderate-
ness that Englishmen are wont to exhibit to one another, and
which is never resented when there is a lady in the case, Ray-
mond mounts into the carriage as the servant opens the door
for him, and gives an unceremonious nod over his shoulder to
the friend who is lounging in the distance, trying to look un-
conscious, and wondering who the deuce those two lovely
women are who looked so pleased to see L' Estrange.
As Raymond sits opposite to Lady Bergholt, three lines of
his favorite poet come to his mind :
" Filled full with life to the eyes and hair,
As a rose is fulfilled to the roseleaf tips
With splendid summer and perfume and pride."
" And pray, sir," cries Kitty, " what brings you here, when
you ought to be hunting the wily fox ?"
" I got a fall a fortnight ago," he answers, " and the brute
rolled on my leg. No bones broken, but I shan't be able to
grip a horse again this season. So there was nothing for it
but London or Paris."
" Poor boy !" says Lady Clover, patronizingly. " Well,
what's the news ? What have you been doing ever since Oc-
tober ? I have often pictured you to myself broken-hearted
since I married !"
" So I was ; so I am still, inconsolable. The only thing
that has at all raised my spirits has been thinking how fright-
fully Sir Josias must be boring you."
" Not in the least. He is a most amusing companion," re-
torts Kitty, mendaciously. " And so good-tempered. We
have never had a word, not once ; and travelling is the most
trying ordeal for husbands and wives that I can imagine. My
13*
150 MIGNON.
dear Raymond, picture to yourself what we should have been
after three months' foreign travel together."
Raymond and Kitty were contemporaries in petticoats : so
this franchise may be considered pardonable.
" My dear, we should have adored each other as at the first
day," returns Raymond, imperturbably. " Pray don't give
Lady Bergholt any unfair impressions about me : the sweet-
ness of my temper is a proverb in our part of the country."
" Then don't risk it by marrying."
" I don't intend to. I never saw a woman I wanted to
marry, present company of course excepted."
He is speaking to Kitty, but his eyes steal one furtive
glance at Mignon.
" People who tell stories ought to have good memories,'*
cries Lady Clover. " Why, it is not two years since you were
button-holing every one about your hopeless passion for Mrs.
Stratheden."
" Ah, yes," he returns ; " that is true : thanks for remind-
ing me. I have had a good many companions in woe there.
She has another broken heart to answer for since I last saw
you. By the way, you remember my friend Vyner's accident?"
" When Mrs. Stratheden behaved with such heroism ? Of
course he fell in love with her. Why, my dear Raymond, I
could have told you that would happen at the time," says
Kitty, with a little air of superior wisdom. " Well, I suppose
his heart is mended again by now, like yours."
" Indeed it is not," answers Raymond. " I never saw a
fellow take a thing so to heart. He has lost about two stone,
and doesn't seem to care for anything that he used to. He
rides awfully hard, too : sometimes I think he wants to break
his neck."
" Who is this fascinating Mrs. Stratheden ?'' asks Lady
Bergholt, with an unconscious touch of pique. Somehow, it
jars upon her to hear other women praised.
" Who is she ?" repeats Raymond. " I was going to say the
most charming woman in the world. I will say almost the
most charming." And his eyes accentuate his meaning.
They are making the " tour du lac," going, as is the custom,
at a foot-pace. Raymond is conscious of the attention excited
by his fair vis-d-vis: it pleases his vanity to be seen in com-
pany with two lovely, perfectly-dressed women, for women I
MIGNON. 151
must by courtesy call these two girls, both of whom are only
just eighteen. Mr. L'Estrange comes in for a considerable
share of attention from the fair, but he has no eyes for any but
the ones he is with.
At the door of their hotel they meet the two husbands. Sir
Tristram greets Raymond heartily, and asks him to dine with
them. Sir Josias treats him with undemonstrative politeness.
" Pray, my dear," he asks his wife, a little later, " do you
begin to feel your friendship for Lady Bergholt on the wane
yet?"
Clever little Kitty understands him at once.
" Why, you goose," she says, " I look upon Raymond as my
brother."
" Then you have no objection to his falling in love with your
friend?"
" Not the slightest."
" That is fortunate," observes Sir Josias, dryly.
" It will be ' diamond cut diamond,' " laughs Kitty. " I
don't know which has the least heart or the most vanity."
Raymond L'Estrange is susceptible; his principles have
been slightly impaired by two seasons in London, and by a
course of reading which, however interesting and instructive,
is hardly wholesome for a very young man. Alfred de Musset
and Swinburne he swears by; Rousseau, Balzac, Gauthier,
Feydeau, and Arsene Houssaye he has read with avidity;
from Rochefoucauld and Lord Chesterfield he has culled some
useful hints : it is not therefore to be supposed that, when he
finds himself in danger of becoming deeply interested in his
friend's wife, he should hasten to put the sea or some impos-
sible distance between her and himself. On the contrary, he
passes as much time as possible in her company, and the fair
one is eminently gratified by his attentions. Raymond gives
the whole party a recherche little dinner at the Cafe Anglais ;
he takes a box for them to see Schneider ; he sends to both
ladies the most exquisite bouquets.
" My dear Raymond," says wicked Kitty one day when
they are alone, " what a fortune these little attentions to me
are costing you ! I really did not know you were still so fond
of me. Pray be careful not to excite poor Sir Jo's suspicions,
It is very prudent, though, of you always to treat Mignon in
the same way, and makes a most excellent blind."
152 MIGNON.
Raymond's handsome mouth curves into a smile.
" What a witch you are, Kitty ! But really she is adorable,
is she not? What an awful shame her marrying a man so
much older than herself ! I'm awfully fond of Sir Tristram :
he's a thundering good fellow : still, thirty years is a horrible,
an unnatural disparity. Oh, I beg your pardon, I forgot."
u You need not beg my pardon," retorts Lady Clover, with
some tartness. " Jo is only nineteen years and eleven months
older than I am ; and I would not have married a young man
for the world. You think of nothing but yourselves, and are
as fickle as as "
" A woman ?" suggests Raymond.
" No, sir, not at all. Women are not fickle : they know
their own minds, and once they choose a man, if they are
worth anything, they stick to him, which you young men
don't."
" Charming for Sir Josias !" ineers Raymond. " You and
Lady Bergholt seem tremendous friends. Does she share
your sentiments?"
" If she does not, she ought to. She owes everything to
Sir Tristram."
" I don't think there is much obligation," .retorts Ray-
^mond. " She gives him her exquisite self in return."
Kitty makes a little scornful gesture. Looking at it from
a woman's point of view, she thinks the return a very indif-
ferent one.
" I see you are very far gone," she remarks ; " but I am
happy to tell you, my dear, that you are wasting your time.
If I were not sure of it, I should not think it right to en-
courage you by allowing you to go about everywhere with us."
This, delivered with an air, by a little arch flirt of eighteen,
is too much for Raymond's gravity ; and he laughs outright.
" May Lady Clover long practise what she preaches !" he
says.
Meantime, Sir Tristram has not been unobservant of the
effect produced by his wife on Raymond. To say he has not
felt a pang of jealousy at seeing these two handsome heads
whispering together, would be to say what every one would
feel to be an absurdity. But he has said this to himself:
" She is beautiful : no man can look upon her without feel-
ing admiration, perhaps love for her. I must make up my
MIONON. 153
mind either to shut her up and let no one see her, and in so
doing secure our mutual wretchedness and perhaps drive her
into infidelity. The other course is to put no restraint upon
her, to let her have as much admiration and enjoyment as
her own beauty and my money can command. I think"
(sighing), " ambition is a stronger motive power in her than
love, and in the long run it will be better for me if it is so.
Kaymond is the first ; but am I to suppose he will be the last ?
How Fred will gird at me for my folly ! I suppose I have
been a fool ; but I don't know that if I could, I would undo
the work of the last six months."
CHAPTER XVIII.
" The mare with a flowing tail composed an eighth species of woman.
These are they who have little regard for their husbands ; who pass away
their time in dressing, bathing, and perfuming; who throw their hair
into the nicest curls, and trick it up with the fairest flowers and gar-
lands. A woman of this species is a very pretty thing for a stranger t$>
look upon, but very detrimental to the owner, unless he be a king or
prince, who takes a fancy to such a toy."
SIMONIDKS.
IT is the first week in May. The fashionable papers have
duly chronicled that Sir Tristram and Lady Bergholt have
arrived at No. Eaton Square for the season. They have
spent the last two months at The Warren, which has been
transformed into a little paradise. Sir Tristram thoroughly
enjoys an English spring in the country after his long absence,
but Mignon, who has spent nearly every spring of her life in
sight of the hills and dales and woods her lord finds so charm-
ing, is impatient to begin her life in London. Sir Tristram
has decided that she is not to see Bergholt until after the sea-
son, by which time the various alterations he has planned will
be completed and a proper staff of servants sent down. My
lady has been very gracious to her mother and sisters, and
even to her father. She no longer feels any grudge against
him now that her marriage has turned out so well. Still, that
a*
154 MIGNON.
is no thanks to him, she tells herself. At her husband's sug-
gestion, she has brought each member of the family a hand-
some present from abroad, not forgetting the old housekeeper,
her former nurse.
.Mi^uon is very sweet and gracious to every one: her foot
is on the necks of her people : they vie with each other in
attentions and care for her. At first this triumphant home-
coming is immensely gratifying to her ladyship, but she soon
wearies of it after she has exhibited her lovely toilettes, her
jewels, the treasures she has collected in her travels. There
is no Cascine, no Pincio, no Chiaja, no Bois, in which to dis-
play her beauty and her fine clothes of an afternoon ; she
misses the admiration of many eyes, and finds driving up and
down steep hills and looking at lovely views extremely weari-
some and monotonous, in spite of her handsome carriage and
liveries. She yawns, reads countless novels, and is perpetually
entreating her husband to take her to London when he goes
up for the day on business ; but he puts her off with ex-
cuses : the truth is, he does not want her to be seen until she
breaks with fitting state upon the London world in all her
loveliness. She longs after Kitty, who is at home at Elmor,
a charming old place which Sir Josias's father bought twenty
years ago from a bankrupt nobleman. Mignon wishes she
were at Bergholt : she would be near Kitty and Mr. L'Es-
trange. It would be pleasant having him to come in and chat
with and flatter her. Here there is literally no one: even
poor Oswald Carey has gone off to India, Oswald, her first
victim.
" Pooh !" thinks Mignon : " he was nothing to be proud of!"
At Easter, Gerry comes to The Warren, looking so hand-
some and in such spirits, so grateful to Sir Tristram, so full of
love and admiration for his beautiful sister. " Oh, Yonnie !
what a clipper you have grown I" he says. " How you will
take the shine out of some of them this season !" He asks
a thousand questions : who is to present her ; what she will
wear ; if she is to have a box at the Opera. Mignon has not
thought about the Opera, and forthwith asks the question of
Sir Tristram : she has not the slightest Itonte, true or false, in
asking for anything she fancies.
" My darling, you would find it a great bore. You shall
have a box as often as you care to go, but we shall probably
MIGNON. 155
dine out a good deal, and it is hardly worth while taking one
so late in the opera season. And I don't think you are very
enthusiastic about music. Don't you remember how you
yawned at the Opera in Naples?"
" Oh, that was different," pouts Mignon. " There were no
people and no dresses there one cared to see."
" Well, my love, if you care as much for it as you think
you will, I promise you a box for next season."
The subject drops ; but Mignon feels rather aggrieved. In
her idea it is an important part in the role of a grande dame
to have her box at the Opera.
The two dull months are over now, months that have been
glorious with sunshine, and whose sudden showers have turned
every twig into a jewelled sceptre, months when the birds have
poured their thrilling music from every bush and shrub and
tree, months when Nature has sown every bank and hedge-
row with many-colored wild flowers, and, lavish of her sweets,
her beauties, her melodies, has, in the joy of her perennial
youth, shared them freely with her lovers. But Mignon is
not one of these.
Sir Tristram and Lady Bergholt have arrived in town.
Mignon is in a state of mind that halts between rapture and
terror : she is to be presented next week. Rapture, because
she is to be presented by a duchess, because the great man-mil-
liner, having himself seen her and observed her beauty in Paris,
has confectioned her the loveliest presentation-toilette that even
his artistic mind is capable of: it is of the sheeniest satin, the most
ethereal tulle, the most graceful, pure white ostrich-feathers,
and so exquisitely draped and arranged one might imagine
that the mantle of a Greek sculptor had fallen on the shoulders
of Mr. Z. Sir Tristram has given her a parure of diamonds, for
which Mignon has kissed him voluntarily the first time in her
life. He feels himself amply repaid. So much for my lady's
rapture. Now for her terror. She is entirely ignorant how
to acquit herself in the presence of royalty. It is very easy
for her husband to say, " But, my love, it is the simplest thing
in the world. You give your card to the Lord Chamberlain,
and then you curtsy and kiss her Majesty's hand, curtsy to
the princesses, and get out of the way as soon as you can."
Mignon would like to call in the assistance of Miss Leonora
Greary j but her husband laughs at her. " Wait till Kitty
156 MIQNON.
comes," he says : " if I have not told you enough, she will be
able to give you every reuse ignement"
" What is that ?" asks Mignon.
" I beg your pardon, niy dear. That is a French word,
rather expressive, I think, meaning information, particular.
By the way, I wish you spoke French like Kitty : it is so de-
sirable for a woman who goes much into society. You know,
darling, it is not too late yet."
Mignon "tiptilts" her nose (charming euphemism, into
which the poet-laureate has transmuted a vulgar idiom). She
has a rooted opinion that knowledge detracts from beauty, and
has no ambition to put any more learning into her lovely head
than is at present there.
Kitty conies to the rescue. She arrives in town three days
after Mignon, who feels a little jealous because her friend has
a town house of her own. The meeting is most affectionate.
Lady Clover has come to lunch in Eaton Square, and need I
say that immediately afterwards there is a display of the im-
portation from Paris ?
" I expect to die of spleen when I see your court dress," says
Kitty. " I saw that wretch Z. took an especial interest in
you. I was consigned to his ladies-in-waiting without a look.
Still, my dress is very pretty ; though I dare say I shall despise
it when I have seen yours."
When it is unfolded, she looks at it with clasped hands, and
such an expression in her eyes as a sculptor might wear look-
ing for the first time upon the statue of which Byron wrote :
" All that ideal beauty ever blessed
The mind with in its most unearthly mood,
When each conception was a heavenly guest,
A ray of immortality."
Certes Mrs. Kitty never stood with bated breath and rapt
eyes over the Apollo Belvedere as she is standing now.
" What a shame !" she uttets, at last, " when you are so
lovely already !"
No man could have paid Mignon such a compliment. The
" realized dream" of Mr. Z. having been put away, and the
friends left alone, Mignon enters eagerly upon the subject of
her presentation.
" Oh, Kitty, do please tell me exactly what to do. Sir Tris-
tram has only given me the vaguest idea."
M1ONON. 157
" Well, my dear, first and foremost, you are not to rub your
nose on her Majesty's hand."
" As if I should !" utters Mignon, aggrieved.
" You will be very clever if you don't, without a great deal
of practice. It sounds delightfully easy to kiss any one's
hand ; but just try it under the attendant circumstances. Put
your arm out nearly a yard in front of your body, curtsy as
low as you do in the Lancers, and kiss the Queen's hand at
the same time, this with four yards' length of satin trailing
behind you, a bouquet, a handkerchief, and a glove (be sure
you don't forget to take your glove off) in the other hand, and
the most awful feeling of nervousness you ever experienced in
your life, and if you acquit yourself to your own satisfaction
without a great deal of practice, you will be more than mor-
tal. When I think what her Majesty must suifer from the
untrained osculations of Mesdames Jones, Brown, and llobin-
son !" And wicked Kitty laughs a ringing peal. "Come
now, begin ! I will be the Queen." And Lady Clover takes
up a position majestically at the top of the room. Mignon
goes energetically through her drill. Sir Tristram, hearing
the sound of his wife's musical laughter, comes in and finds
the lesson proceeding.
The day arrives. The two brides are to meet at the Palace,
for it is not to be supposed they are going to crush their
lovely dresses by sitting in one carriage. Besides, each wishes
to display her handsome carriage and liveries. If they have
sold themselves, they wish the world to know that they have
fetched a good price.
Mignon looks lovely ? poor hackneyed word, that has
to do duty for the fairest fair, and for many ordinary things
besides, let me hasten to find adverbs wherewith to enrich you.
Supremely, exquisitely, transcendently lovely. Yet I am not
satisfied.
Her whole family have come to see her dressed. Mignon
thought it would be rather a bore ; but Sir Tristram made a
point of inviting them. Even they, in whose sight she has
lived all her life, marvel at her. Sir Tristram feels the proud-
est man in England as he squeezes himself into an infinitesi-
mal space in the carriage, not to endanger the clouds that sur-
round his divinity. It is only one o'clock when they take
their place in the rank ; but it is a lovely day, and neither
14
158 MIGNON.
the occupants of the carriages nor the horses are likely to take
cold. The sun shines upon Mignon and her diamonds, but
even a May sun at noonday can find no flaw or speck in that
perfect skin.
" Nothing frayed
The sun's large kiss on the luxurious hair.
Her beauty was new color to the air,
And music to the silent many birds.
Love was an-hungered for some perfect words
To praise her with."
The British public is long-suffering, but it is not well bred.
It thinks no shame to stare and gape round the carriage of a
beautiful woman or a celebrity, to make its remarks in a dis-
tinctly audible voice, nay, even to point with its finger. " Oh,
my ! Polly, look 'ere ! 'Ere's a lovely young lady ! Well, I
never ! she beats the lot ! Look at her dimins ! I suppose
the gent's her pa."
It is not on account of the last remark that Sir Tristram
asks Mignon whether she will like the blinds down, for there
is a regular mob round the carriage ; but Lady Bergholt de-
clines, probably on the principle that " it pleases them and
doesn't hurt her."
Kitty is awaiting her friend impatiently in the uncloaking-
room. She, too, looks charming ; but beside Mignon she is
only like a star to the moon.
" Come, my dear, we shall be frightfully late !" she cries,
impatiently ; and Mignon follows her, looking like a beautiful
swan in the water, not " on a turnpike road." She is fairly
dazzled. The uniforms, the beef-eaters, the gentlemen-at-
arms, the diamonded dowagers, present to her unaccustomed eyes
so gorgeous a kaleidoscope that her brain is in a whirl : she
hardly hears the gay nonsense Lady Clover is whispering to
her.
" Look at poor Jo ! did you ever see such a figure ? Poor
dear ! he has not had his uniform on lately, and has got fat in
the mean time. There was not time to have it let out, and it
took two men to button it. I expect to hear it burst with a
loud report every moment : he is nearly black in the face now.
I have offended his mother for life. She expected to present
me, though she has not been to Court for years, and was
going to make an effort on my account. I don't want to be
MIGNON. 159
unkind, but really Jo and his mother together would have been
too much. Picture to yourself, iny dear, a mother-in-law in
brown moire and cork-screw ringlets, and collar-bones that remind
you of a shoulder of mutton after a large family has dined off
it. Jo was rather hurt, but he is so sensible. I said to him,
' Don't you think, dear, after calm and dispassionate reflection,
that it is quite sufficient trial for me to go with you in the uni-
form of a colonel of volunteers, without the maternal moire
and ringlets and collar-bones?' He saw it at once. There"
(nodding and smiling to some one in the distance), " there is
Lady De Vyne, who presents me : is she not magnificent-look-
ing ? There is Raymond, too, in attendance upon his mother.
How handsome he looks in his yeomanry dress ! she makes a
point of coming once in three years, and it always knocks her
up for a month."
"Who is that elegant woman so exquisitely dressed?" asks
Lady Bergholt, as Kitty kisses the tips of her fingers to a lady
in the distance.
" That is Mrs. Stratheden. No matter where she goes, she
is nearly always the most distinguee and the best-dressed
woman in the room."
Mignon feels a shade disappointed. She has taken a sort
of dislike to Olga without knowing her, and feels a desire to
depreciate her : it is the impossibility of doing this that cha-
grins her.
But she soon recovers her equanimity. All eyes within
range are turned upon her ; people are asking who she is ;
there is not the slightest doubt that amidst that brilliant throng
she is the undisputed belle. Raymond is dying to get to her ;
but there is a wall of tulle, satin, brocade, and diamonds be-
tween them. His handsome face wears a decided frown, and
he is inclined to be pettish with his poor mother.
" It is going to be a frightful crush," whispers Kitty, look-
ing over her shoulder and seeing the gentleman-at-anns at the
last barrier courteously but firmly refusing admission to a bevy
of fair onfig intent upon getting into the already crowded rooms.
" The room before the throne-room will be a bear-garden. I
tremble for our dresses !" And, when she gets there, Mignon
finds, to her cost, that a titled and well-born crowd, arrayed in
purple and fine linen, can push as hard and get as hot as a
crowd consisting of more vulgar elements, and not keep their
160 MIGNON.
tempers half so well, either. Meantime, during the long hours
of waiting, she amuses herself by looking about her, at the
pictures, the brocade hangings, out into the garden ; but she
is getting impatient and pale with nervousness. Three o'clock
strikes ; the Queen, with the punctuality that is the courtesy
of royalty, has taken up her position ; there is a short hush
of excited expectancy whilst the privileged few who have the
entree are sailing leisurely into the throne-room, without con-
fusion or crowding, very much as if they were going in to dinner.
Now the ropes are withdrawn : there is a rush forward, and
the brilliant stream, like pent-up water let loose, floods through
the open space, and Mignon and Kitty are swept along with it.
There is really plenty of room in those spacious saloons, if the
fair throng would take it quietly ; but each one is afraid of
missing her Majesty, and treads eagerly upon the satin heels in
front. Mignon feels her exquisite dress that was like a puff of
thistle-down an hour ago squeezed and crushed around her,
herself jostled with scant ceremony, and is almost ready to cry
with mortification.
" Now," says Kitty, as they reach the corridor that precedes
the throne-room, " follow me, and do as I do. Don't look at
yourself in the glass on the left, because the men will be look-
ing at you from the other side. And be sure you don't tread
on my train."
With these injunctions, she lets down her train for the
pages to arrange, and sweeps on. Calm, self-possessed Mignon
shivers like an aspen as the Lord Chamberlain reads her name.
She is conscious of an encouraging smile from a gracious lady,
she just manages to kiss the royal hand, and then, oblivious
of curtsies to the princesses, and of the injunction not to turn
her back upon them, she turns and flies, whilst an elderly gen-
tleman rushes breathlessly after her with her train. She is
immediately joined by Sir Tristram, who, having appeared at
the levee two days before, has only come in attendance upon
his lovely wife. Mignon leans upon his arm with a delightful
feeling of protection quite new to her ; then Raymond comes
up, and a host of her husband's friends are asking to be intro-
duced to her, and she comes to the conclusion that it is most
delightful when it is all over.
Mrs. Stratheden approaches. She is very cordial, without
being gushing. She thinks Lady Bergholt almost the love-
MIGNON. 161
liest creature she has ever seen ; and there is no one more
heartily appreciative of beauty in her own sex than Olga.
" I want you and Sir Tristram to dine with me unceremo-
niously to-morrow," she says to Mignon, " if you are disen-
gaged. Lady Clover and her husband and Raymond and Mrs.
L'Estrange have promised to come. We shall be quite a
Blankshire party."
Mignon, without even consulting Sir Tristram by a glance,
answers that they are happy to accept, but in a tone so glacial
that Mrs. Stratheden is chilled, and Sir Tristram feels both
surprised and annoyed. Lady Bergholt turns to speak to
Raymond, in a manner that seems to intimate, " The audience
is at an end," and Olga is soon the centre of a more appreci-
ative crowd.
" Is she not lovely ?" Raymond asks, with enthusiasm, of
Mrs. Stratheden, a little later j and Olga replies,
" Most lovely."
"But?" says Raymond. "I thought your tone implied a
but."
"On the contrary," answers Olga. " There can be no but
in the matter. She is almost, if not quite, the most lovely
creature I ever saw."
"Mignon," says Sir Tristram, as they are rolling swiftly
homewards, " I am sure you did not intend it, but your man-
ner to Mrs. Stratheden was not very gracious."
"Really?" utters Mignon, coldly.
" She is one of the greatest friends T have," pursues Sir
Tristram, " the last person in the world I should wish you
to be cool to."
Lady Bergholt does not reply. Already even, and despite
her own transcendent beauty, she is jealous of Olga.
14*
162 MIGNON.
CHAPTER XIX.
" Let no flower of the spring pass by us. Let us crown ourselves
with rosebuds before they be withered."
Wisdom of Solomon.
THE gates have swung open for Mignon, and she has en-
tered the land of enchantment. This time last year she was
a little rustic in a cotton gown and a straw hat, lying on the
daisied grass under a big tree, and ambitioning nothing more
than the undivided possession of her neighbor's strawberries,
and now she is a queen of society, one of the most beautiful,
most admired women in London. She plunges eagerly into
the vortex : the whirl of it leaves her not a moment to think :
it is all novelty, excitement, triumph. In the morning, if she
is not engaged with dressmakers and milliners, she sits in the
Row ; thence she goes to a luncheon-party or has friends at
home, thence shopping or to a reception or concert, then for
a turn in the Park, then home to dress for a dinner-party
or the Opera, then to one or more balls, then home, tired
out, to sleep soundly until ten o'clock next morning. Sir
Tristram has a large acquaintance ; he has always been popular ;
and now, having a lovely wife who is very much the fashion,
invitations pour in upon them thick and fast. Mignon has
hardly time to exchange a word with her husband, a circum-
stance that in no wise afflicts her. She has even left off asking
him if she may have this or that thing she fancies, but gives
herself carte blanche for her most extravagant whims. Al-
though he goes with her to every entertainment, she is sur-
rounded by a crowd of other men, and if alone with him for
a moment she takes the opportunity to shut her lips and eyes,
to recruit herself from the incessant strain upon them.
She no longer regrets the box at the Opera; she only cares
to go on Saturday nights, and then the music bores her,
though it is pleasant to sit in front of the box and have three-
fourths of the glasses in the house directed at her, and to be
visited between the acts by her most fashionable men friends.
Sir Tristram is merged into Lady Bergholt's husband : he is
MIGNON. 163
the proprietor of a lovely woman, and is therefore supposed to
be satisfied with the fact, and expected to make way for every
other man who wants to talk to or make love to her. My lady
accepts all the adulation offered her as a tribute due to her
charms. If a man becomes, or pretends to become, serious,
she laughs in his face with bewitching impertinence, and as
likely as not makes open fun of him to his friends, any ex-
position of the tender passion being to her only matter for
ridicule. She likes to be adored, she prefers a baronet to a
commoner, and a lord to a baronet, but as to devoting herself
particularly to one man, to the prejudice and alienation of
others, such a thing is not to be thought of. Mignon's de-
light is to have a crowd round her, each vying with the other
for her smiles, whilst other women look on, half enviously,
half admiringly. Men who boast that they " never waste
their time" are fain to detach themselves from her train. But
not to run after a woman who is the rage, is a sacrifice of
vanity that these sheep of fashion, with whom it is a tradition
to follow their leader, are incapable of.
Raymond, who had dreamed dreams and seen visions of
a romantic passion, terminating in " the world well lost" for
one, if not both, is goaded into madness by Mignon's treat-
ment of him. It is almost a death-blow to his vanity to know
that he has only been a pis-atter, to find himself treated with
utter indifference, to have his smiles, his frowns, his sulks, the
absences with which he punishes himself in the hope of pun-
ishing her, apparently unnoticed by the object of his passion.
If he is sentimentally inclined, Lady Bergholt laughs him to
scorn, perhaps holds him up to public ridicule; if he is
moody and cross, she yawns and tells him openly that he is
an insufferable nuisance. A thousand times a week he re-
solves never to see or speak to her again, but finds himself
totally unable to keep his vow. If ever there was a woman fitted
to revenge the wrongs of her sex on the other, it is Mignon.
She makes many friends among women, from the remorseless
snubs she gives to men : " they can't really like her, when
she says such atrocious things to them," her fair friends
think.
It is a June morning. Lady Bergholt is tired of sitting
in state in her carriage : there is not a particle of shade from
the ardent rays of the sun, and my lady rather wishes to
164 MIQNON.
exhibit a very ethereal toilette of gaze de Chambfoy and Va-
lenciennes that only arrived from Paris last night. Kitty,
looking lovely on a spirited little bay, has gone down the Row,
and Mrs. Stratheden, perfectly turned out as usual, and as
pale and cool as if there was no blazing sun overhead, has
stopped a moment in passing.
" I wish I rode ! it's a great shame I haven't a horse," says
Mignon to her husband ; with a pout.
" As soon as you can ride, my darling, you shall have one,"
he replies ; u but you would not like to practise here, and y3u
are not up early enough in the morning to ride before the
crowd conies. When we get to Bergholt you shall begin ; but
people don't ride like Kitty and Olga in a day."
" Olga !" repeats Mignon, " tiptilting" her nose in a way
not unusual to her : " you seem to be on very familiar terms
with her." Like many women who allow themselves very
great latitude with men, Lady Bergholt resents the slightest
familiarity between her husband and a woman.
" My dear child, I knew her when she was in short frocks."
" That must have been some time ago," sneers Mignon,
longing to disparage, but finding it difficult. " Olga ! such
an outlandish name, too !"
Sir Tristram smiles mischievously.
" ' People who live in glass houses,' you know," he says.
" Of the two I am afraid your name would carry off the palm
for outlandishness."
Mignon reddens at having fallen into her own pit.
" Every one else has ponies," she remarks, discontentedly.
" Well, you shall learn to drive too at Bergholt," says her
doting husband, indulging himself with a lover-like thought
of the pleasure it will give him to teach her. " But on a hot
morning to hold pulling horses and sit in a broiling sun is not,
you would find, the most agreeable pastime in the world,
charming as the combined effect of thoroughbred steppers and
a lovely charioteer may be."
" It is broiling enough sitting here," says Mignon, whose
serenity is evidently somewhat ruffled this morning, I imagine
because Lord Threestars has passed without stopping to speak
to her. " Let us get out and sit under a tree."
So they descend from the barouche, and my lady sweeps her
gauze and laces down the dusty path. She attracts great
MIGNON. 165
attention, and would still more, only, unfortunately, she hap-
pens to be walking behind an actress more noted for her toil-
ettes and jewels than for her dramatic talent.
It is not long before Lord Threestars joins them.
" Simply perfect! Z.'s last?" he whispers, knowing that a
compliment to her dress is, if anything, more esteemed by a
woman than one to herself. " By the way, are you going to
the Queen's ball to-night ?"
" Of course," answers Mignon, with not very well feigned
nonchalance ; and Sir Tristram winces. He knows what a
man like Lord Threestars is likely to think of her affectations
of grande dame, affectations which, being evolved from the
inner consciousness of one not born to the purple, must of
necessity be unlike what they would simulate.
"I shall not ask you to dance," pursues Lord Threestars.
" Dancing there is next to impossible, and would only crush
your beautiful dress of course you will be beautifully dressed,
as you always are ; but, if you will allow me, I will do cicerone,
and show you everybody and everything."
Mignon graciously accepts, though she is a little disappointed
at the prospect of not dancing. This ball has been her fondest
aspiration : ever since she received the card with the magic
words, " The Lord Chamberlain is commanded by the Queen
to invite Sir Tristram and Lady Bergholt," etc., etc., she has been
in a state of intense mental excitement, which she has carefully
endeavored to suppress. To show exultation or mortification
in the leau monde is to show a lack of breeding : thus much
Mignon has learned : feign joy or feign sorrow if thou wilt,
but never let the real feelings of thy heart be known, lest thy
friends triumph over or make a mock at thee.
The longed-for time arrives. Mignon's heart beats, the
hand that rests on her husband's arm trembles with excite-
ment, as they thread their way along the crowded corridor to
the ball-room. It is a dazzling sight for a novice, the blaze
of diamonds, the rich and varied uniforms, the distinguished-
looking men, the well-born, well-dressed women. There are
exceptions ; but I can think of no other time and place where
so much of birth, good looks, and distinction are congregated
together.
Lord Threestars meets them at the door, and Mignon trans-
fers her hand to his arm.
166 MIGNON.
" How late you are !" he whispers. " I thought you were
never coming."
They struggle through the crowd with none the less diffi-
culty because of the aristocratic elements which compose it,
and make for the upper end of the room.
" Extraordinary," says Lord Threestars, " that, not wanting
to dance, and with half a dozen other charming rooms to sit
in, every one will crush in here."
From the elevated position to which he conducts her, Mig-
non has the pleasure of making a minute and searching in-
spection of the royal party with the most gracious and charm-
ing princess in the world in their midst, she has an undisturbed
view of the Scotch reel performed in front of the dais after
supper, and, later on, she watches with immense interest the
princess dancing like an ordinary mortal and evidently enjoy-
ing it too.
" Now," says Lord Threestars, with a sigh of relief, " I
have kept my promise and shown you everything ; now give
me my reward and let us go and sit down quietly for a little
while."
Mignon complies, and they wend their way to one of the
handsome, deserted rooms, deserted save for a stray couple
flirting here and there in a corner. But she prefers being be-
fore the public, and likes much better to be seen leaning on Lord
Threestars' arm among the crowd than to be sitting tete-a-tete
with him in a comparatively empty room. Still, she wishes to
make herself agreeable, and wreathes her face into smiles as he
does his best to entertain her with the small talk of the day.
Mignon, though she objects to the trouble of taking French
and singing lessons, is an apt scholar, and has picked up the
jargon of society without effort. She is able to talk of " high
life and high-lived company, with other fashionable topics,
such as pictures, taste, Shakspeare, and the musical glasses."
The three first-named have probably never gone out of vogue
since that oft-quoted sentence was written : pictures, whether
the public are in raptures over Gainsborough, Reynolds, Sir
Edwin, or Millais, old masters or promising young ones ; taste,
through its changes from powder and hoops to coal-scuttles
and the scantiest garments allowed by a very liberal-minded
decency, back again to hoops without powder and clinging
garments unaccompanied by coal-scuttles ; Shakspeare, whether
MIGNON. 167
expounded by Kemble, Kean, Fechter, Salvini, Hossi, or Ir-
ving. The musical glasses have had many substitutes, too nu-
merous to attempt to chronicle : in the year of Mignon's debut
polo did duty for them, since then it has been skating-rink*,
and last year it took the novel form of a coffin-show. Curious
study for the philosopher ! a duke opens his grounds for the
display of be-ribboned, be-flowered wicker baskets, and, lo !
the fashionable and the curious, who hate the name and thought
of death, who shudder with terror and loathing when brought
even into momentary contact with it, snatch a moment from
their frivolous pursuits to stare and chatter and jest over the
strange show. I wonder if any of them saw, instead of the
wreaths and ribbons, the fair faces and the smiles, a'corrup-
tion so horrible as to sicken the strongest man, and the loath-
some worms gliding in and out between the wicker-work ?
That is what I should have seen ; and so I stayed away. If
Juvenal had lived in the present day, he might, along with
many of the vices he lashed in his own time, have had some-
thing to say about skating in the dog-days and flocking to a
coffin-show. Baby-shows, barmaid-shows, seem a trifle ex-
travagant in idea, but what are they to a coffin-show?
Erom a queen's ball to a coffin, what a hideous digression !
I humbly apologize to the reader for having carried him from
a pleasant thought to a ghastly one, and with all speed I will
hie me back.
" You will drive down to Lillie Bridge on Saturday, won't
you ?" Lord Threcstars is entreating. " I will send you tickets.' '
" Perhaps," answers Mignon, who is clever enough not to
make her favors too cheap.
" But promise, and then I shall feel happy."
" Women's promises are not to be relied on, you know,"
Mignon answers, with a saucy laugh.
" Yours are, I am sure," murmurs my lord, sentimentally.
.,. "I am very hungry," remarks Lady Bergholt, irreverently,
" and you have not asked me to have any supper."
" Because I knew there would not be a chance until the
dowagers were appeased. Come now" (rising and giving her
his arm).
Lord Threestars is slightly fastidious: that so lovely a
creature as Lady Bergholt should not be superior to the gross
sensation of hunger is displeasing to him ; when he sees that
168 MIGNON.
young lady's remarkably healthy appetite, his soul is troubled
within him.
l < I shall not dine with the Bergholts if they ask me," he
reflects to himself; " and I only trust I shall not sit next
her at dinner anywhere. So lovely, and yet so hungry !"
(sighing). " If I were her husband I should make her eat
in private, and play with a few grains of rice or something in
public, like the young woman in the Arabian Nights."
CHAPTER XX.
" Passion I found, and love, and godlike pain,
The swift soul rapt by mingled hopes and fears,
Eyes lit with glorious light from the Unseen,
Or dim with sacred tears."
Songs of Two Worlds.
WHEN Leo drove away from The Manor House, he felt as
though he had left the best part of his life behind him. It
was the first time that the presence of one particular human
being had been utterly, absolutely indispensable to his happi-
ness. He had often felt a keen regret at parting from his
father, especially in the old school-days, but this agonizing
blank was a new experience. The pain was all the keener for
its novelty. Men who have many loves leave them lightly and
easily replace them ; but it could not be so with an ardent
chivalrous-minded boy like Leo, to whom the woman he loved
was a divinity. Up to the present time, women had played
but a small part in his life : he had been thrown little in their
way, and sport had seemed to him the great object of existence.
But from his boyish days, when he had dreamed of knights
and heroes, and sighed after the olden time when the finest
role of a gallant gentleman was to fight and die in the cause
of womanhood, he had always had high and chivalrous thoughts
of them.
He had longed, like many another high-spirited lad, to be
one of King Arthur's knights, to ride forth to the succor of
MIGNOtf. 169
distressed damsels, to wear his lady's glove in his helmet, to
die with her name engraven on his heart. Later, when these
boyish fancies were crowded out by the modern phase of prow-
ess called sport, his thoughts of women were still tinged by
the chivalrous poetic old fancies. His ideal was rather an im-
possibly angelic being, but it was a very good ideal for a young
man to have. In this respect he differed happily from many
of the rising youth of this generation, who, ere their beards
be grown, have learned to think and speak more than lightly
of the sex their mother should have made sacred to them.
O women of the day, you who cannot help but see this glaring
evil creeping on, in the flippant disrespect, the want of rever-
ence which boys, scarce grown to manhood, show for you, who
cannot help but see, and yet, far from checking, tolerate, nay,
rather laugh at it, have you not much to answer for ? Is it
better, think you, that instead of having chivalrous thoughts
of you, instead of looking up to you and believing with honest
reverence in your purity and worth, they should hold you
cheaply and utter your name with significant smiles or may-be
a coarse, jest? When men talked flippantly about the sex in
Leo's presence, when they amused themselves by sneering at
virtue, worse, by denying its existence, when he heard them
class all women together without distinction, the honest flush
would rise to his brow, and sometimes the honest anger to his
lips, and he would get laughed at. But in his present frame
of mind, imbued with new reverence by his love for Olga, it
would have been dangerous for any one to impugn in his hear-
ing the sex of which almost every member was dear and sacred
for her sake.
Raymond found his friend very poor company, and was in-
clined to be cross and cynical with him. He was a selfish young
gentleman, as I have said, and did not at all relish being the
victim of another person's melancholy.
" Olga has been at her old games, I see," he remarked, with
a curve of the lip, when his mother had left them after dinner
on the first evening of Leo's return. Raymond was jealous:
he did not like Mrs. Stratheden to make such a fuss with Leo,
and rather wanted to take the conceit out of his friend in case
he should flatter himself too much on the score of Olga's
kindness.
A quick flush suffused Leo'* face ; he had been rather sub-
H 15
170 MIONON.
ject to this young-lady-like affection since his accident : he
was silent for a moment, then he said, with considerable
warmth,
" Please don't speak of Mrs. Stratheden in that way : she
is an angel. If the best friend I have in the world spoke
lightly of her, he would not be my friend any longer. We
have always been good friends, Raymond : I should be awfully
sorry for anything to interfere with our friendship." And
the lad put out his hand across the table with a frank, kindly
grace that was irresistible. But there was an unmistakable de-
termination in the tone of the foregoing words, and Raymond
had an irritable uneasy feeling of having been " sat upon."
The sensation was as disagreeable as it was novel. But he
took the proffered hand, saying at the same time, with a smile
which rather disfigured his handsome mouth,
" Of course I won't say a word against your divinity. Will
it cost me your friendship if I remark that, in my opinion, no
woman is worth men's quarrelling about?"
From this time Mrs. Stratheden was not mentioned between
them. It was a dreadful punishment to poor Leo, who would
have dearly liked to give vent now and then to his passionate
enthusiasm and admiration for her. Raymond had an intu-
ition of this, and was not ill pleased at being able to punish
his friend for having made him feel small.
A few days later they started for Scotland, where they were
joined by two other men, one of whom had taken the shoot-
ing with Raymond.
" I don't think there is a chance of my being able to shoot,"
Leo had said, before starting. " You had better get some
other fellow to take my place."
" You can but try. If you can't manage it, I will send for
Tracy. At all events, you can potter about and fish."
So it was settled. But Leo very soon found that the walk-
ing was out of the question, let alone the shooting. So when
the others took their guns and started off in the dog-cart ho
would wander away to the stream with his rod and a book and
Olga's picture next his heart. It was a new sensation for him,
this enforced idleness and solitude. His whole being was per-
vaded by melancholy ; he had nothing to do but to think, and
thinking brought him scant comfort. Life, that was so glad
a thing to him, had become almost a curse ; this gnawing want
MIGNON. 171
of the heart seemed more unbearable than any bodily pain
could have been. Morning after morning he wandered down
to 'the stream through groves of mountain-ash, alders, and
chestnuts, with a tangle of wild raspberries growing on either
side of the scarcely-defined path. Here and there through an
opening he could see the purple moors, and the green meadows
and yellowing cornfields that lay between him and them, and
he would sigh and wish he was striding over the heather after
grouse, or doing something, anything that would take him out
of himself. The swift clear water rushed over the stones with
a pleasant sound, but it seemed to Leo only to intensify the
silence and stillness of everything else around.
He would sit down on a rock and watch the bright water
sparkling in the sunshine, and the flies swarming over it, and
once and again a little silvery trout leaping. He was laughed
at every night when he showed the result of his day's labor,
a couple of dozen troutlets no bigger than sprats. One day
he rode seven miles to a lake in the hollow of the hills. It
was a lovely ride ; purple moors on either side, with great
tufts -of fern and bracken and the modest blue -bell of Scot-
land growing by the roadside. Now and then a covey of birds
would get up and fly a yard or two ; but they seemed to know
Leo had no gun, and did not disturb themselves much about
him. The trout-stream brawled below, winding through groves
of firs, leaping, flashing, and murmuring garrulously to itself
on its joyous way, like some living thing. Leo put up at the
minister's house, and the wife, a good-natured but quite com-
mon woman, came out, offered him milk, and smiled pleasantly,
as women are apt to do at sight of a comely male face, more
especially when the vision is rare. She showed him her cows
and poultry, whilst the tame goats came and rubbed against
his legs. Leo was glad of some one to talk to, particularly a
woman, however coarse clay she might be compared with the
fine porcelain of his idol.
The good wife questioned him as to why he was not shoot-
ing, and Leo told her all about his accident and of Olga's
heroic conduct. It was the first time he had spoken of her for
weeks, and it was delightful to him. His auditor listened with
ready sympathy, her shrewd woman wit not slow to grasp the
true state of affairs : it was the pleasantest half-hour Leo had
spent for an age. Then he strolled away to the loch. It was
172 MIGNON.
a bright, hot day, with a blue sky, and fleecy clouds that hov-
ered like great birds over the moors, making dark shadowy
patches in the purple. Leo thought of the " flocks upon a
thousand hills" as he saw the sheep dotted about everywhere
and heard the faint tinkle of their distant bells. A broad
ripple came across the water, and the trout began to jump.
Snipe looked impudently at him from a little island of reeds,
a wild duck got up and flew away, a flock of plover circled
over his head uttering their dismal cry. Now and again the
sharp report of guns was borne on the air and taken up by
the echoes.
Leo put his rod together and began to fish. He was in luck :
six good-sized fish fell a prey to him in less than half an hour.
But there the day's sport came to an end : he whipped the
stream for a couple of hours more, but never got a rise. So
he threw himself down under a bank of heather and began to
dream. If she were only here, now, how passing fair the face
of nature would seem, how eloquent this stillness ! If he
might only sit mutely and watch her broad eyelids, the turn
of her head, and her little jewelled fingers ! Then he drew
forth her cherished image that his kisses had blurred.
" If I could only have a good picture of her," thought the
poor lad, " it would be such a comfort to me." Suddenly the
thought flashed across him that he would ask her to give him
one : it would be an excuse for writing, whether she granted
his request or not. Day after day he had resolved to write to
her : sometimes he thought of telling her what he suffered
and invoking her pity: he had begun many a letter, had
written page after page of passionate love and despair, only to
tear them to shreds afterwards. It was unmanly, he told him-
self, to importune a woman with a love she did not return.
But what should a man do who loved vainly, loved with a love
that cankered life and ate the heart and hope out of it? He
rejected utterly the old-fashioned notion of drink and dissipa-
tion as a remedy for the heartache. " If you love a pure
woman," he said to himself, " it ought to make your life the
nobler and the better, even though the love be hopeless. Is
a man to bring himself to the level of a beast because he loves
an angel and cannot win her? If she never knew it, it would
be something to have tried to be a better fellow and of some
use in the world for her sake."
M1GNON. 173
Then he would call to mind the talk they had had together
about life.
" A man can do so much," she had said, one day, with a
sigh. " And there is so little for a woman, I mean for a
woman who is alone in the world, as I am, and who has no
ties."
" Would you like to be a man?" he asked.
" No," she answered, with a frank smile : " all my feelings
are so much a woman's that I have never regretted my sex.
In the first place I am a sad coward, and a man should have
no nerves ; I hate hardship and discomfort of any sort ; and
then you know, with my love of the dumb creation, I could
never have been a sportsman."
" But what can a man do if he isn't a sportsman, when he
has no profession ?"
"Do!" cried Olga, with enthusiasm: "everything. Of
course I suppose it is right for a man to care for field-sports,
or he would not be manly ; but do you suppose he is sent into
the world with nothing better to do than to kill and maim as
many helpless creatures as he can get near ? An excellent
ambition for a wild Indian who has to live by his bow and
spear," continued Olga, scornfully, " but scarcely worthy of a
Christian gentleman. If you want something to exercise your
combative faculties on, exert them upon misery and vice and
want. Oh, if I were a man" (with ardor), "I would try to
make something or some one the better for me. It is not to
be done in a lazy half-hearted way, but if a man desires from
his soul to do good to his kind, there are plenty of ways and
means."
" One must go into Parliament first, I suppose," hazarded
Leo, whose ideas of how to benefit humanity were extremely
vague.
" No doubt that gives you opportunities," answered Olga,
" if you go with the honest intention of using them for the
benefit of your fellow-creatures, and if you enter upon the
life with honest convictions, not, like some men, ready to
tell any falsehood or take any side for the sake of putting M. P.
after your name and getting what social distinction those two
letters are supposed to give."
Leo, as he dreamed among the heather in the sunny after-
noon, pondered in his mind whether it were possible for him
15*
174 MIONON.
to approach in the faintest degree to Olga's idea of what a
man should be.
" It should be a man's aim," she had said, " to protect all
that is weak, to help all that suffers." His heart echoed to
hers as she spoke, but until then it had never entered his
mind that he personally could carry out such an idea. Life
and its aims, as he had viewed them three months ago, seemed
ignoble and unsatisfying to him to-day ; but then came the
thought, " How can I change it now?"
And then and there, whilst the August afternoon waned,
Leo, lying with closed eyes against the heather bank, thought
his problem out. He had much to do before he could be fit
to enter upon a career such as Olga had vaguely hinted at ;
he must conquer his own ignorance and shyness first, and to
this end he must study and travel. Leo's enthusiasm rose as
he drew vivid pictures of an active and useful future, and
through the long vista one glorious idea lay always at the end
of the goal : he would win Olga's approval. He could never
be worthy of her, but if he used all his energies, all his
faculties, in straining to approach, however faintly, her ideal,
he might be able to say to her, in the days to come, " What-
ever I have succeeded in, whatever I have done worth doing,
was for your dear sake and because you inspired me."
A glow came over Leo's face, his lips moved to the words,
and he opened his blue eyes with a look of gladness and tri-
umph, as though he had already fought his battle and con-
quered. Once more life held something for him. The day
no longer seemed dull, solitude oppressed him not. He rose,
took his rod to pieces, shouldered his basket of fish, and with
a light heart and step wended his way back to the minister's
house. He bade the good wife adieu, left her a couple of fine
trout, and started homewards. A mile on, he came upon two
of the shooting-party, sitting on a stone waiting for the dog-
cart. The pony laden with game, the two brace of handsome
pointers, and the good-looking young sportsmen, made a pic-
turesque group.
" What sport?" shouted Leo, as he rode up.
" Twenty brace and nine hares," responded Raymond.
" What have you done?"
" Six good-sized trout j but I left two with the minister's
wife."
MIONON. 175
" You should never waste time and civility on ugly old
women," laughed Raymond : " there's no satisfaction to be got
out of it."
Then the dog-cart came up, and they all went homewards.
That evening, whilst the rest of the party smoked and
chatted, Leo sat in his room writing his petition to Olga. He
penned a letter full of enthusiastic plans for the future, and
finished by begging her to let him have a good picture of her,
that he might always have her image near to stimulate and
encourage him. He left the letter on the table, went to the
open window, and looked out for a long time into the night.
Presently he returned to the table, and read over what he had
written.
" It is a silly, bragging letter," he said, and tore it into
shreds. " If I fail, if, as is more than likely, I never do any-
thing worth the doing, what a pitiful fellow she will think me !
No, I won't say a word of my intentions : if she ever hears
of anything it shall be actions."
He took up his pen again, and wrote :
"My DEAR MRS. STRATHEDEN,
" I should have liked to write to you a great many times
since I came here, but there has been nothing of the least in-
terest to tell, and I feel I have already taken up a great deal
too much of your time. I often think of you and Mrs. For-
gyth and the dear old Manor House (the most perfect place in
the world, /think), and everything and everybody about it.
I shall always remember that month as the happiest of my
life. Don't be angry with me. I am going to ask you a very
great favor, but I would almost rather you were angry with
me and granted it, than that you should forgive me and re-
fuse. You have done so much for me, I ought to be ashamed
to ask anything more ; but I do so want to have a good, a
really good likeness of my dear preserving angel. The one I
have is so faded, and does not a thousandth part do you justice.
I know I am making a bold request, but I know, too, that
your kindness and goodness exceed even my boldness. I shall
look most anxiously for your reply. Please remember me
very kindly to Mrs. Forsyth, and believe me, always,
" Yours faithfully and devotedly,
"LEO VYNER."
176 M1GNON.
CHAPTER XXI.
" Mais la femme qui soutient Tamour par 1'estime, envoie ses amants
d'un signe, d'un bout du monde a 1'autre, au combat, jl la gloire, si la
mort, oil il lui plait cet empire est beau, ce me semble, et vaut bicn
la peine d'etre achete."
J. J. ROUSSEAU.
OLGA had been perplexed, and, truth to tell, a little nettled,
at Leo's persistent silence. Her experience of lovers had led
her to expect a series of letters from him containing every
phase of love and despair : the only thing she was not pre-
pared for was silence. She did not comprehend the manly,
unselfish spirit that prompted his reticence, his fear of gi\dng
pain to a heart so kind and sympathetic as hers by betraying
his suffering : woman-like, she said to herself, with some pique,
" It was a boyish fancy : he has forgotten all about me. I
hardly thought he would be cured so soon."
If Leo, instead of being the simple young fellow he was,
utterly unversed in the ways of women, had been the most
astute of Lovelaces, he could not have chosen a more effective
way of rousing Olga's interest and keeping himself before her
mind. Morning after morning she, almost unconsciously to
herself, turned over her letters to look for his handwriting,
and morning after morning there was a kind of unacknowledged
disappointment in her mind as none was forthcoming. When
Mrs. Forsyth occasionally asked for news of their patient, she
was almost vexed with her friend for asking because she had
nothing to tell ; and one day when Mrs. Forsyth remarked,
" I think he might have written," she made quite a petulant
answer. Her friend did not seem to remark it, but she was,
nevertheless, very much astonished in her own mind. " It is
not possible" she said to herself, with great emphasis, " that
Olga's heart, having been as hard as the nether millstone for
years, is now going to melt for a boy like this." The idea
worried her inconceivably, and she began to keep her eyes
wide open.
Olga missed her patient more than she would have cared to
MIGNON. 177
confess. It had been pleasant to her to have an object of per-
petual solicitude; now it was almost a pain to miss Leo's
stalwart figure, his frank face, the blue eyes which followed
her about with a dog-like fidelity and affection. Blue eyes
have not often that faithful look of a dog's eyes, but Leo's
had. She filled The Manor House with guests, she would
not give herself time to think, and yet she missed him. Then
she grew angry, and said to herself that he was ungrateful,
and not only ungrateful, but ill-mannered. Common courtesy
demanded that he should have written to express his acknowl-
edgments, if nothing else. So poor Leo, doing violence to
his desires that he might not vex or trouble the queen of his
heart, was working himself steadily into her disfavor.
When at last his letter arrived, she had ceased to expect it.
It did not give her much pleasure, either : it contained none
of the fervent protestations she might, from his behavior on
the night of their parting, have not unreasonably expected :
he did not say that life was blank to him because of his ab-
sence from her. On the contrary, the letter was evidently
written in a thoroughly cheerful and happy vein.
Olga flung it away from her in a pet, and made up her mind
not to answer it at all. With the curious inconsistency that
is a part of human nature, more especially, I am told, of
feminine human nature, she sat up long after her guests had
retired, to write a discursive letter to the very person who had
been wanting, she said, in common courtesy to her. She even
did a much stranger thing. By a singular coincidence, she
had the morning previously received an exquisite miniature of
herself by Dickinson, which she had designed as a surprise for
Mrs. Forsyth on her birthday. It had caught her in one of
her happiest moments : her own verdict was that it flattered
her outrageously.
" I will send it to him," said proud Olga, who had never
given her portrait to a man in her life. And she did, with the
following letter:
"My DEAR LEO,
" It was an agreeable surprise to find you had not forgotten
us. Your long silence had brought us to the conclusion that
sport (euphemism, you know, in my opinion, for the 'brutal
instincts of the savage'), the blue-bells of Scotland, and other
H*
178 MIQNON.
unknown though dimly-gucsscd-at fascinations, had obliterated
The Manor House and its occupants from your thoughts.
Men are naturally ungrateful. Poor Truscott was very dis-
consolate after you left : he was like Othello with ' his occu-
pation gone,' the only respect, certainly, in which one could
liken him to the Moor. More than once he confided to me
that the place seemed ' quite lonesome' without you. Mrs.
Forsyth and I too found the time hang a little, until we busied
ourselves with preparation for an influx of visitors, who are
still with us. It is almost too hot to play hostess : fortunately,
every one is equally disposed to ' far niente,' which relieves
me to a certain extent of the labor of finding amusement for
them. Some, indeed, have considerately paired off, and give
no trouble at all, except to find them when one wants to organ-
ize a game, picnic, or dance : the gardens, as you know, are
admirably adapted for people who are not good at locality to
lose themselves in.
" Now I am going to scold you. You might have imagined
that I should be anxious to know how my patient progressed.
For three weeks you do not write at all : then, when you do,
not one word about the arm, or your health, or anything that
concerns your individuality. I shall expect a budget in return
for this, with all the minutest details. What are your plans
for the autumn and winter ? Sport, sport, sport, I suppose !
We shall be here until October : you might look in upon us
en route from the North to show us how perfectly robust Scotch
air has made you. The doctor says you will not do the birds
much harm for a month or two ; but I have great faith in your
constitution and recuperative powers.
" Write to me, unless letter-writing bores you, and even
if it does. I shall always be interested to hear about you, as,
after my month's nursing, I have a feeling that you belong to
me. Give my love to Raymond, and believe me, always,
" Very sincerely yours,
" OLGA STRATHEPEN.
" You ask for my picture. I send you one which came
yesterday and was destined for ma chere. Do not betray me
to her. I hardly know if you will recognize the lovely crea-
ture in the Florentine frame : it would have been a flattering
picture of me five years ago, and ought only to be given to
MIGNON. 179
some one who is never likely to see me again. That, however,
will not, I hope, be the case with you. Now good-night;
every one else is wrapped in slumber, and I begin to have an
uncomfortable feeling of wanting to look over my shoulder to
be sure there is no one behind me. I am very brave in the
day, but when the sun sets all my courage seems to sink
with it."
Why should I tell what Leo felt and did when the post
brought him that most precious freight ? You messieurs who
pish and pshaw over love-passages now were, I presume, once
young and enthusiastic, and had accesses of rapture and passion
that would seem extravagant and incomprehensible to you
now. But you, fair readers, your wits and imaginations are
keen in these delicate matters, you will conceive a tolerably
correct idea' of the effect Olga's letter and picture had on her
ardent young lover. You may be quite sure he did not con-
sider it nattering. How could he ever thank her enough ?
no one but Olga was capable of so graceful an act, done so
graciously and without making it appear the favor it was.
Leo wrote to her without restraint: he poured out all his
heart to her, just as it would have bubbled up to his lips had
she been there : he almost thought she was, with that sweet
face looking at him out of the picture. It was a letter that
must have flattered any woman, it breathed such adoration and
reverence. It was not the letter of a man who hoped any-
thing, but of one who wished to offer the best and purest
homage his heart was capable of.
Olga was wont to be critical over her love-letters, to be very
captious over the turn of a phrase, moved to immoderate mirth
over poetic sentiment, intolerably disgusted by a misspelt word.
