Odeyne's marriage

CHAPTER XIII.

THE HOME-COMING.

"I am so sorry that Desmond has never found time to come over, mother dear; it has been quite a disappointment to us both. But you understand how it has been, and that business has to be considered; and he has had friends to entertain at home, too. I am very glad he has not been alone all the time; but, oh, how I do want to see him again!"

"I am sure you must, dear child. We have enjoyed having you more than I can say, and we shall miss you and the boy terribly. But now that you really are well and strong, I would not keep you away from Desmond longer. A large house wants its mistress at the helm. You must not be discouraged if you find things gone a little out of gear during your absence. Desmond is too easy-going to be quite the best master, and bachelor ways are not our ways. Still, a little firmness and a patient, cheerful, prayerful spirit will help you along wonderfully, and there is always little Guy for your comfort and solace."

"And Desmond, mother dear," said Odeyne, with her old bright smile; "Desmond must come even before little Guy."

"Yes, my love, I hope so indeed; and having a little child to think for and to train up ought to be dear Desmond's great help and motive in setting a good example to his household and the world. I know you will help him all you can, my dear. But the unconscious influence of a little child is often an immense power."

Odeyne did not altogether understand some of her mother's words. Mrs. Hamilton was parting from her daughter with some uneasiness of spirit; for she had had a long letter from Mrs. St. Claire a few days before, and since then she had seemed in haste to send Odeyne and the boy back to the Chase.

They had paid a long visit at the Rectory, for Odeyne had not made the rapid progress hoped for, and Desmond kept insisting that she should not be hurried, that she must get quite strong before she returned, and that he was getting along very comfortably. His letters were full of affection, and Odeyne fully believed that it was business and business alone which kept him from running down as promised. She was very happy in her present life with her brothers and sisters, her parents, and her child. She was always looking forward to the expected visit which never came; and now she was going back to her husband and her home with a happy heart, quite prepared for a few difficulties and worries in the household, but confident that her husband's loving support would be hers in whatever might arise.

She had engaged a very nice gentlewoman as nurse for little Guy, and she was eager beyond words to present the beautiful boy to his father. She was full of this thought as they neared the familiar country, and when every landmark became known to her, and she could almost see the woods and chimneys of the Chase as the train flew onwards towards the station, she took the baby into her own arms, and leaned eagerly out of the window to catch the first glimpse of Desmond as the train steamed up.

There were several persons on the platform, but for a moment she did not see her husband. Then one of the figures made a rapid sign and movement towards her. It gave Odeyne a momentary shock to realise that she had seen her husband without recognising him!

"Oh, Desmond!" she cried, as he flung open the carriage door, "I hardly knew you with a moustache! It seems to have changed you somehow."

"Does it? Oh, you will soon learn to know me with it! Well, how are you, my darling? Quite strong and well again? That is right. What, am I to kiss that little rogue too?—and in face of all the railway porters? Have you taught him to say 'Daddy' yet, eh?"

"Desmond! he is only four months old!"

"Too young to talk? Well, he will learn quite fast enough, I dare say. Give him to nurse, love, and come to the carriage. She and the child will follow in the station brougham with the luggage. Well, how are they all at the old home? And has Guy come into his fortune yet?"

"Don't talk of it quite so lightly, Desmond dear; we all love Uncle Godfrey, and shall grieve for him when he goes. I saw him to say good-bye, and he looked terribly frail. Guy is staying in the house with him. It is a comfort to all of us, and he likes it. It will not be long now, I fear."

"Well, well, he is very old, you see; and it will be a good thing for Guy. So you had little Cissy down, did you? And they got matters squared up between them? I never thought Guy would be the first brother to marry; but then he has really the best prospects. I've got my suspicions about Edmund here; but an army man has to think twice about matrimony in these days. Not but what Maud's got a tidy little fortune of her own."

"Oh, Desmond!" cried Odeyne, her breath rather taken away by Desmond's rattling talk, "do you really mean that?"

"I mean I have my suspicions. I notice they always gravitate together in society, and all that sort of thing. It may be my fancy, but I've got the notion that he's rather smitten by old Maud. I never thought her fascinating myself, but other fellows may have different tastes."

"Maud has always been your great champion, Desmond," said Odeyne, with just a touch of reproach in her voice.

Somehow she felt a little vague sense of chill and jar in this first meeting with Desmond. He seemed more inclined to rattle on in a half nonsensical fashion, than either to ask or answer the questions that seemed so all-important to her.

And then, had he really changed, or was it only her fancy? Of course the moustache made a difference; but was there nothing else?

She looked at him again and again, and seemed to miss something that had once been there. What it was she could not say, but she felt she missed something in his face, and something in his manner towards herself, that had always been there before.

It was not affection exactly; he was full of welcoming words and affectionate speeches, but his manner was a little boisterous; there was a lack of softness and tenderness about it. He laughed and made jokes all the way home, and put aside any inquiries of hers with a jesting response.

Somehow Odeyne had pictured a different kind of meeting, and was just a little chilled. Then she reproached herself, and argued that the fault was her own for staying so long away from home.

Desmond had been thrown upon bachelor society, and it had had this slight and passing effect upon his outward man.

Then they drove up, and Odeyne found herself at home again.

There were changes in the house, too, which her quick eyes noted at once.

Butler and footman were both strangers to her. There was a good deal of new furniture in the house, but yet it did not look as well-furnished as of yore, for there was a certain indefinable appearance of confusion and disorder. Moreover, the whole house was permeated by a smell of tobacco smoke. It seemed to cling about the draperies in spite of any number of open windows and the scent of the flowers; and it certainly gave a little shock to Odeyne to realise that her dainty drawing-room, in which she took such pride and pleasure, had not been kept sacred from the entrance of smokers.

Upstairs, things were more like themselves, save for the all-pervading scent of tobacco. Alice was awaiting her mistress with an eager welcome.

Odeyne thought that she also was changed. She looked rather pale and thin, her eyes were very bright, and she was dressed, perhaps, a little too much for her position; but Odeyne had always been lenient to Alice's little vanities.

She would have liked to ask a good deal about the master and the household, but somehow Alice gave her no satisfaction. Her answers were vague and unsatisfactory; and she seemed to be listening all the while for the arrival of little Guy and her lady's luggage.

When the child did come, Odeyne herself forgot everything in the interest of inducting him into his nurseries, and Alice's delight in the boy atoned for all else.

Then she had to go down to give Desmond his tea, and surely now, she thought, they would take up their old sweet relations together.

She would tell him all she had done at home, and hear all the details of his life during her absence.

