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SIR GEORGE TRESSADY
VOL. L
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:Vyf^^'
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SIR GEORGE TRESSADY
BY
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
r
AuTHOB OF '• Maroblla,'* '* Thb Histobt of David Obixvb,**
"BOBBBT ElSMBKB/' BTO.
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I.
Wetogorfe
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd.
1897
AU rights reserved
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5 ;io.
HARVARD
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
GOPTBIOHT, 1896,
By MRS. HUMPHRY WARD.
COPTBIOHT, 1896,
By MRS. HUMPHRY WARD.
Set up and electrotyped September, 1896. Reprinted November,
1896 ; January, October, 1897
NattDoab $re00
J. 8. CuihiDK ft Co. - Berwick ft Smith
Norwood liMf. U.8. A.
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tETo ms ISrotiieT anH JmnH
WILLIAM THOMAS ARNOLD
I INSCRIBE THIS BOOK
1438
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PART I
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SIR GEORGE TRESSADY
CHAPTER I
"Well, that's over, thank Heaven!''
The young man speaking drew in his head from the
carriage-window. But instead of sitting down he
turned with a joyous, excited gesture and lifted the
flap over the little window in the back of the landau,
supporting himself, as he stooped to look, by a hand
on his companion's shoulder. Through this peephole
he saw, as the horses trotted away, the crowd in the
main street of Market Malford, still huzzaing and
waving, the wild glare of half a dozen torches on the
faces and the moving forms, the closed shops on either
hand, the irregular roofs and chimneys sharp-cut
against a wintry sky, and in the far distance the little
lantern belfry and taller mass of the new town-hall.
" I'm much astonished the horses didn't bolt ! " said
the man addressed. "That bay mare would have
lost all the temper she's got in another moment. It's
a good thing we made them shut the carriage — it has
turned abominably cold. Hadn't you better sit down ? "
And Lord Fontenoy made a movement as though to
withdraw from the hand on his shoulder.
VOL. I — B 1
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2 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY
The owner of the hand flung himself down on the
seat, with a word of apology, took off his hat, and
drew a long breath of fatigue. At the same moment
a sudden look of disgust effaced the smile with which
he had taken his last glimpse at the crowd.
"All very well! — but what one wants after this
business is a moral tub ! The lies Pve told during the
last three weeks — the bunkum I've talked! — it's a
feeling of positive dirt ! And the worst of it is, how-
ever you may scrub your mind afterwards, some of it
must stick."
He took out a cigarette, and lit it at his companion's
with a rather unsteady hand. He had a thin, long
face and fair hair ; and one would have guessed him
some ten years younger than the man beside him.
" Certainly — it will stick," said the other. " Elec-
tion promises nowadays are sharply looked after. I
heard no bunkum. As far as I know, our party doesn't
talk any. We leave that to the Government ! "
Sir George Tressady, the young man addressed,
shrugged his shoulders. His mouth was still twitch-
ing imder the influence of nervous excitement. But
as they rolled along between the dark hedges, the
carriage-lamps shining on their wet branches, green
yet, in spite of November, he began to recover a half-
cynical self-control. The poll for the Market MaKord
Division of West Mercia had been declared that after-
noon, between two and three o'clock, after a hotly con-
tested election ; he, as the successful candidate by a
very naiTow majority, had since addressed a shout-
ing mob from the balcony of the Greyhoimd Hotel,
had suffered the usual taking out of horses and tri-
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT 8
umphal dragging through the town, and was now re-
turning with his supporter and party-leader, Lord
Fontenoy, to the great Tory mansion which had sent
them forth in the morning, and had been Tressady's
headquarters during the greater part of the fight.
"Did you ever see anyone so down as Bewick?"
he said presently, with a little leap of laughter.
" By George ! it is hard lines. I suppose he thought
himself safe, what with the work he'd done in the
division and the hold he had on the miners. Then
a confounded stranger turns up, and the chance of
seventeen ignorant voters kicks you out! He could
hardly bring himself to shake hands with me. I had
come rather to admire him, hadn't you ? "
Lord Fontenoy nodded.
"I thought his speeches showed ability," he said
indifferently, " only of a kind that must be kept out
of Parliament — that's all. Sorry you have qualms
— quite unnecessary, I assure you ! At the present
moment, either Bewick and his like knock imder,
or you -and your like. This time — by seventeen
votes — Bewick knocks under. Thank the Lord!
say I" — and the speaker opened the window an
instant to knock off the end of his cigar.
Tressady made no reply. But again a look, half
chagrined, half reflective, puckered his brow, which
was smooth, white, and boyish under his straight,
fair hair; whereas the rest of the face was subtly
lined, and browned as though by travel and varied
living. The nose and mouth, though not handsome,
were small and delicately cut, while the long, pointed
chin, slightly protruding, made those who disliked
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4 8IB GEORGE TBE88ADT
him say that he was like those innumerable por-
traits of Philip IV., by and after Velasquez, which
bestrew the collections of Europe. But if the Haps-
burg chin had to be admitted, nothing could be
more modern, intelligent, alert, than the rest of
him.
The two rolled along a while in silence. They
were passing through an undulating midland coun-
try, dimly seen under the stars. At frequent in-
tervals rose high mounds, with tall chimneys and
huddled buildings beside them or upon them which
marked the sites of collieries ; while the lights also,
which had begun to twinkle over the face of the
land, showed that it was thickly inhabited.
Suddenly the carriage rattled into a village, and
Tressady looked out.
"I say, Fontenoy, here^s a crowd! Do you sup-
pose they know? Why, Gregson's taken us another
way round ! "
Lord Fontenoy let down his window, and identi-
fied the small mining village of Battage.
"Why did you bring us this way, Gregson?** he
said to the coachman.
The man, a Londoner, turned, and spoke in a low
voice. "I thought we might find some rioting
going on in Marraby, my lord. And now I see
there's lots o' them out here!"
Indeed, with the words he had to check his horses.
The village street was full from end to end with
miners just come up from work. Fontenoy at once
perceived that the news of the election had arrived.
The men were massed in large groups, talking and
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY 5
discussing, with evident and angry excitement, and
as soon as the well-known liveries on the box of
the new member's carriage were identified there
was an instant rush towards it. Some of the men
had already gone into their houses on either hand,
but at the sound of the wheels and the uproar they
came rushing out again. A howling hubbub arose,
a confused sound of booing and groaning, and the
carriage was soon surrounded by grimed men, ges-
ticulating and shouting.
"Yer bloated parasites, yer!" cried a young fel-
low, catching at the door-handle on Lord Fontenoy's
side; "we'll make a d d end o' yer afore we've
done wi' yer. Who asked yer to come meddlin in
Malford — d n yer!"
"Whativer do we want wi' the loikes o' yo repre-
sentin us ! " shouted another man, pointing at Tres-
sady. "Look at 'im; ee can't walk, ee can't; mus
be druv, poor hinnercent! When did yo iver do a
day's work, eh? Look at my 'ands! Them's the
'ands for honest men — ain't they, you fellers?"
There was a roar of laughter and approval from
the crowd, and up went a forest of begrimed hands,
flourishing and waving.
George calmly put down the carriage-window, and,
leaning his arms upon it, put his head out. He flung
some good-humoured banter at some of the nearest
men, and two or three responded. But the majority
of the faces were lowering and fierce, and the horses
were becoming inconveniently crowded.
"Get on, Gregson," said Fontenoy, opening the
front window of the brougham.
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6 8IR GEORGE TRE8SADT
"If they'll let me, your lordship," said Gregson,
rather pale, raising his whip.
The horses made a sudden start forward. There
was a yell from the crowd, and three or four men
had just dashed for the horses' heads, when a shout
of a different kind ascended.
"Bewick! 'Ere's Bewick! Three cheers for
Bewick ! ''
And some distance behind them, at the corner of
the village street, Tressady suddenly perceived a
tall dogcart drawing up with two men in it. It
was already surrounded by a cheering and tumultu-
ous assembly, and one of the men in the cart was
shaking hands right and left.
George drew in his head, with a laugh. "This
is dramatic. They've stopped the horses, and here's
Bewick!"
Fontenoy shrugged his shoulders. "They'll black-
guard us a bit, I suppose, and let us go. Bewick '11
keep them in order."
" What d'yer mean by it, heh, dash yer ! " shouted
a huge man, as he sprang on the step of the carriage
and shook a black fist in Tressady's face — "thrustin
yer d d carkiss where yer ain't wanted? We
wanted 'm, and we've worked for 'im. This is a
workin-class district, an we've a right to 'im. Do
yer 'ear ? "
" Then you should have given him seventeen more
votes," said George, composedly, as he thrust his
hands into his pockets. "It's the fortunes of war
— your turn next time. I say, suppose you tell
your fellows to let our man get on. We've had a
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SIR GEORGE TRESS J DT 7
long day, and we're hungry. Ah " — to Fontenoy —
" here's Bewick coming ! "
Fontenoy turned, and saw that the dogcart had
drawn up alongside them, and that one of the men
was standing on the step of it, holding on to the rail
of the cart.
He was a tall, finely built man, and as he looked
down on the carriage, and on Tressady leaning over
the window, the light from a street-lamp near showed
a handsome face blanched with excitement and
fatigue.
"Now, my friends," he said, raising his arm, and
addressing the crowd, " yoij let Sir George go home to
his dinner. He's beaten us, and so far as I know he^s
fought fair, whatever some of his friends may have
done for him. I'm going home to have a bite of some-
thing and a wash. I'm done. Bat if any of you like
to come round to the club — eight o'clock — I'll tell
you a thing or two about this election. Now good-
night to you. Sir George. We'll beat you yet, trust
us. Fall back there ! "
He pointed peremptorily to the men holding the
horses. They and the crowd instantly obeyed him.
The carriage swept on, followed by the hooting and
groans of the whole community, men, women, and
children, who were now massed along the street on
either hand.
"It's easy to see this man Gregson's a new hand,"
said Fontenoy, with an accent of annoyance, as they
got clear of the village. " I believe the Wattons hav^
only just imported him, otherwise he'd never have
avoided Marraby, and come round by Battage."
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8 SIR GEORGE TRESS ALT
" Battage has some special connection with Bewick,
hasn't it ? I had forgotten."
"Of course. He was check-weigher at the Acme
pit here for years, before they made him district
secretary of the union."
" That's why they gave me such a hot meeting here
a fortnight ago! — I remember now; but one thing
drives another out of one's head. Well, I daresay
you and I'll have plenty more to do with Bewick
before we've done."
Tressady threw himself back in his corner with a
yawn.
Fontenoy laughed.
"There'll be another ftg strike some time next
year," he said drily — " bound to be, as far as I can
see. We shall all have plenty to do with Bewick
then."
"All right," said Tressady, indistinctly, pulling his
hat over his eyes. "Bewick or anybody else may
blow me up next year, so long as they let me go to
sleep now."
However, he did not find it so easy to go to sleep.
His pulses were still tingling under the emotions of
the day and the stimulus of the hubbub they had just
passed through. His mind raced backwards and for-
wards over the incidents and excitements of the last
six months, over the scenes of his canvass — and over
some other scenes of a different kind which had taken
place in the country-house whither he and Fontenoy
were returning.
But he did his best to feign sleep. His one desire
was that Fontenoy should not talk to him. Fontenoy,
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SIB GEORGE TBESSADT 9
however, was not easily taken in, and no sooner did
George make his first restless movement under the
mg he had drawn over him, than his companion
broke silence.
"By the way, what did you think of that memo-
randum of mine on Maxwell's bill?"
George fidgeted and mumbled. Fontenoy, un-
daunted, began to harangue on certain minutiae of
factory law with a monotonous zest of voice and
gesture which seemed to Tressady nothing short of
amazing.
He watched the speaker a minute or two through
his half-shut eyes. So thi^ was his leader to be —
the man who had made him member for Market
Malford.
Eight years before, when George Tressady had first
entered Christchurch, he had found that place of tem-
pered learning alive with traditions on the subject
of "Dicky Fontenoy." And such traditions — good
Heavens ! Subsequently, at most race-meetings, large
and small, and at various clubs, theatres, and places
of public resort, the younger man had had his op-
portunities of observing the elder, and had used them
always with relish, and sometimes with admiration.
He himself had no desire to follow in Fontenoy's
footsteps. Other elements rided in him, which drew
him other ways. But there was a magnificence about
the impetuosity, or rather the doggedness with which
Fontenoy had plunged into the business of ruining
himself, which stirred the imagination. On the last
occasion, some three and a half years before this
Market Malford election, when Tressady had seen
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10 SIR GEORGE TRESSABY
Fontenoy before starting himself on a long Eastern
tour, he had been conscious of a lively curiosity as
to what might have happened to "Dicky" by the
time he came back again. The eldest sons of peers
do not generally come to the workhouse; but there
are aristocratic substitutes which, relatively, are not
much less disagreeable ; and George hardly saw how
they were to be escaped.
And now — not four years! — and here sat Dicky
Fontenoy, haranguing on the dull clauses of a techni-
cal act, throat hoarse with the speaking of the last
three weeks, eyes cavernous with anxiety and over-
work, the creator and leader of a political party which
did not exist when Tressady left England, and now
bade fair to hold the balance of power in English gov-
ernment! The surprises of fate and character! Tres-
sady pondered them a little in a sleepy way ; but the
fatigue of many days asserted itself. Even his com-
panion was soon obliged to give him up as a listener.
Lord Fontenoy ceased to talk; yet every now and
then, as some jolt of the carriage made George open
his eyes, he saw the broad-shouldered figure beside
him, sitting in the same attitude, erect and tireless,
the same half-peevish pugnacity giving expression to
mouth and eye.
" Come, wake up, Tressady I Here we are ! ''
There was a vindictive eagerness in Fontenoy's
voice. Ease was no longer welcome to him, whether
in himself or as a spectacle in other men. George,
startled from a momentary profundity of sleep, stag-
gered to his feet; and clutched at various bags and rugs.
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY 11
The carriage was standing imder the pillared porch
of Malford House, and the great house-doors, thrown
back upon an inner flight of marble steps, gave pas-
sage to a blaze of light. George, descending, had just
shaken himself awake, and handed the things he held
to a footman, when there was a sudden uproar from
within. A crowd of figures — men and women, the
men cheering, the women clapping and laughing —
ran down the inner steps towards him. He was sur-
rounded, embraced, slapped on the back, and finally
carried triumphantly into the hall.
"Bring him in!" said an exultant voice; "and
stand back, please, and let his mother get at him."
The laughing group fell back, and George, blinking,
radiant, and abashed, found himself in the arms of
an exceedingly sprightly and youthful dame, with
pale, frizzled hair, and the figure of seventeen.
" Oh, you dear, great, foolish thing ! " said the lady,
with the voice and the fervour, moreover, of seventeen.
" So you've got in — you've done it ! Well, I should
never have spoken to you again if you hadn't ! And
I suppose you'd have minded that a little — from
your own mother. Goodness ! how cold he is ! "
And she flew at him with little pecking kisses, re-
treating every now and again to look at him, and then
closing upon him again in ecstasy, till George, at the
end of his patience, held her off with a strong arm.
"Now, mother, that's enough. Have the others
been home long?" he asked, addressing a smiling
young man in knickerbockers who, with his hands in
his pockets, was standing beside the hero of the occa-
sion surveying the scene.
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12 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
"Oh! about half an hour. They reported you'd
have some difficulty in getting out of the clutches of
the crowd. We hardly expected you so soon."
" How's Miss SewelPs headache ? Does she know ? "
The expression of the young man's eye, which was
bent on Tressady, changed ever so slightly as he replied:
" Oh yes, she knows. As soon as the others got back
Mrs. Watton went up to tell her. She didn't show at
lunch."
"Mrs. Watton came to tell me — naughty man!"
said the lady whom George had addressed as his
mother, tapping the speaker on the arm with her fan.
" Mothers first, if you please, especially when they're
cripples like me, and can't go and see their dear dar-
lings' triumphs with their own eyes. And / told Miss
Sewell."
She put her head on one side, and looked archly at
her son. Her high gown, a work of the most ap-
proved Parisian art, was so cut as to show much more
throat than usual, and, in addition, a row of very fine
pearls. Her very elegant waist and bust were defined
by a sort of Empire sash;. her complexion did her
maid and, indeed, her years, infinite credit.
George flushed slightly at his mother's words, and
was turning away from her when he was gripped by
the owner of the house. Squire Watton, an eloquent
and soft-hearted old gentleman who, having in
George's opinion already overdone it greatly at the
town-hall in the way of hand-shaking and congratu-
lations, was now most unreasonably prepared to over-
do it again. Lady Tressady joined in with little
shrieks and sallies, the other guests of the house
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SIB GEORGE TBE8SADT 18
gathered round, and the hero of the day was once
more lost to sight and hearing amid the general hub-
bub of talk and laughter — for the young man in
knickerbockers, at any rate, who stood a little way
off from the rest.
" I wonder when she'll condescend to come down,"
he said to himself, examining his boots with a specu-
lative smile. " Of course it was mere caprice that she
didn't go to Malf ord ; she meant it to annoy."
" I say, do let me get warm," said Tressady at last,
breaking from his tormentors, and coming up to the
open log fire, in front of which the young man stood.
" Where's Fontenoy vanished to ? "
" Went up to write letters directly he had swallowed
a cup of tea," said the young man, whose name was
Bayle ; " and called Marks to go with him." (Marks
was Lord Fontenoy's private secretary.)
George Tressady threw up his hands in disgust.
"It's absurd. He never allows himself an hour's
peace. If he expects me to grind as he does, he'll
soon regret that he lent a hand to put me into Parlia-
ment. Well, I'm stiff all over, and as tired as a rat.
I'll go and have a warm bath before dinner."
But still he lingered, warming his hands over the
blaze, and every now and then scanning the gal-
lery which ran round the big hall. Bayle chatted to
him about some of the incidents of the day. George
answered at random. He did, indeed, look tired out,
and his expression was restless and discontented.
Suddenly there was a cry from the group of young
men and maidens who were amusing themselves in
the centre of the hall.
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14 8IB GEORGE TRESSADT
" Why, there's Letty ! and as fresh as paint.'^
George turned abruptly. Bayle saw his manner
stiffen and his eye kindle.
A young girl was slowly coming down the great
staircase which led to the hall. She was in a soft
black dress with a blue sash, and a knot of blue at her
throat — a childish slip of a dress, which answered
to her small rounded form, her curly head, and the
hand slipping along the marble rail. She came down
silently smiling, taking each step with great delibera-
tion, in spite of the outbreak of half-derisive sympathy
with which she was greeted from her friends below.
Her bright eyes glanced from face to face — from the
mocking inquirers immediately beneath her to Greorge
Tressady standing by the fire.
At the moment when she reached the last step
Tressady found it necessary to put another log on a
fire already piled to repletion.
Meanwhile Miss Sewell went straight towards the
new member and held out her hand.
" I am so glad, Sir George ; let me congratulate you.''
George put down his log, and then looked at his
fingers critically.
" I am very sorry, Miss Sewell, but I am not fit to
touch. I hope your headache is better."
Miss Sewell dropped her hand meekly, shot him a
glance which was not meek, and said demurely :
" Oh ! my headaches do what they're told. You see,
I was determined to come down and congratulate you."
" I see," he repeated, making her a little bow. " I
hope my ailments, when I get them, will be as docile.
So my mother told you ? "
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SIB GEORGE TRESSADY 16
" I didn't want telling," she said placidly. " I knew
it was all safe."
"Then you knew what only the gods knew — for
I only got in by seventeen votes."
"Yes, so I heard. I was very sorry for Be-
wick."
She put one foot on the stone fender, raised her
pretty dress with one hand, and leant the other lightly
against the mantelpiece. The attitude was full of
grace, and the little sighing voice fitted the curves
of a mouth which seemed always ready to laugh, yet
seldom laughed frankly.
As she made her remark about Bewick Tressady
smiled.
" My prophetic soul was right," he said deliberately ;
" I knew you would be sorry for Bewick."
" Well, it is hard on him, isn't it ? You can't deny
you're a carpet-bagger, can you ? "
" Why should I ? I'm proud of it."
Then he looked round him. The rest of the party
— not without whispers and smothered laughter —
had withdrawn from them. Some of the ladies had
already gone up to dress. The men had wandered
away into a little library and smoking-room which
opened on the hall. Only the squire, safe in a capa-
cious armchair a little way off, was absorbed in a local
paper and the last humours of the election.
Satisfied with his glance, Tressady put his hands
into his pockets, and leant back against the fireplace,
in a way to give himself fuller command of Miss
Sewell's countenance.
"Do you never give your friends any better sym-
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16 8IB GEORGE TRE8SADY
pathy than you have given me in this affair^ Miss
Sewell ? '' he said suddenly, as their eyes met.
She made a little face.
*^ Why, I've been an angel I '* she said, poking at a
prominent log with her foot.
George laughed.
*' Then our ideas of angels agree no better than the
rest. Why didn't you come and hear the poll de-
clared, after promising me you would be there ? "
" Because I had a headache. Sir Greorge."
He responded with a little inclination, as though
ceremoniously accepting her statement.
" May I ask at what time your headache began ? "
"Let me see," she said, laughing j "I think it was
directly after breakfast.''
" Yes. It declared itself, if I remember right, im-
mediately after certain remarks of mine about a Cap-
tain Addison ? "
He looked straight before him, with a detached air.
" Yes," said Letty, thoughtfully ; " it was a curious
coincidence, wasn't it ? "
There was a moment's silence. Then she broke
into infectious laughter.
" Don't you know," she said, laying her hand on his
shoulder — " don't you know that you're a most foolish
and wasteful person ? We get along capitally, you and
I — we've had a rattling time all this week — and
then you will go and make uncivil remarks about my
friends — in public, too ! You actually think I'm go-
ing to let you tell Aunt Watton how to manage me !
