Odeyne's marriage

CHAPTER X.

CHRISTMAS.

"Guy, Guy! oh, dearest Guy! Can it really be you? It seems too good to be true!"

"Very much myself, Schwesterling mein, and very delighted to be here at last, and to see you in all your glory!"

"Oh, Guy, it is delightful! It is like a dream! Why did you not tell me you were coming?"

"Because I am rather an uncertain mortal in the winter, and I would not have had you disappointed for anything. I knew you would be anxious about the mother, and I did not want you to have any more bothers. Besides, I like a surprise."

"So do I when it takes this form! Oh, Guy, it is so good to see your dear face, and to have somebody here for Christmas! How pleased Desmond will be when he comes home! Edmund will run over just for the few days he can get away; but when his leave is due he will go home, of course. Now tell me about all the dear ones at home. Make yourself comfortable in that big chair, and I will get you your tea. It is so good to have you there! Now tell me about them all—mother in particular."

"She is much better; it was just a sharp attack of bronchitis. We think she took a chill. Of course Mary has been busy nursing her and looking after things, so it was impossible for us to think of a family gathering here—even if father and Henry could have got away. Nor did it seem a very advisable thing, all round, to have you and Desmond across to us. Then I made up my mind that if mother were really convalescent, and they could spare me, I would come here myself to be your companion during some of these dull winter days. They all thought it a capital plan, and here I am, you see!"

"It is delightful!" cried Odeyne, with shining eyes. "It will make Christmas just perfect. There will be a few quiet gaieties to enliven you. I keep rather quiet, because I prefer it; but you can have a good deal of fun if you like it. It is rather a gay little place in its way."

"My fun will be sitting at home with you, I think, little sister. That's rather more my idea of enjoyment than gadding about, though, of course, I want to know Desmond's people, and will make one of any family gathering to which I am asked. Now tell me every single thing about yourself, and your life, and all that you do. You have been very good about writing long letters; but after all letters only give a rather dim and distant idea of the real thing."

To have a long and confidential talk with Guy was just the luxury most desired by Odeyne. To her second self she could pour out all that was in her heart about her new life and the people by whom she was surrounded. Long before the story was done an interruption came in the arrival of Desmond; and his cordial welcome to his wife's brother put Guy perfectly and entirely at his ease in this house. Desmond had always been very fond of Guy, and to have him on a visit of indefinite length suited him exactly.

Desmond was in almost boyishly high spirits all the evening, and upon the next morning. He laughed, and made obscure remarks to Odeyne, not altogether comprehensible to her; till at last she turned laughingly to Guy, and said—

"He is up to some mischief—I know he is! He always betrays himself like that when it is coming!" Then turning to Desmond and shaking her finger at him, she said, "Take care, you bad boy, and don't you get into trouble, or you'll be well hen-pecked when you come back to me, I can tell you!"

And as Desmond went off laughing and bubbling over with mirth, after kissing his wife as he always did, she turned to her brother and said—

"He is such a boy still in some of his ways, but he really is growing to be a very good man of business, they say. We had a dinner for some of the other members of the firm not long ago. They were heavy City men, not the sort of people we meet in society as a rule, but very worthy in their way. Several of them said very complimentary things about Desmond's abilities to me. I am so glad he has that regular occupation as a sort of ballast, for he has such high spirits that if he had nothing to do but enjoy himself I should be almost afraid for him."

"He seems wonderfully young for his years and position," said Guy; "but it is nice to see him so happy; and if he works hard, too, no one need fall foul of his high spirits."

Odeyne spent a very happy morning showing Guy all over her house and garden. Cissy Ritchie had gone home the day before the arrival of the brother, as Odeyne felt it would be selfish to keep her away during all the pleasant bustle of the Christmas preparations at home. And now, having Guy, she wanted no one else; and they spent a charming morning together, his interest and pleasure in her possessions giving them an added value in her eyes.

"Desmond must be a richer man than he told us," was his comment as they sat at lunch together, the servants having handed the dishes and retired. "We knew by the settlements that he had a very fair fortune of his own; but there is something almost princely in the way he spends his money here. Does it feel at all strange to you to be the queen of so much grandeur?"

"It did at first; but I have grown used to it. You don't mean you think Desmond extravagant, do you, Guy?"

"I certainly meant no criticism of that sort," answered Guy. "You know extravagance is to my thinking spending more than a man has a right to do—more than he can really afford. If he is living within his income, giving a fair proportion to those who need it, and keeping a margin for a less prosperous day, then, according to my ideas, he has a full right to do as he will with the remainder, so long as he does not fritter it away in follies and vanities, or, of course, in vicious pleasures. But I am sure Desmond has no tendencies of that sort."

"Indeed, I hope and trust not; but I do sometimes wonder if he is not a little more fond of spending money than is quite wise. He is very generous to everybody; he gives away liberally to a number of good objects, and likes me to help in the parish and subscribe to all the local charities. I am more afraid of his being indiscriminate in his charities than niggardly. He is always so sorry for people in trouble. He is a very dear fellow, though I suppose it is not for me to praise him!"

"Never mind, I like to hear you," answered Guy. "And now tell me about little Alice! I have a box of presents for her from her people and friends at home. They were rather taken by surprise at the suddenness of the marriage, and had not got the things all done in time. Shall we take them to her this afternoon, if you have nothing more important on hand?"

"I should like that very much," answered Odeyne. "I have only just seen her since she got home. They had a little trip after the wedding; but they arrived home three days ago. Alice had hardly got settled down then, but now she will be ready for visitors. She will be delighted to see anyone from the old home. We will order the carriage and go."

This was accordingly done; and the brother and sister reached the pretty lodge early in the afternoon. There was a small maid-servant with ribbons in her cap to open the door, greatly to Guy's amusement. This damsel showed them into the parlour, where she said her mistress would see them directly; she had run out a few minutes before, but would certainly not be long gone. She was doing up her dress, the girl informed them, with an air of pride, for a ball at the Royal George that evening.

This fact explained the remarkable state of the parlour, which was littered from end to end with odds and ends of white ribbons and bits of silk. Upon the table lay Alice's wedding dress, upon which she was plainly at work, taking out the sleeves, and cutting it low in the neck, in obvious imitation of some of Odeyne's Paris gowns, which had filled Alice with boundless admiration. Long white gloves lay upon the table, together with what Odeyne did not at all like to see—some sham diamond ornaments—a clever enough imitation of the real thing; but only a trumpery imitation, yet too costly all the same for Alice to buy.

Guy took in all this as quickly as Odeyne herself, and uttered a long, low whistle.

"This is an odd sort of development for that quiet little dainty Alice. How comes it all about?"

"I don't know," answered Odeyne, with tears in her eyes. "I am afraid I have not done my duty by her. I was always fond of her, and she seemed like a little bit of home. I talked to her, and perhaps made too much of her, and she is so pretty that when she went about with me she was always noticed and made much of. I am afraid that vanity has always been her besetting sin, and that I have not done enough to combat it."

