Odeyne's marriage

CHAPTER VII.

BEATRICE AT HOME.

Desmond decided that they ought to accept the invitation.

"The fact is, darling, we are in danger of growing selfish in our happiness," he said. "But it won't do to shut ourselves up altogether at home; and I particularly want to be useful to Beatrice if I can. Poor Algy is a rattling good fellow, in his way; but he is going the pace altogether too fast. I want to put a spoke in his wheel if I can, for her sake and the boy's. I think she looks to me to do it. You see she has no father, and her brother is naturally the person she would depend on."

Desmond spoke with perfect sincerity and good feeling. In the plenitude of his own happiness and prosperity, he would fain have stretched out a friendly hand to all the world within reach. He felt so very staid and sober himself, going into business with a commendable regularity, and really showing an aptitude for such matters which he had hardly expected at the outset. He began to feel that he could look with a certain friendly compassion and solicitude upon a man like Algernon Vanborough, who was getting more and more deeply "dipped," and whose affairs were becoming unpleasantly involved. He promised himself that he would speak plainly with his brother-in-law when they were alone together, and he explained to Odeyne that he hoped great things from their joint influence with their relatives.

"For Beatrice wants a word of caution too," he said. "She is a bit extravagant herself, you know; must have everything in tip-top style, and all that sort of thing, and goes the pace in her way almost as fast as Algy in his. It would be no end of a good thing for her to make a friend of you, and unless she fills the house too full for the hunting, you ought to have a good many opportunities of getting intimate. She has taken a great liking for my little wife!"

Alice the maid was very pleased to hear of the proposed visit.

"You will be able to wear all your new dresses there, ma'am, and here we are so very quiet," she remarked, rather to Odeyne's amusement, seeing that until a few months ago Alice had known nothing but the still, peaceful life of the Rectory. "The master brings you home such lovely things; and some of them you've hardly so much as put on yet."

This was true enough, for Desmond was constantly bringing home from town boxes full of finery for his wife. Anything that took his eye as he walked the streets he must have for Odeyne, and Alice had quite a gift for adapting these purchases to suit her mistress's figure. Nor was the girl herself forgotten. Desmond took a good-natured interest in her and her affairs, and would often bring some little thing back for her as well, and laughingly remark that it would "do for the trousseau."

Odeyne sometimes remonstrated a little at the rather over-lavish way in which her husband spent his money, but he would only laugh and call her a little miser, and declared that if she persisted in sending him to "money-grub" in the City day by day, she must not grudge him the satisfaction of spending a small portion of these earnings on people who showed them off to such advantage. Then Odeyne had to smile and be kissed into compliance. She was too happy and too fond and proud of her husband to entertain any serious misgivings where he was concerned.

And now Desmond promised himself some relaxation.

"What is the good of having this new man if you do not let him save you a little more?" Beatrice asked, soon after they had been established in her luxurious house. "I'm going to have him over, and put him up at the Vanborough Arms whilst you are here. I want you to take a holiday and have a good time. We shall be having some friends down soon, and you mustn't always be rushing off to town, Desmond. You are wanted much more here."

Beatrice spoke gaily, but Odeyne thought there was a slight undertone of anxiety in her voice, and the next time they were alone together she said to her, almost entreatingly—

"Don't grudge Desmond to us whilst you are here. He is much more wanted by Algy than by the office. He is fond of Desmond, and that keeps him away from other places and people. Sometimes I am awfully wretched about him, Odeyne; and I don't seem able to hold him back one bit. He is fond of me, but I have no power over him. It is not with us as it is with you and Desmond. You could bring him back to your side with a single glance. He would forego anything sooner than grieve you."

Odeyne smiled a little happy smile, for she felt that these words were true. She was more drawn towards Beatrice this time than she had been before, for she felt that she stood in need of help and sisterly comforting. On the surface she was bright and sparkling, but when alone with her "sister," as she always called Odeyne, she often permitted some of the fears and anxieties which preyed upon her to come to the surface.

"It is such a relief to speak of these things sometimes," she said; "I believe I might get morbid about them if I had no outlet. And mamma is such a Job's comforter. She did not much want me to marry Algy; she thought him fast then, and now she thinks in her heart that I am only reaping what I have sown; and Maud thinks of nothing but Desmond, and that Algy will hurt him and draw him into his set. Sometimes I feel quite alone in the world amongst them all. But you understand better than anybody, though you are a stranger, and Desmond's wife too. He is a dear boy, and shows his good sense and good taste in choosing you out of all the world!"

Alice was very delighted by the arrangement which brought her lover so near to her during these days of enjoyment at Rotherham Park.

Walter Garth had to come daily to the Park to report to the youthful head of the firm, and to take orders and messages for the morrow. After that business was completed he generally spent an hour with Alice, whilst Desmond read the letters brought, after which he was summoned again, and took notes and instructions for answering these on the morrow. His quickness of comprehension and ready skill with his pen commended him much to Desmond, who was not himself fond of letter-writing, and he soon began to put more and more of his own work upon Garth, and to use him for increasingly confidential correspondence.

This was exactly what the young man wanted, and his face used to be very bright and well-satisfied as he talked with pretty Alice in some secluded corner of the grounds, or in the privacy of the housekeeper's room.

"I mean to get on in the world," he would say; "I feel it in me to succeed. Some fellows just plod along the same beaten way all their lives; but that won't do for me. I'm going to get on. I mean to die a rich man. There's plenty to be made, even in bad times, by fellows who have their eyes open. I'll make a lady of you, my pretty one, all in good time. There's many a fine lady would give her ears for your face and figure. And when your husband has made his pile you'll be able to queen it with the best of them! You are learning every day what fine ladies say and do. You'd like to ride about in your own carriage, and wear silks and satins, and have servants to wait on you, eh?"

Alice blushed and laughed at these questions, and sometimes told Walter he was trying to fly too high; yet when he told her of men now rolling in money, who had begun life as quite poor boys, she could not but listen with sparkling eyes, for she was learning a great many things in Mrs. Vanborough's house, and the thirst for pleasure and luxury which had made her desire to follow Odeyne to her new home was working more and more strongly in her, so that the idea of some day being mistress of a fine house of her own was like an intoxicating draught of wine to her lips.

"Oh, but, Walter, it takes such a while to get rich!"

"Sometimes it does, but not always. One can have more than one iron in the fire, you know. Why, you know, there are some men who can make a fortune by a stroke of the pen—on the Stock Exchange—and even fellows like myself can do a little in a quiet way by watching the markets. I've trebled my little savings this year, for instance, just by getting a hint, and buying and selling at the right moment."

Alice did not understand a word of this; but it was quite enough that Walter did, and that he was making money in more ways than one. Alice had come to the conclusion that there was nothing so nice in the world as to be rich, to have fine clothes and jewels to wear, and nothing to do but amuse one's self from morning till night.