You get me into no end of a fuss — it'll take me weeks
to undo the mischief you've been making — and then
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SIB GEORGE TRESSADT 17
you expect me to take it like a lamb ! Now, do I look
like a lamb ? "
All this time she was holding him tight by the arm,
and her dimpled face, alive with mirth and malice, was
so close to his that a moment's wild impulse flashed
through him to kiss her there and then. But the im-
pulse passed. He and Letty Sewell had known each
other for about three weeks. They were not engaged
— far from it. And these — the hand on the arm, and
the rest — were Letty SewelFs ways.
Instead of kissing her, then, he scanned her deliber-
ately.
"I never saw anyone more plainly given over to
obstinacy and pride," he said quietly ; " I told you
some plain facts about the character of a man whom
I know, and you don't, whereupon you sulk all day,
you break all your promises about coming to Malford,
and when I come back you call me names."
She raised her eyebrows and withdrew her hand.
"Well, it's plain, isn't it? that I must have been
in a great rage. It was very dull upstairs, though I
did write reams to my best friend all about you — a
very candid account — I shall have to soften it down.
By the way, are you ever going to dress for dinner ? "
George started, and looked at his watch.
"Are we alone ? Is anyone coming from outside ? "
" Only a few 'locals,' just to celebrate the occasion.
I know the clergyman's wife's coming, for she told me
she had been copying one of my frocks, and wanted
me to tell her what I thought"
George laughed.
"Poor lady!"
VOL. I —
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18 SIR GEORGE TRE8SADY
" I don't think I shall be nice to her/' said Letty,
playing with a flower on the mantelpiece. "Dowdy
people make me feel wicked. Well, / must dress."
It was now his turn to lay a detaining hand.
" Are you sorry ? " he said, bending over to her.
His bright grey eyes had shaken off fatigue.
" For what ? Because you got in ? "
Her face overflowed with laughter. He let her go.
She linked her arm in that of the daughter of the
house — Miss Florence Watton — who was crossing
the hall at the moment, and the two went upstairs
together, she throwing back one triumphant glance at
him from the landing.
George stood watching them till they disappeared.
His expression was neither soft nor angry. There
was in it a mocking self-possession which showed
that he too had been playing a part — mingled, per-
haps, with a certain perplexity.
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CHAPTER n
George Tbessady came down very late for dinner,
and found his hostess on the verge of annoyance.
Mrs. Watton was a large, commanding woman, who
seldom thought it worth while to disguise any disap-
proval she might feel — and she had a great deal of
that commodity to expend, both on persons and institu-
tions.
George hastened to propitiate her with the usual
futilities : he had supposed that he was in excellent
time, his watch had been playing tricks, and so on.
Mrs. Watton, who, after all, on this great day be-
held in the new member the visible triumph of her
dearest principles, received these excuses at first with
stiffness, but soon thawed.
"Oh, you naughty boy, you naughty, mendacious
boy ! " said a sprightly voice in Tressady's ear. " ^ Ex-
cellent time,' indeed ! I saw you — for shame ! ''
And Lady Tressady flounced away from her son,
laughing over her shoulder in one of her accustomed
poses. She wore white muslin over cherry-coloured
silk. The display of neck and shoulders could hardly
have been more lavish ; and the rouge on her cheeks
had been overdone, which rarely happened. George
turned from her hurriedly to speak to Lord Fontenoy.
" What a fool that woman is ! " thought Mrs. Watton
19
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20 SIR GEORGE TRES8ADT
to herself, as her sharp eye followed her guest. " She
will make George positively dislike her soon — and all
the time she is bound to get him to pay her debts, or
there will be a smash. What! dinner? John, will
you please take Lady Tressady; Harding, will you
take Mrs. Hawkins" — pointing her second son towards
a lady in black sitting stiffly on the edge of an otto-
man; "Mr. Hawkins takes Florence; Sir George" —
she waved her hand towards Miss Sewell. "Now,
Lord Fontenoy, you must take me; and the rest of
you sort yourselves."
As the young people, mostly cousins, laughingly
did what they were told. Sir George held out his arm
to Miss Sewell.
" I am very sorry for you," he said, as they passed
into the dining-room.
" Oh ! I knew it would be my turn," said Letty, with
resignation. "You see, you took Florrie last night,
and Aunt Watton the night before."
George settled himself deliberately in his chair, and
turned to study his companion.
"Do you mind warning me, to begin with, how I
can avoid giving you a headache? Since this morning
my nerve has gone — I want directions."
"Well — " said Letty, pondering, "let us lay down
the subjects we may talk about first. For instance,
you may talk of Mrs. Hawkins."
She gave an imperceptible nod which directed his
eyes to the thin woman sitting opposite, to whom
Harding Watton, a fashionable and fastidious youth,
was paying but scant attention.
George examined her.
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SIB GEORGE TBESSADT 21
" I don't want to/' he said shortly ; " besides, she
would last us no time at all."
"Oh! — on the contrary," said Letty, with malice
sparkling in her brown eye, " she would last me a good
twenty minutes. She has got on my gown."
" I didn't recognise it," said George, studying the
thin lady again.
" I wouldn't mind," said Letty, in the same tone of
reflection, " if Mrs. Hawkins didn't think it her duty
to lecture me in the intervals of copying my frocks.
If I disapproved of anybody, I don't think I should
send my nurse to ask their maid for patterns."
" I notice you take disapproval very calmly."
" Callously, you mean. Well, it is my misfortune.
I always feel myself so much more reasonable than
the people who disapprove."
"This morning, then, you thought me a fool ?"
"Oh no! Only — well — I knew, you see, that I
knew better. / was reasonable, and — "
"Oh! don't finish," said George, hastily; "and
don't suppose that I shall ever give you any more
good advice."
"Won't you?"
Her mocking look sent a challenge, which he met
with outward firmness. Meanwhile he was inwardly
haunted by a phrase he had once heard a woman apply
to the mental capacities of her best friend. "Her
mind? — her mind, my dear, is a shallow chaos!"
The words made a neat label, he scoffingly thought,
for his own present sensations. For he could not
persuade himself that there was much profundity in
his feelings towards Miss Sewell, whatever reckless
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22 SIB GEORGE TRESSADT
possibilities life might seem to hold at times; when,
for instance, she wore that particular pink gown in
which she was attired to-night, or when her little im-
pertinent airs suited her as well as they were suiting
her just now. Something cool and critical in him was
judging her all the time. Ten years hence, he made
himself reflect, she would probably have no prettiness
left. Whereas now, what with bloom and grace, what
with small proportions and movements light as air,
what with an inventive refinement in dress and per-
sonal adornment that never failed, all Letty SewelPs
defects of feature or expression were easily lost in a
general aspect which most men found dazzling and
perturbing enough. Letty, at any rate within her
own circle, had never yet been without partners, or
lovers, or any other form of girlish excitement that
she desired, and had been generally supposed — though
she herself was aware of some strong evidence to the
contrary — to be capable of getting anything she had
set her mind upon. She had set her mind, as the
spectators in this particular case had speedily divined,
upon enslaving young George Tressady. And she had
not failed. For even during these last stirring days
it had been tolerably clear that she and his election
had divided Tressady's mind between them, with a
balance, perhaps, to her side. As to the measure of
her success, however, that was still doubtful — to her-
self and him most of all.
To-night, at any rate, he could not detach himself
from her. He tried repeatedly to talk to the girl on
his left, a noble-faced child fresh out of the school-
room, who in three years' time would be as much
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SIR GEORGE TRESS ADT 23
Letty Sewell's superior in beauty as in other things.
But the effort was too great. The strenuous business
of the day had but left him — in fatigue and reaction
— the more athirst for amusement and the gratifica-
tion of another set of powers. He turned back to
Letty, and through course after course they chattered
and sparred, discussing people, plays and books, or
rather, under cover of these, a number of those topics
on the borderland of passion whereby men and women
make their first snatches at intimacy — till Mrs. Wat-
ton's sharp grey eyes smiled behind her fan, and the
attention of her neighbour. Lord Fontenoy — an uneasy
attention — was again and again drawn to the pair.
Meanwhile, during the first half of dinner, a chair im-
mediately opposite to Tressady's place remained vacant.
It was being kept for the eldest son of the house, his
mother explaining carelessly to Lord Fontenoy that she
believed he was " Out parish-ing somewhere, as usual."
However, with the appearance of the pheasants the
door from the drawing-room opened, and a slim dark-
haired man slipped in. He took his place noiselessly,
with a smile of greeting to George and his neighbour,
and bade the butler in a whisper aside bring him any
course that might be going.
" Nonsense, Edward ! '' said his mother's loud voice
from the head of the table; "don't be ridiculous.
Morris, bring back that hare entree and the mutton
for Mr. Edward."
The newcomer raised his eyebrows mildly, smiled,
and submitted.
"Where have you been, Edward?" said Tressady;
" I haven't seen you since the town-hall."
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24 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY
"I have been at a rehearsal. There is a parish
concert next week, and I conduct these functions."
" The concerts are always bad," said Mrs. Watton,
curtly.
Edward Watton shrugged his shoulder. He had
a charming timid air, contradicted now and then by a
look of enthusiastic resolution in the eyes.
"All the more reason for rehearsal," he said.
"However, really, they won't do badly this time."
" Edward is one of the persons," said Mrs. Watton
in a low aside to Lord Fontenoy, " who think you can
make friends with people — the lower orders — by
shaking hands with them, showing them Burne-
Jones's pictures, and singing ^The Messiah' with
them. I had the same idea once. Everybody had.
It was like the measles. But the sensible persons
have got over it."
" Thank you, mamma," said Watton, making her a
smiling bow.
Lady Tressady interrupted her talk with the squire
at the other end of the table to observe what was going
on. She had been chattering very fast in a shrill,
affected voice, with a gesticulation so free and French,
and a face so close to his, that the nervous and finick-
ing squire had been every moment afraid lest the next
should find her white fingers in his very eyes. He
felt an inward spasm of relief when he saw her atten-
tion diverted.
" Is that Mr. Edward talking his Eadicalism ? " she
asked, putting up a gold eyeglass — " his dear, wicked
Eadicalism? Ah! we all know where Mr. Edward
got it."
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SIR GEORGE TRESSADT 26
The table laughed. Harding Watton looked par-
ticularly amused.
"Egeria was in this neighbourhood last week," he
said, addressing Lady Tressady. " Edward rode over
to see her. Since then he has joined two new soci-
eties, and ordered six new books on the Labour
Question.''
Edward flushed a little, but went on eating his
dinner without any other sign of disturbance.
"If you mean Lady Maxwell," he said good-
humouredly, " I can only be sorry for the rest of you
that you don't know her."
He raised his handsome head with a bright air of
challenge that became him, but at the same time
exasperated his mother.
" That woman ! " said Mrs. Watton with ponderous
force, throwing up her hands as she spoke. Then she
turned to Lord Fontenoy. " Don't you regard her as
the source of half the mischievous work done by this
precious Government in the last two years?" she
asked him imperiously.
A half-contemptuous smile crossed Lord Fontenoy's
worn face.
"Well, really, I'm not inclined to make Lady
Maxwell the scapegoat. Let them bear their own
misdeeds."
" Besides, what worse can you say of English Min-
isters than that they should be led by a woman ? " said
Mr. Watton, from the bottom of the table, in a piping
voice. "In my young days such a state of things
would have been unheard of. No offence, my dear,
no offence," he added hastily, glancing at his wife.
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26 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
Letty glanced at George, and put up a handkerchief
to hide her own merriment.
Mrs. Watton looked impatient.
" Plenty of English Cabinet Ministers have been led
by women before now," she said drily ; " and no blame
to them or anybody else. Only in the old days you
knew where you were. Women were corrupt — as they
were meant to be — for their husbands and brothers
and sons. They wanted something for somebody —
and got it. Now they are corrupt — like Lady Max-
well — for what they are pleased to call ^causes/ and
it is that which will take the nation to ruin."
At this there was an incautious protest from Edward
Watton against the word " corrupt," followed by a con-
firmatory clamour from his mother and brother which
seemed to fill the dining-room. Lady Tressady threw
in affected comments from time to time, trying hard
to hold her own in the conversation by a liberal use of
fan and Christian names, and little personal audacities
applied to each speaker in turn. Only Edward Wat-
ton, however, occasionally took civil or smiling notice
of her ; the others ignored her. They were engaged
in a congenial task, the hunting of the one disaffected
and insubordinate member of their pack, and had
for the moment no attention to spare for other
people.
" I shall see the great lady, I suppose, in a week or
two," said George to Miss Sewell, under cover of the
noise. " It is curious that I should never have seen
her."
" Who ? Lady Maxwell ? "
"Yes. You remember I have been four years out
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SIB GEORGE TRESS ADY 27
of England. She was in town, I suppose, the year
before I left, but I never came across her."
"I prophesy you will like her enormously," said
Letty, with decision. " At least, I know that's what
happens to me when Aunt Watton abuses anybody. I
couldn't dislike them afterwards if I tried."
" That, allow me to impress upon you, is not my dis-
position ! I am a human being — I am influenced by
my friends."
He turned round towards her so as to appropriate
her again.
" Oh ! you are not at all the poor creature you paint
yourself ! " said Letty, shaking her head. " In reality,
you are the most obstinate person I know — you can
never let a subject alone — you never know when
you're beaten."
"Beaten?" said George, reflectively; "by a head-
ache ? Well, there is no disgrace in that. One will
probably ^ live to fight another day.' Do you mean to
say that you will take no notice — no notice — of all
that array of facts I laid before you this morning on
the subject of Captain Addison ? "
" I shall be kind to you, and forget them. Now, do
listen to Aunt Watton ! It is your duty. Aunt Wat-
ton is accustomed to be listened to, and you haven't
heard it all a hundred times before, as I have."
Mrs. Watton, indeed, was haranguing her end of the
table on a subject that clearly excited her. Contempt
and antagonism gave a fine energy to a head and face
already sufficiently expressive. Both were on a large
scale, but without commonness. The old-lace coif she
wore suited her waved and grizzled hair, and was car-
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28 SIR GEOBGE TRESSADT
ried with conscious dignity ; the hand, which lay be-
side her on the table, though long and bony, was full
of nervous distinction. Mrs. Watton was, and looked,
a tyrant — but a tyrant of ability.
" A neighbour of theirs in Brookshire," she was say-
ing, " was giving me last week the most extraordinary
account of the doings at Mellor. She was the heiress
of that house at Mellor " — here she addressed young
Bayle, who, as a comparative stranger in the house,
might be supposed to be ignorant of facts which every-
body else knew — "a tumbledown place with an in-
come of about two thousand a year. Directly she
married she put a Socialist of the most unscrupulous
type — so they tell me — into possession. The man
has established what they call a * standard rate' of
wages for the estate — practically double the normal
rate — coerced all the farmers, and made the neigh-
bours furious. They say the whole district is in a
ferment. It used to be the quietest part of the world
imaginable, and now she has set it all by the ears.
ShCy having married thirty thousand a year, can afford
her little amusements; other people, who must live
by their land, have their lives worried out of them."
" She tells me that the system works on the whole
extremely well,'' said Edward Watton, whose height-
ened colour alone betrayed the irritation of his
mother's chronic aggression, "and that Maxwell is
not at all unlikely to adopt it on his own estate."
Mrs. Watton threw up her hands again.
"The idiocy of that man! Till he married her he
was a man of sense. And now she leads him by the
nose, and whatever tune he calls, the Government
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SIB GEORGE TBE88ADY 29
must dance to, because of his power in the House of
Lords/'
"And the worst of it is," said Harding Watton,
with an unpleasant laugh, "that if she were not a
handsome woman, her influence would not be half
what it is. She uses her beauty in the most un-
scrupulous way."
" I believe that to be entirely untrue," said Edward
Watton, with emphasis, looking at his brother with
hostility.
George Tressady interrupted. He had an affection
for Edward Watton, and cordially disliked Harding.
" Is she really so handsome ? " he asked, bending for-
ward and addressing his hostess.
Mrs. Watton scornfully took no notice.
"Well, an old diplomat told me the other day," said
Lord Fontenoy — but with a cold unwillingness, as
though he disliked the subject — "that she was the
most beautiful woman, he thought, that had been seen
in London since Lady Blessington's time."
"Lady Blessington! dear, dear! — Lady Blessing-
ton ! " said Lady Tressady with malicious emphasis —
"an unfortunate comparison, don't you think? Not
many people would like to be regarded as Lady
Blessington's successor."
"In any other respect than beauty," said Edward
Watton, haughtily, with the same tension as before,
"the comparison, of course, would be ridiculous."
Harding shrugged his shoulders, and, tilting his
chair back, said in the ear of a shy young man who
sat next him :
" In my opinion, the Count d'Orsay is only a ques-
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80 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT.
tion of time! However, one mustn't say that to
Edward.''
Harding read memoirs, and considered himself a
man of general cultivation. The young man ad-
dressed, who read no printed matter outside the
sporting papers that he could help, and had no idea
as to who Lady Blessington and Count d'Orsay might
be, smiled vaguely, and said nothing.
" My dear," said the squire, plaintively, " isn't this
room extremely hot ? "
There was a ripple of meaning laughter from all the
young people, to many of whom this particular quarrel
was already tiresomely familiar. Mr. Watton, who
never understood anything, loofeed round with an
inquiring air. Mrs. Watton condescended to take
the hint and retire.
In the drawing-room afterwards Mrs. Watton first
allotted a duty-conversation of some ten minutes in
length, and dealing strictly with the affairs of the
parish, to Mrs. Hawkins, who, as clergyman's wife,
had a definite official place in the Malford House
circle, quite irrespective of any individuality she
might happen to possess. Mrs. Hawkins was plain,
self-conscious, and in no way interesting to Mrs.
Watton, who never took the smallest trouble to ap-
proach her in any other capacity than that upon
which she had entered by marrying the incumbent
of the squire's home living. But the civilities and
respects that were recognised as belonging to her
station she received.
This however, alas! was not enough for Mrs.
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SIB OEORGE TRE88ADT 81
Hawkins, who was full of ambitions, which a bad
manner, a plague of shyness, and a narrow income,
were perpetually thwarting. As soon as the ten min-
utes were over, and Mrs. Watton, who was nothing
if not political, and saw no occasion to make a stran-
ger of the vicar's wife, had plunged into the evening
papers brought her by the footman, Mrs. Hawkins
threw herself on Letty Sewell. She was effusively
grateful — too grateful — for the patterns lent her by
Miss Sewell's maid.
"Did she lend you some patterns?" said Letty,
raising her brows. " Dear me ; I didn't know.''
And her eyes ran coolly over Mrs. Hawkins's attire,
which did, indeed, present a village imitation of the
delicate gown in which Miss Sewell had robed herself
for the evening.
Mrs. Hawkins coloured.
"I specially told my nurse," she said hastily, "that
of course your leave must be asked. But my nurse
and your maid seem to have made friends. Of course
my nurse has plenty of time for dressmaking with only
one child of four to look after, and — and — one really
gets no new ideas in a poky place like this. But I
would not have taken a liberty for the world."
Her pride and mauvaise honte together made both
voice and manner particularly unattractive. Letty
was seized with the same temper that little boys
show towards flies.
" Of course I am delighted ! " she said indifferently.
"It's so nice and good to have one's things made at
home. Your nurse must be a treasure."
All the time her gaze was diligently inspecting
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82 SIB GEORGE TRE88ADT
every ill-cut seam and tortured trimming of the home-
made triumph before her. The ear of the vicar's wife,
always morbidly sensitive in that particular drawing-
room, caught a tone of insult in every light word.
A passionate resentment flamed up in her, and she
determined to hold her own.
" Are you going in for more visits when you leave
here ? " she inquired.
" Yes, two or three," said Letty, turning her deli-
cate head unwittingly. She had been throwing blan-
dishments to Mrs. Watton's dog, a grey Aberdeen
terrier, who stood on the rug quietly regarding her.
" You spend most of the year in visits, don't you ? "
" Well, a good deal of it," said Letty.
" Don't you find it dreadfully time-wasting ? Does
it leave you leisure for any serious occupations at all ?
I am afraid it would make me terribly idle ! "
Mrs. Hawkins laughed, attempting a tone of banter.
Letty put up a small hand to hide a sudden yawn,
which, however, was visible enough.
"Would it?" she said, with an impertinence which
hardly tried to conceal itself. "Evelyn, do look at
that dog. Doesn't he remind you of Mr. Bay ley?"
She beckoned to the handsome child of sixteen who
had sat on George Tressady's left hand at dinner,
and, taking up a pinch of rose-leaves that had
dropped from a vase beside her, she flung them at
the dog, calling him to her. Instead of going to her,
however, the dog slowly curled himself up on the
rug, and, laying his nose along his front paws, stared
at her steadily with the expression of one mounting
guard.
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SIB GEORGE TRESS AD Y 38
"He never will make friends with you, Letty.
Isn't it odd?" said Evelyn, laughing, and stooping
to stroke the creature.
"Never mind; other dogs will. Did you see that
adorable black Spitz of Lady Arthur's? She has
promised to give me one."
The two cousins fell into a chatter about their
county neighbours, mostly rich and aristocratic peo-
ple, of whom Mrs. Hawkins knew little or nothing.
Evelyn Watton, whose instincts were quick and gen-
erous, tried again and again to draw the vicar's wife
into the conversation. Letty was determined to ex-
clude her. She lay back against the sofa, chatting her
liveliest, the whiteness of her neck and cheek shin-
ing against the red of the damask behind, one foot
lightly crossed ovet the other, showing her costly
little slippers with their paste buckles. She sparkled
with jewels as much as a girl may — more, indeed,
in Mrs. Hawkins's opinion, than a girl should. From
head to foot she breathed affluence, seduction, success
— only the seduction was not for Mrs. Hawkins and
her like.