And, alas ! many young gentlemen who have been educated
at Eton and Oxford are occasionally subject to a lapse in their
spelling. As for soldiers, poor fellows ! I believe some of
them write with the point of their swords and have not room
in their kit for a dictionary.
But there was nothing in Leo's letter to move the most
cynical mouth to a smile : nay, when Olga had read it she
laid it down gently and hid her face in her hands. Something
very like tears found their way through her white fingers and
fell softly on her bosom. She no longer entertained those
180 MIGNON.
doubts of Leo's affection and gratitude that had embittered
her thoughts of him a few days ago.
Since Oliver Beauregard's time, no one had touched Olga's
heart. She had liked men, had fancied she might come to
care for them in time, but she had always shaken herself free
of the fancy. She had schooled herself so hard to believe
that men were not to be trusted, and that, for women, love
was only a synonym for misery. And yet there was no woman
breathing more unfitted by nature to, stand aloof from love
than Olga : no heart could be more tender, more prone to soft
dependence, than hers. Fate and Oliver Beauregard had
made her life the barren thing it was to herself, even though
it seemed so fair and enviable in the eyes of the world. Leo
had stolen into her heart, the heart that had been empty,
swept and garnished for so long : but she would not admit it,
even to her inmost self. She would have scouted the idea,
treated it with impatient scorn. That she, who prided herself
on her discretion, her common sense, should for an instant per-
mit herself to entertain a thought of a man years younger than
herself, absurd ! preposterous ! She went even so far as to
say, disgusting ! Unfortunately, knowing that things are fool-
ish, being as perfectly awake and alive to the fact as our best
friends or our worst enemies can possibly be, does not always
hinder us from doing them.
The guests had left The Manor House : Olga had nothing to
distract her mind : so she retired to her hammock on the green
island, taking with her Balzac's historiette, " La Femme aban-
donnee." Had there been any one to watch her face as she
read, they would not have failed to be struck by the lively
emotions which chased each other there during the perusal.
Need I say that for Gaston she read Leo, for the Vicomtesse
de Beausant, herself? Th-e lines which I transcribe seemed
to her singularly applicable to her young lover :
" Elle trouvait en lui le reve de toutes les femmes, un hermme
chez lequel n'existait encore ni cet egoisme de famille et de
fortune, ni ce sentiment personnel qui finissent par tuer, dans
leur premier elan, le devouement, 1'honneur, 1'abnegation,
1'estiine de soi-menie, fleurs d'ame sitot fanles qui enrichissent
la vie d'emotions dedicates quoique fortes, et raviven* en
1'homme la probite du coeur."
There are few more touching stories than the one of this
MIONON. 181
woman, plunged from a life which was one continual fete to
the horrors of isolation, buried alive with the memories of her
brilliant, happy, passionate youth. " Being" (as Balzac de-
scribes her) " neither wife nor mother, repulsed by the world,
deprived of the only heart which could make hers beat without
shame, unable to draw support from any source for her faint-
ing soul, she must seek strength in herself, live her own life,
and have no other hope than that of a forsaken woman, to
wait for death, to welcome its coming in spite of the youth and
beauty which are still left to her, to feel herself destined for
happiness, and to perish without receiving, without giving it !
A woman ! What a sorrow !"
Why should Olga be intensely affected by this story ? Her
life had been as different from Madame de Beauseant's as one
woman's could well be from another, and yet, had their cases
been identical, Olga could not have been more forcibly touched.
Was it on the principle that made John Wesley say, as he saw
the poor wretch dragged to Tyburn, " There goes John Wesley
but for the grace of God ?" Why should any of us be proud
to have been sheltered from temptation ? There is only one
thing that can make pride worthy, to have been tempted and
to have conquered.
I fancy, however, that what touched Olga so keenly was
sympathy with the woman's loneliness, with her passionate
regret of the days of her youth, passing unfilled, unblessed by
love or joy. Here was the similitude, the point of union. Then
Olga read of Gaston's first interview with the vicomtesse, his
passionate letter, burning with all the enthusiasm, the homage,
of a young man's first love (a letter inferior to Leo's, she told
herself )j the cold reasoning tone of Madame de Beauseant's
answer (such an answer as Olga felt prudence and discretion
would prompt herself to make) :
" J'ai bientot trente ans, monsieur ; et vous en avez vingt-
deux h, peine. Vous ignorez vous-meme ce que seront vos
pensees quand vous arriverez a mon age. Les serments que
vous jurez si facilement aujourd'hui pourront alors vous par-
aitre bien lourds."
She read of the vicomtesse' s flight, of Gaston's pursuit, of
the nine years of their happiness, when time seemed to dream,
and everything smiled upon them. Then came the interven-
tion of Gaston's mother, and the question of his marriage with
16
182 MIONON.
the heiress. Here Olga awoke, with a start, to the fact that
her case and Madame de Beauseant's could not in any way be
parallel. The vicomtesse was not Gaston's wife. She fell
into a reverie. Would not the illusion vanish all the more
swiftly because of the tie, and would it be less hard to be for-
saken in the spirit than in the letter?
She read on to the end with burning eyes and a throbbing
heart, read the heart-rending appeal of the woman to whom
Gaston's love was all that life held, his reply, his desertion of
her, his remorse too late.
Olga sprang up. " Never !" she cried to herself, with
feverish energy ; " never !"
From that moment she resolved to banish Leo from her
thoughts.
Later in the afternoon, Mrs. Forsyth, taking a solitary stroll,
happened to turn her steps to the island. Her attention was
arrested by a book lying on the grass : it was open face down-
wards, and looked as if it had fallen or been thrown there.
Mrs. Forsyth picked it up, and observed that there were marks
of tears upon the open page. She put up her eyeglass to look
at the heading. It was " La Femme abandonnee."
" Then she is really serious," she said to herself, with an
air of stupefaction. Mrs. Forsyth took the book and replaced
it on the shelf, but she made no remark on the subject to
Olga.
CHAPTER XXII.
" For indeed I knew
Of no more subtle master under heaven,
Not only to keep down the base in man,
But teach high thought and amiable words,
And courtliness, and the desire of fame,
And love of truth, and all that makes a man."
TENNYSON.
LEO, very characteristically, had said nothing in his letters
to his father about his accident, but had merely hinted that
he had slightly strained his left arm. He would not for the
MIGNON. 183
world have caused his father any anxiety or uneasiness, and
was singularly free from that form of selfishness which likes
to make the most of its sufferings.
Mr. Vyner was quite ignorant of Leo's compelled abnega-
tion of sport, for in his letters the latter always chronicled the
" bags" and suppressed all mention of the fourth gun. On
the 30th of August, Leo received the following letter :
" MY DEAR LEO,
" I have had a great disappointment. As you know, I was
to have gone to Cobham for the 1st, and we expected some
excellent shooting. I have just heard from Mrs. C. that her
poor husband has had a paralytic seizure. The news has
shocked me very much, and will you, I am sure. This puts
out all my plans. It would not seem like the first of Septem-
ber if I did not take my gun out ; but it is dull work shoot-
ing alone, and, besides, I would not rob you of your share of the
sport. I wish you were here : however, I don't want to inter-
fere with your pleasure, as I suppose you are having capital
sport and enjoying yourself thoroughly. There are any quan-
tity of birds, and we shall have lots of pheasants this season,
I am glad to say.
" Your affectionate father,
"RALPH VYNER."
After reading the letter, Leo made up his mind to start for
home at once. He saw that his father was anxious to have
him, and determined not to disappoint him. True, he could do
very little in the way of shooting ; but the old gentleman
would like to have him to walk with and to talk over affairs at
night. Leo had only one regret ; but it was a very keen one.
He had looked forward so intensely to seeing Olga on his way
home. Had his father's letter come one day sooner, he could
have managed it ; but now there was only just time to get
home by the following night.
Leo wrote at once to Mrs. Stratheden, expressing his dis-
appointment. That lady, on receipt of the letter, frowned,
bit her lip, and chose to imagine that if he had made an effort
he could have come. She tore the displeasing communication
to shreds, and sat down to write invitations for a new party
at The Manor House.
184 MIGNON.
Since the day he had spent thinking by the loch among the
moors, Leo had never swerved from the intentions he had
formed there. The one tiling that troubled him was how to
break the news to his father. Mr. Vyner was opposed to pro-
gress, thought people fools who wanted to leave a country,
even for a few months, which, in his opinion, was the only one
fit to live in, and believed the life of a country gentleman with
a comfortable income superior to any other. Up to the present
time, Leo had accepted his father's opinions, and to a certain
extent acquiesced in them : he had been quite satisfied with
the idea of following in the paternal footsteps and devoting
his life to tranquil country pursuits, alternated by the excite-
ment of sport. But suddenly all his views had changed ; such
a life seemed stagnation, a living death. He felt a conscious-
ness of greater capabilities in himself: the chords of ambition
had been touched in him, his heart vibrated to them, he
could no longer bear to contemplate a useless future such as
was destined for him.
The thought of breaking his new views to his father had
given Leo considerable uneasiness. Filial instincts were
strong in him : until now, the most sacred duty in life had
been yielding to his father's wishes, and Mr. Vyner had been
an eminently kind, indulgent, and unexacting father. Leo
loved and respected him, respected him because he was his
father, without stopping to question for an instant whether the
respect was due to him independently of their relations to each
other. Here again he differed from many of his contempo-
raries, who look with a mixture of condescension and contempt
on their fathers, and treat them rather as necessary evils than
oracles : the same healthy moral tone that gave him his chival-
rous ideas of women made him reverence his father and treat
old people with respect. The fact that he was perfectly un-
conscious of holding any particular opinions on these subjects,
and merely acted as nature and good feeling prompted him,
made him thoroughly devoid of any priggishness.
The news must be broken sooner or later. How should he
break it ? This thought was becoming Leo's torment. He
longed to take the plunge, but said to himself,
" I won't spoil his sport for the first day or two."
Mr. Vyner was exceedingly concerned when he heard the
nature of his son's accident. Leo mentioned Mrs. Stratheden's
MIGNON. 185
heroic conduct, but he could not expatiate upon it as he had
done to the Scotch minister's wife. Somehow, he felt tongue-
tied ; and then he did not wish his father to connect his new
views in any way with Olga.
" Plucky woman that, by George !" said Mr. Vyner, with
enthusiasm. " I should like to see her and thank her. Here's
her health 1" (the recital took place after dinner). " If it
hadn't been for her nerve, you might not have been sitting
here now, my boy." And the father's eyes moistened, and he
held out his hand, and the two grasped each other as is the
undemonstrative way of Englishmen, though it speaks volumes
to themselves. " Confoundedly careless of young L'Estrange !
I hate playing with fire-arms : you might just as well play at
tasting poisonfe. Keep them for when you want them, is my
theory."
The days went on : his father seemed so happy and in such
spirits, Leo had no heart to break the evil tidings : evil they
would be he knew well enough, but secretly he was chafing and
miserable.
It was the fifth evening after his return, and they were
smoking their after-dinner cigars together.
" Leo," said Mr. Vyner, suddenly, " do you know I have
been thinking you ought to see Moore ? I'm afraid your arm
is not so well : you seem so restless and fidgety. I'm not
very fond of the profession, thank God, I haven't been to a
doctor for thirty years myself, but in a case of accident it's
just as well to be watched : eh, my boy ?"
Then Leo suddenly broke out :
" My dear old dad, it isn't that. My arm's right enough.
I have something on my mind."
His father looked at him. He had not a very rapid intelli-
gence, but two ideas occurred to him simultaneously. A
woman. Debt. If a man had anything on his mind, it must
be connected with one or the other.
Leo paused, and Mr. Vyner had time to take a long puff at
his cigar. Then he said with a certain dry emphasis,
" Well, I suppose it is nothing so bad but what your father
can help you out of it ?"
" My dear father," Leo answered, quickly, " if it were not
for you, it would not be a trouble at all."
Mr. Vyner stared blankly at his son. His imagination,
16*
186 MIGNON.
having expended itself on the two causes of a man's undoing,
refused to grasp a third. So he waited to be enlightened.
" You know," proceeded Leo, a little hurriedly, " I have
always thought the sort of life we led the best in the world.
I am devoted to hunting and shooting; but latterly, lat-
terly "
Leo stopped : he would not for the world make any reflec-
tion upon his father by saying such a life was selfish and use-
less, so he had to come to a full stop.
" Well?" said Mr. Vyner, dryly, " latterly ?"
" I have thought," proceeded his son, " I have thought I
should like to find a little food for my mind, to travel, to
see other countries, and "
Mr. Vyner's mind returned triumphantly to his first idea.
" There is a woman at the bottom of this," he remarked, in
a tone which admitted of no contradiction.
Leo was dumfounded at his father's perspicacity. He did
not know that a man has only to live a certain number of
years to be able to ask with perfect security the world-famed
question, " Who is she ?"
u I knew it," cried Mr. Vyner, triumphantly.
" Well, yes," answered Leo, in a low voice. " I did not
mean to have spoken of her, but it is quite true. I love the
best, the noblest woman in the world."
" Of course," interrupted his father, dryly.
" Ay, sir, she is ; and you have only to see her to confess
that whatever I might say of her would be insufficient to do
her justice."
Mr. Vyner smiled significantly to himself, as much as to
say, " The poor boy is very far gone ; but let him rave : his
complaint requires humoring."
" Well, well," he said, encouragingly, " and when am I to
see this young paragon, whom I suppose you intend to give
me for a daughter-in-law ?"
A cloud came over Leo's face.
" There is no more chance of her being anything to me
than there is of my becoming King of England."
Mr. Vyner's brow contracted.
"Leo," he uttered, sternly, "you're not making a fool of
yourself about a married woman !"
" Good heavens, sir," cried Leo, warmly, " what do you
MIGNON. 187
take me for?" He was young and ingenuous enough to look
upon loving another man's wife as a crime.
His father's face relaxed.
" Well," he remarked, " perhaps you will explain the mat-
ter. If a woman isn't married and isn't a princess of the
blood royal, there is no reason, as far as I know, why any
man shouldn't marry her, provided he be a gentleman and can
keep her. Pray why can't she be anything to you ?"
" She is beautiful, clever, rich," answered Leo : " she has
everything. In comparison I have nothing. What have I
to offer her?"
" Hang it all," cried Mr. Vyner, testily, " you are not a
pauper. You will have five thousand a year when I die, and the
property is improving, and if you have set your heart on mar-
rying, you might trust to my liberality, I think. Who is this
girl ? A daughter of Mrs. Stratheden, I presume."
" It is Mrs. Stratheden herself," answered Leo, briefly.
His father gave a low whistle of intelligence.
" A widow ! the devil ! that accounts for it. You need say
no more, my boy. Older than yourself, of course ; been lead-
ing you on, playing the fool with you, and then sending you
to the right-about. I know their game. I always had a
horror of widows myself. Well, I am very glad, under the
circumstances, there is no chance of my having her for a
daughter-in-law."
Leo turned pale. He felt his passion rising. Never in his
life had he spoken an angry word to his father. He got up
quickly and went out through the open window into the garden
and at racing speed towards the wood. He felt that nothing
but rapid movement or fierce speech could allay the fury in
his heart. His angel, his darling, to be profaned by coarse
speech !
" D the woman !" muttered Mr. Vyner, as his son
dashed through the window. " I did not think the boy cared
two straws about a petticoat. Some artful designing hussy,
I'll be bound, probably old enough to be his mother : those
are the women who always get hold of raw boys and make
fools of them. Thank God, no woman ever made a fool of
me !" And Mr. Vyner pulled up his shirt-collar with a justi-
fiable feeling of pride.
It was half an hour before Leo returned.
188 MIQNON.
" Father," he said, quietly, " if you don't mind, we'll drop
the subject of my my love, and talk about the other thing."
u But I suppose one's the natural consequence of the other,"
growled Mr. Vyner. " When a man's in love, and his suit
don't prosper, he generally does one or two things. If he has
the clement of the blackguard in him, he goes full tilt to the
devil ; if he's a decent fellow, he fills his head with quixotic
ideas about doing something very wonderful in the world, set-
ting the Thames on fire, or something equally remarkable.
You'll get all right when hunting begins. Meantime, if you
fancy travelling for a month or two, go, in God's name, and I
will write you a check for your journey to-night if you like."
" Thanks, sir, but that isn't the sort of travelling I want.
It will take a good deal more than a couple of months for me
to see what I want to. A tour in Switzerland or Germany is
the furthest from my thoughts. I want to go to America,
not as a cockney tourist, but to learn something about the
country. In fact," continued Leo, dropping his voice, " I
want more than that : I want to go round the world, and to
do it at leisure."
A long silence followed. Mr. Yyner was paralyzed : he felt
as if Leo had struck him, a mingled rage and stupor, as
though the son whom he loved, and who had always been
dutiful, had defied and threatened him. His head sank on his
chest, his whole soul was flooded with disappointment.
Leo saw that he was suffering, and was smitten by remorse.
" Don't be vexed, dad," he murmured, leaning forward and
laying a gentle hand on his father's arm : " think it over. I
don't want to go yet. God knows I would rather do anything
than pain you ; but I feel that to go on doing nothing and
eating my heart out with wanting what I cannot have, would
kill me."
" You might think of me," answered his father, in a hoarse
voice. " Have I been a bad father to you ? have I ever de-
nied you anything? You have lived all your life with me,
and I've done the best I could for you, and yet in a few days
this woman makes you forget all about me and what you owe
to me, and you don't care two straws whether you bring my
gray hairs with sorrow to the grave or not."
Anything like pathos from his father was so unusual that
it stirred Leo's heart to its inmost depths.
MIGNON. 189
" But, dad," he pleaded, " why should you grieve ? It
would only be a matter of eight or nine months ; and I have
been away from you nearly as long as that before."
" In a Christian country," answered Mr. Vyner, with en-
ergy. " If you broke your neck hunting, or got shot, I might
say, * God's will be done,' but out there among savages, to be
murdered or tortured perhaps, or shipwrecked on the voyage.
No, no ! My belief is that Providence looks after those who
look after themselves, not people who tempt Him by wander-
ing where they have no business and putting themselves wil-
fully in harm's way. If you're ambitious, if you want some-
thing to occupy your mind, why not stop at home and go into
Parliament?"
" I wish I had the chance," said Leo, eagerly.
" Vivian was sounding me about it only the other day," re-
plied Mr. Vyner. " He wants to give up his seat at the next
election. He is getting worn out, and late hours don't suit
him ; and he hinted that if you liked to go in for it, you
should have all his influence."
" Did he?" cried Leo, with enthusiasm. " And what did
you say?"
" I said," answered Mr. Vyner, bitterly, " that my son and
I knew the value of God's gifts too well to live in a pestilen-
tial atmosphere the best months of the year, and to make our-
selves the servants of a party, whether of ambitious place-
hunters or of a parcel of poor fools who don't know when
they're well off. I thought I might speak for you as I would
for myself. I have heard ' It's a wise child that knows its
own father,' but it seems to me there would be just as much
truth in it if they put it the other way."
An hour ago, Mr. Vyner would as soon have thought of
proposing to his son to go into Parliament as of suggesting to
him to shoot pheasants in August ; but then there had been
no question of the other dreadful alternative. One was an act
of egregious folly which only entailed a certain waste of money
and time ; the other seemed to him a question of life or
death.
Leo dropped the subject of his travels and went eagerly
into discussion of his chances of succeeding Mr. Vivian.
"Pray," said his father, severely, "may I ask upon what
grounds you consider yourself fit to become a legislator for
190 MIGN'ON.
your country? Not," he continued, with angry sarcasm. " but
what there are some of the d dest fools in the House that
you could meet with in a day's journey."
" I don't know anything at present, of course, dad," answered
Leo, deprecatingly, " but I can study, and I have lots of time
before me."
" You think you're going to become a great orator all at
once, I suppose," remarked Mr. Vyner, who had fallen into an
exceedingly bad temper, a most unusual occurrence. " Why,
when you had to make a speech to the tenants at your coming
of age, you were as nervous as you could be, and blushed and
stammered like a school-girl. They couldn't hear you half
way down the tent."
" I dare say I shall mend of my shyness, sir," answered
Leo, good-humoredly. "And I don't suppose any great de-
mand will be made on my oratorical powers at present. I
don't expect to be Prime Minister or Leader of the Opposition,
for the next ten years at all events," he added, laughing.
"That's fortunate!" said his father, grimly. He was not to
be joked into a good humor. " I shouldn't have wondered if
you did. The conceit of boys nowadays passes all understand-
ing. However, in case they should discover the genius that I
am probably too great a fool to see, and want to give you a
place in the Cabinet all at once, you'd better take a trip to
the sea-side and fill your mouth with pebbles and roar to the
waves ! No doubt you'll soou be a second Demosthenes and
rant with the best of 'em!"
With this, Mr. Vyner pulled the bell sharply, and ordered
his whisky-and- water in so irascible a tone that the butler
was thunderstruck.
" I do think," he observed down-stairs, " that master and
Mr. Leo must have been having words, the old gentleman
spoke in such a hirritable tone. But there ! I don't know,
either; for Mr. Leo looked just as smiling and pleasant as
ever."
" Bless his heart !" said the comely housekeeper, who doted
on him ; " he always has a smile and a pleasant word for every
one. I do wish I could see him looking as stout and strong
as when he left home. He's fell away dreadfully."
Nothing more was said by Mr. Vyner and Leo that night
on the subject so distasteful to the former, uor was it alluded
MIGNON. 191
to again for some days; but Leo took an opportunity of
seeing Mr. Vivian and having some private conversation with
him.
"I am very glad to have had this talk with you," Mr.
Vivian said, in conclusion, shaking Leo heartily by the hand.
" I had .no idea you held the views you do, nor indeed that
you had any political views at all. I pitched upon you in my
mind because I thought you would do less harm than a good
many others ; now I shall look forward to see what good you
can do. Don't disappoint me. I don't think you will."
To which Leo returned a modest answer.
" I know I am very young and extremely ignorant at present,
but I can learn. I don't mean to aim at great things : my
only ambition is to be of some use, however humble, in the
world. If I fail, it shall not be for want of trying."
Leo betook himself with ardor to the study of the books
Mr. Vivian recommended. It was dry work sometimes, and
a weariness to his flesh, but he persevered all the same. Some-
times he would wake up with a start, to find that the subject
of the British Constitution had changed itself into Olga : her
dark eyes were looking at him from the page, her glowing
lips were preaching eloquent themes in his ears. There were
times when he would fling his book away, and, burying his
face in his arms, cry, "Oh, my darling ! my darling ! how can
I live my life through without you?"
The desire to see her became almost an agony : he grew
white and thin, and wandered about like a restless spirit. He
found it impossible to concentrate his thoughts upon any other
subject. So at last he wrote to her, and asked permission to
pay a visit to The Manor House. Two days later he had an
answer dated from Curzon Street :
" DEAR LEO,
" I am in town for a week or so, and shall be very glad to
see you. I am then going on a round of visits, and don't
expect to be back in Blankshire until after Christmas. Come
and dine with me to-morrow, and we will go to a theatre."
" Do you mind putting off shooting the Ashton coverts for
a day or two, sir?" said Leo, looking up at his father as he laid
the letter down.
192 MIGNON.
" No, my boy ; it makes no difference to me," answered Mr.
Vyner, in a cheerful voice. " Where are you off to?"
" I have business in town," was on Leo's lips ; but he had
such a habit of speaking the truth that the words did not
come readily.
" I want to go to town for a couple of days," he said.
" All right. I'll get you to take up my new gaiters and tell
Roberts they don't fit ; and you might as well look in at
Moore's and see how they are getting on with that gun."
Mr. Vyner spoke in a frank, unsuspicious tone ; inwardly
he was saying,
" He's going to see that infernal woman 1"
CHAPTER XXIII.
" Then after length of days he said thus : 'Love
For love's own sake, and for the love thereof,
Let no harsh words untune your gracious mood;
For good it were, if anything be good,
To comfort me in this pain's plague of mine;
Seeing thus how neither sleep nor bread nor wine
Seems pleasant to me, yea, no thing that is
Seems pleasant to me; only I know this,
Love's ways are sharp for palms of piteous* feet
To travel, but the end of such is sweet:
Now do with me as seemeth you the best.' "
The Two Dreams.
LEO'S heart beat violently as he jumped from his hansom at
the door of No. 1000 Curzon Street. In the joy of his heart,
he would have liked to supplement his cordial " How are- you,
Truscott?" by a shake of the hand. He had not seen Mrs.
Stratheden since she bade him good-by by the water-side that
night: as he walked up-stairs behind Truscott, he was trem-
bling with suppressed excitement. He was going to see her
again ! he would not have given up this rapture, nor delayed
it an hour, for the fairest offer which any tempter could have
made him. Such it is to be young and in the first flush of
the master-passion !
MIGNON. 193
But the room into which he is ushered is empty. A minute
or two of eager impatience, then the door opens and admits
the queen of his heart. Leo feels a wild desire to throw him-
self at her feet, to commit some extravagance in the exuberance
of his joy ; but, fortunately, there are hidden laws which
prevent a young gentleman in evening dress and a white tie
from making a mountebank of himself: so he only goes for-
ward with a heightened color and kindling eyes, to take and
kiss the dainty hand that is cordially outstretched to him.
Then he sits down by Olga, not in the least conscious that he
is embarrassing her by the fixity and ardor of his gaze. It is
such intense pleasure to see her once again. Olga cannot but
feel flattered, though the situation is a little awkward.
" Why do you look at me so?" she says, with a rather em-
barrassed smile. " Are you thinking how much plainer I am
than the very flattering picture I was vain enough to send
you?"
There is a dash of coquetry in Mrs. Stratheden's little
speech, for no one could mistake the admiration of which
Leo's eyes are eloquent.
" Flattering !" he echoes. " How could any picture flatter
you? A picture, whose eyes never change, and whose lips
are dumb !"
Olga laughs : there is a little ring of pleasure in her voice :
how can she be a woman, and not care to be adored by a man
whom she likes? It is the reciprocal liking, though, that
makes pleasure of what without it is but a weariness to the
flesh. The tenderest love-speeches fall dull and tame on a
woman's ear if she be indifferent to the man who utters them.
" Where have you learnt to make such gallant^ speeches,
pray, sir?" asks Olga; and Leo answers,
" Are they gallant ? My inspiration comes from you."
At this moment Mrs. Forsyih enters the room ; nor is Leo
alone again with Mrs. Stratheden once that evening. It is
not quite what he had hoped for, but still it is delightful. Of
the play he sees and hears nothing : he sits a little behind
Olga's chair in the box, absorbed in contemplation of her.
The back of a small Greek head, the charming mique, the
little ear in which a diamond glistens like a dewdrop, these
things give a lover far more delight than the finest play ever
put upon a stage.
i 17
194 MIGNON.
" 1 want you to help me choose a horse to-morrow," says
Mrs. Stratheden, as Leo puts her into the brougham. " Come
for me at three, and we will go round and see if we can find
anything to suit. And you will dine with us quietly at seven
afterwards, won't you?"
It is a bright, clear October night, and, when the brougham
has driven off, Leo stands for a moment hesitating as to what
he shall do. There is a delightful tumult in his brain : he
wants to reduce the sweet confusion to order, that he may
think. He neither feels inclined for the club nor for bed : so
he strolls along until he gets to Piccadilly, and then, uncon-
sciously quickening his pace, proceeds onwards in a straight
line. So intent are his thoughts that when at last he is re-
minded of the fact that patent-leather shoes are not as com-
fortable for a constitutional as shooting-boots, he is well on his
way to Hammersmith. A hansom is coming along, and he
jumps into it, and drives back to his hotel. He goes to bed,
and dreams that Olga has written to say she will never see him
again. He wakes in horrible agitation, succeeded by a de-
lightful consciousness that it was a delusion and that in a few
hours he will be with her. It is almost worth while having a
bad dream for the delight of the awakening.
The afternoon is spent in selecting the horse of which Mrs.
Strathedeu is or fancies herself in want.
" What shall we do this evening?" she asks Leo. " Shall
we go to another theatre ?" Seeing how his face falls, she adds,
" Or shall we spend a quiet evening at home ?"
"/should like that very much better," he answers; "but
will it bore you-?"
" Not .very much," says Olga, smiling. " Saiis adieu" as
the carriage stops at Leo's hotel.
Mrs. Forsyth has for many years indulged a habit, both
agreeable to herself and to Mrs. Stratheden's friends, of retiring
after dinner to take a nap. This habit, begun from a complai-
sant idea of excusing an absence that might otherwise offend
Olga's delicacy by looking pointed, had ended in becoming a
gratification which it was very unpleasant to forego. Bat Mrs.
Forsyth had conceived a great jealousy of Leo, and was reluct-
ant to give him the opportunity of being alone with Olga : so
she departed so far from her usual custom and tact as to say,
whilst they were awaiting his arrival before dinner,
MIGNON. 195
" Shall I take my nap as usual this evening?"
Now, Olga quite saw through the question, and felt a shade
vexed with her friend for putting it. She felt more vexed
still with herself for the faint blush that overspread her face,
and, turning to arrange some flowers in one of the vases,
answered,
" Do whatever is most agreeable to yourself, ma chere."
" That will be to take my nap," Mrs. Forsyth answered,
promptly, hastening like a skilful general to repair her error.
But she could not refrain from a Parthian shaft. " I was
afraid you might be a little bored. Boys are rather heavy to
entertain."
" I think Mr. Vyner has got beyond the awkward stage of
boyhood," answered Olga, with some coldness.
" And I think whatever you think, my love," said Mrs.
Forsyth, cheerfully. " I know you are so thoughtful that you
would rather run the risk of being a little bored than of inter-
fering with my indulgence."
Here Leo's arrival put a stop to further discussion. He had
not intended to say a word to Olga about his plans for the
future, nor even to hint at his chance of a seat in Parliament ;
but, once alone with her, the charm of her presence, her mag-
netic power over him, made his intentions melt into thin air,
and he poured out all his thoughts to her.
As she listened, a feeling of surprise and pleasure stole into
her heart. She loved dearly to have power and influence, and
she loved to use it for good. That she should have stirred up
the dormant vigor of a mind so manly and yet so gentle and
sensitive as Leo's, gave her keen pleasure. As she listened to
him, she felt capable both of loving and respecting him : a pang
shot through her heart as the remembrance of the difference
between their ages forced itself upon her. All her life, Olga
had had thoughts of doing active good in the world : that the
thoughts had not been unfruitful, her bounty to all around
her, and her large unostentatious charities, afforded ample
proof. But the mere giving of money and food did not satisfy
her : there is so much more to be done in the world than to
give mere temporary relief, she thought. For years it had
been the desire of her heart to find a man who shared her
opinions and had energy to carry them out. How often
had she diffidently imparted her views to her lovers and
196 MIGNON.
been reasoned with, smiled at, or not understood ! This want
of sympathy with her cherished ideas had, more than anything,
militated against their success. And here at last, but too late,
was one after her own heart, one whose chief charm was that
his thoughts were hers because she had inspired them. She did
not pause to reflect that the sympathy towards the rest of man-
kind which his love for her had bred might die away as it had
sprung up ; nor that theories which seem very noble and stir-
ring to youth fade away before the harsh lessons of practical
experiment : she looked at the fire in his eyes, listened to the
enthusiasm in his voice, and believed in him. It was part of
Olga's nature to put implicit faith in those she cared for. And
indeed it would have been difficult for any one to look at Leo's
ardent face and doubt that, whatever difficulties the future
might throw in his way, his intentions were thoroughly sincere.
" And what have you determined about going abroad ?"
Olga asked, at the close of a very exhaustive discussion of his
plans.
" I must try to get my father used to the idea by degrees.
But I hate to give him pain. And yet how is a man who
has seen nothing of the world to feel and speak with authority
on questions of universal importance to mankind ? I don't
believe all the books that were ever written could do half for
getting one out of one's narrow-mindedness and prejudice that
six months' travel in fresh places and among fresh people with
one's eyes open would do."
Looking at him, Olga for the moment felt a strong sympa-
thy with his father's reluctance to part from him ; and yet
had she not herself suggested the idea of his travelling?
" It is better that he should go," she said to herself, as she
felt a strange tenderness for him creeping into her heart.
She rose, a little abruptly for her, and walked towards the
piano.
" Stay where you are," she said, with an imperious ges-
ture, as he was about to follow her. " I am going to sing to
you."
And Olga sang in her sweet pathetic voice, songs that were
nil sad and plaintive, and Leo listened till his pleasure turned to
intense pain. Ambition, hope of the future, all faded into
despair : how could he live life through without this woman,
whose presence had become the only joy he knew ?
MIGNON. 197
The voice he loves ceases. Olga rises, and gently closes the
piano. Leo is so still, she almost fancies he has gone to sleep.
Then suddenly he gets up, and, coming towards her with a
face so haggard and miserable it shocks her, he says,
" How shall I live my life without you ? Oh, Olga ! have
pity upon me 1"
She has sunk down on a chair, and he kneels at her feet.
He is very young, very unworldly wise ; he does not know
the gentle, easy familiarity with which men of fashion woo,
nor if he did would he essay to copy it : he knows nothing
but that his heart is torn with agony at the thought of losing,
of being parted from Olga.
" I have tried to fill my head with other thoughts ; I have
imagined that work and ambition could satisfy me ; but it is
all a hollow sham : nothing but you can satisfy me ; there is
no room in my heart for anything but you. I have boasted
like a vain fool to you of the great things I would do, and
you, if you were not so good and pitiful, would have laughed
me to scorn for it : you know that I am a mere puppet in
your hands, to do and think what you choose. Oh, if there
were only not the gulf between us that there is ! if you were
poor, and I could work and toil for you, and win my way to
something that would make me more worthy of you ! but to
feel that you stand so immeasurably far above me, so hope-
lessly out of reach of me, breaks my heart."
Olga's mouth quivers ; there are unshed tears in her dark
eyes : a dozen contradictory emotions are passing through her
breast. If love like this could last ! if it could only last !
and then she remembers the story of " La Femme abandon-
nee." Gaston was as impassioned as this ; thousands of men
have felt what Leo feels, and have wearied of their love once
attained, and marvelled at and cursed it in after-years.
" Come and sit by me, Leo," she says, softly. " I have
something to say to you." And he obeys her. She gives her
cool white hand into his fevered clasp, and speaks soothingly
to him, as a mother might to an unreasonable child whom
she loves too well to chide. " You will not believe me, you
will be angry with me, but I am going to tell you the truth.
If there were no greater obstacle between us than those you
name, if only my wealth and those other charms which you
flatter me that I possess stood between us, and I" (pausing)
17*
198 MIGNON.
" loved you, they would go for nothing with me. I think the
greatest pleasure iu life is to give to those you love ; and no
Misfit-ion could ever enter my heart of the sincerity of the
love of one whom I loved in return."
Leo hangs breathless on her words : the first gleam of hope
Invuks through the night of his despair.
" There is a much greater obstacle than any of which you
know," Olga continues, with a slight quiver in her voice.
" Even when I tell you, you will deny it, and fight against it,
but it is there all the same, and it is so great a one that it
would hinder me from giving you hope, even if I loved you."
She is so careful not to say she does, for then she knows
all her arguments would be blown away like chaff before the
wind. Leo is silent, but his eyes question hers.
" You are three-and-twenty, and I am twenty-nine : there
is six years difference between us, an overwhelming difference,
when the age is on the woman's side. Don't interrupt me 1
It is j ust as natural to you now to prefer a woman older than
yourself as ten or fifteen years hence it will be to seek one
who is young and fresh. Now you like a woman of the
world ; she puts you at your ease, makes you at home with
yourself, entertains and surprises you with the knowledge that
experience has taught her. In after-life the reverse of all
these things will recommend itself to you. When you are
five-and- thirty, in the very prime of manhood, I shall be past
forty, that horrible period of a woman's life when she is not
too old still to have the desire for love, and yet has the agony
of feeling she can no longer inspire it. It is different from a
woman who has married young, her children are grown or
growing up, her husband has aged with her ; but picture to
yourself the case of a woman intensely conscious of being
faded and passte, struggling to keep alive in the man she
adores the love that is the essence of her life, and knowing
that the task is impossible, and that by her efforts, her anxiety,
she is casting the last planks away from her. She becomes jeal-
ous, tyrannical ; she hates all women younger and fairer than
herself; she is ill-tempered and exacting with the man whose
love is the only thing on earth she desires, and knows not
whether to hate him or herself most."
Olga has dropped her cool reasoning tone, and speaks with
a vehemence quite foreign from her habit. Seeing the look
MIGNON. 199
of utter wonder in Leo's eyes, she breaks off, and, forcing a
smile, says,
" I have bewildered you. Was I looking like a second
Medea ? You wonder how I know these things, I who am
not yet forty, and have not had any experience like that I de-
scribe. But I have a lively imagination : there are very few
things I cannot picture to myself, and / know my intuitions
are correct."
" Yes," answers Leo, looking intently at her with his frank
blue eyes, " you have bewildered and astonished me. Shall I
tell you why ? 1^. is to think that you should know yourself
so little as to imagine that a man who had once cared for you
could ever have a thought of any other woman. If you were
to lose your beauty, which I don't think you ever will, because
it lies so much in your expression, you would only lose a tithe
of your charm. When you are sixty you will have just the
same sweet gracious ways that make one love you now, and, if
it were possible, you will be still more clever and delightful."
Olga smiles, but there is more of sadness than mirth in her
smile.
" My dear boy," she says, laying a caressing hand on the
young fellow's arm, "you think so now, and I know you
are wrong. Do you imagine, though, it would be any con-
solation to me to hear you confess later that I was right?
If I reproached you with broken promises, you would have a
right to turn upon me and say, l But you knew exactly what
must happen : you warned me of it yourself Have you ever
been in love before, Leo ?"
" Never," he answers, emphatically.
" Well, but at all events you have read love-stories : you
have heard of men ready to do anything in the world to win a
woman, who, when they had won her, did not always remain
faithful to her ?"
" They were not women like you," answers Leo, loyally.
" My poor boy," says Olga, pityingly, " you are very much
infatuated."
" I may be a fool," he answers, eagerly, " but you would
find me a faithful one."
Olga pauses for a minute.
" As I told you just now," she says, presently, " I am twenty-
nine years old. You will suppose that in all these years I have
200 MIGNON.
heard some declarations of love : don't frown !" (laughing).
" Ah, Leo, you are like the rest of your sex : you try to per-
suade a woman she is something more than mortal, and yet you
are disposed to quarrel with any other man who presumes to
bear the same opinion. Why, my dear, when you were quite
a child, I was a grown-up young lady, being flattered and
spoiled and having my head turned. Well, since then I have
been told several times every year by men that they could not
possibly live without me."
Olga does not mean to be cruel : she fancies she is wound-
ing herself so much by her confessions that Leo can have no
right to be hurt. But he is suffering acutely. " And yet,"
she proceeds, with a shade of scorn, " they have lived without
me : several have married, and are, I believe, devoted to their
wives ; and no one that I know of is going about with a broken
heart for my sake."
" Try me," murmurs Leo, " try me."
Mrs. Stratheden smiles.
" That is the worst of it. I cannot try you. If I made the
experiment, I should have to abide by you, and you by me :
I could not return you as unsatisfactory."
Leo knows no longer how to plead : she is in a vein half
jesting, half bitter. What shall he say to her ? If she had
been angry at his presumption, he could have sued for forgive-
ness ; but he is too ignorant of the world to know how to treat
her present mood.
" Don't let us talk of this any more," she says, rising, and
walking away from him ; then, returning and laying her hand
gently on his shoulder, " Every man has to go through the
same thing, nearly every man, at least : it is like cutting his
teeth or having the measles" (laughing).
Then suddenly she changes from gay to grave.
" Don't think me heartless, Leo," and the tears shine in
her beautiful eyes ; " don't think I do not value your love. I
know it is true and honest, and I believe you would be faith-
ful (as far as any man can be) ; but it is impossible. I will
be your best friend, if you will have me. Love me if you will,
but do not make your love a pain. Your wife" (smiling through
tours), " your wife is a little girl in a pinafore now : when you
marry her I shall be a nice gray-haired old lady."
" My wife," said Leo, huskily, coming a step nearer and
MIGNON. 201
looking down into her eyes with a strange, bitter expression,
" my wife is here, or nowhere : no other will ever be born for
CHAPTER XXIV.
" Lo, the summer is dead, the sun is faded;
Even like as a leaf the year is withered,
All the fruits of the day from all her branches
Gathered, neither is any left to gather.
All the flowers are dead, the tender blossoms,
All are taken away ; the season wasted,
Like an ember among the fallen ashes."
SWINBURNE.
So, after all, this visit that Leo had looked forward to as
the opening of the gates of paradise did him no good. On
the contrary, it did him an immense deal of harm, for it
scattered all the ideas that hard reading had put into his brain,
and immeasurably decreased his sympathy for the bodily woes
of others, since he began to feel that any corporeal pain would
be pleasure compared with the agony he suffered in his mind.
An older man, a man with more experience of women, would
not have been plunged into despair by Olga's words : on the
contrary, they would have given him food for hope. But it
was otherwise with Leo : he only saw in them the delicacy
which made her, instead of chiding his presumption, rather
place the difficulties on his side than on hers. " Si jeunesse
savait." It is an excellent thing, however, when youth does
not know, and is filled with doubts and fears instead of with
undue confidence. Leo grew pale and thin (this stalwart young
fellow, who, twelve months ago, would have ridiculed the idea
of anything but sheer illness taking the zest out of sport) : he
rode hard, not recklessly, for he was too manly, too full of
vitality, to wish to shake life off because just now it was pain
to him instead of pleasure ; he tried to study, but found it
impossible : the only thing that soothed him was fresh air and
exercise. His usually vigorous appetite failed, and he smoked
more than was good for him. All this time his father was
202 MIONON.
watching him narrowly, and cursing in his heart the woman
who had brought his boy to this miserable pass. If curses
had any effect on the cursed, poor Olga would have probably
pined away and died under the old man's savage anathemas;
but from her occasional letters to Leo it appeared that she
enjoyed her usual health, which, however, was not at the best
of times robust.
Mr. Vyner had made up his mind that he would not seem
to notice the change in his son : if he did, he felt there would
be a loop-hole for Leo to bring forward the subject of his
travels, the direst misfortune that could befall. And poor
Leo did not go moping about and looking injured, but tried
very hard to be bright and cheery, and to enter into all the
topics which interested his father, and had done himself until
recently. The winter passed ; all sport was over : it was
then the father began to feel that something must be done,
even if it involved the sacrifice of his pet prejudices. And
so one night he said, with an abrupt resolution which, from
the pain it caused him, held more real pathos than a long and
touching speech could have done,
" This sort of thing won't do, my boy. Send for Bradshaw,
pack up your traps, and set off on your travels as soon as you
like."
Leo looked up quickly, heard the tremulous falter in the
strong voice, saw the quiver in the muscles of the firm mouth,
and the dimness in the kind eyes.
" No, no, dad," he answers, gently ; " we won't talk about
my travels : you know I am going into Parliament instead."
lie sighed wearily, unconscious that he did so, it had
become such a habit of late. When Mr. Vyner was deeply
moved, he was wont to assume a choleric air. But Leo was
in the secret of this.
" Well, what the devil are you going to do? Do you think
it's manly, sir, to go puling and pining about like a miss in
her teens in love with the curate ? There used to be a good
old song in vogue in my time,
' If ghe be not fafe for me,
What care I how fair she be?'
and any man who had a particle of pluck or self-respect used
to be of the same opinion. Is there only one woman in the
MIGNON. 203
world, I should like to know ? Stuff and humbug ! Don't stop
shilly-shallying here ! go and look about you. A strapping fellow
like you isn't likely to have to wait long for a woman's smiles.
Let this paragon of yours see you have eyes for somebody
beside herself: it will do more to bring her to her bearings than
all the whining and whimpering in the world."
" I did not know I wore my heart upon my sleeve," Leo
answered, with some dignity. " Have I complained or bored
you with my lamentations because I cannot have the woman
Hove?"
" Love! pshaw!" cried Mr. Vyner, with much the accent
of disgust he might have given vent to if any one had put a
basket of stale fish in close proximity to him. " Love ! My
good fellow, if you could but have six months of this wonderful
creature, I'll be bound at the end of it we shouldn't hear much
more about your love. No !" (replying to the first part of
Leo's speech), " I did not say you had bored me with your
lamentations. I would rather you had : it does people good
to talk about their woes. It is your long miserable face, and
your fits of silence, that tell me what is going on in your mind.
And, as I said before, if your good sense or your pride can't
do anything for you, why, in heaven's name, go and travel,
and get drowned, or shot, or put out of your misery somehow !"
" I wish, sir," said Leo, with a melancholy smile, " you
would try and divest your mind of the idea that some dreadful
fate must necessarily overtake a man who goes for a six months'
trip abroad."
" And I wish," retorted his father, " that you would divest
your mind of the idea that junketing about to a lot of infernal
uncivilized places is a better cure for the heart-ache than a
few grains of resolution and common sense. However, I've
said my say : go, and for God's sake, if you do come back,
come back a little more like the man you were ten months ago."
And Mr. Vyner, being greatly moved, and equally averse
from betraying himself, went out, and banged the door with a
violence that made everything in the room tremble.
" It is the only thing for me," mused Leo ; " and yet how
can I leave the dear old fello\^when I know what pain and
grief it will be to him !"
So the subject was left, for the time being, in abeyance, and
Leo proposed going to spend a month or two in town. It might
204 MIONON.
be poison to him to be so near Olga, to see her often, but the poison
would be sweet, and he could not go on eating his heart out at
home with nothing to do. It was not that he had given up
his studies, nor his ambition, nor his desire of doing good in
the world ; but, in the unsettled state of his mind, he could
not bring that concentration to bear upon them that he knew
was absolutely necessary.
" After I have seen her again," he argued to himself, " I
shall be better. I will conquer this morbid restlessness."
Poor lad ! he did not guess what new pangs were in store
for him.
Mrs. Stratheden was in town : he saw her frequently, but,
whether by accident or design, never alone. And almost
whenever he saw her the same man was with her, paying her
marked attention, which it was evident she permitted, whether
she encouraged it or not. This man was Lord Harley. He
was about forty, clever, distinguished-looking, had travelled
a good deal, and had met Olga at a country-house in the
winter. He had decided at once that she was the woman of
all others to suit him : he had a great admiration and respect
for her, believed thoroughly in the power of his own will, and
was fully determined that she should be Lady Harley.
And Olga for various reasons was content to receive his
attentions. In the first place, his conversation amused and
interested her ; in the second, he was so highly thought of in
the world that his homage could not fail to flatter her; and in
the third, she was furious with herself for allowing Leo to get
so large a hold upon her thoughts and imagination, and was
determined, cotite que cotite, to shake off his influence. And
yet, despite her efforts and resolutions, the more she saw of
Lord Harley the more enamored she became of Leo. The
contrast between the boy's passionate enthusiasm and the
man's grave self-possession struck her with a chill in Lord
Harley's presence. The man's wooing made her feel weary
and world-worn, as though the fires of youth had smouldered
into ashes ; Leo's ardor, his devotion, his very misery, awakened
a keen response in her, and stirred the pulses of the heart she
had chosen to consider cold and dead.
So much the more determined was she not to yield to the
folly of which she had predicted the ending. To make her-
self stronger, she would frequently bring up in society the
MIGNON. 205
subject of women marrying men younger than themselves.
She never heard but one opinion, and that coincided with her
own. What can you expect ? If a woman commits such a
piece of folly, she does it with her eyes open, and thoroughly
deserves all she is sure to get. A woman has no right to take
advantage of a boy's infatuation ; " it is cruelty to him !" said
some one ; and this remark rankled horribly in Olga's mind.
" Would it be cruel," she said to herself, in passionate con-
tradiction of this last verdict, " when I can give him so much?
when I can make his future what he dreams it, and gratify
his ambition and love, and help him to a name in the world,
all at once ?"
"And when you have done all this," answered another
voice in her heart, " he will be weary of you" (there is no
burden on love so heavy as enforced gratitude), " and some
other woman will reap the fruit of your sacrifices."
"And what can this boy do for you?" said Reason. " He
can add nothing to your position or importance : on the con-
trary, he will draw down upon you the world's censure and
ridicule ; whereas a marriage with Lord Harley would be suit-
able and desirable in every respect: it would have the ap-
proval of your own common sense and of the world at large."
Why marry at all ? But Olga had grown tired of the lone-
liness of her life, and felt a positive necessity for changing it.
She would have liked to keep Leo away : it went to her heart
to see how he suffered from his jealousy of Lord Harley, and
how manfully he struggled to conceal it.
" Do you know, Mrs. Stratheden," said Lord Harley, one
day, in the low, well-bred tone that was habitual to him, " I
always gave you credit for being free from the cruelties of
your sex ?"
" And what has happened to convince you of your error ?"
asked Olga, smiling.
" Young Vyner. Poor lad ! I feel quite sorry for him.
You must see how devoted he is to you, and how dreadfully
he suffers from seeing any one else approach you. Don't you
think it would be kinder to put him out of his misery at once
than to keep him hanging about in his present state of mind ?"
Olga's face is dyed with blushes. She feels confused, exas-
perated, in one. The low, calm tones of Lord Harley's voice,
and the clear indication in them of the security he feels in his
18
20G MIGNON.
own position and the hopelessness of Leo's, jar upon her in-
expressibly. For a moment she feels tempted to retort, " I
have given my whole heart to that poor lad, and am capable
of committing the greatest folly for his sake ;" but prudence
restrains her : she would not care to meet the incredulous
smile, the politely restrained scorn, that would greet such a
confession on her part. Besides, has she not resolved that she
and Leo shall never be more to each other than they are now ?
So she merely said, with assumed carelessness,
" Do you really think he is in love with me ?"
" I see you are a very woman," remarked Lord Harley, and
smiled. "After all, how could anything be perfect unless it
possessed all the attributes natural to it?"
" And the attributes with which you endow me at the
present moment are cruelty and hypocrisy, are they not?"
asked Olga.
" Do not put it so harshly. But, if you pretend to ignore
that poor young fellow's devotion, I must at least think your
modesty makes you insincere."
" He will soon be cured of it," remarked Olga, hoping to be
contradicted ; but Lord Harley bowed assent.
" But it is very bitter whilst it lasts."
" Whilst it lasts ! whilst it lasts !" repeated Olga, in a low,
scornful tone. " Pray, Lord Harley, does a man's love ever
last? and if so, what is the longest term of its duration ?"
" I think a man's love is capable of lasting his life, when
he forms it after arriving at mature age, and it is not merely
an ephemeral passion, but a sentiment approved by his judg-
ment," replied Lord Harley, looking at Olga with an expres-
sion which indicated that he himself illustrated the truth of
what he affirmed.
" I don't call that love," uttered Olga, " the calm, calcula-
ting feeling that says, ' This woman suits me, I will make her
my wife.' In love there must be passion, fervor, doubt."
And she raises eloquent eyes to his face, not thinking of
him at all, nor how he may interpret her words. How he
does interpret them is evident the next moment.
" Do you think," he says, taking her hand quickly, " that
any man who loved you would be lacking either in passion or
fervor if you gave him the right to feel it?"
A horrible feeling of repulsion comes over Olga. She, the
MIGNON. 207
self-possessed, dignified woman of the world, starts up and flies
out of the room, as the veriest school-girl might do on a simi-
lar occasion. She is burning with disgust and anger, anger
chiefly against herself.
" Oh, Leo, Leo ! why are you not ten years older ?" she
murmurs.
Meantime, Leo is undergoing torments to which his pre-
vious sufferings had been as nothing. To think that Olga
could not be his was pain keen enough ; to think she might
be another's was agony unspeakable. And he could not but
acknowledge that in every way Lord Harley was perfectly
suited to her, and a man calculated to inspire the respect and
affection of any woman. And, besides this, he had every other
advantage, rank, position, wealth. " If I stay I shall go mad,"
he said to himself every day ; and yet he felt it impossible to
go away in doubt. " When it is settled, I will go," he deter-
mined ; but he had too much delicacy to ask any questions of
Olga.
Raymond was in town, and they often met. He was in
love too.; but, as the object of his passion was not legitimate,
he could not very well pour out his w.oes to his friend, and
Leo would on no account have profaned his idol by discussing
her with Raymond. One day, at Little Bridge, Leo was in-
troduced to Lady Bergholt, who received him very graciously.
She was displeased with Raymond for some cause or other,
and revenged herself in her usual manner, by making herself
extremely agreeable to some one else. As Leo was a fine-
looking young fellow, well dressed and likely to be a credit to
her, she turned her attentions to him, insisted upon driving
him home, and invited him to dine and go to the Opera with
them.
Mignon was one of those people who delight in being gra-
cious to one person at the expense of another. On this occa-
sion Raymond was the sufferer by her kindness to his friend.
" I dare say Mr. Vyner will relieve you of your attendance
upon us to-night, Mr. L'Estrange," she said, with a sweet smile,
the sweeter because she knew she was tormenting her unhappy
victim. " You were saying just now it would be so something
hot at the Opera what was the word you used ? infernally, I
think. You won't mind it being infernally hot, Mr. Vyner,
will you ? and if you do, you will put up with a little incon-
208 MIGNON.
venicnce in a good cause? You look good-tempered ; not like
poor Mr. L' Estrange: he is quite a martyr to his temper: so
are his friends."
All this with rippling, bewitching smiles, which to have re-
sisted, a man must have been more than mortal. Leo thought
her lovely, and was very well pleased to accept her invitation.
Raymond, on the contrary, scowled, and his handsome features
were twisted almost out of their beauty by his wrath.
" I have no doubt Mr. Vyner will not only attend you to-
night, but accompany you home now," he said, furiously.
" You seem so mutually charmed, I should be sorry to be
de trop" And he turned to walk away. But Leo linked his
arm in his, and kept him there.
" Come, Raymond," he said, good-naturedly, " I cannot
afford to lose an old friend because I have made a new one.
Don't punish him too much, Lady Bergholt. I am sure the
most tropical heat at the Opera would be less cruel to him than
the frost of your displeasure." He spoke gayly for the sake
of saying something, not because he was aware of the state
of his friend's feelings.
But all the way home Mignon continued to sting Raymond
with darts and thrusts, every one of which goaded him to
more wrathful indignation. In vain Lady Clover and Leo
good-humoredly interposed : Mignon was bewitchingly, mer-
rily, iinperturbably spiteful ; Raymond bitter, angry, furious in
proportion.
" Mr. Vyner," says Mignon, " do you think it would be any
use my stopping at a bonbon-shop for Mr. L'Estrange ? I have
heard that sweets put fractious children in a good humor
sometimes."
" If you infused a little more sweetness into your remarks,
it might be efficacious," retorted Raymond, looking daggers
at her.
" Now, Mr. Vyner, I appeal to you," cried Mignon, " have
I said anything that is not sweet ? Mr. L'Estrange is bilious,
I think : everything turns acid upon him. I am thankful to
say my husband is not of a bilious temperament : it must be
dreadful to have a bilious husband. Kitty, my dear, you had
a narrow escape in not marrying Mr. L'Estrange : if he is so
terribly cross with his friends, what would he be with a wife?"
It was impossible for Leo and Kitty to help laughing at
MIGNON. 209
Mignon's kittenish mischievousness, but with Raymond it was
no laughing-matter. For the time being, his love was turned
into hatred, as love which is not pure will turn when it is
wounded. Mignon continued her provocations all through
dinner, until Raymond took refuge in sullen silence. Sir Tris-
tram was dining at Greenwich with Fred Conyngham ; Sir
Josias, whom the Opera bored, was dutifully devoting the
evening to his mother : so the four young people dined and
went to the Opera together. Here matters grew worse. Ray-
mond was ousted from his usual place behind Lady Bergholt's
chair, and Leo reigned in his stead. Mignon had nothing of
the least importance to say to him ; truth to tell, she found
him rather heavy, since he did not pour into her ear the ex-
aggerated flatteries to which she was accustomed ; but all the
same she wreathed her face in bewitching smiles and turned
frequently to whisper to him, with the amiable intention of
annoying Raymond.
" Mr. L'Estrange," she said, sweetly, as he was about to
leave the box, u will you tell Lord Threestars that I want him,
if you happen to see him ?"
u Certainly,'' answered Raymond, stiffly, changing his mind
about going, and resuming his seat ; " though what on earth
any one can see in an ass like that is beyond me."
" He is so good-looking, and he has a title," answered Mignon ;
then, with a look of the raciest impertinence at Raymond, she
added, " Of the two, I think an ass with a title is preferable
to one without."
" Thank you," said Raymond, fiercely. " I suppose that is
intended for me."
" But I did not say Lord Threestars was an ass," answered
Mignon, sweetly. " On the contrary, I think him charming."
This was too much for Raymond, and he retired in high
dudgeon.
" Really, Mignon, you are too bad !" cried Lady Clover.
" Why do you take such delight in teasing that poor boy ?"
" My dear," Lady Bergholt made answer, with a face of im-
perturbable gravity, " I am trying to smooth the way a little for
his poor wife when he gets one : he must not be encouraged
in his overbearing ways."
18*
210 MIGNON.
CHAPTER XXV.
" He said, and his observation was just, that a man on whom Heaven
hath bestowed a beautiful wife, should be as cautious of the men he brings
home to his house, as careful of observing the female friends with whom
his spouse converses abroad. . . . Wherefore Lothario observed, every
married man has occasion for some friend to apprise him of any omis-
sion in her conduct ; for it often happens that he is too much in love
with his wife to observe, or too much afraid of offending her to prescribe
the limits of, her behavior in those things the following or eschewing of
which may tend to his honor or reproach, whereas that inconvenience
might be easily amended by the advice of a friend."
CERVANTES.
SOME one enters the box, and Kitty turns her attention to
the new-comer. " By the way," asks Mignon, leaning back
and speaking in a low tone to Leo, " is there not some romantic
story about your getting shot at Mrs. Stratheden's and her
sucking the poison out of your wound, or doing something
equally wonderful ?"