"I wish you could see Mrs. Vanborough's jewels," she remarked one day. "They are beauties, and no mistake! They must have cost a mint of money. Her maid says she used to have more than she has now. But the master sometimes gets horribly close for a bit, and then Mrs. Vanborough has to sell some of her things to pay her bills. Sometimes she buys them back, and sometimes she doesn't. But she's got a lot of beauties still. I wish you could see them. They do shine when she puts them on!"

"They'd shine just as much if somebody else put them on, would they not?" suggested Walter laughingly. "Suppose you dress up in them some day, when they have all gone out to dinner, and come and show yourself to me in them. I should like to see how my little sweetheart would look, dressed up as I mean to dress her up some of these days!"

Alice laughed and blushed and disclaimed. A short time since she would have been horrified at the notion of taking advantage of the good nature or carelessness of a lady, and obtaining surreptitious access to her jewel case in her absence; but of late she had been breathing in a different atmosphere, and it did not require any very great pressure on the part of Walter Garth to induce her to make the experiment.

He hardly knew himself why he felt a curiosity about the family jewels; but he was one of those men who desire to leave no stone unturned for his advancement. He had an instinct that it might be an advantage to him to know as intimately as possible the affairs of all these fine folks. He was hearing a great deal about them at the inn where he lodged, and he made a mental note of the information thus gained. His position as Desmond's confidential clerk gave him great advantages for obtaining information, and he was very much of the opinion that knowledge and power went hand in hand.

Choosing a night when the Vanboroughs and their guests were out, he got pretty little vain Alice to dress herself up in sparkling jewels, and whilst she was delighting in her own reflection in the glass, he was taking a mental inventory (afterwards to be placed on paper) of the gems; for he was something of a connoisseur already as to their value, having one of those retentive and inquiring minds which never lose an opportunity of gaining information, no matter what the subject may be.

When Mrs. Vanborough's had been duly shown off and catalogued, he asked about Mrs. St. Claire's. Alice hesitated a little. She was still deeply attached to Odeyne, and she had a vague shrinking from anything that could be thought disloyal towards her. She knew that were her mistress at home, she would never dare display the contents of her jewel case even to Walter, her lover. Of course it was natural that Walter should like to see pretty things, and Alice felt a secret pride in all the beautiful trinkets her mistress now possessed. She would like him to be duly impressed by them; yet she disliked doing anything that would make her feel ashamed before Odeyne on her return.

But the Rubicon had been crossed when she had clasped Mrs. Vanborough's jewels upon her neck and arms, and had heard her lover praising them and her alike. A little judicious coaxing, and the girl tripped away to find her mistress's jewel case. She would not put on the sparkling ornaments, but she unlocked the case, and displayed with pride and delight the glittering contents.

Odeyne had come in for the St. Claire family jewels, some of which were very fine ones. Her husband and his friends had made considerable additions to this collection upon her marriage, and, as Walter Garth was quick to note, the young wife possessed a remarkably fine collection of gems, many of which were family heirlooms.

His remarks and appreciation of the stones pleased Alice, although her conscience smote her a little, and she was glad to get the jewel box safely locked up again in its accustomed drawer. When she went back to Walter, she found him drumming thoughtfully upon the table with his fingers, looking out straight before him.

He rose when she came in and carefully shut the door behind them.

"I want to give you a word of caution, Alice," he said. "In a house like this, or indeed in any other place, you must be uncommonly careful of such a costly case of jewels as that one. I had no idea Mrs. St. Claire had such fine things. They ought to be kept always in a regular safe."

"So they are at home," answered Alice. "There is a safe in the master's dressing-room, and they always lie there, and he has the key. But of course when they are on a visit things are different. But the case is kept locked up in a drawer, and I have the key in my pocket generally."

"Well, just you be careful, dear, that's all, and don't get gossiping with other maids about those jewels. One hears of ugly things happening in houses where there is a haul of that sort to be had; and it's our business to protect our employers' property all we can. That's why I wanted to see what sort of things you had under your care. You are such an innocent, unsuspecting child, you would never think any harm of talking about them."

Alice blushed a little nervously. She was rather fond of chattering about the glories of her place, which were so much greater than anything she had known before. But this caution from Walter was quite enough. Already she began to think of burglars and murderers.

"Oh, I wish we were safe at home again! Then I should not have the care of the things!"

"Now, don't be a foolish child. I did not say all this to frighten you, but just that you might be cautious. Burglars aren't so numerous as some people think. You needn't be the least afraid just because I've given you a caution. I'm glad I know, myself; and I'll keep my eyes and ears open whilst I'm about here. But don't you go and get into any sort of fright. And now tell me about our own little home, and how soon it is going to be ready for us. For I am wanting very badly to settle down, with my own little wife all to myself."

Alice had a great deal to say about the pretty lodge at one of the gates, and the additions and improvements that were being made to it. In the pleasure of talking of their future home she forgot all her other anxieties, and parted from Walter in the best of spirits. She had already begun to think that so long as she might still be permitted to perform a few offices for her beloved mistress, she would like the independence of a little home of her own, and the freedom to wear a gayer style of dress while still in Odeyne's service. She had blossomed out into a very dainty little waiting-maid of late, but she was meditating a higher flight when she should be Mrs. Walter Garth; and there were a few garments on which she had spent a good deal of time and thought, which she had not cared to show to her mistress when completed.

The house was very gay now. Algernon Vanborough had asked some of his friends and associates, and sport and amusement were the order of the day.

Desmond was a keen sportsman, and whether it were shooting or hunting that was the day's programme, he was always ready, and always held his own with his companions. His bag was always one of the heaviest after a day in the stubble; and he generally managed to be in at the death when the fox had been run to bay.

He would come in healthily tired from his day's sport, and after dinner would sit dozing in an easy-chair beside the fire, and retire early to bed, whilst the other men adjourned to the billiard-room, and were often hours in dispersing.

Odeyne often felt keenly for Beatrice, as she noted the half-wistful way in which she sometimes looked at her husband, as though entreating him to leave his guests for once and follow the earlier members of the household. But of course, as host, he had easy excuse to make, and she would sometimes take Odeyne's arm and say, with a laugh which was sadder than tears, "If only I had my husband in such good order as you have yours, things would be very different with us. How do you manage him, my dear?"

Once Odeyne, after a visit to the nursery, made a great effort over her natural reserve, and answered—

"Desmond and I always read and say our prayers together, Beatrice. It began from the very first, directly after we were married. He told me that he had got into careless ways, that he had almost forgotten how to pray; and he said I must teach him again. It has been such a link, for we have never missed yet. He knows I wait for him, if he does not come up with me. It is only just a few minutes morning and night; but I think it hallows the whole day."

Beatrice turned her face a little away, and there was a certain huskiness in her voice as she answered—

"I wonder what you would say if I were to tell you that I don't know how long it is since I said any prayers!"

And after a short pause Odeyne answered—

"I think it would make me understand a great many things!"