At this moment Alice came hurrying in with her hands full of sprays of delicate ivy. Odeyne remembered that one of her Paris dresses was trimmed and adorned with ivy sprays, and that Alice had always particularly admired it. The inference was obvious. The ex-maid was going to appear at this local festivity in a dress closely imitating one of her mistress's. It was not the imitation itself that troubled Odeyne, but the incongruity of the whole thing—Alice dressed up to the eyes, going to a ball, when she would have been so much better and happier sitting at home with her husband, mending his stockings and cooking his supper!

The girl crimsoned from brow to chin on seeing her visitors, and hastily invited them into the other room, where there was not all that litter about.

"Jane was so stupid," she grumbled, with a toss of the head; "really, servants were more trouble than they were worth!"

Odeyne made no comment on what she had seen. She knew very well that any remonstrance would be thrown away. Alice was now a married woman, free of all control in her own house, save that of her husband. If he approved this kind of thing it was not for others to interfere, and Odeyne contented herself with inquiries about the little holiday trip, and whether the lodge was a comfortable place to live in.

Then the box was brought in, and Guy gave her the key, and quite a number of messages from her mother and friends. Alice grew more like herself at this point, and opened the box with natural curiosity; but her face fell somewhat as she drew out its contents, and there was something like a supercilious curl on her pretty mouth as she laid the things out on the little sofa.

A year ago she would have been delighted by the quiet and neatly-made dresses and the comfortable, warm shawl that her mother and sisters had made for her, and her brother sent from his manufactory. To Odeyne's eyes they looked far more suited to the young wife's position than the finery in the next room. But Alice was evidently of quite another opinion.

"It's kind of mother, to be sure; but folks right away in the country don't know anything about fashions and style. Why, those things might have come out of the ark! But then poor mother would never be any the wiser!"

"They are nice, serviceable dresses," answered Odeyne, "and your mother and sisters' beautiful needlework would make any of their handiwork valuable. I think you will find their presents very useful, Alice."

"I can wear them up at the house when I come," said Alice, as if this were rather a bright idea; and it gave Odeyne the opportunity of saying—

"You have not found your way up there since you came back."

"No, ma'am, I have been so very busy. It takes time to get settled and in order; but I shall come very soon—perhaps to-morrow."

Odeyne looked at her rather gravely.

"I think you will be too tired to-morrow, Alice, after the ball to-night."

Alice coloured up, but answered rather hastily and defiantly—

"Well, ma'am, I can't help the ball. It's got up partly for us—Walter having been a guest there so long, and me being a bride, and all that. I don't see why we shouldn't have our bit of fun as well as our betters. Everything's going to be done in first-class style, and I'm to open the ball with the master of the house—just as you did, ma'am, when you went as a bride to Lord Altrincham's."

"I was not finding fault with you, Alice," said Odeyne with gentle gravity. "You have a husband now to take care of you. If he approves of this sort of thing I have nothing to say."

"Oh, Walter likes to see me dressed like a lady and everybody admiring me," answered Alice with the freedom of one to whom a considerable liberty of speech has been granted.

"To be sure, he is often a bit jealous—that's the way with men—but he likes it all the same, and was pleased for us to go. Most of the guests pay for their tickets, but Walter and I go free, because it's our wedding ball, you know."

Odeyne did not stay long. She felt rather sorrowful and anxious, and yet altogether helpless as regards Alice, and she had an uneasy feeling that perhaps it had not been a good thing for her, this transporting of her from the quiet Rectory to the gayer life of the Chase. But Guy tried to cheer her up.

"She would never have stayed there. She was resolved to go and see life for herself elsewhere. She might have done much worse. She is married now to a man of whom all speak well. It is the fashion nowadays to ape the gentry in everything. It is a pity they cannot take their pleasures more simply; but we have to take things as they are, not as we should like to see them. Alice will play her little game of vanity and display, and enjoy it; let us be thankful she has a husband at her side all the while. When she has a few babies to look after she will think of things differently. The responsibilities of life will come upon her quite fast enough."

When Desmond came home that afternoon it was by an earlier train than usual; and out of the back of the dog-cart came a large box and a number of parcels, and as he flung them down gaily on the drawing-room sofa he exclaimed—

"There, little wifie! I told you I would look after the presents for 'home.' You see if I have chosen right, and give me credit for being a good shopper!"

"Oh, Desmond! how delightful of you! I was beginning to think you had forgotten. Let us have the lamp in and examine everything! We ought to send them off to-night, or first thing to-morrow, for it is the twenty-first—and traffic is always crowded just now."

It was indeed a grand show of presents that was displayed when the lamps were brought in. Desmond had forgotten nobody, and seemed to have intuitions as to the taste of all. For the Rector there were rare old books on divinity, and some modern works which were exciting no small stir amongst thinking men, and which Odeyne was certain her father would delight in possessing. For the mother there was a beautiful soft Indian shawl, just such a wrap as her children would love to see her in; for Mary a fur-lined cloak that would enable her to resist the cold, even in the severest weather; and for Henry, who did all the long tramps over the scattered parish in the snow, and all the night-work too, a fur-lined coat—just such a one as Desmond wore himself up to town in cold weather.

"Henry and I could always wear each other's things," said Desmond, as he undid the bundle, "so if it fits me it will fit him. I should have liked to get one for the father too, but I knew he was so wedded to his wonderful Inverness that I don't believe he would ever wear it."

"I don't think he would," answered Odeyne; "he will never put on anything with sleeves. But for Henry this will be splendid; he will not mind the weight, and he does feel the cold a good bit."

For the three little girls there were wonderful boxes of bonbons, story-books, and dolls. For the old servants, shawls, tea-caddies, and so forth. Then he had bought a plated tea-pot and sugar basin for Alice and her husband, and various small things for old people on the estate.

"I sent things off for the mother, and Maud, and Beatrice, and Algy, straight from the jewellers," he explained; "I always think that women-folk like jewellery better than anything else; and they will show you them all in good time, if you care to see. Don't you expect anything yourself, wifie, after all this outlay? I'm about bankrupt now, till the next quarter begins"; and Desmond laughed gaily as he bent to kiss Odeyne.

"I don't want anything but you, Desmond," she answered, with a happy light in her eyes, "and I told you all along that my Christmas present was to be the carte-blanche you gave me to make a nice Christmas for all the poor people on the estate."

Odeyne was in fact very busy all these next days with her distribution of doles and gifts. She took great interest in the people about them, those who were her husband's tenants, and those who belonged to the parish also. From the Ritchies and from the clergyman's wife she had learned much about them; and Christmas Eve was quite given over to the pleasure of seeing the people all going happily away with the gifts of good things provided.