" Mrs. Stratheden saved my life," answers Leo, his eyes
lighting up as they always do when her name is mentioned.
And, being young and ignorant, he proceeds to expatiate upon
Olga's heroism, thinking, because his interlocutor is a woman
and young and beautiful, he is secure of her sympathy.
" How horrid !" utters Mignon, with a shiver of disgust.
" She must be very strong-minded."
There is an indescribable accent of depreciation in her voice,
as though Mrs. Stratheden had committed an unfeminine
action, shocking to the feelings of her sex. Leo feels as
though he had been suddenly plunged into cold water.
"/could not have done such a thing," proceeds the fair one,
with a little meritorious air ; " but I believe people's nerves
get strong as they get old."
Leo makes no answer : he is positively stupefied.
"What do you think of her?" continues Mignon, in an
indifferent tone, as though the subject were not very engross-
ing. " Lady -like, but pussee, is she not ? and fancies herself
enormously ?"
MIONON. 211
Mignon has an uncontrollable spite against Mrs. Stratheden :
it breaks out whenever her name is mentioned. She has
gathered from Leo's manner that he admires her, and resents it.
Leo pulls himself together after the wrench his feelings
have sustained. He has been charmed by Lady Bergholt and
dazzled by her beauty, but in the space of thirty seconds all
her charm is gone, he feels towards her as he might have done
towards some lovely Lamia who had suddenly revealed herself
in her natural shape.
" I think Mrs. Stratheden simply the most perfect woman
in every way that I ever met," he says, in tones of suppressed
passion.
From that moment Mignon hates him.
" Really !" she says, raising her eyebrows, and reflecting
how she may best hurt him. " Ah, I think I remember hear-
ing you had fallen desperately in love with her. How odd it
is that boys always fall m love with women old enough to be
their mothers ! I suppose it is a dreadful blow to you that
she is going to marry Lord Harley."
Mercifully for Leo, the door opens, and Lord Threestars
comes in. From that moment, Mignon ignores every one else,
and Leo gladly takes the chair by Lady Clover.
" Did I hear Mrs. Stratheden's name ?" she asks him ; " and
do you know her ? Is she not charming ? Was it really you
whose life she saved ? Ah ! she is a woman in ten thousand.
I love her better than any one I know."
The mantle of Mignon's loveliness has fallen on Kitty's
shoulders, at least in Leo's eyes.
" She is not a bit spiteful or little-minded, as a great many
of us are, I am afraid," pursues Lady Clover, with an enthu-
siasm that is perfectly genuine. " And you have no idea how
much good she does among the poor, and how kind she is.
They say her estate is the best managed and her people the
best off in Blankshire. She sees to everything herself, and
won't leave it to her steward. I wonder she has never
married," Kitty rattles on : " she would make the most
charming wife in the world. If I were a man, I should fall
on my knees before her and stop there until she consented to
marry me."
" Is it true that she is going to marry Lord Harley ?" asks
Leo, in a low, faltering voice.
212 MIGNON.
"I do not know. She denied it when I asked her; but
then we always do that sort of thing, you know, until every-
thing is definitively settled," answers Kitty, with an oracular
nod. " It would be a charming match, so perfectly suitable
in every way."
Leo is so acutely conscious of the truth of this remark that
he can make no answer to it.
llaymond only reappears at the closing scene of the opera.
Lord Threestars has left some time ago, and Lady Bergholt is
so much disgusted with Leo that she takes Raymond back
into her favor, lets him put on her cloak, smiles upon him,
and sends him up from his wrath into a seventh heaven.
" Let's walk as far as Pratt's !" he says to Leo, after they
have put the ladies into their carriages. " Is she not lovely?"
" Very," replies Leo, in a curt, cold tone, that seems to
grudge the praise it cannot but give.
" She is the loveliest woman in England !" says llaymond,
with an enthusiasm which makes ample amends for Leo's
coolness. " Can't you understand a man losing his head about
a creature like that ?"
Leo looks at him, and answers, frankly,
" I cannot understand any man losing his head about a
woman who is another man's wife."
" Most virtuous rustic !" scoffs llaymond, gayly. " Have
you not lived long enough in society to see how small an ob-
stacle a husband is in this happy age? I assure you Sir
Tristram isn't half as much in my way as that conceited fool
Threestars."
" Of course I know you are jesting," Leo answers, gravely;
" but don't you think it's a pity to talk like that about a
woman whom you admire? It must lower her even in your own
estimation."
llaymond becomes intensely serious at once.
" I may have spoken in a jesting tone," he says, " but God
knows it is true that I worship the ground that woman walks
on, and that at times I feel as near as a man can do to blowing
my brains out about her."
" Then," Leo answers, sternly, {t I can no more understand
a man giving way to such a feeling for his friend's wife than
I could understand his stealing the jewels from his safe, or the
horses out of his stable."
MIGNON. 213
" How can you help it," retorts Raymond, passionately, "if
you meet a woman too late, when accident has made her the
wife of another man ? It was a shameful marriage, tying a
young thing like that to a man much more than double her
own age : it is more, it is a sacrifice revolting to human
nature."
" From all I hear," says Leo, " Lady Bergholt married
her husband of her own free will, and with her eyes open.
She seems perfectly happy, and most keenly alive to the privi-
leges of her wealth and station."
" She was such a child," mutters Raymond ; " she did not
know what love was."
" And do you want to teach her ? Do you want to sow
the seeds of unlawful passion in her heart, and change her
from the light-hearted girl she is now to a miserable, guilty,
despised creature ? If that is your idea of love, I confess I
don't understand it." -
" It is all very well for you to talk, who have not been
tempted," answers Raymond, scornfully. " Try and put your-
self in my place. Suppose Mrs. Stratheden were married,
instead of being free as she is."
" Do not bring her name in," mutters Leo, huskily. " /
know this, that no power on earth should induce me to harm
a hair of the woman's head I loved."
" Fine doctrine !" scoffs Raymond. " And / know that
love is a thing uncontrollable, and that when two beings meet
whom nature has destined for each other, all must go down
before it, whether it be rank, or social ties, or" (in a low voice)
" even the marriage bond itself."
Leo turns to look at hJ friend, and sees a face so marred
and changed with passion that he is absolutely aghast.
" For heaven's sake, Raymond," he says, with great ear-
nestness, " don't give way to thoughts like these ! Haven't
we had instances enough lately of this sort of thing and its
results ? Why, you and Lady Bergholt are the last people in
the world to suit each other, even if you had met when you
were both free."
" You only judge by her little capricious ways," says Ray-
mond : " they mean nothing, and I am a fool to be put out by
them. I believe" (lowering his voice) " they are only assumed
to conceal her real feelings."
214 M1GNON.
Leo does not believe anything of the sort. He believes that,
fortunately for herself and all parties concerned, Lady Bergholt
has no passion but vanity, and that she is in her heart as in-
different to Raymond as even her husband could wish her, and
is simply amusing herself at his expense. But Leo is wise
enough to keep his opinion to himself; no man who imagines
himself the victim of a grande passion likes to be told that the
object of his devotion does not care two straws about him,
least of all a man like Raymond.
So he says, " My dear old fellow, why don't you put your-
self out of the way of temptation ? If it is as bad as all this,
nothing less than the Atlantic is wide enough to separate you
from her. Come with me : I have made up my mind to go,
and will start at once, if you will go with me."
But Raymond is a spoiled child who sees no beauty in self-
sacrifice. His eyes kindle, and there is the fervor of strong
passion in his voice, as he answers,
" Why should one fly from the prospect of the most exqui-
site happiness that life can give?"
" When I was quite a lad," says Leo, with apparent irrele-
vancy, " I was staying in the house with a husband and wife.
I never saw two people hate each other in the way they did.
I don't think boys, as a rule, notice those things very much,
but it used to take away my appetite only to listen to the things
they said to each other. There was no vulgar quarrelling, but
every word conveyed some cutting sting, and the hatred in
their eyes was unmistakable. Years afterwards I heard their
story. She had run away from her husband with this man :
it had been a case of the most violent infatuation on both sides.
The first husband got a divorce : it was the man who probably
said, as you do, that nature had destined them for each other
who was her husband when I met her. And forgive me, old
fellow, for saying so, but it is just such a couple I fancy you
and Lady Bergholt would make if as I trust in heaven they
won't your present desires could be fulfilled."
Raymond laughs lightly.
" As I said before," he answers, " you judge from the silly,
childish nonsense you saw to-day. If ever my darling should
be mine, you will see how you misjudged us."
" You do not love her," says Leo, hotly, " or you would not
dishonor her by speaking of such a possibility to another man."
MIGNON. 215
" Before you judge others, wait until you are in the same
position yourself. You may be before long," utters Raymond,
significantly.
A hot flush overspreads Leo's face.
" I don't -want to make myself out better than other men,"
he says, " but sooner than bring disgrace or dishonor on the
head of the woman I love, I would put a bullet through my
brain."
" It is very easy to talk," remarks Raymond, contemptuously ;
and so they part.
On the same evening Sir Tristram and Fred Conyngham
are dining together at the Trafalgar at Greenwich, their first
tete-a-tete dinner since the marriage. Fred does not frequent
his friend's house much : there is little love lost between him
and Mignon. A very few meetings sufficed to show her that
he had played the wolf in sheep's clothing on the day when he
entertained her and Regina at lunch, and she is perfectly aware
that he disapproves almost everything about her but her beauty.
The feeling is more than reciprocated. She dislikes everything
in him : his sarcasms penetrate and sting her : she is not witty,
and, in her endeavor to retaliate, is not unfrequently rude.
Never will she forgive him a remark provoked one day by her
contemptuous treatment of Sir Tristram and himself, " two
dried-up old fogies," as she politely called them.
" It is quite right for beauty and youth to arrogate them-
selves," said Fred, looking at the lovely, scornful face before
him, " since they are entirely due to the meritorious efforts
of those who possess them, and are imperishable."
"Anyhow, it is better to be young and lovely than old and
plain, don't you think?" asked Mignon, maliciously.
" Perhaps," Fred answered, letting fall on her one of those
calm, reflective glances that his friends, much more his foes,
know to be dangerous. " And yet, I sometimes think, God
gives great beauty to some women as a sort of compensation
for having denied them every other grace."
Mignon blushed scarlet. The victory remained with Fred ;
but it cost him dear.
Sir Tristram is sorely vexed at this antagonism between the
two people whom of all others he would like to see friends : it
seems to him that Mignon never appears to so little advantage
as when Fred is present, and the only time he ever feels dis
216 MIGNON.
posed to be angry with his friend is when he is exercising his
satire upon Mignon.
Fred groans inwardly as he sees how entirely Sir Tristram
is subjugated by his lovely wife : he anathematizes his folly,
and soliloquizes jeremiads as to the future.
" The old proverb," he reflects. " Set a beggar on horse-
back, and he will ride to the devil. If the beggar is of the
female sex, so much the sooner will she arrive at her destina-
tion, and so many the more companions will she carry along
with her. Why should a man turn fool because a woman is
fair ? a man in the prime of life, in the zenith of his under-
standing. A few grains more of white and red in the skin, a
shade more color in the eyes, an imperceptible increase in the
usual length of an eyelash, a curve here, a straight line there,
to think that upon these trifles hangs a woman's power over
a man, the power of turning him from a reasoning being to a
fool ! Bah ! I hate pretty women !" (with a gesture of dis-
gust). " A woman has a small red mouth and regular teeth,
and she may laugh from morning to night at the greatest in-
anities or the most serious subjects without being taken for
the idiot she is." (No doubt Fred is thinking of Mignon.)
" She may be heartless, ignorant, rude, no matter : she has
a crowd of fools to admire her and take the toads that fall
from her mouth for pearls and diamonds. What good have
beautiful women ever done ? Only set the world by the ears,
as far as I know. Poor old Tristram ! he is so proud because
he owns this lovely bit of flesh and blood ! Owns it, indeed !
rather it owns him ; and a pretty tyrant he will find it before
long, if he does not already. Minx ! to think he took her
from her cottage home and her shabby frocks, and now she is
by way of flinging his money out of windows with both
hands. Poor Tristram ! Why could not that drivelling old
uncle have left his money to charities, instead of to a man
who didn't want it? and then my lady would have been wan-
dering about the Surrey lanes in her old frock to this day, and
I should still have possessed a friend. Ah !" (sighing), " we
shall never be David and Jonathan any more, never love each
other with the love passing the love of women. Perhaps,
though, if women in David's time had been like they are now,
the two wouldn't have been friends so long !"
Dinner is over, and the two men are sitting by the open
MIGNON. 217
window, watching the big, brown-sailed barges glide by. It
is high tide ; the breeze makes a strong ripple on the water ;
twilight is creeping on ; lights come out here and there : alto-
gether, it is a picturesque scene. Happily for the guests, the
urchins cannot turn it into Pandemonium to-night with their
weird capers in the mud and their shrill rasping cries of
" Chuck out, sir."
There is not a great deal of conversation between the friends:
each is conscious of a slight gene, which one deplores and the
other is half disposed to resent.
There has been silence for a few minutes, during which each
has puffed thoughtfully at his cigar with a more reflective air
than is entirely due to an unexceptionable dinner. Fred is
the first to break it. From his tone, it is evident that his
remark is no irrelevant one, but a continuation aloud of his
thoughts.
" Well, Tristram, is it a perfect success ?"
A little cloud crosses his friend's face, as though he would
rather the subject had not been mooted. But he answers, with
slow gravity,
" Well, yes, I think I may say it is."
" And you don't regret it ? don't wish it undone ? don't
think lingeringly of this time last year?"
" No."
" Then you are perfectly happy?''
Sir Tristram smiles his pleasant smile.
" My dear Fred, is any one perfectly happy ? Are you
perfectly happy ?"
" I ! Of course not," says Fred, with a touch of sarcasm ;
" but then I am a poor devil of a bachelor. I thought the
possession of a lovely woman whom one adored was supposed
to confer utter and perfect bliss."
" My dear old Fred, do you think life would be worth hav-
ing if one did not indulge extravagant anticipations sometimes?
I know what you want : you want me to say, ' You were
right, and I was wrong. I was a fool, and I humble myself
before your superior wisdom in sackcloth and ashes.' But I
cannot say anything of the sort. I do not regret my marriage
in the very least ; and if the time had to come over again, I
should do exactly the same."
" Oh, then, that is all right," replied Fred, in a tone which,
K 19
218 MIGNON.
however, betrays very little satisfaction. There is a pause,
broken presently by Sir Tristram.
"You arc prejudiced against iny wife, Fred, and I cannot
tell you how it grieves me. You might, for the sake of old
times, try to conquer it and feel kindly towards her."
" It is just for the sake of old times that I can't conquer
it," answered Fred, brusquely. " If, having married the best
fellow in the world, she was grateful to him for the benefits he
heaps upon her and tried to make him happy or studied any-
thing earthly but herself, I should be ready to think her per-
fect too ; but when I see "
" Don't, Fred !" interposes Sir Tristram, hastily. " I could
not bear a word against her, even from you ; and you must
not judge by the little petulant ways you have seen. I don't
know how it is, but there seems an inborn antagonism between
you two : .each appears to have the knack of making the other
show to the least advantage."
" Our antagonism is very easily explained," replies Fred.
" Lady Bergholt abhors any one who is too candid to feed her
with sugared lies and who does not seem to think all she says
and does perfect ; and I hate equally to see a woman trading
upon her beauty and using it to attain her own selfish ends
and to ride rough-shod over other people's feelings."
" You are unjust," says Sir Tristram, warmly. " It is only
natural that so very lovely a woman should be a little spoiled :
every one conspires to make her so."
" Then I like to be different from every one. Do you sup-
pose people will feel the same toleration for her caprices fifteen
or twenty years hence ? for you know the faults and follies
don't fade with the beauty, but only become more accentuated.
That is the sort of woman you may see any day in the Park,
at races, balls, everywhere, in fact, painted and dyed, ridi-
culed and despised, agonizing after her lost youth, struggling
vainly to combat Time's handiwork. This is what fools make
of pretty women, and what, thank God, I have not on my
conscience. A woman ought to be taught what a gracious
thing beauty is when modestly worn, not to make it a cloak
for the most odious selfishness and disregard of others."
Sir Tristram smiles.
" My dear Fred, I am not going to quarrel with you. I
think you are jealous. And indeed you look at the dark side
MIGNON. 219
of the picture, and forget what a charming thing it is for a
man who has passed his youth to have the constant presence
of a lovely fresh young girl, and to feel, when you see all the
admiration she excites, that you are the happy possessor of
so much beauty."
Fred looks up shrewdly.
" I confess," he answers, " that being a man who has
passed his youth, it would not give me pleasure to see my
wife perpetually surrounded by men who have not, young
L'Estrange, for instance."
CHAPTER XXVI.
"Yet did I see Apame sitting at the right hand of the king.
"And taking the crown from the king's head, and setting it upon
her own head, she also struck the king with her left hand.
" And yet for all this the king gaped and gazed upon her with open
mouth : if she laughed upon him, he laughed also, but if she took any
displeasure at him, the king was fain to flatter that she might be recon-
ciled to him again.
" ye men, how can it be but women should be strong, seeing they do
thus ?"
Book of Esdras.
A CLOUD gathers on Sir Tristram's brow.
" Fred," he says, presently, with a quiver about the muscles
of his mouth, " I can hardly imagine that you asked me to
dine with you to-night for the sake of saying things it would
pain me to hear."
" No, upon my soul !" answers Fred, "you would hardly think
that of me. I don't believe any one on this earth loves you
half so heartily as I do, or would do as much for you. That
is just why I take upon myself the unpleasant task of Mentor.
I have something to say to you : say I am wrong, think I jrm
wrong, but still let me put in my word of warning. I under-
stand your motives thoroughly, I know they are all generous
and good, but there is an old saying, ' Be just before you are
generous.' You have taken a young girl from a comparatively
obscure position, and given her what to her must be wealth
unbounded and perfect liberty. More than that, you have
220 MIONON.
surrounded her with temptations. Now, it must be a very
wise und a very strong head that would not be turned by all
this. Don't you think, Tristram, that you have incurred an
immense responsibility ?"
A pained look comes into the deep-gray eyes.
" Now that you speak out frankly and fairly," says Sir
Tristram, in a low voice, " I will answer you in the same spirit.
Yes, I do think it is a heavy responsibility, and I suffer more
than I can tell you from the thought. For my own sake, I
have not a single regret about my marriage ; I thank God for
my happiness every day ; but I do regret it bitterly at times
for hers. I had a wild idea that I should be able to inspire
her with something like the love I felt myself. I was a fool
for thinking so : what should a gay light-hearted young girl
feel for a man older than her father, except perhaps a good-
natured toleration, or, if he is worthy of it, a dull respect ?
"What can she do when she is surrounded by good-looking,
cheery young fellows but contrast them with me, and accuse
me in her heart of having cut her off from the love and hap-
piness she might otherwise have known? That is why I
leave her unrestrained ; that is why I let other men come and
go as they will ; that is why I school myself to bear the pain
of seeing her smile and look glad when other men approach
her."
Fred is more touched than he would care to show.
"It is a noble idea," he says, "but a very Quixotic one, and
it is open to two interpretations. A man has no business to
seem careless of his wife's honor. Be sure no one gives him
credit for such chivalrous sentiments as yours. A young, in-
experienced girl like Lady Bcrgholt, who cannot yet know much
of the world's ways, wants to be guided by some one who does :
if you allow her free and unrestrained intercourse with young
men, you will have no right to complain if you discover one day
that the men have abused your friendship, and your wife your
confidence. I know what I have said scores of times about
giving advice to a friend, and about meddling with matters
that don't concern me, but when it is your own familiar friend,
as Jonathan was to David, it is different." And Fred gulps
down his very unusual emotion.
" Are you still thinking of Raymond L'Estrange?" asks Sir
Tristram, in a low voice.
MIGNON. 221
" Yes, I am," Fred answers, firmly. " I do not believe for
an instant that your wife cares two straws for him ; but no
one can see them together for ten minutes without being per-
fectly aware of what his feelings are for her ; and it can hardly
be an edifying sight for a husband, or his friends, however
great a tribute it may be to the lady's charms."
" What can I do ?" asks Sir Tristram, in a pained voice.
" Of course I have seen it ; I have felt almost sorry for him,
poor lad, to see how Mignon teases and torments him. I am
perfectly certain she cares nothing for him now ; and it seemed
to me that if I made any remark about it, or prevented his
coming so often to the house, it might awaken her interest in
him."
" I would not have him hanging about in the way he does,"
said Fred, resolutely. " Take my word for it, that too much
confidence and generosity, where those you are dealing with do
not possess an equal degree of it, may have much the same re-
sult as foolhardiness."
Further conversation is put a stop to by an intimation that
the phaeton is at the door, and an over-charge in the bill sends
Fred's thoughts into another current. Not so with Sir Tris-
tram : he broods over the matter all the way to town, and in
his study after he has reached home. My lady has not re-
turned, and her husband sits, nervous and wretched, trying to
" screw his courage to the sticking-point." Half an hour after
midnight, Mignon comes in, radiant and good-humored: to
take advantage of her mood seems an act of meanness, but Sir
Tristram feels as though it must be done.
He waits until he thinks the maid will have performed the
task of brushing out the golden locks, no easy one, as my
lady is intolerant of the slightest jerk from the comb, and
then knocks diffidently at her door.
" Come in. Pray, are you going to sit up all night ?" asks
Mignon, with wide-open eyes, as she remarks that he is still
in evening dress. " Is anybody dead ? are you going to a
funeral ? or are you trying to get your face to an expression
befitting the Sabbath ?"
" I only want to speak to you, dear, when you are disen-
gaged."
" Is it anything you cannot say before Nowell ? Really, I
feel quite nervous. Make haste and go, Nowell ! No, stay.
19*
222 MIQNON.
I don't think it can be so important as my hair. Would you
mind coming back in ten minutes, Tristram ?"
" May I not stay and see the operation ?" he says, coming
forward and looking lovingly at the wealth of golden hair spread
over the fair shoulders. He thinks of the old lines again,
" Entre or et roux
Dieu fit ses longs cheveux."
" Certainly not," replies the fair one, imperiously, whilst her
Abigail makes the reflection that she " wouldn't be bordered
about so" if she were Sir Tristram.
When he returns, my lady receives him with a yawn, and a
less amiable expression of countenance. Having reflected upon
the matter, she has come to the conclusion that she is going to be
found fault with.
" My darling," he says, taking her reluctant hand and stoop-
ing to kiss her, " I want to say something to you. I am going
to blame, not you, but myself; and I want you to listen to me
for a moment."
"Well?" remarks Mignon, in a tone that is the furthest
remove from inviting a confidence.
Sir Tristram does not feel encouraged ; but he has put his
hand to the plough and must go on.
" I have," he proceeds, with some nervous hesitation, " as I
think I have proved to you, my dear child, the most perfect
confidence in you." And he fills up the pause by kissing the
slim hand that is perfectly unresponsive.
" I have not the slightest idea what you are going to say,"
remarks Mignon, coolly, " but I am perfectly certain that
whatever you have in your head was put there by your delight-
ful friend Mr. Conyngham."
Sir Tristram stands convicted.
" It is nothing," he says, awkwardly, " but what was there
before. Do not be angry : it is no reflection on you : on the con-
trary, it is a tribute to your loveliness. I cannot expect that
what I find beautiful and sweet will not seem so to others."
" Pray come to the point," says Mignon, in a hard voice,
with smouldering fire in her eyes. " Is it Lord Threestars or
Mr. L' Estrange?"
" My dear," answers Sir Tristram, already feeling a touch
of remorse, and anxious to avoid wounding her feelings in the
MIGNON. 223
smallest degree, " no one is more glad and proud than I am
to see you admired ; but you are so young, you know nothing
about the world, and people are so censorious."
Mignon is all ablaze with wrath : she has been a tyrant ever
since her marriage, and has no idea of yielding up a fraction
of her despotic sway. So she breaks out,
" That hateful man has been telling lies about me ! that is
what he asked you to dinner for. I suspected as much. He
shall never, never come into the house again while I am here.
Why did you marry me ? You know I did not want to marry
you, and you promised me that I should do just as I liked and
go everywhere and amuse myself. And now I dare say you
want to shut me up and keep me from seeing any one ; but I
will kill myself first. Send me home. I was happy before I
knew you."
Now, if Sir Tristram had been a sensible man and known
how to manage my lady, he would have taken her at her word,
and said, " Very well, my dear : if you think you would be
happier at home, by all means go there ;" and Madame Mignon,
who had not the slightest idea of leaving all the desirable things
her husband provided, would have abated somewhat of her vio-
lence, and perhaps become humble and submissive. It is a
great mercy for some people who talk big and bluster, that
others don't know how easily they might be brought down from
their pinnacle; but, then, if every one knew how to manage
every one else, life would not be the exciting and turbulent
affair it is. You, for instance, madame, when you have quar-
relled with your lover and bade him begone and never see you
more, you know that did he but get as far as the hall door you
would make some excuse to call him back ; but he, poor fellow !
does not know it, and so, instead of taking his hat and feign-
ing to depart, he remains to plead and to be browbeaten.
So in the case of Mignon and Sir Tristram : it is the girl
who knows how to manage the man, and the man of the world
who is a mere plaything in the girl's hands.
" My dearest," he says, penitently, trying to take her in his
arms, an attention which she most vigorously and successfully
resists, " what you say is true. I promised you you should
have all the pleasure I could procure for you ; and I will keep
my word. Henceforth, do as you please: I leave my honor
in your hands : I will never interfere with you again."
224 MIONON.
Mignon completes her victory by a burst of angry tears, and
by ordering her victim out of her sight. When he is gone,
she throws her lovely head upon the pillow, and in five min-
utes is sleeping the sleep of youth and innocence.
I can imagine I hear the reader say, " What a fool the man
must have been !" But pray, sir, if you were never made a
fool of by a lovely woman yourself, have you not read of many
brave and wise and gallant gentlemen who have been ?
The next day is Sunday. Mignon takes her breakfast in
bed, and declines to accompany her husband to church. At
lunch she sulks, and behaves as though, instead of being the
most indulgent, generous husband in the world, he were a
cruel tyrant. Raymond comes in presently, and will any
one believe it ? in his anxiety to propitiate his lovely wife,
Sir Tristram proposes that they shall all three drive down to
Richmond and dine. Unkind fate ordains that Fred Conyng-
ham shall also be dining with a select party at the Star and
Garter, and that he shall come full tilt on Raymond and
Mignon pensively contemplating the silver Thames from one
of the terraces. Mignon, hearing footsteps, turns, and sees
Mr. Conyngham, who lifts his hat. She looks him full in the
face, " tiptilts" her charming, impertinent nose, and cuts him
dead. Fred understands all, and groans in spirit.
" Lend me a pencil !" he says to the man who is with him.
" I want to write myself 'an ass.' "
" Why?" asks his companion.
" Because, on the strength of thirty-five years' friendship,
I gave a man some good advice. Hear my vow !" And he
strikes a tragic attitude. " By every gudgeon in the Thames,
by every separate whitebait cooked to-night, by every hair in
Mademoiselle Zephine's golden chignon, by every drop of wine
that will make to-night's feast cursed in the memory to-mor-
row, I swear never to breathe one word of counsel to any
human being from this time forth !"
" Amen !" responds the other : " it is the only way to get
through life, and I should have given you credit for knowing
that better than most men."
Minion's perversity, for which, however, she must not be
too severely condemned, since it is a failing particularly com-
mon to man in his fallen estate, causes her to regard Raymond
with more than usual interest, and to treat him with a kind-
MIGNON. 225
ness and gentleness that make him, as Balzac says, " entrevoir
les roses du septieme del."
And Sir Tristram looks on and smiles, and stifles down the
pain that gnaws his generous heart as he watches them
together and feels that in their youth and beauty they are
fitly matched. The thought that in a few days' time they are
to leave London for Bergholt Court brings little consolation
with it : Raymond's place is barely five miles distant, and he
will have even more opportunity of being with Mignon and
alone with her than he has in London.
It is arranged that they leave for the North the first week
in July ; and the idea of seeing her stately home, and of the
reception to be given them by the neighbors and tenants, has
prevented Mignon regretting the gayeties she will leave
behind. She will be a very grand personage on this occa-
sion ; indeed, it will be almost a royal progress ; and she will
apparel herself beautifully, and bestow liberal and most gracious
smiles on all around, and win the heart of every beholder.
As she drives in the Park, she studies the manner of the most
gracious princess in the world, and finds herself practising
those sweet little bows in private which she will accompany
with the sunniest smiles.
I spare the reader details of how all these anticipations were
carried out: was it not chronicled in many columns of the
county paper, abridged in the Court Journal and many other
fashionable papers ? Mignon cut it all out and put it in her
desk, along with the announcement of her presentation at
Court, and various paragraphs mentioning her name, with
those of other great people, at various fashionable and impor-
tant reunions. She read with great satisfaction of " the ex-
quisite beauty of Lady Bergholt, enhanced by the most be-
witching of toilettes," of " the angelic sweetness of her smile,
which, if for once appearances might be judged by, must, in
the possession of so amiable and lovely a partner, make Sir
Tristram the happiest and most enviable man in Christendom."
For the first few days, pleased with the excitement, and
dazzled by the magnitude of her possessions, Mignon was
radiant with pleasure and good temper. It was Sir Tristram's
turn to " catch a glimpse of the roses in the seventh heaven ;"
and, indeed, it was the very happiest time he had spent since
his marriage : " in his lifetime," he told himself.
K*
22G MIGNON.
But when the novelty had worn off, when " custom" had
" staled" the variety, Mignon began to yawn.
" Couldn't we have some people to stay ?" she asks her
husband at breakfast one morning ; and, with this, a cloud
draws over the blue gates of his heaven and shuts out the
sight of the roses. His programme had been to have Mignon
all to himself for one happy fortnight, then to ask her family
for a month, during which time there would doubtless be ex-
changes of civilities and hospitalities between the other county
families and themselves, and then a succession of visitors in
the house for shooting.
" One cannot very well ask people at this time, when there
is nothing to do in the country," he answers, with a shade of
disappointment which he feels it impossible to conceal.
" It was a great mistake," says Mignon, her face clouding,
" being in such a hurry to come here. A month later would
have done quite as well, and we should not have missed Good-
wood and Cowes."
" Your people will be coming in a week," remarks her hus-
band, trying to speak cheerfully.
" One's family is always so very enlivening," retorts Mignon,
with a toss of her head.
" And you want to learn to ride and drive, you know, before
your guests come. Your horse arrives to-day, and the cobs
to-morrow."
" What on earth shall I do all day ?" says Mignon, pushing
back her chair and yawning. " Only ten minutes to eleven !"
"Don't ladies sometimes do needlework?" asks Sir Tris-
tram, diffidently.
" Needlework !" (contemptuously). " What do you mean ?
Hemming dusters, or making clothes for the poor?"
" No : I mean what I think you call fancy work, cutting
out holes and sewing them up again, or wool-work. My
mother worked all the chairs in the morning room."
" Ah !" says Mignon, dryly ; " her picture gives me exactly
that idea : she looks like a woman who would do wool-work.
I dare say she had Dorcas meetings, and superintended the
village school."
" My love," says Sir Tristram, gravely, " my mother is a
very sacred subject with me."
Mignon has not a grain of veneration.
MIGNON. 227
" Well," she laughs, "is there anything profane in supposing
that she occupied herself with good works ?"
" I wish, darling," he remarks, " that your inclination lay a
little more that way."
" Oh, pray do not begin that twaddle !" she exclaims, with
a gesture of disgust. " Of course you are getting old, and it
is natural you should take a serious view of things ; but, for
heaven's sake, don't make me more dull and wretched than I
am already, by lecturing me."
Dull and wretched ! Poor Sir Tristram ! men who have
passed your meridian, take warning, and, if you would not
know such pain as those words gave their hearer, do not seek
a lovely, mischievous young girl of seventeen to wife !
The door opens : enter the butler.
" If you please, my lady, Mr. L'Estrange is in the morning
room."
Mignon claps her hands.
" This is delightful !" she cries, rushing to the glass and
taking a coquettish survey of her appearance, perfectly un-
mindful of the indecorum of a married woman being so jubilant
at the announcement of a male visitor.
She trips off, all smiles.
" I am glad to see you," she cries, cordially, putting out
both hands to him ; " this is an agreeable surprise. I was on
the point of committing suicide. I am glad !"
For the punishment of his sins, Sir Tristram, who has
followed her, hears the last two sentences.
228 MIQNON.
CHAPTER XXVII.
"PHILASTER and preach to Birds and Beasts.
What Woman is, and help to save them from you.
How Ileav'n is in your Eyes, but, in your Hearts
More Hell than Hell has; how your Tongues, like Scorpions,
Both heal and poison ; how your Thoughts are woven
With thousand Changes in one subtle Web,
And worn so by you. How that foolish Man
That reads the Story of a Woman's Face,
And dies believing it, is lost forever.
How all the Good you have, is but a Shadow,
T the Morning with you, and at Night behind you,
Past and forgotten. How your vows are Frosts,
Fast for a Night, and with the next Sun gone.
How you are, being taken altogether,
A mere Confusion, and so dead a Chaos
That Love cannot distinguish."
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
RAYMOND had been looking forward with intense eager-
ness to this meeting. Infatuated, absorbed with one idea, he
had come to call evil good, and good evil. His mind was sat-
urated with Mussetism, with Swinburneism, with Gauthier-
ism, with every ism that makes passion a god, and sacrifice to
it the true worship. The order of things was inverted with
him : generosity, honor, self-abnegation, seemed weak, puerile
qualities, strength was yielding to what he chose to call Fate.
That his love would triumph he never for an instant doubted :
he put into the scale his youth, his ardor, his personal advan-
tages, and it seemed to him that all Sir Tristram could offer
only amounted to the weight of a feather against a pound of
gold. There is a very familiar old proverb about reckoning
without one's host : it applied with great force in the present
instance.
Mignon was utterly devoid of sentiment. Like a cat, she
loved things more than people ; her own comfort best of all.
Now, a woman who leaves her husband for love of another
man must needs be a very wicked woman, but she must also
have the redeeming qualities, strong affections, and a certain
amount of unselfishness ; for what woman breathing does not
MIGNON. 229
know that by such a step she wrecks and blasts her whole
future and (unless she is utterly bad and callous) is poisoning
every drop of the cup of life left her to drink ? Mignon loved
herself with a love far more perfect and entire than Raymond or
any one else could offer her. She had as much idea of sacri-
ficing her future and her position to love as she had of flinging
her diamonds out of window, like Queen Guinevere, who, by
the way, must have sorely rued that rash act in calmer mo-
ments. She liked Raymond : he amused her ; it diverted her
inexpressibly, too, to torment him and see him writhe under
the lash of her pitiless tongue. She regarded him rather as a
handsome pendant to herself: his dark, clear-cut beauty set
hers off admirably. She liked to see herself reflected in a
pier-glass with him, and had said once, jestingly,
" What a charming couple we make ! quite a study for
Faust and Marguerite."
The most moral and severe reader may be quite easy about
Mignon : her virtue is as unquestionable as that of any saint
in the calendar, if virtue consists in the inability to feel tempta-
tion as well as to wage stern and bitter warfare against it.
Raymond's visits became almost of daily recurrence at the
Court : indeed, if he misses a day, Mignon is dull, and girds
at him on his next appearance. Sir Tristram is miserable.
He feels he has acted foolishly and wrongly ; he is ashamed
of his cowardice, and yet he has not the courage to put a
stop to what is becoming so marked a thing as to excite at-
tention. He hates to see them alone ; he hates more to seem
suspicious, and to thrust his evidently undesired company
upon them ; he feels tormented by jealousy ; and yet he does
not believe for an instant that his wife entertains any real feel-
ing for Raymond. He begins to treat the young man with
some coldness, at which Mignon, who is not slow to notice his
altered manner, redoubles her own kindness.
It might be reassuring to Sir Tristram could he witness the
merciless snubs Lady Goldenlocks bestows on her adorer in
private. Raymond is prone to be melancholy, Byronic, sen-
timental ; but that is a very dim cult role to play with a fair
one who has not a grain of romance in her composition, but
who has unlimited powers of turning the most pathetic, not
to say sacred, subjects into ridicule. By sacred I do not, in
this instance, mean religious.
20
230 MIONON.
Raymond is beginning to lose patience. He will not be-
lieve that Mignon, in her heart, fails to reciprocate his senti-
ments ; in her levity he only sees a phase of that coquetry
which his study of the sex, under the auspices of his favorite
authors, has taught him to believe is an unfailing attribute of
feminine character.
One day they are sitting together in Mignon's boudoir.
Raymond has been fractious and petulant, and Mignon is be-
ginning to be bored by his airs.
" What is the use of my coming here day after day?" he
breaks out, throwing back his handsome head and looking a
very good study for a fallen angel. " I do not believe you
care two straws about me."
"Well, not very much," assents Mignon, placidly. "I
cannot make up my mind, though, which bores me the most
to be alone, or to be with you when you are in one of your
tempers. I wish Lord Threestars were here ! he is never in
a temper."
" And you dare say this to me !" cries Raymond, starting
up in a fury.
My lady looks at him with a saucy smile and not a shadow
of alarm.
" ' I dare all that man may do ;
He that dares more is '
something or other, I forget what. I read that in a book last
week."
" Do you mean to say," cries Raymond, in a white heat of
passion, " that, after you have given me all this encourage-
ment, you prefer Lord Threestars ?"
" Encouragement 1" laughs Mignon. " What do you mean
by encouragement? Is nearly going into convulsions over
your ridiculous sentimental airs encouragement? is yawning,
till I expect every minute to have lock-jaw, when you spout
poetry, encouragement ? is telling you I would not have mar-
ried you if you were Emperor of China and had a million a
year, encouragement ?"
Raymond stands aghast. At this moment he hates that
lovely, laughing face with a bitter hatred : he feels a furious
desire to mar its mocking beauty and save himself and all
other men in the future the fate of loving it and being heart-
broken about it.
MIGNON. 231
"Thank you," lie says, icily : "you shall have no more oc-
casion to give me encouragement or the reverse. Believe me,
I am perfectly desittusionne.
'My heart will never ache or break
For your heart's sake.' "
"I am very glad to hear it," answers Mignon, placidly;
then, as he walks with slow and bitter majesty to the door,
she runs nimbly and places her back to it. " Don't be a
goose 1" she says, with eyes brimful of laughter.
" I will endeavor to be one no longer," he answers, in a
tragic voice. " Lady Bergholt, will you permit me to pass ?"
" I adore a goose," says my lady, mischievously, " particu-
larly when it is stuffed with onions. That reminds me on
the whole, I prefer you to Lord Threestars : he cannot bear to
see a woman eat. I would not marry him for all the world.
Fancy your husband objecting to your enjoying your dinner.
Why, there isn't a man in the world I would go without my
dinner to please."
" What would you sacrifice for any man?" asks Raymond,
bitterly. " A hair of your golden head ? or the pleasure of
hurting his feelings? or what ?"
" I don't know, I am sure," replies Mignon, reflectively.
" Fortunately, I am not put to the test. Sir Tristram makes
all the sacrifices, and never expects any from me : that is the
sort of husband I like."
Raymond takes both her hands with a fierce gesture.
" Is that true ?" he says ; " are you so contented ? do you
never feel an unsatisfied longing, a hunger of the heart ? do
you never realize how empty wealth, title, riches, all are without
love?"
" Never," Mignon answers, frankly. " The only hunger
I ever feel is bodily. I am very hungry at this moment,
and it is past lunch-time. Come, let us go into the dining-
room."
" Good-by !" utters Raymond, with gloomy scorn.
" Nonsense !" retorts my lady. " Pate de fbie gras is much
more satisfying than a fit of the sulks, and iced sauterne than
a ride in the broiling sun. Besides, if you quarrelled with me,
you would miss me dreadfully, and be at your wit's end how
to get through the day."
232 MIONON.
" I can put a thousand miles between myself and you," says
Raymond, coldly.
" To be sure you can ; but distance would only lend enchant-
ment to the view. A thousand miles off, you would think me
an angel and yourself a donkey. And it would punish you
ten times more than it would me."
" No doubt," sneers Raymond.
" Don't look like that ! it does not suit your style of beauty.
There is the gong. Come and have lunch."
" No, thank you" (in a freezing tone).
" Think how pleased Sir Tristram would be if you went off
in a huff." And Mignon laughs mischievously. So Ray-
mond stays.
The right-minded historian and dramatist always shows how
virtue triumphs and vice is punished. In the present instance
I shall be pointing a moral and telling the truth when I aver
that there was no more miserable man in all the British domin-
ions than Raymond L'Estrange about this period of his exist-
ence. As for Mignon, with the exception of being a little
bored, she was as happy and free from care as it falls to the lot
of most people to be who have an excellent digestion, no heart,
and no responsibility.
The week following, the Carlyle family arrived, all except
Gerry, who was not to come till the 10th of August. Sir Tris-
tram had a few grouse on his moor, but not enough to make
it worth while to invite a party. His own gun and his father-
and brother-in-law's would be quite enough. The arrival of
his wife's relatives was an immense relief to him : besides the
pleasure his kind heart gave him in making them welcome, it
was a great satisfaction to him to think that Mignon's tete-d-tete
with Raymond would be put an end to.
Lady Bergholt received her family with extreme graciousness :
it was delightful to her to show herself to them as such an im-
portant personage. She took every opportunity of parading
her advantages before them with the want of delicacy common
to minds not generous : she apparelled herself gorgeously, and
decked herself with jewels. But her family, with perhaps the
exception of Regina, were quite ready to rejoice in her triumph,
to admire, to sympathize, and to exult in her greatness.
Raymond kept away for a few days, chafing furiously the
while, and making himself eminently disagreeable to his poor
MIONON. 233
mother. Mignon, who was getting tired of the companion-
ship of her own people, now she had exhibited all her mag-
nificence to them, wrote and asked him to dinner. Perhaps
she wished to show them the only possession they had not
seen (in the light of a possession at least). At dinner he made
himself extremely agreeable, and was not demonstrative ; but
when he joined the ladies in the drawing-room, either his dis-
cretion had worn off, or the wine he had drunk made him in-
different to any opinions he might provoke. For the first time
in her life, Mignon felt a shadow of uneasiness under the
glances which his dark eyes flashed upon her.
" Sing us something," she said, at last, in an impatient,
imperious tone. " Regina will play for you."
" Will not you ?" he murmured, looking languorously down
upon her.
" No" (abruptly). " I hate playing accompaniments, and
you know I never give you time to get all your expression in"
(with a little sneer).
Raymond strolled to the piano, and selected the " Chanson
de Fortunio," set to Offenbach's music. I don't know whether
the poor, love-lorn lad, when he sang to Jacqueline, kept his
eyes from betraying him or belying the words of his song : if
he did, Raymond was far from imitating him. When he
S| " Que je 1'adore, et qu'elle est blonde
Comme les b!6s/'
he looked steadfastly at Mignon ; and when he came to the
concluding verse,
" Mais j'aime trop pour quo je die >
Qui j'ose aimer,
Et je veux mourir pour ma mie,
Sans la nommer/'
it was sufficiently evident to every one present for whom he
was expressing his willingness to die. Each member of the
Carlyle family felt horribly embarrassed. As for the father,
he would have liked nothing so much as to kick the impudent
puppy out of the door. Mrs. Carlyle looked frightened, Mary
pained, Regina arched her eyebrows. Sii \fristrarn alone
seemed not to remark anything.
Mignon, whose perceptions in some things were remarkably
20*
234 MIGNON.
quick, observed the effect that was produced on her family,
and felt angry with Raymond for putting her in an embar-
rassing position.
" What a stupid song !" she said, as he finished ; " not that
I understand half of it, but I conclude, from the way yon
turned up your eyes, that it was something very sentimental.
Can't you sing us a comic song ? I like those much better."
"I am sorry I cannot oblige you," answered Raymond,
stiffly, turning away to conceal his mortification.
It was a relief to every one when, soon afterwards, he took
his departure.
Captain Carlyle meditated long and earnestly that night.
Mignon must be spoken to, but by whom ? Not himself, cer-
tainly: he had no intention of exciting the defiance which
had only just fallen to slumber. No, he told himself firmly,
so delicate a matter came within the province of a mother :
let her mother look to it.
He laid his commands upon Mrs. Carlyle. She, poor
woman, entreated to be excused, but her lord was firm. The
mother, feeling how hopeless was the task, drew her eldest
daughter into her counsels. Mary loved Mignon : she had,
besides, an immense regard for Sir Tristram, but stronger than
every other feeling was her sense of duty. The task was a
painful one ; but she thought over it, prayed over it, and
gathered up all her courage. It seems odd that a girl of
eighteen, with a face as fair as an angel's and as candid as a
child's, could inspire as much awe of contradicting her as Mig-
non ; but perhaps the reader may know of some parallel case
that may help to make it more intelligible to him.
It was the morning but one after Raymond had dined, and
Mary followed her sister to her boudoir.
" My dear," she said, in her kind, grave voice, kissing the
peach-like cheek, " do you know I think you are a very
fortunate girl ?"
"Yes?" (with a little gesture of indifference.) "Well, I
suppose I am."
" You have everything heart can desire."
Mignon looked as though, if it were not too much trouble,
Bhe would dissent from so broad a proposition.
" The kindest husband in the world."
Mignon conjectured dimly what was coming.
MIGNON. 235
"Yes," she said, turning to look at Mary, and speaking
half in jest, half in earnest ; " but the thing I am most thank-
ful of all for is that I am my own mistress" (with great decis-
ion), " and that no one has any right to interfere with me or
to lecture me."
" Not those who love you with all their hearts ?" whispered
Mary, in a low voice, looking tenderly in Mignon's clear blue
eyes. " Have those who have your welfare most at heart no
right to say a word of warning if they think that in your inno-
cence and inexperience you stand in need of it ?"
" What do you mean?" asked Mignon, irritably.
" I mean," replied Mary, quickly, " that I think it is pain-
ful to Sir Tristram to see Mr. L'Estrange treat you in the
manner he does, although he is too delicate and generous even
to seem to notice it."
" Did he ask you to tell me this?" cried Mignon, with a
rebellious flush.
" My dear, I think you must know him too well to imagine
that what he is too delicate to say to you he would be likely
to mention to others."
" Then /think," said Mignon, firing up, " it would be well
if other people imitated his delicacy and allowed me to manage
my own affairs."
" Mignon !" cried Mary, imploringly.
But my lady is quite incapable of brooking interference :
she has been accustomed to find her word law and her sover-
eign will undisputed so long that a word of reproof or admoni-
tion is an unpardonable impertinence in her eyes. As ill
fortune would have it, who should appear in the doorway at
this very moment but Raymond !
" Talk of the devil and you see his horns I" cried Mignon,
with a laugh. " You are not so much like him, though, this
morning as you are sometimes : you look quite good-tempered."
Two little red spots of anger are still burning on her cheeks :
she feels in that reckless mood which sometimes. seems to indi-
cate high spirits in young people. To those who understand
them, however, it is a mood that generally lies nearer tears than
laughter : it is an angry disturbance of their pride and mighti-
ness, and a secret consciousness of being in the wrong.
Those are the moods in which the young love to shock and
surprise their grave elders ; and if the elders remembered some
236 MIQNON.
such feeling of their own youth, and were sympathetic and
tender instead of being cold and reproving, the masterful young
ones would soon come down off their pinnacle of folly.
" What do you think ?" continued Mignon, all in a breath :
" my sister was just saying how handsome you were, and that
she almost wondered I did not fall in love with and run away
with you."
Raymond, looking from one to the other, conjectured that
Miss Carlyle had been saying something of a very different
nature.
" I must tell you," proceeded Mignon, still laughing, and
speaking in a loud key, " that Mary adores Sir Tristram :
they would have made a nice, respectable old couple, would
they not?"
" I think they would have suited each other admirably,"
answered Raymond.
Mary looked up at him with some displeasure, and observed,
with gentle dignity,
" Do you not think that there are some subjects on which
it is better, taste not to jest?"
But Raymond was as difficult to abash as even Mignon.
" Lady Bergholt asked me a question, and I believe polite-
ness, not to say good taste, required me to answer it. I agree
with her that you and Sir Tristram would have made an
admirable pair, even more suitable, if she will permit me to
say so" (with an ill-concealed sneer), " than Sir Tristram and
herself."
Mary felt exceedingly indignant : she would have liked to
get up and go out of the room, but thought it wrong to leave
him alone with Mignon.
But my lady took the law into her own hands.
" Come, Raymond," she said, gayly, " let us go into the
garden."
This was the first time she had ever called him by his name.
It was a continuation of her " high spirits." When the door
was closed upon them, he took her hand eagerly.
"I am in love with my name when I hear it from your
sweet lips," he whispered.
" Bah !" she said, snatching it from him ; " I only said it to
vex Mary. And I don't think it the least pretty : it is as
stupid and romantic as my own."
MIGNON. 237
Raymond, being so smartly snubbed, did not find his tongue
again until they were out in the garden.
" Your sister seems a fine specimen of the genus old maid,"
he remarked, feeling a grudge against poor Mary for trying to
do her duty.
" My sister is an angel," retorted Mignon, fiercely, " and
you are not fit to wipe the dust off her shoes."
Here was the beginning of a very pretty quarrel ; but at
this juncture Mignon observed her father coming rapidly
towards them, and the demon of mischief returned upon her
fourfold.
" He is coming to spoil sport. Quick ! quick !" she cried,
and, before Raymond knew what she was about, Mignon
caught him by the arm, dragged him down the steep green
slope of the terrace, and flew like a young deer across the
lawn and towards the wood, Raymond following with an
irritable sense of impaired dignity.
Captain Carlyle, surveying the flying pair, who would have
made a charming study for Atalanta and Hippoinenes, launched
after them a most unpaternal anathema, and retired to the
house to pour out the vials of his wrath upon his unhappy
wife.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
" Did you ever hear my definition of marriage ? It is, that it resembles
a pair of shears, so joined that they cannot be separated, often moving
in opposite directions, yet always punishing any one who comes between
them."
SYDNEY SMITH.
THE Carlyle family were very uneasy indeed. Sir Tristram
continued to give no sign, and Mr. L'Estrange made Bergholt
Court his home as it pleased him. It was not that Mignon's
father, mother, or sisters thought she was in danger of losing
her heart : truth to tell, they had very limited faith in that por-
tion of her anatomy ; but they saw that she was by way of
compromising her dignity and making herself the subject of
remark, and this, they were well aware, would endanger her
238 MIGNOX.
position in the county. They held solemn conclaves on the
subject : each wished to delegate to the other the unpleasant
task of remonstrating with the perverse beauty. Mary felt no
courage to resume the subject, after the manner in which
Mignon had flouted her remarks before.
" Wait till Gerry comes," advised llegina : " he is the only
one of us who dares to speak to her. She will listen to any-
thing from him."
"Wait!" grumbled Captain Carlyle ; " wait until the silly
girl's name is in every mouth, and people are beginning to
look coldly upon her."
" Well, then, papa," retorted Regina, " why do not you speak
to her?"
Captain Carlyle was silent. He was dreadfully afraid of
offending his youngest daughter. He liked his quarters at
Bergholt ; he liked the prospect of all the shooting he was to
get there ; and he knew perfectly that if he made himself
obnoxious to Mignon this would be his first and last visit. So
he elected to take llegina's advice and wait for Gerry.
Now, if there was one human being whom Lady Bergholt
loved with any approximation to the devotion she felt for her-
self, it was her twin brother. She loved him even more since
she chose to consider that she had made such a gigantic sacri-
fice for him. She could think and talk of nothing else for
days before he came : his very name was a weariness to Ray-
mond's flesh : he grew sulky under Mignon's continued rhap-
sodies, which, as she observed they were unwelcome to her
auditor, my lady kindly continued to reiterate with unwearied
fervor.
" You must not come near for days," she tells him, kindly.
" I shall be so wrapped up in Gerry, I shall not have a word
to nay to you."
" Oh, Gemini !" says Raymond, with a little scornful laugh.
" That is meant for a joke, I suppose," remarks Mignon,
disdainfully. " I never made a joke in my life : it is only very
stupid people who do, I think."
Raymond contemplates her with a little bitter working of
the mouth. She is sitting on a low, cushioned, garden chair,
under a broad -leaved chestnut. The faint pale blue of her
dress with its clouds of lace sets off the exquisite fairness of her
skin j her eyes are like deep wells in which the sky is reflected
MIGNON. 239
on a summer night ; the fine threads of her hair sparkle like
gold. The same thought that came to poor Oswald Carey
comes to Raymond as he looks at her.
He speaks. Though his words are sweet, the tone of them
is low and bitter. His dark, close curls are pressed back against
the tree-trunk, his hazel eyes are bent upon her face in a hard
unfaltering gaze.
" You are the most beautiful woman I ever saw. I doubt
if Helen of Troy were fairer. Everything about you (out-
wardly) is perfect : there is not one feature in your face that
sculptor or painter could improve. You are altogether lovely."
He pauses, and she looks at him with mocking wonder in
her eyes.
" You are very kind," she says : " but you remind me of
that piece at the Haymarket The Palace of Truth, I think
where people said something quite different from what they
meant to say. To judge by your face, I could imagine that,
instead of all the pretty things you have treated me to, you
were saying something very spiteful."
" I have not finished," he answers, not relaxing either the
steadfastness or the bitterness of his gaze.
" Oh !" laughs Miguon ; " I have had the jam, and the
powder is coming. Is that it ?"
Raymond resumes.
" I dare say men would commit crimes and follies for you,
as they did for the lovely women in the olden time. I dare
say, if circumstances had placed you in a similar position, you
would have had the bliss of embroiling kingdoms and causing
rivers of blood to flow. As it is, your powers for evil are
necessarily circumscribed, though doubtless you will do a good
deal of mischief before you die. But And he pauses.
' Now comes the tug of war !" mocks Mignon.
" But suppose you were stricken down with smallpox to-
morrow, suppose you were disfigured in a railway accident,
suppose, from whatever cause, you lost your beauty, I do not
believe you would have a friend in the world, nor a creature
who cared for you."
Mignon's eyes flash with indignant amazement ; but Ray-
mond has not finished.
" What have you ever done to win any one's love ? when
have you been unselfish, or tender, or pitiful ? when have you
240 MIGNON.
done one of those kind actions that make other women friends,
even though they have no beauty ? when have you considered
any breathing human being but yourself?"
It certainly is rather " a strong order" for so very egotisti-
cal a young gentleman as Raymond to give a lecture upon the
very faults he possesses himself; but, as it has been remarked,
our own failings are always those which offend us most in
others.
" Thank you !" cries Mignon, with blazing eyes, and cheeks
stirred to carnation by her wrath. " I shall know in future
how to value all your protestations of love and admiration.
Not that I ever thought them sincere, or worth having if they
were."
" But you see," returns Raymond, his bitterness relaxing
now he has given vent to his spleen, " you have not taken the
smallpox nor been smashed in a railway-carriage : so the fact
of your beauty remains, and consequently the fact that I, and
other fools like me, will break our hearts about you."
"Break YOUR heart! 1 ' retorts Mignon, with a whole
volume of scorn in her voice.
So it will appear that this young couple, who are giving so
much anxiety to their elders, have not that exalted respect
and esteem for each other upon which it is said, and truly said,
the tender passion should be founded.
After having indulged himself in telling these bitter truths
to my lady, Raymond has to eat a fabulous amount of humble
pie before he is restored to anything like favor. Strange to
say, his words rankle in Mignon's breast. As a rule, reproaches
and sharp words glance off her as arrows from an iron target ;
but when, later, she goes to her room to dress, she looks at
herself earnestly in the glass, and says, in her heart, " It is
quite true. If I were ugly, who would care for me?" And
she sighs, and for once wishes she were something worthier
and better. Gerry is to arrive to-night: she runs a dozen
times to his room, to think if she can invent any improvement;
she puts on one of her loveliest dresses, though she will have
to change it again in half an hour for dinner ; and when she
sees the dog-cart coming up the drive, she flies down-stairs
and out upon the steps, and, almost before he alights, both her
arms are around his neck, and she is giving him such a hug
as no one in the memory of man ever beheld her give. The
MIGNON. 241
servants, who have never seen her caress man, woman, child,
dog, or horse, are fairly astounded. A bitter pang goes
through Sir Tristram's heart : but he comes forward and shakes
the lad heartily by the hand, and welcomes him as though he
were his own brother. As for Gerry, he is not like his sister :
perhaps the warmest corner in his heart is for her, but he
has plenty of love and kindness and good will for every one
else.
He gives lavish greetings all round, whilst my lady looks on
with ill-concealed impatience. It is a real pleasure to see
his bright, cheery smile, that looks like the incarnation of a
sunbeam, to hear his fresh young voice : it makes even the
servants, who are as immovable as becomes their position in a
" high" family, relax the muscles of their face : it is easy to
prognosticate that before three days there won't be one among
them who will not be a willing slave to him.
" If my lady was only like him," said the butler (and no
doubt many wholesome truths are uttered in the servants' hall),
" we should all fall down and worship her."
My lady, however, gives them no cause to break the second
commandment : not one of them likes her in his heart, al-
though her loveliness has much the same fascination for them
that it has for their superiors.
Gerry's gratitude towards Sir Tristram is unbounded : he
seems as if he cannot show it enough. The affectionate defer-
ence with which he treats him charms every one except Mig-
non, who seems to consider that all his gratitude is due to her.
Gerry has been gazetted to the th Lancers, and is to join
in a month. Sir Tristram got him his commission, Sir Tris-
tram has paid every shilling of his expenses since last Septem-
ber, Sir Tristram has given him his outfit, and makes him the
liberal allowance that permits him to live like a young gentle-
man of the period, and Gerry has the most lively recollection
of all these favors. The bounty he has received does not
make him, like the horse-leech's daughters, cry, " Give ! give !"
he would not ask anything more of his brother-in-law for the
world : to save his life, he would not exceed his allowance.