Desmond was immensely in love with his young wife still, and never more so than when he saw her amongst Beatrice's friends. She seemed to him like a pure stately lily amongst them all, so fair and calm and innately feminine and refined. There might be more beautiful women there—Beatrice herself was far more brilliant; but there was a charm to him about Odeyne's gentle presence and feminine sweetness of which he was keenly conscious, day by day and hour by hour. And in the evenings when she would sit at the piano and sing to them, when her clear, sweet, pathetic voice roused the admiration and delight of the whole company, he would place his chair where he obtained the best view of her face, and would tell himself a hundred times over what a happy man he was to have won such a treasure for himself.

But Desmond was not the man to be satisfied with mere inward admiration of his wife, nor even with those endearments which he lavished upon her in private. He wanted her to have the best of everything that the world possessed, to see her surrounded by all that heart could desire, and in spite of her loving remonstrances, he was always heaping upon her presents of every description, although since he was now taking a holiday from his labours in town, he had not the same opportunity for bringing home gifts with him from day to day.

Nevertheless, neither mind nor thoughts were idle. He had observed on several occasions of late, that when the ladies drove out to meet the sportsmen, or to see the hounds throw off, Odeyne was not amongst the number. He discovered by side winds that there was not quite enough carriage accommodation to contain all the house party, and that Odeyne was always eager to give up her place to someone else, if any sort of difficulty arose at the start.

He said nothing about this, even to Odeyne herself, who always told him she was glad of a quiet time to write home, or see to other little things, or to play with Beatrice's boy, who was beginning to look upon her as his best friend. But he had in his head a plan of his own, and worked quietly to bring about its fulfilment.

It had been a wet and stormy day, so that the house party had not done anything more adventurous than a little shooting over the home covers. All had returned to lunch, and were lounging about afterwards discussing the prospect of any further attempt at facing the long, wet grass, when Desmond came in with a smile upon his face and went straight up to his wife.

"Odeyne," he said, "do you mind coming round to the stable-yard? I want to show you something."

At that word the company all looked interested. Beatrice's face beamed with arch fun, the men (so to speak) pricked up their ears, and Algernon cried out—

"What is that, eh? The stable-yard? Well, I hope you don't confine the invitation to your wife alone. Mayn't the rest of us come too?"

"To be sure, to be sure; the more the merrier!" cried Desmond, with a laughing look round him. He was in excellent spirits, and as pleased as a boy about something. The ladies got their hats and wraps, the men took their caps, and all moved in a body towards the great paved stable-yard, upon which, it was commonly rumoured, Algernon Vanborough had spent a fabulous sum of money.

Desmond led the way, leading his wife by the hand. The little lover-like ways of the young husband were rather amusing to the other visitors, most of whom, though not old in years, had lived through a number of illusions, and counted true love as one of these.

In the centre of the great square yard stood a dainty little pony-phaeton upholstered in dark green morocco, with every fitting of the most costly and luxurious kind. The little carriage was drawn by two small and very handsome black cobs, who stood with arched necks and pawing feet, wonderfully well-matched and showy. The harness was all new and the best of its kind, the silver plating shining in the gleam of sunlight that lit up the scene as the party approached.

Odeyne uttered a little cry of pleasure and admiration. She had never seen such a pretty turn-out in her life; yet she did not realise for a moment what was the meaning of her husband's action, as he led her up to it and placed her in the carriage.

"What do you think of it, darling?" he asked. "You will not be afraid to drive yourself sometimes, when I have taken you about a little to show you how gentle and tractable the cobs can be?"

Then she looked up and understood, and the blood rushed to her face.

"Oh, Desmond!—how could you? Oh, you are too kind. But we have so many horses as it is!"

"My wife must have her special carriage—I have always intended that," he answered, giving the reins into her hands and taking his seat beside her. "Come, dear, and let us just see how they obey their new mistress. Let them go, James, we will take a turn through the park."

The little carriage vanished amid admiring comments from the knot of visitors; all had some approving remark to make upon the beauty of the carriage or the horses.

No adverse criticism was passed by any of these, but one of the grooms, belonging to a guest, looked after the carriage as it vanished round a bend in the park, and remarked as he took a straw from his lips and turned to one of his companions—

"Nice turn-out enough, but them two black cobs look to me uncommonly like the pair that nearly killed Lady Mashingham in the spring!"

CHAPTER VIII.

AN ADVENTUROUS DRIVE.

"Oh, Tom, do look! What carriage is that coming up the drive? I don't know it."

Jem craned up from her couch to peer through the window, whilst Tom, who was writing letters at the table, gave a good look and replied over his shoulder—

"I don't know the turn-out. But it looks like Mrs. St. Claire driving. She is still at Mrs. Vanborough's, is she not?"

"Yes; I wonder if it is she. Oh, I hope it is! It's such a long time since I saw her! Oh, I do believe it is! I wonder what she has come for so early. It is not quite eleven, is it? There is the bell. I hope they will show her in here."

Jem occupied her favourite place, curled up on a corner of the big, battered, dining-room sofa, with a pile of books beside her. She was an omniverous reader, and her studies took the form of unlimited reading, as her weak back prevented much writing or any attendance at classes. At this hour she was generally alone, for Mrs. Ritchie had her household duties to attend to, Cissy was a good deal occupied by giving music lessons to some of the children of the neighbourhood, whilst the doctor and one or both of his sons would be out in the interest of patients. Occasionally Tom took possession of the writing-table in the bay window, and gave a qualified attention to Jem's talk, when she was not engrossed by her books.

The carriage had swept round the corner out of Jem's range of vision; but Tom craned his head round as it turned, and remarked—

"It certainly is Mrs. St. Claire, and she is going to get out. I think I shall slope. This smoking jacket isn't fit to face the county in!"

But before the young man could escape the door was thrown open, and Odeyne came forward, with flushed and smiling face and outstretched hands, and bent over Jem and kissed her warmly, quite like an old friend. Tom suddenly forgot all about the shabby old jacket, and decided not to make a bolt.

"I came to ask Jem if she would like a drive this morning," said Odeyne, looking from one to the other; "it is such a bright, exhilarating sort of day, and the hounds are to meet on Hackwell's Down. I am to drive over and see them. I thought perhaps it would be a treat to this little girl to go with me."

Jem's eyes were alight in a moment.

"Oh, I should love it! It would be heavenly! I haven't had a drive for such an age; for one horse has been lame, and daddy has had to spare the other all he could. You are a darling, Mrs. St. Claire! Do let me run and ask mother; and then I'll be ready in a twinkling—you'll see!"

There was not much run in poor little Jem, but she was away with all possible speed, and Tom said, gratefully, to Odeyne—

"It is awfully kind of you, Mrs. St. Claire. It will be a real charity, for poor Jem sees almost nothing of what goes on outside these walls, and she has the almost morbid craving after sensations and experiences which goes with her temperament."