But when Odeyne came down on Christmas morning to find her plate piled with parcels—many of them brought by Guy from home, others come by post, some left at the house by friends in the neighbourhood—there was one suspicious-looking packet which she could not but open first, and there, within the morocco case, lay a wonderful diamond necklace and pendant, that even Odeyne's experience told her must have cost a small fortune.

"To my dear wife," were the words inscribed upon a little scrap of paper inside the lid; and when Odeyne lifted her dazzled eyes there was Desmond standing over her, to put his arm about her and press kisses on her lips.

"Darling, I won't be scolded!" he cried gaily. "It is my good little wife who keeps me from bad habits, and sends me into the City day by day, making a richer man of me than I ever thought to be! I will have my own little whims as to how I spend the money she has helped me to earn. Even the careful Guy will say that that is all fair and square!"

Guy and Edmund were both at table, and both struck dumb by the magnificence of Desmond's gifts. Guy's was a splendid dressing-bag with every accessory heart could wish, and silver monograms on everything; and Edmund's a complete hunting rig—scarlet coat, white breeches, top boots, and immaculate hat—all from one of the first tailors in London (Edmund understood now why he had been badgered into leaving a suit of clothes at the Chase on the pretence of its making his visits easier), and a fine set of golf tools, which he had been desiring for some time, but had not yet thought himself justified in buying.

"Really, Desmond, you are too generous!" they cried, pressing up to thank him; but he waved them gaily off, saying—

"Don't thank me. Thank Odeyne; it's all her doing, I assure you. And, besides, a man and his wife are one; so she must never be left out of anything you attribute to me."

Odeyne looked at her bright-faced young husband with a world of love in her eyes, and wondered whether ever woman was so happy as herself that day.

Upon the morrow was a grand ball at Beatrice's house. Odeyne had begged off, and had been permitted to stay quietly at home; and Guy would now be her companion, as late hours and dancing were alike injurious to him; but Edmund and Desmond of course must be there; and Odeyne had promised to drive Guy over earlier in the day, to introduce him to her sister-in-law, and look round at the flower-decked rooms and at the preparations for the evening's festivity. Guy had been introduced before this to Mrs. St. Claire and Maud, and had been very cordially received there. But, so far, he had not seen Beatrice, and was glad of the opportunity.

It was impossible to catch Mrs. Vanborough at a disadvantage. Although she had been busy all the morning superintending the arrangement of the rooms, and although her hair was tumbled, and she had on, for her, quite an old dress, she managed to look bewitchingly bright and pretty as she came sailing down the staircase to meet them; and Odeyne noticed in a moment that the slightly forced mirthfulness of her laugh and the haggard expression of her eyes had quite vanished, leaving her all sparkle, and brightness, and life.

"You delightful creature! I was afraid you might be afraid of the snow. And I am dying to thank you and Desmond for your lovely present. Algy says opals are unlucky; but I don't care if they are. I am not superstitious, thank goodness, and I love them and dote on them. I am going to wear them to-night. I have a lovely new dress I want you to see. Oh yes, and Guy shall come too! I'm not foolish enough or inexperienced enough not to know that men like to see pretty things just as well as we do, and often have just as good taste. Come and see my dress and my flowers—I have had three splendid bouquets sent me, and I hardly know which to wear. You shall help me to decide. I'm sorry you won't be there to-night; but I shan't bother you to come. I believe you will be better at home, really; and you will have Guy to take care of you."

Beatrice's friendly way of adopting Odeyne's brothers almost as her own, gave them a feeling of intimacy with her almost at once; and Guy was quite pleased to follow her into the luxuriously-appointed upstairs room, where the beautiful ball-dress lay spread out upon a couch.

"It's a real Worth dress. I haven't been able to afford one for quite an age; but Algy said I really might this time. My dear Odeyne, I don't know how to be grateful enough to you for what you've done for us. It has just made all the difference in the world to us."

Odeyne raised a puzzled face and said—

"I don't know what you mean, Beatrice."

"Oh, don't you know that Desmond has taken Algy in hand, and is teaching him some sort of business. He never could have done that, if you had not got him to take up the work himself first."

"I didn't know," answered Odeyne eagerly. "Desmond never said anything about Algernon. Is he going into the business house?"

"I don't know exactly what it is," answered Beatrice; "I am so ignorant about business. All I know is that Algy goes into the City two or three days a week, and that things have been ever so much better with us ever since. And it's all dear Desmond's doing. He has taught Algy everything, and put him in the way of things. We have paid off no end of our debts, and are quite flourishing again."

Odeyne was delighted. She wondered why Desmond had never told her, and she wondered why Guy looked rather grave and said nothing. Perhaps it was because he did not know Beatrice well enough to join in a conversation about her private affairs.

Then after they had looked at the dress and the opals, and had gone downstairs and admired the rooms with their great banks of flowering plants, Beatrice took them into her boudoir, which was the only really comfortable room in the house, and gave them tea, and told them racy stories, till they all laughed heartily together and felt quite like old friends, and Guy promised to come again soon, and not make a stranger of Desmond's sister.

"There is something about Beatrice that fascinates me always," said Odeyne as they drove home, "and the little boy is sweet, though I did not like to ask for him to-day, as they were all so busy. Algernon is the one I can never quite like. He gives me the impression of being a fast man—not a good one. But I was so glad to hear that he had taken to business ways. I wonder why Desmond never spoke about it. Why do you look like that, Guy? Don't you think it's a very good thing?"

"That depends upon what he does," answered Guy gravely. "I do not quite understand how such elasticity of means can have been made in so short a time. I don't profess to understand business, but common sense tells me it is not likely that it has been done in the ordinary course of business."

"But, Guy, how else could it be done?"

"It sounds much more like gambling in stocks and shares. You know there are fortunes won and lost every day on the Stock Exchange. It is another form of gambling, and rather a terrible one. I hope that Desmond is not dabbling in that sort of thing in the way of business. Keep him from it with all your might, Odeyne, if there is any danger; for it generally ends in one thing, and that is—ruin."

CHAPTER XI.

A SHOCK.

Guy and Odeyne spent the evening of Beatrice's grand ball quietly together at the Chase, as planned. It was a great delight to both to be once more under one roof, and living the same life. And this was the first occasion on which they had had leisure and opportunity for one of their long confidential chats.

Odeyne had been looking forward to it for quite a long time, the other days having been so full of employment and the calls of friendship. Yet now that it had come, the young wife was not so uncloudedly happy as she had expected to be. Although she asked innumerable questions about the old home and friends there—questions she had been treasuring up against the time when she and Guy could be alone and at leisure—yet she often felt her attention straying as she talked, and was conscious of a dull indefinite weight at her heart that she hardly wished to drag into the light of day.