Odeyne talked on about the home-life at the Rectory, and gave him innumerable messages sent by old friends there, or recounted the sayings of the local wiseacres about the beauty and promise of little Guy; and Desmond laughed and made semi-nonsensical replies, but seemed somehow as though he hardly took in all that she was saying. His attention kept wandering off, she knew not whither, and at last she asked gently—

"Is anything the matter, Desmond?"

He started and looked hard at her, saying almost roughly—

"What do you mean? What should be the matter?"

"Nothing, dear; I only thought you seemed preoccupied, and not quite like yourself. But perhaps it is only my fancy."

"You always were rather given to fancy things, weren't you?" he answered, laughing. "You'd better give up the habit, it's rather a tiresome one. Of course a man always has his own cares."

"Yes, and you have had my share too, all this while, dear; I am afraid you have had trouble with the household. I see you have different servants. I hope Thomson has not left altogether. Perhaps he is away for a holiday?"

"Oh, no! He took himself off, and so did several more. You will find a good many of the upper servants new. I've got a housekeeper, too, but, of course, if you don't like her, you can send her packing. But I think she understands her business, and will be useful. You see, dear, we must live a little differently now, and entertain and go out altogether more than we have done. We have had a very delightful honeymoon sort of time, but we must not make ourselves ridiculous. You are quite well now, and we have our position to keep up. We must begin now to do as other people of our position do. It does not answer to be odd."

"I did not know we were odd," said Odeyne, with a little smile, though there was a strange sinking at her heart. "But, of course, if you want things to be different you have only to say so. I will do my best to please you."

"Of course you will; you are a capital little woman, and only want to see a little more of life to be quite perfect. You see we shall soon be having the shooting upon us, and then we shall have the house full; or else pay visits ourselves to other houses, where there are pleasant gatherings; and when the season comes, we must have our house in town for a while. Beatrice has her eye upon one quite near theirs. You must be presented, and all that. I don't consider that you've seen anything of the world yet, little wife. I mean to introduce it to you now."

Desmond rattled on in that vein all through the day.

He wandered by Odeyne's side through the gardens after tea, talking the whole time, and speaking of so many new friends and acquaintances that she grew quite bewildered.

He came with her to the nurseries to see the child when she asked him; but he very soon had enough of the boy, and bore her off with him, declaring that it was his turn now, and that he wasn't going to be ousted by his son; and Odeyne smiled through all, and tried to think that soon she would get into the swing of things here, and that it was only her fancy that they had so greatly changed.

The dinner was rather a surprise to her; it was served with a quiet elaboration that was altogether new. All the dishes were handed, and the variety and richness of these was quite a revelation. It was beautifully dainty, but she knew enough of housekeeping to feel a qualm at the cost of such cookery.

"Oh, it's not poor old Masters!" answered Desmond with a laugh, when she spoke to him afterwards. "I sent that good soul packing some time ago; indeed, I let her go for a holiday directly, and then wrote and told her to get another situation elsewhere. This fellow is quite an artist in his way. He is a first-rate chef. And you needn't bother any more with ordering the dinners, little wife. He does all that, and the housekeeper gets him all he wants. It's far more comfortable than the old way."

"But, Desmond, the expense!"

"Oh, well, until I begin to grumble at the bills you needn't trouble your economical little head about that! All I want of my wife is to dress up and look pretty and bright, and be charming to my friends. The rest of the things can take care of themselves. You needn't bother, my darling."

But Odeyne herself felt that the foundations of domestic life were giving way with her; nor was she reassured upon the morrow, when Desmond kept warning her that she need not hurry over her toilet, as they seldom breakfasted before ten.

"But your train to the City, Desmond," she said. "And we ought to have prayers before the servants disperse to their work."

"Oh, my dear child, we never have prayers now. It's quite out of fashion. People don't understand that sort of thing now, and it doesn't do to make ourselves ridiculous, or to ram those antiquated customs down the throats of our friends. I'm sure you would never get your present establishment into that function. Don't look so scandalised, my love. I assure you that you hardly ever find a house of any pretensions whatever where they have family prayers!"

"I do not think I quite believe that, Desmond," answered Odeyne very gravely. "But even if it were true, I cannot see that it is any excuse for us, who have been taught better, to omit the gathering together of our household to ask God's blessing. Do you think we shall not be in danger of losing that blessing, to a greater or less extent, if we are ashamed to ask it openly because of the sneers of a portion of society?"

"My dear girl," said Desmond a little sharply, "you have been brought up so strictly that you cannot weigh these things. In a household such as ours, prayers would be simply a mockery, and be thought a fearful nuisance by every person except yourself. I don't intend religion to be rammed down reluctant throats in my house, so let us have no more discussion about the matter."

Odeyne was silenced, but the smart of tears was in her eyes. Desmond had never taken that tone with her before, and it cut her to the heart.

There were other troubles in store for her that day. Desmond took the eleven o'clock train to town—he always used to go by the earlier one—and she was left alone to make discoveries for herself. She wished to learn something of the life that went on below stairs, but was quickly made to feel herself an intruder upon a province with which she had no concern.

The fine housekeeper was courteous, but freezing, and evidently not accustomed to take orders save in the most general way from the mistress. The French cook was obsequious and bland, but altogether overpowering. There were only a few of the under-servants left whom Odeyne had engaged or known, and these had grown smart and pert in their appearance and manner. She felt as though she would never again be mistress in her own house, and was thankful in the extreme that she had at least one servant of her own choosing in the nursery, and resolved to keep that department under her strict surveillance. The housekeeper graciously permitted her to give orders of her own for the feeding of the child, remarking that she knew very little about such matters herself, but would take care that Mrs. St. Claire's orders were carried out.

Then Odeyne departed, and went to her own boudoir, where she sat down and indulged herself in a quiet cry, from which she was roused by the sound of voices and steps in the corridor outside.

She rose quickly, dashing away her tears; but Mrs. St. Claire's sharp eyes instantly detected them. She and Maud were her visitors, and they made no attempt to talk pleasing trivialities; but, after exchanging warm kisses, the mother at once drew Odeyne to her side and said—

"My dear, I know you must feel it. It cannot be otherwise. But you must not give way, or think that nothing can be done. Desmond's head has been turned by his successes. He has more cleverness than we have any of us given him credit for, and when a man is successful he is often extravagant and self-willed. But now that he has got his good little wife back, all will be well. You have always been his good angel, and you will continue so to the end, I am sure."

"Oh, if I had never gone away!" sobbed Odeyne, breaking down more under sympathy than she would have done had her mother-in-law spoken less kindly.

"My dear, you were sent away. It was no fault of yours. It has turned out badly, I admit; but, after all, things are not past mending. Now, dear, you know I have never intermeddled with your private affairs before, but will you tell me a little what is troubling you chiefly now? Perhaps if we take counsel together we can help and cheer one another up. And then I must see the boy; but let us get disagreeables over first."