Mrs. Ritchie came in almost immediately, with a happy face and words of gratitude on her lips. Hitherto none of their friends had taken special notice of poor little Jem. Her weakness, her rather abnormally sharp powers of observation, and her too free and ready tongue had been somewhat against her. Some people thought her spoiled and forward, children were half afraid of her, and she had been shut up within herself, and within the family circle, almost more than was good for her.

To be noticed and taken out by Mrs. St. Claire of the Chase was a novel and delightful experience. Odeyne had driven mother and both daughters out once in the luxurious landau, and all had enjoyed it greatly; but this special invitation to see the meet of the hounds was something altogether more delightful and wonderful.

"Oh, what a lovely carriage!—what beautiful little horses!" exclaimed the excited girl, as she stood looking at the handsome pair, pawing their dainty hoofs on the gravel, as the smart-looking lad stood at their heads awaiting his mistress.

"Yes, Desmond gave me the whole turn-out a week ago," answered Odeyne, with a little smile of pleasure on her face. "He has taken me out every day since, and taught me how to manage a pair, for at home we had only a nice old pony to drive, and there was never any trouble with him. These little fellows are spirited, but they are very gentle too. You will not be afraid, Jem dear?"

Jem laughed to scorn the idea of feeling afraid. It was not a sensation with which she had much acquaintance.

"I should like to have an adventure—I really should!" she answered as they arranged the great fur carriage-rug cosily round their feet. "Nothing of that sort ever comes in my way. When I read about heroes and heroines having such thrilling and delightful squeaks for their lives, and always coming safe through in the end, I always wish that something like that would happen to me! It must be so interesting to think about afterwards, even if one did not enjoy it at the time—and I think I should do that!"

Mrs. Ritchie smiled and half shook her head as she kissed her child before the carriage drove away.

"You are a sad little madcap at heart, Jem; you will shock Mrs. St. Claire! She will be quite content to bring you homo without any startling adventure, I am sure."

Odeyne smiled and nodded; the horses shook their handsome heads and went off at a fine pace. Tom and his mother stood looking at the vanishing carriage, and then the young man said—

"I've half a mind to take the short cut and make for Hackwell Down myself. I've nothing very pressing on hand, and I should like to see Jem's pleasure over the sight of the field, and all the horses and dogs. I'll get a bit of a run myself, I daresay. I know the line the foxes generally take hereabouts. I'll just finish the letter I have in hand and be off."

"Yes, do, dear," answered Mrs. Ritchie; "I shall be more comfortable if you are there. Those horses looked to me very spirited. But of course Desmond would not give anything to his wife to drive without being sure it was safe."

"Desmond is a bit of a feather-brain," muttered Tom under his breath, as he strode back to finish the letter he was writing.

Meantime Jem was enjoying herself immensely. She had never had such a delightful drive in all her life. She fell over head and ears in love with the horses; the carriage went so easily on its springs that she felt no vibration. The sun shone, and the keen feel of the autumnal morning was bracing and exciting. She chattered away in great style, telling all the news of the place in a racy and entertaining fashion, nodding gaily at all the cottagers as she passed them by, and feeling very grand and elated at her position as Odeyne's companion.

"I hope you are soon coming home again," she said. "It is so much nicer when you are at the Chase, and there is a chance of seeing you any day. Rotherham Park is such a long way off, and you seem quite out of our world when you go there. And, oh, I wanted to ask you what you are doing to the lodge by the queer old gate that isn't much used? Cuthbert says the old cottage is being quite altered, and such a pretty sort of picturesque house going up, with timber and gables and ever so many nice things. I've been wondering ever since what you were doing it for, because the road and the gate are hardly ever used. Nobody goes down Water Lane if they can help it—not with a carriage, you know."

"Yes, I know. We are not thinking of using the lodge as a lodge exactly; as you say, since the new road was made through the place, Water Lane hardly counts. But we want a nice cottage near the house for Desmond's confidential clerk to live in. He is going to marry my maid, and, as she comes from my old home, I want if possible to keep her near me. She is a very pretty and refined sort of girl. I think perhaps it will be a good thing for her to be married and settled. She is a good deal noticed and admired when she goes about to strange houses. And Desmond is making the house rather larger than necessary, for he thinks we may sometimes want an extra bedroom or two in the summer or the shooting season, if our house were to overflow. One or two of the rooms will be kept for that purpose. The Chase is not really a large house—not so large as it looks. The hall and corridors take up more space than you would think, and we have not a great many bedrooms."

"I wish you'd take me on in Alice's place when she marries," laughed Jem; "I should like to live in a big house, and see all that goes on there, and hear how the servants gossip behind their master's back. Don't you think I should look the part very well, dressed up in cap and apron? And I'd report to you quite faithfully all that went on. I think I should make rather a good spy."

"I don't know that I particularly want a spy, dear," answered Odeyne, "but you shall come to the Chase one of these days as my little friend and companion. When the winter comes, and you and I are both rather shut up, we will keep each other company; for the days are often long when Desmond is away; and I want to overhaul the library books as one of my tasks, and I think you could help me at that sort of thing."

Jem's eyes sparkled brilliantly at the bare thought.

"You are a darling!" she cried in her frank, free way. "I am glad that Desmond didn't marry a cut-and-dried creature like Maud, or a fine fashionable madam like Beatrice! Oh, I beg your pardon! Perhaps I should not have spoken like that of your sisters-in-law. But I don't think you can be so very fond of them!"

"I want them to be sisters-in-love, not sisters-in-law," replied Odeyne with a sweet gravity in her smile. "Desmond and I are one now, and everything that is his belongs to me."

For once Jem found nothing to reply. Her over-ready tongue had betrayed her, as she felt, into remarks she was scarcely justified in making. Odeyne had not taken them amiss; yet the girl felt that she had been unconsciously rebuked.

But all such thoughts were quickly driven away by the gay scene that met her eager gaze as they approached Hackwell Down. Jemima had never seen anything so pretty before, and exclaimed with delight as her eye roved over the wide expanse of level turf.

Upon the crest of the green ridge stood a knot of huntsmen in their scarlet coats, with the whippers-in keeping in order the pack of fine hounds, whose waving tails looked like a forest of tiny saplings in a high wind. Scattered about the level plateau were horsemen and footmen, a motley assembly all on pleasure bent. Grooms led up and down handsome hunters whose masters were driving across; ladies were leaving their carriages and mounting their horses; bold little fellows on small ponies were prancing round, in a mighty hurry to be off. The field was dotted with men in the pink, some already mounted, others talking to each other or to the ladies in the carriages. Some of these approached Odeyne and exchanged greetings with her. Jem took stock of them with her sharp glances, and summed them up for Odeyne's benefit when they had bowed themselves off. She was much more delighted with the horses than with the riders.

"They are dear things! I should like to kiss them all, and the dogs too. I think the world would be a much nicer place if the horses and dogs and nice animals were left, and about three-quarters of the people killed off! I'm sure we could spare most of them—and have a much nicer time without them!"