And yet as time went on, and the old familiar relations between herself and Guy re-established themselves without any effort on either side, the desire to confide in and consult him became too strong for resistance; and suddenly breaking in upon what he was telling her, she said almost abruptly for her—

"Guy, dear, you won't think it unwifely of me, will you, if I talk to you a little about Desmond?"

"Not a bit," he answered; "you know Desmond and I were always fond of one another. Sometimes I think it was his goodness to me when I was ill and good for nothing that made the first link between you two."

"I think it was. Guy, Desmond is the dearest of husbands. I don't think any two people could be happier than he and I; and yet every now and then I have such a strange feeling of misgiving. It comes over me that perhaps I am not the best wife he could have chosen. There are times when I feel that I have not the influence over him that I ought to have. He will give me everything I want. I am almost afraid of admiring anything, lest he should at once send for it, whether we need it or not. But sometimes I wonder whether he would give up things for me if I asked it—and then I do not feel so sure."

Guy looked grave and thoughtful. Few as had been the days he had spent at the Chase, they had given him time to observe many things, and he understood Odeyne almost more fully than she expected him to do.

"He does spend a good deal of money, Odeyne—generously and kindly, to be sure, but rather over-lavishly. It might be a good thing if you could put a check upon that."

"I do try very often," she answered, "but you heard how he answered me the other day; and if business is so good——"

"That is just my puzzle," answered Guy. "I do not know so very much about business; but I have never looked upon a berth like Desmond's as such an immensely lucrative thing. No doubt it is very advantageous to him to have it. He will probably in time build up a solid little supplementary fortune to leave behind him. But I do not quite understand how it puts him in command of such large sums of ready money; and yet when I chaffed him the other day about the bills he was running up, he declared everything was paid for on the spot. He had had enough of debts, he said, at college. He never meant to contract any more. And I was very glad to hear him say that, although it left the other puzzle untouched."

Odeyne said nothing for a while, but looked into the fire, and when she spoke there was a certain hesitation in her tones.

"Guy, what were you saying this afternoon—about Algernon Vanborough, you know—and the Stock Exchange?"

"Why, that it looked rather as though he must be dabbling in speculation in stocks and shares, going into the City, and suddenly having command of money again. No doubt there is a great deal to be made in that way; but it needs a cool and clever head, and I should not think Algernon Vanborough had that."

"I do not like him much," said Odeyne. "But Beatrice spoke as if Desmond were helping him. I thought it was in the way of business."

"Yes, some kind of business; but Beatrice was very vague about it herself. It is a word that carries a wide meaning."

"Oh, Guy!" exclaimed Odeyne, with sudden anxiety and distress, "do tell me, is there anything wrong in that sort of speculation—and do you think that Desmond is speculating too?"

"I confess it looks a little like it," answered Guy; "but as to whether or not such speculation is honest, I hardly know how to answer. Of course 'men of the world' would laugh at the notion of calling it anything else. And there is a certain buying and selling of stock that is perfectly fair and legitimate; but undoubtedly there can be a shady side to it; and in any case I should shrink from gaining large sums of money without doing honest work for it. Your gain is somebody's loss. It seems a perilous pastime to indulge in. It draws men on and on into deeper places. In its essence it is a form of gambling, Odeyne, although it may not be recognised as such at the outset."

At that word Odeyne caught her breath a little. It filled her with a vague terror and distress. More than once she had been warned about Desmond's tendency towards that perilous amusement, but she had fondly thought that her influence was holding him back from it.

"Then, Guy, would you have me speak to him about it? Do you think I should warn him?"

"I am rather shy, Odeyne, of giving advice where husband and wife are concerned. I think you are the best judge of what you should say to Desmond. His love for you is very true and deep. If he knew that anything in his conduct distressed you, surely he would give it up?"

Odeyne sighed, and a little pucker furrowed her brow.

"Some things he would directly; but I do not feel so sure about it when it seems to be business. He would be very kind, and he would explain it all so that I should see it was all right, but I don't feel so certain that he would give it up. That is where it sometimes comes over me that another woman might have made him a better wife. I am not strong-willed enough to have the influence I sometimes want."

"There is influence of another kind," said Guy thoughtfully after a long pause. "A man with a very high standard before his eyes—the highest standard of all—shrinks back from all such doubtful things with an instinct of repulsion, and does not argue about them. He feels the evil possibilities, and lets it alone. Try and win Desmond to such a standard as that, and the rest will follow of itself."

Odeyne drew a deep sigh.

"If only I could!" she answered. "If only I could! But, Guy, I am sometimes in danger of growing careless and forgetful myself, and Desmond does not care for being talked to."

"I don't think talking ever does much good," answered Guy in the same thoughtful way. "You must live your lessons, Schwesterling, not talk them. And then there is always the power of prayer. I often think we forget what a mighty weapon that is if used regularly, and used aright."

Odeyne covered her face with her hands, and there was a sound of tears in her voice as she answered—

"Oh, Guy, it is not so easy to be good, to think of all these things, to keep unspotted from the world, here, in this big house and amongst the people I live with, as in the dear old home. I do try; but there is always so much to distract my thoughts. You will pray for us, Guy, will you not, dear brother? For me as well as for him; for indeed—indeed I need it!"

Very soon after that Guy persuaded Odeyne to go to bed. She had intended to sit up for her husband; but she was really tired, and Guy opined that they might be very late, since a light snow had fallen, and travelling would be heavy. He would sit up and see that there was a blazing fire, and some hot soup ready for them as ordered; and presently Odeyne let herself be persuaded, and went off to bed.

Although rather anxious and troubled in mind, she strove to put aside gloomy thoughts, and to reassure herself by thinking of the many lovable traits in her husband's character. She could not expect perfection, of course; and when she contrasted him with Algernon Vanborough and some of his associates, she felt that she had cause rather for thankfulness than disquiet, although, to be sure, Desmond was just a little too easily led.

She had dropped asleep, with her door half open, that she might hear her husband's voice when he returned, and feel assured of his safety, when she was roused by a stir in the hall, and sat up in bed to listen.

The hall being two stories high, and her bedroom door opening upon the gallery just at the head of the staircase, she could hear any sound there, and even any words spoken in a loud voice, and to-night as she sat up listening, she was perfectly certain that she heard Edmund say in answer to words spoken by Guy—

"It's all right—don't make a fuss or wake Odeyne. They'll bring him in directly. We'll have him all right before she sees him."

In a moment Odeyne was out of bed, trembling in every limb. Desmond had been hurt. There had been an accident on the slippery roads. He always would take his dog-cart and drive so fast. She was hurrying into a rather elaborate wrapper, which would pass for a tea-gown, and was hastily coiling up her abundant hair as these thoughts passed through her brain. She must go to him, and see to his hurts. She was afraid of nothing but suspense. In another moment she was out upon the gallery, and looking down into the hall below, saw Desmond being supported into the hall between Edmund and the footman, an idiotic grin upon his face, a babble of thick and incoherent talk proceeding from his lips.