Odeyne was only too glad to pour out her troubles into sympathetic ears, and was relieved to find that Mrs. St. Claire did not take quite so serious a view of the domestic difficulties as she had done herself.

"My dear, I am sorry your nice old-fashioned ways of household management have been disturbed; but, as things are now, I should be disposed to keep on the housekeeper to direct matters, only taking care that I held the place of her mistress. Desmond is quite bent upon having his fling at high life. And if he can afford it, perhaps he is justified in desiring it, and may settle down quietly afterwards. Probably he will tire of it in time, for stability has never been Desmond's strong point, and he takes everything in such a headlong fashion, that the recoil is usually to be reckoned on as pretty safe."

"Perhaps he is recoiling now from the quiet life we led together," said Odeyne sadly; "I was so happy all the time. I never thought that it could be tedious to him."

"I am sure it was not," said Maud, taking Odeyne's hand and caressing it covertly. "He was very happy, too. But he has got into a bad set, and they have led him on. Half of it is Algy's fault. It is his friends that do Desmond so much harm."

"And your task, my dear," said Mrs. St. Claire briskly, "is to seek to exercise a wise discretion with regard to Desmond's friends. I will give you all the help I know. Some may be encouraged and entertained, but some he should be weaned from by every possible means. You will have to go to work cautiously with Desmond, as all rather weak men have a curious strain of obstinacy in their composition, as I dare say you know. I am afraid I make you wince, my love; but I speak a truth that bitter experience has taught me. Desmond is a great many charming things, and has more wits than I gave him credit for; but he is weak and vain and obstinate, and I, his mother, may say so, though I would not suffer anybody else to do so."

Odeyne understood and could not resent the words. She talked long and earnestly with the mother and sister, who, whilst loving Desmond so devotedly, had gradually come to a knowledge of his weaknesses and vicious tendencies.

It had been very bitter to Maud to watch her brother's downward progress of late; but she had not shut her eyes to it, and she did not seek to condone his offences now. Odeyne heard things which filled her with sadness and dismay; yet she was comforted and strengthened by the visit of her husband's relatives, and the half-hour spent in the nursery made amends for much. The grandmother was delighted with little Guy, and thought him immensely improved and grown. She liked the nurse, and approved all Odeyne's arrangements. She stayed to lunch at the Chase, and left Odeyne a good deal happier than she found her, although the cloud had not lifted altogether from her spirit.

An hour or two later in sailed Beatrice, actually leading her little toddling boy by the hand.

"My dear, I could not let the day pass without coming to see you! I am delighted to get you back! How do you find Desmond looking? He is the dearest, cleverest fellow, and we make a great deal of him in our set, I can tell you! Really you have a treasure of a husband, and I hope you appreciate him. If you knew what some wives have to go through, you would!"

Odeyne had the little boy on her lap, and caressing him saved her the necessity of a direct reply. Somehow she felt she could not discuss Desmond with Beatrice, as she had done with her visitors of the morning. Beatrice was looking remarkably well and elegant, and had the air of a woman who has not a care in the world.

"We have such delightful plans. Has Desmond been telling you about them? Just a few garden parties and dull local functions, to do our duty to the neighbourhood, and then delightful house parties here and at our place, and with other friends through the autumn, and perhaps a run to Monte Carlo, or some nice sunny place in mid-winter. They say that Grindelwald is all the rage now for tobogganing; but we shall see. And then a real London season—I was cheated out of mine this last spring and summer, for Algy had let the house when we were in such low water, and really it did seem best to pay off the debts first. But we will change all that now, and be really extra gay. You will have a delightful time, Odeyne. I almost wish I could be you, to go through so many delightful first experiences."

"But, Beatrice," said Odeyne in a puzzled voice, "you talk of impossibilities. Desmond has his business to attend to, and I have a baby to consider. What do you think is to become of either if we go gallivanting about like that?"

"Oh, Desmond has his own ways of seeing to business now he is such a great man. Garth looks after things a great deal. As for the baby, my dear, you will soon find that Desmond will not let you make a slave of yourself to the child. You will have to turn into a fashionable mother, my dear, and leave him to his nurse. I have never been tied by little Gus there, and yet he is a pretty thriving specimen!"

"I do not intend to leave little Guy to the nurse," said Odeyne quietly. "I suppose you do not care to see him, Beatrice?"

"Frankly, my dear, I don't think I do," answered Beatrice laughing. "I have had enough of babies for one day, bringing mine across. When they reach the age for asking questions they become rather terrible. Thank goodness you are some way off from that yet. Ah, here is Desmond coming in. How delightful of him. Desmond, dear boy, I have a hundred things to ask you! May I stay? Or do you feel that you must have Odeyne all to yourself this first day?"

Was it Odeyne's fancy that Desmond was delighted to have a third person at their tea out on the terrace?—that he had no great desire for tête-à-têtes with his wife? The question brought a pang with it, yet it came again and again as she noticed the eager way in which he and Beatrice plunged into talk about people and things quite unknown to her. She could often hardly understand the drift of the conversation, and presently took little Gus up to the nursery to be introduced to his cousin there.

Beatrice turned rather curiously to Desmond and asked, "What does she make of it all?"

He laughed, not quite easily.

"I hardly know. I think she is puzzled; but she is a loyal little soul, and will get used to it all in time."

"I hope so. You won't let her turn you puritan again?"

"I don't think that was ever my line," answered Desmond, with an odd inflexion in his voice. "Anyhow, if it was, that day has gone for good now!"

CHAPTER XIV.

A CHANGED LIFE.

"Oh, how lovely you look! What a beautiful dress! I never saw anything so exquisite! It must have been made in fairyland! Oh, I wish I were out and could go and see all the people. Everybody says it will be such a sight!"

Jem was the speaker, and she was sitting on a corner of the sofa in Odeyne's spacious bedroom, watching Alice's deft movements as she robed her mistress for a grand fancy ball, to which she was going that night in the character of Titania, the Queen of the Fairies.

Cissy had been invited, to her great delight, and was to go under the chaperonage of Odeyne. Since it had become known that Cissy Ritchie was engaged to the brother of Mrs. Desmond St. Claire, she had risen in importance in the eyes of the neighbourhood. Guy had been much liked during his long stay at the Chase, and people were glad to hear that he intended coming to live near to his sister upon his marriage, although, as Cissy took care to inform all her friends, they should only have a small house, and live in quite a modest way.