Odeyne did not try to bring her carriage very close up to the others assembled there, partly because the horses were restless and excited, partly because Jem was visibly anxious not to be made to face Beatrice and all her fine friends. The girl was not shy, but she appeared to feel a sort of instinctive antagonism to fashionable society, and when Desmond rode up to his wife's carriage, looking very handsome and gallant in his faultless get-up, he was much amused by Jem's sallies and retorts, and persisted in introducing several of his friends for the entertainment of hearing her snub them, which she was not slow to do.

But before long the field began to move; Desmond waved his hand to his wife, and rode off. He had instructed her how to drive, so as to see as much as possible of the run; and Odeyne was not sorry when she could give her restless little horses their heads, and set them in motion along the road in a parallel direction to that taken by the hunt.

For a time all went well; the road was wide and smooth; they passed all the other carriages, to Jem's great satisfaction—skimmed by them at a delightfully rapid pace, and left them far behind. Odeyne fancied that Beatrice and her coachman had both of them called out something to her as she trotted by; but she could not hear what was said, and Jem had rather urgently begged her not to pull up to listen.

"They will want us to stay by them," she cried pleadingly, "and that will spoil all our fun. Do go on!—do go on! It is lovely racing along like this!"

Odeyne was willing to gratify the girl, the more so because she was herself enjoying the exhilaration of the rapid movement, and because she was conscious that the horses would not be easy to pull up in their present excited mood. They seemed to know that the hunt was sweeping on in advance, and to be resolved not to be left far behind.

The road trended upwards for a considerable distance, and then the descent commenced. For some distance it was only gentle in character, and the road continued firm and good. But towards the foot of the hill there were several steep pitches, and as Jem had heard from report, the water channelled down it in the winter, and there were always loose stones which sometimes caused accidents to horses and riders. So as they flew down the hill she said to Odeyne, half regretfully—

"I think you had better pull them in a little now. It will be steeper soon, and there is a nasty turn farther on I know, besides the road gets bad too."

Odeyne made no reply, and the carriage continued its rather perilously rapid descent. Jem looked at her and saw that she was straining rather hard at the horses; but they appeared to take no manner of notice of her efforts to check them. They were only going at a very rapid trot as yet. They could not be said to be exactly bolting, but there was a stubborn look in the way in which their heads were bent down, as though they had made up their minds as to their course of action, and intended to have their own way.

"Jem, dear," said Odeyne, still quite quietly, "the horses are pulling rather hard. Just tell the groom to lean forward and help me to check them. My arms are growing tired."

Jem spoke to the groom, who was a smart-looking youth, but only a lad himself. He was looking a little scared himself, for the awkward descent was very near now, and the horses appeared on the verge of breaking into a gallop.

It is always rather a risky thing for two persons to try and pull upon one pair of reins. The moment the horses felt the jerk of the new hands brought to bear upon them, they broke simultaneously into a hard gallop, shaking their heads as though to seek to free themselves from the pressure on their mouths, but too excited now to be checked by it.

Jem's face grew rather pale as she felt the sudden swaying movement as the carriage oscillated from side to side.

"Sit still, dear," said Odeyne quietly; "perhaps it is really safer for them to canter down the hill than trot. There is nothing in the way, and if we reach the bottom safely there is a good road beyond us."

Jem sat very upright, her eyes taking in everything, every faculty on the alert. She was having her wish with a vengeance now, and even in the midst of her fears for the safety of the whole party, there was a certain dim sense of elation in the thought that here she was actually in the midst of a coveted adventure!

Down the hill plunged the carriage, bumping and swaying in a fashion that made Jem cling tightly to the seat, but maintaining its position, even though the road was rough and rutty and the pitch of the hill steep. Now they had all but reached the bottom. They saw the wider, better road lying before them. Jem gave a gasp of relief, and the groom muttered something that sounded like a rude exclamation of thankfulness. In another minute, and Jem believed that all peril would be past, when suddenly across the road swept some half-dozen belated huntsmen, hot on the track of the field, dashing in front of the excited horses without so much as a glance in their direction, and frightening the already startled creatures almost out of their senses.

Plunging and snorting with terror, they instinctively paused for a moment, one of them backing almost upon its haunches, the other rearing till he looked as though he would have fallen backwards upon the carriage, and then, with a simultaneous bound, they sprang forward at redoubled speed, swerved from the road, dashed through the gate after the retreating riders, and commenced a wild gallop across the meadow in the wake of the hunt.

At that moment the groom lost his head, loosed his grasp upon the reins, and threw himself out of the carriage.

Jem and Odeyne were left alone, unable even to cast back a look and ascertain whether or not the lad was hurt. Odeyne still retained her grasp of the reins, but all control of the horses had been lost. Her face was very set and white, but her voice was still calm and controlled.

"Would you rather try the jump, dear?" she asked; "I am afraid we shall have an accident. I can do nothing with the horses. And something might break any minute; or they may take up against a gate-post and dash the carriage to pieces."

"I have no jump in me," said Jem, still looking straight ahead. "I think I should do for my back if I were to try. Perhaps they will run into a hedge and stick fast, and we can get out before they kick the carriage to pieces. Oh, there is Tom! Look! He is racing towards us! But what can he do?"

Odeyne looked and saw. Tom Ritchie was undoubtedly scudding towards them diagonally over the field. The rough nature of the ground was beginning to tell upon the cobs. They were panting and straining, but the pace had slackened. They could not make the same running here as over the hard road. But still they were resolutely running away. The reins dragged hopelessly against them. They seemed to have mouths of iron. Odeyne's strength was deserting her. She felt a strange dimness of vision, and knew that her grasp on the reins was relaxing.

Jem's eyes took everything in: Odeyne's sudden faintness, the rapid approach of Tom, the exhaustion but stubborn determination of the horses. What would happen next? What could Tom do to save them?

Tom was a trained athlete. In feats of agility and daring he had always excelled. He was not gifted with any very remarkable muscular strength, but he was lithe and active as a cat.

Measuring his distance, and coolly biding his time, he made a quick, sharp rush, and vaulted cleverly upon the back of the nearest cob, clutched the reins of the pair, and by throwing his whole weight and strength upon them succeeded bit by bit and inch by inch in checking their mad career. The horse upon which he had sprung, encumbered by this heavy and unexpected weight, checked its course to plunge and try to dislodge the unwelcome burden. The other, thus left to pull alone, quickly felt its exhaustion and the drag of its companion, and began to think better of the matter. Tom sat like a centaur, and tugged manfully at the reins. The boundary hedges of the extensive field were nearly reached. This obstacle seemed to bring the runaways to their scattered senses. To rush themselves into a trap would be painful and humiliating. They appeared to take this view of the case themselves, and with only a small show of resistance permitted Tom to bring them to a standstill.