The vicar's wife sat flushed and erect on her chair,
disdaining after a time to make any further effort,
but inwardly intolerably sore. She could not despise
Letty Sewell, unfortunately, since Letty's advantages
were just those that she herself most desired. But
there was something else in her mind than small
jealousy. When Letty had been a brilliant child in
short frocks, the vicar's wife, who was scarcely six
years older, had opened her heart, had tried to make
herself loved by Mrs. Watton's niece. There had
VOL. I — D
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34 8IR GEORGE TRES8ADT
been a moment when they had been "Madge" and
" Letty " to each other, even since Letty had " come
out." Now, whenever Mrs. Hawkins attempted the
Christian name, it stuck in her throat; it seemed,
even to herself, a familiarity that had nothing to
go upon; while with every succeeding visit to Mal-
ford, Letty had dropped her former friend more
decidedly, and "Madge" was heard no more.
The gentlemen, deep in election incident and gos-
sip, were, in the view chiefly of the successful candi-
date, unreasonably long in leaving the dining-room.
When they appeared at last, George Tressady once
more made an attempt to talk to someone else than
Letty Sewell, and once more failed.
"I want you to tell me something about Miss
Sewell," said Lord Fontenoy presently in Mrs. Wat-
ton's ear. He had been sitting silent beside her on
the sofa for some little time, apparently toying with
the evening papers, which Mrs. Watton had relin-
quished to him.
Mrs. Watton looked up, followed the direction
of his eyes towards a settee in a distant corner
of the room, and showed a half-impatient amuse-
ment.
"Letty? Oh! Letty's my niece — the daughter of
my brother, Walter Sewell, of Helbeck. They live in
Yorkshire. My brother has my father's place — a
small estate, and rents very irregular. I often won-
der how they manage to dress that child as they do.
However, she has always had her own way since she
was a foot high. As for my poor brother, he has
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SIR GEORGE TRESSADT 86
been an invalid for the last ten years^ and neither he
nor his wife — oh! such a stupid woman!" — Mrs.
Watton's energetic hands and eyes once more, called
Heaven to witness — " have ever counted for much, I
should say, in Letty's career. There is another sis-
ter, a little delicate, silent thing, that looks after
them. Oh! Letty isn't stupid; I should think not.
I suppose you're alarmed about Sir George. You
needn't be. She does it with everybody."
The candid aunt pursued the conversation a little
further, in the same tone of a half -caustic indulgence.
At the end of it, however. Lord Fontenoy was still
uneasy. He had only migrated to Malford House for
the declaration of the poll, having spent the canvass-
ing weeks mainly in another part of the division.
And now, on this triumphant evening, he was con-
scious of a sudden sense of defective information,
which was disagreeable and damping.
When bedtime came, Letty lingered in the draw-
ing-room a little behind the other ladies, on the plea
of gathering up some trifles that belonged to her.
So that when George Tressady went out with her to
light her candle for her in the gallery, they found
themselves alone.
He had fallen into a sudden silence, which made
her sweep him a look of scrutiny as she took her
candlestick. The slim yet virile figure drawn to its
full height, the significant, long-chinned face, pleased
her senses. He might be plain — she supposed he
was — but he was, nevertheless, distinguished, and
extraordinarily alive.
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36 SIR GEORGE TRES8ADY
**I believe you are tired to death," she said to him.
" Why don't you go to bed? "
She spoke with the freedom of one accustomed to
advise all her male acquaintance for their good.
George laughed.
" Tired? Not I. I was before dinner. Look here,
Miss Sewell, I've got a question to ask."
"Ask it."
"You don't want to spoil my great day, do you?
You do repent that headache?"
They looked at each other, dancing laughter in
each pair of eyes, combined in his with an excited
insistence.
"Good-night, Sir George," she said, holding out
her hand.
He retained it.
"You do?" he said, bending over her.
She liked the situation, and made no immediate
effort to change it.
" Ask me a month hence, when I have proved your
statements."
" Then you admit it was all pretence? "
"I admit nothing," she said joyously. "I pro-
tected my friend."
"Yes, by injuring and offending another friend.
Would it please you if I said I missed you very
much at Malford to-day?"
" I will tell you to-morrow — it is so late ! Please
let me have my hand."
He took no notice, and they went hand-in-hand,
she drawing him, to the foot of the stairs.
" George ! " said a shrill, hesitating voice from over-
head.
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SIR GEORGE TRES8ADT 37
George looked up, and saw his mother. He and
Letty started apart, and in another second Letty had
glided upstairs and disappeared.
"Yes, mother," said George, impatiently.
"Will you come here?"
He mounted, and found Lady Tressady a little dis-
composed, but as affected as usual.
"Oh, George! it was so dark — I didn't see — I
didn't know. George, will you have half an hour's
talk with me after breakfast to-morrow? Oh, George,
my dear boy, my c?ear boy ! Your poor mammy under-
stands ! "
She laid one hand on his shoulder and, lifting her
feather fan in the other, shook it with playful mean-
ing in the direction whither Letty had departed.
George hastily withdrew himself. "Of course I
will have a talk with you, mother. As for anything
else, I don't know what you mean. But you really
must let me go to bed; I am much too tired to talk
now. Good-night."
Lady Tressady went back to her room, smiling but
anxious.
"She has caught him! " she said to herself; "bare-
faced little flirt! It is not altogether the best thing
for me. But it may dispose him to be generous, if
— if I can play my cards."
Letty Sewell meanwhile had reached the quiet of a
luxurious bedroom, and summoned her maid to her
assistance. When the maid departed, the mistress
held long counsel with herself over the fire : the gen-
eral position of her affairs; what she desired; what
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38 SIR GEORGE TRESS AD Y
other people intended; her will, and the chances, of
getting it. Her thoughts dealt with these various
problems in a skilled and business-like way. To a
particular form of self-examination Letty was well
accustomed, and it had become by now a strong agent
in the development of individuality, as self-examina-
tion of another sort is said to be by other kinds of
people.
She herself was pleasantly conscious of real agita-
tion. George Tressady had touched her feelings,
thrilled her nerves, more than — Yes! she said to
herself decidedly, more than anybody else, more than
"the rest." She thought of "the rest," one after the
other — thought of them contemptuously. Yet, cer-
tainly few girls in her own set and part of the coun-
try had enjoyed a better time — few, perhaps, had
dared so many adventures. Her mother had never
interfered with her; and she herself had not been
afraid to be "talked about." Dances, picnics, moon-
light walks; the joys of outrageous "sitting-out," and
hot rivalries with prettier girls; of impertinences
towards the men who didn't matter, and pretty flat-
teries towards the men who did — it was all pleasant
enough to think of. She could not reproach herself
with having missed any chances, any opportunities
her own will might have given her.
And yet — well, she was tired of it! — out of love
altogether with her maiden state and its opportuni-
ties. She had come to Malford House in a state of
soreness, which partly accounted, perhaps, for such
airs as she had been showing to poor Mrs. Hawkins.
During the past year a particular marriage — the
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8IR QEOBQE TRE88ADY 89
marriage of her neighbourhood — had seemed inter-
mittently within her reach. She had played every
card she knew — and she had failed! Failed, too, in
the most humiliating way. For the bride, indeed,
was chosen ; but it was not Letty Sewell, but one of
Letty's girl-neighbours.
To-night, almost for the first time, she could bear
to think of it; she could even smile at it. Vanity
and ambition alone had been concerned, and to-night
these wild beasts of the heart were soothed and
placable.
Well, it was no great match, of course — if it came
off. All that Aunt Watton knew about the Tres-
sadys had been long since extracted from her by her
niece. And with Tressady himself Letty's artless
questions had been very effective. She knew almost
all that she wished to know. No doubt Ferth was a
very second-rate " place " ; and, since those horrid
miners had become so troublesome, his income as a
coal-owner could not be what his father's had been —
three or four thousand a year, she supposed — more,
perhaps, in good years. It was not much.
Still — she pressed her hands on her eyes — he was
distinguished; she saw that plainly already. He
would be welcome anywhex^e.
"And we are not distinguished — that is just it.
We are small people, in a rather dull set. And I
have had hard work to make anything of it. Aunt
Watton was very lucky to marry as she did. Of
course, she made Uncle Watton marry her; but that
was a chance — and papa always says nobody else
could have done it!"
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40 SIB GEORGE TRE88ADY
She fell happily thinking of Tressady's skirmishes
with her, her face dimpling with amusement. Cap-
tain Addison! How amazed he would be could he
know the use to which she had put his name and his
very hesitating attentions. But he would never know ;
and meanwhile Sir George had been really pricked —
really jealous ! She laughed to herself — a low laugh
of pure pleasure.
Yes — she had made up her mind. With a sigh,
she put away from her all other and loftier ambitions.
She supposed that she had not money or family enough.
One must face the facts. George Tressady would take
her socially into another milieu than her own, and a
higher one. She told herself that she had always
pined for Parliament, politics, and eminent people.
Why should she not succeed in that world as well
as in the Helbeck world? Of course she would
succeed !
There was his mother — silly, painted old lady!
She was naturally the great drawback; and Aunt
Watton said she was absurdly extravagant, and would
ruin Tressady if it went on. All the more reason why
he should be protected. Letty drew herself sharply
together in her pretty white dressing-gown, with the
feeling that mothers of that kind must and could be
kept in their place.
A house in town, of course — and not in Warwick
Square, where, apparently, the Tressadys owned a
house, which had been let, and was now once more
in Sir George's hands. That might do for Lady
Tressady — if, indeed, she could afford it when her
son had married and taken other claims upon him.
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-SIB GEORGE TRE88ADY 41
Letty allowed her thoughts to wander dreamily on,
envisaging the London life that was to be ; the young
member, Lord Fontenoy's special friend and prot4g6
— the young member's wife making her way among
great people, giving charming little parties at Ferth —
All very well! But what, please, were the facts
on his side? She buried her small chin deep in her
hands as she tried, frowning, to think it out. Cer-
tainly he was very much drawn, very much taken.
She had watched him, sometimes, trying to keep
away from her — and her lips parted in a broad
smile as she recalled the triumph of his sudden re-
turns and submissions. She believed he had a curi-
ous temper — easily depressed, for all his coolness.
But he had never been depressed in her company.
Still, nothing was certain. All that had happened
might melt away into nothingness with the greatest
ease if — well! if the right steps were not taken. He
was no novice, any more than she ; he must have had
scores of " affairs " by now, with that manner of his.
Such men were always capable of second thoughts, of
tardy retreats — and especially if there were the small-
est thought of persecution, of pursuit.
She believed — she was nearly certain — he would
have a reaction to-morrow, perhaps because his mother
had caught them together. Kext morning he would be
just a little bored by the thought of it — a little bored
by having to begin again where he had left off. With-
out great tact and skill the whole edifice might tumble
together like a house of cards. Had she the courage
to make diflBiculties — to put a water-ditch across his
path?
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42 SIR GEORGE TBESSADY
It was close on midnight when Letty at last raised
her little chin from the hands that held it and rang
the bell that communicated with her maid's room,
but cautiously, so as not to disturb the rest of the
sleeping house.
"K Grier is asleep, she must wake up, that's
all!"
Two or three minutes afterwards a dishevelled maid
startled out of her first slumber appeared, to ask
whether her mistress was ill.
"No, Grier, but I wanted to tell you that I have
changed my mind about staying here till Saturday.
I am going to-morrow morning by the 9.30 train.
You can order a fly first thing, and bring me my
breakfast early."
The maid, groaning at the thought of the boxes
that would have to be packed in this inconceivable
hurry, ventured to protest.
"Never mind, you can get the housemaid to help
you," said Miss Sewell, decidedly. "I don't mind
what you give her. Now go to bed, Grier. I'm
sorry I woke you up; you look as tired as an owl."
Then she stood still, looking at herself — hands
clasped lightly before her — in the long glass.
"* Letty went by the nine o'clock train,'" she said
aloud, smiling, and mocking her own white reflection.
" ' Dear me ! How sudden ! how extraordinary ! Yes,
but that's like her. H'm — ' Then he must write to
me, for I shall write him a civil little note asking for
that book I lent him. Oh! I hope Aunt Watton and
his mother will bore him to death ! "
She broke out into a merry laugh; then, sweeping
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY 48
her mass of pretty hair to one side, she began rapidly
to coil it up for the night, her fingers working as fast
as her thoughts, which were busy with one ingen-
ious plan after another for her next meeting with
Greorge Tressady.
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CHAPTER III
During this same space of time, which for Miss
SewelPs maid ended so disagreeably, George Tres-
sady was engaged in a curious conversation.
He had excused himself from smoking, on the
ground of fatigue, immediately after his parting from
Letty. But he had only nominally gone to bed. He
too found it difficult to tear himself from thinking
and the fire, and had not begun to undress when he
heard a knock at his door. On his reply. Lord Fon-
tenoy entered.
" May I come in, Tressady ? "
"By all means."
George, however, stared at his invader in some
astonishment. His relations with Fontenoy were not
personally intimate.
"Well, I'm glad to find you still up, for I had a
few words on my mind to say to you before I go off
to-morrow. Can you spare me ten minutes? "
"Certainly; do sit down. Only — well, I'm afraid
I'm pretty well done. If it's anything important, I
can't promise to take it in."
Lord Fontenoy for a moment made no reply. He
stood by the fire, looking at the cigarette he still
held, in silence. George watched him with repressed
annoyance.
44
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SIB GEORGE TRE8SADY 46
"It's been a very hot fight, this," said Fontenoy at
last, slowly, " and you've won it well. All our band
have prospered in the matter of elections. But this
contest of yours has been, I think, the most conspicu-
ous that any of us have fought. Your speeches have
made a mark — one can see that from the way in
which the Press has begun to take them, political
beginner though you are. In the House you will be,
I think, our best speaker — of course with time and
experience. As for me, if you give me a fortnight to
prepare in, I can make out something. Otherwise I
am no use. You will take a good debating place from
the beginning. Well, it is only what I expected."
The speaker stopped. Greorge, fidgeting in his chair,
said nothing ; and presently Fontenoy resumed :
" I trust you will not think what I am going to say
an intrusion, but — you remember my letters to you
in India?"
George nodded.
"They put the case strongly, I think," Fontenoy
went on, "but, in my opinion, not strongly enough.
This wretched Government is in power by the help of
a tyranny — a tyranny of Labour. They call them-
selves Conservatives — they are really State Social-
ists, and the mere catspaws of the revolutionary
Socialists. You and I are in Parliament to break
down that tyranny, if we can. This year and next
will be all-important. If we can hold Maxwell and
his friends in check for a time — if we can put some
backbone into the party of freedom — if we can rally
and call up the forces we have in the country, the
thing will be done. We shall have established the
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46 8IB GEORGE TBE88ADT
counterpoise — we shall very likely turn the next
election, and liberty — or what still remains of it ! —
will be saved for a generation. But to succeed, the
effort, the sacrifice, from each one of us, will have
to be enormous. ^^
Fontenoy paused, and looked at his companion.
Greorge was lying back in an armchair with his eyes
shut. Why on earth — so he was thinking — should
Fontenoy have chosen this particular hour and this
particular night to dibiter these very stale things, that
he had already served up in innumerable speeches and
almost every letter that George had received from him?
"I don't suppose it will be child's-play," he said,
stifling a yawn — "hope I shall feel keener after a
night's rest!" He looked up with a smile.
Fontenoy dropped his cigarette into the fender and
stood silent a moment, his hands clasped behind his
back.
"Look here, Tressady ! " he said at last, turning to
his companion ; " you remember how affairs stood with
me when you left England? I didn't know much of
you, but I believe, like many of my juniors, you knew
a great deal about me? "
Greorge made the sign of assent expected of him.
"I knew something about you, certainly," he said,
smiling; "it was not difl&cult."
Fontenoy smiled too, though without geniality.
Geniality had become impossible to a man always
overworked and on edge.
"I was a fool," he said quickly — "an open and
notorious fool. But I enjoyed my life. I don't sup-
pose anyone ever enjoyed life more. Every day of
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8IE GEORGE TBE88ADY 47
my former existence gave the lie to the good people
who tell you that to be happy you must be virtuous.
I was idle, extravagant, and vicious, and I was one of
the happiest of men. As to my racing and my horses,
they were a constant delight to me. I can't think
now of those mornings on the Heath — the gallops of
my colts — the change and excitement of it all, with-
out longing for it to come back again. Yet I have
never owned a horse, or seen a race, or made a bet,
for the last three years. I never go into society,
except for political purposes; and I scarcely ever
touch wine. In fact, I have thrown overboard every-
thing that once gave me pleasure and amusement so
completely that I have, perhaps, some right to press
upon the party that follows me my conviction that
unless each and all of us give up private ease and
comfort as I have done — unless we are contented, as
the Parnellites were, to be bores in the House and
nuisances to ourselves — to peg away in season and
out of season — to give up everything for the cause,
we may just as well not go into the fight at all — for
we shall do nothing with it."
George clasped his hands round his knee, and
stared stubbornly into the fire. Sermonising was
all very well, but Fontenoy did too much of it; no-
body need suppose that he would have done what he
had done, unless, on the whole, it had given him more
pleasure to do it than not to do it.
"Well," he said, looking up at last with a laugh,
" I wonder what you mean — really. Do you mean,
for instance, that I oughtn't to get myself married? "
His offhand manner covered a good deal of irrita-
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48 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
tion. He made a shrewd guess at the idea in Fonte-
noy's mind, and meant to show that he would not be
dictated to.
Fontenoy also laughed, with as little geniality as
before. Then he applied himself to a deliberate
answer.
" This is what I mean. If you, just elected — at
the beginning of this critical session — were to give
your best mind to anything else in the world than the
fight before us, I should regard you as, for the time,
at any rate, lost to us — as, so far, betraying us."
The colour rushed into George's cheeks.
" Upon my word ! " he said, springing up — " upon
my word, you are a taskmaster! '^
Fontenoy hastened to reply, in a different tone, " I
only want to keep the machine in order."
George paced up and down for a few moments with-
out speaking. Presently he paused.
" Look here, Fontenoy ! I cannot look at the mat-
ter as you do, and we may as well understand each
other. To me, this election of mine is, after all, an
ordinary affair. I take it, and what is to come after
it, just as other men do. I have accepted your party
and your programme, and I mean to stick to them. I
see that the political situation is difficult and excit-
ing, and I don't intend to shirk. But I am no more
going to slay my private life and interests at the altar
of politics than my father did when he was in Parlia-
ment. If the revolution is coming, it will come in
spite of you and me. And, moreover — if you will
let me say so — I am convinced that your modes of
procedure are not even profitable to the cause in the
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT 49
long run. No man can work as you do, without rest
and without distraction. You will break down, and
then, where will the * cause ' be ?"
Lord Fontenoy surveyed the speaker with a curious,
calculating look. It was as though, with as much
rapidity as his mind was capable of, he balanced a
number of pros and cons against each other, and
finally decided to let the matter drop, perhaps not
without some regret for having raised it.
"Ah! well," he said, "I have no 4pubt that what
I have said appears to you mere meddlesomeness. If
so, you will change your view, and you will forgive
me. I must trust the compulsion of the situation.
You will realise it, as I have done, when you get well
into the fight. There is something in this Labour
tyranny which rouses all a man's passions, bad and
good. If it does not rouse yours, I have been much
mistaken in my estimate of you. As for me, don't
waste your concern. There are few stronger men than
I. You forget, too — "
There was a pause. Of late years, since his trans-
formation in fact. Lord Fontenoy's stiff reserve about
himself had been rarely broken through. At this
moment, however, George, looking up, saw that his
companion was in some way moved by a kind of som-
bre and personal emotion.
"You forget," the speaker resumed, "that I learnt
nothing either at school or college, and that a man
who wants to lead a party must, some time or other,
pay for that precious privilege. When you left Eng-
land, the only financial statement I could understand
was a betting-book. I knew no history except what
VOL. I — s
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50 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
one gets from living among people who have been
making it, and even that I was too lazy to profit by.
I couldn't understand the simplest economical argu-
ment, and I hated trouble of all kinds. Nothing but
the toil of a galley-slave could have enabled me to do
what I have done. You would be astonished some-
times if you could look in upon me at night and see
what I am doing — what I am obliged to do to keep
up the most elementary appearances."
George was touched. The tone of the speaker had
passed suddenly into one of plain dignity, in spite
of, perhaps because of, the half -bitter humility that
mingled with it.
" I know you make one ashamed," he said sincerely,
though awkwardly. " Well, don't distrust me ; I'll do
my best."
"Good-night," said Lord Fontenoy, and held out
his hand. He had gained no promises, and George
had shown and felt annoyance. Yet the friendship
between the two men had sensibly advanced.
George shut the door upon him, and came back to
the fire to ponder this odd quarter of an hour.
His experience certainly contained no more extraor-
dinary fact than this conversion of a gambler and a
spendthrift into the passionate leader of an arduous
cause. Only one quality linked the man he remem-
bered with the politician he had now pledged himself
to follow — the quality of intensity. Dicky Fonte-
noy in his follies had been neither gay nor lovable,
but his fierce will, his extravagant and reckless force,
had given him the command of men softer than him-
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SIB GEORGE TRESSABY 51
self. That will and that force were still there, steeled
and concentrated. But George Tressady was some-
times restlessly doubtful as to how far he himself was
prepared to submit to them.
His personal acquaintance with Fontenoy was of
comparatively recent date. He himself had been for
some four years away from England, to which he had
only returned about three months before the Market
Malford election. A letter from Fontenoy had been
the immediate cause of his return ; but before it arrived
the two men had been in no direct communication.