Cissy was dressed to represent one of Titania's attendant fairies, and looked very pretty in her own way. Odeyne had had her hair redressed by Alice, and had lent her several sparkling ornaments to light up her dress and give a touch of fairylike brilliance to it. She herself was glittering from head to foot. A veritable fairy queen could scarcely have had a more splendid show of gems. Jem was entranced at her appearance, but upon Odeyne's face there rested a little shadow—a shadow that was often to be detected there now, although her gay and busy life seemed one long scene of enjoyment and success.

"What splendid jewels you have, Odeyne," said Jem, approaching the toilet table and looking into the various cases with which it was strewn. "It is like a jeweller's shop."

"Yes, I have more than I want; it is Desmond's extravagance to load me with them," answered Odeyne, smiling. "But, Alice, I don't know why you brought up all these cases from the safe. I told you I should only wear diamonds and pearls to-night."

"I did not like to trouble the master to wait whilst I looked them through," answered Alice, who, like her mistress, looked a little pale and troubled. "And you know he never lets anyone go to the safe without being there himself. So I just took all the large cases and brought them away. I am going to stay here till you come back, ma'am. I shouldn't like anybody else to undress you, and I couldn't be comfortable leaving all these things about in the room, without I was there to see after them."

Odeyne could very well understand that Alice was afraid to leave valuable jewellery lying about, even locked up in a bedroom, with the present miscellaneous household. She looked relieved as she heard the girl's words.

"Oh, if you can stay I need not trouble the master again to open the safe till we get home. But are you sure you can be spared from home, Alice? We may be very late."

"Walter is coming to do some work for the master, ma'am, and he will be writing in the study till quite late, he says. I would rather wait for him here, if I may; I don't like trusting things out of my sight or his."

"Very well, I leave all in your charge," said Odeyne; and at this moment Desmond knocked at the door and asked if he might come in and show himself. He came in, looking an Oberon worthy of Odeyne's Titania, his handsome, careless face wreathed in smiles as he turned round for his wife's inspection, and surveyed himself in the long mirror opposite.

No one could regard him without admiration, and yet it often came over Odeyne with a pang that this was not the old Desmond she had known in the days of yore. He was as gay, as merry, even as affectionate, as ever, but there was something lacking which she missed terribly and yet which defied definition—something there which she wished away, and which she yet found it impossible to complain of, so subtle and indefinite was it in essence.

In the gay life they led there was not overmuch time for thought and analysis. Desmond's idea of pleasure seemed to be always more or less in a whirl. Odeyne found her circle of acquaintances enlarging every day, and invitations poured in, which her husband insisted on accepting, and which involved them in return hospitalities on a grander scale than anything Odeyne had contemplated during her first year of wifehood.

She was often entertained and amused. She had a large capacity for enjoyment. There was a natural innocent pleasure in the grandeur of her present life, which was often present with her. But she had her troubles too; she felt very sadly the godlessness of her household, the absence of the gathering of the household for prayer in the morning, the increasing difficulty of getting her servants and even her husband to church, the hindrance sometimes placed in her own way from regular attendance there.

She strove to be patient. She prayed earnestly for guidance, and sought to combine gentleness with firmness in her dealing with others, and in her relations with her husband when differences arose. Alas! these differences were arising fast now, and Odeyne was sometimes cut to the heart to note how little Desmond seemed aware of it. He would turn the matter off with a laugh and a kiss, and seemed to think it settled; and Odeyne was learning by rather bitter experience, that fond as her husband was of her, he was by no means easily led or influenced. He had a way of slipping away from an argument, or evading a definite answer, which made it almost impossible to bring any moot point to an issue, and he went his own way with a careless obstinacy and persistency that left Odeyne feeling strangely helpless.

His good humour and gay spirits were, however, rarely impaired, and to-night he was in the merriest of moods. He wanted to dress up Jem in some sort of extemporised costume and carry her off with them. He teased Cissy about her betrothal, and made much of his wife, and even accompanied her on her final visit to the nursery, which she never omitted to pay.

All through the long drive in the pleasant cool of the summer evening he rattled away most amusingly, looking so handsome and distinguished in his bravery that Cissy thought him the most delightful of men, although in the Ritchie family there was a good deal of discussion as to whether or not Desmond St. Claire was not in danger of going the pace dangerously fast. No one could well help liking him, for his personal charm was considerable, but, as Tom Ritchie occasionally observed, it was often the most charming men who turned out the greatest scamps in the end.

The ball was a very grand affair, at the house of one of the county magnates. Cissy had never seen anything so fine before, the flowers, the lights, the magnificence of the liveried servants, and the blaze of jewels and gorgeous raiment were quite dazzling to her.

She kept close to Odeyne, who moved along with the self-possession and grace of manner which had always been characteristic of her. She seemed to know a great many people, Cissy thought, and Desmond was hailed on all sides, and seemed popular alike with men and women. Cissy did not know one-tenth of the company, but was content to look on and admire the fine folks; although when the dancing began she was pleased to find partners, and being a pretty girl, light of foot, and merry of tongue, and under the wing of Mrs. St. Claire, she did not lack notice, and enjoyed herself amazingly.

Odeyne danced a little, but often excused herself. She soon found herself a seat upon the balcony, where she could watch the dancing and keep an eye on her charge, yet enjoy the clear cool stillness of the summer's night.

Here it was that Edmund found her, wandering out in a pause of the dancing. He was in uniform, looking very handsome and gallant. Odeyne had twice remarked him in the room, dancing with Maud—who was there under Beatrice's nominal care. Now he too had to come out for a breath of air, and Odeyne rose at once and took possession of him.

"Edmund, I was hoping I should see you to-night. You come so little to the Chase now."

There was a slight accent of reproach in her voice, and he looked down at her quickly as he said—

"But, Odeyne dear, you understand why I stay away?"

Her eyes were turned upon him with a doubtful expression.

"I am not quite sure—I don't want to know too much—yet, Edmund, I think I should like to know. I have been wondering about it. I asked Desmond once, but he only laughed and said he supposed you found metal more attractive elsewhere. I think he meant Maud."

"Desmond has a right to say what he likes to you, but he knows quite well that there is a very good reason why I should not come often to the Chase now that it is always full of company. In plain words, I cannot afford it."

"What do you mean, Edmund?"

"Desmond knows well enough. It began whilst you were away, but it goes on just the same after the ladies have retired. They play very high play there, no matter whether it is cards or billiards. Most of them are rich men, and all are very careless. It may do for them, but it does not do for me. I soon saw what it must end in, and I took myself off. I don't care to come to a place and make myself conspicuous. Desmond meant very kindly in asking me. He thought I should win money by my billiard playing, which is rather good, though I say it. I did win a little, and that set me thinking. I couldn't make that sort of thing fit in with our father's teaching, nor with the sort of standard I've always tried to live up to. One doesn't want to sit in judgment on others, but I saw it wouldn't do for me, so I've been keeping aloof, as you see. But don't misunderstand me, Odeyne. It's not that I love you the least little bit less. If you were in trouble, and would send for me, I'd go through fire and water for you."