"It is a head injury!" she said to herself, her heart almost standing still. "He must get to bed at once, and I will attend to him"; and she flew down the staircase.

Guy suddenly glanced up and saw her, and came striding to meet her, looking almost stern in his gravity.

"Odeyne, don't come down—don't let the servants see you. Go back to your room. I will come to you there if you like. Desmond would rather that you did not see him now—with the men-servants about and all."

Then she understood. She gave a low wail that went to Guy's heart; and turning she went back to her own room, and threw herself into the chair beside the fire, feeling as though the foundations of the earth were giving way beneath her.

How long she remained thus she knew not. A light tap at the door aroused her. She started up and heard Edmund's voice asking if he might come in. She lighted the candles upon the toilet table, wiped the traces of tears from her face, and went to the door trying to appear as calm as possible.

Her soldier brother came a few paces into the room, and put her back into her chair.

"I'm awfully sorry, Odeyne; I feel half to blame myself; but I've come to tell you it's not nearly so bad as you may perhaps think—the sort of thing that might happen to anybody who hadn't a very strong head. It was Algy Vanborough's fault. That fellow is a great fool. It was an awfully jolly ball, and Desmond had been Beatrice's right hand all through, dancing with all the wall-flowers, and trotting out little first-season misses whom some of the fellows turned up their noses at. Nobody could have been nicer and kinder all along. And at supper it was the same. He was everywhere, looking after everybody—a hundred times more good than Vanborough. I daresay he got thirsty, and perhaps he may have drunk rather more champagne than was quite wise; but he was not the least excited or anything at the house—make yourself quite easy about that."

"Then when was it?" asked Odeyne with dry lips.

"As I say, it was that fool Algy's fault. We were getting into the dog-cart; Desmond was in already, and he came out with glasses of 'something hot, just to keep out the cold, you know.' Well, it was a bitter night; one couldn't altogether fall foul of him for that. But when I tasted my glass it was so horribly strong—whisky punch or some heady mixture like that—that I wouldn't drink it. I was going to warn Desmond, but he had already drained his glass; and of course, after the champagne, and with the change into the cold air, it got into his head; and I had to take the reins before we'd gone two miles. That's the whole story, Odeyne. I'm awfully sorry you saw him, but really it was the sort of accident that might happen to the soberest fellow living. Don't you remember when Mary came in dripping that day of the thunderstorm last summer year, how we gave her some hot brandy and water, and she couldn't walk straight after it?"

"Yes, I remember," said Odeyne with rather dry lips. "Thank you for coming and explaining it, Edmund. I suppose it was only an accident. But I wish it hadn't happened! Oh, I wish it hadn't happened!"

"So do I," answered Edmund sincerely. "But, honestly, Odeyne, I don't think it's anything to trouble over seriously. Desmond hasn't a very strong head, and Algy had no business to give him that fiery stuff. He didn't think what he was doing when he drank it. It wasn't as if he had the least craving. It was forced upon him when he was in a merry, rollicking mood, and he took it without a thought, as I was nearly doing myself."

"I will try not to make too much of it," answered Odeyne. "I should not mind quite so much if the servants had not seen. I am afraid it will be all over the place soon."

"I'm afraid servants see such much worse sights than that in many houses that this won't make much impression on them," answered Edmund. "All your people are fond of Desmond. He is a very kind and considerate master. Now go to bed, little sister, and we will look after Desmond. A headache to-morrow will be all the result of to-night's mischance—and probably a resolve not to be careless in such a fashion in the future."

Walter Garth walked up from the station in the snow-lighted darkness, to see welcoming ruddy gleams shining out of the window of his pretty cottage home. His footstep outside was apparently heard from within, and Alice opened the door, standing looking out into the darkness—a pretty picture of homely prosperity and cheerful affection.

"Is that you, Walter? How late you are!"

"Yes, it was the train. There was a bad fog in town. I thought we should never get out. Glad we don't have to live in that choking reek, little wife. One can breathe down here!"

Alice relieved him of his coat, went through what was evidently a little daily pantomime of searching his pockets, and brought out a box of bonbons from one of them. It seemed as though Garth had taken a leaf out of Desmond's book, for he seldom returned home without some little trifling gift for his wife. Often enough it was a small household requisite he had been asked to buy, but a parcel of some sort he almost always had, and Alice had come to look upon it as her rightful due.

"Anything happened up at the house?" asked Walter, as he sat warming himself before the fire luxuriously.

"What sort of thing do you mean?" asked Alice, who was bending over the tea-pot, kettle in hand.

"Why, the master wasn't in town to-day; and yet he hadn't sent for me to go to him for orders this morning. Of course I thought he would be there himself, and told them so; but he didn't come, and Mr. Drake was rather put out. He said there were letters waiting to be answered, and that the master had them, and should have sent them in if he wasn't coming himself. They rather jumped upon me. But I couldn't help it."

"Of course not," answered Alice. "Well, it's just like this; the master came home screwed from Mrs. Vanborough's ball last night. This morning he had a tremendous headache, and couldn't think about business anyhow. He didn't get up till twelve, and then they say he was as cross as a bear. It's a shame! because it puts about the mistress so. She has looked like a ghost all day."

Walter Garth gave vent to a low whistle.

"I hope that's not a failing of the master's though! I had no idea of it!"

"Oh no, it isn't now," answered Alice quickly. "Thomson says there was a time once, when he was at college and got into a fast set, when he would take too much now and again; but he's been quite better of that for ever so long now. It was just an accident last night—nothing more."

Walter looked rather grim.

"It's the sort of accident that may cost him dear if he does not look out. Mr. Desmond St. Claire has a good deal of quick cleverness, and he's been uncommonly lucky, I will say—partly because I've looked sharp after things too. But he hasn't too much ballast on board; and he'd be one to lose his head pretty badly if he took to losing. Besides, he can't afford to play fast and loose with all the irons he has in the fire just now. That headache of his to-day will cost him several hundred pounds, and perhaps lose him as much more."

Alice looked quite aghast.

"Oh, Walter, is that possible?"

"To be sure it is. He's been speculating in several things, and has had rather a lot in the Chou-Chou mines, which are being boomed just now. He ought to have sold to-day. I did, and my little speculation brought me twenty-five pounds profit. He has hundreds where I have tens. I expected a telegram all day, but never got one. I believe the boom's over now, and that they will come tumbling down like a house of cards! Well, he can afford to lose now and again. He's been piling up money in fine style lately. Sometimes I'm half afraid of his luck—lest it should make him reckless, or that it should get whispered about in the office. And that would never do!"

A great deal of this was as Greek to Alice, but she understood very well that her husband had made twenty-five pounds in a day, and her eyes sparkled at the thought.