The circumstances of Tressady' s long absence con-
cern his later story, and were on this wise. His
father. Sir William, the owner of Ferth Place, in
West Mercia, died in the year that George, his only
surviving child and the son of his old age, left college.
The son, finding his father's debts considerable and
his own distaste for the law, to which he had been des-
tined, amazingly increased by his newly acquired free-
dom to do what he liked with himself, turned his mind
at once towards travelling. Travel he must if he was
ever to take up public and Parliamentary life, and for
no other profession — so he announced — did he feel
the smallest vocation. Moreover, economy was abso-
lutely necessary. During his absence the London
house could be let, and Lady Tressady could live
quietly at Ferth upon an allowance, while his uncles
looked after the colliery property.
Lady Tressady made no difficulty, except as to the
figure first named for the proposed allowance, which
she declared was absurd. The uncles, elderly business
men, could not understand why the younger genera-
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52 SIR GEORGE TRESSADY
tion should not go into harness at once without in
dulgences, as they themselves had done; but George
got his way, and had much reason to show for it.
He had not been idle at college, though perhaps at no
time industrious enough. Influenced by natural ambi-
tion and an able tutor, he had won some distinction,
and he was now a man full of odds and ends of ideas,
of nascent interests, curiosities, and opinions, strongly
influenced moreover already, though he said less about
it than about other things, by the desire for political
distinction. While still at college he had been espe-
cially attracted — owing mainly to the chances of an
undergraduate friendship — by a group of Eastern
problems bearing upon England's future in Asia;
and he was no sooner free to govern himself and his
moderate income than there flamed up in him the
Englishman's passion to see, to touch, to handle,
coupled with the young man's natural desire to go
where it was dangerous to go, and where other men
were not going. His friend — the son of an eminent
geographer, possessed by inheritance of the explorer's
instincts — was just leaving England for Asia Minor,
Armenia, and Persia. George made up his mind,
hastily but firmly, to go with him, and his family
had to put up with it.
The year, however, for which the young fellow had
stipulated went by; two others were added to it; and
a fourth began to run its course — still George showed
but faint signs of returning. According to his letters
home, he had wandered through Persia, India, and
Ceylon; had found friends and amusement every-
where; and in the latter colony had even served
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT 58
eight months as private secretary to the Governor,
who had taken a fancy to him, and had been sud-
denly bereft by a boating accident of the indispen-
sable young man who was accustomed to direct the
hospitalities of Government House before Tressady's
advent. Thence he went to China and Japan, made
a trip from Pekin into Mongolia, landed on Formosa,
fell in with some French naval officers at Saigon,
spending with them some of the gayest and maddest
weeks of his life; explored Siam, and finally returned
by way of Burmah to Calcutta, with the dim intention
this time of some day, before long, taking ship for
home.
Meanwhile during the last months of his stay in
Ceylon he had written some signed articles for an
important English newspaper, which, together with
the natural liking felt by the many important per-
sons he had come to know in the East for an intelli-
gent and promising young fellow, endowed with brains,
family, and good manners, served to bring him con-
siderably into notice. The tone of the articles was
strongly English and Imperialist. The first of them
came out immediately before his visit to Saigon, and
Tressady thanked his lucky stars that the foreign read-
ing of his French friends was, perhaps, not so exten-
sive as their practical acquaintance with life. He was,
however, proud of his first literary achievement, and
it served to crystallise in him a number of ideas and
sentiments which had previously represented rather
the prejudices of a traveller accustomed to find his
race in the ascendant, and to be well received by its
official class than any reasoned political theory.
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54 SIB GEORGE TRESSADY
As he went on writing, conviction grew with state-
ment, became a faith, ultimately a passion — till, as
he turned homewards, he seemed to himself to have
attained a philosophy sufficient to steer the rest of
life by. It was the common philosophy of the edu-
cated and fastidious observer; and it rested on ideas
of the greatness of England and the infinity of Eng-
land's mission, on the rights of ability to govern as
contrasted with the squalid possibilities of democ-
racy, on the natural kingship of the higher races, and
on a profound personal admiration for the virtues of
the administrator and the soldier.
Now, no man in whom these perceptions take
strong root early, need expect to love popular gov-
ernment. Tressady read his English newspapers with
increasing disgust. On that little England in those
far seas all depended, and England meant the English
working-man with his flatteries of either party. He
blundered and blustered at home, while the Empire,
its services and its defences, by which alone all this
pullulating "street folk" existed for a day, were in
danger of starvation and hindrance abroad, to meet
the unreasonable fancies of a degenerate race. A
deep hatred of mob-rule rooted itself in Tressady,
passing gradually, during his last three months in
India, into a growing inclination to return and take
his place in the fight — to have his say. "Govern-
ment to the competent — not to the many," might
have been the summary of his three years' experience.
Nor were private influences wanting. He was a
West Mercian landowner in a coal-mining district,
and owned a group of pits on the borders of his
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT 65
estate. His uncles, who had shares in the property,
reported to him periodically during his absence. With
every quarter it seemed to Tressady that the reports
grew worse and the dividends less. His uncles' let-
ters, indeed, were full of anxieties and complaints.
After a long period of peace in the coal-trade, it
looked as though a time of hot war between masters
and men was approaching. " We have to thrash them
every fifteen years," wrote one of the uncles, "and
the time is nearly up."
The unreason, brutality, and extravagance of the
men; the tyranny of the Union; the growing inso-
lence of the Union officials — Tressady's letters from
home after a time spoke of little else. And Tres-
sady 's bankbook meanwhile formed a disagreeable
comment on the correspondence. The pits were
almost running at a loss; yet neither party had
made up their minds to the trial of strength.
Tressady was still lingering in Bombay — though
supposed to be on his way home — when Lord Fonte-
noy's letter reached him.
The writer referred slightly to their previous ac-
quaintance, and to a remote family connection between
himself and Tressady; dwelt in fliattering terms on the
reports which had reached him from many quarters of
Tressady 's opinions and abilities; described the gene-
sis and aims of the new Parliamentary party, of which
the writer was the founder and head; and finally urged
him to come home at once, and to stand for Parliament
as a candidate for the Market Malf ord division, where
the influence of Fontenoy's family was considerable.
Since the general election, which had taken place in
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56 SIB GEORGE TBE88ADT
June, and had returned a moderate Conservative Gov-
ernment to power, the member for Market Malford
had become incurably ill. The seat might be vacant
at any moment. Fontenoy asked for a telegram, and
urged the next steamer.
Tressady had already — partly from private talk,
partly from the newspapers — learnt the main out-
lines of Lord Fontenoy 's later story. The first politi-
cal speech of Fontenoy's he had ever read made a
half -farcical impression on him — let Dicky stick to
his two-year-olds! The second he read twice over,
and alike in it, in certain party manifestoes from
the same hand printed in the newspapers, and in
the letter he had now received, there spoke some-
thing for which it seemed to him he had been wait-
ing. The style was rough and halting, but Tressady
felt in it the note and power of a leader.
He took an hour's walk through the streets of
Bombay to think it over, then sent his telegram, and
booked his passage on his way home to luncheon.
Such, in brief outline, had been the origin of the
two men's acquaintance. Since George's return they
had been constantly together. Fontenoy had thrown
his whole colossal power of work into the struggle
for the Market Malford seat, and George owed him
much.
After he was left to himself on this particular
night, Tressady was for long restless and wakeful.
In spite of resistance, Fontenoy's talk and Fontenoy's
personality had nevertheless restored for the moment
an earlier balance of mind. The interests of ambition
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SIB GEOBQE TRESS ADT 57
and the intellect returned in force. Letty Sewell had,
no doubt, made life very agreeable to him during the
past three weeks; but, after all — was it worth
while?
Her little figure danced before the inward eye as
his fire sank into darkness ; fragments of her chatter
ran through his mind. He began to be rather
ashamed of himself. Fontenoy was right. It was
not the moment. No doubt he must maiTy some day ;
he had come home, indeed, with the vague intention
of marrying; but the world was wide, and women
many. That he had very little romance in his tem-
perament was probably due to his mother. His
childish experiences of her character, and of her rela-
tions to his father, had left him no room, alas ! for
the natural childish opinion that all grown-ups, and
especially all mothers, are saints. In India he had
amused himself a good deal ; but his adventures had,
on the whole, confirmed his boyish bias. If he had
been forced to put his inmost opinions about women
into words, the result would have been crude — per-
haps brutal ; which did not prevent him from holding
a very strong and vivid conviction of the pleasure to
be got from their society.
Accordingly, he woke up next morning precisely in
the mood that Letty, for her own reasons, had fore-
seen. It worried him to think that for two or three
days more he and Letty Sewell must still be thrown
together in close relations. He and his mother were
waiting on at Malford for a day or two till some
workmen should be out of his own house, which lay
twenty miles away, at the farther edge of the Market
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58 SIR GEORGE TRESSADT
Malford division. Meanwhile a couple of shooting-
parties had been arranged, mainly for his entertain-
ment. Still, was there no urgent business that
required him in town ?
He sauntered in to breakfast a little before ten.
Only Evelyn Watton and her mother were visible,
most of the men having already gone off to a distant
meet.
"Now sit down and entertain us, Sir George," said
Mrs. Watton, holding out her hand to him with an
odd expression. "We're as dull as ditch water — the
men have all gone — Florrie's in bed ^ith a chill —
and Letty departed by the 9.30 train.'* '
George's start, as he took his coffee from her, did
not escape her.
" Miss Sewell gone ? But why this suddenness ? "
he inquired. " I thought Miss Letty was to be here
to the* end of the week."
Mrs. Watton raised her shoulders. "She sent a
note in to me at half-past eight to say her mother
wasn't well, and she was wanted at home. She just
rushed in to say good-bye to me, chattered a great
deal, kissed everybody a great deal — and I know no
more. I hear she had breakfast and a fly, which is
all I troubled myself about. I never interfere with
the modern young woman."
Then she raised her eyeglass, and looked hard and
curiously at Tressady. His face told her nothing,
however, and as she was the least sympathetic of
women, she soon forgot her own curiosity.
Evelyn Watton, a vision of fresh girlhood in her
morning frock, glanced shyly at him once or twice as
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SIR GEORGE TRESS ADY 59
she gave him scones and mustard. She was passing
through a moment of poetry and happy dreams. All
human beings walked glorified in her eyes, especially
if they were young. Letty was not wholly to her
taste, and had never been a particular friend. But
she thought ill of no one, and her little heart must
needs flutter tenderly in the presence of anything that
suggested love and marriage. It had delighted her
to watch George and Letty together. Now, why had
Letty rushed away like this ? She thought with con-
cern, thrilling all the time, that Sir George looked
grave and depressed.
George, however, was not depressed — or thought he
was not. He walked into the library after breakfast,
whistling, and quoting to himself :
And there be they
Who kissed his wings which brought him yesterday,
And thank his wings to-day that he is flown.
He prided himself on his memory of some modern
poets, and the lines pleased him particularly.
He had no sooner done quoting, however, than his
mother peered into the room, claiming the business
talk that had been promised. From that talk George
emerged irritable and silent. His mother's extrava-
gance was really preposterous! — not to be borne.
For four years now he had been free from the con-
stant daily friction of money troubles which had spoilt
his youth and robbed him of all power of respecting
his mother. And he had hugged his freedom. But
all the time it seemed he had been hugging illusion,
and the troubles had been merely piling up for his re-
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GO SIR GEORGE TRESS ADT
turn ! Her present claims — and lie knew very well
that they were not the whole — would exhaust all his
available balance at his bankers'.
Lady Tressady, for her part, thought, with indignant
despair, that he had not behaved at all as an only son
should — especially an only son just returned to a
widowed mother after four years' absence. How could
anyone suppose that in four years there would be no
debts — on such a pittance of an income ? Some money,
indeed, he had promised her ; but not nearly enough,
and not immediately. He "must look into things at
home." Lady Tressady was enraged with herself
and him that she had not succeeded better in making
him understand how pressing, how urgent, matters
were.
She must, indeed, bring it home to him that there
might be a scandal at any moment. That odious
livery-stable man, two or three dressmakers — in these
directions every phase and shift of the debtor's long
finesse had been exhausted long ago. Even she was
at her wits' end.
As for other matters — But from these her thoughts
turned hurriedly away. Luck would change, of course,
sometime ; it must change ! No need to say anything
about that just yet, especially while Greorge's temper
was in such a queer state.
It was very odd — most annoying ! As a baby even
he had never been caressing or sweet like other peo-
ple's babies. And now, really ! — why her son should
have such unattractive ways !
But, manoeuvre as she would, George would not be
drawn into further discussion. She could only show
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY 61
him offended airs, and rack her brains morning and
night as to how best to help herself.
Meanwhile George had never been so little pleased
with living as during these few days. He was over-
whelmed with congratulations; and, to judge from
the newspapers, " all England," as Lady Tressady said,
" was talking of him." It seemed to him ridiculous
that a man should derive so little entertainment from
such a fact. Nevertheless, his dulness remained, and
refused to be got rid of. He discussed with himself,
of course, for a new set of reasons, the possibility of
evading the shooting-parties, and departing. But he
was deeply pledged to stay ; and he was under con-
siderable obligations to the Wattons. So he stayed;
but he shot so as to increase his own dissatisfaction
with the universe, and to make the other men in the
house wonder what might be the general value of an
Indian sporting reputation when it came to dealing
with the British pheasant.
Then he turned to business. He tried to read some
Parliamentary reports bearing on a coming measure,
and full of notes by Fontenoy, which Fontenoy had
left with him. But it only ended in his putting them
hastily aside, lest in the mood of obscure contradiction
that possessed him he should destroy his opinions be-
fore he had taken his seat.
On the day before the last " shoot," among the let-
ters his servant brought him in the early morning, was
one that he tore open in a hurry, tossing the rest aside.
It was from Miss Sewell, requesting, prettily, in as
few words as possible, that he would return her a book
she had lent him.
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62 aiB QEOEGE TBE88ADT
"My mother," she wrote, "has almost recovered
from her sudden attack of chill. I trust the shooting-
parties have amused you, and that you have read all
Lord Fontenoy's Blue Books."
George wrote a reply before he went down to break-
fast — a piece of ordinary small-talk, that seemed to
him the most wretched stuff conceivable. But he
pulled two pens to pieces before he achieved it.
Then he went out for a long walk alone, pondering
what was the matter with him. Had that little witch
dropped the old familiar poison into his veins after
all? Certainly some women made life vivacity and
pleasure, while others — his mother or Mrs. Watton,
for instance — made it fatigue or tedium.
Ever since his boyhood Tressady had been conscious
of intermittent assaults of melancholy, fits of some
inner disgust, which hung the world in black, crippled
his will, made him hate himself and despise his neigh-
bours. It was, possibly, some half-conscious dread
lest this morbid speck in his nature should gain upon
the rest that made him so hungry for travel and change
of scene after he left college. It explained many
surprises, many apparent ficklenesses in his life.
During the three weeks that he had spent in the
same house with Letty Sewell he had never once
been conscious of this lurking element of his life.
And now, after four days, he found himself positively
pining for her voice, the rustle of her delicate dress,
her defiant, provocative ways that kept a man on the
alert — still more, her smiling silences that seemed to
challenge all his powers, the touch of her small cool
hand that crushed so easily in his.
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SIB GEOBGE TRES8ADY 63
What had she left the house for in that wilful way ?
He did not believe her excuses. Yet he was mystified.
Did she realise that things were becoming serious, and
did she not mean them to be serious ? If so, who or
what hindered ?
As for Fontenoy —
Tressady quickened his step impatiently as he re-
called that harassed and toiling figure. Politics or
no politics, he would live his life! Besides, it was
obviously to his profit to marry. How could he ever
make a common household with his mother? He
meant to do his duty by her, but she annoyed and
abashed him twenty times a day. He would be far
happier married, far better able to do his work. He
was not passionately in love — not at all. But — for
it was no good fencing with himself any longer — he
desired Letty Sewell's companionship more than he
had desired anything for a long time. He wanted
the right to carry off the little musical box, with all
its tunes, and set it playing in his own house, to keep
him gay. Why not ? He could house it prettily, and
reward it well.
As for the rest, he decided, without thinking about
it, that Letty Sewell was well born and bred. She
had, of course, all the little refinements a fastidious
taste might desire in a woman. She would never dis-
credit a man in society. On the contrary, she would
be a great strength to him there. And she must be
sweet-tempered, or that pretty child Evelyn Watton
would not be so fond of her.
That pretty child, meanwhile, was absorbed in the
excitement of her own small rdle. Tressady, who had
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64 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
only made duty-conversation with her before, had
found out somehow that she was sympathetic — that
she would talk to him charmingly about Letty. After
a very little pretending, he let himself go ; and Evelyn
dreamt at night of his confidences, her heart, without
knowing it, leaping forward to the time when a man
would look at her so, for her own sake — not an-
other's. She forgot that she had ever criticised Letty,
thought her vain or selfish. Nay, she made a heroine
of her forthwith ; she remembered all sorts of delight-
ful things to say of her, simply that she might keep
the young member talking in a corner, that she might
still enjoy the delicious pride of feeling that she knew
— she was helping it on.
After the big " shoot," for instance, when all the
other gentlemen were stiff and sleepy, George spent
the whole evening in chattering to Evelyn, or, rather,
in making her chatter. Lady Tressady loitered near
them once or twice. She heard the names " Letty,"
"Miss Sewell," passing and repassing — one talker
catching up the other. Over any topic that included
Miss Sewell they lingered ; when anything was begun
that did not concern her, it dropped at once, like a
ball ill thrown. The mother went away smiling rather
sourly.
She watched her son, indeed, cat-like all these days,
trying to discover what had happened — what his real
mind was. She did not wish for a daughter-in-law at
all, and she had even a secret fear of Letty Sewell in
that capacity. But somehow George must be managed,
her own needs must be met. She felt that she might
be undoing the future ; but the present drove her on.
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8IE GEORGE TRESSADY 65
On the following morning, from one of Mrs. Wat-
ton's numerous letters there dropped out the fact that
Letty Sewell was expected immediately at a country
house in North Mercia whereof a certain Mrs. Corfield
was mistress — a house only distant some twenty miles
from the Tressadys' estate of Ferth Place.
"My sister-in-law has recovered with remarkable
rapidity," said Mrs. Watton, raising a sarcastic eye.
" Do you know anything of the Corfields, Sir George ?''
" Nothing at all," said George. " One hears of them
sometimes from neighbours. They are said to be very
lively folk. Miss Sewell will have a gay time."
"Corfield?" said Lady Tressady, her head on one
side and her cup balanced in two jewelled hands.
"What! Aspasia Corfield! Why, my dear George
— one of my oldest friends ! "
George laughed — the short, grating laugh his mother
so often evoked.
" Beg pardon, mother ; I can only answer for my-
self. To the best of my belief I never saw her, either
at Ferth or anywhere else."
"Why, Aspasia Corfield and I," said Lady Tressady
with languid reflectiveness — " Aspasia Corfield and I
copied each other's dresses, and bought our hats at the
same place, when we were eighteen. I haven't seen
her for an eternity. But Aspasia used to be a dear
girl — and so fond of me ! "
She put down her cup with a sigh, intended as a
reproach to George. George only buried himself the
deeper in his morning's letters.
Mrs. Watton, behind her newspaper, glanced grimly
from the mother to the son.
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66 SIR OEOROE TBESSADT
"I wonder if that woman has a single real old
friend in the world. How is George Tressady going
to put up with her?"
The Wattons themselves had been on friendly
terms with Tressady's father for many years. Since
Sir William's death and George's absence, however,
Mrs. Watton had not troubled herself much about
Lady Tressady, in which she believed she was only
following suit with the rest of West Mercia. But
now that George had reappeared as a promising poli-
tician, his mother — till he married — had to be to
some extent accepted along with him. Mrs. Watton
accordingly had thought it her duty to invite her for
the election, not without an active sense of martyrdom.
" She always has bored me to tears since I first saw
Sir William trailing her about," she would remark
to Letty. " Where did he pick her up ? The marvel
is that she has kept respectable. She has never looked
it. I always feel inclined to ask her at breakfast why
she dresses for dinner twelve hours too soon ! "
Very soon after the little conversation about the
Corfields Lady Tressady withdrew to her room, sat
thoughtful for a while, with her writing-block on her
knee, then wrote a letter. She was perfectly aware
of the fact that since George had come back to her
she was likely to be welcome once more in many
houses that for years had shown no particular desire
to receive her. She took the situation very easily.
It was seldom her way to be bitter. She was only
determined to amuse herself, to enjoy her life in her
own way. If people disapproved of her, she thought
them fools, but it did not prevent her from trying to
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SIR QEOBQE TRESS AD Y 67
make it up with them next day, if she saw an opening
and it seemed worth while.
" There ! " she said to herself as she sealed the let-
ter, and looked at it with admiration, " I really have a
knack for doing those things. I should think Aspasia
Corfield would ask him by return — me, too, if she has
any decency, though she has dropped me for fifteen
years. She has a tribe of daughters. — Why I should
play Miss Sewell's game like this I don't know!
Well, one must try something."
That same afternoon mother and son took their
departure for Ferth Place.
George, who had only spent a few weeks at Ferth
since his return from India, should have found plenty
to do both indoors and out. The house struck him as
singularly dingy and out of order. Changes were
imperatively demanded in the garden and in the
estate. His business as a colliery-owner was in a
tangled and critical condition. And meanwhile Fon-
tenoy plied him incessantly with a political corre-
spondence which of itself made large demands upon
intelligence and energy.