Tears had sprung to Odeyne's eyes. She could not command her voice, but she pressed Edmund's hand. His words had cut her to the heart, little as he had meant them to. The cry of her heart was, "Oh, why cannot Desmond feel that too? Why cannot he be content with all the good things God has given us?" But she could not speak these words aloud, and the next minute their retreat was invaded by Beatrice, who came sweeping down upon them in a gorgeous Cleopatra-like robe, jewels blazing upon her bare neck and arms, and her rich draperies rustling yards behind her on the floor. How she contrived to dance in them was a mystery, but she did dance when she had a mind to—not else.

"Well, what mischief are you two hatching out here together? Odeyne, why don't you dance more, and show yourself? Everybody is raving about your dress, and you hide yourself away, and don't half look after that giddy boy of yours. He's carrying on all sorts of flirtations with dowagers and wallflowers promiscuously. Have you seen the picture gallery? Well, you really should. I know this house very well. I'll do the honours for you. Come along."

She took Odeyne by the arm and led her out, saying, laughing, as they got a little way off—

"We must contrive a few happy moments for those lovers. He's so diffident, and she's so cold, that they will never pull it off unless we help them. And really I should like to see poor Maud with a lover at last. It has always been her fate to be passed over in life, and there's a lot of good stuff in her, if one could only get beneath the crust."

"I did not know whether that idea was Desmond's fancy," said Odeyne; "but I'm afraid nothing can come of it for a long time yet. Edmund has very little but his profession, and you know Maud has been brought up in luxury all her life."

"Yes, but she has money. She must have a good fortune by now. It has been accumulating for her ever since she came of age—she has hardly spent anything. Maud isn't like me. She doesn't want a gay life and everything that money can buy. Perhaps she's all the happier for it," and Beatrice suddenly broke off and heaved a long sigh.

"I think happiness has very little to do with being rich," answered Odeyne; and Beatrice gave her a quick sidelong glance.

"I know what you mean—people can overdo it," she said in a rather rapid way. "Odeyne, I wanted to ask you—I wanted a moment with you in private. Do you think Desmond is going the pace too fast, and getting reckless? I'm half frightened sometimes at the way things go. It's delightful, of course, and I never had Algy in so good a temper month after month before. He's always perfectly certain that everything is right—but then that's his way. He doesn't understand business a bit. He takes the good the gods send, and asks no questions. But Desmond is clever—they all say that—and he is the leading spirit. Is he ever gloomy and restless at home? Does he seem anxious or troubled? Does he go on like a man upon whom dark care is secretly preying?"

"No, indeed," answered Odeyne. "He is always gay and lively. My difficulty with him is that he can never be grave for two minutes together. He turns everything into joke. One would think he did not know the meaning of care."

Beatrice's face cleared at once.

"Oh, I am so glad—for Desmond is very transparent. You would soon know if anything were amiss. He would let it out directly. Sometimes I have been afraid, from your manner, that something was wrong. I am so glad.'"

"There are other troubles in the world sometimes besides money troubles," said Odeyne; but Beatrice only laughed.

"Ah, my dear, other troubles are very easily gilded and charmed away by the power of gold. Believe me, if you have plenty of money you can keep trouble and sorrow very effectually at bay."

Odeyne winced, but made no reply. Beatrice, like Desmond, had changed a little during these past months, and not for the better. There was no pleasure in talking to her of anything beyond the trivialities of life. She seemed to have no interest beyond them.

Edmund and Maud were still out upon the balcony. There was a slight pause in the dancing. The room was suffocatingly hot, and the company had streamed out upon one of the great terraces, where ices and lemonade were to be had, as well as cups of all sorts. Maud and Edmund could see the gay shifting throng, lighted up by the glow of a myriad coloured lanterns.

Maud said, as though continuing a train of thought, or some talk that had gone before—

"Do you wonder that I am tired of a life that has seemed nothing but a shifting sort of show—like that?"

"You have had your mother to care for, Maud. Has not that been a sweet and sacred charge? How could I ask you to leave it for what I have to offer?"

"My mother has never really cared for me," answered Maud sadly yet steadily; "it is Desmond and Beatrice who really have her heart, though they give her so much anxiety. I think it is always the prodigal son who is the real favourite. And I would not have it otherwise. I love Desmond with all my heart; although I know now that mother judged him better than I, and that he will make a terrible mess of his life before he has learnt his lesson!"

"You think that, too?"

"How can anybody who knows anything of life help thinking it? Is it not always the way with temperaments like his? He will be led on from step to step. He will plunge more and more deeply, believing in his cleverness and his luck. He may be very lucky for a time, because he is careful; but he will get reckless at last—and then will come a crash!"

"And can nothing be done to hold him back?"

"Nothing, I fear. His marriage seemed just at first as though it would influence him. But, like everything else, he got used to it, and to Odeyne; and she is too inexperienced and gentle to exercise much restraining power. But were she the strongest woman in the world I believe the result would be the same. Our mother is no weakling, but she could never hold back Desmond. When the fit is on him he will go his way."

"And your life has been shadowed through him," said Edmund gently. "It seems as though all the greatest suffering in life came through those we love best."

Maud was silent a moment, and then looked up bravely at him.

"It is so often, Edmund; but not always—ah! I trust not always!"

Something in the appeal of her tone made him put out his hand and take hers in a close clasp.

"Maud, I never intended it should come to this; but love is too strong. I cannot help telling you how I love you!"

"And why should you not tell me, Edmund? Ah, if you knew how hungry my heart has been for love, year after year, year after year!—and it never came to me."

"It is good of you not to blame me for my precipitation, for I have still my way to make in life, and we may have long to wait. Will that be hard, Maud? Will it, by-and-by, seem to you unfair that I spoke so soon?"

"Edmund, if you knew how happy it makes me to know that there is one to love me and care for me above all others! Rather it is I who should feel that I am the unworthy one. No shadow hangs upon your name. No threatened cloud of misfortune gathers in your sky! But look at Desmond! look at Beatrice! Who knows what may overtake them in a few short years? May it be nothing worse than poverty, when it comes!"

There was a pause, and then Maud spoke slowly and thoughtfully.

"I have often thought that some day Beatrice will come back with her boy to live with our mother. I am afraid for Algernon. He is a man I could never trust. Mother and Beatrice would get on better without me——"

She stopped suddenly, and he knew what she would say. Then she should come to him.

"My darling, if you do not mind poverty."

"We should not be so very poor," she answered quietly. "My father left me twenty-five thousand pounds."