She asked a good many questions that made Walter laugh a good deal, and finally she said in a puzzled voice—

"But I don't still understand where all the money comes from."

"Oh, out of the pockets of poor fools, who speculate without understanding what they are about. They think these boomed affairs are going to turn into something very wonderful, and rush in and buy when they are very high. Then we, who know how the thing really stands, sell high what we've bought for almost nothing, get our money, and then down they go with a crash, and the fools are left lamenting, with waste-paper certificates for their proceedings!"

"Oh, but, Walter, isn't that rather hard on them?"

"Gives them a very good lesson, which, if they take to heart, may save them from further losses. People who don't know what they're about shouldn't gamble in stocks."

"But, then, if there were none of these fools, as you call them, left, how would you make your money?" asked Alice ingenuously, and Walter laughed.

"Well, it seems a merciful arrangement or provision of Providence that the race of fools never becomes extinct," he answered. "As fast as one set collapses another rises up. It is seldom that dupes are not to be had—if only the wirepullers know what they are about."

"Is it quite honest to take their money and give them only waste paper in return?" asked Alice.

"They get their money's value when they buy. Of course, if they choose to hold on too long—till the thing drops to half, or bursts up altogether—that is their affair. In all buying and selling the purchaser takes a certain risk that the goods may be accidentally destroyed. It's the same on the Stock Exchange. They can get good things for their money if they try. But if ignorant fools dabble in risky speculations—well, they deserve to come to grief."

"I hope you won't come to grief," said Alice anxiously. "I should hate to be poor, and to have people making remarks. They would be sure to be spiteful, because they are jealous of me for having got such a pretty home and such nice clothes. They say I have been made a favourite of, and that favourites never come to a good end."

"Who say so?" asked Walter quickly.

"Oh, the girls up at the house. They have always been rather jealous of me, because the mistress has me about her and talks to me. They don't quite like it because I've married better than they can expect to do. And the master thinking so much of you doesn't please them much either. I take them presents of chocolates and things, just to show I bear no malice, and that I am rich enough to buy such things. But they would be delighted, I know, if we came down in the world. So take care you don't, Walter dear."

"Not I!" he answered confidently. "I go about with my eyes open, and I have plenty of irons in the fire. I always do say it doesn't do to have all your eggs in one basket. And now, wifie, what did you say about that diamond necklace the mistress had given her on Christmas Day? Did you say you had set your heart upon having one like it for your next ball?"

Alice opened her eyes wide; she had not said or even thought of any such thing, that she could remember, but her face flushed at the bare idea.

"Farmer Blackthorne's eldest daughter is going to be married early in the spring, and I've heard that there'll be a fine to-do when that happens. Now, if you'd like a necklace made just like the mistress's—in my sort of diamonds—well, I think I could manage that out of my little winnings! I like my wife to put them all to shame, and if the diamonds aren't real, at least they sparkle just as much, and look as pretty."

"Oh, Walter, you are good! I should like that! And the mistress will never know. She won't be much about at that time. Can you really get it made?"

"Of course I can, if you can take the pattern of the necklace very carefully for me, or bring it down here some evening for me to take the pattern myself, which would be almost better. Then I could have one made to look just like it, and you can copy one of her dresses too, and play my lady for all the world."

Alice looked delighted. She had been called "my lady" half in derision, half in admiration, at the last ball she had attended, and her vain little head was almost turned with the compliments received. It was delightful to think of figuring again in even finer trim on another occasion, and Alice had tried on her mistress's jewels often enough to know that they looked most becoming and beautiful clasped round her slender neck.

"Oh, I'll bring it down to-morrow evening. I'll just manage to bend the clasp, or something, cleaning them, and ask leave to take them down for you to mend. Everybody knows how clever you are with your fingers. You won't want it long, I suppose? I can run back with it in an hour or so?"

"Oh yes, a few minutes will be enough for what I want, and then you shall have your facsimile necklace, little wife!"

CHAPTER XII.

LITTLE GUY.

Winter had given place to spring; the first bright coldness of that fitful season had yielded to the balmier airs and warmer suns of May. All the world seemed astir with happiness and life, and there was joy within the walls of the Chase, because a beautiful little boy had been born to Odeyne, and it seemed as if the little heir had indeed the prospect of every happiness and indulgence that wealth and love could bestow.

Who more proud and glad than Desmond when the glad news was told? He quite won afresh the heart of Mrs. Hamilton by his tenderness to his wife and child. And when the doctor, not quite satisfied with the tardiness of Odeyne's recovery, suggested change of air for her, no one could more unselfishly have set his own comfort aside, and forwarded the scheme for mother and child to pay a visit to the Rectory House in Devonshire, than did Desmond.

Of course it was a sacrifice; for he could not come too. It was impossible to leave business for any length of time. He promised visits as they could be managed—a run down now and then, whenever he could get away. But he would not let Odeyne consider his loneliness, or make any arrangements for a speedy return. She was to stay with her own people till she was really strong again. Her health was to be the first consideration in everything.

"It is so good of Desmond to make my way easy," said Odeyne to Mrs. St. Claire, who was paying one of her periodic visits to her grandson, of whom she was immensely proud. "I do want to get strong again; and if they think the change will do it, of course there is nowhere I should like so well to be; but it is hard to leave Desmond. I suppose," with a little appealing glance at her visitors, "that you and Maud could not come to stay here till I get back?"

Odeyne observed that Maud flushed from brow to chin, and bent over the baby to hide it. Maud was now very tender and gentle to Odeyne, and they felt that a strong bond united them, although they seldom had opportunity for intimate talks. She was rather surprised at this sudden flush, and looked at Mrs. St. Claire, who replied in her slightly incisive way—

"Well, my dear, that did occur to me; but perhaps it was not a well-judged thought. It does not do to change the mistress of the house too often; and as Desmond pointed out, whilst thanking us for the kind proposal, it is quite possible you may soon be able to come back yourself, and perhaps it is making rather a needless fuss over the matter."

"Then you did suggest it to Desmond? He did not tell me."

"No, my dear. You are not to be troubled about arrangements. Desmond evidently has ideas of his own, and will not be solitary altogether. He has some bachelor friends he wants to ask down. The house has been rather shut up for some time now. He will enjoy a little male society again, and, of course, Maud might be rather in his way."

"He has had Guy all this time," said Odeyne. "He has not spoken of being dull; but then Desmond is so unselfish!"

"A very good quality in a man, my dear," said Mrs. St. Claire briskly, as she rose to go. "Take care you keep him up to it. Well, I suppose I shall not see you again before you leave; but mind you come back well and strong, for you will have to pick up the reins of government with a strong hand when you return. Don't spoil the boy! Though he is too young yet to be much the wiser if you do. I always think I spoiled Desmond—my only boy—and I have repented it since."

She took the child from Maud and gazed at him long and earnestly.