Nevertheless he shuffled out of everything, unless
it were the correspondence with Fontenoy. As to the
notion that all the languor could be due merely to an
unsatisfied craving for Letty Sewell's society, when it
presented itself he still fought with it. The Indian
climate might have somehow affected him. An
English winter is soon forgotten, and has to be re-
learnt like a distasteful lesson.
About a week after their arrival at Ferth George
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68 SIB GEORGE TBESSADT
was sitting at his solitary breakfast when his mother
came floating into the room^ preceded by a rattle of
bangles, a flutter of streamers, and the barking of
little dogs.
She held various newly opened letters, and, run-
ning up to him, she laid her hands on his shoulders.
"Now" — thought George to himself with annoy-
ance, " she is going to be arch ! "
" Oh ! you silly boy ! " she said, holding him, with
her head on one side. " Who's been cross and nasty
to his poor old mammy ? Who wants cheering up a
bit before he settles down to his horrid work ? Who
would take his mammy to a nice party at a nice
house, if he were prettily asked — eh ? who would ? "
She pinched his cheek before he could escape.
"Well, mother, of course you will do what you
like," said George, walking off to supply himself
with ham. "I shall not leave home again, just
yet."
Lady Tressady smiled.
"Well, anyhow, you can read Aspasia Corfield's
letter," she said, holding it out to him. " You know,
really, that house isn't bad. They took over the Dry-
burghs' chef, and Aspasia knows how to pick her
people."
"Aspasia!" The tone of patronising intimacy!
George blushed, if his mother did not.
Yet he took the letter. He read it, then put it
down, and walked to the window to look at a crowd
of birds that had been collecting round a plate of food
he had just put out upon the snow.
" Well, will you go ? " said his mother.
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SIR GEORGE TRESSADY 69
"If you particularly wish it," he said, after a
pause, in an embarrassed voice.
Lady Tressady's dimples were in full play as she
settled herself into her seat and began to gather a
supply of provisions. But as he returned to his
place, and she glanced at him, she saw that he was
not in a mood to be bantered, and understood that he
was not going to let her force his confidence, however
shrewdly she might guess at his affairs. So she con-
trolled herself, and began to chatter about the Cor-
fields and their party. He responded, and by the end
of breakfast they were on much better terms than
they had been for some weeks.
That morning also he wrote a cheque for her imme-
diate necessities, which made her — for the time — a
happy woman ; and she overwhelmed him with grate-
ful tears and embraces, which he did his best to bear.
Early in December he and she became the Corfields'
guests. They found a large party collected, and Letty
Sewell happily established as the spoilt child of the
house. At the first touch of her hand, the first glance
of her eyes, George's cloud dispersed.
"Why did you run away?" George asked her on
the first possible occasion.
Letty laughed, fenced with the question for four
days, during which George was never dull for a single
instant, and then capitulated. She allowed him to
propose to her, and was graciously pleased to accept
him.
The following week Tressady went down with
Letty to her home at Helbeck. He found an invalid
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70 SIR GEORGE TRESSADV
father, a remarkably foolish, inconsequent mother,
and a younger sister, Elsie, on whom, as it seemed to
him, the burdens of the house mainly rested.
The father, who was suffering from a slow but in-
curable disease, had the remains of much natural
ability and acuteness. He was well content with
Tressady as a son-in-law; though in the few inter-
views that Tressady was able to have with him on the
question of settlements the young man took pains to
state his money affairs as carefully and modestly as
possible. Letty was not often in her father's room,
and Mr. Sewell treated her, when she did come, rather
like an agreeable guest than a daughter. But he was
evidently extremely proud of her — as also was the
mother — and he would talk much to George, when
his health allowed it, of her good looks and her social
success.
With the younger sister Tressady did not find it
easy to make friends.
She was plain, sickly, and rather silent. She seemed
to have scientific tastes and to be a great reader. And,
so far as he could judge, the two sisters were not
intimate.
" Don't hate me for taking her away ! '' he said, as
he was bidding good-bye to Elsie, and glancing over
her shoulder at Letty on the stairs.
The girl's quiet eyes were crossed by a momentary
look of amusement. Then she controlled herself, and
said gently :
"We didn't expect to keep her ! Good-bye."
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CHAPTEE IV
"Oh, Tully, look at my cloak ! You've let it fall 1
Hold my fan, please, and give me the operarglasses."
The speaker was Miss Sewell. She and an elderly
lady were sitting side by side in the stalls, about half-
way down St. James's Hall. The occasion was a pop-
ular concert, and, as Joachim was to play, every seat
in the hall was rapidly filling up.
Letty rose as she asked for the opera-glasses, and
scanned the crowds streaming in through the side-
doors.
"No — no signs of him! He must have been kept
at the House, after all," she said, with annoyance.
" Eeally, Tully, I do think you might have got a pro-
gramme all this time ! Why do you leave everything
to me ? "
" My dear ! " said her companion, protesting, " you
didn't tell me to."
"Well, I don't see why I should tell you everything.
Of course I want a programme. Is that he ? No !
What a nuisance 1 "
" Sir George must have been detained," murmured
her companion, timidly.
"What a very original thing to say, wasn't it,
Tully ? " remarked Miss Sewell, with sarcasm, as she
sat down again.
71
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72 SIR GEORGE TRES8ADY
The lady addressed was silent, instinctively waiting
till Letty's nerves should have quieted down. She
was a Miss Tulloch, a former governess of the Sewells,
and now often employed by Letty, when she was in
town, as a convenient chaperon. Letty was accus-
tomed to stay with an aunt in Cavendish Square, an
old lady who did not go out in the evenings. A chap-
eron therefore was indispensable, and Maria Tulloch
could always be had. She existed somewhere in West
Kensington, on an income of seventy pounds a year.
Letty took her freely to the opera and the theatre, to
concerts and galleries, and occasionally gave her a
dress she did not want. Miss Tulloch clung to the
connection as her only chance of relief from the board-
ing-house routine she detested, and was always abjectly
ready to do as she was told. She saw nothing she was
not meant to see, and she could be shaken ofP at a
moment's notice. For the rest, she came of a stock
of gentlefolk ; and her invariable black dress, her bits
of carefully treasured lace, the weak refinement of her
face, and her timid manner did no discredit to the
brilliant creature beside her.
When the first number of the programme was over,
Letty got up once more, opera-glass in hand, to search
among the late-comers for her missing lover. She
nodded to many acquaintances, but George Tressady
was not to be seen ; and she sat down finally in no
mood either to listen or to enjoy, though the magician
of the evening was already at work.
"There's something very special, isn't there, you
want to see Sir George about to-night?" Tully in-
quired humbly when the next pause occurred.
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SIR GEORGE TRESSADT 73
" Of course there is ! '' said Letty, crossly. " You do
ask such foolish questions, Tully. If I don't see him
to-night, he may let that house in Brook Street slip.
There are several people after it — the agents told me."
" And he thinks it too expensive ? "
" Only because of her. If she makes him pay her
that preposterous allowance, of course it will be too
expensive. But I don't mean him to pay it."
" Lady Tressady is terribly extravagant," murmured
Miss TuUoch.
"Well, so long as she isn't extravagant with his
money — our money — I don't care a rap," said Letty ;
"only she sha'n't spend all her own and all ours too,
which is what she has been doing. When George was
away he let her live at Forth, and spend almost all
the income, except five hundred a year that he kept
for himself. And then she got so shamefully into debt
that he doesn't know when he shall ever clear her.
He gave her money at Christmas, and again, I am surOf
just lately. Well! all I know is that it must be
stopped, 1 don't know that I shall be able to do
much till I'm married, but I mean to make him
take this house."
" Is Lady Tressady nice to you ? She is in town,
isn't she?"
" Oh yes ! she's in town. Kice ? " said Letty, with
a little laugh. "She can't bear me, of course; but
we're quite civil."
" I thought she tried to bring it on ? " said the con-
fidante, anxious, above all things, to be sympathetic.
" Well, she brought him to the Corfields, and let me
know she had. I don't know why she did it. I sup-
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74 SIR GEORGE TRE8SADY
pose she wanted to get something out of him. Ah !
there he is ! "
, And Letty stood up, smiling and beckoning, while
Tressady's tall thin figure made its way along the
central passage.
"Horrid House! What made you so late?" she
said, as he sat down between her and Miss Tulloch.
George Tressady looked at her with delight. The
shrewish contractions in the face, which had been
very evident to Tully a few minutes before, had all
disappeared, and the sharp slight lines of it seemed
to George the height of delicacy. At sight of him
colour and eyes had brightened. Yet at the same
time there was not a trace of the raw girl about her.
She knew very well that he had no taste for ing^nuesy
and she was neither nervous nor sentimental in his
company.
"Do you suppose I should have stayed a second
longer than I was obliged ? " he asked her, smiling,
pressing her little hand under pretence of taking her
programme.
The first notes of a new Brahms quartette mounted,
thin and sweet, into the air. The musical portion of
the audience, having come for this particular morsel,
prepared themselves eagerly for the tasting and try-
ing of it. George and Letty tried to say a few things
more to each other before yielding to the general
silence, but an old gentleman in front turned upon
them a face of such disdain and fury they must needs
laugh and desist.
Not that George was unwilling. He was tired;
and silence with Letty beside him was not only re-
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SIR GEORGE TRESS ADY 75
pose, but pleasure. Moreover, he derived a certain
honest pleasure of a mixed sort from music. It sug-
gested literary or pictorial ideas to him which stirred
him, and gave him a sense of enjoyment. Now, as
the playing flowed on, it called up delightful images
in his brain: of woody places, of whirling forms, of
quiet rivers, of thin trees Corot-like against the sky —
scenes of pleading, of frolic, reproachful pain,' dis-
solving joy. With it all mingled his own story, his
own feeling; his pride of possession in this white
creature touching him ; his sense of youth, of opening
life, of a crowded stage whereon his " cue " had just
been given, his "call" sounded. He listened with
eagerness, welcoming each fancy as it floated past,
conscious of a grain of self-abandonment even — a
rare mood with him. He was not absorbed in love
by any means ; the music spoke to him of a hundred
other kindling or enchanting things. Nevertheless it
made it doubly pleasant to be there, with Letty beside
him. He was quite satisfied with himself and her ; quite
certain that he had done everything for the best. All
this the music in some way emphasised — made clear.
When it was over, and the applause was subsiding,
Letty said in his ear: "Have you settled about the
house ? '^
He smiled down upon her, not hearing what she
said, but admiring her dress, its little complication
and subtleties, the violets that perfumed every move-
ment, the slim fingers holding the fan. Her mere
ways of personal adornment were to him like pleas-
ant talk. They surprised and amused him — stood
between him and ennui.
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76 SIR GEORGE TRESS AJ)Y
She repeated her question.
A frown crossed his brow, and the face changed
wholly.
"Ah! — it is so difficult to see one's way," he said,
with a little sigh of annoyance.
Letty played with her fan, and was silent.
"Do you so much prefer it to the others?" he
asked her.
Letty looked up with astonishment.
"Why, it is a house!" she said, lifting her eye-
brows ; " and the others — "
" Hovels ? Well, you are about right. The small
London house is an abomination. Perhaps I can
make them take less premium."
Letty shook her head.
" It is not at all a dear house," she said decidedly.
He still frowned, with the look of one recalled to
an annoyance he had shaken off.
" Well, darling, if you wish it so much, that settles
it. Promise to be still nice to me when we go through
the Bankruptcy Court! "
"We will let lodgings, and I will do the waiting,"
said Letty, just laying her hand lightly against his for
an instant. "Just think! That house would draw
like anything. Of course, we will only take the
eldest sons of peers. By the way, do you see Lord
Fontenoy?"
They were in the middle of the "interval," and
almost everyone about them, including Miss Tulloch,
was standing up, talking or examining their neigh-
bours. *
George craned his neck round Miss Tulloch, and
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT 77
saw Fontenoy sitting beside a lady, on the other side
of the middle gangway.
"Who is the lady?" Letty inquired. "I saw her
with him the other night at the Foreign Office."
George smiled.
^^That — if you want to know — is Fontenoy's
story!"
"Oh, but tell me at once!" said Letty, imperi-
ously. "But he hasn't got a story, or a heart. He's
only stuffed with blue-book."
" So I thought till a few weeks ago. But I know a
good deal more now about Master Fontenoy than I
did."
"But who is she?"
" She is a Mrs. Allison. Isn't that white hair beau-
tiful? And her face — half saint, I always think —
you might take her for a mother-abbess — and half
princess. Did you ever see such diamonds?"
Greorge pulled his moustaches, and grinned as he
looked across at Fontenoy.
" Tell me quick ! " said Letty, tapping him on the
arm — "Is she a widow? — and is he going to marry
her? Why didn't you tell me before? — why didn't
you tell me at Malford?"
"Because I didn't know," said George, laughing.
"Oh ! it's a strange story — too long to tell now. She
is a widow, but he is not going to marry her, appar-
ently. She has a grown-up son, who hasn't yet found
himself a wife, and thinks it isn't fair to him. If Fon-
tenoy wants to introduce her, don't refuse. She is the
mistress of Castle Luton, and has delightful parties.
Yes ! — if I'd known at Malford what I know now ! "
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78 8IB GEORGE TRESS ADY
And he laughed again, remembering Fontenoy's
nocturnal incursion upon him, and its apparent object.
Who would have imagined that the preacher of that
occasion had ever given one serious thought to woman
and woman's arts — least of all that he was the crea-
tion and slave of a woman !
Letty's curiosity was piqued, and she would have
plied George with questions, but that she suddenly
perceived that Fontenoy had risen, and was coming
across to them.
"Gracious!" she said; "here he comes. I can't
think why; he doesn't like me."
Fontenoy, however, when he had made his way to
them, greeted Miss Sewell with as much apparent
cordiality as he showed to anyone else. He had
received George's news of the marriage with all
decorum, and had since sent a handsome wedding-
present to the bride-elect. Letty, however, was
never at ease with him, which, indeed, was the case
with most women.
He stood beside the fiances for a minute or two,
exchanging a few commonplaces with Letty on the
performers and the audience; then he turned to
George with a change of look.
" No need for us to go back to-night, I think? "
"What, to the House? Dear, no! Grooby and
Havershon may be trusted to drone the evening
out, I should hope, with no trouble to anybody but
themselves. The Government are just keeping a
house, that's all. Have you been grinding at your
speech all day?"
Fontenoy shrugged his shoulders.
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SIB GEORGE TRESS AD T 79
" I sha'n't get anything out that I want to say. Are
you coming to the House on Friday, Miss Sewell?"
"Friday?" said Letty, looking puzzled.
George laughed.
"I told you. You must plead trousseau if you
want to save yourself!"
Amusement shone in his blue eyes as they passed
from Letty to Fontenoy. He had long ago discovered
that Letty was incapable of any serious interest in his
public life. It did not disturb him at all. But it
tickled his sense of humour that Letty would have
to talk politics all the same, and to talk them with
people like Fontenoy.
"Oh! you mean your Resolution!" cried Letty.
"Isn't it a Resolution? Yes, of course I'm coming.
It's very absurd, for I don't know anything about it.
But Greorge says I must, and till I promise to obey,
you see, I don't mind being obedient!"
Archness, however, was thrown away on Fontenoy.
He stood beside her, awkward and irresponsive. Not
being allowed to be womanish, she could only try
once more to be political.
"It's to be a great attack on Mr. Dowson, isn't
it?" she asked him. "You and George are mad
about some things he has been doing? He's Home
Secretary, isn't he? Yes, of course! And he's been
driving trade away, and tyrannising over the manu-
facturers? I wish you'd explain it to me! I ask
George, and he tells me not to talk shop."
"Oh, for goodness' sake," groaned George, "let it
alone! I came to meet you and hear Joachim.
However, I may as well warn you, Letty, that I
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80 SIR GEORGE TRESS ADT
sha'n't have time to be married once Fontenoy's anti-
Maxwell campaign begins; and' it will go on till the
Day of Judgment."
"Why anti-Maxwell," said Letty, puzzled. "I
thought it was Mr. Dowson you are going to
attack?"
Greorge, a little vexed that she should require it,
began to explain that as Maxwell was " only a miser-
able peer," he could have nothing to do with the House
of Commons, and that Dowson was the official mouth-
piece of the Maxwell group and policy in the Lower
House. "The hands were the hands of Esau," etc.
Letty meanwhile, conscious that she was not showing
to advantage, flushed, began to play nervously with
her fan, and wished that George would leave off.
Fontenoy did nothing to assist George's political
lesson. He stood impassive, till suddenly he tried to
look across his immediate neighbours, and then said,
turning to Letty :
"The Maxwells, I see, are here to-night." He
nodded towards a group on the left, some two or three
benches behind them. "Are you an admirer of Lady
MaxwelPs, Miss Sewell? — youVe seen her, of course?"
" Oh yes, often ! " said Letty, annoyed by the ques-
tion, standing, however, eagerly on tiptoe. "I know
her, too, a little ; but she never remembers me. She
was at the Foreign Office on Saturday, with such a
hideous dress on — it spoilt her completely."
"Hideous!" said Fontenoy, with a puzzled look.
"Some artist — I forget who — came and raved to me
about it; said it was like some Florentine picture — I
forget what — don't think I ever heard of it."
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SIB GEORGE TBESSADT 81
Letty looked contemptuous. Her expression said
that in this matter, at any rate, she knew what she
was talking about. Nevertheless her eyes followed
the dark head Fontenoy had pointed out to her.
Lady Maxwell was at the moment the centre of a
large group of people, mostly men, all of whom
seemed to be eager to get a word with her, and she
was talking with great animation, appealing from
time to time to a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman,
with greyish hair, who stood, smiling and silent, at
the edge of the group. Letty noticed that many
glasses from the balcony were directed to this par-
ticular knot of persons j that everybody near them, or
rather every woman, was watching Lady Maxwell, or
trying to get a better view of her. The girl felt a
secret pang of envy and dislike.
The figure of a well-known accompanist appeared
suddenly at the head of the staircase leading from the
artists' room. The interval was over, and the audi-
ence began to subside into attention.
Fontenoy bowed and took his leave.
"You see, he didn^t introduce me,'' said Letty, not
without chagrin, as she settled down. "And how
plain he is! I think him uglier every time I see
him."
George made a vague sound of assent, but did not
really agree with her in the least. Fontenoy 's air of
overwork was more decided than ever; his eyes had
almost sunk out of sight; the complexion of his broad
strong face had reddened and coarsened from lack of
exercise and sleep ; his brown hair was thinning and
grizzling fast. Nevertheless a man saw much to
VOL. I — a
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82 SIB GEORGE TBESSADT
admire in the ungainly head and long-limbed frame,
and did not think any the better of a woman's intelli-
gence for failing to perceive it.
After the concert, as George and Letty stood to-
gether in the crowded vestibule, he said to her, with
a smile :
" So I take that house? "
"If you want to do anything disagreeable," she
retorted, quickly, "don't ask me. Do it, and then
wait till I am good-tempered again!"
"What a tempting prospect! Do you know that
when you put on that particular hood that I would
take Buckingham Palace to please you? Do you
know also that my mother will think us very extrava-
gant?"
" Ah, we can't all be economical ! " said Letty.
He saw the little toss of the head and sharpening of
the lips. They only amused him. Though he had
never, so far, discussed his mother and her affairs
with Letty in any detail, he understood perfectly well
that her feeling about this particular house in some
way concerned his mother, and that Letty and Lady
Tressady were rapidly coming to dislike each other.
Well, why should Letty pretend? He liked her the
better for not pretending.
There was a movement in the crowd about them,
and Letty, looking up, suddenly found herself close
to a tall lady, whose dark eyes were bent upon
her.
"How do you do. Miss Sewell?"
Letty, a little fluttered, gave her hand and replied.
Lady Maxwell glanced across her at the tall young
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SIB OEOBOE TBE88ADT 88
man, with the fair, irregular face. George bowed
involuntarily, and she slightly responded. Then she
was swept on by her own party.
"Hare you sent for your carriage?^' George heard
someone say to her.
"No; I am going home in a hansom. I've tired
out both the horses to-day. Aldous is going down to
the club to see if he can hear anything about Devizes."
"Oh! the election?''
She nodded, then caught sight of her husband at the
door beckoning, and hurried on.
"What a head!" said George, looking after her
with admiration.
"Yes," said Letty, unwillingly. "It's the hair
that's so splendid, the long black waves of it. How
ridiculous to talk of tiring out her horses — that's just
like her! As though she mightn't have fifty horses
if she liked! Oh, George, there's our man! Quick,
Tully!"
They made their way out. In the press George
put his arm half round Letty, shielding her. The
touch of her light form, the nearness of her delicate
face, enchanted him. When their carriage had rolled
away, and he turned homewards along Piccadilly, he
walked absently for a time, conscious only of pulsing
pleasure.
It was a mild February night. After a long frost,
and a grudging thaw, westerly winds were setting in,
and Spring could be foreseen. It had been pouring
with rain during the concert, but was now fair, the
rushing clouds leaving behind them, as they passed,
great torn spaces of blue, where the stars shone.
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84 SIR GEORGE TRE8SADT
Gusts of warm moist air swept through the street.
As George's moment of intoxication gradually sub-
sided, he felt the physical charm of the soft buffeting
wind. How good seemed all living! — youth and
capacity — this roaring multitudinous London — the
future with its chances! This common pleasant
chance of marriage amongst them — he was glad he
had put out his hand to it. His wife that was to be
was no saint and no philosopher. He thanked the
fates ! He at least asked for neither — on the hearth.
"Praise, blame, love, kisses'' — for all of those, life
with Letty would give scope ; yet for none of them in
excess. There would be plenty of room left for other
things, other passions — the passion of political power,
for instance, the art of dealing with and commanding
other men. He, the novice, the beginner, to talk of
" commanding ! " Yet already he felt his foot upon
the ladder. Fontenoy consulted him, and confided in
him more and more. In spite of his engagement, he
was informing himself rapidly on a hundred questions,
and the mental wrestle of every day was exhilarating.