There is only just time after he arrives to dress for dinner,
but imperious Mignon is not to be contradicted in her desire
to have her brother all to herself. Almost immediately din-
ner i& over, she gets up and signs to Gerry to accompany her.
L 21
242 MIONON.
He looks first at his brother-in-law, which makes my lady
toss her head scornfully.
" Will you excuse me, Sir Tristram ?" he asks.
" By all means, my boy," answers Sir Tristram, heartily.
Now, Madam Mignon, with the curiosity which belongs only
to the inferior sex, is dying to see Gerry's finery, which she
has especially commanded him to bring.
" Come," she cries, linking her arm in his, and marching
him off up-stairs ; " I want to see all your lovely clothes."
And Gerry, who is quite as proud of his uniform as any other
young embryo soldier, nothing loath, obeys her behest.
But when they have arrived at his room, the first thing he
does is to put his arms round his sister and smother her with
kisses.
" Oh, Yonnie ! what a darling you look ! and how can I
ever thank you and Sir Tristram enough ! Are you quite
happy ?"
Mignon at this moment is possessed by a perfect sense of
bi'en-etre; but she has no idea of undervaluing the sacrifice
she wishes Gerry to consider she has made : so she heaves a
little sigh, which is exceedingly strained and unnatural, and
answers,
" As happy as I can expect to be."
" But he is such a thundering good fellow," utters Gerry,
wistfully.
" Yes, but you didn't have to marry him ; you haven't got
to live with him for the next hundred years," says Migiion.
" There !" (impatiently), " I don't want to talk about him. Get
your things out."
So Gerry, with much pride and care, unfolds his treasures
one by one from their wrappings, and exhibits them to Mig-
non's dazzled eyes.
" You must put them on ! I must see you in them !" cries
Mignon. "Stay!" (as a sudden idea rushes through her
brain) ; and she claps her hands and dances round the room
in wild delight. " I know. I will put on your full-dress
uniform, and you shall put on the undress, and we will go
down-stairs together. You stoop a little, and I will make my-
self tall, and they won't know which is which."
"Will it be quite the thing, Yonnie?" asks Gerry, with
some hesitation.
MIGNON. 243
" Of course it will. Why not ? Quick ! give me all the
things, and I will carry them to my room."
The maid is summoned ; but it is as much as her place is
worth to venture any remonstrance. In twenty minutes my
lady is as dashing a cornet as ever held her Majesty's commis-
sion, and swaggers about as only a woman in men's clothes
can. Gerry is dressed long ago, and comes to give the finish-
ing-touch. He is not quite easy in his mind about the pro-
priety of the escapade, but Mignon is wild with spirits. As
they go out arm in arm, their swords clanking behind them,
the corridor rings again with her laughter. The party have
left the dining-room ; neither are they in the drawing-room.
" We shall find them in the garden," says Mignon.
They saunter through the open windows. It is bright
moonlight. The night is intensely hot, and coffee is being
served out of doors. They run full tilt against the butler and
footman, who, for once in their lives, so far forget themselves
as to look something of the astonishment they feel. Imme-
diately afterwards they join the group. In one instant it is
evident to Gerry that the joke is not appreciated : there is a
look of dismay on every face. Sir Tristram colors and rises.
"My dear," he says, advancing hurriedly to Mignon, "pray
return to the house before the servants see you."
He has been educated in the good old school. For a woman
to lower herself in the eyes of her household is a very shock-
ing offense, in his opinion.
"Too late!" cries Mignon, with a laugh, half defiant, half
awkward. "I just ran into Howell's arms and nearly made
him drop the coffee-pot."
" Mignon," whispers Mary, " do come in, dear." And she
takes her by the arm.
" How stupid you all are !" cries Mignon, with an angry
flush in her fair face : "to make such a fuss about a joke!"
For the first time in his life, her husband speaks angrily to
her.
"It is no joke for a lady to degrade herself before her ser-
vants, Lady Bergholt."
Mignon turns upon him furiously.
" Whose fault is it that I am Lady Bergliolt ?" she cries,
with an accent of bitter contempt on the name and title ; but
here Gerry drags her away by main force, and she returns to
244 MIGNON.
her room and gives vent to a passion of angry tears. She does
not appear again that evening, and poor Gerry feels rather sad
and crestfallen.
Next morning, however, the escapade seems to be forgotten
by all but Mignon, who treats every one but Gerry with ex-
treme coldness and hauteur. Captain Carlyle loses no time in
imparting to Gerry his uneasiness about Raymond's attentions,
and the poor lad feels more seriously afflicted than he has ever
done in his life, except when his uncle died. Suppose Mignon
had married Sir Tristram for his sake; suppose she found
herself unable to love him, and had conceived an attachment
for L'Estrange ! These thoughts sadly spoiled his first day's
shooting. But he had resolved what to do. He speak to his
sister ! he upbraid her ! he even have a disloyal doubt of her,
when she has been his guardian angel ! No ! His affair was
with the man, not with her. And, in his chivalrous boyish
heart, he was ready to fight for her honor to the death.
llaymond dined at Bergholt on the evening of the 12th :
he had ridden over in the afternoon.
"I thought your paragon would be out," he says, "and you
might be feeling dull."
"I am rather," assents my lady.
" Well, are you getting at all bored by his military conver-
sation ? I suppose he is pretty full of swagger "
"As for swagger," retorts Mignon, with a malicious laugh,
" you have quite accustomed me to that. And I don't believe
he has swaggered as much in eight-and-forty hours as you do
in ten minutes."
Raymond is pleased to be immensely gracious to Gerry, and
Gerry, who meant to treat him with much coolness, is not
proof against the frank kindness of his manner. On this
particular evening there is nothing very marked in his atten-
tions to Mignon, and Gerry begins to think his father has
made some mistake. A few days, however, suffice to con-
vince him that there is but too much truth in what he has
heard : it is evident that Mignon, although she snubs Ray-
mond most unmercifully, takes a certain amount of pleasure in
his society, and likes him to come to the house, and it is not
only evident, but unmistakable, that Raymond is very much
in love indeed. So Gerry buckles on his moral harness and
prepares to do battle for his sister's good name.
MIGNON. 245
More than once Raymond has pressed him to go over to
L' Estrange Hall, and on the sixth day after his arrival at
Bergholt he accepts the invitation.
" I will ride over to-morrow, if it suits you," he says ; and
Raymond gives a pleased assent. He likes Gerry because he
resembles Mignon ; he likes him for his own sake too, and he
is more than anxious to be friendly with him. The boy's
heart is heavy within him as he rides along the green lanes and
across the common. He has never exchanged hard words with
any one in his life ; personally, he likes and admires Raymond,
and would gladly be his friend. But he has a strong sense of
honor, an almost chivalrous feeling of his obligations to Sir
Tristram, and, above all things, an intense devotion to his twin
sister. And so, without a word or hint to any one, he rides
forth with a heavy heart to do what duty bids him.
Raymond, than whom no man living can be more gracious
or winning when the mood is on him, comes out with the
most cordial of greetings, treats him as though he were a
brother returned after a long absence, introduces him to his
mother, and unfolds his projects for the day's amusement.
Poor Gerry is ill at ease, miserable : he has no intention of
staying : how should he eat bread and salt with the man who
may one day stand face to face with him as his bitterest foe ?
There is a nervous flutter at his heart : his color comes and
goes ; he answers at random ; but Raymond is so full of
spirits, and has so much to say, he does not seem to remark
Gerry's strangeness. They go round the stables, look at the
dogs, pay a visit to the keepers' cottages to see the young
pheasants that are being brought up there, and finally return
to the house. And yet Gerry has not spoken.
" It must be lunch-time," says Raymond, looking at hig
watch.
And then Gerry, trembling in every limb from strong ex-
citement, his heart in his throat, begins,
" I cannot stay to lunch, thanks. I came here to say
something to you : when I have said it, I will go."
Raymond looks at him in unfeigned astonishment, but
quick as lightning comes the intuition of what that something
is. He says nothing, but looks Gerry full in the face with
his dark resolute eyes, and waits.
The words that Gerry has arranged in his head take flight,
246 MIGNON.
or come out headlong, pell-mell, trembling, fluttering, but he
makes himself understood. .
" You have been very kind to me : I like you very much, I
wish we could be friends, but my sister is more than anything
else to me in the world. I don't blame you, of course you
can't help it, I don't know who could, but it must not be"
" My dear fellow," responds Raymond, coolly, " if you
would kindly try and be a little more lucid, I might get some
idea of what you are driving at."
" I think you know," says the boy, a flush overspreading
the face that is so like Mignon's. " I mean that you are in
love with my sister, and that no one can help seeing it. And
and people will talk about it, and that will be bad for
her."
" Don't you think," remarks Raymond, with the shadow of
a sneer, " that her husband is the best judge of that ? Don't
you think he is old enough to take care of her honor?"
" He is the noblest fellow in the world," breaks out Gerry :
" he is so good himself that he would not even suspect others
of abusing his generosity."
" But, my dear fellow," says Raymond, assuming a genial
and ingenuous air, " what do you complain of? What do
you want me to do ? Surely it is natural that I should admire
so very lovely a woman as Lady Bergholt ?" He wants to
divert Gerry's suspicions, and to treat the matter in such a
way as will make it difficult for him to proceed to extremities.
In his heart he laughs at the idea of a boy like this standing
between him and what has come to be the one object of his
life.
"I want you to keep away from her," answers Gerry,
in a low voice. " If you really care for her, you will want to
do what is best for her."
Raymond looks at him, a faint smile curving his lips.
" Have you ever been in love?"
Gerry blushes.
" Well, no, perhaps not exactly in love," he says, hesitating,
" but I have been very fond of one or two girls."
" You have never felt a passion that has absorbed your
whole heart and thoughts, never cared so much for any one
that every hour spent away from them was positive pain and
misery ?"
MIGNON. 247
Raymond's voice is hoarse and deep : his eyes flash : he is
in bitter earnest.
"No," answers Gerry, as if he was a little ashamed of not
having experienced the sensations described.
" Then pardon me for saying you can be no judge in the
matter. Your sister was sold" (Gerry winces) " to a man as
old as her father, when she was such a child as not to know
what love meant : is it wonderful that when my heart speaks
to her's, her's should answer ? Let those who sold her look
to it 1"
There is a dark red flush on Raymond's face : he forgets
that he is speaking to Mignon's brother, and that he is only a
lad. In his tone there is a covert threat, and Gerry resents it.
" She is not in love with you," he says, stoutly ; " no more
in love with you than she was with Oswald Carey."
" Pray who is Oswald Carey ?" asks Raymond, sharply.
" Oh, a great friend of mine : he worshipped the ground
she walked on, and when she gave him up for Sir Tristram it
broke his heart, and he went off to India."
" Oh !" says Raymond, drawing a long breath. "And may I
ask on what grounds you have come to the conclusion that your
sister is as indifferent to me as she was to Mr. Oswald Carey?"
" Because she laughs and gibes at you all day long," answers
Gerry, with imprudent frankness ; " and she makes fun of you
behind your back. She would not do that if she cared for
you."
Raymond is stung to the quick.
" Does Lady Bergholt know of your errand here to-day ?"
he asks, after a moment's pause.
" No. I would not have her know for the world."
" Perhaps Sir Tristram does ?"
" No one knows," cries Gerry, indignantly. " And now
give me your answer and let me go. Will you give up coming
so often to see my sister and paying her attentions which may
compromise her?"
Raymond draws himself up to his full height, and looks
down at the stripling as Goliath might have looked at David.
" I will not give up going to see your sister," he answers,
contemptuously ; " nor will I give up showing all the admira-
tion and devotion I feel for her."
The red color mounts to Gerry's neck and brow, his blue
248 MIGNON.
eyes flash as Mignon's are wont to do, his nostrils quiver, he
looks as gallant a lad as you could well find in the three king-
doms.
" Then," he says, in a voice trembling with righteous wrath,
"/will compel you. You think me a boy: you shall find I
am a man. I suppose you are a gentleman : you will hardly
refuse to fight. If disgrace comes to my sister through you,
it will not be until you have my blood on your hands, not till
I am dead, and can no longer defend her."
Raymond is at a loss. He feels the absurdity of the situa-
tion, but he cannot help admiring the lad's chivalrous bearing.
To quarrel d Voutrance with a boy of eighteen is out of the
question, but he sees in him a determined and unpleasant
obstacle.
" He will be gone in another fortnight," he says to himself.
" It is a confounded nuisance ; but I suppose I must do some-
thing to lull his suspicions."
He holds out his hand with a smile.
" My dear fellow, I would not hurt a hair of your head.
Keep your sword for the enemies of your country. I hope
you will never have occasion to draw it on me."
But Gerry declines the proffered hand.
" I will not take it until you swear to desist from perse-
cuting my sister."
"Persecuting nonsense!" cries Raymond, with a light
laugh. " Come, now you have had your heroics, get off the
stilts and come and have some lunch."
" Will you be so good as to order my horse?" says Gerry.
" I will not stay any longer."
" Certainly, if you wish it," replies Raymond, coldly, ring-
ing the bell. He is getting a little bored. " Have Mr. Car-
lyle's horse brought round," he says : and during the time
that elapses until it is announced, not a word is spoken between
them.
MIGNON. 249
CHAPTER XXIX.
"L'abbe Bouchitte", quand on faisait devant lui avec enthousiasme
I'gloge de la beaute d'une femme, vous interrompait en disant,
" ' Mange-t-elle ?'
( Plait- il ? Que ditcs-vous ?'
' Je vous demande si elle mange/
Je ne sais pas encore, mais je crois que oui/
; Pouah ! alors.'
1 Pourquoi pouah ?'
' Parce que je n'admets pas une femme qui mange !' "
THE following morning, Mignon receives a letter
"DEAR LADY BERQHOLT,
" Your fire-eating brother gave me such a terrible fright
yesterday that I shall not feel safe as long as we are both in
the same county. So I am having my things packed, that I
may make my escape whilst there is yet time. I have deferred
going to Scotland, because I found greater charms here ; but,
now that the only house where I care to be is closed against
me, I shall go and have a turn at the grouse. You will, I dare
say, be able to console yourself for my absence by making fun
of me behind my back.
" Ever yours,
" RAYMOND L'ESTRANGE."
Mignon reads the letter in silence, and puts it in her pocket.
When breakfast is over she says to her brother,
" Gerry, I want you to come into the wood with me this
morning."
Gerry feels guilty, but he says to himself,
" He surely can't have been such a sneak as to tell her."
As they walk along together, Mignon is full of spirits ; she
laughs and talks about a thousand things ; and Gerry tries to
persuade himself that it is only his conscience that makes him
uneasy. Presently they come to a felled tree, and Mignon sits
down upon it.
L*
250 MIGNON.
" Now," she says, abruptly, fixing her eyes on his face, " what
have you been saying to Mr. L'Estrange ?"
Gerry blushes like a girl, and drops his eyes. Mignon takes
the letter from her pocket, and hands it to him.
" What a coward !" says the boy, bitterly, as he reads it.
" Well," says Mignon, " I want to know what you said to
him."
" I cannot tell you," Gerry answers, turning his head away.
Dangerous fires begin to kindle in the dark-blue eyes ; there
is an ominous dilating of the fine nostrils ; a tempest begins to
heave under the lace that covers my lady's breast.
" How dare you interfere with me ? how dare you insult my
friends ?" she cries.
" Yonnie, don't be angry with me !" he pleads. " I never
meant you to know."
" Of course not" (bitterly) ; " but, you see, you did not
manage quite cleverly." (Then, in a tone of disgust,) " I never
thought you were a sneak before. So this is your gratitude !"
" Yes !" he cries, stung to the quick : " this is my gratitude.
I would rather kill any one, or let any one kill me, than that it
should be in people's power to say a word against you."
Mignon's anger subsides into mirth.
" Good heavens !" she says, laughing, " you don't mean to
say you have been challenging him?"
Gerry is silent.
" Did you ?" she repeats.
" I told him," he answers, in a low voice, " that he must
cease paying you the marked attention he is doing, or "
"Or what?"
" There is only one alternative between gentlemen," answers
Gerry, with dignity, " when one says, < You must,' and the
other says, ' I will not.' "
" Oh ! and so he said he would not ?" asks Mignon, curiously.
" He gave me to understand as much."
" Yes," utters Mignon, complacently ; " I don't think any
one would get much by saying must to Raymond."
Gerry fixes his eyes full upon her. He looks as though he
were trying to read her through, trying not to find something
he is afraid of.
" You do not care for him ?" he whispers, with a voice in
which doubt and fear struggle painfully.
MIGNON. 251
" I do care for him very much," she says, wilfully.
He throws himself down at her feet, with his arms across
her knees, and his eyes fixed imploringly on hers.
" Oh, Yonnie !" he cries, with intense earnestness, " for
God's sake, don't say that ! You don't know what it means !
you don't know what an awful thing it is for a married woman
to care for another man ! Oh, God !" and he clasps her so
tight, it pains her, " if I thought you would, be what what
some women are, I should ask him to kill you first."
His voice quivers with passion, his eyes devour her face for
an answer, his boyish soul is shaken with fear at what her
careless words have implied.
Mignon feels a little abashed.
" Don't be a goose," she says, pushing him from her. " I
like the man : I don't love him, if that is what you mean."
" Oh, Yonnie, are you sure?"
" Of course I am" (impatiently). " What should I see to
love in a man who is wrapped up in himself, and has the worst
temper in the world ? What has put all these ridiculous ideas
into your head ?"
" I beg your pardon, darling, for having doubted you an
instant," says poor Gerry, penitently, " but no one can help
seeing that he is in love with you, and from something he said
I I was afraid "
" Oho !" laughs Mignon. " What did he say ? He is con-
ceited enough to fancy I am dying of love for him. What
did he say ?"
" He said" (hesitatingly), " it was only natural that, when
his heart spoke to yours, yours should answer."
Mignon bursts into such immoderate laughter that her
brother cannot fail to be reassured.
" I wonder what his heart said, and what mine answered,"
she cries, between two peals of laughter. " I must ask him."
" Yonnie ! you would not surely do such a thing !"
" Well, no ; it would hardly be safe. I should tease the
life out of him, and raise his homicidal propensities. I don't
want my own blood shed, nor any one else's on my account.
And so" (still laughing) " he had the impudence to tell you I
was in love with him. Pray, did he favor you with any further
confidences ?"
" Yonnie, darling," says the lad, gravely, " this is not a
I
MIGNON.
subject for jesting. It may amuse you, but you don't know
what pain it is giving to others."
" Fable of the boys and the frog," laughs Mignon. " The
boy and the frogs it ought to be. I am glad I am the boy."
" If you let him think you care at all for him," proceeds
Gerry, with increased gravity, "you foster his feelings and
make him suffer all the more. And oh, Yonnie ! I don't think
Iou have any idea what pain it gives Sir Tristram. I watch
im sometimes, and, though he seems not to notice anything,
I know he suffers agonies. I wonder you don't see how worn
and hunted his eyes look at times, how his hand trembles when
he takes up a book and pretends to read, how he does not seem
always to hear when people speak to him."
"He is getting old and deaf," scoffs Mignon.
" Don't talk like that, dear. I think it is only your way.
I can't believe that you are really indifferent to other people's
sufferings."
" Why should people suffer ?" cries Mignon, indignantly.
" No one could make me. I shouldn't care the least if Sir
Tristram preferred some one else's company to mine. I wish
he would."
This is not strictly true, for my lady has been extremely put
out more than once by her husband seeming to take pleasure
in Mrs. Stratheden's society. Her dislike for Olga has gone
on increasing steadily. They constantly meet at different houses
in the county, and, as Mignon puts herself out of the way to
be uncivil, Olga keeps aloof from her. For Sir Tristram's
sake, whom she likes most heartily, she is anxious to avoid any
open breach. Mignon was furious with Gerry only the other
day for having spoken enthusiastically of Mrs. Stratheden,
whom he had talked to at a garden party.
" I 'don't think you would like it," says Gerry, replying to
his sister's remark. " No one does. And if it would hurt
you, who do not care very much about him, what do you think
it must do to him, who worships the ground you walk on, when
he sees you whispering and laughing with L'Estrange?"
" I am sure he is very welcome to hear all our whisper-
ings," retorts Mignon ; " if he did, Ifidon't think he would
feel very jealous. However, thanks to you, his rival is gone,
and, for the matter of that, I don't care if I never see him
MIGNON. 253
" Yonnie, darling," whispers Gerry, looking with pleading
eyes in her face, " I want you to promise me something."
"Well?"
" Promise me, when he comes back, not to let him be here
so often, not to seem to give him encouragement."
" I shan't promise anything of the sort," answers Mignon,
knitting her fair brows. " I am not going to be moped to
death to please anybody. But if you think I am such an
idiot as to be capable of giving up all T now have" (with a
wave of her hand) " for the sake of Mr. Raymond L'Estrange,
I can only regret your singular want of insight into character."
As it happens, Mignon does not miss Raymond in the least.
Kitty is at Minor, where she has a gay party ; Mrs. Strath-
eden gives a series of charming entertainments at The Manor
House, which Mignon's dislike of the hostess does not pre-
vent her taking part in ; there are parties at Bergholt ; and,
indeed, every one combines to make the autumn a gay and
pleasant one.
Raymond, in Scotland, is chafing furiously at his enforced
absence. The only consolation he has is derived from the
conviction that Mignon is suffering some part of his pain.
If he could only see her ! Gerry has left to join his regiment ;
Mrs. Carlyle and her daughters have returned to Rose Cottage ;
and, of the family, only Captain Carlyle remains at the Court,
for partridge-shooting.
There is to be a large party in the house, and Mignon is
looking forward with mingled nervousness and pleasure to the
idea of playing hostess. She has very little trouble : Sir
Tristram arranges everything for her. Since Raymond's de-
parture, he has grown young and cheerful again, almost happy;
for Mignon, slightly influenced by her brother's remonstrance,
treats him with a shade more consideration.
Lord Threestars is to be one of the guests, a circumstance
that gives unmitigated satisfaction to the lady of Bergholt.
She is bent upon his conquest : he is a victim worthy her bow
and spear, and poor Raymond vanishes from her fickle mind
as stars wane when the sun rises. Poor Raymond, indeed !
bad, wicked, unprincipled Raymond, who is going to be
punished as he deserves.
Mignon fears no rival. True, there will be one or two good-
looking women of the party, but my lady has superb confidence
22
MIQNON.
in her own charms. She does not know yet that there is
H.MK'tlmi- \vhirh can triumph over mere beauty, particularly
when people are thrown together as they are in the country.
Ah ! there is more mischief done in three days in a country
house than in a whole London season. And do not the fair
know it, and lay themselves out accordingly ?
Lord Threestars, who is a good deal courted and has a host
of invitations, has decided upon accepting this one in remem-
brance of Lady Bergholt's loveliness, and not at all ignorant
of the contingent possibility of being made a victim of. He
is a thorough man of the world, a good shot, a good rider,
cleverer and better read than most men who live the purpose-
loss life of a man of fashion, but it pleases him to assume a
languor and a semblance of effeminacy : his best friend does
not know why. Perhaps he heard in his youth the story of
the fragile-looking exquisite whom, by way of a joke, a brawny
scavenger splashed with mud as he passed. " Dirty fellah !"
murmured the languid one, and, turning, picked the fellow up
as if he had been a baby and flung him into his own mud-cart.
At all events, that was his style, and men who had chanced to
tackle my lord, relying on his delicate, indifferent appearance,
hud more than once come off second best.
Lord Threestars, as he dresses for dinner on the evening of
his arrival at the Court, is devoutly hoping that the duty of
taking his hostess in to dinner will not devolve upon him.
" She is looking lovely," he reflects, " perfectly, exquisitely
lovely. I feel myself en train for a new emotion. If I sit
next her at dinner and she eats much or not delicately, I am
]<t. My dear G , how right you are never to pronounce
upon a woman until you have seen her eat!"
This particular hobby about women eating is hereditary in
Lord Threestars' family, and a source of great heart-burning to
the lady portion of it. His father interdicts cheese and sherry
for the female members of the family : if he had detected the
faintest aroma of onion about them, dire would have been their
disgrace. It was therefore the habit of these fair daughters of
Eve, with the wilful ness our first mother transmitted to us, as
soon as their father was absent for a day or two, to cause their
maids to bring hunches of bread and cheese and raw onions to
their bedrooms. One day, after one of these orgies, my lord
returned suddenly and unexpectedly. He was an affectionate
M1GNON. 255
father, and it was the habit of his daughters to greet his return
with filial osculations. Oh, agony ! despair ! What was to be
done 1 My lord had returned and was asking for my ladies,
announced the affrighted Abigail. What could they do?
They put their pretty mouths together and breathe into each
other's faces. " Oh, Ethel ! do I smell of onions ? Oh, Maud !
do I ? Oh, Gwen ! do I ? But, alas ! all alike are guilty,
and cannot therefore pronounce any reliable opinion.
My lord's voice is heard shouting in the distance.
" Stay !" cries Ethel, who has the genius of the family, and
she rushes to the chimney-piece : " here is a cigarette I stole
from Frank's case. Let us all smoke ! He will be very angry,
but it will be nothing to the onions."
Each takes two or three whiffs, and chokes and splutters.
My lord's voice comes nearer, louder, more impatient. Ethel
flings the cigarette into the grate, and, rushing to the door,
opens it and leads the van of culprits.
" What the devil are you all about ? Where does the
tobacco come from ? Have you got a man hiding up there ?"
" Oh, papa," pleads Ethel, demurely, whilst the two other
pretty little faces look very white and scared, " we have been
very naughty, and you will be dreadfully angry with us, but
we got a cigarette, and we have been trying to smoke. Oh,
please, papa, we will never do it again !"
" Just let me catch you, you abandoned monkeys," cries my
lord, half angry, half amused, " and I'll get a birch rod and
whip you all round. I only hope you'll all be very sick.
Don't come near me ! I won't kiss one of you for a week !"
And, as their father retreats down the corridor, the three
wicked little minxes bury their heads in the pillows and give
vent to stifled peals of laughter.
When Lord Blank proposed to Lady Ethel last year, she
made her acceptance conditional upon being permitted to eat
onions. Strange to say, since she has been allowed to exercise
her own judgment in the matter her taste for that ambrosia
has vanished, and one evening recently, when her husband
kissed her after dinner, she said, with a charming little
moue,
" Really, darling, I thing onions have rather a horrid smell !"
Lady Bergholt has had nothing to do with the arrangement
of the guests at dinner. She has only stipulated for one thing :
256 MIGNON.
that is, that as Lord Threestars cannot take her in to dinner,
because Lord Blankshire, a greater luminary, is dining, he
shall at least sit on her left hand. What, therefore, is her
sovereign displeasure on finding, as they take their seats, that
Mrs. Strath eden, who is the guest of the evening, has been
allotted to him ! Not that it is at all probable Lord Three-
stars will have any eyes for her in the presence of charms so
infinitely superior. Alas for the vanity of human aspirations !
Lord Threestars, shocked at the very outset by the eagerness
with which Lady Bergholt conveys her soup to her mouth,
turns for consolation to Olga, and finds her manners all that
he can desire. She is always a small eater, and, if amused in
conversation, is apt to forget her dinner or to pay very little
attention to it. She and Lord Threestars take to each other
at once: she is pleased with him, and he is perfectly fascinated
by her. Gradually he forgets the very existence of his hostess,
who grows every minute more angry and mortified as she
watches the pair, and listens in sulky silence to the amiable
inanities Lord Blankshire pours without ceasing into her ear.
As soon as the ladies have left the room, he whispers to Fred
Conyngham, who is a guest, in spite of Mignou's dislike to
him,
" Who is that most charming woman ? T did not catch her
name. Where have I seen her ? Her face is perfectly familiar
to me."
" You must have seen her everywhere in town where people
congregate," answers Fred. " She is, as you say, most charm-
ing. Her name is Stratheden, and she has a history."
And, nothing loath, Fred tells it to his interested auditor.
As the days go on, Mignon has the extreme mortification
of finding that, although Lord Threestars pays great attention
to her and seems charmed with her society, he is becoming
seriously epris with the mistress of The Manor House. Fred,
only too glad to vex and mortify Lady Bergholt, whom he dis-
likes as cordially as she dislikes him, has taken Lord Three-
stairs to call on Olga, and my lord has found excuses to repeat
his visit more than once. Mrs. Stratheden has issued invita-
tions for a fancy dress ball, and Mignon, much as she hates
her rival, cannot make up her mind to punish herself by staying
away. But she is determined not to extend Lord Threestars'
invitation over the ball, and positively forbids Sir Tristram to
MIGNON. 257
ask him to stay beyond the period for which he was originally
invited.
" But, my dear," remonstrates her perplexed husband, " I
thought he was such a favorite of yours. You were perfectly
delighted at the thought of his coming."
"Some people don't improve upon acquaintance," answers
Mignon : " he is one. I think him very conceited, and he
bores me dreadfully."
But Lord Threestars is not a man to be balked in his inten-
tions: so from Bergholt he betakes himself to the Blankshires,
and thence, for the ball, to Lady Clover! s. He has a great
partiality for Kitty, and that little lady, not knowing how she
is bringing herself into her friend's black books, has been only
too delighted to further Lord Threestars' wish to be near Mrs.
Stratheden. She is an inveterate match-maker, besides.
" Jo, my dear," she says, patronizingly, to her still adoring
husband, " I want your advice."
" Do you, my dear?" he returns, placidly. " That is a new
sensation for me. Is it anything about a gown ?"
" Gown !" echoes Kitty, derisively. " My dear Jo, I
believe you were a hundred years old when you were born.
Our grandmothers wore gowns : we wear toilettes"
" I rather wish I had been a hundred years old when I was
born," says Sir Josias, meditatively. " What an enormous
deal of experience I should have gained by this time !"
" Experience !" cries Kitty. " I cannot imagine why any
one should want experience. It only means finding out that
everything is a delusion and a snare, and learning not to trust
anybody or to hope for anything."
Sir Josias smiles benevolently.
" That is not badly put, my dear, but it is rather a one-
sided view of the case. But about my advice."
" I want Lord Threestars and Olga to marry each other.
How am I to accomplish it?"
Sir Josias looks thoughtful.
"Are you prepared to act upon my advice?" he asks, pres-
ently.
" Perhaps ; that is, if it should coincide with my own opin-
ion."
" Precisely," smiles her husband. " That is the only advice
I ever knew any one take."
22*
258 MIGNON.
" Well ?" interrogates Kitty.
" Leave them quite alone, and don't attempt to meddle with
their affairs in any way whatever."
Kitty, perched in her favorite attitude upon the table, a
habit that is a source of great grief and disgust to the dowager
Lady Clover, looks disdainfully at her lord.
" Your advice does not at all coincide with my opinion,"
she remarks, dryly ; " indeed, it is as absolutely worthless as
most men's suggestions on similar subjects. Still, dear, as you
mean well, and I asked you for it, if you like to come this way
I will give you a kiss."
CHAPTER XXX.
"Le type de la fcmme coquette, 'qui no connait d'amour quo celui
qu'elle inspire.' remonte tl une tres haute antiquit6, puisque Aphrodite
est repre'sente'e dans 1'hymnc home'rique comme e"tant elle-m6me froide
et insensible, mais occup6e toujours a, inspirer d'une fajon irresistible lea
sentiments amoureux aux dieux et aux hommes."
LADY BERGHOLT'S frame of mind is far from enviable.
Her affections are not at all engaged, but her vanity is, and
to be rivalled by a woman whom she chooses to consider old,
passee, utterly inferior to herself in personal charms, is inex-
pressibly galling to her. But it is the secret consciousness of
Olga's real superiority that makes her so bitter ; it is the in-
ward recognition of a grace, a delicacy, a breeding she lacks
herself, that intensifies her hatred of Olga. Fred Conynghain
reads her through and through, and takes a malicious delight
in punishing her by praising her rival. He is too good a
judge to address his praises to her personally, but he takes
care that she will be within earshot, and that the qualities he
commends with the most enthusiasm shall be those which she
most obviously lacks.
Raymond is coming home on purpose for the ball, and
Mignon, with a vindictive desire to revenge herself on her hus-
band and Fred Conyngham for their regard for Mrs. Strathe-
MIGNON. 259
den, to show Lord Threcstars how perfectly indifferent she is
to him, and to punish everybody individually and collectively,
has made up her mind to flirt desperately with him.
The night comes and goes : the ball is a perfect success, but
some hearts that came light to it go heavily away. When
Olga and Mignon come face to face, very different are the feel-
ings which animate their breasts. Olga looks at the loveliness
before her, enhanced fourfold to-night, with an admiration as
hearty as it is unfeigned, but Mignon, with grudging, envious
mortification, is forced to admit that Mrs. Stratheden is capa-
ble of looking both young and beautiful. Mignon represents
Snow ; Olga, as usual in fancy dress, a French marquise.
Raymond is a mousquetaire, and uncommonly handsome he
looks ; Fred Conyngham makes a capital priest from the Bar-
ber of Seville ; Sir Tristram is a Venetian gentleman, Lord
Threestars a distinguished Edgar Ravenswood, and his hostess
looks bewitching as a very incorrect representation of Old
Mother Hubbard.
" I wanted Jo to come as the dog, with a collar round his
neck," says the mischievous little lady, who has not in the
slightest degree overcome her love of persiflage ; * but he
would not. It was very ill-natured of him. Then I tried to
induce Lord Threestars ; but in vain. So the public must
kindly imagine that this is the period at which the poor dog
is dead."
" You should have asked me," says Fred, who is standing
near.
" Oh, you would have looked so ferocious, I am afraid you
would have frightened the company," laughs Kitty.
" My bark is worse than my bite," says Fred.
" I don't know," retorts Kitty, archly. " I have seen your
capabilities for both."
" I never bite the hand that feeds me," answers Fred, with
a smile.
" Don't you ?" asks Mignon, meaningly.
" Never !" he answers, looking her full in the face. (Then,
with a little bow,) " That is the prerogative of your sex."
" Quarrelling as usual !" cries Kitty. " I am quite sure
that, in a previous state, one of you must have been a cat and
the other a dog."
" I believe we have all been animals," answers Fred, laugh-
2GO MJGNON.
ing : " our sex, lions, dogs, wolves ; yours, tigers, and cats,
and foxes."
" You have forgotten one species for your sex," interposes
Mignon.
" Yes ?" says Fred, interrogatively.
" Bears /" replies my lady, turning on her heel amid the
general laugh, in which Fred joins with perfect frankness.
Mignon flings herself into a reckless flirtation with Ray-
mond, and the pair are so conspicuous for their beauty that
they cannot escape attention, as others less remarkable might
do. Lord Threestars, who finds it impossible to exchange a
word in private with his hostess, so completely is she engrossed
with the devoirs of the evening, would fain compensate him-
self with the charms of his late lovely hostess ; but she turns
her back upon him. This is the hour of Raymond's triumph :
this seems a compensation to him for the misery, the loneli-
ness, the longings, of his banishment : he does not guess that
his triumph is the result of Mignon's pique, but believes all
that his heart most desires to believe. Lady Bergholt will
not even grant one dance to his rival, humbly though he
prays.
"I have not seen Mr. L'Estrange for an age," she says,
with a malicious sparkle in her splendid eyes, " and I have so
much to say to him. I have promised to dance every round
dance with him to-night."
" Then my case is hopeless," returns Lord Threestars, drop-
ping his glass ; " for I could not submit to be tantalized by
dancing a square dance with your ethereal Majesty."
" It would be equally useless to ask for that either," says
Mignon, audaciously. "I have promised to sit out all. the
square dances with Mr. L'Estrange."
Lord Threestars replaces his glass in his eye, gives one
curious little look at his fair interlocutor, makes his bow, and
departs.
Raymond's eyes glow with suppressed fire : he stoops and
murmurs something in her ear. A slight color tinges her
cheek, and she shakes her head impatiently.
" Do not begin that !" she says, in a low voice. " Come."
And, as they glide off together in the waltz, all eyes follow
them.
It is fortunate for Sir Tristram that he has elected on this
MIONON. 261
evening to sit down to whist, so that he is quite unaware of
what is generally remarked upon by the rest of the company.
Lady Blankshire, who is the model of propriety, is shocked
and disgusted. She calls Olga to her, and makes some very
sweeping comments upon Lady Bergholt's behavior.
" What can Sir Tristram be thinking of?" she cries, virtu-
ously indignant. " It is a perfect scandal to the county. I
shall certainly not invite her to my house again if she behaves
in this manner : it is positively disgraceful. This comes of a
man marrying a woman young enough to be his daughter."
Mrs. Stratheden might easily revenge herself on Mignon for
many past rudenesses. To be in Lady Blankshire's black
books is a very serious thing in the county, and Olga has only
to agree with what her ladyship says, as indeed she very well
may.
But that is not her way. She is never spiteful and bitter
against other women : on the contrary, she makes herself in-
variably the champion of her sex.
Ah ! if women were only loyal to each other, if they only
had the common sense to see how much more they would
strengthen their own hands in standing by each other than by
taking advantage of every opportunity to pull their own sex to
pieces, they would rob men of the delight they take now in
asserting that women are each other's natural enemies. No
woman thinks well of a man who speaks against his sex : how
should men think well of a woman who is guilty of the same
treachery ?
Olga does not join in Lady Blankshire's strictures. She ex-
cuses Mignon's indiscretion on the ground of her youth, her
beauty, the very innocence that makes her parade what,
except for it, she would try to hide. Lady Blankshire is not
easily pacified.
" Really," she says, fanning herself in a severe and dignified
manner, " the present state of society is disgraceful. The
manner in which young married women conduct themselves is
too shocking. I am determined not to give my countenance
to it. What with divorces and esclandres, our best families
will soon be decimated."
A little later, my lady pours the same indignant comments
into Kitty's ear.
" I am quite ashamed of her," answers Kitty, who, in truth,
262 M1GNON.
is extremely uneasy about her friend, " and to-morrow I intend
to give her a thorough scolding."
" I fear she is too flighty for any scolding to take effect upon
her," says Lady Blankshire, severely. ' I think, for the sake
of the county, some one should speak to her husband. I have
serious thoughts of proposing to Blankshire to do it."
" Oh, no, dear Lady Blankshire ! pray don't !" cries Kitty,
rly. u It would break his heart. Leave her tome. I
;t ure you she does not care in the least for Raymond. It is
only some whim she has taken into her head."
" Poor Mrs. L'Estrange !" utters Lady Blankshire, shaking
her head. " I always thought her son would turn out badly.
She spoiled him so as a boy."
" Oh, please don't be hard on Raymond," says Kitty, who
is a stanch little champion. " And, after all, she is so very
lovely, it is only natural that he should admire her."
" My dear," replies her ladyship, severely, " there are limits
where admiration ceases and impropriety commences."
Well may the general gaze rest on that splendid pair, and
well may the more kindly-minded of the spectators say, with a
tinge of regret,
" What a magnificent couple they would have made !"
Raymond's beauty is accentuated by his dress : the white
wig he wears throws into relief his clear-cut features, which
are lit up with a radiance that extreme happiness can alone
give. To the outside world, Mignon must needs seem daz-
zlingly lovely ; but to one who sought the graces of sympathy
and tenderness which best beseem womanhood, her beauty would
have lacked something. It was the charm that pre-eminently
characterized Mrs. Stratheden.
Lady Clover had been amused by Lord Threestars' idea of
the two women.
u Lady Bergholt ought to have been born dumb," he said.
" She should have been exhibited as some lovely picture or
statue, and she would have charmed the whole world. As she
is, one is always trying to get amends by her beauty for her
extraordinary talent for froisser-ing one's tenderest sensibilities.
With Mrs. Stratheden, every time she opens her lips she be-
comes more charming, more fascinating, she endears herself
more to one, until one is surprised to find oneself thinking
her beautiful. It seems to me that it would be a positive
MIGNON. 263
luxury to have a great grief, only to be consoled by a woman
like that."
" I am afraid you are very much in love," says Kitty, with
an arch smile.
" I think I begin to know what love means," he answers, in
a low voice, " and it is singularly unlike what I imagined it
before."
Fred Conyngham is going about with a serene smile, offer-
ing liberally to receive confessions from the prettiest women in
the room, but in his heart he is furious. Without appearing
to remark her, he has been carefully watching Mignon, and his
shrewd glance has not failed to appreciate the general view
taken of her conduct by the rest of the company. His one
great desire is to save his friend the pang of seeing it too :
every now and then he glides stealthily into the card-room,
and breathes a sigh of relief as he sees Sir Tristram still en
gaged at whist. He is a good player, and has been used to
play a great deal before his marriage ; the three other players
are as good as himself; and, on the whole, whilst every one is
pitying him, he is spending an unusually pleasant evening.
Not until they are driving back to Bergholt does Fred
breathe freely.
" Did you enjoy yourself, my darling ?" asks Sir Tristram
of his lovely wife, as she throws herself back in the carriage
with a yawn.
" Oh, yes," she answers, nonchalantly : " it was very well
got up, and the dresses were exceedingly good."
" I need not ask if you had many partners," says Sir
Tristram, smiling.
At this moment they pass through the lodge-gates, which
are brilliantly lighted. Mignon sees that Fred's eyes are
fixed intently upon her. The deep color mounts to her unwil-
ling face.
" I did not have many partners," she answers, in a defiant
tone, " but I danced as often as I felt inclined."
As is frequently the case, no suspicion was aroused in the
mind of her husband.
Contrary to his usual habit, Fred scarcely slept at all that
night, or rather morning. He was soliloquizing jeremiads
over his friend, and breathing out wrath and threatcnings
against his friend's wife : he had begun to hate her very
264 MIGNON.
beauty, as though it were a leprosy. Selfish and heartless
though she was, she was not so bad as Fred painted her :
then- was no word in his extensive repertoire crude or expres-
sive enough to embrace all he felt about her. He must, he
would speak to her, though she ordered him out of the house
then and there.
The opportunity he desired was not slow to present itself.
There was but one lady guest left at Bergholt, and she, fatigued
with last night's exertions, was still in her room. Sir Tristram
and two guests of his own sex had gone shooting, very much
surprised at Fred's defalcation. Mignon guessed the reason
of his remaining at home, and, resolved to disappoint him,
hurried away to the wood. But Fred's keen eyes had caught
a vision of a white dress flitting past the shrubs, and, in a
leisurely manner, he prepared to give chase. He was in no
hurry : the task before him required plenty of consideration ;
it was more than delicate. Mignon, having reached the wood,
considered herself perfectly safe, and had not the remotest
suspicion of the foe being on her track. When therefore
Fred suddenly appeared close beside her, she was the victim
of a most unpleasant surprise.
" You make a charming picture, my lady," he says, hating
to flatter her as he would hate to give the favorite morsel from
his plute to a pampered dog that worried him. But to aborder
my lady with anything but fair and flattering speech would be
to defeat his own object at starting. His words are but simple
truth, too. It is a bright, warm morning for late September,
and Mignon is clad in her favorite white muslin and lace. She
wears heavy gold ornaments, which become her particularly
well. My lady has quite a barbaric taste for jewellery, and
never thinks it out of place at any period of the day : the
novelty of weaving handsome ornaments no doubt enhances her
natural love for them.
" I was just going back to the house," she says, rising
abruptly, and not attempting to conceal the fact that his com-
pany is distasteful to her.
"A daughter of the gods, divinely tall,
And most divinely i'air,"
quotes Fred, with his most agreeable smile. There is nothing
Mignou desires so little as to give her adversary a cue, but she
MIGNON. 265
is innocent of tact, and can never resist saying something snap-
pish to Fred.
So she remarks, with a curl of her upper lip and a slight
dilating of the fine nostril,
" What a very nasty powder you must have hidden behind
so much sweet I"
" No," answers Fred, with an assumption of bonhomie and
a delightful smile. " I wish it all to be sweet this morning.
Pray take pity upon me and don't run away. Now, if you
would only sit down and talk to me for half an hour, and let
me smoke a cigar ! I know you are one of the few of your
sex who do not pretend to object to it."
" It depends upon who the smoker is," retorts Mignon.
" These are exactly the same cigars that Threestars smokes,"
says Fred, imperturbably, opening his case. " I assure you
the aroma will be precisely the same whether they are in his
mouth or mine."
" But you know," answers my lady, who would not throw
away a chance of being spiteful to Fred for the world, " one
often says one likes the smell because, if one objected, the man
would go and smoke somewhere else, and perhaps one likes his
society."
" Which does not apply in my case," answers Fred, with as
pleasant a smile as though she had paid him a charming com-
pliment.
" Certainly not," agrees Mignon.
" Do you permit me?" he asks, his case still open in his
hand.
" Since I am going, it does not matter."
Fred shuts the case with a snap.
" I would rather forego anything than the pleasure of your
company. Won't you sit down just as you were? I should
like to make a little sketch of you."
So saying, he puts away his cigar-case and takes out a good-
sized pocket-book. He is perfectly aware that there is nothing
more fascinating to a vain woman than having her portrait
taken.
" Can you ?" she asks, doubtfully.
For answer he shows her three heads of people who have
lately been at the Court : the likenesses are unmistakable.
Mignon seats herself. In the first place, the idea of being
M 23
266 M1GNON.
sketched is agreeable to her ; in the second, she does not know
how to beguile the hours until lunch-time ; in the third, a pas-
sage of arms with Fred is not distasteful to her, particularly
when unrestrained by her husband's presence from hitting as
hard as she likes.
" Can you sit still for a quarter of an hour ?" asks Fred,
beginning to sharpen his pencil.
" I don't know : it is a long time."
" Perhaps it would only bore you," suggests Fred, pausing
in his operation.
" Oh, no, not at all."
" I don't know that I am in the vein this morning," says
Fred, hanging back in proportion as Mignon is becoming eager.
" I can never do anything until I have had my smoke."
" Well, have your smoke," utters my lady, ungraciously.
" Really ?" asks Fred. " That is very kind of you." And
without more ado, he lights a cigar. " Now I feel happy,"
he says, leaning against a tree and looking full at Mignon.
" You must not mind my staring at you. I want to get you
perfectly into my head before I begin."
Then Mr. Conyngham lays himself out to be agreeable.
He tells her a host of little stories and scandals, which per-
fectly delight her. Fred is a capital story-teller, and he is
careful to say nothing that can offend young ears, which are
generally delicate if inquisitive. So amused is Mignon that she
patiently allows him to smoke the whole of his cigar, a favor
he had not counted upon.
" Now," he says, at last, throwing the end away, " may I
begin my sketch ?"
" Yes, do," answers my lady, quite affably.
" I have only one stipulation," says Fred, beginning to make
rather a favor of it : " you must not want to look at it until I
have finished."
Mignon promises.
"Now, my lady," says Fred to himself, "I think I have
you safe. I can say what I like. Your curiosity won't per-
mit you to run away until I have finished your picture."
MIGNON. 267
CHAPTER XXXI.
"Gondarino. Heav'n, if my sins be ripe grown to a Head,
And must attend your Vengeance, I beg not to divert my Fatr,
Or to reprieve a while thy Punishment;
Only I crave, and hear me, equal Heav'ns,
Let not your furious Rod, that must afflict me,
Be that imperfect Piece of Nature,
That Art makes up, Woman, unsatiate Woman.
Had we not knowing souls, at first infus'd
To teach a difference 'twixt Extremes and Good?
Were we not made ourselves, free, unconfin'd
Commanders of our own Affections?
And can it be that this most perfect Creature,
This Image of his Maker, well-squar'd man,
Should leave the Handfast that he had of grace
To fall into a Woman's easy Arms."
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
FRED makes a few strokes with his pencil in silence. Mig-
non permits her face to expand into a smile, that he may have
every facility for making a charming study of her.
" I forget if you know Lady Agnes Lane ?" he says, pres-
ently, without pausing in his occupation.
"I have met her," answers Mignon. "I don't think her
so very pretty : do you ?"
" No : she was never one of my beauties. I had news of
her this morning. There is a terrible esclandre about her,
though it has not all come out yet."
Mignon leans a little forward : the misdoings and misfortunes
of her sex have a lively interest for her.
" That makes another woman over whose head the waves
have closed this season," remarks Fred, busy at his sketch,
and only snatching an occasional glance at his fair sitter.
"She will never hold up her head again."
"Tell me about it," says Mignon, unwary of the snare that
is being laid for her.
"Her husband would have forgiven her; but she would
none of his forgiveness, and insisted on rushing blindfold to
destruction. ' Whom the gods would slay, they first deprive
268 MIGNON.
of reason.' That applies particularly to your sex, I think,
my lady."
"What did she do? Did she run away?" asks Mignon,
eagerly, not heeding the comments with which Fred garnishes
his tale.
" Would you like to hear the story? I will tell it you. I
need not ask you not to repeat it: ladies never do. Your
face a little more that way, if you please. Lady Agnes, as
every one knows, was poor, and Lane was rich, and a capital
fellow into the bargain : it is always your good fellows whom
women treat the worst. He gave her everything she could
want, and was devoted to her; but, being a woman, of course
that was not enough, and she began to cast about her how she
might best requite his goodness by treachery."
Mignon, eager to hear the story, passes over Fred's cynical
strictures on her sex.
" She had two or three -flirtations', then she came across
B ; a fellow not fit to black her husband's shoes. He
was one of those swaggering snobs for whom women now and
then conceive such unaccountable fancies: he had made his
reputation through the folly of one weak woman, arid he was
very proud of it. Lady Agnes fell a speedy victim to his
fascinations: it was her pride to afficher herself everywhere
with him. He was only too delighted to compromise her.
The end of it was that, leaving a note for her husband, deli-
cately expressing her weariness of him, and her unconquerable
passion for his rival, she fled to B , who, I am told, was
horribly disgusted at a denouement he was far from desiring."
"What a wretch!" cries Mignon, with flashing eyes.
" Which?" asks Fred, quietly. " B , or Lady Agnes?"
" B , of course," answers Mignon.
" Lady Agnes, no doubt, looked forward to a blissful future
the world well lost, etc. in company with the adored one.
B , I hear, was ungallant enough to call her a fool, and to
decline to marry her if Lane obtained a divorce. Lord C ,
her brother, has threatened to shoot him like a dog if he does
not. Now," says Fred, pausing in his sketch, and looking
Lady Bergholt full in the face, " picture to yourself that
woman's future ! She is twenty-three years old ; she is de-
voted to the world, has lived solely upon its pleasures and
She is now
MIGNON. 269
cut off from society, cannot show her face henceforth where
her own set congregate, has given up wealth, luxury, the de-
voted love of an honest man. What has she gained in ex-
change ? She is thrust upon a man who never loved her, who
loathes her now, whom sooner or later she must loathe herself.
If they spend their lives together, it will be a hell of recrimina-
tion and hatred : if they live apart, they are still tied together
by the most intolerable of chains. If she grew weary of a
man who heaped her with benefits and never contradicted her,
what will she be of a snob who will cover her with humiliations
and who has not the redeeming virtue of being rich ? She is
the fifth woman of position this season who has ruined her
future ; and the worst of it is," continues Fred, looking full
at the fair face before him, " it won't hinder other women from
doing the same."
A vivid red mantles in Mignon's cheeks : the drift of his
story has just flashed across her.
" Did you come here after me on purpose to tell me that
story?" she asks, with kindling eyes.
" Yes," answers Fred, in his quietest voice, apparently ab-
sorbed in his sketch. " Don't move, please 1 ' (for she makes as
though to rise) : " it is a pity to spoil your picture for the
sake of three minutes."
Fred is calculating the effect of every word, though his tone
is as unconcerned as if he were prescribing a remedy for a cold
in the head.
" I want to warn you, lest your case and Lady Agnes's should
ever become analogous. I do not think, for my own part, that
you are a woman to give up rank and wealth for passion's sake ;
but you are young, and beautiful, and thoughtless, and I think
you ought to know how seriously you are compromising your-
self."
All this in the same matter-of-fact tone, whilst his pencil
sketches on. He does not look up, though he quite conjectures
the wrath that flames in those deep-colored eyes.
Lady Bergholt is fairly speechless with astonishment and
rage.
" Every one was talking about you last night," continues
Fred, mercilessly. " I did not pass a group among whom you
were not the topic of conversation. Lady Blankshire said it
would be impossible to invite you to her house again."
23*
270 MIGNON.
Fred has hit hard this time.
Mignon crimsons over neck and brow : she positively gasps
for breath.
" Lady Blankshire is an old cat," she cries, her rage over-
coming her dignity. " And I shall tell her to mind her own
business when I see her, yes, I shall, if she were fifty times
Lady Blankshire."
" I think she considers it her business to watch over the
morals and manners of the county," remarks Fred.
" I will do as I like, in spite of her," cries Mignon, in a
passion of impotent wrath.
" It was not only Lady Blankshire," proceeds Fred, remorse-
lessly ; " there was not a woman in the room who did not con-
demn you, except Mrs. Stratheden."
" Mrs. Stratheden !" shrieks Mignon, fairly beginning to cry
with rage. " I believe it is all a wicked plot of hers, and that
she has been spreading shameful, abominable lies about me.
Or else" (with flaming eyes) " it is you, yes, you and she
between you."
"What I told you is gospel truth," says Fred, quite un-
moved, " and I have told you because it is right that you
should know. I do not tell you from any love for you, as you
know : how could I care for you, when your husband is the
greatest friend I have in the world, and I see you breaking
his heart ! The truest, loyallest heart in the world !" cries
Fred, bursting into passion ; " and you would see and know
it if you were not a woman. What do you think you would
gain by exchanging him for that handsome, ill-tempered young
fool L'Estrange? How you would hate each other in a
month !"
" How dare you mix up my name with his !" cries Mignon.
11 And what is it to you ?"
" Pardon me," says Fred, gravely. " It is you who have
mixed up your name with his by ostentatiously devoting the
whole of last night to him, by permitting him to betray in
every gesture, every look, his passion for you, which I must
say he did in the face of every one with a singular want of
delicacy or consideration for you. And you ask what it is to
me? Personally, nothing. It can only affect me through
the man who is my friend. Forgive me if I say that I have
had pleasanter visits at Bergholt before you were chatelaine
271
here, and if it pleased you to give up your chatelaineship by
your own act I might look forward to pleasanter visits again.
So, you see, my advice is not prompted by any selfish interest,
rather the other way. Once more allow me to say, If you
are not prepared to sacrifice everything for Mr. L'Estrange, do
not draw down upon yourself the censure and the coldness of
every woman in the county."
Mignon is fairly cowed. It is a bitter pang to her vanity
to hear that she has incurred the disapproval of society, and
Fred's utter indifference to provoking her wrath is not without
its effect.
She is silent whilst Mr. Conyngham adds a few rapid touches
to his sketch.
" I have finished," he says, jumping up as if no unpleasant
dialogue had taken place between them. And he places his
sketch before Mignon. He has made it as charming as pos-
sible, though the task of embellishing nature in this instance
was not easy.
Mignon condescends to look, in spite of her wrath, and,
looking, is mollified.
" May I have it ?" she asks.
" Certainly. I had no other intention in making it than
of presenting it to you, if you deigned to accept it."
Not another word is said on the previous subject, and, as
they walk towards the house together, a casual observer might
believe them the best friends in the world. As they reach
the hall-door, Lady Clover's carriage is coming up the drive.
" I am so glad you have come !" says Mignon, heartily.
" How did you manage to get away ?"
" Oh, the men have gone shooting, and the women are doing
needlework and tearing their friends to pieces. I pleaded
important business. Oh, dear ! how late we were last night !
But what a charming ball ! Mr. Conyngham, I did not con-
fess half my iniquities to you. You must tell me where I
left off, and I will finish the recital, but not now. I am
quite tired, and my head aches. Mignon, take me to your
boudoir."
" This is unlucky," murmurs Fred to himself. " I guess
the errand my little lady has come on. Two in one morning
will be too much. She will just spoil the effect of mine."
Lady Clover and her hostess take their way to the boudoir j
272 MIGNON.
but, once there, all Kitty's languor vanishes ; she shuts the
door firmly, and, placing herself before Mignon, says, reso-
lutely
" I have come to scold you. I am very angry with you
indeed. How could you behave so last night ?"
Now, Lady Bergholt is chafing and furious from Fred's
attack, and is not at all in the humor to receive a second
lecture : so, instead of taking impetuous Kitty's remarks in
good part, she stiffens her back, and says, with extreme
hauteur,
" I beg your pardon. I do not understand you."
Lady Clover is a little taken aback.
" My dear," she says, with more dignity than one would
expect from so small and youthful a personage, " I have come
here at great inconvenience this morning, solely for friend-
ship's sake, to warn you."
"That is what all meddlers and busybodies say," retorts
Mignon. " I can only say I regret your having put yourself
to great inconvenience on my account."
" Mignon !" cries Kitty, surprise and anger fighting for
mastery.
" Lady Clover !" says Mignon, defiantly.
Kitty is half minded to turn her back upon her friend and
go home again. She walks to the window to collect herself;
whilst Lady Bergholt sits down calmly and plays with a paper-
knife : the old, mulish look is on her lovely face.
Presently Kitty comes to the table.
" I am not going to quarrel with you," she says, gently.
" I have not known you very long : still, we have been friends,
and I am fond of you. Do not be angry with me ! I am
only saying to you what I would say to my own sister, if I
had one."
Lady Bergholt is silent.
" I do not believe you care about Raymond really,"
proceeds Kitty, earnestly : " then why should you let him
compromise you ?"
" Compromise !" repeats Mignon, angrily. " I am sick of
the word !"
" Has some one else been talking to you?" asks Kitty,
eagerly. " If they have they are quite right. Oh, Mignon !
I know you don't mean anything, but Raymond does : it is a
MIGNON. 273
triumph to him for you to let him devote himself to you as he
did last night, and every one was talking about it and shrug-
ging their shoulders. And Lady Blankshire "
" I don't care a pin for Lady Blankshire !" cries Mignon,
wrathfully. " I suppose I have my own position in the county,
and am not dependent upon her patronage."