"More like a Hamilton than a St. Claire, I should say," she remarked. "Well, perhaps it is best so."

Odeyne did not quite hear; she was talking to Maud.

"You think you cannot come down for the christening? Do if you can! I should so like it!"

"I will if I can leave mother; but she is more dependent on me than she will allow. However, I shall be godmother, whether I am there or not! You won't cheat me out of that?"

"Of course not. Mary shall be sponsor for you; and you don't mind his being Guy Desmond? It is Desmond's wish that the Guy shall come first. He won't have two Desmonds in the house."

"No, it makes confusion. Guy is a pretty name. And it is natural you should like your father to christen him. Well, good-bye, dear; I will come if I can, and I will look after Desmond in your absence as well as he will let me!"

Odeyne thanked her and took her boy into her arms. She was not a bit uneasy or unhappy. She had been upstairs for many weeks now. She had her mother with her; Guy was in the house to be a companion to Desmond; and he was tenderness itself when he paid his frequent visits to her. His punctuality and regularity at business had evoked much praise from Mrs. Hamilton, and as she lived almost entirely with her daughter, she had seen nothing to excite any uneasiness.

Little Guy could not fail to be the object of the most absorbing interest to mother and grandmother; and Desmond himself was proud of his son to an extent that was amusing to see.

He brought him the costliest corals and bells, as though he expected him to begin to cut his teeth forthwith, and provoked peals of mirth from the fat, comfortable nurse by his remarks and suggestions for his son's comfort, as well as by the extraordinary medley of offerings he brought.

"Sir, sir, you'll kill the blessed lamb!" was the exclamation constantly heard from the inner room; but little Guy grew and flourished apace notwithstanding.

Of course it was a wrench to Odeyne to contemplate leaving husband and home for a slightly indefinite period; but there was joy in the thought of seeing all the dear home faces, and showing her boy in the old place; and she intended to get strong very fast, so that she might soon return to her duties here. Moreover she confidently expected Desmond would make a way of coming to see her for a week or two later on, when the present press of business was over. Maud had smilingly said that Desmond, like men in general, could mostly find a way of carrying out any pet project; and what could be nearer his heart than a visit to the Rectory, to see wife and son, and perhaps fetch them home?

Odeyne had several callers during the last days before she quitted home. She had not yet been downstairs, but she saw her friends in the pleasant room which had been turned into a boudoir for her during these last weeks, and which was very near her own room.

Here it was that Guy would come and sit with her, whilst her mother took an airing, looked a little after household matters, or paid calls on those who had called upon her. Guy was with her when the Ritchie sisters were announced, and as Jem immediately took almost forcible possession of Odeyne, Cissy fell to the lot of Guy to entertain.

Jem was disconsolate at Odeyne's threatened absence.

"Just as we thought you would be coming out again, and the Chase open to all the world! We all looked forward to the garden parties you would give, and the nice things that would go on when you were about again! It's not been half so amusing since you have been shut up—and now you are going away altogether for ever so long!"

"Not for ever so long, only for a few weeks; and we will try to make up for it later on, and have plenty of parties. And you shall go on having your drives, Jem. I will see about that. You are looking all the better for them, I think."

"Father says they are the making of me," answered Jem, who was decidedly stronger than she had been in the winter. "And it's angelic of you to send the carriage for us as you do. It does mother a lot of good too, I can tell you. But it isn't the same as when you're there! I wish you weren't going away. I don't like it a bit—nobody does."

Odeyne laughed. Jem's girlish adoration of herself was well known to her by this time, and was not unwelcome. Moreover, Jem's frankness of speech often gave her an insight behind the scenes which was sometimes useful. She had learnt a good deal from her free-spoken little friend, albeit Jem had sometimes been cautioned against a freedom that bordered on impertinence.

And now her unruly tongue betrayed her into a remark which an older and wiser person would have hesitated to make.

"I do hope you won't stay away too long! They all say that it will be so bad for Desmond if you do! There has been a difference in him since you have been shut up so many weeks."

And then Jem, catching the look in Odeyne's eyes, suddenly stopped and grew crimson.

"I beg your pardon, I don't think I ought to have said that."

"No, dear, I don't think you ought," answered Odeyne quietly; "but never mind, little harum-scarum. I know your tongue runs away with you too fast sometimes! We will not quarrel, you and I, this last day. You want to see little Guy, don't you? Run and tell nurse to bring him."

Jem went with a crimson face, but soon forgot her confusion in the delight of baby-worship. Hitherto Jem had dubbed all babies alike as "nasty little red-faced things—as like as peas in pods!" But Guy was in her eyes the noble exception. He was like nobody but his darling self; and certainly he was an exceptionally pretty and good-tempered baby.

Odeyne forgot her momentary vexation and uneasiness in watching the pretty play between the pair on the floor; and she also observed something else between the pair in the window, which caused her to look at them somewhat more closely, with a curious thrill at heart.

When at last Cissy rose and said good-bye, she held her hands rather long, and said—

"If Desmond should not be able to come and fetch me home when the time comes, and I want a companion, do you think you could spare time to run down and see us all, and take care of baby and me on the return journey?"

Cissy's face was instantly flooded with bright colour, and the confused delight of her reply caused Odeyne to look steadily at Guy, when the door had closed behind the sisters, to find an answering glow upon his cheek.

"Guy, is it so?" she asked gently.

He came forward and put his hand upon her shoulder.

"I don't know how to answer you," he said; "I never thought of anything at first, except what a sweet unselfish girl she was. She used to come in and out so often, and was so fond of you. We generally talked of you when we got together—of you or of Desmond, and somehow we grew intimate very quickly. But you know I have never looked upon myself all these years as anything but a rickety old bachelor. I hardly know how I have let myself dream of anything different. Certainly I am much better and stronger than I used to be, but——"

"You are as strong now as many men who marry and enjoy quite reasonably good health!" cried Odeyne eagerly. "Oh, Guy, it would be delightful if you would come and live near us. When you get Uncle Godfrey's money——"

"Yes, I know," interrupted Guy quickly, "but somehow I don't like waiting for dead men's shoes. I wish I could do something for myself."

"I don't think you are strong enough for that," said Odeyne, "and you know dear old Uncle Godfrey made you his heir just because you were the delicate one of the sons, and could not go out into the world. I'm sure if you were to tell him all about yourself and Cissy it would please him very much. He has always called you 'his boy,' and been so fond of you."

"I would tell him gladly, if there were anything to tell," answered Guy; "but you know I have not spoken a single word yet. She may perhaps have guessed something—one can't be always quite as careful as one intends. Oh, Odeyne, do you really think there would be a chance for me, and that it would not be selfish to try and get her? You know I have been a very troublesome fellow in my time, and might be so again. You had a good dose of it, and know what it is like!"