Then Tom leaped down, and still holding the reins in his hands, approached the carriage. Jem was sitting white, but wide-eyed and erect. Odeyne, with an ashy face, was leaning back against the cushions almost, though not quite, unconscious. She strove to make a sign of gratitude to Tom, but pressed her hand to her side and gave a little gasp. The groom was running up in a great fright, unhurt, though a good deal torn and battered from his fall.

"Don't leave us with him, Tom; don't let him have the horses!" pleaded Jem in sudden alarm; and Tom gave the shame-faced youth a cool and stern glance.

"A pretty sort of fellow you are, to be sent out in charge of ladies!" he remarked. "However, that is your master's business, not mine. Go straight to Mrs. St. Claire's house, just across that gap, and tell her that Mrs. Desmond St. Claire has been very near a bad accident, and is coming to her house for shelter till she is well enough to go home. Go quickly. I will stay with the ladies, and bring the carriage there as soon as possible."

The youth slunk away feeling thoroughly ashamed of himself, and Tom, with another look into Odeyne's face, took possession of the horses, turned them round, and led them back over the meadow, now in a very meek and subdued state.

He hardly spoke a word till they were upon the road again, when he turned Jem into the groom's dickey behind, and himself took the reins and seated himself beside Odeyne.

"You will not be afraid to let me drive you, Mrs. St. Claire? I think there is no fear of any farther misbehaviour on the part of your horses."

Odeyne roused herself to give a faint smile and say—

"You are very kind. I am not at all afraid. I have been just a little tired and shaken. I hope Jem is none the worse for it."

"Jem will be all right," answered Tom briefly; and putting the horses into a rapid trot, he quickly drove them up to the door of Mrs. St. Claire's house.

It was evident that the battered appearance of the groom, together with his agitated and confused story, had spread consternation and dismay in the household. Servants were standing about in the hall; and as the carriage drove up, Maud appeared with a very pale frightened face, and on seeing Odeyne's state of pallor and exhaustion, uttered a little exclamation of anxious grief.

"Mrs. St. Claire has been a good deal frightened and shaken," said Tom, as he helped her to alight and assisted her into the hall. "Take good care of her, and I will try and find Desmond and let him know. He will be certain to come immediately. If you want my father, he will be at Holler's Farm about two o'clock; but I think rest and care will be all that are needed to put you all right again."

Odeyne had felt like one in a dream for some time. Now she seemed to wake up to find herself lying upon a sofa in Maud's own private little room, which she had only once penetrated to before, whilst her sister-in-law, ordinarily so cold and unsympathetic, was hanging over her with tears in her eyes, seeking to restore her, not by cordials and essences alone, but by tender caresses, loving words, and kisses that came so strangely from those lips.

Odeyne sat up, and laid her head against her sister's shoulder.

"Oh, Maud, how good you are!" she cried, taking her hand and carrying it to her lips; and Maud's tears suddenly ran over as she kissed Odeyne again and again, saying—

"Oh, my darling, let us be sisters always now. I shall never forget the terrible thought that came over me when for one moment I thought they said that Desmond's wife had been killed; and I knew I had never spoken one loving word to her all the time she had been my sister!"

CHAPTER IX.

NEW FRIENDSHIPS.

Desmond appeared white-faced and agitated, having heard the tidings of some disaster, but not the details. His greeting to his wife was pretty to see, and her calm and smiling face quite reassured him as to her safety. But when his anxiety was allayed, his anger blazed up more fiercely than his wife had seen it since her marriage. She had heard of Desmond's gusts of passion in old days from her brothers; but well as she knew him now, she had never seen him so angry as on this occasion.

His anger was chiefly directed against the friend from whom he had purchased the turn-out for his wife.

"I wouldn't have believed it of Garston. He shall hear of it again—and so shall others. The lowest, dirtiest trick! And when I was doing him a kindness and all! They are all saying now that those are the same cobs as brought Lady Massingham to nearly fatal grief! And he sold them to me for a pair of perfectly trustworthy horses for my wife to drive! A fellow like that wants horsewhipping, and the cobs want shooting! I've a great mind to do both horsewhipping and shooting with my own hands—I have, indeed!" and Desmond ground his teeth.

"No, don't do that, Desmond, dear," said Odeyne soothingly. "Indeed, the fault was partly mine. I was not driving carefully enough. The rapid motion was pleasant, and they were eager, and it was easier to let them have their heads than to keep them in hand. But I know it was bad driving; and I have had my lesson. I will take care never to let them get beyond themselves again."

"As though I should ever let you sit behind them again, my precious darling!" cried Desmond. "No, I'll have it out with Garston, and he shall either take them off my hands at the price I paid for them, or I'll expose the whole transaction at the club, if I don't horsewhip him too! The way I made things easy for him; and to be treated like this!"

"What do you mean about making things easy for him and doing him a kindness in the transaction?" asked Maud.

"Why, just this, that he got pretty heavily dipped at the St. Leger—and partly through bets to me; and hearing that I was looking out for a handsome turn-out for my wife, he came and told me of the one he had lately bought for his own, and which must now go to help pay his debts. He begged me to take the thing off his hands at a valuation, and, like a fool, I took his word and did so. It wiped off his debt to me, and I gave him a cheque in addition. I behaved really handsomely to him, because he was an old friend, and rather down on his luck—and this is how he serves me!"

Desmond broke away to go and write an indignant letter to the man against whom his anger was so stirred; whilst Odeyne and Maud were left together, looking into each other's faces with a certain veiled anxiety.

"Oh, Maud," exclaimed Odeyne suddenly, "I don't wonder now at what happened to-day!"

"What do you mean, dear?"

"How can one expect a blessing upon things obtained in such a way? The price of a bet!" and Odeyne hid her face.

"I hoped that Desmond had given up that sort of thing on his marriage," said Maud gravely. "But don't you think it is a little superstitious to speak in that way?"

"I don't know," answered Odeyne still very gravely; "I have thought a great deal about these things since—since—since they have been brought before me so much. It cannot be God's way of giving us riches—I think everybody would admit that. And what does not come of God, comes of evil; I cannot see it in any other light. And if we take and use the devil's gold, how can we expect a blessing to follow it?"

Maud was silent awhile, and then said thoughtfully—

"That is a broad way of stating it, and an unconventional way of looking at things; yet I am not sure that there is not an element of sound sense and truth in what you say. I have seen enough to know that the gambler's wealth is not blessed to him! Ah, Odeyne—can you not save Desmond from his besetting sin?"

Odeyne was almost startled by the earnestness, the almost anguish of Maud's tone. Hitherto the sister had been so reserved and cold, and above all had spoken so little to her of Desmond, that this appeal came with strange force and power.

"What do you mean?" she asked, a little startled.