" I am afraid," says Kitty, reluctantly, " that if she went
against you, all the county would go after her. But don't
let us suppose such a thing for a moment ! she won't go
against you : you won't give her cause. Is Raymond worth
it?"
" Yes," answers Mignon, wilfully. She does not mean it,
but a passionate resistance has been roused in her.
" What !" cries Kitty, aghast.
" If you are tied to an old man you don't care for," says
Mignon, coldly, " what more natural than to fancy a man who
is young and handsome and who adores you ?"
Kitty feels a chill creeping through her veins : she was not
prepared for this.
" Do you mean to say," she whispers, in a horrified voice,
" that, having a husband like Sir Tristram, who is so good
to you, who worships you, who has given you everything you
possess, you, you dare to good heavens ! how shall I say it !
you dare to think of another man as as a lover?"
" Why not?" asks Mignon, defiantly. She is in a reckless
mood, and takes a pleasure in making herself out ten times
worse than she is. " You are similarly circumstanced : you
ought to understand. I dare say if you took a fancy to a
young man, you would do very much as I do."
" Never !" cries Kitty, with passionate energy. "If I
thought I could be false to the man who trusts me, and to
whom I have sworn to be faithful, I would drown myself or
take poison ! If I felt myself beginning to care for any other
man, I would go to my husband and confess it to him, and
never see the man again. To be so mean, so base \'to take
all a man can give you, to swear to be true to him, and then
to treat him with contempt, as if he were a thing to be de-
spised, just because he loves and trusts you so entirely ! Oh,
I can understand a woman whose husband ill-treats her, who
is cruel and unfaithful to her, revenging herself by flying to
another man, small revenge, poor soul, if she is a woman ;
M*
274 MJGNON.
but a man who has heaped you with benefits, whose heart you
break by your wickedness "
" Pooh !" says Mignon, coldly : " don't be so high-flown !
I am not gone yet."
" How are you going to stop ? Where do you intend to
draw the line ?" cries Kitty, exasperated. " If you are only
playing with Raymond, and leading him on, what will he do
when he finds you out ? And if you behave to him and let
him behave to you as you did last night, how will you make
the world believe there is no harm in it ?"
"Harm?" exclaims Mignon, reddening. "What do you
mean?"
"Ah," returns Kitty, " I dare say you don't know the sort
of things men think and say about women : I don't suppose
Sir Tristram tells you. They don't believe in a woman flirt-
ing with a man and letting him make love to her harmlessly :
they are so wicked themselves, and their minds are such sinks
of iniquity, things that seem trifles to us they magnify into
enormities. Do you think / would give them a chance to
sneer at me, and say horrid things behind my back, and shrug
their shoulders at me, when all the time I knew I was virtu-
ous and innocent? Pah !" (with a gesture of disgust), " it is
so common nowadays to be lightly thought of, it is something
to make oneself respected."
Mignon's eyes are ablaze with wrath.
" If you came here for the sole purpose of insulting me,
Lady Clover," she cries, " I am sorry you put yourself to the
great inconvenience of coming."
" No, no, dear," cries Kitty, running to her ; " I came with
nothing but kind intentions as friend to friend, as you might
have come to me if our positions had been reversed."
Mignon pushes her away.
"You are no friend of mine," she says, wrathfully; "and
I only hope I shall never see you again. I shall not trouble
Elmor with my presence, you may be quite sure ; and I hope
you will not give me the trouble of refusing to see you by
coming here."
" Do not be afraid !" answers Kitty, whose temper is thor-
oughly roused by this time. " May I trouble you to order my
carriage ? I will walk towards the lodge, and it can overtake
me."
MIGNON. 275
With this she opens the door and departs. Fred is in the
hall ; he sees that something serious has happened, and fol-
lows her in silence as she leaves the house.
" Your mission has been unsuccessful, then?" he whispers,
as he walks beside her down the avenue.
" Don't speak to me ! don't look at me !" cries Kitty, with
tears in her eyes. " I hate everything and everybody ! I
should like to burn every man and drown every woman ! All
men are wretches, monsters, selfish, wicked, good-for-nothing
creatures ; and as for women, they are "
" What ?" asks Fred, calmly.
" Worse !" cries Kitty, in a fury. " I have no patience
with them."
" And pray what are you ?" says Fred. "Are you wicked,
and a wretch, and a monster?"
" Worse ! worse ! it is a dreadful word to say, but I am a
FOOL."
"Ah, my dear little lady," answers Fred, " we can most of
us lay that flattering unction to our souls at some period of
our lives. Now let me translate your mystic language. In
the goodness of your heart, you came to give your fair friend
a little advice, and she has not taken it in the spirit you
intended it."
" I was never so insulted," cries Kitty. " She positively
ordered me out of the house, and begged I would never enter
it again."
" Unfortunately, you see," says Fred, " I, innocent of your
excellent intentions, had just been performing the same office ;
and two lectures in one morning proved too much for our
lovely hostess, who, by the way, has a bit of a temper."
" If I had only known !" laments Kitty. " And the trouble
and inconvenience I put myself to to come ! the excuses I
had to make ! the stories I had to tell ! Oh, what shall I
do?" (suddenly breaking off). "Here comes Sir Tristram.
What can I say to him ?"
" Kitty !" cries Sir Tristram, as he approaches, " and com-
ing away from the house ! What does this mean ?"
Kitty excuses her departure in so innocent and plausible a
fashion that Fred says to himself,
" What fools we are to think so much of Macchiavelli,
when there is one lurking in every petticoat ! I've got a
276 MIONON.
pretty cool head, I flatter myself, but / couldn't have got out
of it in that fashion."
"What made Kitty start off just at lunch-time?" Sir
Tristram asks Mignon.
Fred, the only other person present, is anxious to hear her
answer.
" She is an odidus little hypocrite," answers Mignon, vin-
dictively, " and I never want to see her again."
" I trust you have not been quarrelling ?" says Sir Tristram,
looking distressed.
" Yes, we have, very much quarrelling," answers my lady.
" What on earth about?" asks her husband.
" Nothing that concerns you," replies Mignon, meeting his
inquiring eyes full.
" For telling you a lie, and looking you straight in the face,
commend me to a woman !" soliloquizes Fred.
I am ashamed to chronicle his savage cynicisms on the fair
sex ; but some men are such brutes, and I hope all lady readers
will revenge themselves by detesting him.
CHAPTER XXXII.
"And let me ask, How can that crime be considered pardonable
in a man which renders a woman infamous? . . . Men in the pride
of their hearts are apt to suppose that nature has designed them to be su-
perior to women. The highest proof that can be given of such supe-
riority is the protection afforded by the stronger to the weaker. What
can that man say for his pretension who employs all his arts to seduce
and betray the creature wnom he should guide and protect ?"
Sir Charles Grandison.
KITTY is boiling over with wrath as she drives home from
her unsatisfactory interview with Mignon. To put yourself to
considerable inconvenience for friendship's sake, to drive many
hours in the hot sun for the purpose of telling a truth that,
however unpalatable, is none the less the truth, to assume,
after much consideration robbed from sleep, the delicate and
difficult role of Mentor, and in return for all these sacrifices
offered at the shrino of friendship, to be morally slapped in
MIGNON. 277
the face, is naturally very injurious to the feelings. Kitty is
disposed to forswear friendship forever, and to take a jaundiced
view of human nature. Had the patient and sympathizing
Sir Jo been with her, she would doubtless have poured her
wrongs and resentment into his kindly ear ; but the drive gives
her leisure to cool down, and by the time she drives into the
gates of her own park she has come to the conclusion that she
will spare herself the mortification of confessing her failure.
" Because," she argues to herself, " Jo might say, ' If you had
asked my advice, I should have recommended you not to inter-
fere,' and then I should be obliged to quarrel with him, and,
though I hate every one, I would rather not quarrel any more
to-day, because it makes me feel bad afterwards."
So the little diplomatist decks her face with smiles, answers
all questions about her morning's drive as gayly as though it
had been crowned with perfect success, and deludes every one
as completely as she desires.
Kitty has a kind little heart, if her temper is warm ; the
sun rarely sets upon her wrath ; and before night she has for-
given Mignon's treatment of her (though she does not intend
ever to go to Bergholt again unless atonement is made for her
late injuries), and is casting about how to retard or stop the
impending ruin of her wilful friend's life.
" Olga would be the person," she says to herself: " she has
so much more tact and patience than I have. But then Mig-
non hates her so. Ah!" as a thought strikes her, "but she
might talk to Raymond : she has a great deal of influence
over him. Let me see ! I can't very well go to her to-day
or to-morrow, but I can write to her, and, happy thought, send
the letter by Lord Threestars."
Lady Clover retires to her boudoir and indites a letter, long,
and copiously underlined, to Mrs. Stratheden. This she en-
closes in two envelopes, in the outer one of which she slips a
little note : " Don't read the inside letter until you are alone.
Send a line or an empty envelope back by Lord T., that the
poor man may not be put to the blush by knowing that I am
only giving him this commission as an excuse for making him
happy."
" Oh, Lord Threestars !" cries Kitty, innocently, putting
her head into the smoking-room, " I wonder whether you
would do something for me ?"
24
278 MIONON.
"You need not wonder," he returns, gallantly: "you
ought to be quite sure."
" I want most particularly to send something to Mrs. Strath-
eden, and I must have an answer this evening. Would you
mind riding over with it?"
" I shall be delighted," answers my lord, with alacrity.
" Oh, thanks ! it is so good of you. Will you ring and say
what horse you will ride? and I will just finish my letter."
" What a little darling she is," soliloquizes Lord Threestars,
" worth fifty of her lovely friend at Bergholt."
It is not far from midnight when Olga has leisure to peruse
Kitty's letter. She, too, has been thinking much about the
events of the previous evening, and is smitten with pity not
only for Sir Tristram, but for his wilful wife. With Ray-
mond she is more than half disposed to be angry.
" As if I or any one else could do anything !" she says, sor-
rowfully, as she lays the letter down. " Raymond has been
spoiled all his life ; now his desires have become necessities.
His moral perceptions are blunted, and the only sense of honor
he has would dictate him to fight the husband after ruining
his happiness. I don't, I cannot, think she is a woman to
sacrifice herself for love's sake ; but if she goes on as she
began last night, she will almost as effectually ruin her posi-
tion and embitter "her future. If Raymond would only go
away ! How dare men pretend to call such selfishness love 1"
murmurs Olga, indignantly.
In the end, she resolves to make the effort to influence Ray-
mond for good. All her guests are to leave early on the
morning next but one, and she writes to ask him to come to
her. And with the morning he comes.
" And so you are alone once more. Thank heaven !" And,
with a sigh of relief, he throws himself into one of the luxu-
rious chairs in the boudoir where he has been ushered.
" What a bore it is to have people in the house ! one can
never call one's soul one's own. That's the one redeeming
point of my mother's delicacy, as she calls it: we are not
troubled by many visitors. Well," for Olga is looking at him
half indulgently, half sadly, " what can I do for you ? First
of all, though, let me tell you what you must be heartily sick
of hearing by now, the ball was the most perfect thing in
the world : no one but you could have done it in the country.
MIONON. 279
And" (liis eyes kindling) " it was the very happiest night of
my life."
"Was it?" asks Olga, quietly. "It ought not to have
been."
" Why ?" asks Raymond.
" Because, my dear," she returns, firmly, " you were prob-
ably doing more harm than you ever did in your life before."
His handsome brows bend.
" Good heaven !" he exclaims, petulantly. " I trust you
have not sent for me to read me a lecture."
" No, not to lecture ; that is too hard a word ; not even to
advise ; only to entreat you, for your own sake and for hers."
Raymond shakes his head impatiently.
" These things are not to be argued and reasoned about.
Great love soars above cut-and-dried maxims and petty moral
precepts."
" Selfish love does ; not great love. Those who think them-
selves able to soar above the laws that honor and right have
dictated must fall sooner or later. To love perfectly is to de-
sire of all things the welfare of the beloved one, to be ready
even to sacrifice self for her sake."
Olga's voice is low and pleading : she does not wish to irri-
tate him.
" All that sounds very fine, and would read extremely well
in print," he retorts ; " but what man who really loved ever
put such theories into practice ?"
" Many !" answers Olga, warmly : " only the world seldom
hears of them : they don't publish their devotion in the shame
of the woman they profess to love."
" Shame !" echoes Raymond, hotly. " That is a word coined
by prudes and hypocrites : it does not apply in cases like these.
A man meets, too late, the woman he feels God created for him ;
some flaw of Fate has made her another's : he takes her and
makes her honorably his so soon as the power is given him.
Where is the shame ?"
Olga could almost smile at this strange perversion of right,
if she were not so grieved. To reason about right and wrong
is waste of time, she feels : so she tries another tack.
" How can you reconcile it to your pride," she says, " that
the woman you loved should in every way be the worse for
you?"
280 MIGNON.
" How the worse ?" he cries, indignantly, starting up and
pacing about the room ; " how the worse ? I may not be as rich
as Sir Tristram, but I am rich enough to gratify the whims of
a woman not too unreasonable. I certainly have no title ; but
don't you think that my love would compensate her for one or
two paltry worldly advantages."
" Advantages, too, that would be of no use to her when she
had placed herself out of the pale of society," adds Olga,
calmly.
She has dealt a hard blow, but she meant it. He looks up
at her with eyes flashing with wrath.
"So you too," he cries, stung to the quick, "are like the
rest of your sex, delighted to trample upon another woman,
particularly if she is beautiful?"
Olga looks up quietly at him.
" Raymond !" she says, simply ; but it is enough.
" No, no !" he cries. " Forgive me : I know you are not.
But why did you say such a hard thing?"
" Because I do not want, either for myself or the rest of my
sex, to have the delight of trampling upon her. And, between
ourselves, Raymond, do you not think Lady Bergholt is a
woman who particularly prizes social honors and distinction ?
Don't you think in your heart of hearts that, once the glamour
of love gone, she would sorely miss the things she sets such
store by now ? Of course I have no means of knowing whether
she cares for you : I can but be like the rest of the world, and
judge by what I see. Now she is the lovely Lady Bergholt,
courted, admired, surrounded by all her heart can desire,
shielded by a love that cannot, I think, be less than yours. If
she leaves her husband for you, there must be a period during
which she will be disgraced and compelled to hide from the world.
When you had made her your wife, she would be pointed at,
looked askance at, subject to a thousand humiliations ; and if
at last she lived it down, it could only be when the best years
of her life were gone. For a very long time you would both
be compelled to lead a life of great retirement and seclusion to
ward off the penalties society inflicts on those who defy her
laws. As yet you are comparatively children ; you both love
pleasure and excitement : life is now open at its fairest page
for you, and with your own hand you want to blot out all its
promises and to turn it to misery and disappointment."
MIGNON. 281
" It will only be open at its fairest page for me," cries Ray-
mond, " when Mignon is mine. And in spite of all your
remarks, my dear, which I have read a thousand times in
books, but which I admit gain immeasurably by your charm-
ing voice and eloquent eyes, I believe that our love would
compensate us for all the arrows the world might, and no doubt
would, launch at us."
Olga is forced to admit herself foiled in her second attack.
She tries a third.
" And do you believe in your heart," she asks, looking at
him steadily, " that Lady Bergholt has any real feeling for
you beyond a momentary caprice, a wilful, childish desire "to
set the proprieties at defiance and assert her own freedom and
independence?"
This is a bold stroke, and Olga is perfectly aware on what
delicate ground she is treading ; but she puts the question in
a natural voice, as though it were one of the simplest nature.
And Raymond, taken unawares, answers her quite straight-
forwardly.
" I do believe she cares for me. It is true she always turns
the subject, and pretends to laugh when I want her to be
serious ; but that is her way. And, after all" (with a shade
of bitterness), " who can understand a woman ? what man,
at least ? I suppose you see through each other, and that's
why you think so little of each other."
Olga smiles.
" I forgive you, my dear : when you are older you will know
better. It is a trick of very young men, burdened with the
weight of their vast experience, to sneer at and speak lightly
of women : as the years go by, if they are worth anything,
they learn to think differently. There must be something very
wrong about the man who, after twenty or thirty years' expe-
rience of women, has only evil to record of them."
" I wish you would come down from that altitude of wisdom
that your superior age gives you," laughs Raymond.
" It is such a very doubtful advantage that I am glad to
make all I can of it," answers Olga, in the same vein.
But she is infinitely reassured in her mind. If Raymond
has been unable to win Lady Bergholt to a serious frame of
mind, there is, she thinks, comparatively little harm done.
She does not recur to the subject, and Raymond, glad to be
24*
282 MIGNON.
let off so easily, does his best to make himself agreeable. After
lunch, Olga rides back with him as far as the gates of L'Es-
trange Hall, and they part the best of friends.
Meantime, the subject of all this discussion is in a state of
high dudgeon, and, short of running away with Raymond, she
is ready to do anything to show her contempt and defiance of
her officious advisers. Mr. Conyngham's pungent remarks
had made a decided impression upon her, and, but for Kitty's
unfortunate visit, might have taken root and flowered into
discretion ; but innocent, well-meaning little Lady Clover had
stirred up the seeds of wrath and defiance in her heart, and
entirely choked all that Fred had sown. My lady cast about
her how best to outrage the proprieties and fling up her pretty
heels in the face of " that old cat," Lady Blankshire. And,
after considerable reflection, a very pretty piece of mischief
comes into her head. Fired by the success of Mrs. Strath-
eden's fancy-ball, she has determined to give one herself; and
we may be sure that when she asks Sir Tristram's consent with
an excellent grace, being rather deferential on account of the
largeness of her request, he accords it with but slight hesita-
tion. The invitations are all issued when the brilliant inspira-
tion that is to shock and defy the whole county comes into
Mignon's lovely head. When Sir Tristram looks over the
list of the invited, among whom are included the Earl and
Countess of Blankshire, he observes that the names of Sir
Josias and Lady Clover are missing.
" Why, my love," he remarks, in surprise, "you have for-
gotten the Clovers."
" Oh, no," replies Mignon. " I do not intend to ask them."
Sir Tristram knits his brows, and says, with more firmness
than is his custom when addressing his wife,
" I would rather not give the ball than that it should be a
cause of affront to some of our most intimate friends."
" She insulted me," cries Mignon, " and I will certainly not
ask her."
" What did she do? what did she say?" asks Sir Tristram.
" If you will tell me the real state of affairs, it may lead me
to think differently."
" I tell you she insulted me," answers Mignon, sulkily. " I
think you might take my word for it, without asking any more
questions."
MIGNON. 283
" But," says Sir Tristram, smiling, " you fair ladies are apt
to fall out about matters that our graver minds treat per-
haps too lightly. Come, darling ! what did she say ? Did she
tell you that your gown was unbecoming, or that you had a
freckle on your nose ?"
" You may laugh as much as you please," replies Mignon,
with dignity, " but I tell you she insulted me, and that /won't
write the invitation."
" Then I must," says Sir Tristram, and accordingly does.
But Kitty is by no means behind her late friend in spirit.
Observing that the card is filled up in Sir Tristram's hand,
she writes a curt little note, regretting that Sir Josias and she
are unable to accept Lady Bergholt's invitation. Excepting
that Mignon would like Lady Clover to be witness of the act
of defiance she intends to commit at the ball, she is not at all
displeased. She considers herself a much greater personage
than Kitty, and thinks the latter will be the sufferer by their
mutual coldness.
When the answers arrive, Mignon is disappointed to find
that, in consequence of a visit to be paid in the South, Lady
Blankshire will not be present at her ball ; but the refusals are
very few, and she counts on a goodly gathering. To Fred's
surprise, she has insisted on his coming back for it after a visit
further North : he is unsuspicious of any treachery lurking
behind her civility, which has greatly increased since their
conversation in the wood.
"She is afraid of me," chuckles Fred. "Next to love,
there is nothing it is so desirable to inspire as fear." And he
consents with quite a good grace, though balls are not in his
line.
More than once, Mignon has been asked what she intends
to wear, but she only smiles, shakes her head, and says, " You
will see when the time comes." Sir Tristram does not ask
twice : he only imagines that she intends to charm every one
by some pretty little caprice. So when, on the evening of the
ball, she appears simply but most becomingly dressed, as Mar-
guerite, every one is surprised.
"Nothing could be nicer," says Sir Tristram, with a fond
smile ; " but, my dear, I think there was hardly any necessity
for so much mystery."
Fred, who is gifted with a rapid intelligence, is seized by a
284 MIQNON.
horrible misgiving, which he tries to pooh-pooh. " She would
not dare !" he says to himself: " he could not do it !"
Most of the invited have arrived. Raymond is one of the
few tardy guests. Fred, from some unaccountable instinct, has
kept near his host and hostess, but for a moment has crossed
the room to speak to Mrs. Stratheden. They are chatting to-
gether, when suddenly he catches sight of something that
causes him to start and turn a shade paler. Olga follows the
direction of his eyes : " I was right. D n her !" mutters
Fred, savagely, between his clenched teeth. Then his eyes
meet Olga's, which wear a startled look. " Excuse me a mo-
ment," he says, and follows Raymond, who is making his way
to his host and hostess. He is dressed as Faust. This is the
little surprise that Mignon has prepared with so much delight
and secrecy for her friends. Raymond looks more than usually
handsome : there is an unwonted color in his cheeks, and his
eyes sparkle with uneasy fire. Fred, close upon his heels,
scrutinizes narrowly the bearing of Sir Tristram and Lady
Bergholt. He sees the former turn a shade paler, and his
wife smile and blush ; then he joins the group. On every
side he sees curious, wondering looks ; people are whispering
together. At this moment he could without pity have seen
Mignon burned at the stake. But Fred has tact, and he puts
on his most jovial air.
" How are you, L'Estrange? What a capital get-up ! If
I had only known, I would have come as Mephistophelss."
" It would have become you admirably," says Mignon.
Fred is close beside her, Raymond has turned to speak to
some one else, and he whispers in her ear,
" I would rather be your good angel and kick Faust out of
the house/'
Mignon colors, and Fred turns away with a smile, as if he
had been saying the pleasantest thing in the world.
Marguerite takes Faust's arm and walks through all the
rooms, leaning confidingly upon him, and smiling up in his
face. Raymond is not acting a part: the looks which he
bends upon Mignon are the expression of his feelings, and out-
Faust Faust. The more delicate-minded of the guests feel
uncomfortable, the others laugh and shrug their shoulders.
" A pretty strong order, that !" remarks one man to another.
" Why does not Sir Tristram kick him out of the house ?
MIQNON. 285
I would." Thus the men. Then the women : " Did you
ever see anything so shameless ? I shall certainly never come
here again."
" There will be no one to call on, I should think," is the
significant reply, " unless you come to condole with Sir
Tristram."
" Poor man ! Did you see how pale he turned ? I pity
him sincerely. She is good-looking, of course, but she must
be a horrid woman."
" Quite too horrid. I dare say she will be much more in
her element when she has put herself beyond the pale of
society."
Olga has followed Fred, and is talking gayly to Sir Tristram,
though her heart is heavy within her. He does his best to
second her efforts, but he is evidently distrait, and his face
looks haggard. Presently he makes an excuse and leaves the
ball-room. Fred, who has been watching him, follows at a
distance
CHAPTER XXXIII.
" Ever saying to himself,
' Oh I that wasted time to tend upon her,
To compass her with sweet observances,
To dress her beautifully and keep her true !'
And then he broke the sentence in his heart
Abruptly, as a man upon his tongue
May break it, when his passion masters him."
Enid.
SIR TRISTRAM goes to his study, closing the door behind
him. He feels as though a heavy blow had been dealt him.
To be openly disgraced where he has given nothing but love
and kindness, in his own house, too, before his own friends
and servants, to be made a butt for ridicule and contempt.
" It is my own fault !" he groans, putting his hand to his
head. " I should have stopped it before."
There is a sting keener even than the shame : he feels that
to have done a thing like this in the face of the world, Mignon
286 MIGKON
must love the man for whose sake she did it. An exceeding
bitterness creeps into his heart, and he buries his face in his
hands. The faint strains of the music, the sound of the voices
and laughter, are borne towards him : in the midst of his pain,
he remembers that he is host in a house full of guests, each one
of whom has curious eyes to pry into his heart, and quick wit
to notice if he suffers. He has to be strong, and smile out the
rest of this hateful night, to be mindful of every courtesy,
every hospitality due to those around him. And he is to do
this with a smiling face, whilst his heart aches as it has never
ached before, except, perhaps, upon his marriage-day.
The door opens softly, and Fred comes in. He walks straight
up to Sir Tristram, and lays a hand upon his shoulder.
" I won't make any apology for intruding," he says, in a
low voice. " It is the privilege of a friend to come in when
others are shut out."
Sir Tristram looks at him, but makes no answer. His face
seems quite drawn and old.
" I don't think this affair is much to be deplored," Fred
continues, quietly : " it gives you the very opportunity you
have been wanting so long."
" What opportunity?" asks Sir Tristram, absently.
" Why, of turning that impertinent young scoundrel out of
the house."
" Of course he shall never set foot here again," answers Sir
Tristram, wearily ; " but I can't make an esclandre and turn
him out of the house to-night. I can't do that, if it is only
for her sake."
" For her sake 1" retorts Fred, savagely. " A good deal of
consideration I would show her : she has been so thoughtful
about you, hasn't she ? However, for your own sake you won't
have any esclandre : it is simple enough to get him out without
that. Send for him here, and request him to go : he cannot
refuse."
" If I send for him, that will publish the whole thing at
once."
" Not in the least. I will make an excuse to get him here."
" So be it !" answers Sir Tristram ; and Fred goes. He
does not make straight for his goal, but stops to laugh and joke
with various friends on the way : he seems in the most radiant
of moods. Presently his keen eye lights on the couple he is
MIGNON. 287
in search of. Marguerite is still leaning on Faust's arm, but
another partner is evidently claiming her reluctant hand.
Ultimately she withdraws it from Faust, who looks darkly at
his rival.
" L'Estrange, come and help me, like a good fellow !" says
Fred, walking up with a beaming face. " There is something
wrong with some of my petticoats, and I can't find a servant
about."
Without being churlish, Raymond cannot well refuae : so he
sulkily follows Fred, who throws gay words right and left as
they pass through the crowd. When they have traversed the
corridor that leads to Sir Tristram's study, and are quite alone,
Fred turns, and, in a harsh, curt voice, and with an expression
of face strikingly unlike the one he wore a minute ago, says,
pointing to the door,
" Sir Tristram is waiting for you there."
Then he finds a servant, and orders Mr. L'Estrange's car-
riage.
Raymond is no coward, but his heart gives a very decided
throb as he finds himself on the eve of a scene that under no
circumstances can be a pleasant one. It is a horrid sensation
to feel oneself thoroughly in the wrong. Somehow, it has not
occurred to him to think of Sir Tristram interfering : he has
borne so much that the idea of his turning now has seemed
improbable. Of course he would not like it ; but what cared
Raymond for that ? He was perfectly aware that by yielding
to Mignon's wish he was compromising her to the last degree ;
but it served his selfish purpose to do that. He acquitted him-
self of all dishonor and meanness by telling himself that he
meant to marry her.
As his hand is on the door, he feels that matters have come
to a crisis. In another moment the two men are face to face.
Sir Tristram is no longer doubtful or vacillating : his face wears
an expression of stern determination : he looks a study for
Velasquez in his rich dark dress. The scene altogether would
make an admirable painting, Raymond's handsome face set
off by his gay dress, his figure clearly defined against the som-
bre, dimly-lighted background.
" You wished to see me ?" he asks, in a voice he cannot quite
command. To conceal its tremulousness he is forced to make
it defiant.
288 MIQNON.
" I did," Sir Tristram answers. " I have a question to ask
of you."
" Pray ask it," returns Raymond, with a veiled sneer.
" Did you know," Sir Tristram asks, in a cold, calm voice,
" that Lady Bergholt was to wear the dress of Marguerite to-
night?"
Raymond hesitates. He has no thought of telling a lie, but
the question embarrasses him. His eyes turn away from his
host's, and travel slowly round the room. He is perhaps
looking for inspiration ; but none comes, and he is forced to
answer,
" Yes, I did."
" Then," says Sir Tristram, his voice trembling a little from
the pain and anger that gnaw his heart, " then, as you have
perpetrated a gross and deliberate insult upon me, and have
wantonly compromised Lady Bergholt by your indiscretion,
you will perfectly understand me when I request you to leave
my house and never to enter it again."
Raymond is not prepared for this. To be^urned out of the
house like a beaten hound, to have the tables turned upon him-
self, the laugh against himself, Sir Tristram victor instead of
vanquished ! His eyes flash with angry fire.
" I assumed the dress by Lady Bergholt's express desire,"
he says. " It was entirely and solely her idea."
He is glad to wound the man who is humiliating him.
" Perhaps," Sir Tristram answers, quietly. " I have no
more to say. Since I have expressed my wish to be free from
your presence, I presume you are gentleman enough to take
the hint and go."
" What !" cries Raymond, furiously. " Do you think I will
submit to be kicked out of the house like a dog before the
whole county ? If you are mean enough to violate every law
of hospitality, do not think I will tamely brook so public an
insult. If I go, I go on the understanding that you give me
full and ample satisfaction for the aifront. You understand
me, Sir Tristram I"
" Yes," Sir Tristram answers, gravely, " I understand you
perfectly. But I have a word to say to you before you go, Ray-
mond. I have known you since you were a baby, I have
nursed you upon my knee, and all through your boyhood I
have looked upon you almost as a son. This house has been
MWNON. 289
open to you as though it had been your home. Have you
ever had anything from me but kindness ? I never asked nor
wanted anything from you in return, but I surely might have
expected that you would not basely creep to my hearth to steal
from me the thing that is dearest to me in life : I might have
expected that you would refrain from trying to dishonor me,
to cover me with the world's contempt and ridicule. On whose
side is the reparation owing ? Satisfaction ! by that you mean,
I presume, standing up at twelve paces to shoot at each other.
There would be no satisfaction to me in having your blood
upon my head, and my wife's name blazoned with infamy to the
world. I think you know ine too well to suspect me of
cowardice. Return to the ball-room if you please, make what
excuse you choose, but, if you are a gentleman, in half an hour
from this time I expect you to leave this house, and not to
re-enter it until I ask you to do so."
There is a door leading from the study to his dressing-room,
and, without another word, he opens it and goes, leaving Ray-
mond half mad with wrath and shame. Left to himself, the
latter stands biting his nails, and muttering furious impreca-
tions. He would like to have some vent for his fury, to make
a ruin and havoc about him, or to burst into violent rage of
words against some one or something. He feels he cannot
command his face sufficiently to appear in the ball-room again.
He wants to get away quietly, without being seen. As he
stands irresolute, the door is pushed open, and Mr. Conyngham
comes in.
" Your carriage is at the door," he says, quietly.
For a moment Raymond looks as if he would spring at
Fred's throat : then, with a tremendous effort, he controls
himself, and says, with a sneer,
" Thanks for your good offices. I shall not forget them.
"Will you say au revoir to Lady Bergholt for me ?"
" I will make your adieux to her," answers Fred.
Raymond dashes through the hall to his carriage. Fortu-
nately, he meets no one whom he knows on the way.
" Home, and drive like !" he cries to his astonished
servant.
He has only one thought in his heart, revenge !
" She shall be mine now, if I die for her !" he says, over
and over again, between his clenched teeth.
ir 25
290 MIONON.
He forgets, ignores, that he has been wrong from first to
last, that he has been treated with a gentleness, a forbearance,
almost more than human : he is burning with the rage of
wounded vanity, and he hates Sir Tristram as only the wronger
can hate the wronged.
Fred, having seen the last of the discomfited Faust, returns
to seek his friend.
" Is he gone ?" the latter asks.
" Yes, thank God ! and not a soul the wiser except Hoskyns.
Now, Tristram, there is still something left for you to do : the
happiness of your whole future may depend on it."
" What is that ?" asks Sir Tristram.
" You must take a high hand with your wife about this
affair. Unless I am very much mistaken, she will treat you
to a pretty scene about it ; but you must nip her in the bud.
Tell her that, in consequence of her folly, she has made her-
self and you the talk of the county ; threaten to take her
abroad, or to send her home to her parents : in short, you
must frighten her. If you don't, by this time to-morrow,
mark my words, you will have sent L'Estrange a humble
apology, and he will be here more than ever."
" I do not think that," answers Sir Tristram, with a faint
smile. " Now" (looking at the clock) " I must go and act
out this dreary play. It is nearly three-quarters of an hour
since I left the ball-room."
"All right!" says Fred, grasping his hand. "Look as
bright as you can. Anyhow, you have got the best of it this
time."
And so Sir Tristram goes and plays his part for three long
weary hours. He has a smile and a courteous word for all,
he forgets nothing that hospitality ami good breeding dictate,
and people, having got over their first little shock of surprise,
aifect to ignore what has happened, and enjoy themselves
amazingly. It is not long before Raymond's absence and
Lady Bergholt's vexation are observed, and the correct con-
clusion arrived at that Raymond has been kicked out, and that
it serves him perfectly right.
Fred treats himself to a little piece of revenge. He ap-
proaches Mignon, whose eyes are- seeking Raymond in every
direction, and says, in a voice perfectly audible to those
around,
MIGNON. 291
" I am charged to make you L'Estrange's adieux."
" Is he gone?" asks Mignon, horribly mortified to find her-
self blushing crimson.
"Yes," returns Fred, with his false air of bonhomie:
" those good-looking young fellows are always so sensitive
about their appearance. He was dissatisfied with his dress,
thought it didn't suit him, and that he had made rather a fool
of himself by wearing it: so he is off. I have just seen the
last of him."
Mignon knows not what to say. She is confounded. Oh,
if she could kill Fred with the lightnings from her eyes ! She
turns away, and says, rather ungraciously, to the man beside
her,
" As Mr. L'Estrange is gone, I can give you his waltz."
My lady is not a good adept at dissembling, especially her
anger, and, in consequence, rather overacts her part, and seems
too pleased, too eagerly delightful, too unnaturally gracious to
her guests, for the remainder of the evening. She is burning
to get Sir Tristram alone, to pour out the vials of her wrath
upon him, to heap him with every cruel taunt that her in-
genious mind can frame ; for she surmises well enough that he,
aided and abetted by Fred, is the cause of Raymond's sudden
departure. As she well deserves, this night, instead of being
a triumph, is one of bitter mortification. It is almost, if not
quite, the most miserable one of her life.
At last, at last, the final adieux are made, the final compli-
ments paid and graciously received, and Mignon mounts with
hasty steps to her room. So hot and eager is her wrath,
she will not wait for her maid to unplait her long hair. As
soon as her dress is unfastened, she dismisses her, and, throw-
ing a morning wrapper round her, goes swiftly towards Sir
Tristram's room. Her cheeks burn, her hands are icy cold,
there is a hard glitter in her deep eyes : a woful time seems
in store for the hapless husband at the hands of this lovely
vixen. She knows not how to commence : there seem no words
bitter enough for her anger.
Sir Tristram is expecting her. He still wears his Velasquez
dress, and is leaning against the chimney-piece waiting for her.
He wants to spare her : in spite of his just anger, he cannot
shake off the yearning tenderness that, for the punishment of
his sins, he still feels for her.
292 MIQNON.
My lady enters rapidly, and shuts the door behind her with
a portentous bang.
" I have come for an explanation," she cries. " What do
you mean by disgracing me before eveiy one ? What do you
mean by insulting the best, the only friend I have in the world?
How dare you "
" Stop !" thunders Sir Tristram.
Surely he is the most long-suffering and patient of men, but
he is human, and has the passions that animate the breasts of
other men. He meant to be gentle with her, but, fortunately
for himself, she has provoked him beyond endurance. Her
furious looks, her insolent words, are not to be brooked.
" I have forbidden L'Estrange the house: he never sets foot
in it again whilst I am master here. If you are so shameless,
if you have no heed of your own reputation, I shall take care
you do not disgrace me : I am not quite the dupe and the fool
that my mistaken tenderness for you has made me seem.
Now" (pointing to the door) " go, and, for your own sake, if
you are wise, never again refer to the events of to-night. It
will be difficult enough for me, as it is, to forget them."
Mignon is completely cowed, as a bully always is when he
has aroused the wrath of a generous nature : she bursts into
tears and creeps quietly back to her room, and there, at the
risk of spoiling her fine eyes, she cries and sobs until, wearied
out at last, she falls asleep, dressed as she is, like an angry
child.
For the next few days she is rather in awe of her husband,
and behaves better than usual. He is exceedingly kind to
her, and, contrary to his custom of late, goes out riding and
driving with her, now their guests have left ; but there is
something in his manner that makes her feel he does not mean
to be trifled with. More than once they have seen Raymond
in the distance : it is evident that he wants to waylay Mignon,
but on seeing her companion he has always avoided them. At
first my lady is maliciously amused at his discomfiture, but
after a little while she begins to resent Sir Tristram's espionage,
and declines either to drive or ride, but escapes from the house
when his back is turned, and takes long, solitary walks.
The old harassed look comes back to Sir Tristram's face ;
the lines deepen round his eyes. Where are the rejuvenating
influences he had pictured to himself, in his folly, that mar-
MIGNON. 293
riage with a young and lovely woman would exercise upon
him?
" What is to be the end of it? what is to be the end of it?"
That is the thought that haunts him day and night now. " She
never loved me, and now she is learning to hate me for a spy
and a tyrant."
Fortunately, a diversion occurs in the shape of an invitation
from a neighboring magnate to Sir Tristram and Lady Berg-
holt for a week's visit. The house has the credit of being an
exceptionally pleasant one to stay at ; it is a house, too, where
the lady guests affect much magnificence and variety of plu-
mage, and Mignon is at once immersed in the consideration how
she shall equal, if not exceed, the splendor of all the other
women.
On the day of leaving Bergholt, just as she is putting on
her hat to start, her Abigail demurely presents her with a
letter.
" Oh, if you please, my lady, as Thomas was out exer-
cising this morning, he met Mr. L'Estrange, who said he was
to give this to me to give to you."
Mignon colors ever so little, and thrusts the letter into her
pocket.
" If you please, my lady," says the maid, dropping her eyes
discreetly, " shall I give any answer to Thomas for Mr. L'Es-
trange."
" No," answers my lady, sharply.
It so happens that, in the excitement consequent upon this
visit, Mignon entirely forgets the letter for two or three days,
when one morning, happening to wear the same dress, she
takes it out of her pocket by accident.
I will not shock the reader by a transcription of Raymond's
letter, which, as may be supposed, was one that no man could
be justified in writing to a married woman.
Mignon reads it, laughs, and throws it into the fire. She
had almost forgotten his very existence. My lady is enjoying
herself thoroughly, and has two or three fresh and devoted
admirers.
People remark that Sir Tristram is a most complaisant and
indulgent husband : it is strange that, with such a young and
lovely wife, he should not seem in the least jealous of her.
Poor man ! they little dream what an utter relief it is to him
25*
294 MIGNON.
to see her appearing to take pleasure in the society of any
man who is not "Raymond.
This may be considered by some a very negative state of
conjugal bliss ; but it is sometimes the only kind that falls to
the lot of a doting husband or wife.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
"And though she saw all heaven in flower above,
She would not love."
SWINBUBNE.
AFTER this visit, which Mignon enjoys immensely, she finds
Bergholt grievously dull. To make matters worse, a heavy
rain sets in, and lasts for three days. My lady, who has no
resources in herself, is at her wit's end how to kill time. She
wishes now she had not quarrelled with Kitty, for then she
would have gone to Elmor to spend some of the weary hours
that oppress her so dismally. Her thoughts revert to Ray-
mond, and she begins to feel a renewal of anger against her
husband for what she considers his tyranny. Certainly, in.
spite of Raymond's occasional fits of temper, it had been very
pleasant having him to flatter and make love to her, and
teasing him was a most agreeable pastime. She begins to
feel quite fond of him, and has serious thoughts of writing an
answer to his long-neglected effusion. Matters stand thus
when Sir Tristram is summoned to London on business.
"Would you like to go to The Warren for two or three
days ?" he asks his wife. " Or you might stay in town, and
have one of your sisters with you."
" No, thanks," returns Mignon, imagining Sir Tristram
makes this proposal because he is afraid to leave her, and
determined to balk him.
u Will you telegraph for Mary or Regina to come here,
then ? I fear, my darling, you will be very dull all alone."
" Not duller than I am now," Mignon replies.
Sir Tristram winces, but says no more.
MIGNON. 295
" If the weather clears, as I should think it must soon,"
remarks my lady, " I shall drive about and call on some of the
people."
"Do !" answers her husband, cordially. " There is a fresh
box of books, too. I don't know whether you will care for
any of them."
" I don't suppose so. I don't care for any but Miss
Broughton's."
Sir Tristram is to be away four days, including those of his
departure and return. My lady has determined on a bold
scheme. She will see Raymond in spite of her husband's
prohibition. He can but be angry if he finds her out.
" There is no crime in my seeing him ; and I shall if I
like !" argues the wilful fair one. So, the day previous to
Sir Tristram's departure, she indites a line to Mr. L'Estrange,
telling him that, if he particularly wishes to see her, he may
do so the next morning about eleven in the little summer-
house at the end of the wood. In spite of the pouring rain,
she drives into the town, and posts the letter with her own
hands.
Sir Tristram's train leaves at ten, and, when he has started,
Mignon dons her hat and saunters about the gardens for some
time in view of the house. The weather has cleared at last,
and the morning is bright. But everything is unpleasantly
wet after the heavy autumn rains, every bough and twig
glistens with drops, the paths are moist and sodden, and
altogether it is a great deal pleasanter overhead than under
foot.
Mignon, having promenaded for some time in view of the
windows to avert suspicion should any one be watching her,
strikes presently into a path that leads to the kitchen-garden
and out of it again by a roundabout way to the wood. Long
before she comes to the place of rendezvous, she sees Raymond
watching for her. He comes eagerly towards her, catches both
her hands in one of his, and with the other makes as though
to draw her to him. But Mignon eludes his grasp, and says,
with a little nervous laugh,
" I have no doubt you are very glad to see me ; but you
need not be quite so demonstrative."
Raymond is too happy at seeing her to quarrel with her,
but he feels chilled by her reception. When absent from her,
296 MIONON.
he has always taken it for granted that she cares almost as
much for him as he does for her.
" And are you not glad to see me?" he asks, looking at her
as though, after his long abstinence from the sight of her lovely
face, he could never look enough.
" Of course I am. If I had not wanted to see you, T should
not have written to you and taken the trouble to go out in the
wet to post the letter myself."
" Where is he ?" asks Raymond, curtly.
" He f Oh, he is gone to London, and won't be back until
Saturday."
" And he left you here alone ? Was he not afraid that I
should come and carry you off before he came back ?"
"Apparently not," laughs Mignon. " Have you nearly
done staring at me?"
" No, that I have not," he answers, impressively. "And if
you knew how I have longed and hungered for the sight of
you, you would not ask. You are more lovely than ever."
" I cannot return the compliment. What have you been
doing to yourself? You look quite pinched and old and
yellow."
" What have I been doing ? I have been eating my heart
out. I have been going through the torments of the lost
every day and every hour since I saw you."
"How silly!" says Mignon. "As if any one was worth
doing that for !"
" It is easy to see that you have not suffered in that way,"
remarks Raymond, bitterly.
"No, indeed," answers Mignon, frankly. "I have found
something better to eat than my own heart ; and I can always
sleep, thank goodness."
" Why did you not answer my letter ? Would you not, or
could you not ?"
" Well, to tell you the truth," replies Mignon, with that
utter disregard of people's feelings that she has almost brought
to a science, " I put the letter in my pocket and forgot it,
and then, when we were at the s', I never had a moment
to spare to answer it."
Raymond looks at her. The expression of his face is
hardly lover-like.
" Is this a little piece of acting ?" he says ; " or am I the
MIGNOb. 297
most infernal fool and dupe that ever breathed the breath of
life?"
" Don't be cross !" urges Mignon, persuasively.
" Cross !" he repeats, laying an accent of withering scorn
on the word. " When are we going to understand each
other ? When will you be woman enough to lay aside your
tricks and jests and show that you care for me? if you do,"
he adds, after a pause, looking intently at her.
" See what we got by my showing that I cared for you !"
pouts Mignon. " You are forbidden the house, and I have to
come out and meet you here at the risk of I don't know what
if I am found out."
" Do you mean to say that he dares treat you unkindly ?"
cries Raymond, hotly.
" Of course he does," answers Mignon, assuming a martyr-
ized air. " I should like you to have seen him that night of
the ball when every one was gone."
" Then, dearest," cries the young man, passionately, catch-
ing at her hands, " won't you give me the right to protect
you from his violence? won't you trust me to make the future
happy for you, to atone to you for all the misery of the
past?"
Mignon has a keen sense of the ridiculous : she cannot help
being very forcibly struck by the ludicrousness of the idea of
Raymond protecting her from her husband's violence. She
is very near bursting into a fit of laughter, but is afraid of
offending Raymond irretrievably. But for his extreme vanity,
it would be almost impossible to conceive how he can enter-
tain the delusion that Mignon really cares for or would sacri-
fice anything to him. The practical evidences of her indif-
ference, of which she has been so unsparing, have all been
atoned for by occasional fits of kindness, and by her flattering
treatment of him in public, regardless of the world's criti-
cisms. He does not for a moment realize that her behavior
has been the result of sheer wilfulness and inexperience ; he
chooses to imagine her as learned in the world's ways as him-
self, and to argue that she must have counted the cost before
compromising herself with society. If, too, he had not cast
a wilful glamour before his eyes, Raymond, from his inti-
mate knowledge of Sir Tristram, could hardly have failed to
recognize the absurdity of supposing him capable of treating
N*
298 MIONON.
any woman, far less the one he idolized, with cruelty or vio-
lence. But his own uncurbed, unbridled passions have made
him ignore or doubt generosity and power of self-control in
others. As for Mignon, she no more considers the risk she
incurs by playing with fire, than a person might do who amused
himself with a box of lucifer matches over a tub of cold water,
into which he might throw them at any moment. And here,
though I take no pains to screen her heartlessness and utter
inconsiderateness, I must exonerate Mignon from the con-
sciousness of grave impropriety. She is very young and really
very innocent, or I might express myself better by the word
ignorant : she has not, never has had, the least intention of
allowing Raymond to make love to her more than by admiring
words : she would as soon think of throwing herself into the
lake as of running away with him : but she likes the spice
of romance that his devotion to her casts over a life which
threatens to become monotonous.
So, in answer to his impassioned words, she says, repossess-
ing herself quietly of her hands,
" Oh, he is not really so very terrible, and I am not at all afraid
of him."
" But even then," utters Raymond, in a disappointed voice,
" is your life worth having as it is ? Can you go on wasting
your best years without love or sympathy, without hope or
change from the dreary routine of days spent with a man to
whom you are hopelessly indifferent ?"
" Oh, I might be worse off," remarks Mignon, philosophi-
cally.
" Your ideas seem rather of a negative shade," says Ray-
mond, bitterly. "You can live without happiness, perhaps?"
" I am happy enough sometimes," she answers. " At all
events, I am never imhappy ; only bored sometimes. And last
week at the s' I was tremendously happy."
A feeling of impotent wrath comes over Raymond.
"Why did you send for* me?" he says, roughly. "You
mean nothing : you are only flaying the fool with me. I wish
to God I had gone a hundred miles in the other direction !"
They are in the summer-house now. Mignon has thrown
off her hat, and the sunbeams are playing hide-and-seek in her
hair through the narrow window.
He looks with envious discontent at her beauty : his mooda
MIGNON. 299
are always somewhat akin to those of the savage, who divides
his time between cursing and adoring his divinity.
" I wonder," says Mignon, reflectively, looking with perfect
calmness at the anger in his handsome face, " I wonder if
you could be with me ten minutes without quarrelling? Why
can't you be reasonable?"
" Reasonable !" he echoes, contemptuously. " I wish" (with
angry earnestness) " you could change places with me for ten
short minutes, and then perhaps you would not ask that
question."
" Thanks. I would rather be myself. It must be very
disagreeable to have a raging volcano in one's inside that is
always going off like fireworks when one least expects them.
Good heavens !" (in an accent of lively agitation), " here comes
one of the keepers. What shall we do?"
" Do !" says Raymond, in a low, energetic voice, as she jumps
up, blushing violently. " Why, sit still and keep quiet, of
course! Go on talking naturally. We have often been
here before. I don't suppose," (with a sneer) " that Sir Tris-
tram has offered a reward for my head if I am caught on
the premises."
" I wish I had not come !" utters Mignon, crossly.
" I thought you were brave," remarks Raymond ; " but I
suppose you are so cowed by this time that the merest trifle
daunts your courage."
"Stuff!" says Mignon, sharply. "I don't care a bit for
any one ; but I hate to feel as if I were caught doing some-
thing I ought not. And of course he knows all about it :
trust servants for that! I shouldn't wonder if some of
them sent him here to spy. If I thought so" (vindic-
tively), " I would turn them all off at a moment's notice !"
And my lady looks quite capable of it. " I tell you what,"
she adds, after a pause : " ride boldly up to the house to-mor-
row, and ask for me as you used to do."
But Raymond's pride forbids him to place himself in so
false a position. Mignon is too perturbed for him to get any
serious talk out of her to-day : so, after a time, this eminently
unsatisfactory interview (for him) is brought to a close, and,
as she declines to meet him in the same place again, it is ar-
ranged that he shall join her in her ride the following after-
300 MIGNON.
noon. So Mignon takes a smiling leave of him, but he goes
moody and frowning homewards.
An uncomfortable doubt has begun to take possession of his
mind, not whether the game is worth the candle, but whether
the candle will ever see the game played out. He had ex-
pected to find her softened, more tender, less brusque and wil-
ful, but she is the same Mignon as ever; she even seems to
have slipped further from his grasp.
The next day, however, my lady is all smiles and pleasant
words. She feels a good deal more secure on horseback with
her servant in attendance than she did in the wood, and in-
dulges herself in a thorough flirtation, fearless of Raymond
taking any undue advantage of her complaisance.
The morning after, she receives a letter from her husband :
11 MY DARLING,
" I arrived here last night I cannot say, with perfect truth,
in safety, for in jumping from the carriage, most foolishly be-
fore it had quite stopped, I slipped and sprained my ankle.
However, don't be the least alarmed : the accident is not at all
serious, though a little painful, and the most inconvenient part
of it is that it will detain me here longer than I intended.
Now, don't you think, dearest, that a week's solitude will bore
you a good deal ? I know your gregarious nature. I do not
for an instant want you to come up on my account, or unless
it would really amuse you ; but the moment you feel dull, tele-
graph, and I will secure comfortable rooms for you and send
for one of your sisters. You might like to do some shopping
and go to the theatres. I only propose this for your sake : don't
dream of coming for mine. P is attending me, and Fred
is here. With best love, my darling,
" Your most affectionate husband,
" TRISTRAM BERGHOLT."
To do Mignon justice, she is exceedingly sorry about Sir
Tristram's accident ; she has even a momentary thought of going
to London to nurse him ; but, after mature deliberation, she
comes to the conclusion that as his hurt is not serious, and she is
really likely to be better amused at home, she will not go, at all
events not at present. She is seized with a brilliant idea, upon
which she acts when she meets Raymond the same afteroon.
MIGNON. 301
" Does your mother know anything about your quarrel with
Sir Tristram ?" she asks.
" Not a syllable. I should never have heard the last of it.
Why?"
" Because I have been thinking," proceeds Mignon, gayly,
" that though you are forbidden my house, I am not forbidden
yours, and as I am quite alone" (laughing), " your mother
might think it only kind and neighborly to ask me over to
spend the day."
Raymond's face lights up with pleasure.
" By Jove ! what a fool I was not to think of it myself !
When will you come? to-morrow? She will be only too
delighted."
" Perhaps I ought to wait for an invitation," suggests
Mignon.
" I will ride over and bring it the first thing to-morrow
morning," cries Raymond, eagerly.
" You forget," says Mignon, maliciously, "that you are for-
bidden the house."
He frowns.
" I had forgotten it : thanks for reminding me. I will send
a servant."
" All right : do !" answers Mignon. " No one can make
any remark as long as I am with your mother."
" Are you beginning to be afraid of what people say ?" asks
Raymond.
" No, not afraid. But I would just as soon not give them
a chance. And I will tell you how you shall amuse me. I
want to learn to jump. You must teach me. Have a bar or
hurdles put up in a field, and put me on one of your hunters.
I mean to hunt this winter though Tristram shakes his head,
and next year," she adds, triumphantly, " I mean to cut out
Kitty and Mrs. Stratheden in the Row."
The following morning, a servant brings a kind little note
from Mrs. L'Estrange begging Lady Bergholt to come over and
spend a long day with her, and apologizing for her long neg-
lect. Mignon is bent on ingratiating herself with Raymond's
mother, and behaves with unusual gentleness and discretion.
She expatiates much on her dulness at Bergholt now her
husband is away, and kind Mrs. L'Estrange presses her warmly
to repeat her visit whenever she feels inclined.
26
302 MIGNON.
Raymond excels as a host : nothing can be more charming
than his solicitude for the bien-etre of his fair guest. Mignon
feels that she has never liked him so much before. The leap-
ing lessons are a great success : Lady Bergholt has an excellent
,seut, and is perfectly fearless. The jumping practice is con-
tinued in their rides on the days which Mignon does not spend
at The Hall. On the whole, she thoroughly enjoys her hus-
band's absence, though there is a reverse to this as to most-
pictures. One day she drives to call upon Lady Blankshire,
and is received with freezing politeness ; another day, when
riding with Raymond, she meets the barouche of another
magnate, who makes but the slightest return to her somewhat
effusive greeting ; on another occasion she passes Kitty, who
turns her head in the opposite direction. My lady's vanity is
wounded, but she still thinks herself strong enough to defy
public opinion.
" This is all on your account, I suppose !" she says to Ray-
mond, with an angry sparkle in her blue eyes.
" My darling," he replies, tenderly, " it hurts me awfully to
think you should have to bear anything for my sake."
"lam not your darling," she retorts; "and if I find I
cannot hold my own, I shall appease society by cutting you."
For a wonder, Raymond does not make an angry answer.
He has been strangly patient of late : either he is tired of en-
deavoring to file down the rough edges of Jier temper, or he
is trying fresh tactics.
It is three weeks before Sir Tristram is able to return to
Bergholt, and when he comes he looks very thin and pulled-
down. Mignon has a slight qualm of remorse.
" You have been worse than you told me," she says, kissing
him quite affectionately. " Why did you not send for me to
nurse you ?"
" I don't think nursing is your vocation, my darling," he
answers, drawing her on his knee, a familiarity which she, for
a wonder, permits. He looks at her with fixed eyes : if pos-
sible, he feels he loves her more devotedly than before.
" You are lovelier than ever," he cannot resist saying.
" Suppose, now," she says, turning suddenly serious, and
thinking of words once spoken by Raymond, "that I were
smashed in a train, or had the smallpox : would you still be
as fond of me ?"
MIGNON. 303
He puts his hand before her mouth.
" Hush !" he says. " Don't speak of such a thing."
" But should you?" she persists.
" Yes," he answers, " I hope so ; I think so. By the way,
have you heard that your people are talking of a trip to Italy
this winter ?"
" Regina wrote something about it. Are they really serious ?"
" Yes ; I believe they start in a fortnight. Mary came up
to see me nearly every day : you cannot think how good she
was. I don't know what I should have done without her."
" Ah," laughs Mignon, " you ought to have married her,
as I told you."
" Ought I ?" he answers, tenderly. " I don't think so."
" Tristram," says my lady, suddenly, " I have something to
tell you. Will you promise me not to be angry ?"
A misgiving that has tormented him these three weeks grows
in breadth and depth.
" What is it ?" he asks, with involuntary coldness.
" I don't think I shall tell you," she says, laying her blonde
head against his dark one. " I don't like the tone of your
voice."
There is a pause.
" There is only one thing you could do that would vex me
very much," utters Sir Tristram, in a voice he cannot quite
command ; " and I hardly think you would willingly give me
so much pain."
" And what is that?" she asks, half coaxing, half defiant.
" To have had L'Estrange here, or to have met him else-
where."
" Of course I have not had him here. As if I should,
after all the fuss you made !"
Sir Tristram experiences a sense of relief.
" But," says Mignon, and the misgiving returns.
"But what, my dear?"
" But I had a note, a most kind note, from Mrs. L'Estrange,
asking me to spend the day ; and I thought you did not
want her to know there had been anything disagreeable : so I
went."
There is silence. Presently Sir Tristram says, in a voice
the calmness of which is hardly natural,
" Did you go only once, or more than once?"
304 MIGNON.
" I went twice," answers Mignon, afraid to reveal that she
has been double that number of times.
"And," continues her husband, still in the same tone, " did
you see Raymond upon any other occasion?"
" I met him out riding?"
" More than once ?"
" Oh, really, I am not going to be cross-questioned as if I
were in a witness-box," cries Mignon, pettishly, jumping up.
" I met him, that is enough ; and I was an idiot to tell you.
It is much better to be sly than straightforward. I shall act
upon that next time. And if you only married me for the
pleasure of bullying and tyrannizing over me," adds my lady,'
with a voice ever crescendo, " I wish I had never seen you ! It
was all papa's doing, and it was a great shame of you both."
And Mignon, having sent the poisoned shaft well home, takes
flight, and leaves the man who loves her in speechless pain.
CHAPTER XXXV.
" But there, where I had garnered up my heart,
Where either I must live or bear no life;
The fountain from the which my current runs,
Or else dries up j to be discarded thence \"
Othello.
SIR TRISTRAM'S ankle is a long time getting well. It is a
considerable trial to him to forego hunting, to which, after
several winters spent out of England, he has looked forward
keenly. Mignon has been extremely anxious to ride to the
meets, but her husband has always refused his consent.
" I will drive there with you as often as you like," he says,
" but I cannot ride, and I do not think it would look well for
you to be seen there with only your groom."