Their small group in the House, compact, tireless,
audacious, was growing in importance and in the
attention it extorted from the public. Never had
the whole tribe of factory inspectors shown a more
hawk-like, a more inquisitorial, a more intolerable
vigilance than during the past twelve months. All
the persons concerned with matches and white-lead,
with certain chemical or metal-working industries,
with "season" dressmaking or tailoring, were up in
arms, rallying to Fontenoy' s support with loud wrath
and lamentations, claiming to speak not only for
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SIR GEORGE TRESS AD Y 86
themselves, but for their " hands/' in the angry pro-
test that things had gone and were going a great
deal too far, that trade was simply being harassed
out of the country. A Whiggish group of manu-
facturers on the Liberal side were all with Fonte-
noy; while the Socialists, on whom the Government
should have been able in such a matter to count to
the death, had a special grievance against the Cabinet
at the moment, and were sulking in their tents. The
attack and defence would probably take two nights;
for the Government, admitting the gravity of the
assault, had agreed, in case the debate should not
be concluded on Friday, to give up Monday to it.
Altogether the affair would make a noise. George
would probably get in his maiden speech on the
second night, and was, in truth, devoting a great
deal of his mind to the prospect; though to Letty
he had persistently laughed at it and belittled it,
refusing altogether to let her come and hear him.
Then, after Easter would come Maxwell's Bill, and
the fat in the fire! Poor little Letty! — she would
get but few of the bridal observances due to her when
that struggle began. But first would come Easter and
their wedding; that one short fortnight, when he
would carry her off — soft, willing prey! — to the
country, draw a "wind-warm space" about himself
and her, and minister to all her whims.
He turned down St. James's Street, passed Marl-
borough House, and entered the Mall, on the way to
Warwick Square, where he was living with his
mother.
Suddenly he became aware of ^ crowd, immediately
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86 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
in front of him, in the direction of Buckingham Pal-
ace. A hansom and horse were standing in the road-
way; the driver, crimson and hatless, was bandying
words with one of the policemen, who had his note-
book open, and from the middle of the crowd came a
sound of wailing.
He walked up to the edge of the circle.
'^Anybody hurt?" he said to the policeman, as the
man shut his notebook.
"Little girl run over, sir."
"Can I be of any assistance? Is there an ambu-
lance coming?"
"No, sir. There was a lady in the hansom. She's
just now bandaging the child's leg, and says she'll
take it to the hospital."
George mounted on one of the seats under the trees
that stood handy, and looked over the heads of the
crowd to the space in the centre which the other
policeman was keeping clear. A little girl lay on
the ground, or rather on a heap of coats; another
girl, apparently about sixteen, stood near her, crying
bitterly, and a lady —
"Goodness!" said Tressady; and, jumping down,
he touched the policeman on the shoulder.
"Can you get me through? I think I could be
some help. That lady" — he spoke a word in the
policeman's ear.
The man touched his hat.
" Stand back, please ! " he said, addressing the
crowd, "and let this gentleman through."
The crowd divided unwillingly. But at the same
moment it parted from the inside, and a little proces-
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SIR GEORGE TBE88ADY 87
sion came through, both policemen joining their ener-
gies to make a free passage for it. In front walked
the policeman carrying the little girl, a child appar-
ently of about twelve years old. Her right foot lay
stiffly across his arm, held straight and still in an
impromptu splint of umbrellas and handkerchiefs.
Immediately behind came the lady whom George had
caught sight of, holding the other girFs hand in hers.
She was bareheaded and in evening dress. Her opera-
cloak, with its heavy sable collar, showed beneath it
a dress of some light-coloured satin, which had
already suffered deplorably from the puddles of the
road, and, as she neared the lamp beneath which the
cab had stopped, the diamonds on her wrists sparkled
in the light. During her passage through the crowd,
George perceived that one or two people recog-
nised her, and that a murmur ran from mouth to
mouth.
Of anything of the sort she herself was totally
unconscious. George saw at once that she, not the
policeman, was in command. She gave him direc-
tions, as they approached the cab, in a quick, impera-
tive voice which left no room for hesitation.
"The driver is drunk,'' he heard her say; "who
will drive ?'^
"One of us will drive, ma'am."
"What — the other man? Ask him to take the
reins at once, please, before I get in. The horse is
fresh, and might start. That's right. Now, when I
say the word, give me the child."
She settled herself in the cab. George saw the
policeman somewhat embarrassed, for a moment, with
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88 8TR GEORGE TRE88ADT
his burden. He came forward to his help, and be-
tween them they handed in the child, placing her
carefully on her protector's knee.
Then, standing at the open door of the cab, George
raised his hat. " Can I be of any further assistance to
you, Lady Maxwell ? I saw you just now at the concert."
She turned in some astonishment as she heard her
name, and looked at the speaker. Then, very quickly,
she seemed to understand.
"I don't know," she said, pondering. "Yes! you
could help me. I am going to take the child to
hospital. But there is this other girl. Could you
take her home — she is very much upset? No! —
first, could you bring her after me to St. George's?
She wants to see where we put her sister."
"I will call another cab, and be there as soon as
you."
"Thank you. Just let me speak to the sister a
moment, please."
He put the weeping girl forward, and Lady Max-
well bent across the burden on her knee to say a few
words to her — soft, quick words in another voice.
The girl understood, her face cleared a little, and she
let Tressady take charge of her.
One of the policemen mounted the box of the han-
som, amid the "chaff" of the crowd, and the cab
started. A few hats were raised in George's neigh-
bourhood, and there was something of a cheer.
"I tell yer," said a voice, "I knowed her fust sight
— seed her picture lots o' times in the papers, and in
the winders too. My word, ain't she good-lookin!
And did yer see all them diamonds?"
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SIR GEORGE TRESS ADY 89
" Come along ! '' said George, impatiently, hurrying
his charge into the four-wheeler the other policeman
had just stopped for them.
In a few more seconds he, the girl, and the police-
man were pursuing Lady Maxwell's hansom at the
best speed of an indifferent horse. George tried to
say a few consoling things to his neighbour ; and the
girl, reassured by his kind manner, found her tongue,
and began to chatter in a tearful voice about the how
and when of the accident: about the elder sister in
a lodging in Crawford Street, Tottenham Court Road,
whom she and the little one had been visiting; the
grandmother in Westminster with whom they lived;
poor Lizzie's place in a laundry, which now she
must lose; how the lady had begged handkerchiefs
and umbrellas from the crowd to tie up Lizzie's leg
with — and so on through a number of other details
incoherent or plaintive.
George heard her absently. His mind all the time
was absorbed in the dramatic or ironic aspects of
what he had just seen. For dramatic they were —
though perhaps a little cheap. Could he, could any-
one, have made acquaintance with this particular
woman in more characteristic fashion? He laughed
to think how he would tell the story to Fontenoy.
The beautiful creature in her diamonds, kneeling on
her satin dress in the mud, to bind up a little laun-
drymaid's leg — it was so extravagantly in keeping
with Marcella Maxwell that it amused one like an
overdone coincidence in a clumsy play.
What made her so beautiful? The face had marked
defects ; but in colour, expression, subtlety of line —
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90 SIB QEORQE TBE88ADT
incomparable ! On the other hand, the manner — no !
— he shrugged his shoulders. The remembrance of
its mannish — or should it be, rather, boyish? — energy
and assurance somehow set him on edge.
In the end, they were not much behind the hansom ;
for the hospital porter was only just in the act of tak-
ing the injured child from Lady Maxwell as Tressady
dismounted and went forward again to see what he
could do.
But, somewhat to his chagrin, he was not wanted.
Lady Maxwell and the porter did everything. As
they went into the hospital, George caught a few of
the things she was saying to the porter as she sup-
ported the child's leg. She spoke in a rapid, profes-
sional way, and the man answered, as the policeman
had done, with a deference and understanding which
were clearly not due only to her " grand air '' and her
evening dress. George was puzzled.
He and the elder sister followed her into the wait-
ing-room. The house-surgeon and a nurse were sum-
moned, and the injured leg was put into a splint there
and then. The patient moaned and cried most of the
time, and Tressady had hard work to keep the sister
quiet. Then nurse and doctor lifted the child.
"They are going to put her to bed," said Lady
Maxwell, turning to George. " I am going up with
them. Would you kindly wait? The sister " — she
dropped her business tone, and, smiling, touched the
elder girl on the arm — " can come up when the little
one is undressed."
The little procession swept away, and George was
left with his charge. As soon as the small sister was
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SIR GEORGE TRES8ADY 91
out of sight, the elder one began to chatter again out
of sheer excitement, crying at intervals. George did
not heed her much. He walked up and down, with
his hands in his pockets, conscious of a curious irri-
tability. He did not think a woman should take a
strange man's service quite so coolly.
At the end of another quarter of an hour a nurse
appeared to summon the sister. Tressady was told
he might come too if he would, and his charge threw
him a quick, timid look, as though asking him not to
desert her in this unknown and formidable place. So
they followed the nurse up white stone stairs, and
through half -lit corridors, where all was silent, save
that once a sound of delirious shrieking and talking
reached them through a closed door, and made the
sister's consumptive little face turn whiter still.
At last the nurse, putting her finger on her lip,
turned a handle, and George was conscious of a sud-
den feeling of pleasure.
They were standing on the threshold of a children's
ward. On either hand was a range of beds, bluish-
white between the yellow picture-covered walls and
the middle-way of spotless floor. Far away, at the
other end, a great fire glowed. On a bare table in
the centre, laden with bottles and various surgical
necessaries, stood a shaded lamp, and beside it the
chair where the night-nurse had been sitting. In the
beds were sleeping children of various ages, some
burrowing, face downward, animal-like, into their pil-
lows; others lying on their backs, painfully straight
and still. The air was warm, yet light, and there
was the inevitable smell of antiseptics. Something
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92 SIR GEORGE TRESSADT
in the fire-lit space and comfort of the great room, its
ordered lines and colours, the gentleness of the shaded
light as contrasted with the dim figures in the beds,
seemed to make a poem of it — a poem of human ten-
derness.
Two or three beds away to the right. Lady Maxwell
was standing with the night-nurse of the ward. The
little girl had been undressed, and was lying quiet,
with a drawn, piteous face that turned eagerly as her
sister came in. The whole scene was new and touch-
ing to Tressady. Yet, after the first impression, his
attention was perforce held by Lady Maxwell, and he
saw the rest only in relation to her. She had slipped
off her heavy cloak, in order, perhaps, that she might
help in the undressing of the child. Beneath, she
wore a little shawl or cape of some delicate lace over
her low dress. The dress itself was of a pale shade
of green; the mire and mud with which it was
bedabbled no longer showed in the lialf light; and
the satin folds glistened dimly as she moved. The
poetic dignity of the head, so finely wreathed with its.
black hair, of the full throat and falling shoulders,
received a sort of special emphasis from the wide
spaces, the pale colours and level lines of the ward.
Tressady was conscious again of the dramatic signifi-
cant note as he watched her, yet without any soften-
ing of his nascent feeling of antagonism.
She turned and beckoned to the sister as they
entered :
" Come and see how comfortable she is ! And then
you must give this lady your name and address."
The girl timidly approached. Whilst she was
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SIR GEORGE TRESS AD Y 93
occupied with her sister and with the nurse, Laxiy
Maxwell suddenly looked round, and saw Tressady
standing by the table a yard or two from her.
A momentary expression of astonishment crossed
her face. He saw that, in her absorption with the
case and the two sisters, she had clean forgotten all
about him. But in a flash she remembered, and
smiled.
" So you are really going to take her home? That
is very kind of you. It will make all the difference
to the grandmother that somebody should go and
explain. You see, they leave her in the splint for
the night, and to-morrow they will put the leg in
plaster. Probably they won't keep her in hospital
more than about three weeks, for they are very
full."
•'* You seem to know all about it! "
"I was a nurse myself once, for a time," she said,
but with a certain stiffness which seemed to mark the
transition from the professional to the great lady.
"Ah! I should have remembered that. I had
heard it from Edward Watton."
She looked up quickly. He felt that for the first
time she took notice of him as an individual.
"You know Mr. Watton? I think you are Sir
Creorge Tressady, are you not? You got in for Mar-
ket Malford in November? I recollect. I didn't
like your speeches."
She laughed. So did he.
"Yes, I got in just in time for a fighting session."
■ Her laugh disappeared.
" An odious fight ! " she said gravely.
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94 SIB GEORGE TRESS AD Y
"I am not so sure. That depends on whether you
like fighting, and how certain you are of your cause ! '*
She hesitated a moment ; then she said :
" How can Lord Fontenoy be certain of his cause ! '*
The slight note of scorn roused him.
"Isn't that what all parties say of their opponents ? "
She glanced at him again, curiously. He was
evidently quite young — younger than herself, she
guessed. But his careless ease and experience of
bearing, contrasted with his thin boy's figure, at-
tracted her. Her lip softened reluctantly into a
smile.
" Perhaps, " she said. " Only sometimes, you know,
it must be true! Well, evidently we can't discuss it
here at one o'clock in the morning — and there is the
nurse making signs to me. It is really very good of
you. If you are in our neighbourhood on Sunday,
will you report?"
"Certainly — with the greatest pleasure. I will
come and give you a full account of my mission."
She held out a slim hand. The sister, red-eyed
with crying, was handed over to him, and he and she
were soon in a cab, speeding towards the Westminster
mews whither she directed him.
Well, was Maxwell to be so greatly envied? Tres-
sady was not sure. Such a woman, he thought, for
all her beauty, would not have greatly stirred his
own pulses.
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CHAPTER V
The week which had opened thus for Tressady
promised to be one of lively interest for such persons
as were either concerned in or took notice of the
House of Commons and its doings. Fontenoy's on-
slaught upon the administration of the Home Office,
and, through the Home Secretary, on the Maxwell
group and influence, had been long expected, and was
known to have been ably prepared. Its possible re-
sults were already keenly discussed. Even if it were
a damaging attack, it was not supposed that it could
have any immediate effect on the state of parties or the
strength of the Government. But after Easter Max-
well's factory Bill — a special Factory Act for East
London, touching the grown man for the first time,
and absolutely prohibiting home-work in certain speci-
fied industries — was to be brought forward, and could
not fail to provide Maxwell's adversaries with many
chances of red and glorious battle. It was disputa-
ble from end to end; it had already broken up one
Government; it was strongly pressed and fiercely op-
posed; and on the fate of each clause in Committee
might hang the life or death of the Ministry — not so
much because of the intrinsic importance of the mat-
ter, as because Maxwell was indispensable to the
Cabinet, and it was known or believed that neither
06
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96 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
Maxwell nor his close friend and henchman, Dowson,
the Home Secretary, would accept defeat on any of
the really vital points of the Bill.
The general situation was a curious one. Some two
years before this time a strong and long-lived Tory
Government had come to an end. Since then all had
been confusion in English politics. A weak Liberal
Government, undermined by Socialist rebellion, had
lasted but a short time, to be followed by an equally
precarious Tory Ministry, in which Lord Maxwell —
after an absence from politics of some four years or
so — returned to his party, only to break it up. For
he succeeded in imposing upon them a measure in
which his own deepest convictions and feelings were
concerned, and which had behind it the support of all
the more important trade unions. Upon that measure
the Ministry fell ; but during their short administra-
tion Maxwell had made so great an impression upon
his own side that when they returned, as they did
return, with an enlarged majority, the Maxwell Bill
retained one of the foremost places in their pro-
gramme, and might be said, indeed, at the present
moment to hold the centre of the political field.
That field, in the eyes of any middle-aged observer,
was in strange disarray. The old Liberal party had
been almost swept away ; only a few waifs and strays
remained, the exponents of a programme that nobody
wanted, and of cries that stirred nobody's blood. A
large Independent Labour and Socialist party filled
the empty benches of the Liberals — a revolutionary,
enthusiastic crew, of whom the country was a little
frightened, and who were, if the truth were known, a
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SIB GEORGE TBESSADY 97
little frightened at themselves. They had a coherent
programme, and represented a formidable "domina-
tion " in English life. And that English life itself, in
all that concerned the advance and transformation of
labour, was in a singularly tossed and troubled state.
After a long period of stagnation and comparative
industrial peace, storms at home, answering to storms
on the Continent, had been let loose, and forces both
of reaction and of revolution were making themselves
felt in new forms and under the command of new
masters.
At the head of the party of reaction stood Fonte-
noy. Some four years before the present session the
circumstances of a great strike in the Midlands —
together, no doubt, with some other influence — had
first drawn him into public life, had cut him off from
racing and all his natural pleasures. The strike
affected his father's vast domain in North Mercia;
it was marked by an unusual violence on the part of
the men and their leaders; and Fontenoy, driven,
sorely against his will, to take a part by the fact that
his father, the hard and competent administrator of
an enormous fortune, happened at the moment to be
struck down by illness, found himself before many
weeks were over taking it with passion, and emerged
from the struggle a changed man. Property must be
upheld; low-born disorder and greed must be put
down. He sold his race-horses, and proceeded forth-
with to throw into the formation of a new party all
the doggedness, the astuteness, and the audacity he
had been accustomed to lavish upon the intrigues and
the triumphs of the Turf.
VOL. I — H
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98 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY
And now in this new Parliament his immense
labour was beginning to tell. The men who followed
him had grown in number and improved in quality.
They abhorred equally a temporising conservatism
and a plundering democracy. They stood frankly
for birth and wealth, the Church and the expert.
They were the apostles of resistance and negation;
they were sworn to oppose any further meddling with
trade and the personal liberty of master and work-
man, and to undo, if they could, some of the meddling
that had been already carried through. A certain
academic quality prevailed among them, which made
them peculiarly sensitive to the absurdities of men
who had not been to Oxford or Cambridge; while
some, like Tressady, had been travellers, and wore
an Imperialist heart upon their sleeve. The group
possessed an unusual share of debating and oratorical
ability, and they had never attracted so much atten-
tion as now that they were about to make the Maxwell
Bill their prey.
Meanwhile, for the initiated, the situation possessed
one or two points of special interest. Lady Maxwell,
indeed, was by this time scarcely less of a political
force than her husband. Was her position an illus-
tration of some new power in women's hands, or was
it merely an example of something as well known
to the Pharaohs as to the nineteenth century — the
ability of any woman with a certain physique to get
her way? That this particular woman's way hap-
pened to be also her husband's way made the case less
interesting for some observers. On the other hand.
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572? GEORGE TBESSADT 99
her obvious wifely devotion attracted simple souls to
whom the meddling of women in politics would have
been nothing but repellent had it not been recom-
mended to them by the facts that Marcella Maxwell
was held to be good as well as beautiful; that she
loved her husband; and was the excellent mother of
a fine son.
Of her devotion, in the case of this particular Bill,
there was neither concealment nor doubt. She was
known to have given her husband every assistance in
the final drafting of the measure: she had seen for
herself the working of every trade that it affected;
she had innumerable friends among wage-earners of
all sorts, to whom she gave half her social life ; and
both among them and in the drawing-rooms of the
rich she fought her husband's cause unceasingly, by
the help of beauty, wits, and something else — a
broad impulsiveness and charm — which might be
vilified or scorned, but could hardly be matched, by
the enemy.
Meanwhile Lord Maxwell was a comparatively
ineffective speaker, and passed in social life for a
reserved and difficult personality. His friends put
no one else beside him ; and his colleagues in the
Cabinet were well aware that he represented the key-
stone in their arch. But the man in the street,
whether of the aristocratic or plebeian sort, knew
comparatively little about him. All of which, com-
bined with the special knowledge of an inner circle,
helped still more to concentrate public attention on
the convictions, the temperament, and the beauty of
his wife.
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100 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY
Amid a situation charged with these personal or
dramatic elements the Friday so keenly awaited by
Fontenoy and his party arrived.
Immediately after question-time FOntenoy made his
speech. In reply, the Home Secretary, suave, statis-
tical, and conciliatory, poured a stream of facts and
reports upon the House. The more repulsive they
were, the softer and more mincing grew his voice
in dealing with them. Fontenoy had excited his
audience, Dowson succeeded in making it shudder.
Nevertheless, the effect of the evening lay with Fon-
tenoy.
George stayed to hear the official defence to its end.
Then he hurried upstairs in search of Letty, who,
with Miss Tulloch, was in the Speaker's private gal-
lery. As he went he thought of Fontenoy's speech,
its halting opening, the savage force of its peroration.
His pulses tingled: "Magnificent!" he said to him-
self ; " magnificent I We have found a man ! "
Letty was eagerly waiting for him, and they walked
down the corridor together. " Well ? " he said, thrust-
ing his hands deep into his pockets, and looking down
upon her with a smile. " Well ? "
Letty saw that she was expected to praise, and she
did her best, his smile still bent upon her. He was
perfectly aware all the time of the fatuity of what she
was saying. She had caught up since her engage-
ment a certain number of political phrases, and it
amused him to note the cheap and tinkling use she
made of them. Nevertheless she was chatting,
smiling, gesticulating, for his pleasure. She was
posing for him, using her grey eyes in these expres-
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT 101
sive ways, all for him. He thought her the most
entertaining plaything; though it did occur to him
sometimes that when they were married he would
give her instruction.
"Ah, well, you liked it — that's good!" he said at
last, interrupting her. " We've begun well, any way.
It'll be rather hard, though, to have to speak after
that on Monday ! "
" As if you need be afraid ! You're not, you know
— it's only mock modesty. Do you know that Lady
Maxwell was sitting two from me ? "
« No ! Well, how did she like Fontenoy ? "
"She never moved after he got up. She pressed
her face against that horrid grating, and stared at him
all the time. I thought she was very flushed — but
that may have been the heat — and in a very bad
temper," added Letty, maliciously. " I talked to her
a little about your adventure."