"I have always tried to shut my eyes to it," continued Maud in the same strained voice; "I have always loved Desmond better than anything in the world, although he has not specially cared for me. I have stood his champion through everything. I have tried not to believe in his faults and in his weaknesses. I have almost quarrelled with our mother for seeing them so clearly. I have always declared them just youthful follies, which he would speedily outgrow. Although I was jealous and unhappy at hearing of his marriage, I was glad to believe that it would be a turning point in his life, and that that and the office would sober him down. Ah, Odeyne!—don't let us all be disappointed after all! He loves you very dearly. Can't you get him to give up that one pernicious habit—for your sake?"

"I hoped he had," answered Odeyne in a very low voice. "At least he spoke very reasonably about it, and said that with him it was a mere trifle he risked—just to keep himself from being peculiar, and not to lose all influence over Algernon, which he would do if he set up for what he called a saint."

Maud smiled a little bitterly.

"That is always the way—they have always some good reason, and each one thinks that he individually is exempt from danger. But O, my dear child, don't you be led into thinking that Desmond cannot be led away himself. Algernon and his friends are notorious. That is why I hate you and Desmond to be in their house. Beatrice ought not to ask you. But poor Beatrice tries to shut her eyes to what she is powerless to stop, and to live on the surface of things, hoping that the evil day will somehow be staved off. I pity Beatrice from the bottom of my heart (though she would not be grateful for any token of sympathy), but her house is not the place for you or Desmond. Do take him home and keep him there!"

"I will try," answered Odeyne, not a little startled at this sudden outbreak from Maud, putting into words the vague thoughts and fears which had haunted her for so long. It was a great relief to be able to speak freely to Maud, and to feel that the barrier between them was broken down; yet she was made more anxious on Desmond's account after this talk with his sister, than she had ever been before.

One good thing resulted from the threatened accident, and that was that the visit to Beatrice's house came to an abrupt conclusion. Quiet and rest were ordered for Odeyne after the shock she had suffered. She remained at her mother-in-law's house for a few days, and then went home to the Chase with Desmond, who had been so fully occupied during these days in inquiries and arrangements about the cobs, that he had no time for anything else, beyond petting his wife and teasing his mother and sister whenever he was at home.

It was proved that only one of the cobs had belonged to Lady Massingham, and that the quieter of the pair. There was no actual vice in the creatures, only a superabundance of energy, and Desmond soon succeeded in selling the spirited pair to a horsey lady in the neighbourhood, who laughed the thought of fear to scorn. A sound and quiet horse was bought for Odeyne's pretty phaeton, a handsome creature that would give her no trouble or alarm, and Desmond, in high good humour with himself and with his purchase, took his wife t home, having had for the time being enough of gaiety, and feeling ready for a quieter life and for the routine of the office.

"Yes, dear, you are quite right, I believe," he said to Odeyne, when she strove to speak to him seriously of the peril he ran into, and of her abhorrence of practices which were too familiar to him to strike him with any great disgust. "That sort of thing does make beasts and cads of men. Look at Garston, for instance; the fellow won't even apologise, but declares everything he did was square and above-board, and as good as tells me that my wife is a fool and that I am a liar! And even Algy, who is a good sort of fellow in his way, was inclined to take his part and only laugh at the whole thing. I'm not at all pleased with him and his set. I'm sorry for poor Beatrice, but I can't stand everything for her sake. We'll keep away from that house for a bit."

Odeyne's heart rejoiced at these words. If only she had Desmond to herself, and could keep him away from Beatrice and her set, she felt certain all would be well. He was so tender and affectionate at home, and so regular in his attendance at business, that she hoped everything for his future. If he could but see the deterioration of character that must of necessity follow upon the indulgence of vicious habits, surely he would of his own accord revolt from those habits and break the yoke from his neck.

Odeyne might have been rather lonely at this time, had it not been that Cissy Ritchie came to stay with her for a while. This arrangement was practically made by Mrs. St. Claire, who did not think Odeyne ought to be quite alone just now, and who decided that one of the Ritchie girls would do very well to wait on her, and fetch and carry, until some of Odeyne's own people could come to be with her. Mrs. St. Claire believed in cheerful companionship, and was also decidedly averse to Odeyne's driving about alone. She spoke to Dr. Ritchie on the subject, and he gladly gave permission for Cissy to stay for a while at the Chase. Jem would have loved to be the one selected, but her father knew that Odeyne would wait upon her and look after her, rather than suffer the lame child to save her steps. So Cissy was the one in the end selected; and Odeyne found it pleasant to have in the house a quick-witted, sensible, and sympathetic companion, who was always on the spot if wanted, but who had the knack of effacing herself quickly and completely whenever husband and wife wanted to be together.

Maud would have liked to be Odeyne's companion now, but she could not be spared by her mother, who was always something of an invalid, especially during the winter months. Cissy Ritchie, however, was delighted to come, and after a very short time Odeyne found that she liked and trusted her most fully.

The chief interest and excitement of those days was the approaching marriage of pretty Alice, the maid, and the renovation of the lodge which was to be her future home.

Odeyne drove down very often to see how it was getting on, and Cissy became keenly interested in the place and its future occupants. She helped Alice with some of her trousseau garments, a little amused sometimes at the daintiness of them for a girl in her position.

"You will be quite a fine lady one of these days, Alice," she remarked, as Alice displayed to her a hat and cape which she had had given to her by her fiancé only a few days before. And Alice blushed and bridled a little as she answered—

"That is what Walter hopes, ma'am, in a few years. He means to make his way in the world, and he says he will make a lady of me before we grow so very much older."

"And how is he going to set about that, Alice?" asked Cissy, with one of her quick little penetrating glances.

"He means to be rich one of these days, you see, ma'am," answered Alice, "and then it'll all be easy."

"Come Alice," said Cissy with a little laugh, "you know better than that. Why it was only the other day you told me yourself that Mrs. Bennet and her daughters would never be ladies as long as they lived! Yet they are rich enough to curl their fringes with bank-notes if they had a mind to!"

Alice blushed again, but lifted her pretty head with a gesture that meant a good deal.

"I don't think that those poor ladies have ever been used to good society—not till it was too late to learn. One has to be brought up with ladies to understand the ways of them!" And Alice plainly considered that she had had that sort of education, and could hold her own in any society!

"At least, Alice, believe me that money has nothing to do with it," said Cissy gravely. "Some of the best and truest ladies in the world are poorer than you and your husband will be, even when you first set up. A true lady, Alice, is born, not made. And the truest test I know of real refinement is the gift of putting aside self for the sake of others."

Alice did not look as though she thought much of that as a test; but she was fond of Miss Ritchie, and did not argue with her. Cissy was very quiet, but she had a way of speaking straight to the point, of supporting her words if need be with pregnant arguments. Odeyne had begun to find her interesting as well as kind and useful, and her knowledge of the neighbourhood and all the people there was both useful and entertaining.

One day, as they were sitting together in that comfortable sanctum of Desmond's, which Odeyne had beautified for him, and which on cold and blustery days was the cosiest corner of the house, a note was brought in to them which proved to be of some importance. Walter Garth was the bearer, and in it Odeyne was asked to give him some important papers which were locked up in the safe in this very room. Odeyne had a duplicate key in her possession; but she was not clear from Desmond's rather vague directions what the papers were that were wanted.