Mignon is exceedingly put out about this new piece of
tyranny, as she considers it, and, as she cannot go as she likes,
pettishly refuses to go at all.
December has come. They have had a party in the house
for pheasant-shooting, and paid a couple of visits. Gerry has
MIGNON. 305
spent a few days with them : the rest of the Carlyle family are
wintering abroad.
Mignon has amused herself tolerably well, but Raymond's
patience is wellnigh worn out. He sees her occasionally, for,
in spite of her husband's displeasure, she continues to meet
him now and then by appointment, and he writes to her fre-
quently. Sir Tristram exercises no surveillance over the post-
bag, and my lady's letters are invariably brought to her by her
maid whilst she is dressing. Raymond's letters amuse her :
there is a pleasant spice of danger in this correspondence, a
feeling of doing something she ought not ; though, as far as
her own letters go, there is nothing in them that might not be
proclaimed by the town crier.
Raymond is growing ill, wretched, desperate: people are
beginning to comment, too, upon his changed appearance : he
feels himself no nearer his love and his vengeance than he was
six months ago. He can no longer deceive himself with the
idea that Mignon really cares for him, but his passion is rather
increased than decreased by her indifference. Sometimes he
vows to go to the uttermost parts of the earth to get away
from her, and then the sight of her golden hair, her dark-blue
eyes, and her lovely, laughing mouth, witch him back, and he
finds it impossible to tear himself away. He is reaping the
punishment of his uncurbed passions. Sir Tristram is hardly
to be envied, but his life is positive bliss compared with Ray-
mond's.
For some days, Mignon has been preparing for an act of
rebellion. There is to be a meet four miles distant, in fact,
not far from L'Estrange Hall, and she has made up her mind
to ride there.
" Look out for me," she says to Raymond. " I shall be
there, and, what is more, I mean to follow."
" You won't," answers Raymond, moodily : " he will not let
you."
" You will see," says Mignon, with sparkling eyes. " Mind
you are there before me."
And that night, at dinner, my lady says, with an innocent
face, to her lord,
" I am going to ride to the meet on Wednesday."
The servants are in the room. Sir Tristram only smiles,
and says, " Are you, my dear?"
26*
306 MIONON.
" Yes," she replies, firmly, though she feels a little nervous:
" so, when you see me start, don't say I did not give you fair
warning."
Sir Tristram makes no answer ; but when they are alone he
" My darling, I hope you were only in jest when you spoke
of riding to the meet. You know, I think, that I give way
to you in almost everything : but I have a very great objection
to this, and I trust you will not vex me by pressing it further."
My lady has arranged in her own mind exactly what she
will say if her lord proves contumacious, and she now proceeds
to say it without the least pity or compunction. Her cheeks
glow with a soft carmine, there is unmistakable fire in her eyes,
and no one looking at her could doubt for a moment that she
is quite in earnest. She has not yet learned to command her
voice, which is always several tones higher when she is dis-
pleased.
" Before. I married you," she says, " you promised that I
should do everything I liked. Now you try to tyrannize over
me in every possible way; and I won't bear it. I wont bear
it" (crescendo). " And if you don't let me go on Wednesday,
I will leave you and go straight off to my own people, if I
have to beg my way to them."
The expression of Lady Bergholt's face and the accent of
her voice bespeak such thorough determination that Sir Tris-
tram is utterly stupefied. And the reader will, I have no
doubt, be out of all patience with him when I chronicle the
fact that he offers no further opposition to her going.
But he loves her: he would do anything in the world
rather than separate himself from her, and he believes her
capable of carrying out her threat. After all, he is not the
only weak and foolishly fond husband on record. All he does
is this. He sends for the head groom on Tuesday evening,
and tells him that Lady Bergholt will ride to the meet next
morning, and bids him keep close beside her, in case her horse
should get excited and troublesome.
" And remember," he adds, in an accent of unmistakable
authority, " I do not suppose for an instant that Lady Berg-
holt will wish to follow, but, in case she should, you will say
you have my positive commands not to do so."
He is horribly anxious lest some evil should befall his
MIGNON. 307
darling, whom you and I, reader, do not think such a very
great treasure.
Mignon is radiant as she mounts her horse next morning.
When the weaker vessel does get her own way by the strong
hand, she is always very proud of it ; and my lady is no
exception.
" You will not think of following," are Sir Tristram's parting
words ; but she makes a defiant little moue in answer, that
causes his heart to throb with a painful misgiving.
" Remember !" he says to the groom, as she rides off", in a
tone as impressive as that in which King Charles the Martyr
made his memorable utterance.
" Yes, Sir Tristram," answers the man, with stolid gravity,
as he touches his hat. But to himself he says, " How the
plague does he think I'm agoing to stop her, if he can't ?"
" You see," cries Mignon, triumphantly, to Raymond, as
she canters up. " I told you I would come, and here I am.
And now," she adds, gayly, " I mean to enjoy myself
thoroughly."
Several men come forward to greet her, and ask if she is
going to follow ; and she answers, laughing, " Yes, and I mean
to have the brush."
" So you shall," answers the Master, cordially, with a glance
of genuine admiration at her lovely face, " if the other fair
Amazons cut me dead for it."
" I thought so," remarks the groom to himself. " I might
as well try to stop her as the beck in a flood. Well, I can
but lose my place. She's master of him, so she's like to be
master o' me." And he sits down philosophically in his sad-
dle, not altogether displeased with the idea of a run. " For
of course," he reflects, " if she do go I am bound to foller."
Seeing Raymond in attendance, no one ventures to offer
Lady Bergholt a lead : indeed, he is probably the only man
who does not consider the office a bore. A man must be very
much in love to like to give a woman a lead, particularly in
her first experiment across country. Raymond has no inten-
tion of letting his fair charge incur any danger, and, as he
knows there is no enjoyment for himself in the way of sport
to be got out of to-day's run, he thinks more about the chances
of a long, pleasant ride back along the lanes, where there is
more scope for conversation than in the hunting-field. The
308 MIGNON.
hounds are not long finding : the business of the day is about
to commence. Jackson rides up to his mistress and salutes
her respectfully.
" Beg pardon, my lady Sir Tristram gave me most positive
orders as you was not to follow." He has placed his horse
right in front of her.
" Get out of the way ! What do you mean ?" cries Mignon,
imperiously ; and Jackson has no alternative but to fall back
and follow.
" Don't lose your head, don't pull your horse at a fence, and
keep close to me," says Raymond, as they break into a gallop.
It is very easy going at first, and Raymond knows every
inch of the country : so that Mignon is in an ecstasy of de-
light and enjoyment. It is a short run, under three miles,
and she is actually in at the death. The Master brings her
the brush.
" And well earned too, by Jove !" he says, gallantly, as he
presents it.
Mignon is radiant with delight and excitement. She has
never looked more lovely. Raymond is full of pride and
triumph as he sees the glances men cast upon her.
Presently another fox is found in a wood belonging to Mrs.
Stratheden, and they are off again. Raymond is beginning
to feel more confidence in Mignon's riding, and leads the way
over rather a bigger fence. Her horse takes it perfectly, and
away they sail again. They are somewhat separated from the
rest of the field. Raymond has formed his own opinion as to
the line of country the fox means to take, and is bent on a
short cut.
The next fence is a very easy one : he scarcely stops to look
behind until he hears a loud cry from the groom. With diffi-
culty he reins in his excited horse and turns. Never, never,
if he lives to the longest span that is allotted to man, will he
forget the horror of that time. Lady Bergholt and her horse
are both struggling on the ground, and as he turns he sees the
chestnut strike out twice in its endeavor to rise, he hears the
dull thud of the blow against the human flesh, and in a mo-
ment that exquisite face, the delight of every one who gazed
upon it, is turned into a sight appalling enough to sicken the
strongest man. Raymond is off his horse in a second : it gal-
lops away after that other riderless one. The groom, too, has
MIGNON. 309
dismounted, and holds his horse's bridle, whilst he looks with
blanched face from Raymond to the horrid spectacle at their
feet. Raymond is no coward, but he has highly-strung nerves:
he has almost a woman's shrinking from painful sights. And
now the woman he has loved, for his love is all gone and
buried in horror now, the woman whom he has tempted to
rebel against her husband, is lying mangled before him, and
he feels that her blood is on his head. Is she dead ? For
one wild moment he almost prays she is : it seems a less awful
fate than to live changed from one of God's loveliest creatures
to a spectacle that will make men shudder : he would fain fly
from the sight himself, would fain ride away for help and leave
the groom by her side, but every spark of manliness cries out
against it. And so, for his heavy doom and punishment, he
kneels down and takes into his arms this form whose face is
crushed out of knowledge and hidden by blood, and there,
with his ghastly burden, he stays what seems to him an eter-
nity, whilst the groom gallops away for help. She is not dead :
she begins to writhe in his arms ; she even puts up a hand to
tear at her wounds ; he has to hold it by main force. He feels
as though his reason would leave him, the horror is so intense,
and all the time his stricken conscience is crying aloud to him,
" This is God's judgment upon you !"
It is not in reality ten minutes, though it seems a century
to Raymond, before there comes the sound of voices and of
hurrying feet. They place her on a rudely-constructed litter,
and he has to walk by the side, still holding her hand as she
groans and writhes, unconscious though she is of any word
spoken to her. And when they reach the door of the little village
inn, the host says to him, " I'm afraid we can't get her up the
stairs, poor lady, unless you carry her in your arms, sir." And
again, white and shuddering, Raymond must take up this ter-
rible freight, that, half an hour ago, would have been so dainty
a burden, and carry it to the bedroom on the first floor. Then
he makes as if to leave the room.
"Oh, please, sir, won't you stop till the doctor comes?"
cries the affrighted landlady : " I durstn't stop with the poor
soul alone." And mechanically Raymond sits down in a chair
and goes through another century of agony. A thought
comes to him : he will send for Olga : she is always the one
to turn to for help and sympathy. So he curtly bids the
310 MIGNON.
landlady send some one to tell Mrs. Stratheden what has
happened : he knows she will lose no time in coming. At
last the doctor arrives.
" You had best not stop here," he says, gently; " and the
groom is waiting to see you."
No sentence of reprieve to a doomed man could be more
joyful than these words to Raymond. He staggers out of the
room, and down-stairs, where a crowd is gathered. The groom
separates himself from it and comes out.
" If you please, sir," he says, " won't you go and break the
news to my master?"
Raymond reels as if he had been struck.
" I !" he says. " JVo. I cannot. You must go."
" Begging your pardon, sir, but I won't," says the man.
resolutely. u He gave me positive orders not to go ; and it
wasn't my fault, but I can't face him."
" Get my horse," mutters Raymond, and, sick and white,
he mounts and rides away in the direction of Bergholt. And
still the words are ringing in his ears, " This is God's judg-
ment upon you." He rides like the wild huntsman ; he is
ghastly white and covered with blood ; the few people who
meet him stand aside, scared. He does not draw rein till he
comes to the avenue, and there, standing on the steps, evidently
on the lookout for some one, stands Sir Tristram.
As Raymond rides up, blood-stained and looking like death,
the first thing that occurs to Sir Tristram is that he has had
a bad fall and has come for assistance. He forgets his anger
and animosity, and cries, in kind, anxious tones,
" You are hurt, my boy. Where is it. What can we do
for you ?"
Raymond reels out of the saddle and stands staring and
stammering : his tongue cleaves to the roof of his mouth.
Two servants run out.
"Take Mr. L'Estrange's horse. Get some brandy," Sir
Tristram cries to them. " Here, my boy, lean on me !" But
Raymond waves him off and falls staggering against the door.
" It is not me," he gasps. " Lady Bergholt White Hart
Inn Allington." And then he swoons dead away, and is
for the time relieved of his intolerable agony.
Sir Tristram stands for a moment as though a blow had been
dealt him. " The dog-cart," he 8ays, in a trembling voice; and
MIGNON. 311
one servant flies to the stables, whilst another leads off Ray-
mond's horse, and a third tries to pour brandy down his
throat. In an incredibly short time the dog-cart is round, and
Sir Tristram in it : he has to take that fearful drive in utter
uncertainty, conjecturing the worst from Raymond's horror-
stricken face, from his terrible agitation and the marks of
blood upon him, for he is still insensible. The White Hart
is six miles distant: they do it in half an hour, but to Sir
Tristram it seems half an eternity. Will his darling be dead ?
Oh, pray God not ! he can bear anything, he thinks, if only
her life be spared. Little knots of twos and threes are stand-
ing near the inn door : they slink away as he drives up, and
he augurs the worst. In the passage, Olga meets him, and
draws him towards the little parlor.
" She is not dead," she whispers, hurriedly, anticipating
him. " Mr. Thorp does not think she will die. I have
telegraphed for P , and also to Leeds for Dr. ."
" Let me go to her," murmurs Sir Tristram, hoarsely. " Is
she conscious ?"
"No. Wait a moment!" And Olga plucks him by the
sleeve, yet hesitates, as if there is something she cannot make
up her mind to say.
" What is it?" he says, looking into her eyes with a stead-
fast gaze, though his lips quiver.
" Try and bear it," she whispers, taking his hand, while the
tears gather in her eyes. " If if she lives, we fear she will be
disfigured. The horse kicked her in the face."
" Is that all?" he cries, almost joyfully. " Oh, if God is only
pleased to spare her to me, I can bear anything else !"
Olga precedes him softly up the stairs, and when she has
opened the door and has seen the doctor come towards him,
she creeps away again down-stairs into the little parlor, and
there she sobs her heart out for pity of the lost beauty of the
woman who hated her, as she might have wept if it had been
her own sister.
Uli MIGXOX.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
" ' Sir,' said he, ' if you had seen the miseries of the world, you would
know how to value your present state.'
"'Now,' said the Prince, 'you have given me something to desire; I
shall long to see the miseries of the world, since the sight of them is
necessary to happiness.' "
Itasselas.
ON the June night when Leo urged Raymond to fight
against his passion for Mignon, and to go abroad with him, he
made his own resolve not to delay his journey longer. Why
should he stop to suffer fresh pangs ? why should he witness
Lord Harley's triumph, when it was breaking his own heart ?
Almost immediately after parting from Raymond, he ran against
another friend : a small, fair, delicate-looking lad he seemed,
though as a matter of fact he was two years Leo's senior, and
a captain in her Majesty's Foot Guards, Captain the Honor-
able Hercules Clyde, better known to his friends and intimates
by the name of The Pigmy.
" Halloo, Leo ! where are you off to like an avalanche?" is
his greeting to Leo, who has nearly run over him. " Please to
remember that the parish of St. James's didn't lay down the
pavement entirely with a view to your convenience, and that
the smallest and humblest of her Majesty's lieges is entitled
to a portion of it."
" How are you, Pigmy ?" answers Leo, laughing. " I beg
your pardon. I didn't see you."
" Really ! I flattered myself I was visible to the naked eye,
even without my bear-skin. Well, how are you, old fellow,
and where do you spring from ? ' By the struggling moon-
beam's misty light, and the lantern dimly burning.' I should
conjecture that the wild excitement of the town doesn't suit
your country constitution. You look uncommon seedy."
" Do I ?" says Leo. " Oh, I'm all right. The air doesn't
feel very fresh and bracing, though, does it?" he adds, ex-
panding his chest and taking in a long breath.
" It suits me," returns the Pigmy, linking his arm in Leo's.
MIGNON. 313
" I don't like it too fresh. Where are you off to? If she
isn't waiting for you, and you're not late already, I'll make your
way mine."
And the two stroll along in friendly talk. Presently Leo
brings up the subject of his intended journey.
" No !" cries the Pigmy, stopping dead short in the middle
of the pavement, and putting his glass in his eye. " Not
really ! You don't mean to say you are going to America and
round the world ! Why, my dear old Leo ! I thought if ever
a man's soul was in the turnips of his fatherland, if ever a
man had broad and enlightened prejudices against every other
country and its inhabitants, it was the present chip of the
old bloek of Vyner."
" Did you ?" laughs Leo. " Perhaps you were right once ;
but now my soul has begun to soar above turnips, and I am
going to travel for the express purpose of getting rid of my
prejudices."
" Do you know," says the Pigmy, with solemnity, " that
I're been dying to go to America for years ? All our fellows
who were in Canada have done nothing ever since but rave
about America and American women ; and I have only been
waiting till I could get some fellow big and strong enough to
take care of me. Now, you're the one of all others I should
have pitched upon ; only it never entered my brain to think
of your going."
" Come with me," says Leo, heartily. " I shall be only too
glad."
" Done !" cries the Pigmy. " And when we've done New
York, and Niagara, and Saratoga, we'll go and hunt the grisly
bear and the wapiti stag."
" How soon can you start?" asked Leo.
" Not before the first week in August."
" Oh !" says Leo, hesitating ; " I wanted to start in a fort-
night."
" What are you in such a deuce of a hurry for?" asks the
Pigmy. u Have you only just screwed up your courage, and
are you afraid of its oozing away if you don't take it whilst it's
in the humor."
" I do want most particularly to start at once," says Leo,
in a low voice.
" Has she thrown you over)? Nonsense, Leo ! I don't
o 27
314 MIONON.
believe you ever spoke ten words to a woman in your life, and
that's the only reason, that and having been caught cheating
at cards, that ever makes a man in a violent hurry to fly his
country. And, my innocent, I should as soon suspect you of
breaking your heart about a woman, as of turning up the king
once too often."
" Of course," says Leo, " there is nothing I should like
better than to have you for a travelling companion, but "
" Don't say anything about But. If it would give you so
much pleasure, don't think of denying yourself for a moment.
You see, my dear Leo, there's Inspection the end of July, and,
though I firmly believe it would go off just as well without
me, I should never be able to persuade them of it at the Horse
Guards. And then you're a free agent, and can quit your
country whenever you feel disposed ; but I have to ask leave.
Come, now, don't be selfish, there's a good fellow. I've set
my heart on going with you."
" Let me think about it," answers Leo.
" That's just what I can't !" retorts the Pigmy. " If I
parted from you without having nailed you, I should receive
a polite and affectionate letter at the Guards' Club to-morrow
morning, regretting very much that your plans, etc., etc. No!
now or never. Say the word that is to make me the happiest
of men" (and the Pigmy, who is as full of tricks and jests as
a school-boy, grasps his friend's hand in a pathetic and lover-
like way), " or seal my wretchedness forever."
Leo laughs.
" If you don't mind, Pigmy, you'll be locked up before you
know where you are. I see No. X 64 looking at you with a
lingering eye."
" No, really ? Dear Mr. Policeman," says the madcap
Pigmy, apostrophizing the grinning guardian of the streets,
" think not 'tis wine that makes my heart so glad. I assure
you 'tis but joy at meeting a long-lost friend. Now, Leo,
come ; to be or not to be ?"
" We will talk it over to-morrow. When you have had
time to reflect, perhaps you may not be so keen about it.
Come and breakfast with me, and we'll go over all the pros
and cons."
And so they part. Leo gets very little sleep that night.
He is desperately unhappy about Olga. From what Lady
MIGNON. 315
Bergholt has said, still more from Kitty's words, he feels that
her marriage with Lord Harley is a settled thing, and the
sooner he puts himself beyond the power to see or hear of her,
the better it will be for him. He would like immensely to
have Captain Clyde's company : since their Eton days they
have always been great friends, and the Pigmy has such
spirits, and is such a thorough good little fellow, and a sports-
man to boot, that Leo feels it would be the best thing that
could happen to him to get him for a travelling companion.
But to spend five or six more weeks in England, with nothing
to do but to be restless and wretched, the sacrifice seems
almost too great, even for so desirable a consummation. But
at breakfast next morning Captain Clyde is so enthusiastic
about the trip, and so urgent in entreating Leo to wait for him,
that he consents. But he has had enough of London, and
resolves to go home and devote the rest of the time, before
starting, to his father. He must see Olga once ere he goes,
must take his final leave of her, must hear her soft voice
wish him God speed. And so he writes to her,
"I am going down home to-morrow, and shall probably not
be in London again until just before I start for America, the
first week in August. You will have left town long before
then. May I call and wish you l Good-by' some time to-
day?"
He despatches a commissionnaire with his note, and direc-
tions to wait for an answer. It is not long in coming.
" I shall be at home all the afternoon. Come when you
like."
After receiving and answering Leo's missive, Olga has a
severe struggle with herself. Shall she let him go? She
knows she has to say but one word to keep him by her side,
and she knows that she loves him. At one moment she thinks
she will say the word, will brave the world's wonder and ridi-
cule, will risk her future happiness. But her reason fights
against this decision.
" No," it says : " he is but a boy. He has never been in
love before. Here is an opportunity of testing whether it is
a fleeting passion or a real love that he feels for you. Let
him go, go, thinking you care for Lord Harley and mean to
marry him, go, determined to tear you out of his heart ; and
then, when he returns in eight or ten months' time, if his
316 MIGNON.
love for you is still unchanged, then, rash as the venture
may be, you will have some excuse for believing in the en-
during power of his affection."
Another doubt assails Olga. It says,
" You have no time to lose. True, you have not yet begun
to fade or look old ; you have not a gray hair nor a perceptible
wrinkle ; but a year at your time of life is of very great im-
portance. When he returns, you will be nearly thirty-one,
and he five-and-twenty. Somehow, twenty-nine seems so
much younger than thirty."
Olga tries hard to be strong, but she is not sure of herself.
And it is more than probable that if Leo had spoken to her
as he did the previous autumn, if he had pleaded to her in
his impassioned young voice and with all the fervor of his
heart as he did then, she might have yielded to his prayer, and
the Pigmy would have to forego his trip to America, at all
events, in Leo's company. But Fate has its own way of order-
ing matters, without much reference to the will of beings who
are still pleased to consider themselves free agents. In the
first place, it ordained that Leo should resolve in his heart to
betray no sign of weakness during his farewell interview with
the woman he loved. He would not pain her by seeming un-
happy ! he would make no reference to Lord Harlcy : he
would endeavor to behave in a manly spirit, that he might
not cause her pain, nor seem in any way to reproach her for
what was no fault of hers, though it had proved the misfor-
tune and misery of his life.
In the second place, Fate ordained that poor Leo should
see Lord Harley leaving Mrs. Stratheden's house just as he
came within half a dozen doors of it. It happened in this
way. Olga had given orders that she was " not at home," and
Lord Harley, in common with other callers, received that
answer. But he had a message that he particularly wished to
give to Mrs. Stratheden, and, being on sufficiently intimate
terms at the house, he told the butler he would go into the
library and write a note. Thus he, of course, appeared to Leo
to have been received by Olga ; and the poor lad felt stung to
the quick. But he was too loyal to accuse his mistress of
having given him intentional pain in letting him run the
risk of meeting Lord Harlcy.
Truscott, who is devoted to Leo, remarks the painful agita-
MIONON. 317
tion in his face as he ushers him up-stairs, and feels great sym-
pathy for him.
" When the drawing-room bell rings," he says to the foot-
men, on descending, " you needn't come up. I'll show Mr.
Vyner out."
With considerable delicacy of feeling, he augurs that Leo
may perhaps not care to be looked at by prying eyes when he
comes down again.
The interview is embarrassing to both. Olga, knowing
nothing of Lord Harley's call, cannot give an explanation of
it to Leo. An explanation, too, at such a critical moment
might have been dangerous. At the first sight of his love,
alone, too, as he has not seen her for many a long day, Leo is
on the verge of forgetting his resolutions ; but he makes a
strong effort, and is almost cold, almost distant, in manner.
He speaks of his intended journey as though the thought
were a real pleasure to him rather than pain and grief. He
talks himself into a false enthusiasm, which deceives Olga,
who is exceedingly sensitive, and prone to doubt her own
power. She is disappointed, chilled, and her own manner be-
comes cooler, more distant. A woman is conscious of her
strength, and can use it as long as she has to refuse a man who
pleads to her ; but when no favor is asked of her, she is
almost nettled into offering it.
Olga is more than half tempted to reproach Leo with fickle-
ness and infidelity. It is not long before, mutually embar-
rassed, mutually disappointed, each wishes the interview at an
end.
Leo rises to go : Olga rises too : she does not bid him stay.
As he goes towards her to take his long farewell, Leo's
strength wanes. There is a mist between him and the face he
loves and may never see again : the old feelings surge up in
his breast : he longs to take her in his arms for once, to kiss
her eyes, her lips, her hair, to entreat her for the last time.
But his reverence for her is even stronger than his passion.
What if she should be offended, indignant ? He dares not
risk parting from her in anger: so he takes the little
jewelled fingers in his, lays his lips reverently upon them, and
with this he goes.
When he is gone, Olga retreats to her room, and is no
more seen until dinner. Mrs. Forsyth's quick eyes remark
27*
318 MJGNON.
that her eyelids are swollen and pink, and draws her own
conclusions.
As for Leo, as he goes away from the door and down the
street, his heart sinks lower at every step, he feels unutterably
wretched, the sunshine irks him, the gay bustle of the crowded
streets jars upon him, and for the first time in his life he wishes
he had never been born.
The days lag wearily. He tries hard to be cheerful in the
presence of his father. But Mr. Vyner is dull and out of
sorts too : he is miserable about Leo's journey, and yet he feels
that it will be almost a relief when he is gone. He cannot but
notice how haggard and wretched the boy looks. The poor
old squire is more vindictive than ever against Olga: every
time he looks at Leo he applies to her mentally some uncompli-
mentary epithet, coupled with curses deep and broad. He
begins to hate all women for her sake : the sight even of his
housekeeper, whom he has always regarded with an eye of
favor, is displeasing to him. That buxom person has no idea
of being under the ban of her master's disfavor without know-
ing the reason why, and ventures one day to put the question
what she has done to displease him.
" Done !" growls the squire. " Nothing in particular. You're
a woman : that's enough."
Mrs. Hales looks a little surprised, as well she may.
" You're all full of your cursed tricks and wiles," cries her
master, wrathfully. " Why can't you leave us poor devils of
men alone ?"
" Really, sir !" exclaimes the. housekeeper, bridling under
the idea that Mr. Vyner intends some personality.
" Pshaw !" he says, with a grim laugh. " I don't mean
you. You're a good enough woman in your way. Still, I
dare say, if you had the chance, you'd lead some poor fellow
the life of the d d."
Mrs. Hales retires in high dudgeon, and imparts to the
butler her belief that the squire has gone off his head.
" Not he !" is the answer. " Don't you see what he is driv-
ing at ? Why, Mr. Leo is fretting about some lady or other,
and it makes the old gentleman quite mad."
u Poor Mr. Leo !" says the housekeeper, sympathizingly.
" I'm sure she must be a fine piece of goods if he isn't good
enough for her."
MIGNON. 319
"Perhaps there's a hobstacle," suggests the butler. "Per-
haps she's got a husband."
" Lor, Mr. Simpson ! don't say such a thing !" cries Mrs.
Hales, looking shocked; but from that moment she adopts
this view of the case, and feels increased sympathy for, and
interest in, her young master.
The day of Leo's departure comes at last : the dog-cart is
at the door ; he has gone round and shaken hands with every
one, bidden them " good-by," and received their hearty good
wishes ; men women, and children are all hidden in corners
and looking through loopholes to see the last of him. The
squire comes out on the steps to see him off.
" God bless you, my boy ! God bless you !" he says, clutch-
ing his son's hand in a vice, and speaking in a strangely hoarse,
tremulous tone.
" Good-by, my dear old dad," says Leo, in a voice no whit
firmer, though he tries to infuse a great deal of cheerfulness
into it. "I shall write you yards of letters whenever I get
a chance. Good-by ! Good-by !"
He is off. The squire stands for a moment until he is out
of sight ; then he brushes something away from his eyes with
the back of his hand, d ns his favorite dog who gets in his
way, makes a rush for his room, and shuts the door with a slam
that makes the house shake.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
LEO and Captain Clyde are on board the Cunard steamer
bound for New York. They left Queenstown yesterday morn-
ing, and begin to feel quite at home with their new life. The
Pigmy's first excitement is calming down, and he has already
embarked in a flirtation with a very pretty girl, one of the
passengers.
" I have discovered the name of my idol," he says to Leo,
as they take an after-dinner stroll. " She is Miss Maud
Marian Hutchins, and she lives in a house with a brown-stone
front in Fifth Avenue, New York. Isn't she a screamer?
320 M1GNON.
Not quite so big as I should like : she is only half a head
taller than me, and not quite enough developed for my taste ;
but she is the biggest woman on board, at all events, the
biggest that has shown up yet."
" Why this passion for big women, Pigmy ?" asks Leo,
laughing.
" Isn't it self-evident?" answers the Pigmy. " Women like
either one thing or the other. I'm not a great hulking fellow
like you, whom they expect to protect and take care of them :
on the contrary, they love to protect and take care of me and
pet me. And big women are always so jolly and good-natured
(if they're plump, that is) ; whereas nine out of ten little
women are vixens. Maud Marian seems particularly amiable,
and has a charming, frank way of giving her opinion, and of
asking questions, that is irresistible. I am not quite so sweet
on Papa Hutchins : he seems to have the traditional venera-
tion for the almighty dollar and his own country, and tells me
that for a young chap who wants to see life and real slap-up-
looking girls, N' York's the place. He considers London a very
one-horse place as far as amusement is concerned, though he
admits it's the mercantile city of the world. Here comes my
charmer. I'll introduce you, if you promise not to take a
mean advantage of your six feet to cut me out."
" No, thanks," answers Leo. " I dare say she'd rather
have you all to herself." And he walks away.
The Pigmy proceeds to join Miss Hutchins, who is remark-
ably handsome, even for an American. She has dark-brown
rippling hair, fine eyes, sparkling with fun, a lovely complex-
ion, and pearly teeth, which she shows liberally, though natu-
rally, every time she speaks or laughs, which is by no means
unfrequently. Her hands are small, and it is really wonderful
how she can tramp up and down in the indefatigable way she
does on her tiny, daintily-shod feet. She is eminently unlike
her father, who is one of the class his countrymen love to call
" Petroleum," and " Shoddy ;" and indeed it is through hav-
ing " struck ile" some ten years ago that Mr. Hutchins has
amassed the handsome fortune of which he is now the proud
owner. Young ladies have before now applied the same con-
temptuous epithets to Maud Marian. She overheard them
once, and went in much wrath and tribulation to her father.
He gave something between a laugh and a snort. " Let 'em
MIONON. 321
call you what they dam please," he said, consolingly : " there's
precious few of 'em you can't take the shine out of; and if
your looks ain't enough, why, I can back 'em up with dollars,
anyhow !" And Mr. Hutchins slapped his pockets till they
emitted a resonance that appeared to give him considerable
satisfaction.
" Guess your friend's got a touch of the dismals," observes
handsome Maud Marian, as Captain Clyde joins her. She is
a little piqued that Leo does not seem to desire her acquaint-
ance. " P'rhaps he's a bit squeamish yet. I noticed he
wasn't much up to his meals."
Now, the Pigmy has a mania for practical jokes, not the
practical jokes that endanger life and limb and partake of
the nature of horse-play, but he dearly loves to entrap peo-
ple's credulity by extraordinary stories. As he possesses a
wonderful command of countenance, he is not unfrequently
successful.
"Ah," he says, gravely, "he has a strange story, poor fel-
low !"
" Won't you tell it me now ?" asks Maud Marian, persua-
sively. " When I go around, I like to pick up a heap of
queer stories to tell when I get back."
"Come and sit down, then," says the Pigmy. "As the
immortal Watts remarks, in his beautiful poem,
' Those little feet were never made
To tramp around all day.' "
" Guess you're pokin' fun at me, Mr. Vyner !" observes
Maud Marian, showing her two little rows of pearls.
" Now, if it's not an impertinent question," says the Pigmy,
placing a rocking-chair for her, and ensconcing himself in a
contiguous one, "how did you know that my name was
Vyner?"
" Well," responds the young lady, frankly, " I know wan
of you is the Honorable Captain Hercules Clyde, and I guessed
it couldn't be yew."
" Because Hercules was a big fellow ?" suggests the Pigmy.
"Jest so," responds Maud Marian, with a merry laugh.
" Well, you see," says the Pigmy, in an explanatory tone,
" in our country they christen you whilst you are still in your
infancy; and as, unfortunately, it wasn't in the power of my
o*
322 M1QNON
godfathers and godmother to add a cubit to my stature when
I grew up, they didn't know what a very inappropriate thing
they were doing in giving me the family name."
" It won't do !" says Maud Marian, shaking her head. " I
know you're not Captain Clyde."
" How do you know ?" asks the Pigmy, putting his glass in
his eye, and contemplating with much pleasure the charming
face before him.
" Because he's in the Guards," cries the fair one, triumph-
antly. " Ah ! you didn't think I knew that tew when you
tried to hoax me. You might be called Hercules and be a
little chap, but you couldn't be a little chap and be in the
English Guards."
" Allow me to set you right," says the Pigmy, gravely.
" Nearly all the officers in the Guards are small : they pick
them out on purpose to show off the men."
" No !" exclaims Maud Marian, incredulously.
" Fact, I assure you. There are officers in her Majesty's
Brigade of Guards smaller than me."
" Well ! you dew astound me, anyhow !" utters Maud Marian.
" And you want me to go right away and believe that you're
the Honorable Captain Hercules Clyde, of the Guards ?"
" My name is certainly Hercules Clyde," replies the Pigmy,
imperturbably, " and I have the honor to hold a commission
in the Foot Guards."
" And you mean to say that you march around with them
great big fellers with the muffs on their heads?"
"I do."
" Well," remarks Miss Huchins, with a certain amount of
admiration, " you air a spunky little chap !"
" I'm delighted to have your good opinion," says the
Pigmy, with perfect gravity.
" I will say they dew look lovely, the English Guards !" ex-
claims Maud Marian, with enthusiasm. " Your women are a
poor lot, excuse me, sir, and look as if they dressed out of a
cast-off-clothes store ; but your men are grand. Why, Eng-
lishmen and Amer'can women could lick the world between 'em !
Why, when I fust came to London and went around, I says,
1 Well, where' s all this English beauty they make such a fuss
about ? for I haven't set eyes on it yet, and I've been up and
down, up and down, in Hyde Park, tew whole days, and
MIGNON. 323
around Bond Street and Piccadilly.' ' You must go to Ascot, 1
says some one. So Pa and me we got on the cars, and down
we went. Well, there was the Princess of Wales, she's a
reel beauty, but she isn't English at all, and there was p'r'aps
a dozen or so handsome-looking women who perhaps Worth or
La Ferriere might have turned out, but the rest were as
or'nary-looking a lot as ever I saw, with their clothes pitch-
forked on, and feet as long and as flat as a dish." And Maud
Marian contemplates her own charming little foot with undis-
guised satisfaction. " Guess you'll see more beauty fust after-
noon you walk up Fifth Avenue, than there was collected to-
gether at Ascot Cup day. And my ! if you want to see women
rigged out, you'll see it in N'York, and no mistake."
" Our chief object in visiting America," remarks the Pigmy,
gravely, "is to see the beauty of your ladies, the fame of
which is very great in London."
" Why, is it now ?" exclaims Maud Marian, with that naive
and genuine pleasure Americans always take in hearing any-
thing that belongs to them praised, especially by an English
person.
" I confess it is very easy for me to believe all I have heard
in that respect," says the Pigmy, looking with deliberate ad-
miration at his fair interlocutor.
Maud Marian gives a merry laugh. She does not attempt
to parry the obvious compliment.
" Oh, wal," she says, " I guess I'm not ugly enough to
scare crows with ; but wait till you've seen some of our reel
beauties, and you won't think much to the Venus de Medici
after them, anyhow. There's your friend again, looking dis-
maller than ever, and all this time you haven't told me that
story about him."
" Between ourselves," utters the Pigmy, in a low, impressive
voice, " he's not quite right here." And he gives a little tap
to his forehead.
" Why, isn't he, now?" says Maud Marian, seriously.
" And I," continues the Pigmy, " am taking care of him."
" Yew !"' laughs Maud Marian.
" Yes," answers the Pigmy, solemnly. " Brute force is no
good. Samson wouldn't have been any use with him. It's
moral influence. Now, I possess moral influence to an ex-
traordinary degree. If you look at my eye, Miss Hutchins,
324 MIGNON.
you'll understand in a moment what I mean." And Captain
Clyde turns a steady and unfaltering look on Maud Marian,
though there is a faint twitch about the corners of his mouth.
a Guess the glass has a lot to do with your mor'l influence."
she laughs, merrily. " But now do tell, what is the reel Mr.
Vyner's story ?"
The Pigmy contracts his face till it wears an expression
almost of horror, and, putting his lips very close to his listener's
ear, he whispers,
" He's a misogynist."
Maud Marian arches her pretty eyeorows with an expression
of awed wonder.
" And what is that, sir?" she asks the Pigmy, perplexed.
" A woman-hater," he says, solemnly.
" Wai," she laughs, merrily," " if he don't get cured o'
that complaint our side o' the watter, guess it's taken such a
hold of him it's not like to come out at all."
" That's the very reason we are taking this trip," says the
Pigmy, with increased seriousness. " He's had all the hand-
somest Englishwomen at his feet, but he won't look at them.
Then some one suggested America."
" Why, now, has he ?" remarks Maud Marian, looking at
Leo's distant figure with considerable interest. " But why
can't he be let alone ? If he hates us, guess the loss is his
side more'n ours."
" You see," says the Pigmy, " he's the owner of such an
enormous property. That's why he can't be allowed to retain
his aversion for the sex. If he'd only marry, they would
make him a duke at once."
" Is that so ?" exclaims the fair one, opening her handsome
brown eyes very wide. " But why can't they do it without,
if they want to ?"
" Oh," answers the pigmy, " in our country they never itake
an unmarried man a duke, because, you see, it's a very serious
business, and it would be no good making a duke for one
generation : he must have a son to succeed him."
" Guess it'll make the English gals mad if he dew take
back a wife from America," says Miss Hutchins.
" I guess it will," replies the Pigmy, with perfect gravity
of countenance.
The following day, Maud Marian, in accordance with a
MIONON. 325
resolution she has formed during the night, makes a pretext
for entering into conversation with Leo. It is not long before
that acute young lady discovers that she has been made the
victim of a hoax. She forbears, however, to tax the Pigmy
with his iniquity, but, determined not to be " bested by a
Britisher," she tells him one or two most astonishing yarns
about her own country, which he accepts in perfect good faith,
being prepared for anything, however extraordinary, on the
other side of the Atlantic. Like most English people on
their first visit to America, the only thing he positively can-
not believe is that there is a singular resemblance between the
manners and customs of the well-bred of both countries.
She is not long in discovering Leo's real ailment, and comes
to the conclusion that it is useless to waste her time and bland-
ishments on him. He is very pleasant and courteous, smiles
at her naive sayings, and never avoids her, but, with the in-
stinct of her sex, she knows that the citadel has been already
taken, and is impregnable to assault.
" Strikes me," she remarks one day to Captain Clyde, " the
complaint your friend's sufferin' from is liking one of our sex
too much instead of too little."
" No !" says the Pigmy, putting his glass in his eye and
looking interested. " What makes you think that ?"
" Guess you know all about it," she answers, giving him an
inquisitorial look.
" No, upon my honor ! I never thought poor old Leo knew
one woman from another."
" Is that so ? Then I reckon you've been goin' around with
your eyes in the back of your head. He knows one so much,
he don't care to know nothing of all the rest. And I s'pose
she don't see it in the same light, for he's that onhappy, I know
sometimes he wishes himself in kingdom come. Why, hevn't
you heard him sigh, and hevn't you seen that dull miserable
look come over him ?"
" Yes : but, to tell you the truth, I put the former down to
indigestion, and the latter to ennui. You know we are always
supposed to take our pleasures sadly. Here, Leo !" he cries,
as the subject of their discussion comes within hail ; " what do
you think Miss Hutchins says about you ?"
Maud Marian does not attempt to stop him : she wants con-
firmation of her opinion.
28
326 MIGNON.
11 1 cannot tell, I am sure," answers Leo, in his pleasant
voice. " Nothing unkind, I will answer for it."
" She says," pursues the Pigmy, deliberately, taking a criti-
cal survey of his friend's face, whilst Maud Marian does the
same, " she says, my guileless and misunderstood Py lades,
that you are so desperately in love with some unknown fair one
that the rest of the sex have no charms in your eyes."
The crimson mounts to Leo's throat and temples : he is
utterly unprepared for this attack, and is furious to find him-
self blushing like a school-girl.
The Pigmy, with ready tact, comes to his rescue.
" See !" he says, turning to his fair companion, " his blushes
attest his innocence. The bare thought is too much for his
modesty. I knew you were mistaken."
But in his secret heart the Pigmy is convinced that Maud
Marian's surmise was correct, and burns to ask, " Who is she ?"
Poor Leo ! he tries hard to be brave, but he is passing
through a fiery ordeal. Again and again he tells himself that
all is over between him and Olga, that he has to begin life
afresh, that it is weak, unmanly, wrong, to go on loving her
so idolatrously now he knows that she can never be his, nay,
that she will be another's ; for on this point Leo has not the
faintest doubt. Raymond had written him just before he left
England, " It is as well perhaps that you are going out of the
country, for I hear it is settled that Olga is to be Lady Harley.
When you come back, perhaps you will be more charitably dis-
posed towards me than that night when you gave me such a
tremendous wigging for coveting my neighbor's wife."
Of course Leo could not know that Raymond only spoke
from a bare rumor, to suit his own purpose, and had not seen
Olga since her return to Blankshire. The monotony of the
sea-voyage wearied him intensely. To the great delight of
the majority of passengers, the sea was perfectly calm: he
would have liked it to be rough and turbulent, in consonance
with his own feelings, for contending outward forces give relief
to those struggling inner ones.
" How tame the sea looks !" he remarks to Miss Hutchins,
as they stand looking down at it together. " It is dreadfully
disappointing to wake up and find it just the same day after
day."
" Calc'late you're about the only person as finds it disappoint-
MIGNON. 327
ing," returns Maud Marian, dryly. " The ocean swell's a gent
whose acquaintance I've no desire on airth to make. I've
never wance missed a meal this journey; and that's more to me
than all the grandeur of the waves and ' that sort of thing, you
know,' " (mimicking the Pigmy).
Leo is immensely relieved when they reach New York. For
the first time he is conscious of a pleasurable excitement which
the novelty of everything about him inspires : there is a brisk
go-aheadness about everybody that makes a striking contrast
to the stolidity and comparative impassiveness of his own
countrymen.
" Au revoir !" says Maud Marian to the Pigmy. " Guess
you'll be ashore fust, anyhow: we'll have an almighty lot of
traps to pay deuty on. Guess you'll have to look a bit spryer
here than you dew in the old country : you won't have time
for all your fine dandified Guards' airs in N'York."
And she throws him a merry smile over her shoulder as he
joins the queue.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
A PACKET OF LETTERS.
fit
From Leo to Mr. Vyner.
SOREL, CANADA, Sept. , 187 .
" MY DEAREST FATHER,
" We have been so constantly on the move that I have really
had no opportunity of writing you more than just a line or two
at a time. I think I told you how we went from New York
up the Hudson in a gigantic steamer, a ' floating hotel' as they
call it, and I must confess that Americans very far surpass
us in the luxury and comfort with which they travel. Of
course there are drawbacks, and one has to overcome one's class
prejudices, or, at all events, keep them in one's pocket out of
sight, and to bear as best one may the sights and sounds that
the national throat unceasingly sends forth : still, there is an
immense deal both to admire and wonder at. I can't help
328 MIGNON.
being amused at the naive pride of the American in his country,
and the way in which he expects you to be struck all of a heap
at everything you see. I suppose they know by our looks that
we come straight from the British Isles, and so they interview us
considerably, and if we don't fall into raptures over everything
I can see they ascribe it to sheer envy and jealousy. One man
guessed I should find England a very one-hoss place after
Amer'ka ; he'd been there once and found it 'nation dull ; and
as for our railway travelling, it was a disgrace to a civilized
nation ; it was an incentive to murder and crime and every
atrocity ; but of course if an Englishman considered himself
such an almighty sight better than other folk, he must incur
those risks ; for his own part, he felt he was a man and a
brother, and he didn't care who he sat alongside of, as long as
it wasn't a darned nigger. We saw a good deal of beauty and
fashion at West Point. The American women are remarkably
handsome, and wonderful dressers. As for Pigmy, I did not
know how to get him away : he fell in love with a fresh beauty
every day, and they all seemed to take to him amazingly. I
am not surprised, for their men are by no means equal to them-
selves in manner or attractiveness. We went afterwards to
Newport and Saratoga, and saw more beauty and more dress,
and the Pigmy fell deeper in love than ever. Keen as he is
about sport, it was with the utmost difficulty I could get him
off and bring him here. We went first to Quebec, ancTon the
journey met a man who offered us some fishing on the Jacques
Cartier river. I must say the kindness and civility we have
met with has been something wonderful. The Pigmy had lots
of letters of introduction, but has hardly presented any : there
has been no occasion. Here a man enters into conversation with
you in a train, or on a steamboat, and, after an half an hour's
acquaintance, offers you al-1 sorts of hospitality. I fancy two
American strangers travelling in England would have to wait
a long time before they were offered shooting, fishing, and free
quarters by any of our countrymen. We had splendid fishing,
pulled out salmon as fast as we could throw a line, but the flies
and mosquitoes are something too fearful. We have tried
everything, have smeared our faces with beastly smelling oil,
and, as a last resource, the Pigmy has tied up his head in a
muslin bag, and looks like a peach on the south wall. Then
we went to the Falls of Montmorency, which are very fine :
MIONON. 329
there we got some capital trout, but were still persecuted by
flies. Then we took steamer to Sorel. We live in a hut with
a native Canadian, and are having excellent shooting, any
quantity of snipe and duck ; but the mosquitoes completely
prevent one's enjoying anything. Next week we go up the St.
Lawrence to Montreal, then to Niagara, and thence to Chicago,
where I hope to find a letter from you. Tell me what sort of
sport you are having, and how you amuse yourself. I hope
to hear you are having what they call here ' a good time,' and
that you don't miss me a bit. Kindest remembrances to
everybody. " Ever my dearest father,
" Your affectionate son,
" LEO."
From Mr. Vyner to Leo.
"THYRSTAN HALL, Oct. , 187.
" MY DEAR LEO,
" I need not tell you how glad I am to get your letters. I
am half disposed to envy you your sport, though the flies, as
you describe them, must be plaguy troublesome. Being in
English dominion, and catching salmon and trout, makes me
feel, although there's so much water between us, as if you were
still in civilized parts. I only wish you'd make up your mind
to stop there, and give up Mexico and the San Francisco
journey. By all accounts, you are having capital sport ; and
what more can you want ? What's the use of running into
danger ? I read in a paper the other day that some of those
infernal Indians had caught two white men and tortured and
scalped them. However, if it pleases the Almighty to let
you make a fool of yourself and lose your life without doing
any good by it, I've no more to say. Please God you may
come back ; and, if you do, I hope and trust you'll come back
the man you used to be some fifteen months ago. Make up
your mind that things are best as they are, as / am quite sure
they are, and that if you had had your own way you'd be wishing
to heaven by this time you hadn't. Talking of that, a letter
came for you yesterday, in a female hand, bearing the Blank-
shire postmark : so I suppose that Jezebel of a woman can't
let you alone. I was glad, however, to see, by her sending it
here, that you were not corresponding with her ; and if you
take my advice you'll throw it into the fire unopened. I had
28*
330 MIGNON.
a good mind to do it myself: however, I hate anything that
isn't fair play, and I don't suppose a straightforward man like
myself is any match for this middle-aged flame of yours, bless
her. You know what I mean. There, there ! I'm only writ-
ing myself into a rage, and I don't want to hurt your feelings.
So take the cursed thing and blubber over it, and kiss it, and
however, there's an end of it. Hartopp and Everett
have been with me: we got fifty brace on the 1st, thirty the
2d, and twenty-five the 3d, besides any quantity of ground
game and a few partridges. The latter are very wild. The
bag for the three days was four hundred head, quite enough,
to my thinking, for a sportsman. I hate your battues. I asked
that snob Jameson, very much against the grain, because he
was civil to you ; but he gave me to understand my shooting
wasn't good enough for him. He asked me to a big day next
week, expects at least a thousand head ; but I told him that
if my shooting was too little for him, his was too much for
me. I need not say I miss you ; but I'm getting on very well,
considering, and have actually promised to pay three visits
next month, wonderful for me. Hales is very anxious in
her inquiries after you. Whenever the post brings a letter
from you, she comes and fusses about and pretends to dust the
things : so yesterday I had to ask her whether she'd leave me
in peace to read your letter, or whether she'd like to have it
first. She bounced out of the room : so, thank goodness, I
got rid of her. Hang me if I don't think the old fool's in love
with you : you seem irresistible in the eyes of middle-aged
females. Well, I've got to the end of my paper, and, as you
know, I'm not much of a hand at letter-writing. Let me hear
from you as often as you can manage it, and believe me, my
dear Leo, " Your affectionate father,
" RALPH VYNER.
" P.S. Don't be annoyed at anything in my letter. I must
have my say, you know, and I can't re-write."
This is Mr. Vyner's letter, and the priceless document he
encloses runs as follows :
"THE MANOR HOUSE, Oct., 187.
"MY DEAR LEO,
" Nearly three months since I saw you, and all this time
not a line. Are you angry with me, or have you forgotten
MIGNON. 331
me ? Don't you know what an interest I take in all your
plans and movements, how heartily I sympathize with your
ideas, and how much I expect of and for your future ? Indeed,
it is not kind of you to keep this long silence. I am only
just going to write you a little note, that I may have a four-
fold return, for I cannot think of any news to tell you that
you would care to hear. All the horses and dogs that you
used to take an interest in are in a flourishing state. Truscott
asked after you the other day, and when I told him of your
proposed journey round the world he looked blank and said
he hoped you would come back, but his tone intimated that
he thought it more than doubtful, and I know in his own
mind he expects you will share the fate of Captain Cook.
Joking apart, my dear Leo, I hope you will take care of your-
self and not run into needless danger : there are other people,
remember, besides your father who cannot afford to lose you.
There is very little Blankshire news to tell. Ma chere and I
have entertained the county and been entertained in return.
Our lovely neighbor Lady Bergholt is at the Court and im-
mensely admired. She has had a twin brother staying with
her, a charming young fellow, almost too pretty for a man, but
not at all effeminate in his ways and manners. I do not see
very much of Raymond : his poor mother is as great an in-
valid as ever.
" Ma chere and I have some thought of wintering in Rome;
life is rather a difficult problem for two desolate women with
no ties and no particular vocation : still, it is only talk at
present. And when we have yawned ourselves through the
winter, there is only the same routine of the London season
to go through again, which I confess is beginning to pall upon
me. I am half minded to go round the world myself, only
I am rather helpless, and fond of comfort, and, when I have
been away from England two months, invariably get home-
sick. I must send this letter to Thyrstan to be forwarded,
for, through your unkind neglect of me, I have not the least
idea where to address this. Ma chere unites with me in very
kindest regards, and believe me, dear Leo,
"Always most sincerely yours,
" OLGA STRATHEDEN.
" Tell me what you think of American women. I have
met some very handsome ones in Paris."
332 MIONON.
Captain Clyde to Mr. Vyner.
" CHAPIEAU'S HOTEL, DENVER, Oct. , 187 .
" DEAR MR. VYNER,
" Don't be alarmed at seeing my cabalistic signs instead of
Leo's manly hand : he is all right, but strained his wrist giv-
ing the most richly-deserved punishment I ever saw to a
brute who was maltreating a mule, and so can't hold a pen at
present with his usual ease and elegance. Our gentleman
whipped out his revolver, but we are pretty handy with those
playthings by now, and as there were two of us, and we were
both ready for him, he put it away again, after treating us to
a little language that would have made every separate hair of
a bargee's head stand on end. I have been practising shoot-
ing through my trousers-pocket, which is a handy thing to be
able to do in this part of the world, and, though a destructive
amusement, it may be useful, and one has generally to pay for
a new accomplishment.
u We had tremendous luck last week, and both got a wapiti
on Laramie Plains. We were so delighted that I think we
shed tears of joy. There seems some doubt about our coming
across a ' grisly,' but we are promised any quantity of black
bears ; indeed, I think of writing home and offering to un-
dertake the contract for our men's bearskins for next year,
only it might be a little premature. Did Leo tell you about
our buffalo-hunt at Fort Hayes ? One of the party had a
shocking bit of luck. His horse was galloping bravely along
by the side of the infuriated buffalo ; he fired ; down went
his horse, and shot my friend half a mile off. We were very
much astonished when he got up and his horse did not : in
the excitement he had actually shot the poor brute dead. We
are told this not unfrequently happens. Thank heaven, Leo
and I each got our bull instead of our friend's cattle ; but, I
must say, buffalo-hunting is an overrated amusement. So far
our travels have been a tremendous success. I have enjoyed
myself immensely, and Leo is getting back to his old cheery
form. I have a safe, comfortable feeling in going about with
him, and his handsome proportions seem to inspire a certain
amount of respect.
u We haven't come across any Indians at present, though
we were treated to some cheerful and inspiriting stories about
MIGNON. 333
them at the fort. We only found a small party there, as most
of the officers and men were out scouting, which, being inter-
preted means looking after Indians. It seems that some little
time ago the officers gave some ladies a picnic in Paradise
Valley, and unintentionally took them a good deal nearer those
blessed regions than they had any intention of. About the
middle of the day the men shouldered their rifles and went in
pursuit of something upon which to gratify the destructive
instincts of the sex, whilst the amiable fair ones occupied
themselves in preparing a repast. (I wonder how that sort of
picnic would be appreciated by our own charming country-
women !) The bold hunters had not got very far, when they
had the agreeable excitement of beholding in the distance a
hundred or so Indians, attended by their fighting squaws.
With stealthy haste, our friends crept back to the trees where
they had left their own (non-fighting) squaws, and, without
waiting for explanation, or dinner, or anything else, they car-
ried off the wondering fair, and ' I can tell yew, sir,' said our
gallant historian, ' we went on our marrow-bones and thanked
the Almighty when we got 'em safe inside the fort.'
" However, the line of country we are going, we don't ex-
pect to meet any of the copper-colored gentry, and, as we travel
never less than a party of five or six, they are not likely to
molest us.
" I envy Leo his long tour. I, hapless victim to my patri-
otism, have to be home the middle of December. What a
lion I shall be when I get back ! what yarns I shall spin !
one can always do that better without one's travelling com-
panions. I have been getting up all the stories of great ex-
ploits done out here, and I can assure you some of them are
calculated to make people ask, ' How is that for high ?' (an
expression much in vogue here), and I intend to make my-
self the hero of them all. Leo's best love, he will write in
a day or two, and believe me
" Yours very truly,
"HERCULES CLYDE.
" Really and truly, Leo's hurt is not worth mentioning.
He makes me add this P.S. lest you should be uneasy."
334 MIGKON.
Leo to Mr. Vyner.
" SANTA Fi, Oct. , 187.
" MY DEAREST FATHER,
" Our travelling has been so rough and continuous lately
that I could not very well write, and in these parts the post
goes but seldom, and is, I am afraid, not very much to be re-
lied on. I was awfully glad to get your letter at Taos : home
news in these wild parts is more welcome than I can tell you.
About a fortnight ago we left Manitou for Pueblo (a distance
of forty-five miles), in a light wagon drawn by two mules hired
with a driver at Denver. The road was good, though the
country looked like a desert, and you would be surprised how
the cattle seem to thrive on the coarse herbage. We passed
several teams, driven by Mexicans (as villanous-looking a lot
as I ever came across). We reached Pueblo in the afternoon,
and had a very fair dinner of antelope, copiously garnished
with Mexican onions. Next day we crossed the Arkansas,
and drove to D 's farm, the finest in that part of the
country. The house is only one story high, situated in the
midst of eight hundred acres of Indian corn and wheat. Most
of the land is artificially irrigated, a system, I think, which
might be adopted with advantage in many parts of England.
They gave us a warm welcome, and entertained us sumptuously
on young bear, corn, onions, beet-root, and milk. After din-
ner we walked up a beautiful canon alongside a stream, across
which we counted lots of beaver-dams. Our old enemies the
mosquitoes are as bad as ever.
" Next day we went up the mountains to shoot. Pigmy got
a bear, which he threatens to take home and have made into
a bearskin for his own head, and I got a stag and a fawn. The
heat was intense, and we suffered tortures from thirst. Poor
Pigmy had frightful pains in his chest, caused by the rarity
of the air ; but he is tremendously plucky, and never com-
plains. We continued to ascend the Rocky Mountains, and
eventually got to the top by the Sangre de Cristo pass. Then
we gradually descended to Fort Garland, and on our way
stopped to catch a few trout, and Pigmy bagged ten teal. The
officers at the fort were very civil, and put us up, and the
commandant gave us a capital dinner. Of course we heard
lots of stories about Indians; but I don't think we have
MIGNON, 335
anything to fear. "We go about well armed, in case of acci-
dents.
" Next morning, after breakfast, we drove seventeen miles
along a very good road to San Luis, a wonderful place for wild
fowl in the winter. We got a good bag of duck and teal.
Here we were told it was the proper thing to give a ball or
fandango to the natives in their assembly rooms : every Mexi-
can village has a place set apart for dancing. About a hundred
accepted our invitation ; and I can't say we were very proud
of our guests when they arrived.
" The men were beastly dirty and disreputable, and the
women only a shade better ; only two or three were good-look-
ing. You should have seen Pigmy doing the polite, and en-
deavoring to make himself understood and to hold his nose
at the same time. Some mammas of thirteen brought their
babies. There was only one kind of dance, as far as I could
see, which appeared to partake of the nature of a religious
ceremony, so solemnly was it conducted, and in perfect silence.
We had drink going all the evening, and supper at eleven.