" Did she remember my existence ? "
" Oh dear, yes ! She said she expected you on
Sunday. She never asked me to come." Letty
looked arch. "But then one doesn't expect her to
have pretty manners. People say she is shy. But,
of course, that is only your friends' way of saying
that you're rude."
" She wasn't rude to you ? " said George, outwardly
eager, inwardly sceptical. "Shall I not go on Sun-
day?"
" But of course you must go. We shall have to
know them. She's not a woman's woman — that's
all. Now, are we going to get some dinner, for Tally
and I are famishing ? "
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102 8IB GEORGE TRESS AD r
" Come along, then, and I'll collect the party."
George had asked a few of his acquaintance in the
House to meet his betrothed, together with an old
General Tressady and his wife who were his distant
cousins. The party were to assemble in the room of
an under-secretary much given to such hospitable
functions; and thither accordingly George led the
way.
The room, when they reached it, was already fairly
full of people, and alive with talk.
" Another party ! " said George, looking round him.
" Benson is great at this sort of thing."
" Do you see Lady Maxwell ? " said Letty, in his ear.
George looked to his right, and perceived the lady in
question. She also recognised him at once, and bowed,
but without rising. She was the centre of a group of
people, who were gathered round her and the small
table on which she was leaning, and they were so
deeply absorbed in the conversation that had been
going on that they hardly noticed the entrance of
Tressady and his companion.
" Leven has a party, you see," said the under-secre-
tary. "Blaythwaite was to have taken them in —
couldn't at the last moment; so they had to come in
here. This is your side of the room! But none of
your guests have come yet. Dinner at the House
in the winter is a poor sort of business. Miss Sewell.
We want the Terrace for these occasions."
He led the young girl to a sofa at the further end
of the room, and made himself agreeable, to him the
easiest process in the world. He was a fashionable
and charming person, in the most irreproachable of
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT 103
frock-coats, and Letty was soon at her ease with him,
and mistress of all her usual arts and graces.
" You know Lady Maxwell ? " he said to her, with
a slight motion of the head towards the distant group.
Letty replied; and while she and her companion
chattered, George, who was standing behind them,
watched the other party.
They were apparently in the thick of an argument,
and Lady Maxwell, whose hands were lightly clasped
on the table in front of her, was leaning forward with
the look of one who had just shot her bolt, and was
waiting to see how it would strike.
It struck apparently in the direction of her vis-drviSy
Sir Frank Leven, for he bent over to her, making a
quick reply in a half-petulant boy's voice. He had
been three years in the House, but had still the air
of an Eton " swell '* in his last half.
Lady Maxwell listened to what he had to say, a sort
of silent passion in her face all the time — a noble
passion nobly restrained.
When he stopped, George caught her reply.
" He has neither seen nor felt — every sentence
showed it — that is all one can say. How can one
take his judgment ? "
George's mouth twitched. He slipped, smiling, into
a place beside Letty. " Did you hear that ? " he in-
quired.
" Fontenoy's speech, of course,'' said the under-sec-
retary, looking round. " She's pitching into Leven, I
suppose. He's as cranky and unsound as he can be.
Shouldn't wonder if you got him before long."
He nodded good-temperedly to Tressady, then got
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104 SIR GEORGE TBESSADT
up to speak to a man on the edge of the further
group.
"How amusing!" said George, his satirical eyes
still watching Lady Maxwell. " How much that set
has ^seen and felt' of sweaters, and white-lead
workers, and that ilk ! Don't they look like it ? "
"Who are they?"
Letty was now using all her eyes to find out, and
especially for the purpose of carrying away a mental
photograph of Lady Maxwell's black hat and dress.
"Oh! the Maxwells' particular friends in the House
— most of them as well provided with family and
goods as they make 'em: a philanthropic, idealist
lot, that yearns for the people, and will be the first
to be kicked downstairs when the people gets its
own. However, they aren't all quite happy in their
minds. Frank Leven there, as Benson says, is decid-
edly shaky. He is the member for the Maxwells'
division — Maxwell, of course, put him in. He has a
house there, I believe, and he married Lady Maxwell's
great friend, Miss Macdonald — an ambitious little
party, they say, who simply insisted on his going into
Parliament. Oh, then, Bennett is there — do you see ?
— the little dark man with a frock-coat and specter
cles ? He's Lady Maxwell's link with the Independ-
ents — oldest workman member — been in the House
a long time, so that by now he isn't quite as one-eyed
and one-eared as the rest of them. I suppose she
hopes to make use of him at critical moments — she
takes care to have tools of all sorts. Gracious —
listen ! "
There was, indeed, a very storm of discussion
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SIR GEORGE TRESSADY 105
sweeping through the rival party. Lady Maxwell's
penetrating but not loud voice seemed to pervade it,
and her eyes and face, as she glanced from one
speaker to another, drew alternately the shafts and
the sympathy of the rest.
Tressady made a face.
" I say, Letty, promise me one thing ! '* His hand
stole towards hers. Tully discreetly looked the
other way. "Promise me not to be a political
woman, there's a dear!"
Letty hastily withdrew her fingers, having no mind
at all for caresses in public.
"But I must be a political woman — I shall have to
be! I know heaps of girls and married women who
get up everything in the papers — all the stupidest
things — not because they know anything about it, or
because they care a rap, but because some of their
men friends happen to be members; and when they
come to see you, you must know what to talk to them
about."
"Must you?" said George. "How odd! As
though one went to tea with a woman for the sake
of talking about the very same things you have been
doing all day, and are probably sick to death of
already."
"Never mind," said Letty, with her little air of
sharp wisdom. " I know they do it, and I shall have
to do it too. I shall pick it up."
"Will you? Of course you will! Only, when
I've got a big Bill on, let me do a little of it for
myself — give me some of the credit! "
Letty laughed maliciously.
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106 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY
" I don't know why youVe taken such a dislike to
her," she said, but in rather a contented tone, as her
eye once more travelled across to Lady Maxwell.
"Does she trample on her'husband, after all?"
Tressady gave an impatient shrug.
" Trample on him ? Goodness, no ! That's all part
of the play, too — wifely affection and the rest of it.
Why can't she keep out of sight a little? We don't
want the women meddling."
"Thank you, my domestic tyrant!" said Letty,
making him a little bow.
"How much tyranny will you want before you
accept those sentiments?" he asked her, smiling ten-
derly into her eyes. Both had a moment's pleasant
thrill; then George sprang up.
" Ah, here they are at last I — the General, and all
the lot. Now, I hope, we shall get some dinner."
Tressady had, of course, to introduce his elderly
cousins and his three or four political friends to his
future wife; and, amid the small flutter of the per-
formance, the break-up and disappearance of the rival
party passed unnoticed. When Tressady' s guests en-
tered the dining-room which looks on the Terrace, and
made their way to the top table reserved for them, the
Leven dinner, near the door, was already half through.
George's little banquet passed merrily enough. The
grey-haired General and his wife turned out to be
agreeable and well-bred people, quite able to repay
George's hospitality by the dropping of little compli-
ments on the subject of Letty into his half-yielded
ear. For his way of taking such things was always a
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SIR GEORGE TRESS AD Y 107
trifle cynical. He believed that people say habitually
twice what they mean, whether in praise or blame;
and he did not feel that his own view of Letty was
much affected by what other people thought of her.
So, at least, he would have said. In reality, he got
a good deal of pleasure out of his fiancee's success.
Letty, indeed, was enjoying herself greatly. This
political world, as she had expected, satisfied her
instinct for social importance better than any world
she had yet known. She was determined to get on in
it; nor, apparently, was there likely to be any diffi-
culty in the matter. George's friends thought her a
pretty, lively creature, and showed the usual inclina-
tion of the male sex to linger in her society. She
mostly wanted to be informed as to the House and its
ways. It was all so new to her ! — she said. But her
ignorance was not insipid; her questions had flavour.
There was much talk and laughter; Letty felt her-
self the mistress of the table, and her social ambitions
swelled within her.
Suddenly George's attention was recalled to the
Maxwell table by the break-up of the group around
it. He saw Lady Maxwell rise and look round her
as though in search of someone. Her eyes fell upon
him, and he involuntarily rose at the same instant to
meet the step she made towards him.
" I must say another word of thanks to you " — she
held out her hand. " That girl and her grandmother
were most grateful to you."
"Ah, well! — I must come and make my report.
Sunday, I think you said ? "
She assented. Then her expression altered :
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108 SIR GEORGE TRE8SADT
" When do you speak ? "
The question fell out abruptly, and took George by
surprise.
" I ? On Monday, I believe, if I get my turn. But
I fear the British Empire will go on if I don't ! ''
She threw a glance of scrutiny at his thin, whim-
sical face, with its fair moustache and sunburnt skin.
" I hear you are a good speaker," she said simply.
" And you are entirely with Lord Fontenoy ? "
He bowed lightly, his hands on his sides.
" You'll agree our case was well put ? The worst
of it— "
Then he stopped. He saw that Lady Maxwell had
ceased to listen to him. She turned her head towards
the door, and, without even saying good-bye to him,
she hurried away from him towards the further end
of the room.
"Maxwell, I see!" said Tressady to himself, with
a shrug, as he returned to his seat. "Not flattering
— but rather pretty, all the same ! "
He was thinking of the quick change that had
remade the face while he was talking to her — a
change as lovely as it was unconscious.
Lord Maxwell, indeed, had just entered the dining-
room in search of his wife, and he and she now left
it together, while the rest of the Leven party gradu-
ally dispersed. Letty also announced that she must
go home.
" Let me just go back into the House and see what
is going on," said George. " Ten to one I sha'n't be
wanted, and I could see you home."
He hurried off, only to return in a minute -with the
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SIR OEOBGE TBE88ADY 109
news that the debate was given up to a succession of
superfluous people, and he was free, at any rate for an
hour. Letty, Miss Tulloch, and he accordingly made
their way to Palace Yard. A bright moon shone in
their faces as they emerged into the open air, which
was still mild and spring-like, as it had been all the
week.
"I say — send Miss Tulloch home in a cab!"
George pleaded in Letty's ear, " and walk with me a
bit. Come and look at the moon over the river. I
will bring you back to the bridge and put you in a
cab."
Letty looked astonished and demure. " Aunt Char-
lotte would be shocked," she said.
George grew impatient, and Letty, pleased with his
impatience, at last yielded. Tully, the most com-
plaisant of chaperons, was put into a hansom and
despatched.
As the pair reached the entrance of Palace Yard
they were overtaken by a brougham, which drew up
an instant in the gateway itself, till it should find an
opening in the traffic outside.
" Look ! " said George, pressing Letty's arm.
She looked round hurriedly, and, as the lamps of
the gateway shone into the carriage, she caught a
vivid glimpse of the people inside it. Their faces
were turned towards each other as though in intimate
conversation — that was all. The lady's hands were
crossed on her knee ; the man held a despatch-box.
In a minute they were gone; but both Letty and
George were left with the same impression — the
sense of something exquisite surprised. It had already
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110 SIR OEORGE TRE88ADT
visited George that evening, only a few minutes
earlier, in connection with the same woman's face.
Letty laughed, rather consciously.
George looked down upon her as he guided her
through the gate.
"Some people seem to find it pleasant to be to-
gether ! " he said, with a vibration in his voice. " But
why did we look ? " he added, discontentedly.
" How could we help it, you silly boy ? "
They walked towards the bridge and down the steps,
happy in each other, and freshened by the night
breeze. Over the river the moon hung full and white,
and beneath it everything — the silver tracks on the
water, the blaze of light at Charing Cross Station, the
lamps on Westminster Bridge and in the passing
steamers, a train of barges, even the darkness of the
Surrey shore — had a gentle and poetic air. The
vast city had, as it were, veiled her greatness and
her tragedy; she offered herself kindly and protect-
ingly to these two — to their happiness and their
youth,
George made his companion wait beside the parapet
an:d look, while he himself drew in the air with a sort
of hunger.
" To think of the hours we spend in this climate,"
he said, " caged up in abominable places like the House
of Commons ! "
The traveller's distaste for the monotony of town
and indoor life spoke in his vehemence. Letty raised
her eyebrows.
" I am very glad of my furs, thank you ! You seem
to forget that it is February."
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY 111
"Never mind! — since Monday it has had the feel
of April. Did you see my mother to-day ? "
" Yes^ She caught me just after luncheon, and we
talked for an hour/'
" Poor darling ! I ought to have been there to pro-
tect you. But she vowed she would have her say
about that house."
He looked down upon her, trying to see her expres-
sion in the shifting light. He had gone through a
disagreeable little scene with his mother at breakfast.
She had actually lectured him on the rashness of taking
the Brook Street house ! — he understanding the whole
time that what the odd performance really meant was,
that if he took it he would have a smaller margin of
income wherefrom to supplement her allowance.
"Oh, it was all right!" said Letty, composedly.
" She declared we should get into difficulties at once,
that I could have no idea of the value of money, that
you always had been extravagant, that everybody
would be astonished at our doing such a thing, etcet-
era, etcetera. I think — you don't mind? — I think
she cried a little. But she wasn't really very un-
happy."
"What did you say?"
"Well, I suggested that when we were married,
we and she should both set up account-books ; and I
promised faithfully that if she would let us see hers,
we would let her see ours."
George threw back his head with a gurgle of
laughter.
"Well?"
"She was afraid," said Letty, demurely, "that I
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112 SIR GEORGE TRESS ADT
didn't take things seriously enough. Then I asked
her to come and see my gowns."
" And that, I suppose, appeased her ? "
" Not at all. She turned up her nose at everything,
by way of punishing me. You see, she had on a new
Worth — the third since Christmas. My poor little
trousseau rags had no chance.'^
" H'm ! " said George, meditatively. " I wonder how
my mamma is going to manage when we are married,"
he added, after a pause.
Letty made no reply. She was walking firmly and
briskly ; her eyes, full of a sparkling decision, looked
straight before her; her little mouth was close set.
Meanwhile through George's mind there passed a
number of fragmentary answers to his own question.
His feeling towards his mother was wholly abnormal ;
he had no sense of any unseemliness in the conver-
sation about her which was gradually growing common
between himself and Letty; and he meant to draw
strict lines in the future. At the same time, there was
the tie of old habit, and of that uneasy and imwelcome
responsibility with regard to her which had descended
upon him at the time of his father's death. He could
not honestly regard himself as an affectionate son; but
the filial relationship, even in its most imperfect as-
pect, has a way of imposing itself.
"Ah, well! I daresay we shall pull through," he
said, dismissing the familiar worry with a long breath.
"Why, how far we have come!" he added, looking
back at Charing Cross and the Westminster towers.
" And how extraordinarily mild it is ! We can't turn
back yet, and you'll be tired if I race you on in this
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SIR GEORGE TRESS AD Y 113
way. Look, Letty, there's a seat! Would you be
afraid — just five minutes ? "
Letty looked doubtful.
"It's so absurdly late. George, you are funny!
Suppose somebody came by who knew us?"
He opened his eyes.
"And why not? But see! there isn't a carriage,
and hardly a person, in sight. Just a minute ! "
Most unwillingly Letty let herself be persuaded.
It seemed to her a foolish and extravagant thing to
do; and there was now no need for either folly or
extravagance. Since her engagement she had dropped
a good many of the small audacities of the social sort
she had so freely allowed herself before it. It was as
though, indeed, now that these audacities had served
their purpose, some stronger and perhaps inherited
instincts emerged in her, obscuring the earlier self.
George was sometimes astonished by an ultra-conven-
tional note, of which certainly he had heard nothing
in their first days of intimacy at Malford.
However, she sat down beside him, protesting. But
he had no sooner stolen her hand, than the moonlight
showed her a dark, absent look creeping over his face.
And to her amazement he began to talk about the
House of Commons, about the Home Secretary's
speech, of all things in the world! He seemed to
be harking back to Mr. Dow son's arguments, to some
of the stories the Home Secretary had told of those
wretched people who apparently enjoy dying of over-
work and phosphorus, and white-lead, who positively
will die of them, unless the inspectors are always
harrying them. He still held her hand, but she saw
VOL. I — I
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114 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
he was not thinking of her ; and a sudden pique rose
in her small mind. Generally, she accepted his love-
making very coolly — just as it came, or did not come.
But to-night she asked herself with irritation — for
what had he led her into his silly escapade, but to
make love to her? And now here were her fingers
slipping out of his, while he harangued her on things
she knew and cared nothing about, in a voice and
manner he might have addressed to anybody!
" Well, I don't understand — I really donH I " she in-
terrupted sharply. " I thought you were all against
the Government — I thought you didn't believe a word
they say ! "
He laughed.
"The difference between them and us, darling, is
only that they think the world can be mended by Act
of Parliament, and we think it can't. Do what you
will, we say the world is, and must be, a wretched hole
for the majority of those that live in it ; they suppose
they can cure it by quack meddlings and tyrannies."
He looked straight before him, absorbed, and she
was struck with the harsh melancholy of his face.
What on earth had he kept her here for to talk this
kind of talk !
" George, I really must go ! " she began, flushing, and
drawing her hand away.
Instantly he turned to her, his look brightening and
melting.
" Must you ? Well, the world sha'n't be a wretched
hole for us, shall it, darling ? We'll make a little nest
in it — we'll forget what we can't help — we'll be
happy as long as the fates let us — won't we, Letty ? ^^ -
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SIB GEORGE TRE88ADT 116
His arm slipped round behind her. He caught her
hands.
He had recollected himself. Nevertheless Letty was
keenly conscious that it was all most absurd, this sit-
ting on a seat in a public thoroughfare late at night,
and behaving like any 'Any and 'Arriet.
"Why, of course we shall be happy," she said,
rising with decision as she spoke ; " only somehow I
don't always understand you, George. I wish I knew
what you were really thinking about."
" Fow/" he said, laughing, and drawing her hand
within his arm, as they turned backwards towards the
bridge.
She shook her head doubtfully. Whereupon he
awoke fully to the situation, and during the short
remainder of their walk he wooed and flattered her as
usual. But when he had put her safely into a hansom
at the comer of the bridge, and smiled good-bye to
her, he turned to walk back to the House in much
sudden flatness of mood. Her little restless egotisms
of mind and manner had chilled him unawares. Had
Fontenoy's speech been so fine, after all ? Were
politics — was anything — quite worth while ? It
seemed to him that all emotions were small, all crises
disappointing.
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CHAPTER VI
The following Sunday, somewhere towards five
o'clock, Greorge rang the bell of the Maxwells' house
in St. James's Square. It was a very fine house, and
George's eye, as he stood waiting, ran over the fagade
with an amused, investigating look.
He allowed himself the same expression once or
twice in the hall, as one mute and splendid person
relieved him of his coat, and another, equally mute
and equally unsurpassable, waited for him on the
stairs, while across a passage beyond the hall he saw
two red-liveried footmen carrying tea.
" When one is a friend of the people," he pondered
as he went upstairs, " is one limited in horses but not
in flunkeys ? These things are obscure."
He was ushered first into a stately outer drawing-
room, filled with old French furniture and fine pictures ;
then the butler lifted a velvet curtain, pronounced the
visitor's name with a voice and emphasis as perfectly
trained as the rest of him, and stood aside for George
to enter.
He found himself on the threshold of a charming
room looking west, and lit by some last beams of Feb-
ruary Sim. The pale-green walls were covered with a
medley of prints and sketches. A large writing-table,
imtidily heaped with papers, stood conspicuous on the
116
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY 117
blue self-coloured carpet, which over a great part of
the floor was pleasantly void and bare. Flat earthen-
ware pans, planted with hyacinths and narcissus, stood
here and there, and filled the air with spring scents.
Books ran round the lower walls, or lay piled where-
ever there was a space for them ; while about the fire
at the further end was gathered a circle of chintz-
covered chairs — chairs of all shapes and sizes, meant
for talking. The whole impression of the pretty, dis-
orderly place, compared with the stately drawing-room
behind it, was one of intimity and freedom ; the room
made a friend of you as you entered.
Half a dozen people were sitting with Lady Max-
well when Tressady was announced. She rose to
meet him with great cordiality, introduced him to
little Lady Leven, an elfish creature in a cloud of
fair hair, and with a pleasant "You know all the
rest," offered him a chair beside herself and the tea-
table.
"The rest" were Frank Leven, Edward Watton,
Bayle, the Foreign Office private secretary who had
been staying at Malford House at the time of Tres-
sady 's election, and Bennett, the " small, dark man "
whom George had pointed out to Letty in the House
as a Labour member, and one of the Maxwells' par-
ticular friends.
"Well?" said Lady Maxwell, turning to her new
visitor as she handed him some tea, " were you as much
taken with the grandmother as the grandmother was
taken with you ? She told me she had never seen a
^more haffable gentleman, nor one as she'd a been
more willin to ha done for ' ! "
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118 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
George laughed. " I see/' lie said, " that my report
has been anticipated."
" Yes — I have been there. I have found a ^ case ' in
them indeed — alack ! The granny — I am afraid she
is an unseemly old woman — and the elder girl both
work for the Jew son-in-law on the first floor — home-
work of the most abominable kind — that girl will be
dead in a year if it goes on.''
George was rapidly conscious of two contradictory
impressions — one of pleasure, one of annoyance —
pleasure in her tall, slim presence, her white hand, and
all the other flashing points of a beauty not to be
denied — and irritation that she should have talked
" shop " to him with her first breath. Could one never
escape this altruistic chatter ?
But he was not left to grapple with it alone, for
Lady Leven looked up quickly.