He stood and looked at her in surprise. He knew, of course, that Mrs. St. Claire was a wealthy woman, but it had never entered his head that Maud had a fortune of her own.

"I am glad I did not know that before," he said.

"So am I, if it would have made a barrier between us," she answered. "We both had that when we came of age, but I fear poor Beatrice's is all gone. It was not tied up as it ought to have been—at least not nearly all. It was a great mistake—especially with a man like Algernon."

So if Odeyne did not specially enjoy the ball, it may be gathered that others did. It was a very brilliant affair, and the local papers were full of it afterwards. But Desmond came home a good deal flushed and excited, talking rapidly and in a very nonsensical fashion the whole time of the drive, and making Cissy open her eyes very wide at some of his remarks.

Odeyne said nothing till they reached their room that night, when she put her hand upon his arm and said softly—

"Desmond dear, I wish you would not!"

He understood her, and his face flushed hotly.

She did not know for a moment whether he was going to be angry; but then he put his arms round her suddenly and said—

"Oh, my dear little wife, you are ten thousand times too good for me! Why cannot I be the sort of man that you would make of me, if I gave you the chance?"

She put her hands upon his shoulders, and her loving eyes looked full into his.

"No, Desmond darling—not that—but the kind of man God would make of you if you would let Him. But how can you expect it when you never ask Him, and never seek to learn His ways?"

He knew what she meant—that the old habit of prayer, which had been dropped when she was ill, had never been resumed. He hung his head as he replied—

"Odeyne, I'm not worthy to pray for myself; but go on praying for me, my faithful little wife, for I need it more than you can well understand."

"I never do forget to pray for you, dear husband," she answered. "But you, my darling, pray for yourself too; pray to be kept from temptation and evil. God is never deaf to the weakest prayer."

He made a strange sound between a laugh and a sob; but when Odeyne knelt in prayer that night, Desmond, for the first time for many a long month, came and knelt silently beside her.

After that, for a little while, matters were better at the Chase. For a time they were without visitors, and there was a little lull in the round of social gaieties. Desmond, who liked variety above everything, enjoyed even the variety of domestic life by way of a change. He made much of Odeyne and little Guy, resumed some of his old habits of earlier rising and quiet evenings at home, and cheered Odeyne's heart by his tenderness to her—real tenderness, not just boisterous affection.

A good many of his less desirable friends were going abroad just now. He spoke once or twice of taking Odeyne away for a Continental trip; but she pleaded so hard to remain at home after her long absence, and the weather was so exceptionally hot and pleasant, that he was content to let her have her way.

So although he talked of a gay autumn, a big house party and plenty of shooting at their own and other places, he was for the present content to remain at home with wife and child, contenting himself with an occasional run to town, or a short visit paid to Beatrice, or some friend in the neighbourhood.

Odeyne began to restrain the extravagance in the household as she had not ventured to try and do at first. She got rid of some of the servants with whom she was most displeased, and began to feel that the reins of government had not altogether slipped from her hands.

She could not get Desmond to recommence family prayers, or to discharge any of the new men-servants, whom Odeyne disliked and distrusted; but at least things were better and more orderly than when she came back, and the reforms had been made without one angry word having passed between her and her husband.

Mrs. St. Claire expressed open satisfaction with her daughter-in-law.

"My dear, you are doing most excellently. A nagging or a whining woman would drive Desmond wild. But your tact and your judgment do you immense credit. No one could have shown more skill in dealing with a very critical and difficult situation. I hope Desmond appreciates the treasure he has got. For if he escapes, without a crash, it will be to his wife that he owes it."

"Tact!—judgment!—skill!" said Odeyne to herself, when she was alone, "ah no!—if I have done any good at all, it is just because I have never stopped praying for Desmond, and for guidance to do aright myself! And if this dreaded crash is avoided, it will be no doing of mine—but just God's mercy. Yet even if it should come I would try to bear it bravely. For it might be His way of answering my prayers for Desmond, though the world might not see or understand!"

CHAPTER XV.

CLOUDS IN THE SKY.

"Desmond, dear, is it really necessary?"

"Of course it is necessary, you foolish child! Why, you have never spent a week in town in your life. You have not seen a London season, or been presented, or anything! You know it is part of the programme of the year. I think you will like the house I have chosen; but of course you can go up and inspect it, and see if there are any objections."

Odeyne looked at her husband with something of appeal in her eyes. As she did so she wondered again for the hundredth time whether it was her fancy that a change was slowly, but surely, passing over Desmond. She had fought all through the autumn against her growing fears. She had striven by every loving artifice in her power, and by the strength of her own true love, to keep him as far as possible the Desmond of old, the husband she had wedded with such hope and confidence two short years ago.

They had been gay during the past months; visiting other houses occasionally, more often entertaining a large house party at the Chase (an alternative greatly preferred by Odeyne, on account of little Guy), their domestic life had, of course, been much interfered with. They lived, as it were, in public, and had little time for confidential intercourse—a thing which Desmond appeared, if anything, rather to shirk—but Odeyne's patient love and tenderness never failed her, and seemed to act in a measure as a restraining influence upon her husband. She had striven to believe that things were well with him, that he was returning to those more legitimate occupations and interests which had once been his. She had rejoiced when the house emptied itself, and she was free from the obligation to associate with men whom in her heart of hearts she dreaded and disliked. She strove in all things to play the part of hostess courteously, but she heartily disliked and feared some of her guests, and was rejoiced to see them go.

Earnestly did she hope that now they might resume a life of quiet domestic happiness. Little Guy was just reaching the fascinating age when walking and talking begin to be attempted, and Odeyne looked forward to seeing the father taking a fond pride and delight in his beautiful boy.

Desmond was affectionate by nature. With all his faults he had never failed her there. She was sure that the little one would win his way, when once the father had time and opportunity to notice him. Of course he had not wanted the little fellow shown off and brought down with so many bachelor guests in the house. He dreaded being ridiculed as the fond father and doting parent, and had given pretty strict orders that little Guy was to be kept to his own quarters. Nor had Odeyne desired it otherwise with the company they had recently entertained. But, oh, how she had looked forward to the time when they would be alone together, with the bright spring days before them! How happy they would be then! Desmond was always different when he got away from the influences of those fast and loud-voiced fashionable people to whom he seemed to have taken such a fancy. Odeyne lived through the winter in the hopes of better days in store, and just when these seemed about to commence, up cropped the old talk of the London season, and although Odeyne had said all along that she did not desire to go in the least, and much preferred the quiet of the Chase, Desmond seemed to take no note of her words, although from time to time she hoped that the plan would fall to the ground.

He had not spoken of it all the last week, though he had been a great deal in town—up every day from early morning till quite the late evening train. Still he had not spoken of moving there until to-day, when he came home full of pride and delight in the house he had found, and the gay times they were to have.