Pigmy led in the prettiest girl, but she was very shy, and we
heard afterwards that it is not the thing for a Mexican young
lady to converse freely with the other sex. After supper
we distributed cigarettes and sweetmeats, which the ladies
thoroughly appreciated, and soon after that the company dis-
persed, and we had the satisfaction of hearing that our fan-
dango had been quite a success. Do you know, my dear old
dad, I can't help thinking it must be a good thing for one to
see phases of life utterly different from what one has seen or
imagined before ? though I must confess that nearly every-
thing I have seen at present has only tended to make me be-
lieve more firmly in dear old England. I am as thorough a
Britisher as ever.
" We left next morning at ten, and drove through a good
grazing country well supplied with water. On our way to
Costilla we got thirteen teal. This is a regular Mexican
town : all the houses are adobe, and only one story high, with
flat roofs on which the natives sun themselves and smoke their
cigarettes. Outside the houses, in sweet confusion, you see
children, pigs, sheep, goats, poultry, and dogs of all sizes and
colors wandering about. I hate the Mexicans : they are, I
should imagine, the cruellest and laziest wretches on the face
336 MJGNON.
of the earth. We killed quantities of duck, rabbits, and jack
rabbits, and I caught some big trout in the Rio Grande with
a red spoon bait : they wouldn't look at anything else. I got
a wolf, and Pigmy a couple of antelope. Almost every other
^ay is a saint's day or holiday with these lazy brutes. One
day it had poured in torrents, and on nay return to the town
I met a procession with crosses, crucifixes, and flags. In the
centre was a box carried by two men, like a sedan-chair, con-
taining an image of Christ. This had been hired from the
priest for the day for twenty-five dollars, and was carried
about the streets, accompanied by ringing of bells and firing
old guns, in order to stop the rain. When the natives cannot
afford so long a price, they hire one of the Virgin for eight
dollars.
" From Costilla we went on fifty miles to Taos, where I got
your letter and Pigmy found a budget from his people. Taos
is one of the oldest towns in New Mexico. We visited the
village of the Pueblo Indians : they have a ' reservation' in a
beautiful valley on a stream between two mountains. These
Indians are at peace now with the whites, and are capital
farmers. They own large herds of cattle, sheep, goats, and
excellent ponies. The village consists of two very large adobe
buildings from four to five stories high, one on each side of
the stream. There are no doors on the ground-floor, but you
ascend from the ground to the top of the first story by a lad-
der, and so on to the top. To get inside you descend a ladder
through a hole on the flat roof into a room, and so on down
to the ground-floor. The rooms are small. The inmates
squat about on buffalo robes, eat wild plums, and smoke cigar-
ettes. Bows and arrows, with which they kill game, hang on
the walls, with knives and rusty fire-arms. The old chief was
very civil, particularly after we had given him whiskey. The
men wear their hair long, and the squaws short, rather re-
versing the order of things. They profess to be Roman
Catholics ; but we heard on very good authority that they prac-
tise snake- worship in private in egg-shaped rooms under ground.
No stranger is admitted or allowed to know where these sub-
terranean temples are. Rattlesnakes are caught and kept as
divinities.
" We came from Taos here. The roads were dreadful,
through a wretched country, with wretched-looking people.
MIGNON. 337
The women cover their faces with an old shawl. We were
thankful when we arrived at the Exchange Hotel, from which
I am now writing. It is most indifferent, but better than we
have been accustomed to lately.
" I hope I haven't bored you with this tremendous epistle,
which I am afraid reads rather like a chapter out of a very
dry book of travels. I can't tell you how I look forward to
your letters, and how more than ever dear home and England
seem to me at this distance. My kindest remembrances to
every man, woman, child, horse, and dog at Thyrstan, and
with my most affectionate love to yourself, always, my dear
father,
" Your devoted son,
LEO."
Raymond U Estrange to Leo Vyner.
HALL, Nov. > 187 .
"MY DEAR LEO,
" When you receive this, I shall be on my way to join you.
I want to get away from this hateful place so far that I cannot
even hear of it. A most awful thing has happened : I can't
write about it ; the very thought gives me the horrors. Suffice
it to say, Lady Bergholt has met with a most appalling acci-
dent : no one knows yet if she will live ; in any case she must
be disfigured for life. I was there when it happened, and I
would not go through it again for anything that mortal man
could offer me. I only wonder I have kept my reason. As
it is, my head feels very bad, and my nerves are all to pieces.
So 1 am going to start on your track with all the speed I can,
after I get back from Paris, where I go to-night to try and get
rid of the horrors. Let me know at the Brevoort House, as
soon as you possibly can, where and how to join you. I don't
mind any amount of hardship : I only want to get away from
this accursed place. Would to God I had gone with you, as
you wanted me !
" Yours,
" RAYMOND."
29
338 MIGNON.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
u Let us rise up and part ; she will not know,
Let us go seaward as the great winds go,
Full of blown sand and foani : what help is here?
There is no help, for all these things are so,
And all the world is bitter as a tear.
And how these things are, though ye strove to show,
She would not know."
A Leave- Talcing.
POOR Mignon ! Mignon, who but so short a time ago was
among the fairest of women, on whom no eye could rest
without acknowledging, however grudgingly, her wondrous
beauty. And in a moment this exquisite work of nature was
changed into a loathly and horrid thing, from which men
would turn and shrink. The gift in which she has triumphed
is further from her than from many a woman born unlovely,
ungracious : at least, men do not turn shuddering from them.
It is a royal gift, beauty, and Mignon, like many another richly
dowered godchild of nature, had worn it with exultant pride,
such pride as a man may feel upon whose breast gleams the
order that his sovereign's hand has placed there. She made
no boast of it, but it was as much a matter of course with her
to admit its possession, as for the man on whom the proud in-
signia shines. For the poor, the plain, the insignificant, she
had a kind of contemptuous pity : she was to them what a
delicately fashioned, exquisitely painted vase is to a common
delft mug. All the extravagant, selfish claims she has made
on others have been made on the sheer, sole strength of her
loveliness : her feeling has always been, " I am beautiful, and
you must worship me, must give up to me." She has been so
keenly conscious of her own individuality as to be unable
thoroughly to enter into, or even recognize, the individuality
of others. Intensely alive to all that hurt or disturbed her-
self, she has been almost indifferent to the pain she has given
others. She has not been sympathetic, nor gifted with fine
feelings. She has not known the pain that a tender heart can
feel for the woes of others, still less its gladness for others' joy.
MIGNON. 339
And now, what will she do ? She is like a Sybarite sud-
denly made destitute ; she is like a mariner shipwrecked on a
barren rock ; she is like one robbed of a love that was more
than life. How will she how can she bear it ? but God is
merciful ; He " tempers the wind to the shorn lamb," as Sterne
(not David, nor Solomon, nor Job, as people will have it)
says. Mignon remains profoundly unconscious of the awful
fate that has overtaken her. Even as the days and weeks go
on, as the ghastly wounds close into long seams, she knows
nothing of her woe. Her soul is away on a far journey : they
cannot tell if it will ever return. The poor body writhes and
turns and moans sometimes as if it suffered : sometimes it is
quiet and still : if the eyes unclose, there is no meaning nor
recognition in them.
" It is better so," says Olga to the heart-stricken husband,
with tears of sympathy in her kind brown eyes. "If we can
only keep her from knowing what has happened until "
But her voice dies away, for she knows that exquisite beauty
has fled forever. Olga is looking pale and worn : she has
passed through a terrible ordeal. With her intense sensitive-
ness, her highly-strung nerves, the days she has spent in this
terrible sick-room have been fraught with real suffering to her ;
but she has never thought of herself, never spared herself: if
Mignon had been her own sister she could have done no more.
And there had been the harder task still of soothing the heart-
broken husband, of trying to pour consolation that was not
unreal nor stereotyped into his despairing heart, of choosing
the time to speak and the time to forbear, which requires the
finest tact of all. A professional nurse had been sent for at
once ; but, invaluable and untiring as these devoted women
are, a sick-chamber is sad indeed where the head nurse is not
one who gives her services for love's sake, one who has that
refined intuition of the patient's wants that no gold can buy.
And this was Olga's task. Lady Bergholt could not be moved
for some time from the shabby little roadside inn, but Olga
had gradually transformed the poor mean room into something
unlike itself. Every comfort was at hand. Her own kitchen-
maid came daily to prepare what the invalid was able to take.
Frequently, when the poor sufferer was restless, Olga remained
by her bedside all night.
And Sir Tristram, how fared it with him? He had
340 MIGNON.
bought this gem with all that he had, and now, after these thirteen
little months' possession, months that have lacked much of
the pride and glory he had looked for, his prize is flung at his
feet, flawed, ruined, worthless. No man will covet it of him
henceforth forever ; no envious murmurs, no loud-whispered
admiration, will fall on his ears as she hangs on his proud
arm. Does he feel chafed and angry, as a man might who
had made a bargain and finds himself defrauded ? does he feel
a wish to be quit of this fearful burden, such as Raymond had
felt that day of horror when he kept his ghastly vigil ? No !
God wot ! Every selfish feeling that a passion less noble might
dictate is swallowed up in his great love of her, in his great
anguish for her sake. She is no less dear to him because the
poor mouth, that was so lovely in its rippling child-like laughter,
is torn and distorted, and the little teeth, that gleamed like
pearls, broken or missing, because the cream-white skin is rent
and gashed, and the tiny ear almost torn away ; nay, rather
more dear. Because love, true love, has its best joy in giving ;
because heretofore, in the plenitude of her youth and beauty,
she wanted nothing of him, and now she will want everything,
all his tenderness, all his care, all his watchfulness to shield
her from pain, the pain of feeling herself pitied and neglected,
all that he can lavish upon her to atone, if may be, in a
little measure for all she has lost.
As he sits watching her day and night all his heart goes out
in love and pity to her, and his thoughts turn ever upon how
he shall lighten the load that he shudderingly knows will be
so awful for her to bear. At first he has been so glad of her
unconsciousness, has ardently desired that she shall not know of
her terrible calamity until Time has softened the worst of the
disfigurement ; but now he begins to long passionately for her
eyes to open in recognition of him : his heart and voice thirst
to tell her that she is dearer to him than in the fairest days
of her beauty. But it is not to be. The lagging hours crawl
by, days when the sun shines out cheerily, and tries by a
sudden warmth to make believe he is not so very far off; days
when the earth is bound in the iron grip of frost and ice, and
there are no scarlet-coated riders to make Sir Tristram's heart
still heavier within him.
At last it is decreed that Lady Bergholt may be moved,
and she is carried back through the gates of her park, whence
MIGNON. 341
she issued last so lovely and wilful. Oh, if we knew what life
had in store for us, how could any of us bear to live ! Blest
ignorance of the future, more blest even than the waters of
Lethe, of which Time gives our souls to drink !
Mary Carlyle has been summoned from Italy. She is at
Bergholt, and has heart-brokenly taken up her post as nurse.
Yet Olga is often here : at first scarcely a day passes that she
does not come to see how it fares with this broken flower whom
she has nursed so tenderly. And between her and Mary there
springs up a warm regard. Mignon can no longer be said to be
unconscious, but she is possessed by a dull, unalterable apathy.
Nothing can rouse her : she eats and sleeps, and even walks,
but only as though she were an automaton : no ray of intelli-
gence lights up her blue eyes or kindles a smile in her pale
cheeks. The wounds have healed up wonderfully: though
it is impossible she can ever be beautiful again, it is hoped that
Time and mechanical art may soften the distortion that now
disfigures her. One side of her face is as lovely as ever, per-
fectly unscathed, but the other is drawn up at the mouth and
down at the eye, and deeply seamed across the cheek to where
the iron nearly cleft the ear in two. As the months go by,
they try to rouse her : they speak of things that used to in-
terest her keenly in bygone days ; they even talk of her acci-
dent in her hearing : all in vain. At last they bring Gerry
to see her, Gerry, who, for his own sake, has been kept away
till now. They have prepared him to see the change in his
lovely sister, and the poor lad has primed himself bravely to go
through the ordeal, but his heart beats and his knees knock
together as he puts his hand on the door. He goes falteringly
towards her, sits on _the sofa beside her, with the still beautiful
side towards him, throws his arms around her, crying,
" Oh, my darling Yonnie ! don't you know me?"
For the first time a faint ray of light comes into her dull
eyes, and she mutters inarticulately, " Gerry !" and subsides
again into her apathy.
It is too much for the poor lad, the sight of the piteous, dis-
figured face, the vacant indifference, and he rushes from the
room, breaking into great choking sobs the while he goes. Sir
Tristram, who has been waiting outside, takes him tenderly by
the arm and leads him away, and Gerry buries his face in his
hands and cries like a woman.
29*
342 MIONON.
When the doctor pays his daily visit, he augurs very favorably
from his patient's momentary recognition of her brother. " It
is a beginning," he says, cheerfully, and Sir Tristram feels hap-
pier than he has done since the accident. Poor Gerry is so
grieved and distressed, they think it better to urge him to leave
Bergholt, and the poor lad goes away with the heaviest heart
he has ever carried in his life. Mignon takes no notice of him
when he bids her good-by. Sir Tristram has been nourishing
a painful idea in his breast. One day he plucks up courage to
impart it to Mary. But, as he speaks, the color deepens in
his face, and he looks away from her.
" I want you," he says, in a low voice, " to mention Ray-
mond's name before her : it might waken some memory in her
brain."
And Mary, without any comment, any gesture of surprise
or disapprobation, complies.
" Raymond has gone abroad," she says, taking her sister
gently by the hand. Twice she repeats the words, but no
faintest ray of intelligence lights up the clouded blue eyes.
When Mary confides the ill success of the experiment to Sir
Tristram, he knows not whether to be grieved or glad : he is
willing to pay almost any price to bring back her wandering
soul. Before setting out on his journey, Raymond wrote the
following letter to the husband whom he no longer desired to
wrong :
" DEAR SIR TRISTRAM,
" I have hardly courage to address you, knowing, as I do,
that the very thought of me can only bring pain and abhor-
rence to your mind. Injustice to myself I wish to tell you
that it was not through ia*^ persuasion of mine that Lady
Bergholt followed the hounds on the day of the accident,
although I was aware of her intention. I hardly know
how to say what is in my mind. I implore your forgive-
ness for any pain I may have caused you in days gone by
through my imprudent admiration for Lady Bergholt, and I
wish to add, uncalled for though it may seem at the present
moment, that there was nothing in our intercourse that need
have caused you uneasiness. Lady Bergholt was quite in-
different to me, and only amused herself at my expense."
It is with pleasure Raymond pens these lines, that would
MIGNON. 343
have humiliated him so bitterly a few days since : he cherishes
the idea eagerly that the life which it was once his ardent de-
sire to make one with his, has no claim upon him ; he realizes
now with some faint sense of shame that it was not the
woman's self that had roused his passion, but her loveliness.
The passion is gone, only a shrinking pity remains, a desire to
put the wide seas between him and her whom he had sworn
in his madness he could not live without.
The letter gave a certain degree of comfort to Sir Tristram.
He believed it; though now if the most damning evidence
had been brought to him of his wife's guilt, it would not have
lessened by one whit his tenderness and care for her in her
sore need. He did not answer it, no answer was required,
but he felt less bitter in his heart against Raymond than he
had done before.
In his thoughtful care, Sir Tristram has caused every mir-
ror to be removed from Mignon's bedroom and boudoir ; he
wanted to conceal from her as long as possible the loss of her
beauty ; but alas ! there was no need for all these precautions :
beauty and ugliness are all alike to those poor vacant eyes. But
after Gerry's visit the soul seems faintly to stir at times in its
prison : now and again, although she keeps utter silence, a
faint light dawns in her face, and some object in the room will
seem to fix her attention. At these times her husband will
come and sit beside her, holding her hand, and lavishing en-
dearing words upon her. But they return to him barren as
though he poured his tenderness out to a statue or to some
dead woman.
For two or three days, Mary has remarked an increasing
intelligence in Mignon's eyes, but to all attempts to attract or
direct her attention she has remained impassive. Her eyes
wander round the walls of the room ; occasionally she puts her
hand to her head. One day, to Mary's surprise, she rises un-
assisted from the sofa, and makes for the door.
" What is it, my darling ?" cries Mary, springing up. " What
can I do for you?"
But Mignon continues in silence to grope her way like a
blind person to the door. Her sister opens it, and she goes
out and towards the staircase. She does not resist Mary, who
holds her by the arm ; but she goes slowly down the stairs to
the drawing-room. Arrived there, she makes straight for the
344 MIGNON.
large pier-glass, and stops resolutely in front of it. Just one
flash of intelligence in her eyes, one movement of her hand to
her scarred face, and then the old vacuous expression returns :
she suffers herself to be led to a chair, and for that day takes
no more notice of anything. When the doctor is told of this,
he advises them to put looking-glasses in her room, and not to
check her if she wishes to look at her reflection in them.
" It may do more than anything to bring back her senses,"
he says. And they obey him. For a day or two, Mignon
does not seem to remark the replaced mirrors ; then she sud-
denly takes her place in front of one, and stares at it until some
one gently leads her away.
The sight does not appear to produce any effect upon her,
though she invariably puts her fingers up and down the scarred
side of her cheek, and touches her mouth where the teeth are
gone. The next day, when Olga is there, she goes to the glass
and mutters some word inarticulately. Olga strains her ears to
catch the sound. Again Mignon mutters. Olga fancies the
word is Raymond.
" Did you say Raymond, dear ?" she asks, softly, taking her
hand.
Again Mignon says, more distinctly this time,
"Raymond!"
But they can elicit nothing further from her, and presently
she seems to lose the idea, and subsides into her usual vacancy.
Each day after this her intelligence takes a step towards return-
ing, and it is evident to those who watch her that her mind is
dimly trying to grasp some thought or memory. That it is
connected with the change in her appearance is also a certainty,
for she constantly surveys herself in the glass, and every day
the trouble in her face deepens. One afternoon, Sir Tristram
comes as usual to visit her. Mary has gone for her accustomed
stroll in the grounds, and husband and wife are alone together.
One might think there was scant comfort or pleasure for Sir
Tristram in having Mignon all to himself, but it does please
him, since, in spite of her dumbness and her shattered beauty,
he loves her no less tenderly than when he was her lover, and,
as he holds her passive hand in his, his thoughts look ever
towards a future when it shall be permitted him to build up a
new life for her, and a happiness that shall not depend upon
the caprice of men's admiration. He feels, as he has never
MIONON. 345
felt before, that she is his, his entirely, utterly : the superiority
that her youth and loveliness gave her over him, in his eyes,
is gone, and they are equal.
Twilight has crept on : the room would be dark but for the
cheery blaze of the logs that throw their warm light on every
object, even to the farthest corners. Sir Tristram is seated on
the sofa beside Mignon : his ^yes are fixed upon the glowing logs,
and his thoughts are far awr y upon the oft-worn track of what he
will do for her when she g',ts well. Suddenly her hand moves,
he hears an inarticulate ?jund, and, turning towards her, sees
her eyes fixed on him in perfect consciousness, sees her poor
mouth quiver, tears rol) down her cheeks, hears the sound of a
broken sob. In a mo?.nent his arms are around her, her head
is pillowed on his breast, and he is pouring forth all the dear
and tender words of love's vocabulary upon her.
She is trying to speak : he bends an eager ear to catch the
sounds his ears have so long thirsted for. At first they are
scarcely intelligible, but she repeats them again and again :
" I am hideous, horrible ; no one will ever care for me
again."
" Oh, my darling," he cries, joyfully, " I love you, love you
tenfold if you care to have my love. You are as dear and
sweet to me as ever. I did not love you only for your beauty.
And in time" (soothingly) " we shall be able to bring a great
deal of it back."
" I am too horrible," she mutters, again, and tries to cover
her poor scarred cheek with both her hands. But gently he
takes them in his, and with unutterable tenderness kisses the
scars, that have no horror, no repulsion for him, so great and
perfect is his love.
" You are not horrible to me, my own love," he says, in his
deep, kind voice, and again he kisses her.
" Raymond," she murmurs.
He is smitten with a sudden chill : involuntarily his shield-
ing arms relax : he presses his lips tight in dumb pain. Oh,
God ! is the first thought of her returning reason indeed for
that other ? He waits in silent pain for her next words.
" He said so ; he said so," she reiterates, again and again.
"What did he say, darling?" asks her husband, in a low
voice, trying to stifle his bitter pain.
Mignon makes an effort to bring out her words, but they
r*
346 MIGNON.
are almost inarticulate. Sir Tristram bends his ear close to
catch them.
" He said," she mutters, " that if I had the smallpox, or
were crushed in a railway accident, no one would ever care for
me again."
" Did he ?" cries Sir Tristram, taking again that dear burden
into his faithful arms. " Oh, my darling ! I think he did not
know what true love meant."
And when Mary comes in he goes away to his room, and
reverently and devoutly upon his knees thanks God for what
seems to him the greatest blessing and happiness that has ever
been granted to him. For now he no longer doubts that his
darling's reason will return to her.
CHAPTER XL.
" An accent very low
In blandishment, but a most silver flow
Of subtle-pace'd counsel in distress,
Right to the heart and brain, though undescried,
Winning its way with extreme gentleness
Through all the outworks of suspicious pride."
TENNYSOX.
IT is an April day, a weeping, smiling day, a day whose
tears are sudden, passionate, and quickly over as a child's,
whose smiles are too intensely bright and sweet to last ; a day
especially anathematized by coachmen, for its bonny sunshine
tempts their masters and mistresses out, and its merciless showers
drench cattle and harness through and through. Their own
clothes and hats they don't so much mind about, their forti-
tude being increased by the secret knowledge of their employer's
chagrin. Among the candidates to be the eighth wonder of
the world, I would offer a place to the coachman who volun-
tarily put on an old hat when the weather was unsettled, or a
footman who unfurled the carriage-umbrella as soon as the first
drops of rain began to descend.
Mrs. Stratheden, prescient of coming storm, although
MIGNON. 347
Phoebus looks at this moment as if he was determined to
spend the rest of the day with Mother Earth, has ordered the
victoria with one horse. She is going to pay a visit of con-
gratulation to Kitty on no less important an occasion than the
birth of a son and heir to the house of Clover. About a
month has elapsed since the events of the last chapter, and
Master Clover is nearly three weeks old. Olga finds her little
ladyship sitting up in state, looking perfectly lovely. Her
face is like a blush rose ; she is apparelled in velvet the color
of the sky, set off with much fine lace ; on her golden curls
is perched a dainty confection from some eminent artist. (One
really cannot give the same name to this ethereal production
and the crochet pincushion cover with which modern house-
maids keep up the good old tradition of caps.) By her side,
on the sofa, snoozes a pug, black-faced as even Diabolus is
painted, while from a basket on her right peers a face no less
swart, relieved by a bilious eyeball. They know Olga, and
hold her in much esteem : therefore they do not greet her
with that deafening uproar, that setting of every separate hair
on end, with which it is the custom of well-bred pugs to receive
visitors at their house. Instead they assume a grovelling and
servile demeanor as they wriggle towards her, uncurling for
an instant their crisp tails to give them a friendly wag.
" What !" laughs Olga, after she has kissed their mistress
and addressed a few words to them in dog-language which they
understand perfectly ; " Strephon and Chloe still in possession !
Pray, where is the baby ?"
" Poor darlings !" answers Kitty, looking affectionately at
the wistful black faces which are waiting anxiously to hear
what is going to be said about them ; " you don't think" (re-
proachfully) " that I would forsake them for a rival, even
for a baby of my own. Could Missis be so hard-hearted ?"
she says, apostrophizing them ; and they roll their eyes and loll
their tongues pathetically, and answer, as plainly as they can
speak, " No, never."
" Nurse will bring baby directly," says the young mamma,
with an important air. " Now, remember, my dear, I am not
one of the foolish mothers who expect every one to go into
raptures over their children. The only thing I would rather
you did not say" (with merry, twinkling eyes) " is that he is
like Jo. His mother says baby is the image of what Jo was
348 MIONON.
in his infancy ; and she seems to think I ought to take it as a
compliment."
" She is delighted with her grandson, of course," says Olga.
" Delighted is no name for it, my dear. But you see, ex-
cellent as she is, I am not equal to dear mamma and reminis-
cences of Jo's teething all day long, so I have to send baby
away when I wish to dispense with his grandmamma's com-
pany. And then she hates these poor darlings so" (pulling
Strephon's ear), " and calls them beasts of dogs, that no Chris-
tian mother blessed with a precious babe of her own ought to
look at."
Chloe, sitting on Olga's velvet flounces, with her head
leaning against her, and her big pathetic eyes solemnly up-
turned, verifies this dreadful recital.
" And are they very jealous of the baby ?" asks Olga,
laughing.
" The instant he appears they both jump up on me at once,
and try to spread themselves out so that there shan't be any
room for him."
As Kitty speaks the words, the door opens and admits a
comfortable-looking elderly woman, bearing the heir of all the
Clovers, and the pugs carry out their mistress's statement by
taking immediate and jealous possession of her, licking her
hands and doing their utmost to divert her attention from the
hated stranger. Olga takes Master Clover in her arms, praises
the faint golden fluff on his head, tries to imagine she detects
a resemblance to Kitty, and he rewards her with an apoplectic
gurgle, which nurse affably interprets into a sign of satisfac-
tion at making her acquaintance. A moment later, the Dow-
ager Lady Clover sails in, her ringlets stiff and her cap-rib-
bons fluttering with delightful agitation.
" You must decide," she says, graciously, to Olga, after the
first salutations, " whom this cherub takes after. Is he not
the image, the breathing image, of his papa?"
Olga looks from the babe to its lovely young mother, and is
fain to confess in her heart that the little, pasty, blunt-featured
atom has a good deal more in common with Sir Josias than
with the piquante rosebud on the sofa. But she remembers
Kitty's injunction, and tries to steer a medium course by
seeing a likeness to both.
" I really believe," says Kitty, with a mischievous laugh,
MIGNON. 349
" that in your heart you think him the image of Strephon, if
he only had a black face, or Strephon a white one."
" My love," expostulates the dowager, severely, whilst Olga
cannot help smiling, " you should not say these things even in
jest. When you remember the way in which dogs are alluded
to in the Book of books, it is impious, I think, to name them
in the same breath with this sweet Christian infant."
" He isn't a Christian, you know, yet, mamma," says Kitty,
wickedly : "he hasn't been christened."
The dowager looks shocked.
" I appeal to you, Mrs. Stratheden," she remarks, with great
gravity. "I can't make dear Kitty see it" (the "dear" is
slightly acid). " Do you not think, now she has this blessed
darling, it is I really must say it wicked, a tempting of
Providence, to fondle these these animals ?" looking rancor-
ously at the pugs, who cast an appealing glance at Olga.
Olga pauses a moment, but the dowager's eye is severely
and questioningly fixed upon her.
" You see," she answers, gently, " Kitty has made such
pets of them, and they have been such an amusement to her.
and dogs are so faithful and so intensely sensitive to neglect
from those they love, don't you think it would be rather
cruel if she were to banish them all at once ?"
" There !" cries Kitty, triumphantly ; ' you hear that. Go
at once" (to the dogs) " and give a hand to your champion/'
And Strephon and Chloe with intense gravity march up to
Olga, and, sitting down on their haunches, offer her their right
paws.
Olga laughs, and the dowager hides her discomfiture in a
rapturous embrace of the neglected babe. Apparently her
sympathy annoys him, for he doubles his fists and begins to
scream lustily, whereupon nurse takes hasty flight, much grat-
ified by a handsome and stealthy douceur from Olga, under
pretext of one last admiring glance. The dowager, quite cer-
tain that nurse has been making an impromptu pincushion of
her idol, follows to see fair play.
" You see," says Kitty, plaintively, " I never can have him
all to myself. Mamma is very excellent and good, of course,
but but a little of her goes a long way. If I only knew
when she meant to go ! I asked Jo last night to give her a
hint j but, poor dear ! he looked so distressed, I hadn't the
30
350 MIONON.
heart to say any more. She tells him it wouldn't have lived
till now but for her !"
" I suppose it is a great pleasure to her," remarks Olga,
rather perplexed what to say, but sympathizing very much
with Kitty in her heart for having such a belle mere.
" Now," says Kitty, abruptly, " let us forget her. Tell me
all about poor Mignou. You can't think how I reproach my-
self for ever having quarrelled with her. I never was so
sorry for any one in all my life."
" She is wonderfully better," answers Olga, cheerfully.
" We think she will have her reason again perfectly in time,
and there is every hope that she will not be so very much dis-
figured ultimately."
" Poor thing ! how does she bear it?" says Kitty, her eyes
brimming with great drops of sympathy : " she was so lovely
and so devoted to admiration. Do you know, at the time, I
could hardly help thinking it would have been a mercy if
she had not lived ?"
" I felt so at first," answers Olga, gently ; " but we are not
so wise as One who orders our destinies. If, as I almost hope
may be the case, she learns to love Sir Tristram for his intense
goodness and devotion, if she comes to find her happiness at
home instead of in the world, won't it be better than if she
had kept her beauty and and it had perhaps spoiled her life?"
"How heartless of Raymond to rush off at once, before he
knew whether she would live or die!" cries Kitty, indignantly.
" Poor boy !" answers Olga ; " it did seem so ; but, oh,
Kitty, if you had seen him as I did ! He must have suffered
horribly : he was so pinched and ghastly-looking, I hardly
knew him. He is very sensitive, you know."
" Sensitive !" echoes Kitty, incredulously. " Much love he
must have had, to fly from her like the plague because he
thought her beauty was gone. That is just like men."
" Not all men," says Olga, softly. " Look at Sir Tristram !
If you could see his devotion, his perfect love of her, his
thoughtfulness, you would never say a word against a man
again. And really, my dear" (smiling), " I cannot imagine
that you have any right, from your own experience, to speak
harshly of the sex."
" I like to call them wretches and think they are," laughs
Kitty. " It gives me a pleasant feeling of superiority to talk
MIGNON. 351
of their wickedness and selfishness. My own experience ! no
indeed ! Jo is the dearest, best fellow in the world, and I
treat him shamefully. But he likes it, you know : it wouldn't
be me if I did not tease and worry and gird at him from
morning till night."
" I don't think you have very much on your conscience,"
smiles Olga.
" Tell me some more about Mignon," says Kitty; and Olga
complies.
" Ever since the day, about a month ago, that she recovered
her reason and had a great fit of crying, she has been per-
fectly sensible, though sometimes she sits for whole days with-
out saying a word. She is generally more or less in an apa-
thetic state : she rarely smiles, and every now and then has
terrible fits of crying, poor dear ! when she suddenly re-
members the change in her- looks ; and some days she has
frighful headaches, and cannot raise her head from the pillow.
Is it not strange ? she used to dislike me, you know, and
now she always seems pleased to see me ; and when these
frightful pains come on, nothing soothes her so much as my
passing my hand gently to and fro over her hair."
"Poor thing!" ejaculates Kitty. "How I should like to see
her ! As soon as I drive out I will go to her."
" I almost doubt if she would see you. She is very sensi-
tive about being looked at : none of the servants are allowed
to see her : the nurse, her sister, and Sir Tristram wait upon
her entirely. But I will hint at it, if you wish."
" Do !" cries warm-hearted Kitty. " I feel as if I can never
be happy until I have thrown my arms round her and kissed
her and asked her forgiveness (only in my heart, of course,
for all these bygones must be bygones). Does she ever allude
to Raymond?"
" Only in one way. It seems that once, I suppose when
they had some little quarrel, he told her that if she were to
lose her beauty, no one would ever care for her again, that
there was nothing else lovable in her."
" What a brute !" cries Kitty.
" You forget, my dear : she was beautiful then, and how
could he forecast so awful a calamity ? This seems always in
her thoughts; nothing Mary or I can say gives her any
comfort."
352 MIQNON.
" Poor, poor Mignon !" sighs Kitty.
Six more weeks, lighted by an ever warmer-waxing, longer-
tarrying sun, journey towards summer. May is drawing to
his last days, and Olga is still at The Manor House. The
charm of London seasons is wearing off for her. She is no
longer under the magnetizing influence that draws folk town-
and smokewards when, the country is putting forth her charms
most lavishly to stay them. She has not even made her
annual curtsy to her Sovereign, nor given definite orders to
the housekeeper in Curzon Street to make ready for her ad-
vent.
There are various reasons for this tardiness and indecision :
perhaps the strongest is that one day when she broached the
subject of her departure to Mignon, the poor thing burst into
tears and entreated that she would not leave her again. For
at the beginning of the month, feeling a want of change, she
had run over to Paris for a fortnight, and Mignon had missed
her terribly, and been almost inconsolable. Lady Bergholt has
not lost her old petulant, exacting ways ; though it is infinitely
touching sometimes to see how the poor thing will suddenly
stop short and sigh, and leave some imperious sentence un-
finished, as if she remembers that she no longer has the right
to exact.
But, beyond her sympathy for Mignon, Olga is feeling a lack
of interest in the things that once gave her pleasure. The world
seems empty and unsatisfying ; her heart aches with longing
for a separate individual interest in life ; the threads and frag-
ments of other more complete lives that come in contact with
her own give her a* sense of dissatisfaction. It seems an
empty, undesirable fate to lead a life of which her own pleasure
is the sole centre and object. She repents, in spite of all that
common sense can urge, repents bitterly of sending Leo away.
The more other men approach her with admiration and love,
the more she feels drawn towards the young fellow who had
given her his first, freshest, sincerest love. After the pleading
of his impassioned voice, the love-making of other men seems
stereotyped and unnatural. Lord Threestars, laying aside his
habitual languor, had been very much in earnest in his wooing,
but Olga, who liked him as a friend, was utterly unmoved to
any warmer feeling for him. For Leo she has that feeling
of protection that a woman invariably has for a man younger
MIONON. 353
than herself, and which in no way detracts from his lordship
over her heart, nor lessens his dignity in her eyes.
Olga is not of a sanguine disposition : she is perhaps more
prone to take the pessimist's than the optimist's view of life.
She tells herself that Leo will come back cured of his love for
her ; he may have sworn allegiance to a new mistress ; politics,
ideas that she has given him, may rival her ; or perhaps, she
thinks with a jealous pang (American women are very hand-
some and fascinating), perhaps some younger, fairer woman
than herself may console him for the love that gave him so
much pain. And, now that it is too late, she tells herself how
much her money and influence might have helped him ; how
she might have pushed him forward to a brilliant and useful
future. He had written to her in answer to her letter, but
he made no allusion to the old love, and she chose to think it
was because he was forgetting it.
" If he ever comes back ! if he still cares for me !" she says
to herself; but she finishes the sentence with a sigh only.
To return to Mignon. If one believed in a system of rewards
and punishments for our actions in this life, one might wonder
what iniquities this poor child had committed to draw down
upon herself so awful a retribution. Her little selfishnesses,
her love of pleasure, her comparative carelessness for the feel-
ings of others, which were after all very much the result of an
injudicious spoiling, were surely not enough to call forth such
a visitation. Every day makes her more keenly alive to her
misery, every day that improves her bodily health and helps
her system to rally from the shock it has received. She has
banished all the mirrors ; she will not permit a servant to come
near her ; she says daily to her husband, unconvinced by his
unceasing devotion, " You do not really care for me : it is
only pity." And to all his lavish tenderness and endearments
she only says, with a touch of her old scornful mirth, " You
are a wonderful actor, you do it most naturally, but there is
nothing to love in me now." And always when she says this
she falls to bitter weeping. Once now arid then she is touched
by his goodness, and says, taking his hand,
" How good you are to me ! I have not deserved it. I did
not go to you in London when you sprained your ankle. And
you have never once left me all these months. Do, do go
and have a holiday, and" (her voice quivering) "go to Lon-
30*
354 MIGNON.
don and see some pretty faces, and try to think I am only a
dreadful nightmare."
"My darling," cries Sir Tristram, grieved to the heart, "do
not say these things. How shall I make you believe that you
are as dear to me, nay, dearer than you ever were? Shall I
go and get my mother's Bible and swear upon it ? You know
I would not lie upon that."
" I do not know," she answers, captiously : " there are some
lies more holy than truth, and you might think that one.
Come" (smiling a little), " sit on this side of me," pointing to
her right side, " and look only at my profile, and try to think
both sides are alike."
He humors her whim, and sits down as she bids him, and
looks tenderly at the profile that is as lovely as ever.
" I will have a mask made for the other side," she says,
trying to smile, but ending in tears.
By dint of much persuasion she has been induced at last,
chiefly by Olga's efforts, to drive out. She is covered with
a thick veil ; the coachman and footman are emphatically for-
bidden even to look in her direction ; the woman at the lodge,
the people about, are all warned not to salute nor seem to see
her. She always carries a large parasol, and the companion
of her drive has orders to warn her of the approach of any
one, that she may hide her face. So morbidly sensitive is she
about her altered looks, she will not permit either her father
or mother to come to her. After a time she begins to study
with much interest how the ravages of her beauty may best
be repaired. She will go to London and have the four miss-
ing teeth replaced ; she will see the most skilful surgeons, and
they will surely be able to alter the drawing down of the flesh
from the eye, the caught-up lip, which is now her greatest dis-
figurement. She is full of this one day when Olga comes to
see her.
" I know I can never be beautiful again," she says, in a pa-
thetic voice. " I don't expect or hope for it : all I want is that
people may not shudder when they see me. Oh !" she cries,
bursting into bitter tears, " what did I ever do to deserve this ?
how can people say God is good or just ?"
Olga's only answer is to lay the poor head against her tender
breast, and kiss the golden hair.
" It is hard, darling," she whispers, presently. She is not
MIGNON. 355
of those who have ever ready at their lips texts of Scripture
appropriate to condemn the repining of the stricken at heart :
the words of Job's reproach to his officious friends could never
have been applied to her :
" I also could speak as ye do, if your soul were in my soul's
stead. I could heap up words against you, and shake mine
head at you."
Rather these :
" But I would strengthen you with my mouth, and the
moving of my lips should have assuaged your grief."
" What can I do ?" says Mignon, presently, with a gesture
of despair. " The women in books, when they lose their
beauty, turn religious, and go about and visit the sick. But"
(with a little shudder) " I cannot. I do not like the thought
of it any more than I ever did. Misfortune hasn't turned me
good : I think I am more wicked. I never used to feel so
bitter and spiteful as I do now. I wish I were a Roman
Catholic ! I would go into a convent."
Olga takes her hand, and looks at her with humid eyes.
" My dear," she says, gently, " there is work for you to do
in the world, better work than you could do by shutting your-
self away from it. You have a great deal in your power."
" No," cries Mignon, sharply j " I have not. I have
nothing."
" Yes, you have. First of all, you can make your husband
very happy. You know he loves you with all his heart ; you
know, although you feign not to believe it, that he loves you
as dearly as In your most beautiful days, more, because you
have need of him, and a real, true, noble love is not altered by
circumstances that would destroy an ignoble one."
" Like Raymond's !" breaks in Mignon, passionately. " Oh,
I did not think he could have been so base and cruel ! I never
cared for him" (vehemently). " I never pretended to. I
always laughed at his protestations of devotion, and made fun
of them, but I did not think he could have treated me so. If
he had been unhappy about me, if he had stayed to see whether
I lived or died, if he had sent some message to me, shown some
sorrow or pity for me, I could have forgiven him ; but to leave
me so ! oh, I hate him ! When I think of him, I long for
revenge, I long to hear of him in pain or misery, I '
"Hush, my dear," says Olga, softly. "Shall I tell you
356 MIONON.
what to do when these bitter thoughts come to you? Re-
member, not that you have lost an unworthy love, but that
you have always with you a pure, perfect one, a life bound up
in yours, which thinks itself amply repaid by a little love, a
little tenderness, from you. You need go no further afield to
do good than your own home. Try to make your husband
happy, and you can do it so easily by a few smiles, a tender word
now and then, and when you are better and able to think of
other duties, try to find some one who is miserable and in want,
whom a little help from you can perhaps make happy. You
can't think what a cure for misery it is to' relieve the pain of
others."
Mignon looks at her attentively.
" How good you are !" she says, remorsefully. " And I
used to hate you so !"
" At all events, you do not hate me now," answers Olga,
with a bright smile.
" I love you !" cries Mignon, throwing her arms round her.
" I think I love you almost better than any one except Gerry.
And" (looking intently at her) " I used to say you were not
pretty. I used to say I wondered what men saw to admire in
you. I can see it now. It was only my spite and jealousy.
T remember saying to that nice-looking, fair young fellow,
Raymond's friend, I forget his name, that you were old and
passee, and he turned upon me so angrily and said you were
his idea of a perfect woman in every way. Why do you
blush ? I hated him for saying it then, but now I agree with
him."
The rosy flush spreads to Olga's throat and neck : she is
conscious of a thrill of keen pleasure.
" I do want to be good," says Mignon, earnestly. " I know
I never shall be ; but if you talk to me often, it will put me
in mind of it. I never wanted to be good before : one must
be something" (with unconscious pathos), " and if one cannot
be beautiful, one ought to be good."
MIGNON. 357
CHAPTER XLI.
"For there is more, I thought, in man and higher
Than animal graces, cunningly combined,
Since oft within the unlovely frame is set
The shining, blameless soul."
Songs of Two Worlds.
HAVING resolved to go to London to obtain the best advice
how to repair the ravages of her beauty, Mignon is feverishly
anxious to be off at once. But, as she hates the thought of
the publicity of a hotel, Olga proposes that she shall spend a
week with her in Curzon Street, while Sir Tristram looks
about for a house. It is to be quite a small one, Mignon
insists, and no visitor is to set foot in it. No one is to know
they are in town ; no civilities are to be exchanged with any
one : even Olga has to promise faithfully that her guest shall
see and be seen by no one. Indeed, she promises more than
is asked of her, for she promises to devote herself entirely and
unreservedly to Mignon during the time that she is under her
roof. Even Mrs. Forsyth is to be left behind, an arrange-
ment in which she choerfully acquiesces, though with secret
displeasure.
And we know enough of Olga to be quite sure that she car-
ries out her promise to the letter. Her boudoir is devoted to
Lady Bergholt's sole use ; no one is permitted to enter it ; they
drive there in the evening, waited upon by Truscott, to whom
Mignon does not object. He has sufficient delicacy, even with-
out Mrs. Stratheden's hint, never to let his glance fall upon her
ladyship's face. He so far renounces his dignity as to take the
footman's place on the box of the brougham when his mistress
succeeds in persuading Mignon to drive out, thickly veiled and
concealed in a corner of the carriage, to watch the gay world in
which she took so prominent a part this time last year. The
poor child suffers at the sight, but it is a relief from the
ennui which is beginning to afflict her now that her apathy is
wearing off.
Olga reads to her, sings to her, talks to her, mesmerizes her,
358 MIONON.
devotes herself perfectly and entirely to her for the week they
are together, and Mignon's moods become softer, less petulant.
Her manner to Sir Tristram is more gentle, more affectionate,
than it has ever been. He is, in truth, far happier than he was
twelve months ago, and he wears this crushed flower more
tenderly and fondly in his breast than the proud, strong-stemmed
lily of last year.
Sir Tristram finds a house very near Olga's, much to his
wife's satisfaction, and Olga superintends the arrangement of
it, half fills it with flowers, transfers many delicate knick-
knacks that can be well spared from her own house, and by a
few artistic touches makes it look charming before Mignon
enters it. She has not forgotten a careful shading of light
which she knows will be grateful to the poor beauty who a
little while ago could bear unblushing the keenest gaze of an
inquisitive sun. Olga has to promise that she will very, very
often come and see her poor friend, who cries when she leaves
her for the first time.
Poor Mignon ! day by day the trial seems more bitter to her:
sometimes she feels it is more than she can bear : in the night,
wild thoughts come to her of shaking off a life that has become
intolerable. From behind her blind she sees gay carriages roll
by with well-dressed, happy women in them (they must be
happy, she argues : every woman must be happy who can show
an unscarred face to the world). She no longer cares for dress :
of what use are fine clothes to her, now that there is only her-
self to see them ? I suppose there are very few wives (even
affectionate ones) who think it worth while to dress for their
husbands. Perhaps, as a pendant to that remark, I might add,
I suppose there are very few husbands (even affectionate ones)
who know the color or material of their wife's gown. Sir
Tristram tries to tempt her to take an interest in her toilette :
he orders costly and elegant apparel to be sent for her inspec-
tion, but she generally rejects them with a pettish shake
of the head. One day a handsome black costume comes for
her approbation. Suddenly a remark of Olga's about giving
pleasure to others enters her mind. " I will keep it," she says,
blushing a little. " I think Regina would like it."
This is Mignon's first step towards a thought for others ;
and she feels so pleased with herself that she is tempted to
repeat her kind action. Sir Tristram is perfectly delighted ;
MIGNON. 359
he turns aside, that she may not see a treacherous dimness in
his eyes.
Every evening he reads to her : she likes it because it gener-
ally sends her to sleep, and she has the capacity for sleep that
most healthy young people possess. The only recreation he
permits himself is afternoon whist at his club. Mignon does
not like him. to drive with her, as she fears his being recog-
nized.
She is getting very weary of seeing no one. One day she sur-
prises her husband by saying, " Mr Conyngham may come and
see me. No doubt" (with a touch of the old scornful manner)
" it will be a great pleasure to him. And when be comes I
will see him alone."
Fred loses no time in obeying the summons. His heart is
a very kind one at the core, in spite of all the hard things he
loves to say, and his pleasure in depreciating human nature.
It is so kind, really, that his other self is very often much
ashamed of and very much inconvenienced by it. I think
no one out of her own family has been more thoroughly
grieved or sorry for Mignon than he : many a time has he
thought over hard words spoken to her in his anger at her tri-
umphant consciousness of her beauty, and heartily wished
them unspoken.
Her misfortune has taken the sting for her out of him now.
She may be as petulant, as wayward, as she will, she shall wring
no sharp retort from his lips again forever.
" I do not suppose it has sweetened her temper, poor soul!"
he says to himself, as he goes up the stairs. " She is not the
sort of woman to be softened by trouble, or I am very much
mistaken."
Sir Tristram opens the door, and he goes in alone, goes
straight towards her, and takes both her hands in his. He
cannot quite trust his voice : there is an unwonted huskiness
in his throat. But she does not give him time to speak.
" Well," she says, raising her eyes unblenchingly to his, and
speaking in the rather shrill key he has been accustomed to
when she was excited in controversy, " are you not glad ? are
you not delighted ?"
" My dear," he answers, in a voice quite strange to her ears,
it is so quiet and solemn, " what do you take me for. Believe
rne, there is no one else who has felt and feels more deeply for
360 MTGXON.
you than I. I am glad you sent for me. I have been long-
ing to come to you ever since I knew you were in town, to
ask you to forgive me for many unkind and bearish words I
have upon my conscience. We shall be the beet of friends in
future, I hope, my dear." And he gives the hands he has riot
yet relinquished a hearty squeeze, and sits down beside her on
the still beautiful side of her face.
" Ah," she says, in a voice quivering from nervous excitement,
and with a short, forced laugh, " you will not have occasion to
give me any more good advice now. You won't have to warn
me any more, or to tell me stories about women who have
spoiled their lives, not in that way, at least. No one is
likely to want to run away with me now : are they?"
Her voice trembles between tears and laughter. She is
growing hysterical.
" I don't know," Fred answers, stoutly. " I don't see so
very much amiss. But, all the same, I hope no one will want
to run away with you, or you with them, because I trust you
have found out what a good fellow Tristram is, and how much
more such love as his is worth having than "
" Oh, yes, I know, I know," she interrupts him, wearily.
" He is very good." Then changing her tone, and speaking
almost penitently, she says, with emphasis, "Yes, indeed he is
very, very good !"
Fred stays a long time with Mignon. He exerts himself to
the utmost to amuse her, and when he is going she says, with
frank simplicity,
" I did not think you could be so nice. Come again, won't
you?"
" That I will, as often as you like. But I have something
else to propose. Come and see me."
Mignon shakes her head.
" Nonsense, my dear child 1" he says, " you cannot shut
yourself up forever. Now, listen to my proposal. Come to-
morrow at five : you shall see no one, I promise. You can
amuse yourself by looking out of my window, which, as you
know, has a very cheerful prospect. At half-past six we will
dine. I know your favorite dishes" (smiling), " and after-
wards WG will have a box at the theatre. There is a piece at
the Strand that will make you die of laughing. You can put
on a mantilla, and sit behind the curtain, unless you like to
MTGNON. 361
turn your beautiful side outwards and have every one staring
at you."
It takes a long time to get Mignon's consent to Fred's pro-
posal^ but ultimately all her scruples are overcome : she goes,
and enjoys her evening thoroughly. As for Fred, to see his
tenderness and care of her, you would be divided, if you did
not know the party, between surmises as to whether he was a
doting father or an infatuated lover. Mignon has a return of
her old high spirits.
" You must not be too fascinating," she whispers to him,
laughing, " or you will have to warn me against yourself next
time. Why were you never like this before ?"
" Because I don't think you ever gave me the chance," he
answers. " I am sure I never thought you half so charming
before."
" In spite of my ugliness?" she says, growing sad.
" You are not ugly," cries Fred : " nothing can make you
that. And believe me, my dear, that a gracious manner, and
the charm of mind, are better in the long run than mere
beauty ; for, though beauty may win love more easily, these,
when they have won it, keep it."
After this Mignon is often persuaded to go to the theatre,
and, becoming less shy of being seen, she drives every even-
ing in an open carriage, starting just at the time that every
one else is coming home. She swears by Fred now : she can
do nothing without him. Sometimes she has fits of the
old imperious petulance, but do what she will, she can never
provoke a sharp retort or a cutting word from him. And in
time she leaves off trying.
It is settled that in July they are to go a parti carri to
Switzerland and the Rhine, Sir Tristram and Mignon, Fred
and Mary.
" And if you dare to fall in love with Mary, or pay her
more attention than me," says Mignon, half laughing, half
jealous, " I shall send her home." For, to tell the truth,
there are symptoms that Fred is beginning to discover in
Miss Carlyle many of the attributes of the model woman of
whom he discoursed to Sir Tristram on our first acquaintance
with him.
" She has the grace of manner and the charm of mind, I
suppose," says Mignon, teasingly.
Q 31
362 MIGNON.
" And she is quite pretty enough for anything," cries Fred,
warmly.
" You are a faithless monster," pouts Million ; " and I will
never please you by saying I love your dear old ugly face
again."
" But if I can't have you for a wife, why may I not love
you as a sister?" says Fred, half grave, half laughing.
Mignon, whose nature craves excitement, finds the nearest
approach to it in travelling. She has always loved open air,
sunshine, and movement, and, now that she can no longer en-
joy the aliment of men's flattery and admiration, she is be-
ginning to find beauties in nature which she never before
suspected. Formerly her first idea had always been to poser
as an object of attraction herself; now, in her almost morbid
self-consciousness, she desires most eagerly to remain unseen,
unnoticed, and wishes to find gratification for her own senses.
And travelling with two such intelligent companions as Sir
Tristram and Fred could only fail to be agreeable and instruc-
tive to the dullest, most unreceptive of persons. That Mignon
never was. She loved vanity and frivolity, it is true, but she
was always capable of better things, only the bent of her in-
clinations did not lead her towards mental improvement. Here,
abroad, where she rarely meets any one she ever saw or heard
of, she is less sensitive about being seen, and, sheltered by her
parasol, and a veil that she can drop at will, she abandons
herself to the enjoyment of the fine weather and the delicious
air, and recovers a great measure of her natural high spirits.
She is capricious and petulant at times, says rude things, is
hard to please, but still it is patent to them all that she does
make occasional efforts at self-conquest, such as she never
dreamed of in the palmy triumphant days of her loveliness.
She is touchingly conscious of her loss of the prerogative she
imagines beauty gives a woman to ride rough-shod over the
rest of the world. The only reproof Fred ever gives to her
sharp petulance is a smiling shake of the head, and the two
sentences, spoken half in jest,
" The grace of manner and the charm of mind."
" I shall never have them," cries Mignon. " I never had
anything but my beauty ; and now that is gone, I shall drop
into a soured ugly wretch, whom no one cares for."
" You won't do anything of the sort, my dear," answers
MIGNON. 363
Fred, kindly. " Why, you are so improved already I hardly
know you, not at all like the Mignon of last year, whom I
used to bully so shamefully and rudely."
"But what has improved you?" asks Mignon. "You 1 '
(laughing ruefully) " have not lost any of your beauty, and
from being the Grossest old stick in the world you have become
as good-natured as as "
" Don't try to find a simile," laughs Fred. " The effort is
rarely successful."
Gradually, by almost imperceptible degrees, Mignon's man-
ner to her husband is undergoing a change. True, she is
more pettish, more capricious, more wilful with him than with
any one else ; but that is usually the portion of the one who
loves the best. But every now and then, used as she is to
his unfailing care and though tfulness for her, receiving it as
she does, and has always done, as a simple matter of course,
she is struck by some evidence of love that touches even her,
and the dawn of gratitude begins to break for the first time in
her heart. He is never importunate, never puts forth any
claim to her thanks : he does all, thinks of all, content with
love's reward of knowing it has done its utmost. Sometimes,
in passing him, Mignon will lay her hand on his shoulder
caressingly, or bestow a bird-like kiss on the top of his head ;
sometimes she will so far condescend to perch for a moment on
his knee, with her pretty side turned towards him ; and once
or twice she has been touched into crying, " How good you
are, and how little I have deserved it !"
So that, after all, one may hope this awful blow which has
fallen upon her may turn out to be a " blessing in disguise."
Meantime, a quiet matter-of-fact kind of wooing is going on
between the other couple. Fred has dropped his biting cyni-
cisms on the marriage state ; has left off lauding the comfort
and peace of bachelorhood : he begins to see good where he i
had declared there could but be strife and misery before. He
does not look forward with any satisfaction to his return to those
comfortable chambers in Piccadilly : a well-organized but empty
room, the hired smiles of welcome of a civil servant, do not offer
him that sense of tranquil bien^etre they have been wont to
do. Unromantic Fred has been troubled of late with visions
of a tender woman's greeting smile, of kind, soft eyes that shall
be glad of him, of a gentle hand to smooth the creases from
364 MJQNON.
his world-worn brow, of sweet lips ready to oppose a loving
charity to his sharp cynical utterances. He has found this
bright particular star, a good woman, he thinks, one who is
pious, yet not narrow-minded, charitable, not self-righteous,
high-principled, yet sweetly tolerant of the short-comings of
others, not censorious, not selfish, but finding her pleasure in
yielding her own will and comfort to that of others. And Mary,
who has that gentle and good gift of discovering virtue behind
however thick a crust the possessor elects to wall it in with,
has found much to admire and respect in Fred, and is by no
means averse from the thought of spending the rest of her pil-
grimage in his company.
So it happens that one September morning, Fred having
quietly but persistently overcome every one's scruples and preju-
dices (Mignon's was the strongest), he and Mary are quietly
married at a little English church in a foreign town. After a
brief honeymoon they return to Sir Tristram and Lady Berg-
holt, and all proceed on their way to Italy.
It is hard upon Sir Tristram, who, heartily sick of foreign
travel, has looked forward so keenly to the pleasures of Eng-
lish country life, to be dawdling in foreign cities that he knows
by heart, instead of striding through stubble and turnips after
partridges, or shooting his coverts on crisp autumn days, or
cub-hunting, or riding around his farms. But he never hints
at the privation it is to him, never shows symptoms of the
weariness he feels, and Mignon, whose perceptive faculties are
not acute, does not suspect the home-sickness from which her
husband is suffering. For her own part, she loathes the very
name of Bergholt : she never wants to return there : she has
not forgiven the coldness of her county neighbors, in spite of
the handsome way in which, after her accident, they allowed
bygones to be bygones, and vied with each other in attention,
inquiry, and sympathy. Lady Blankshire wrote quite a touch-
ing letter to Sir Tristram, came frequently to inquire personally
after the poor sufferer, and regularly three times a week the
brilliant Blankshire livery might be seen traversing the road
between the Castle and Bergholt Court. She is none the less
" an old cat" in Mignon's eyes. But for no one does she feel
the bitterness that Baymond has awakened in her soul.
" Oh," she said one day to Olga, clasping her hands, and
speaking with suppressed passion, " I would give almost every-
MIONON. 365
thing I have, yrily to be revenged on him ! If I could only
hear that he was ill, or hurt, or maimed, that he had lost all
his money, or met with some dreadful misfortune, I think I
could be reconciled to my own fate. When I think that he
still goes about the world, well and handsome, telling lies, per-
haps, to other women, talking of his romance, his poetry, his
sympathy, his power of sacrificing his life, his future, for one
he loved, it makes me feel as if I should go out of my senses.
I never thought" (with intense passion) " that I could hate
any one as I hate him !"
" Hush, dear," said Olga, softly : " do not encourage such
thoughts. Those who hate are always miserable: the least
satisfying passion in the world, when it is attained, is revenge."
CHAPTER XLII.
" New life, new love, to suit the newer day :
New loves are sweet as those that went before :
Free love, free field, we love but while we may."
The Last Tournament.
SIR TRISTRAM, who always loves to give pleasure to others,
has lent the Bergholt shooting to Mr. Carlyle and Gerry, with
permission to ask as many friends as they please. It is ex-
tremely agreeable to Captain Carlyle to be in a position to offer
so handsome a return to men who have shown him civilities
in his less palmy days, and G-erry, who is tremendously pop-
ular in his regiment, is not a little proud to give his colonel
some unexceptionable shooting in the Bergholt preserves, and,
later on, to gather together a few congenial spirits. We may
be quite sure that he takes no liberties, and does not encroach
on the kindness of which he is so heartily sensible.
Fred has got utterly sick of foreign travel, and, though he
has borne it patiently for Mignon's sake, long after he is weary
of it, Sir Tristram thinks it unfair that his friend shall be vic-
timized beyond reasonable endurance. He has prevailed upon
him to take up his head-quarters at The Warren for six months,
31*
366 MIONON.
until he and Mrs. Conyngham shall have decided upon their
future abode ; and this arrangement has been very gratifying
both to Fred and his wife. The former looks keenly forward
to the sport, and the latter to being near her mother, who, it
is evident, sadly misses her.