"I think I must have the man in. Very likely he will know. Desmond always says he is so observant and quick. He saves him a great deal in time and trouble."

Cissy leant back in her chair and surveyed the new-comer as he entered. Although she had heard a good deal about Walter Garth, she had never seen him before, and as Alice's future husband she took a considerable interest in him.

She watched him closely all the time he was in the room talking with Odeyne. He knew all about the papers; was very quiet and courteous in his manner. In accent and voice he could have passed as a gentleman in any ordinary society, and yet he could not justly be accused of giving himself airs; he was far too quiet and respectful.

"So that is Alice's fiancé," said Cissy when the visitor had taken his departure.

"Yes; what do you think of him?" asked Odeyne, who had come to have a considerable respect for Cissy's powers of discrimination.

"I didn't take to him," answered Cissy briefly.

"Didn't you?" asked Odeyne, rather surprised. "Most people have formed a very favourable impression of him."

"Oh, I should think he was clever, if that was what was wanted, and as quick as they make them, as the boys would say. I should think he could be a very useful servant and a very trustworthy one, so long as it was in his interest to be so. But I wouldn't trust him beyond that point."

Odeyne felt just a little hurt. Walter Garth was rather a protégé of hers, for Alice's sake.

"Don't you think you are rather harsh in your judgments, dear Cissy?" she asked. "What makes you think such things?"

"It's a kind of instinct I have," answered Cissy. "I can't help it; it was born in me. I have a feeling about people the very first time I see them. I sometimes wander away from my first impression for a time; but almost, if not quite invariably, I come back to it in the end."

"I have heard people talk like that before," said Odeyne. "I have not that kind of gift myself. Sometimes I think it may be rather a dangerous one. It must give rise to a certain amount of prejudice."

"Yes," answered Cissy readily, "it does. One judges beforehand on instinct, without waiting for development and reason. I have had my qualms about it. Once, when I had the chance of talking to a very holy man, I asked him what he thought about that sort of intuition."

"And what did he say?" asked Odeyne with interest.

"He said it all a great deal more beautifully than I can do; but the gist of it was this—that these instincts were often given us by God, for our defence and guidance; but that like every God-given thing, it was liable to abuse, and that the enemy would be certain to strive and make us abuse it; so we must watch ourselves very carefully, and above all avoid judging and condemning our brethren, and so missing that bond of perfect love which should be strong enough to embrace all mankind, even though over some we may have to weep tears of blood for their wickedness and unbelief."

"Yes, I like that sort of answer," said Odeyne, "and I am sure God does give us instincts to help us to avoid evil. Think how little children shrink away from wicked persons without knowing why. I have so often noticed that, and thought how beautiful it was. But tell me, have you any reason rather than this instinct for distrusting Walter Garth?"

"Not exactly," answered Cissy. "I did not quite like the way he examined the key of the safe when he had locked it up, or the sort of stock he seemed to take of everything in the room; but perhaps he has trained himself to habits of observation, and does it unthinkingly; for I suppose he has been inside this room before to speak to Desmond.

"Desmond generally sees him in the little waiting-room opposite, where Garth has a writing-table, and sometimes writes a few letters for him. He may have been in here before; but I don't know. As you say, he is one of those observant men who takes in everything. Perhaps it is not quite an agreeable habit, but Desmond has found it very useful."

Cissy said no more. She had no wish to be disagreeable, and the fact that Walter Garth's face had struck her rather unpleasantly was not a matter of much consequence. Alice was satisfied with him as a lover, and Desmond as a clerk. He had many good qualities to recommend him, and even if there were possibilities of an ugly kind in his nature, perhaps nothing would ever arise to call them forth, or perhaps the influence of his wife and home would gradually eradicate them.

"If Alice were not such a vain, feather-brained chit herself," mused Cissy, as she thought over the situation. "Her real devotion to Odeyne is her best point; except for that she seems to me but a flighty little thing, bent on being a fine lady in so far as it is possible. They are going to keep a servant, and she plainly intends to go about very smart, when she is not up at the house looking after Odeyne's things. Perhaps the responsibilities of matrimony will sober her down; but her one leading idea seems to be to have a good time and enjoy herself thoroughly."

Odeyne had decided not to engage another maid at once. She had never been used to much personal attendance, and did not care for it. She needed some help in the care of her rather extensive wardrobe, and that Alice was eager to give still. She did not want to sever her connection with the big house and all its attendant gaieties, nor did her husband wish this either. He told her that she would find it very lonely all day at the lodge, and encouraged her to continue her duties in so far as it was possible. This arrangement pleased and suited Odeyne very well, and was to be adopted for the present, at any rate. The wedding was to take place as soon as the additions to the lodge were made, and that would certainly be before Christmas, so there was not much time to make others.

Desmond's ideas just now were rather on a large scale. The prospect of the nurseries at the Chase being wanted shortly, gave him an idea that they would find the house rather small when visitors arrived for such occasions as the shooting and hunting, or a county ball. He had therefore taken a great fancy to his plan of enlarging the lodge, which was never used as a lodge, and making it at once a comfortable home for the Garths and a sort of overflow house, where his own guests could be accommodated when necessary.

Odeyne was always ready to fall into any project of his, and although she was a little astonished at the elaborate plans and heavy estimates submitted, Desmond assured her that he could well afford to carry out his scheme in his own way, and added that there was never any real extravagance in improving a property. It would be an advantage to the family, in the long run.

He went to work all through in an open-handed and lavish way. Everything, even the furnishing, was done at his own expense, and in a style that Cissy frankly told him was rather absurd for such people as Garth and his wife.

But Desmond only laughed. This lodge was his pet hobby just now, and as it kept him at home when he was not at business, and was certainly a safer way of spending money than others in which he was fond of indulging, nobody seriously opposed him, and the delight of Alice with her pretty home was quite amusing to see.

The house was divided practically into two parts, the one being an exceedingly comfortable and even elegant cottage for the Garths, the other forming a quaint suite of rooms for bachelor guests, including a smoking-room, a bathroom, and two good bedrooms, with a dressing-closet or boxroom wedged between them. Two, or even three men could be comfortably accommodated here, and Desmond was as pleased with the appearance of the furnished and embellished rooms as a child with a new toy.

The wedding of Alice and Garth came off in due course, just a fortnight before Christmas. The bride had insisted upon white for her own wear, although Odeyne had gently suggested that grey would be more serviceable, and would be more comfortable and suitable for the season of the year. But that did not meet Alice's views at all, nor, as she said, those of Walter. She should not feel properly married, she declared, if she were not married in white. So Odeyne was prepared for something rather fine, but not for the sweeping white silk and the flowing veil with which Alice astonished the church upon the morning of her wedding-day.