Had he forgotten, or did he simply ignore what Odeyne had so often said on the subject? As she looked at him, asking herself the question, she was struck anew with the sense that Desmond had changed—was changing month by month—that she could no longer reckon upon influencing him, pleading with him, modifying his ideas by showing him how little they accorded with her own. The loving give and take which had characterised their early married life was slowly but surely giving place to the arbitrary rule of the husband, to which the wife must submit whether she would or no. Perhaps Odeyne had never realised this so keenly as at the present moment, and the pang it brought with it was sharp and deep.

"It is not likely that I shall find fault with any house you have chosen, Desmond," she answered gently, for she never permitted herself to speak a sharp or angry word to her husband. "You are a great deal more particular than I am. But you know I did not want to go to town at all. I have said so all along."

He laughed in the boisterous but mirthless way which had grown upon him of late.

"Oh, that is all nonsense, you know. You must have a London season and see the world. You must be presented and see something of life. One only vegetates down here."

"I have seen a good deal of life even down here latterly, Desmond, and as for being presented, and seeing a little of London Society, a visit to Beatrice would be amply sufficient. I am sorry that you are determined upon taking a house for ourselves. I think it is a needless expense."

"Oh, bother your everlasting talk about expense!" cried Desmond, more roughly than Odeyne had ever heard him speak before. "What does it matter to you so long as I have money to meet it? Your economical scruples are really rather trying, my dear."

"I am sorry you are vexed with them," answered Odeyne with quiet dignity. "But you know I was brought up so differently."

"Yes, but you need not for ever play the country parson's daughter! I wish you would brisk up and be a little more lively and chic—if you know what that means! One gets tired of hearing one's wife always dubbed the fair Puritan, or the uncloistered nun, or even the patient Griselda!"

Odeyne was more deeply hurt than she had ever been before. Something in her husband's tone and look cut her to the heart. It was with difficulty she was able to command her voice and to speak naturally. She would not attempt any reply to his last words; she went back to the question of the house.

"I hope there are pleasant rooms that will make into nurseries for Guy," she said. "I care more about that than anything. I am sorry for the child's sake that it is necessary to go to town at all; but if it must be, the great thing is to be sure that we have suitable quarters for him."

Desmond looked rather taken aback.

"Why, you don't think of taking the boy, do you?"

"Did you think of leaving him behind?"

"Why, yes, to be sure. Haven't you always said how bad London is for country-bred children?"

"I fear it is. But it is still worse for a child to be taken from his mo—from his parents for an indefinite time."

"Oh, nonsense! He would be much better down here."

"No, Desmond, he would not!" answered Odeyne, with unwonted firmness. "If things were as they used to be in this house, if we had our respectable, faithful servants—those whom your mother engaged for us at the outset, some of whom had lived in your family before—if our old household were here now, I might be able to consider the point with different feelings. As it is, it is out of the question. It was all Hannah could do to get along at all, just those few days we have been away at different times on our visits—never more than ten days at any one time. I told you when we came back what sort of goings on there were in our absence, but you only laughed and made light of it, and said it was the way of the world nowadays. You know that I cannot cope with it single-handed, when I have not the power to dismiss the ringleaders. I would no more leave Guy in the house when we are away, now that he is beginning to notice and understand, than I would put him in a den of wild beasts. Nor would Hannah bear it, if I wished to do it. If we go to London for the season the child must come too. I have given way to you so far in everything, as you well know; but in this I cannot and will not. I have my duties as a mother as well as those as a wife."

It was almost the first time that Odeyne had asserted herself in this way, and it was not without its effect upon Desmond. He did not gainsay her—perhaps he was a little ashamed at having the condition of his household so clearly set before him; he only shrugged his shoulders and said—

"Well, I think you will find a young child a great hamper and fetter in London, and if he gets ill you will only have yourself to thank. Why not send him to the mother and Maud, as Beatrice is going to send Gus?"

"Mamma would not have room for two children and two nurses," answered Odeyne. "Gus is quite sufficient of a handful alone, as Maud has said."

She did not like to add that Gus had learnt from his father and his father's associates words that she would not for anything hear from Guy's innocent little lips. It went to her heart to hear how the unconscious, sturdy little fellow rattled out his ugly vocabulary, with the air of one who expects his audience to laugh. Odeyne felt more like crying sometimes when she had the child in her company. Doubtless the best possible thing for him would be a residence under his grandmother's roof, with Maud's firm hand upon him. For since he had grown to the engaging and prattling age, Beatrice had suddenly become immensely proud of showing him off, and he had been outrageously spoiled all through the past winter. Neither parent, however, desired to be bothered with a young child in London, so he was to be sent to his grandmother's safe keeping, as the Vanboroughs had an offer of a tenant for Rotherham Park, and, let matters be never so well with them, the Hon. Algernon never refused an offer that would bring grist to the mill.

Odeyne went up to look at the town house next day. It was a very sumptuously furnished place, with a good hall and staircase, and fine reception-rooms. The other parts of the house were less to her liking, and it was not at all easy to find quarters for the child and his nurse, as Desmond was exceedingly averse to giving up any of the best bedrooms for that purpose. He and Odeyne came nearer to a real dispute upon that point than they had ever done in their lives before. It required all Odeyne's patience, tact, and firmness to get the matter settled without harsh words being spoken.

Fortunately Desmond quickly put away from him any vexed question, and, as he was very much delighted with the house, and with the prospect of his London season, he soon forgot his annoyance, and was quite merry and chatty as they sat at lunch in a fine shop, where he said the best meals in town were to be had.

"It will be such a capital thing to be so near to business!" he said. "It's all very well for you down at the Chase to talk of the delights of the country; but when one has to spend a couple of hours a day in a grilling railway carriage the joy is considerably modified, I can tell you. I do want to be in the City a good deal now. There are a great many very important things going on wanting my constant presence. I shall be exceedingly glad to be within half-an-hour's drive of the—of the office; and you have the Park so near that you will hardly feel cooped up at all. It's almost like living in the country."

Odeyne smiled, without exactly agreeing to the proposition, but answered that if Desmond had business that required a sojourn in town, she would do her best to be happy.

"When you put it on the ground of amusement, well I know that I should be happier at home; but if your duties require more of your time, why, that is another thing altogether."

"Well, they really do," answered Desmond eagerly. "I don't bother you with details, you know."

"No, sometimes I wish you would tell me a little more. Everything that you do would be interesting to me."