Regina is to join Lady Bergholt in Paris the beginning
of the year, and, meantime, Sir Tristram and his wife are
going up the Nile, as Mignon's thirst for travel remains un-
quenched. Her husband is consoled by the thought of having
her all to himself: he has become so necessary to her now
that the idea of his constant society does not bore her as it
once did.
The beginning of February finds them back in Paris, and
finds also a remarkable improvement in Mignon's appearance.
She is less sensitive about it, too, and no longer objects to ap-
pear in public ; but she has a great dislike to being very near
any one, especially a man. From a short distance the scars
and the little peculiarity of expression which her accident has
given her are hardly noticeable : people say at first, seeing her
elegance, her perfect tournure, and her golden hair, " What a
lovely woman !" Then, as frequently, they correct themselves
and say, " There is something wrong about her face. What
is it?" Mignon is acutely conscious of this, and always shades
her left side from scrutiny with a fan or parasol. It gives her
a melancholy satisfaction sometimes, when she is driving, to
see heads turned to look at her in evident admiration as in the
old days of her beauty ; but it is a pleasure alloyed with much
pain. She has resumed, to a certain degree, her taste for
dress, and never spares an opportunity of making herself ap-
pear to the best advantage. But she has so utterly persuaded
herself that she can never again inspire love or be pleasing in
the eyes of men, that she shrinks instinctively from their com-
pany. There is a certain shyness in her manner that many
people would think more takimg than the confidence her beauty
wore so bravely in the olden days : she has a little way of re-
lying upon her husband that is infinitely sweet to him, and
gives a charm she is unconscious of to herself. Hers is not a
nature to entertain an ardent affection, but what love she has
she is growing to give Sir Tristram. And to him it is a gift
so precious and unlooked-for that he counts all sacrifices made
for it as naught.
MIGNON. 367
One evening they are at the Opera : it is a remnant of the
poor child's vanity to turn her fair side to the audience, a
vanity which, though unconfessed, her husband is perfectly
conscious of, and never fails to gratify by taking a box on the
left of the stage.
She is exquisitely dressed to-night, as always ; her lovely
shoulders are bare, and one beautiful arm rests on the front
of the box. Nearly every glass in the house is levelled altern-
ately at her and another woman who occupies the box on the
other side that immediately corresponds with Lady Bergholt's.
Sir Tristram, who is too much of an Englishman to be
pleased for a lady in his company to be the object of much
attention or remark from his own sex, might, under other
circumstances, be ill pleased at his wife placing herself so
much en evidence; but he has no heart to rob her of what, after
all, is so triste a pleasure.
The lady who shares with Mignon the general attention and
approbation is strikingly handsome, on a larger scale than
Lady Bergholt, also perfectly dressed, and having an air that
you rarely meet with except in a Parisian. In the box, and
opposite to her, is a stout man, with a bald head, gray mous-
tache, a ribbon in his button-hole, evidently the husband.
He does not occupy himself with his wife : apparently some
one else is doing that, by the smiles and charming gestures
Madame turns constantly to a third person sitting in the shade
behind her, with an evident desire to remain unseen. Mon-
sieur looks discreetly at the stage, at the house, everywhere
except at his wife ; and when the ballet commences, a danseuse
with enormous eyes, magnified by unspared paint, with black
hair, and well-developed muscles, engrosses his whole attention.
She wears diamonds of considerable value in her ears and on
her breast, and she is exchanging coquettish glances with a
gommeux in the stalls. This seems to give exceeding dissatis-
faction to Monsieur, who grinds his teeth, and mutters fre-
quently a word that seems to be almost entirely composed
of r's.
Mignon has watched the occupants of this box with con-
siderable interest : she is devoured by an insatiable curiosity to
see the third person, to whom the husband pays so little and
the wife so much attention, but it is not gratified. She has
been able to catch a glimpse of a man's hand softly pressing
368 MIGNON.
the slim hand of the lady, gloved nearly to the elbow, but the
head and face are kept rigidly, with evident intention, in the
shade. Mignon, looking furtively behind her fan, is conscious
that the Frenchwoman is pointing her out, and expects to see
her companion bend forward ; but in vain : either he can see
her where he sits, or he does not care to. Mignon is piqued,
she knows not why.
Could she have her wish, could she see the face concealed
behind the lady's pearly shoulders, how the red blood would
mantle in her cheek ! how madly her heart would beat ! For
the handsome head bent towards Madame, the curved lips
through which such tender words are flowing, belong to none
other than Raymond L'Estrange. With a sudden start, an
uncomfortable pulsing of his heart, he has, almost immediately
on entering the box, recognized the woman for whom he had once
professed himself willing to hold the world well lost. Instinct-
ively he shrinks from being recognized by her, half because
of the stinging memory of his neglect of her, half because
he would not have her wounded by the sight of his devotion
to the woman who now holds in his heart the place that she
once held. His feelings are strangely mixed as he looks at
her. She has been the fairest, dearest thing in life to him,
she has been an object of horror and sickening disgust, now
she is simply nothing. After the first shock of surprise, he
can contemplate her perfectly unmoved. How often does his-
tory repeat itself in this wise ! how often a man can look in
after-days with perfect impassiveness upon the woman who
once gave the zest to his life, the warmth to his sunshine, the
scent to his roses, who was to him the essence of all to be de-
sired here, to be hoped for hereafter.
Raymond can even wonder, enthralled as he is by the fasci-
nations of the woman beside him, how he could ever have been
so infatuated with Lady Bergholt. He remembers with dis-
gust how sharply she was wont to snub him, how frankly rude
she used to be, how cold, how ungracious, how indifferent.
" Pshaw ! I was a boy !" he mutters to himself, wishing to
console his vanity for having made so gross an error. " If I
had had my way, where on earth should I be now ?" And
he comforts himself with the thought that he is with a charm-
ing woman, who is never dull nor stupid nor ill-tempered, who
never utters a word that can ruffle his keen sensibilities, and
MIGNON. 369
who, greatest of all charms, has a husband who is not in the
least degree jealous or afflicted by his attentions to her.
" What a charming head !" Raymond's marquise whispers
to him, indicating Lady Bergholt with her eyes. " One of
those lovely blonde heads that one only sees in your country-
women."
" Do you think so ?" he answers, indifferently ; then, in a
lower, warmer key, " In my eyes there 'is only one lovely head,
and that is not blonde."
The marquise shows her pearly teeth in a gracious smile.
" I am not afflicted with jealousy," she says. " It is not
pain to me to hear another woman praised. Come, confess
she is charming, a perfect face, and the figure of a Venus."
" You have only seen one side," answers Raymond, in a
cold, dry voice. For the life of him, he cannot tell what
makes him say it.
"What?" laughs the marquise; "has she the face of a
Janus ? Does she smile on one side and frown on the other ?"
Raymond feels a pang of shame at having spoken so un-
feelingly.
" She was very lovely," he says, " one of the most beauti-
ful women in England. She met with an accident in the
hunting-field, and one side of her face, I am told, is a good
deal disfigured."
"Ah !" murmurs the marquise, with an accent of profound
pity. Merciless as men love to say women are towards each
other, there is not one, I think, incapable of feeling a pang for
a sister who has lost her chief weapon in the fray of life.
She feels as a man might towards a fellow soldier or sports-
man with his right arm disabled. " But," she continues,
watching the box opposite furtively from behind the shelter
of her fan, " Are you quite sure it is the same ? There is
some one evidently for whom she has not lost her charm,
some one to whom she is not afraid to turn her disfigured side;
a handsome man, too, with a noble, distinguished air."
" Oh," returns Raymond, indifferently, " that is the hus-
band."
" Ah," says the marquise, with arched eyebrows, " I have
'heard wonderful things of English husbands."
And she gives a little envious sigh, and lets her eyes fall
for a moment upon her own husband, who is still angrily
Q*
370 MIGNON.
watching the abnormally large-eyed danscuse. A little sar-
castic smile curves her handsome mouth : her husband's rival
is a friend of her own. Then she turns to Raymond, and
says, softly,
" Tell me, my friend, is it that you English are by nature
more faithful than Frenchmen, or that your women know
better how to keep your hearts than we?"
Raymond gives a short laugh.
" I think the British idol, respectability, has the most to do
with it. But you do not meet with so much of it in our
higher circles now."
" Ah," says the marquise, with a fine smile (if one may so
translate the expressive Jin sourire), " fidelity is a vulgar virtue.
Tell me" (in a lower key), " do you think you will ever be one
of the model husbands?"
" No," answers Raymond, as emphatically as though he
were repudiating the possibility of infidelity to the marquise,
" never."
" Not yet," she says, softly. " Ah, mon bel enfant, love has
not yet said its last word for thee. The ballet is over. Let
us go."
Lady Bergholt observes the preparations for departure, and
resolves to leave too, her desire to see the third occupant of the
opposite box having steadily increased during the performance.
Curiosity has always been fatal to Eve's daughters, and Mig-
non's persistent inquisitiveness upon this occasion is only one
more unneeded verification of a threadbare fact.
She does not take Sir Tristram into her confidence, but
simply says,
" I am tired, dear. Shall we go ?" And he at once leaves
the box to seek his servant.
He is absent some two or three minutes, whilst Mignon
sees with impatience that the objects of her curiosity have
already left their box.
" How long you have been !" she cries, with a touch of the
old petulance, when Sir Tristram returns.
" Have I ?" he answers, surprised. " I could not find James
at first. And I did not know you were in such a hurry."
She takes his arm hastily, and almost runs in her eagerness
to get to the door. Raymond has just put the marquise into
her coupe", and is returning to the house. He comes full upon
MIGNON. 371
Sir Tristram and Lady Bcrgholt. It is an awkward moment:
he cannot possibly avoid them, and has not a moment for re-
flection. So he acts upon the first impulse, which is to take
off his hat and advance, smiling, to meet them. A sudden,
violent anger takes possession of Mignon, crimsons her cheeks,
gives her a supernatural strength. With one hand she draws
the mantilla sharply over her face, with the other she drags
Sir Tristram, who is stopping to speak to the young man,
away. There is no mistaking her gesture, and Raymond,
reddening and uncomfortable, pursues his way, whilst Mignon
stands, palpitating, trembling, in the clear frosty air. When
the carriage comes, she throws herself into a corner in silence.
Her husband does not speak to her : he sees that she is violently
agitated, and thinks it kinder to leave her to herself. " Poor
soul !" he reflects, " it is natural she should be agitated at see-
ing him ;" but a pang crosses his breast lest her anger should be
after all but an impulse of wounded love. He has not remarked
the flirtation at the Opera that so strongly interested Mignon ;
he does not know how passionate a jealousy hatred as well as
love can bear ; he does not dream that his wife is smarting
under the stinging thought that life and love still lie before
the man who has been cruel and treacherous to her, that his
beauty is untarnished, his handsome curved lips can still re-
peat poetic lies in other women's ears, his eyes melt to the
old tenderness for beauty's sake, beauty that has not been
scarred and maimed through his fault. For she is unjust, as
women are apt to be, and says to herself that if he had not
encouraged her to disobey her husband, she would never have
gone hunting at all.
It is a longish drive to their appartement in the Avenue du
Bois de Boulogne, but Lady Bergholt does not recover from
her agitation : the hand Sir Tristram takes to help her alight
is feverish and trembles violently. He follows her to her room,
where the maid is waiting for her.
" You need not stay," Sir Tristram says, and the Abigail,
though she looks surprised, goes without a word. A well-bred
man servant never looks surprised ; the more events astonish
him, the more marble waxes his countenance ; but a woman
would have to go through a tremendous amount of training
before she could be taught not to look her astonishment.
Gently Sir Tristram removes Mignon's shawl, and performs
372 MIQNON.
the duties he has imposed upon himself: it is easy to see he
is not a novice at it, and she impassively lets him do as he will,
not seeming to notice that he is there at all. But suddenly,
as though the strain had been too great, she gives way, and,
turning, flings her arms about his neck, and, laying her head
upon his breast, breaks into passionate, uncontrollable weeping.
Thus he holds her, her fair head pillowed on his faithful breast,
his strong arms binding her, and, though he speaks no word,
she is soothed, feeling in the strength and tenderness of his
clasp that his heart is her shield and buckler against the world,
that, though there be false and cruel men, here at least is one
whose love is perfect, whose truth is as steel, and through all
the bitterness she grasps, however feebly, the truth that a
lawful and pure love is the only love worthy a woman's
having;.
CHAPTER XLIII.
" Says she not well ? and there is more this rhyme
Is like the fair pearl necklace of the Queen,
That burst in dancing, and the pearls were spilt,
Some lost, some stolen, and some as relics kept.
But nevermore the same two sister pearls
Ran down the silken thread to kiss each other
On her white neck. So is it with this rhyme ;
It lives dispersedly in many hands,
And every minstrel sings it differently ;
Yet is there one true line, the pearl of pearls,
Man dreams of fame, while woman wakes to love."
TENNYSON.
I MUST ask the long-suffering reader, who has gone with
me thus far, to let me again take the novelist's privilege, of
which I have more or less liberally availed myself in this story,
and, putting back the hands of the clock, return once more
upon my steps. Go back with me, then, through winter's
crisp frost and autumn's decay of all that summer made ripe
and fair, to the hot bright day in late July, when Leo, fresh
from his travels, comes joyfully back to the home of his
fathers. He may have seen much to wonder at, much to ad-
MIGNON. 373
mire, much that he would never have dreamed of if he had
remained in England ; his mind may be enlarged, his sym-
pathies widened, by contact with men of other nations, lan-
guages, and habits ; but he returns with his love and faith in
his own country increased a thousandfold, as every Englishman
worth his salt always does.
If you had seen him this morning, with his magnificent
golden beard, you would hardly have recognized him ; but
now that he is shaved, and has only his fair moustache, and
enough whisker to make him thoroughly English, he is very
little changed from the Leo of last year. Perhaps he looks two
or three years older (he looked ten with his beard) : there are a
few lines, of not much prominence, that thought and pain of
mind have graven ; he is a trifle broader, more muscular, and
much more self-possessed. He is a fine-looking fellow, and I
think few of his countrymen would take exception to his
being pointed out as a good representative type of an English-
man. He has shaved his beard in deference to a well-known
prejudice of his father's.
" I like to see a man's mouth and chin," Mr. Vyner senior
is wont to say : " then I know something about him. If a
man has a fool's chin and knows it, or bad teeth, I don't so
much blame him ; but if he only makes himself like a Skye
terrier because he's too lazy to shave, or thinks he looks pretty,
I object entirely. Besides, it's a beastly, dirty habit. Many
a time I've seen a man at dinner making himself delightful to
a woman when I've read in her eyes that she was longing to
tell him his beard was full of crumbs or melted butter."
In deference to his father's opinion, then, and because he
wishes to convince him that he has come back as English as
he started, Leo has sacrificed what, in the eyes of many mis-
guided fair ones, would have been his greatest ornament.
Mr. Vyner is patrolling the drive, the hall, the rooms, with
excited expectation, ready to swear at anybody or anything on
the slightest provocation. He never knew how dear that boy
of his was until he had lost and was on the eve of finding him
again. He is as nervous as a woman, and begins to think
about railway accidents, and then looks at his watch and the
hall clock, and fumes and frets, and pishos and pshaws at him-
self for an old fool. lie comes with exasperation upon Hales,
in a cap flaunting with gay ribbons, lying in wait behind a
32
374 MIGNON.
door, and he sees peeping faces that he would heartily like to
slap, at various coigns of vantage.
" Can't the jades let me have him to myself for one minute ?"
he mutters, angrily. u Women never have any decent feeling:
they must poke their d d inquisitive noses into everything."
Wheels at last. He rushes to the door, sees in the distance
two figures, and beats a hasty retreafe.
" Tell Mr. Leo I am in my room," he cries to the butler.
He is not going to run the risk of making a fool of himself
before his servants : he does not want to share Leo with the
butler and the maids, and he has a strange, nervous sensation of
choking that involves a good deal of clearing of his throat. A
minute more, and the cheery ring of that pleasant, beloved
voice falls on his expectant ear.
" How are you, Simpson ? how are you, Hales ? Where is
my father?"
The door is flung open, and for the life of me I cannot say
in the confusion and excitement what happens then. A minute
later Mr. Vyner is still shaking Leo by both hands, and there
is an unwonted moisture in both men's eyes, and an uncertain
quivering about the muscles of their mouths. The dogs are
leaping upon Leo, clamoring frantically for notice, and he looks
as he feels, right glad of his home-coming and his welcome.
How much there is to tell, how much to hear, and, as is always
the case, how few words either can find at first ! Presently
Leo is allowed five minutes' leave of absence to say, " How
d'ye do ?" to Hales and the butler, to give cheery words and
smiles all round, and tell everybody that when his things are
unpacked they will find they have not been forgotten.
" Well, my boy," says Mr. Vyner, as they smoke after-
dinner cigars by the open window, " I suppose I need not tell
you how glad I am to have you back."
" Not more glad than I am to get back, sir," answers Leo,
heartily.
" You look twice the man you did when you went away,"
proceeds Mr. Vyner, looking with undisguised pride at his
stalwart son. " I suppose, after all, change is a good thing.
And you've quite got over your hopeless passion, eh ? given
up crying for the moon ?"
" Yes," answers Leo, gravely.
" There !" cries Mr. Vyner, triumphantly ; " did I not tell
MIQNON. 375
you when you were going about this time last year with your
long, miserable face, didn't I tell you that you'd forget all about
it, and probably be very thankful you didn't have your own
way?"
" It isn't that, sir," says Leo, quietly. " It is not that the
moon is any less desirable or beautiful in my eyes, only that,
like the child, I have come to realize how far off it is."
" Humph!" says his father, with grim jocularity; "then
you'll have to be content with one of the lesser planets, I
suppose you will marry ; though heaven knows I don't want
a woman here, upsetting the place and filling it up with gim-
cracks and trumpery."
" Make your mind happy, my dear father," laughs Leo.
" I do not think my wife will ever give you much trouble."
So it may be seen that, if Leo has not altogether overcome
the passion that has been so fraught with pain, he has at least
conquered it enough to go about the world with a cheerful
face and a mind prepared to take up the sterner interests of
life. It is at the close of this session that Mr. Gladstone sur-
prises the country by giving up the Premiership. Mr. Vivian
takes the opportunity of retiring from Parliament, giving Leo
all his influence and support. Elections and runs are things
that have been described so often and so well that I will not
attempt to give any details of Leo's canvassing, but content
myself by saying that, after encountering sufficient opposition
to give zest to success, Leo is returned as the Conservative
member. He is thoroughly popular, and the manner in which
he acquits himself at the trying time draws down no small
meed of approbation upon him. He has lost the mauvaise
honte that oppressed him formerly, and, now that he has
travelled and studied and thought, he has formed opinions of
his own and speaks his own convictions, not random words put
into his mouth by his agents to give him a temporary popularity,
and uttered without consideration as to whether he means to
stand by them. Leo is not extravagant in his promises, nor
does he indulge in vague and flowery rhetoric. He says simply
what he means to try to do, and what he thinks is right and
fair, and the free and independent electors who look at the
frank honesty of his face, and who catch the ring of truth in
his firm, quiet voice, make up their minds that for once they
have got the right man in the right place. Mr. Vyner's
376 MIGNON.
opinions have undergone a considerable change. The reluc-
tant disgust with which he formerly contemplated his son's
going into Parliament has given way to unfeigned pride and
pleasure: he has been with Leo through all the canvassing,
and has watched him with an astonished pride and respect that
has many a time set the blood glowing in his veins. He can-
not realize that this self-possessed man, with the frank, dis-
tinguished bearing, is the same Leo who blushed and stammered
out his thanks so lamely at his coming of age. He even says
humbly to himself, " I was an old fool ; and, if he had listened
to me, I should have missed the proudest day of my life."
The days no longer hang upon Leo's hands : he is happy
and contented, as every man must be who has constant and
healthy occupation for his mind. It is only women who are
compelled to sit at home idle, brooding sadly over the dark
side of life, and the happiness that might have been. Trite
may be the saying, "Work is the universal panacea," but
there is no truer one in the English language. Many years
ago I met with a passage in a book that took considerable
hold of my mind. I believe it was one of Mrs. Graskell's,
and at this distance of time, with no means of correcting my-
self by reference if wrong, I will not vouch for giving the
exact words. But these are near enough : " Thinking has
often made me very unhappy : acting never has. Do some-
thing : do good if you can, but do something !"
Olga is suffering terribly from her enforced idleness. What
can a rich woman not rich enough to be a public benefactor,
like Lady Burdett Coutts, but a woman in possession of a
handsome income, with no ties, no pursuit but that of seeking
her own amusement, do with her life ? Olga does give, gen-
erously, lavishly; but giving, to a woman in her position,
generally means sitting down for a moment before her escritoire
and tracing a few lines in her check-book. She visits her
own poor, but they are so well cared for, this gives her very
little to do or think of. There are no harrowing cases of want
and misery to exercise her tender heart : she takes good care
there shall not be.
This has been almost the most miserable summer she ever
remembers. She has no heart or pleasure in anything, but
wanders about among her flowers, and lies in her hammock
on the green island, with only the heartache for company.
MIGNON. 377
Tears are often in her eyes : she feels a loneliness that, in spite
of the ease and luxury which surround her, makes her no more
to be envied than the poor sempstress who toils in a garret,
with only a crust between her and starvation. It is Olga's
heart that is getting starved, and the pang of hunger is harder
to bear because her hands are idle. She knows that Leo is
back in England, and feels cruelly hurt by his silence. Ray-
mond has written to her of his friend's return : he himself is
still absent, and does not even talk of coming home. Leo had
written once in answer to the letter his father forwarded : in
it he had told her of his travels, of his intended movements,
but there was not a word of love or hope, not a syllable he
might not have written to a woman for whom he had never
professed anything more than the most ordinary friendship.
Surely women are unreasonable, and Olga, in this sense, shows
no superiority over the rest of her sex. A woman will tell a
man plainly that she can never be anything to him, that he
must think of her as a sister, a dear sister, if he will, but
only as a sister ; but no sooner does he obey or seem to obey her
than she accuses him of caprice, of faithlessness, of incapability
of feeling a real love. Once her slave, he must always be her
slave, and hug his chains, though she treats him with coldness
and cruelty, though she engages herself to another man, some-
times even though she marries another. Olga is persuaded
that Leo has quite forgotten her : she tries to fortify herself
by saying she has been very wise in applying the test, seeing
how utterly unable he was to bear it. And yet there are times
when the love of him, the desire to see him, takes such pos-
session of her soul, she thinks she could have borne better to
be unhappy with him than to be so lonely and miserable
without him.
She reads in the paper that he is the Conservative candidate
f or D j and sends for the local papers and devours greedily
every word in them that concerns him. She is divided be-
tween joy and pain when she hears of his success, she has
grown so jealous of the new mistress, whom she herself gave
him as a consolation for the loss of herself.
When it is over, she sits down to write to him. She has
expected to hear something from him : he might even have
had the common politeness to send her a paper. But, from
first to last, he makes no sign. Then, ashamed of her own
32*
378 MIGNON.
weakness, yet unable to conquer it, she takes pen in hand,
and writes him thus :
"Mr DEAR LEO,
" I have been hoping that, in spite of all the occupation a
contested election must have given you, you would find time
to write a few words to one who takes pleasure in remember-
ing (if you have forgotten it) that she first inspired you with
the project that has come to such a happy fulfilment to-day.
I need not tell you how glad I am of your success : if you
have any remembrance of our talks in bygone days, you will
divine that I am proud of it, and of you too. I think I un-
derstand in the almost studied absence of great professions in
your speech, that you fully and honestly intend to do, not as
little as possible of what you promise, but a great deal more.
You have probably advanced so far now in the study of politics,
you are no doubt so fully decided upon the course you intend
to pursue, that you no longer need a woman's enthusiasm to in-
spire you : you have discovered, perhaps, that it is unpractical.
And yet many men have been none the worse for having a
friend of the other sex in whom to confide their aspirations.
They have been glad that a woman should rejoice in their suc-
cess and sympathize with them in their disappointments. And
may not I still be that to you, dear Leo ? Of course I can
imagine how much engaged you are at the present moment ;
but could you not find time to run down here for a day or two
and resume your acquaintance with the inhabitants of The
Manor House, who will all give you the heartiest welcome ?
Two years ago, it was, I fear, a dearer spot to you than it is
now : but, remember ! public men should always have good
memories. Good-by. I shall be disappointed if you do not fix
some time within a month to come to us. Always, dear Leo,
" Most sincerely yours,
" OLGA STRATHEDEN."
Leo has been out riding, and the second post has come in
his absence. In great disgust and wrath, Mr. Vyner has
beheld the Blankshire postmark, and the distinct well-bred
handwriting that his soul abhors.
" Here," he says, thrusting the letter into his son's hand as
he enters, " another letter from that that woman." (With
MIGNON. 379
great difficulty he foregoes the adjective which always seems
appropriate to him in speaking of her.) " She can't let you
alone. For the matter of that, I never knew a woman who
could. Perhaps her regard for you is increased now you're an
M.R"
Leo's color rises, his heart throbs, as he takes the letter.
His father watches him narrowly.
" For God's sake, my boy," he says, imploringly, " don't let
her make a fool of you again."
Leo goes away with his treasure, half divided between de-
light and regret. The regret is that he can still feel so keen
a delight at the sight of Olga's writing. He goes a good long
way into the wood before he breaks the seal. As he reads it,
a deep glow of pleasure comes into his heart to know that she
cares so much for his success, and he begins to turn over in
his mind how soon he can get away to go and see her. Next
week, at the latest, he will spare two days : what is the incon-
venience in comparison with the pleasure of seeing her dear
face and of hearing her voice say she is glad of his success ?
And, after all, is it not true that he owes it to her ?
But, after the first joyful determination, doubts begin to
assail him. Is it worth while, for a few hours' pleasure, to
fight the old battle over again, to suffer the long, weary pain
of hopeless love, to see how fair and charming she is, only to
realize the bitter blank of a life without her ? Shall he take
the zest out of his new career, weaken his energies, unfit him-
self for the duties which he has sworn to fulfil to the very
best and highest of his ability ? It costs him a long and bitter
struggle to forego the pleasure he has promised himself, but in
the end he conquers.
At dinner his father remarks, with extreme chagrin, that he
is silent and out of sorts, and that he wears a pale and haggard
look he has not seen on his face for many a day. After dinner,
Mr. Vyner gets suddenly out of his chair, and, coming over to
where Leo sits, lays his hand upon his shoulder, and says,
with strong emotion in his voice,
" My boy, don't go back to the old state of things. Shake off
this woman's influence. Be a man. Remember, you are not
your own master now."
" I know it, sir," Leo answers, with a faint smile. " You
need have no fear for me."
380 MIGNON.
CHAPTER XLIY.
" That they may know these golden years.
Which Love has made to seem so bright,
Were heralded by darkest night,
And earned in bitterness and tears."
Violet Fane.
LEO sits up late that night writing his reply to Olga's letter.
It is this :
" MY DEAR MRS. STRATHEDEN,
" If I have not written to you about my affairs, it is not
because I am either ungrateful or forgetful. I think I need
hardly tell you that ; for, were either the cause of my silence,
I should be unworthy of a place in your thoughts. Whose sym-
pathy could be so dear to me as hers to whose counsel and in-
spiration I owe the wish, the very idea, of being anything
more than I was contented to be two years ago? Let me
speak out to you fairly and frankly this once ; let me tell you
everything that is in my heart. Nothing in this world would
give me so much happiness as to see you, above all things,
to see you at the dear old Manor House, with which my dearest
and happiest memories are indissolubly linked. My first im-
pulse was to go to you : I had even fixed joyfully in my own
heart the day and hour when I should see you once again. It
is only after a hard struggle that I have conquered myself, and
resolved not to do what would give me more pleasure than
anything else. The pleasure would cost me too dear. I don't
want to evoke the sympathies of your kind, generous heart by
telling you how intensely my love of you has made me suffer,
nor how long and severe has been the struggle to rally from the
miserable indifference to life and the future into which I had
fallen. Thank God, I have recovered my lost energies ; but
the joy with which I saw your dear letter to-day makes me feel
how weak I am after all, and how mad it would be to risk
having to fight the long weary battle afresh. I must tell you
this once, and you will forgive me if it seems presumptuous or
MIONON. 381
inconsiderate in me to repeat to you what you have told me it
gives you pain to hear. You have been, you are, the one love
of iny life, the incarnation to me of all that is pure and good
and desirable in a woman ; and I ain OL 2 of those who think
woman God's best gift to man. My darling, let me call
you so this last time, I love you with all my heart and soul:
how, then, do you think I can be satisfied with a poor, barren
friendship ? a sympathy you are ready to extend to any one
who asks or needs it. I want you for mine, mine alone, mine
altogether. To be only your friend, to have one hour, per-
haps, with you, to a hundred away from you, and that one
embittered by the thought of how soon I should have to part
from you ! You are not one of those women of whom one
suffers satiety, whose pretty prattle is a relaxation for the
moment, but which one is relieved to escape from. I see you
smile, thinking to yourself that I have more knowledge of the
world and of your sex than the Leo whom you remember.
No ; the more one has of your dear society, the more charming
and precious it becomes, the more one hungers after it when
one has lost it. You say men have been glad sometimes of
women, to confide to those sympathizing ears their ambitions,
their successes, their disappointments ; but, rely upon it, they
were not women passionately, hopelessly beloved, as you are by
me. To give those confidences, a man must have the calm,
restful feeling of friendship, not the restless passion of denied
love. And so, telling you this solemn truth, I throw myself
upon your mercy, and, confessing to you all my gratitude, my
love, my devotion, I ask you to save me new pain by letting
me try, not to forget you, but to tear you out of the every-day
work of my life. You shall be my incentive to all that is good :
when I want strength of purpose for some difficult task, as
God knows I shall often enough, I will look at your picture,
my dearest possession, and remember the noble words you used
to speak to me in the old days ; and if I ever achieve anything
worth doing, say to yourself, ' He did it by my help, and for my
sake.' God bless you, my angel, my darling ! pray for me some-
times in your pure heart. I cannot help but be the better for it.
" Ever yours, and yours entirely, LEO."
Can you imagine what Olga felt when she read that letter ?
I will not venture on such sacred ground. I only know that
382 MJGNON.
she locked herself in her room, and when she came out of it,
hours afterwards, her eyes were red from crying. But there are
other tears than those grief wrings from the heart. There was
a small thin letter in her hand, and it held these words : u If
you are very sure you love me as you say, if, after dreaming
me so far higher and better than I am, you can bear the
awakening, come ! Oh, Leo ! did you never guess it was for
your own sake I sent you away ?"
When Leo reads these lines, his brain reels. Over and
over he scans them, almost fancying it must be a delusion.
Do the gods ever grant such utter bliss to a man all at once ?
Then he begins to make joyful preparation for obeying her
summons : he will start by the first train to-morrow. True,
lie has engagements for the next two or three days, and no
one is more punctual or particular than Leo ; but once in a
man's life he may be pardoned for throwing over business and
letting love make him for the moment inconsiderate of sub-
lunary matters.
" Hey-day, Leo !" cries his father, coming in at this moment
and seeing Leo's glad flushed face. " What pleasant piece of
news have you got there ?"
" My dearest old dad," cries the young fellow, grasping his
father's hand and speaking in a voice quick and uncertain
from delight and excitement, " I think I am the happiest man
in the world."
" Then no doubt you are about to be the most miserable,"
replies Mr. Vyner, with acidity.
" Pinch me !" cries Leo, in uncontrolled jubilance ; " make
me quite sure that I'm awake !"
" You'll be awake soon enough," snaps his father, coming
in like the chorus of a Greek tragedy.
" I can't tell you anything yet. Don't ask me any questions.
I'm off to-morrow by the first train, and when I come back,
then you shall know as much as I do."
" I suppose you are quite oblivious of the fact that Gresham
is coming to-morrow, and that we have to go over to see
Vivian in the afternoon ?" says Mr. Vyner, with latent
sarcasm.
" It can't be helped," says Leo, exultantly. " For once I
am going to be unpunctual, impolite, inconsiderate, selfish,
everything I would rather not be at any other time."
MIGNON. 383
" That's right !" remarks Mr. Vyner, dryly. " An excellent
way to begin your new career. I suppose now that you've
got M.P. tacked on to your name you think it gives you the
privilege of forgetting that you are a gentleman."
Leo is serious in a moment.
" I hope I am too much of my father's son for that, sir.
Don't be hard upon me. It concerns the happiness or misery
of my whole life. I will do everything that is right ; no one
shall be inconvenienced by my neglect ; but this once every-
thing must give way. If you knew" (grasping his father's
hand and speaking with suppressed fire) " how wretched I
have been, and how happy I am going to be, you would not
say a word to stop me."
And with this Leo goes out, feeling four walls too narrow
for his vast happiness.
" Poor infatuated lad !" mutters his father, gazing after the
stalwart, retreating form. " She has done her work well, the
Jezebel ! How befooled, besotted he is ! And now the next
thing, I suppose, will be my fine madam here, turning the
house out of windows and treating everything and everybody
like dirt. I'll lay she's forty if she's a day, women don't
get such a hold on boys much before that age, and paints her-
self like a mask. I shouldn't wonder if she's got that d d
golden hair : that sort of woman generally has. She'll have
an impudent French maid, and a regiment of dye-bottles and
paint-pots. I know her !" cries the old gentleman, wrathfully,
imagining something as different from the real Olga as the
human mind could well conceive.
Olga has received Leo's brief telegram, " I shall be with
you by seven to-morrow evening." She does not sleep an
hour all the night, and when morning comes she is feverish,
restless, and so nervous she cannot settle to anything. So she
orders her horse and goes for a brisk gallop. Oh, how the
hours crawl and creep ! was ever a day so long in this world
before ? At lunch she says to Mrs. Forsyth, trying to speak
naturally,
" Leo Yyner is coming to-night."
" Really ? have you asked him ? Did you expect him ?"
" Of course I asked him," Olga replies, coloring a little as
she speaks.
" I almost wonder he can leave home at such a time," re-
384 MIQNON.
marks Mrs. Forsyth, dryly. "I should have thought he
would have so much to do."
Olga does not make any answer. Mrs. Forsyth is divided
between curiosity and vexation. Can it be possible that
there has been anything going on all this time without her
knowledge ? She had relapsed into a feeling of such perfect
security, Leo abroad, Lord Harley and Lord Threestars both
rejected. " She will never marry now," Mrs. Forsyth has de-
cided. And here the lover she has always dreaded instinct-
ively has returned upon the scene, and under the most sus-
picious circumstances. To be coming on a visit to The Manor
House at a time when he must naturally be so much occupied,
when, for an ordinary visit, a few weeks later would have
made no difference to Olga, and would have been far more
convenient to him.
Leo's train is three-quarters of an hour late : he does not
reach The Manor House until a quarter to eight. Both ladies
are in the drawing-room, and he has only just time to exchange
hurried greetings and rush off to dress for dinner. But in
the moment during which he and Olga have clasped hands
they have understood each other. She is more beautiful,
more beloved than ever in his eyes, and she feels, by the thrill
of joy that quivers through her as she looks in his eyes and
touches his hand, that her heart and imagination have not
played her false. Olga has spent more time than usual over
her toilette : her dress is soft white, covered with delicate lace,
and makes her look almost girlish. The light of happiness
is in her lovely eyes ; a faint color tinges her cheeks.
"How absurd of her to be so overdressed !" says Mrs.
Forsyth, crossly, to herself. She does not often find fault
with Olga, whom she loves most truly, but she is very jealous
of her caring for any one else. All through dinner she is
unusually taciturn : her wonted tact seems to have deserted
her ; but neither Leo nor Olga remarks it, they are far too
much absorbed in each other. Olga does not disdain the
gracious coquetries that make a woman so charming in the
eyes of the man who loves her, and Leo, if more self-contained
than in the days when his adoring glances took Truscott and
the footmen into confidence as to his feelings, is not always
careful to suppress the triumphant fire in his eyes. The con-
versation never flags for a moment : the lips of both are bub-
MIGNON. 385
bling over with happy talk and laughter ; to both, the happi-
piness, the originality of the situation seems as great as to the
first man and woman. The old charm steals over Leo, the
charm of the first day when the refined luxury of all the
arrangements at The Manor House struck the chords of a new
sense in him. And to that is added the intoxication of a first
and intense love. To him, Olga is the most perfectly beauti-
ful as well as the most beloved woman in the world : there is
not one thing in her. that is not altogether lovely and gracious.
And her consciousness of his belief in her lends to Olga that
exceeding graciousness that the belief of the man who loves
her always gives to a charming and sympathetic woman.
Leo waits for a moment after the two ladies leave the room,
in the hope that Mrs. Forsyth will be as considerate as in
days of yore, when he had so often blessed and revered her for
her judicious disappearance. His heart throbs as he goes
towards the drawing-room : the strong arm falters as it turns
the handle. It need not. Mrs. Forsyth is there, discoursing
in a most lively wide-awake mood : evidently she has no idea
of leaving them to themselves. Olga is trying to conceal her
chagrin, and Leo feels provoked and disappointed. Mrs. For-
syth, who during dinner had seemed to take but very mediocre
interest in Leo's travels, is suddenly seized with an ungovern-
able curiosity about all the places he has visited, the sport he
has had, the manners and customs of the different nations
with whom he has mixed. Olga is growing nervous : the
strain is almost more than she can bear. At last she takes the
law into her own hands. She rings the bell, and orders the
lamps to be lighted in the Folly. The last few days have been
bright and hot like a return of summer : no fear of finding any
place in or out of the house too cold to-night. Mrs. Forsyth
understands, and accepts the situation as best she may. So,
when Truscott comes to announce that the Folly is lighted, she
asks to be excused accompanying Olga for the present, as (with
a yawn and a smile that tries to be gracious) she feels her old
bad habit stealing over her.
" Beware of once beginning it, Mr. Vyner," she says,
pleasantly, to Leo, but feeling in her heart that she would
like to put him to a sleep that it would take him a considerable
time to awaken from. So Olga, with a nervous beating of her
heart, precedes Leo along the handsome hall, through whose
R 33
386 MIGNON.
painted windows the silvery light falls softly, into the Folly.
It is lighted just enough to lend a mysterious charin to the
scene : here and there a lamp sheds a mellow radiance through
many-colored glass, and from above, the moon falls happily
upon the plashing silver water and velvet moss. Yet, now
they are here alone, now that the moment has come that is to
seal the joy of their lives, an enchantment has fallen upon
them : both are tongue-tied. Is it that they are so joyfully
secure of the future that they can afford to delay their happi-
ness yet a little space? Side by side they pass together
through the grove of orange-trees, between whose leaves the
marble of the statues gleams whitely. Presently Olga stops
before a rose. Then suddenly Leo takes both her little
trembling hands in his, and says, in a low, concentrated voice,
"Why did you send for me ?"
He has no need to ask : no doubt or fear assails his heart ;
triumphant joy is written in his glad blue eyes, in every line
of his comely face. And, since his question needs no answer,
Olga gives it none, but in silence lifts her lovely eyes to his.
Sometimes, in happy dreams, Leo has held his heart's
delight in his glad arms, drawing,
" In one long kiss, her whole soul through
Her lips,"
and has awaked with beating pulse and empty, outstretched
arms, crying out her dear name in vain. But to-day he no
longer dreams.
CHAPTER XLV.
IT is the 9th of May, 1876, a day with a bright sun and
a cutting wind, such as embittered the whole spring of this
year. Lady Clover has wisely decided not to venture out, as
she proposes to attend her Majesty's Drawing-room on the
morrow. Besides, she is expecting a visitor, and his deferred
arrival causes her to glance impatiently every now and then
from her novel to the clock on the mantel-piece. True, her
MIGNON. 387
book is one of the most charming stories ever written, " The
Boudoir Cabal," but there are states of mind that prevent one
fixing one's attention on a book that at another time would
completely engross us. The years that have passed since we
last saw her little ladyship have only laid the weight of an ad-
ditional embonpoint upon her, a very becoming one, and not
calculated to cause her the least anxiety, or any haunting
thought of Banting. She has a charming little air of matron-
hood that vastly becomes her, and makes her, with her two lovely
children, a very sweet picture. These two golden-headed
cherubs, lovely enough to have been a study for Carlo Dolce
or Sir Joshua, are disputing possession of the great fur rug
with our old friends Strephon and Chloe, who, having come
to regard them as necessary evils, tolerate them accordingly.
" Oopit, oo naughty boy, oo not to pull Koe's tail!" lisps
the rosebud mouth of Kitty's daughter. " Mamma, cold
Oopit."
" Rupert, darling, what are you doing to poor Chloe?" asks
his mamma.
"I doin' nussin'," answers Rupert, stoutly. "Kissy put
her finger in Steffy's eye."
At this moment the bell rings, and general attention is di-
verted to the approach of the expected visitor. The door is
promptly opened ; steps are heard ascending the stairs ; a
moment later " Mr. L'Estrange" is announced.
There was a time when Kitty, in her indignation, had
vowed never to speak to Raymond again ; but the lapse of
years has removed her resentment, and she greets him with all
the effusion due to a long-lost prodigal. For his part, his
handsome face lights up with real pleasure at sight of his old
friend, looking more lovely and lovable than ever.
" What centuries since we met !" cries Kitty. " I thought
you were lost to us forever. Stay 1" (with a little comedy air,
pointing to the hearth-rug), " I have an introduction to make.
' These are my jewels' /"
" The modern Cornelia, black pearls and white," laughs
Raymond, advancing to the rug. London life, and an im-
mense number of visitors, have cured the pugs of their
ferocity to strangers : increasing years and stoutness make it
inconvenient to play a perpetual role of watch-dog. So
now men may come and men may go with no more notice
388 MIQNON.
from them than the lifting of a sleepy eye, and an occasional
grumble as of distant, very distant, thunder.
Raymond is not a lover of children, but these two delicious
morsels of pink and white and gold offer nothing to repel the
most aversely disposed, and he accepts and returns the salutes
of two pairs of rosy vet lips with equanimity, if not pleasure.
" I wanted you to see these darlings," says the proud mother.
" Whom do you think they are like ?"
" Will you be mortally offended if I don't see a striking
resemblance to their father ?" smiles Raymond.
" I suppose they are more like me," answers Kitty ; " though
my mother-in-law insists they are both quite Clovers. Now
you have seen them, I won't bore you with them any longer."
And she lays a hand on the bell.
" No, no, no," cries Rupert, running towards her. " Me
top."
" Me top too," says little Kitty, advancing towards Raymond,
and raising her clear shining eyes to his face. " Oo is a pitty
man. Kissy like oo."
" What a bare-faced compliment !" laughs Kitty. " Now
then, darlings, if I let you stop, will you go and sit on the rug
and be quiet?"
Rupert and Kitty make emphatic promises, which they have
neither the will nor the power to keep. It is to the benefit
of the conversation when, a few minutes later, nurse comes to
fetch them to tea, and a judicious hint of some mysterious deli-
cacy up-stairs causes them to depart in peace.
" And what have you been doing all these years ?" asks
Kitty, with friendly interest, as soon as they are alone.
" Trying with more or less success to kill time," answers
Raymond.
" And what are you going to do now ? Settle down and
become respectable ?"
" Respectability is dull. I confess it has no charms for me."
" I am afraid you are not at all improved," says Kitty, in a
reproving tone. " Who was that very pretty woman I saw you
with at the Opera last night?"
" Oh, that was Mrs. Lascelles. Poor little woman ! she has
an awful brute of a husband : it is quite a charity to be kind
to her."
Kitty arches her eyebrows.
MIGNON. 389
" Rather doubtful kindness, I'm afraid, on the part of a hand-
some young man. So you go about the world championing
neglected wives ?"
" One should never lose an opportunity of doing a kind ac-
tion," says Raymond, with something between a smile and a
sneer.
" But tell me," asks Kitty, " do you still intend to lead this
wandering life? Don't you ever mean to come back to Blank-
shire?"
" You know the house is let for three years," he answers.
" There is no inducement for me to go back now my poor
mother is dead. I had the letters telling me of her illness
and death together, and then I was thousands and thousands
of miles away from England. Poor mother !" And Ray-
mond's brow clouds for a moment with sincere regret.
" It was very sad," says Kitty, sympathetically. " But do
you still mean to live abroad ? do you really like it better
than England ?"
" Indeed I do. I make Paris my headquarters : I have a
large acquaintance there, and I find French society a great
deal more to my taste than English."
" How unpatriotic of you ! And how about sport?"
" I have as much as I want ; but I am not as keen about it
as I used to be."
" One of these days you will bring home a French wife, I
suppose."
" God forbid !" answers Raymond, devoutly. " I shall never
marry."
" So I have heard many men say."
" A wife is a charming thing, no doubt," says Raymond,
" but I am not sure that she always confers the greatest good
in the sphere in which it is intended that she shall."
" I am ashamed of you, Raymond. Haveyow taken up the
present fashion of reviling women?"
" On the contrary, I adore them. But I think they are
very much the creatures of circumstance."
Before so charming a member of the sex as Lady Clover,
Raymond is not tempted to air his damaging theories about
women. He has been very bitter against them ever since the
Marquise de C., the woman with such infinite tact, such charm-
ing, caressing manners, threw him over. Truth to tell, Ray-
33*
390 MIQNON.
mond's good looks were not a sufficient makeweight for hia
exactions and his perverse temper, and when he wearied her
she gave him his conge remorselessly. Since then, Raymond
has written bitter things of women in his heart, and rarely fails
to air his scorn and contempt of them, though, like many re-
vilers of the sex, he is seldom out of their society, and one of
his greatest grievances against them is that they are not so bad
as he would have them.
u Tell me all the Blankshire news," he says ; and Kitty,
putting her hand to her head, in an attitude of reflection,
says,
" You must be in such tremendous arrears, I hardly know
where to begin. Of course you know all about Olga's mar-
riage ?"
" I know she did marry, but there my knowledge ends. It
must be nearly three years, I think, since I had a wild, inco-
herent letter from Leo about his bliss, his rapture, and his
unworthiness. I suppose he is desiHusionne long before this."
"Indeed he is not!" cries Kitty, energetically: "he is the
most utterly devoted husband I ever knew : it is positively
enraging sometimes to see how he adores her."
" Why?" asks Raymond. " Do you not like her?"
" Of course I do. I love her. Does not every one ? But
it makes one so envious to see a woman put on a pedestal and
adorod as if she were a goddess. Whenever I have been with
them, I always come home and lead poor Jo a dreadful life,
and tell him that he does not care a bit for me."
" And what does he say to that ?"
Kitty assumes a slow, solemn manner, mimicking her husband
to the life.
" l My dear,' he says, ' no doubt it is very charming to be
demonstratively adored by a fine, handsome young fellow like
Mr. Vyner ; but don't you think if a steady-going, middle-aged
man like myself were to attempt those blandishments, it would
rather remind you of an elephant attempting to prance like a
horse ?' There's a good deal in that, you know," says Kitty,
mischievously, resuming her natural voice. " But, seriously,
I think Olga is the happiest, the most enviable woman in the
world ; and you can't think how young she looks, not a day
older than when you last saw her. And though she is not at
all demonstrative in public, it is easy to see how fond and
MIONON. 391
proud she is of him. He made his maiden speech in Parlia-
ment this year, a very good one indeed, and Lord B. tells me
they look upon him as a very rising man. Both he and Olga
have their heads full of quixotic ideas about benefiting their
fellow -creatures, but it seems to make them extremely happy."
" It was a great thing for Leo, marrying a woman with a
lot of money," remarks Raymond.
" So any sensible person would think," cries Kitty ; " but
he is such a goose that it has been quite a trouble to him. It
is the only thing they ever quarrelled about. He insisted on
every farthing being settled upon her, and won't touch it.
His father allows him fifteen hundred a year, and, though he
loves Olga to live sumptuously, and have beautiful horses, and
be perfectly dressed, he will have nothing to do with her money
himself. Did you ever meet old Mr. Vyner?"
" Oh, yes : I knew him very well."
" Well, he is almost as much in love with her as his son ;
and the most amusing part of it is, he conceived the greatest
horror of her before he saw her. He is never tired of telling
me what a horrid painted creature he expected to see, and how
he fell in love with Olga the first time he saw her."
" What a happy family !" utters Raymond, with a curl of
his handsome lip. " But what has become of Mrs. Forsyth ?
it must have been a bad lookout for her."
" I need not tell you Olga did everything that was liberal
and generous. In the first place, she settled a handsome
annuity upon her. Then she is frequently with them : when
Olga spends the usual three months at Mr. Yyner's place, she
lives at The Manor House, and has always free quarters in
Curzon Street. Of course she did not like it at first ; but she
was sensible enough to make the best of it. You know Olga
has a little daughter, I suppose ?"
" I did not know it."
" The most lovely little creature you can imagine, with her
mother's great brown eyes and her father's golden hair. Olga
Catherine, my .god-daughter, and betrothed to Rupert" (laugh-
ing). " But when she was a few weeks old, poor Olga nearly
died. I was with her, and I thought Leo would have gone
out of his mind : he was like one distraught. One day he
came into my room, and, grasping both my hands, said, with
tears in his eyes, ' Oh, Lady Clover, pray to God to spare my
392 MIGNON.
darling ! Perhaps he will hear you. What shall I do if I
lose her? what shall I do ?' "
" I did not know that was Leo's line," says Raymond, with
a little sneer. " He used not to be celebrated for his piety."
"I don't know that he is particularly religious," answers
Kitty. " But don't you think" (a little shyly, a certain
dimness veiling her blue eyes) " that when one is in awful
trouble, one's impulse is to go for help where one knows it
can be given ?"
" Perhaps," says Raymond, in an indifferent tone, and Kitty's
momentary pathos takes flight.
" And do you think this violent love is warranted to last?"
he asks. " It does not generally stand much wear and tear.
And it is always rather a dangerous experiment, a man marry-
ing a woman older than himself."
' Yes," admits Kitty, " generally speaking it is. But there
seems such perfect sympathy between these two, and you know
Olga is a woman in a thousand."
" Granted ; but you will see Leo will be breaking out one
of these days."
" Is it your creed that, as no women are good, no men are
faithful ?" asks Kitty, with some vivacity.
" Men have a great many temptations," answers Raymond,
evasively. " But" (turning the subject, and speaking with a
shade of hesitancy) " I have some other neighbors of yours to
ask after, the Bergholts."
Kitty has always declared stoutly that if she should ever
have the chance she will tax Raymond with his behavior to
Mignon. But here is the very opportunity, and yet she feels
no desire to take advantage of it. She only says,
" They are very well."
" Has Lady Bergholt quite recovered from her accident ?"
asks Raymond, in the polite but indifferent tone with which
one makes an inquiry after a casual acquaintance.
" It is hardly perceptible now," answers Lady Clover. " But
she can never be persuaded to believe it. One side of her face
is still exquisitely lovely, and it is only a little peculiarity of
expression that prevents the other being the same, for unless
you are close the scars are hardly visible. I often hear people
admire her immensely, and it was only the other day Colonel
Grey said to me, ' What a lovely creature Lady Bergholt is ! I
MIQNON. 393
never saw a woman I should like more to whisper soft nothings
to' (you know his droll way), ' but she always makes me sit
half a mile off, and many things which are charming, uttered
in a low key, lose considerably by being bawled upon the
housetop or half way across a room.' "
" Her sensitiveness about her appearance must be a great
comfort and safeguard to her husband," utters Raymond, with
a veiled sneer.
" Yes," answers Kitty, with spirit, " they are very happy,
very happy indeed : he worships her, and she is really very
fond of him. You know she was never very demonstrative or
warm in manner, but what affection she has she certainly
divides between him and her brother. Young Carlyle has ex-
changed into the Guards, and lives with the Bergholts almost
entirely. He is a charming young fellow : women do their
utmost to spoil him, but they don't succeed, and not one of
them ever makes him neglect his sister."
" How touching !"
" Yes, it is touching to see the love of both those men for
her. I do not believe she has a wish ungratified if they can
procure its accomplishment."
" And does Lady Bergholt still crush her friends with her
frank remarks? is she as sweet-tempered as formerly?"
The color mounts to Kitty's cheeks. She feels thoroughly
indignant with Raymond for the manner in which he is speak-
ing of a woman for whom he once professed so deep a passion.
" I should hardly have thought you would have so keen a
memory for her failings," she says, in a reproachful tone.
" Time was when words were too poor in your eyes to express
her manifold charms and graces. If one has a kind heart,
when one's friends fall into misfortune one is more apt to dwell
upon their good points than their bad ones, I think."
As the little lady utters this dignified reproof, her blue eyes
glisten with tears, and her cheeks glow with a delicate pink,
like the heart of a blush rose.
" I bow to your correction," says Raymond, a little stiffly.
" But, still, tell me all the same whether she indulges in the
gentle asperities with which she was wont to ecraser one in the
good old days."
" No," replies Kitty, with warmth : " she is immensely im-
proved. She rarely says a sharp thing now, and people often
K*
394 MTONON.
remark what a graceful, distinguished manner she has. I think
a great deal of it is due to Olga."
" To Olga !" exclaims Raymond, looking surprised. " Why,
I thought they were sworn foes !"
"Oh, yes, once she hated Olga ; but when she was in trouble
Olga nursed her, and behaved like an angel to her. One is
always grateful, I think" (with a Parthian glance at Raymond),
" to people who are good to one when one is in sore need of
their kindness."
Raymond winces a little, but makes no answer.
" She does a great deal for the poor," continues Kitty,
warmly ; " not very much in the way of going to see them, but
whenever she hears of anyone in trouble or distress she is always
ready and glad to help them. So perhaps, after all (though I
always think it is a horrid, hypocritical thing to pretend to
see good in other people's misfortunes), her life is happier and
better than it might have been under other circumstances."
" All's well that ends well," says Raymond. " So, according
to your story, every one was happy ever after."
" Yes," laughs Kitty : " the good people were happy ever
after, and the wicked one was punished."
" Who is the wicked one ?" asks Raymond, laughing. " My-
self?"
" Yes," says Kitty, with an arch nod of her golden head.
" And how am I punished ?"
" By being left out in the cold, and having no nice wife to
take care of you and make you happy."
" I confess," says Raymond, " the dish of domestic bliss that
you have served up for me seems so appetizing, I am half
tempted to rush into matrimony at once."
" No," says Kitty, shaking her head, " you are not a man
to make a good husband or to be happy with a wife."
" How do you know, pray, my lady ?"
Kitty answers him, half laughing, half serious,
" You are one of the wicked ones who, for some unknown
purpose, are allowed to go about the world, turning the heads of
foolish women with your handsome face and deceitful tongue,
and bringing trouble and discord to the domestic hearth."
" May I ask how you have learned so much to my dis-
advantage ?" asks Raymond, halting between amusement and
pique.
MIGNON. 395
" Oh, you are not at all an uncommon type of man," says
Kitty, with an air of superior wisdom : " there are a good
many of you going about the world just now ; I meet you
often. You all talk in the same kind of way : you all affect
to think ill of women, and yet you are never happy out of
their society ; and you all have those discontented lines about
your eyes and mouth."
Raymond rises and contemplates himself with extreme de-
liberation in the mirror over the chimney-piece.
" Now you mention it," he says, smiling, " perhaps I'm not
a particularly beaming-looking fellow. Well, Kitty, let me
call you so once, for the sake of old times, I have paid
you an unconscionably long visit. Am I really in your black
books, or may I come again?"
" Of course you may. Come often. I shall try to reform
you."
" I wish you would," he says, bending on her the look and
speaking in the tones so many women have found irresistible.
It has become such a habit with him to make love to pretty
women that he has fallen unconsciously into it with Kitty.
She gives a gay laugh.
" Nay, Raymond," she says, " it is I who am to reform you,
not you who are to use your seductive graces upon me. I am
an old married woman, not one of the flighty young matrons
of the day."
" I need not ask if you are happy, I suppose?" says Ray-
mond, laughing too.
" Look at me," she cries, saucily, " and form your own
opinion. I have the kindest, most indulgent husband in
the world : I have only to ask and have : you have seen my
four jewels, the two white and the two black ones, and I defy
you to produce anything more perfect in their way. Yes, I
am very happy. I should be perfectly if "
" If !" echoes Raymond. " So you have an if, too !"
" If I hadn't a mother-in-law," replies Lady Clover, with an
arch smile. " One hears a great deal about what men suffer
from their wife's mother, but I never hear any sympathy given
to the unfortunate wife about her husband's mother. Poor
dear soul ! she means well, but she is certainly the thorn to
the rose. I quarrel with her sometimes just for the sake of
getting rid of her ; but then poor dear Jo has to go and hu-
396 MIGNON.
miliate himself abjectly before her, so for his sake I don't do
it very often."
" And how is Sir Josias ? I have been rude enough not to
ask after him all this time."
" Oh, he is perfectly well, and tremendously busy about the
Permissive Bill. He made quite a long speech in the House
two or three nights ago."
" Good-by," says Raymond, kissing her hand, and she re-
ceives his homage with the air of a little queen.
A few minutes later, Sir Josias appears in the doorway.
"Well, my love?" he exclaims, in affectionate though not
original salutation.
" Come here, Jo," says his sovereign lady, graciously. " I
have had a man here, an exceedingly handsome man : he
was here quite two hours, I should think" (looking at the
clock). " I have flirted desperately with him : when he went
away he kissed my hand. Just there, see" (holding out a
fairy, dimpled hand): "if you look quite close, you will see
it is a little pink still."
Sir Josias, smiling with perfect imperturbability, kisses her
cheek.
" Really, Jo," cries the little lady, with affected pettishness,
" it is evident you do not set the least value upon me. Can
nothing make you jealous?"
" No, my dear," he says, turning upon her a look in which
love and confidence are perfectly united, " nothing."
THE END.
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