"If you don't give her a worse time than you gave me, you need have no fears," answered Odeyne with shining eyes. "Oh, I am very pleased. I like all the Ritchies, and Cissy is particularly unselfish and sweet. Some day we will drive across to Uncle Godfrey and tell him all about it; you know Desmond is sending down one of the carriages and a pair of horses for my use at home; and then we will have Cissy over and take her to see him. His dear old heart will make room for her at once in its warm depths."

So now Odeyne had another and very vivid new interest with reference to this visit home. For the old great-uncle, who lived not far away, and who was Guy's godfather, and had made the boy his heir long ago, was now very aged and in a critical state of health, and Odeyne was desirous to see him again, as her father was of opinion that he would hardly last through the summer. At his death Guy would succeed to a modest independence of about five hundred a year—certainly not a large income according to Desmond's ideas, but enough for persons of modest tastes and inexpensive habits to set up housekeeping in a quiet way. Guy had talents which might be turned to account to augment that income by a little, and Cissy had a thousand pounds of her own (though Guy did not know that), Dr. Ritchie having set aside this sum for each of his children, to be paid over on their making an independent start in life. The idea of Guy's setting up near to her, as she believed he would if he should succeed to his inheritance, was a source of the greatest pleasure to Odeyne, and helped her to forget Jem's hasty words about Desmond, which occurred to her once or twice, and which she had some thoughts of naming to Guy, asking if he thought they required explanation.

And now the day of departure had come, and Desmond was helping his wife into the carriage with the greatest tenderness and care, kissing away her starting tears, promising to run down very soon to visit her, and indulging fond hopes of seeing her back well and strong before many weeks had passed.

Odeyne clung to him passionately, her heart almost failing her at the last, begging him to take care of himself, to send for her if he wanted her, to be all that he had been since their marriage. Not more openly than this would Odeyne allude even to him to the anxieties that sometimes preyed upon her in secret; and Desmond kissed her again, pressed her hands, and promised, bidding her dry her eyes, and not set little Guy howling by the force of example.

Alice was standing by the carriage with the baby in her arms, her own tears falling slowly one by one.

There had been a little discussion once as to whether she should accompany Odeyne in the capacity of nurse; but it had been decided that it would not be right to take her from her husband, even though he was obliging and accommodating when the plan had been proposed.

Alice had not been specially eager to go, although greatly devoted to Odeyne and little Guy; so the monthly nurse had been retained, pending other arrangements, and now Alice almost wished that she were going after all.

It was so hard to part from her mistress and the darling boy, and her life would be a lonely one without the house to come to.

"You must look a little after the master's comforts, Alice," said Odeyne; "keep his clothes in nice order, and write to me about things at home sometimes."

And Alice promised through her tears, and watched the departure of the carriage with blinded eyes, feeling somehow (although she could never have expressed it in such words) as though the good angel of the house were flying away from it, leaving it open to other and more baneful influences.

Two days later, when her husband came back from the City, he said to her gaily—

"How would you like to live up at the great house, wifie, whilst the mistress is away? The master has been talking to me about it. He thinks it would be a very good plan."

"To live at the house?" questioned Alice, "but why? What should we do there?"

"Well, he is going to have a good deal of company down, one way or the other, and of course that means he will not be able to go into business quite so regularly. So to have me on the premises will be a great advantage, he thinks, and save a lot of time and trouble. It really may be a good thing in other ways, Alice; for the master does want a bit of looking after, more ways than one; and he's got into the way of talking very freely to me, and taking what I say in very good part."

"But what should I do there all day, not having the mistress to see to?" asked Alice.

"Oh, you could look after things a bit—put flowers in the rooms, and see to the gentlemen's mending and washing. You could make yourself useful in lots of little ways, and have a good time too. It would save us all housekeeping expenses, and it might be a good thing for us other ways too."

Alice was not quite sure that she thought it a comfortable plan; but she liked variety, and rather dreaded the dulness of the lodge in the absence of her mistress. She had friends as well as enemies amongst the servants at the house, and on the whole she thought it might be an amusing change.

"What sort of company is the master going to keep?" she asked with some interest. "I didn't hear anything about that from the mistress."

Garth laughed a little.

"Gentlemen like the master don't tell everything to their wives, my dear, whatever some good folks may do. The master has been a very exemplary husband, but he has had a precious dull time of it lately, and now he's going to have his little fling. I don't blame him either. It must be rather dull work tied to a sort of saint, like the mistress, and not a clever one either. I often wonder what he finds in her to be so fond of. She's not a patch upon my wife, now, in the matter of looks, and she hasn't got that little spice of the devil in her which makes a woman ten times more irresistible, and which my little Alice can display at the right time."

Alice pouted, and called him a bad man to say such things; but a little flattery went far with her, and greatly as she loved her mistress, she was always a little flattered at being favourably compared with her.

Two days later the Garths removed to the quarters assigned them in the big house; and already Alice noted a difference in the atmosphere that reigned there. A little relaxation of rules had taken place during the time that the mistress was unable to take an active part in domestic government; but so long as Mrs. Hamilton was in the house to give orders by proxy, nothing very remarkable had happened. A little more waste, a little more extravagance, irregularity at church, later hours than there was need for, had crept in; but things had gone pretty much in the old grooves so long as there were ladies in the house; but with only gentlemen to look after, things at once became different.

To begin with, the cook was sent on a holiday on full wages, whilst her place was taken by a French man-cook, who, it was whispered, received wages large enough to keep a curate and his family in clover. A smart-looking housekeeper was added to the establishment—only till the return of the mistress—and she and the cook carried on an endless flirtation together; but as they were both excessively polite to Alice and her husband, and treated them almost as though they were guests in the house, the girl was very well content with the life and the variety of her daily round, kept all the rooms bright with flowers, decorated the dinner-table day by day, and gave all those dainty touches to the house which in the absence of the mistress it would otherwise have lacked.

As for the guests, she soon ceased to keep count of them and their names. They came and went in a confusing medley. Sometimes the house was full from basement to attic. Sometimes it would empty out, and Desmond and his guests would all depart upon a drag and be absent several days. When at home they kept very late hours, playing billiards or cards, often until daylight broke in upon them. Sometimes the master went up to London, but more often he sent Garth in his place; and Alice would often notice a shadow of uneasiness upon her husband's face.

"Is anything the matter?" she asked him one day.

"Nothing special, but I'm afraid the master is going it too fast. He's broken out worse than I thought for. He does not have bad luck on the whole—and he is uncommonly good at billiards. I can watch him there, for they have me in to mark for them. But he's going the pace altogether too fast. He wasn't made for it. He hasn't the head to stand it. I look after everything for him as sharp as I can; and he's very good about taking hints from me—I will say that for him. But it would do him a world of good to go down to the country for a spell. He's been drinking more wine than is good for him these last few nights, and that I dread more than anything. He can't stand it, and if he once takes to it, it'll ruin everything, sooner or later."