"Oh, you wouldn't understand details. They are only for men. But I assure you I have a great many things going on that need much personal overlooking. It doesn't do to be too far away. Not even Garth and the telegraph can do all that is necessary. It will be an immense boon to be so near the spot. You will have your reward, little wife. If you don't like London so very much, you will like to think that your husband is growing to be a really wealthy and important man of business!"

Odeyne smiled a little sadly.

"I do not think that wealth and happiness have a very close connection, Desmond, dear. Sometimes looking back, it seems to me that we were happier before we were so rich. The old days were very sweet, and we had all that we could want then."

For a moment a shadow fell across Desmond's face, and then he turned to Odeyne with something like the old look in his eyes.

"Little wife, I'm not sure but what you're right," he said, with sudden energy. "But look here, let's make a sort of bargain. You go through this one season my way, and leave me a free hand with my undertakings. Then at the end of that time we will go home; and if things have turned out as I expect, I shall be able to retire upon my laurels, and not trouble myself with money-grubbing any more! If we are not millionaires we shall be rich enough for all practical purposes; and we will settle down like staid married people, and turn over a new leaf—or rather, perhaps, turn back to the old one, and make that our model."

Odeyne felt the tears very near to her eyes as she said—

"Oh, Desmond, if we only could!"

"Well, why not? I declare we will! This sort of thing is a tremendous strain. I couldn't stand too much of it. I might even lose my nerve, and that would be fatal. No, no! we will go through with it this time, and then we will retire from the world, and live for one another—and the boy!"

Storm clouds had long been hanging in Odeyne's sky, but as she heard these words, and felt indeed that Desmond was sincere in speaking them, she trusted that the sunshine was not far away, and that if she could but be hopeful and brave better times might yet be in store for them.

She went home happier than she had started out, although the three months' residence in town was an inevitable thing.

* * * * * *

"You have heard of the master's latest idea?" said Walter Garth a few days later, coming in upon his wife after the close of his day's work.

Alice looked up with a rather troubled face. She had altered a good deal of late. Her pretty face had grown pale and rather thin. In her eyes there was often a startled, hunted look, as though she were suffering from some undefined terror. She was still dainty and pretty, with a lady-like air and way of speaking, but she had laid aside a good deal of her old archness and affectation. She looked as though she had other matters to think of than just the adornment of her own person.

Walter Garth had changed very little in outward appearance, save that he looked increasingly respectable and gentleman-like. His manner was still very quiet, but it had acquired an ease and decision which showed that he was accustomed to give advice and to meet with respectful hearing. He dressed well, and spent his evenings now almost invariably in reading, and in the study of some foreign language.

Alice used to wonder at this, and ask what good it was to him: but she never got anything from him but a rather sardonic smile, and the reply that foreign travel was often a pleasant relaxation, and that when he had made his fortune he might like to show his wife something of the world.

Truth to tell, Alice had grown just a little bit afraid of her husband of late. She was certain that he had plans and projects in his head of which he never consciously spoke. He was affectionate and indulgent to her in his way, but she always felt that one half of his life was a sealed book to her.

The only glimpses she ever got of it were at night sometimes, when he would talk in his sleep, and utter mysterious phrases, the import of which she never fully understood, but which filled her with a vague sense of dismay.

He appeared at these times to be like a man walking on the verge of a precipice, or upon ice so dangerously thin that it may at any moment give way beneath the feet.

How she obtained this idea she never could actually say, for it is always strangely difficult to recall the words of a person speaking in sleep, when once the moment has passed by. Here and there a phrase would remain with Alice, and once she asked Walter if he could tell her what it meant; but he gave her such a strange, stern, startled look, and asked her so sharply where she had picked up the words, that she never dared repeat the experiment, and had to make up some false explanation of having seen them in a newspaper; and even so she was certain that he was only partially satisfied.

Yet there was one sentence, often repeated, that always stayed with her, do as she would to forget it. He often spoke it in his sleep, when evidently troubled by bad dreams, and lying tossing to and fro.

"And at worst there are always the jewels—always the jewels!" he would keep saying; and Alice, as she heard him, would shiver all over, and ask herself timidly what he could mean. So a certain reserve had grown up between the pair, and Alice was not the proud and happy wife she had once been.

At her husband's question she looked troubled and said—

"Do you mean about going to London with them? But you won't do that, will you, Walter?"

"Why shouldn't I?" he asked quickly.

"Why, we live here, and you can go up every day. What does the master want beyond that?"

Alice could hardly have said herself why she dreaded the idea of anything which would bring Walter into closer relations with his master, but dread it she did. She had hoped that the move to London would break that constant intercourse, and transform him more to the office clerk again, and keep him away from Desmond St. Claire; but it seemed that it was not to be.

"We can live anywhere where my work lies, for that matter," he answered rather curtly, "and my work is where Mr. St. Claire is. In point of fact he rather begins to want a private secretary, and there is nobody who could do the work for him half so well as myself."

"But you belong to the office, Walter."

He gave a little dry laugh.

"I belong, if you like to employ that phrase, to Mr. St. Claire, and have done this long while. The office has seen precious little of us these last months, I can assure you. We have business on hand of which the office knows nothing, although we keep up a sort of attendance there."

Alice looked troubled and perplexed, though she remained silent. She was a little afraid of questioning Walter.

"The long and the short of it, Alice, is that Mr. St. Claire can't do without me. He is going the pace altogether too fast, and it is all he can do to keep his nerve. He is wonderfully quick and clever, but he lacks stamina, if you know what I mean. He can set things going, but they would often go to pieces if I were not at his elbow to look after him, and see that he forgets nothing. If he would be content to give himself unreservedly to the business, he might do a lot, but he is a bit of a fool too, and he will have his pleasures. He will burn his candle at both ends. I've spoken till I'm tired of speaking. He's a man that will go his own way; but he knows that he can't do without me, and now he wants me to give up everything else and live in the house as his private secretary, and really I believe I must do it, at least if things are to have any chance of pulling through. I can tell you it is not child's play that is before us these next weeks; but if we can pull through we shall land a big fish, and no mistake!"

"And if you can't?" asked Alice, her face growing rather pale at the thought.

Walter slightly shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh, we don't think about that—it's better not. We want all our wits and our nerve. Now, Alice, don't you babble about these things to anybody in this world, least of all to Mrs. St. Claire. You know how many times I've told you that men have been ruined before this by the gossiping tongues of foolish wives."

"I shall not say a word, Walter, you may be quite sure of that," answered Alice a little bitterly. "Mrs. St. Claire has quite enough troubles of her own without my adding to them. But if you go with the family to London, what am I to do?"

"Well, that you can arrange with your lady. If she likes you to come too, so much the better. I am not a proud man. I never profess to be other than I am. I have married a lady's-maid, and if my wife likes, under the circumstances, to go on with her attendance upon her mistress, I shall not interfere."