" Mr. Watton, will you please take Lady MaxwelPs
tea away if she mentions the word 'case' again?
We gave her fair warning."
Lady Maxwell hastily clasped both her hands round
her tea-cup.
"Betty, we have discussed the opera for at least
twenty minutes."
"Yes — at peril of our lives!" said Lady Leven.
" I never talked so fast before. One felt as though
one must say everything one had to say about Melba
and the de Reszkes, all in one breath — before one's
poor little subject was torn from one — one would
never have such a chance again."
Lady Maxwell laughed, but coloured too.
"Am I such a nuisance?" she said, dropping her
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SIB GEORGE TBE88ADT 119
hands on her knee with a little sigh. Then she turned
to Tressady.
" But Lady Leven really makes it out worse than it
is. We haven't even approached a Factory Act all the
afternoon."
Lady Leven sprang forward in her chair. " Because !
because, my dear, we simply declined to let you. We
made a league — didn't we, Mr. Bennett ? — even you
joined it.''
Bennett smiled.
"Lady Maxwell overworks herself — we all know
that," he said, his look, at once kind, honest, and per-
ennially embarrassed, passing from Lady Leven to his
hostess.
" Gh, don't sympathise, for Heaven's sake ! " cried
Betty. " Wage war upon her — it's our only hope."
"Don't you think Sunday at least ought to be
frivolous?" said Tressady, smiling, to Lady Maxwell.
"Well, personally, I like to talk about what inter-
ests me on Sunday as well as on other days," she said
with a frank simplicity ; " but I know I ought to be
kept in order — I become a terrible bore."
Frank Leven roused himself from the sofa on which
he had languidly subsided.
"Bores?" he said indignantly, "we're all bores.
We all have been bores since people began to think
about what they're pleased to call ^social work.'
Why should I love my neighbour ? — I'd much rather
hate him. I generally do."
" Doesn't it all depend," said Tressady, " on whether
he happens to be able to make it disagreeable for you
in return ? "
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120 SIR GEORGE TRE8SADT
" That's just it," said Betty Leven, eagerly. " I agree
with Frank — it's all so stupid, this * loving' every-
body. It makes one positively hot. We sit under a
clergyman, Frank and I, who talks of nothing every
Sunday but love — love — like that, long-drawn-out —
how our politics should be *love/ and our shopping
should be *love' — till we long simply to bastinado
somebody. I want to have a little real nice cruelty
— something sharp and interesting. I should like to
stick pins into my maid, only unfortunately, as she
has more than once pointed out to me, it would be so
much easier for her to stick them into me ! "
" You want the time of Miss Austen's novels back
again," said young Bayle, stooping to her, with his
measured and agreeable smile — "before even the
clergy had a mission."
" Ah ! but it would be no good," said Lady Leven,
sighing, " if she were there ! "
She threw out her small hand towards her hostess,
and everybody laughed.
Up to the moment of the laugh. Lady Maxwell
had been lying back in her chair listening, the beau-
tiful mouth absently merry, and the eyes speaking —
Tressady thought — of quite other things, of some
hidden converse of her own, going on in the brain
behind the eyes. A certain prophetess-air seemed
natural to her. Nevertheless, that first impression
of her he had carried away from the hospital scene
was being somehow blurred and broken up.
She joined in the laugh against herself ; then, with
a little nod towards her assailant, she said to Edward
Watton, who was sitting on her right hand —
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SIB GEORGE TRE88ADY 121
" You^ie not taken in, I know."
"Oh, if you mean that I go in for ^cases' and
^causes' too," cried Lady Leven, interrupting, "of
course I do — I can't be left alone. I must dance
as my generation pipes."
"Which means," said her husband, drily, "that
she went for two days filling sodarwater bottles the
week before last, and a day's shirt-making last week.
From the first, I was told that she would probably
return to me with an eye knocked out, she being
totally inexperienced and absurdly rash. As to the
second, to judge from the description she gave me of
the den she had been sitting in when she came home,
and the headache she had next day, I still expect
typhoid. The fortnight isn't up till Wednesday."
There was a shout of mingled laughter and inquiry.
" How did you do it ? — and whom did you bribe ? "
said Bayle to Lady Leven.
"I didn't bribe anybody," she said indignantly.
" You don't understand. My friends introduced me."
Then, drawn out by him, she plunged into a lively
account of her workshop experiences, interrupted
every now and then by the sarcastic comments of
her husband and the amusement of the two younger
men who had brought their chairs close to her.
Betty Leven ranked high among the lively chatter-
boxes of her day and set.
Lady Maxwell, however, had not laughed at Frank
Leven's speech. Rather, as he spoke of his wife's
experiences, her face had clouded, as though the
blight of some too familiar image, some sad ever-
present vision, had descended upon her.
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122 SIB GEOROE TRESSADT
Bennett also did not laugh. He watched the
Levens indulgently for a few minutes, then insen-
sibly he, Lady Maxwell, Edward Watton, and Tres-
sady drew together into a circle of their own.
"Do you gather that Lord Fontenoy's speech on
Friday has been much taken up in the country?"
said Bennett, bending forward and addressing Lady
Maxwell. Tressady, who was observing him, noticed
that his dress was precisely the "Sunday best" of
the respectable workman, and was, moreover, re-
minded by the expression of the eyes and brow
that Bennett was said to have been a well-known
"local preacher" in his north-cormtry youth.
Lady Maxwell smiled, and pointed to Tressady.
"Here," she said, "is Lord Fontenoy's first-lieu-
tenant."
Bennett looked at George.
"I should be glad," he said, "to know what Sir
George thinks?"
"Why, certainly — we think it has been very
warmly taken up," said George, promptly — "to judge
from the newspapers, the letters that have been pour-
ing in, and the petitions that seem to be preparing."
Lady Maxwell's eyes gleamed. She looked at
Bennett silently a moment, then she said:
" Isn't it amazing to you how strong an impossible
case can be made to look ? "
" It is inevitable," said Bennett, with a little shrug,
" quite inevitable. These social experiments of ours
are so young — there is always a strong case to be
made out against any of them, and there will be for
years to come."
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SIR GEOBOE TRE88ADY 123
"Well and good," said George; "then we cavillers
are inevitable too. Don't attack us — praise us rather ;
by your own confession, we are as much a part of the
game as you are.'-
Bennett smiled slightly, but did not in reality quite
follow. Lady Maxwell bent forward.
" Do you know whether Lord Fontenoy has any per-
soncU knowledge of the trades he was speaking about? "
she said, in her rich eager voice ; " that is what I want
so much to find out."
George was nettled by both the question and the
manner.
"I regard Fontenoy as a very competent person,"
he said drily. " I imagine he did his best to inform
himself. But there was not much need ; the persons
concerned — whom you think you are protecting —
were so very eager to inform us ! "
Lady Maxwell flushed.
"And you think that settles it — the eagerness of
the cheap life to be allowed to maim and waste itself ?
But again and again English law has stepped in to
prevent it — and again and again everybody has been
thankful."
"It is all a question of balance, of course," said
George. "Must a few unwise people be allowed to
kill themselves — or thousands lose their liberty?"
His blue eyes scanned her beautiful impetuous face
with a certain cool hardness. Internally he was more
and more in revolt against a " monstrous regiment of
women" and the influence upon the most complex
economic problems of such a personality as that before
him.
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124 SIR GEORGE TRESS AD r
But his word " liberty " pricked her. The look of
feeling passed away. Her eyes kindled as sharply
and drily as his own.
" Freedom ? — let me quote you Cromwell ! ^ Every
sectary saith, " give me liberty ! '^ But give it him,
and to the best of his power he will yield it to no
one else.' So with your careless or brutal employer
— give him liberty, and no one else shall get it.''
"Only by metaphor — not legally," said George,
stubbornly. " So long as men are not slaves by law
there is always a chance for freedom. Any way
we stand for freedom-^ as an end, not a means. It
is not the business of the State to make people happy
— not at all ! — at least that is our view — but it is the
business of the State to keep them free."
"Ah!" said Bennett, with a long breath, "there
you've hit the nail — the whole difference between
you and us."
George nodded. Lady Maxwell did not speak imme-
diately. But George was conscious that he was being
observed, closely considered. Their glances crossed
an instant, in antagonism, certainly, if not in dislike.
" How long is it since you came home from India ? "
she asked him suddenly.
" About six months."
" And you were, I think, a long time abroad ? "
"Nearly four years. Does that make you think I
have not had much time to get up the things I am
going to vote about ? " said the young man, laughing.
"I don't know! On the broadest issues of politics,
one makes up one's mind as well in Asia as in Europe
— better perhaps."
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY 125
" On the Empire, I suppose — and England's place
in the world? That's a side which — I know — I re-
member much too little. You think our life depends
on a governing class — and that we and democracy-
are weakening that class too much ? "
" That's about it. And for democracy it is all right.
But you — you are the traitors ! "
His thrust, however, did not rouse her to any corre-
sponding rhetoric. She smiled merely, and began to
question him about his travels. She did it with great
deftness, so that after an answer or two both his tem-
per and manner insensibly softened, and he found
himself talking with ease and success. His mixed
personality revealed itself — his capacity for certain
veiled enthusiasms, his respect for power, for know-
ledge, his pessimist beliefs as to the average lot of
men.
Bennett, who listened easily, was glad to help her
make her guest talk. Erank Leven left the group
near the sofa and came to listen, too. Tressady was
more and more spurred, carried out of himself. Lady
Maxwell's fine eyes and stately ways were humanised
after all by a quick responsiveness, which for most
people, however critical, made conversation with her
draw like a magnet. Her intelligence, too, was com-
petent, left the mere feminine behind in these connec-
tions that Tressady offered her, no less than in others.
She had not lived in the world of high politics for
nearly five years for nothing; so that unconsciously,
and indeed quite against his will, Tressady found
himself talking to her, after a while, as though she
had been a man and an equal, while at the same time
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126 8IR GEORGE TRE88ADY
taking more pains than he would ever have taken for
a man.
"Well, you have seen a lot ! " said Frank Leven at
last, with a rather envious sigh.
Bennett's modest face suddenly reddened.
"If only Sir George will use his eyes to as good
purpose at home — '' he said involuntarily, then
stopped. Few men were more unready and awkward
in conversation ; yet when roused he was one of the
best platform speakers of his day.
George laughed.
" One sees best what appeals to one, I am afraid,''
he said, only to be instantly conscious that he had
made a rather stupid admission in face of the enemy.
Lady Maxwell's lip twitched; he saw the flash
of some quick thought cross her face. But she said
nothing.
Only when he got up to go, she bade him notice that
she was always at home on Sundays, and would be
glad that he should remember it. He made a rather
cold and perfunctory reply. Inwardly he said to him-
self, " Why does she say nothing of Letty, whom she
knows — and of our marriage — if she wants to make
friends ? "
Nevertheless, he left the house with the feeling of
one who has passed an hour not of the common sort.
He had done himself justice, made his mark. And as
for her — in spite of his flashes of dislike he carried
away a strong impression of something passionate and
vivid that clung to the memory. Or was it merely
eyes and pose, that astonishingly beautiful colour, and
touch of classic dignity which she got — so the world
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT 127
said — from some • remote strain of Italian blood?
Most probably ! All the same, she had fewer of the
ordinary womanly arts than he had imagined. How
easy it would have been to send that message to Letty
she had not sent! He thought simply that for a
clever woman she might have been more adroit.
The door had no sooner closed behind Tressady than
Betty Leven, with a quick look after him, bent across
to her hostess, and said in a stage whisper :
" Who ? Post me up, please.''
" One of Fontenoy's gang,'' said her husband, before
Lady Maxwell could answer. " A new member, and as
sharp as needles. He's been exactly to all the places
where I want to go, Betty, and you won't let me."
He glanced at his wife with a certain sharpness.
For Tressady had spoken in passing of nilghai-shooting
in the Himalayas, and the remark had brought the flush
of an habitual discontent to the yoimg man's cheek.
Betty merely held out a white child's wrist.
"Button my glove, please, and don't talk. I have
got ever so many questions to ask Marcella."
Leven applied himself rather sulkily to his task
while Betty pursued her inquiries.
" Isn't he going to marry Letty Sewell ? "
" Yes," said Lady Maxwell, opening her eyes rather
wide. " Do you know her ? "
"Why, my dear, she's Mr. Watton's cousin — isn't
she ? " said Betty, turning towards that young man.
" I saw her once at your mother's."
" Certainly she is my cousin," said that young man,
smiling, "and she is going to marry Tressady at
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128 SIR GEOBGE TRE88ADT
Easter. So much I can vouch for, though I don't know
her so well, perhaps, as the rest of my family do/'
" Oh ! " said Betty, drily, releasing her husband and
crossing her small hands across her knee. "That
means — Miss Sewell isn't one of Mr. Watton's far
vourite cousins. You don't mind talking about your
cousins, do you ? You may blacken the character of
all mine. Is she nice ? "
" Who — Letty ? Why, of course she is nice," said
Edward Watton, laughing. " All young ladies are."
"Oh goodness!" said Betty, shaking her halo of
gold hair. " Commend me to cousins for letting one
down easy."
" Too bad. Lady Leven ! " said Watton, getting up
to escape. "Why not ask Bayle? He knows all
things. Let me hand you over to him. He will sing
you all my cousin's charms."
" Delighted ! " said Bayle as he, too, rose — " only
unfortimately I ought at this moment to be at Wim-
bledon."
He had the air of a typical official, well dressed,
suave, and infinitely self-possessed, as he held out his
hand — deprecatingly — to Lady Leven.
" Oh ! you private secretaries ! " said Betty, pouting
and turning away from him.
" Don't abolish us," he said, pleading. " We must
live."
" Je n'en vois pas la n^cessitil^' said Betty, over her
shoulder.
"Betty, what a babe you are!" cried her hus-
band, as Bayle, Watton, and Bennett all disappeared
together.
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SIR GEOBGE TRESS AD Y 129
"Kot at all ! " cried Betty. "I wanted to get some
truth out of somebody. For, of course, the real truth
is that this Miss Sewell is — "
"Is what?" said Leven, lost in admiration all the
time, as Lady Maxwell saw,. of his wife's dainty grace
and rose-leaf colour.
" Well — a — miTix 1 '' said Betty, with innocent slow-
ness, opening her blue eyes very wide; "a mischiev-
ous — rather pretty — hard-hearted — flirting — little
minx I "
"Really, Betty!'' cried Lady Maxwell. "Where
have you seen her?"
"Oh, I saw her last year several times at the
Wattons' and other places," said Betty, composedly.
"And so did you too, please, madam. I remember
very well one day Mrs. Watton brought her into the
Winterbournes' when you and I were there, and she
chattered a great deal."
" Oh yes ! — I had forgotten."
" Well, my dear, you'll soon have to remember her !
so you needn't talk in that lofty tone. For they're
going to be married at Easter, and if you want to
make friends with the young man, you'll have to
realise the wife ! "
" Married at Easter ? How do you know ? "
"In the first place Mr. Watton said so, in the next
there are such things as newspapers. But of course
you didn't notice such trifles, you never do."
" Betty, you're very cross with me to-day ! " Lady
Maxwell looked up at her friend with a little pleading
air.
^* Oh no ! only for your good. I know you're think-
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130 SIB GEORGE TBE88ADT
ing of nothing in the world but how to make that man
take a reasonable view of Maxwell's Bill. And I want
to impress upon you that he's probably thinking a
great deal more about getting married than about
Factory Bills. You see, your getting married was a
kind of accident. But other people are different.
And oh, dear, you do know so little about them when
they don't live in four pair backs! There, don't
defend yourself — you sha'n't!"
And, stooping, Betty stifled her friend's possible
protest by kissing her.
"Now then, come along, Frank — you've got your
speech to write — and I've got to copy it out. Don't
swear ! you know you're going to have two whole days'
golfing next week. Good-bye, Marcella ! My love to
Aldous — and tell him not to be so late next time I
come to tea. Good-bye ! "
And off she swept, pausing, however, on the landing
to open the door again and put in an eager face.
" Oh ! and, by the way, the young man has a mother
— Frank reminded me. His womenkind don't seem
to be his strong point — but as she doesn't earn even
four-and-sixpence a week — very sadly the contrary
— I won't tell you any more now, or you'll forget.
Next time I "
When Marcella Maxwell was at last left alone, she
began to pace slowly up and down the large bare room,
as it was very much her wont to do.
She was thinking of George Tressady, and of the
personality his talk had seemed to reveal.
"His heart is all in power — in what he takes for
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SIR GEORGE TRES8ADT 181
magnificence," she said to herself. "He talks as if
he had no humanity, and did not care a rap for any-
body. But it is a pose — I thiiik it is a pose. He is
interesting — he will develop. One would like — to
show him things."
After another pensive turn or two she stopped be-
side a photograph that stood upon her writing-table.
It was a photograph of her husband — a tall, smooth-
faced man, with pleasant eyes, features of no particu-
lar emphasis, and the free carriage of the country-bred
Englishman. As she looked at it her face relaxed
unconsciously, inevitably ; under the stimulus of some
habitual and secret joy. It was for his sake, for
his sake only that she was still thinking of George
Tressady, still pondering the young man's character
and remarks.
So much at least was true — no other member of
Fontenoy's party had as yet given her even the chance
of arguing with him. Once or twice in society she
had tried to approach Fontenoy himself, to get some-
how into touch with him. But she had made no way.
Lord Fontenoy had simply turned his square-jawed
face and red-rimmed eyes upon her with a stupid
irresponsive air, which Marcella knew perfectly well
to be a mask, while it protected him none the less
effectively for that against both her eloquence and her
charm. The other members of the party were young
aristocrats, either of the ultra-exclusive or of the sport-
ing type. She had made her attempts here and there
among them, but with no more success. And once or
twice, when she had pushed her attack to close quar-
ters, she had been suddenly conscious of an underlying
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182 8IB GEOBGE TRESSABT
insolence in her opponent — a quick glance of bold or
sensual eyes which seemed to relegate the mere woman
to her place.
But this young Tressady, for all his narrowness
and bitterness, was of a different stamp — or she
thought so.
She began to pace up and down again, lost in reverie,
till after a few minutes she came slowly to a stop be-
fore a long Louis Quinze mirror — her hands clasped
in front of her, her eyes half consciously studying
what she saw.
Her own beauty invariably gave her pleasure —
though very seldom for the reasons that would have
affected other women. She felt instinctively that it
made life easier for her than it could otherwise have
been ; that it provided her with a natural and profit-
able " opening " in any game she might wish to play ;
and that even among the workmen, unionist leaders, and
officials of the East End it had helped her again and
again to score the points that she wanted to make.
She was accustomed to be looked at, to be the centre,
to feel things yielding before her ; and without think-
ing it out, she knew perfectly well what it was she
gained by this "fair seeming show" of eye and lip
and form. Somehow it made nothing seem impossi-
ble to her ; it gave her a dazzling self-confidence.
The handle of the door turned. She looked round
with a smiling start, and waited.
A tall man in a grey suit came in, crossed the room
quickly, and put his arms round her. She leant back
against his shoulder, putting up one hand to touch his
cheek caressingly.
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SIR GEORGE TRESS AD Y 133
"Why, how late you axe! Betty left reproaches
for you."
" I had a walk with Dowson. Then two or three
people caught me on the way back — Eashdell among
others." (Lord Eashdell was Foreign Secretary.)
"There are some interesting telegrams from Paris —
I copied them out for you."
The country happened to be at the moment in the
midst of one of its periodical difficulties with Prance.
There had been a good deal of diplomatic friction, and
a certain amount of anxiety at the Foreign Office.
Marcella lit the silver kettle again and made her man
some fresh tea, while he told her the news, and they
discussed the various points of the telegrams he had
copied for her, with a comrade's freedom and vivacity.
Then she said :
" Well, I have had an interesting time too ! That
young Tressady has been to tea."
" Oh ! has he ? They say there is a lot of stuff in
him, and he may do us a great deal of mischief. How
did you find him ? "
"Oh, very clever, very limited — and a mass of prej-
udices," she said, laughing. " I never saw an odder
mixture of knowledge and ignorance."
"What? Knowledge of India and the East? —
that kind of thing ? "
She nodded.
" Knowledge of everything except the subject he has
come home to fight about ! Do you know, Aldous — "
She paused. She was sitting on a stool beside him,
her arm upon his knee.
"What do I know ? " he said, his hand seeking hers.
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134 8IB GEORGE TRE88ADT
"Well, I can't help feeling that that man might live
and learn. He isn't a mere obstructive block — like
the rest."
Maxwell laughed.
" Then Fontenoy is not as shrewd as usual. They
say he regards him as their best recruit."
"Never mind. I rather wish you'd try to make
friends with him."
Maxwell, however, helped himself to cake and made
no response. On the two or three occasions on which
he had met George Tressady, he had been conscious,
if the truth were told, of a certain vague antipathy to
the young man.
Marcella pondered.
"No," she said, "no — I don't think after all he's
your sort. Suppose I see what can be done ! "
And she got up with her flashing smile — half love,
half fun — and crossed the room to summon her little
boy, Hallin, for his evening play. Maxwell looked
after her, not heeding at all what she was saying,
heeding only herself, her voice, the atmosphere of
charm and life she carried with her.
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CHAPTER VII
Marcella Maxwell, however, had not been easily
wooed by the man who now filled all the horizon of
her life. At the time when Aldous Raeburn, as he
then was — the grandson and heir of old Lord Max-
well — came across her first she was a handsome, un-
developed girl, of a type not uncommon in our modern
world, belonging by birth to the country-squire class,
and by the chances of a few years of student life in
London to the youth that takes nothing on authority,
and puts to fierce question whatever it finds already
on its path — Governments, Churches, the powers of
family and wealth — that takes, moreover, its social
pity for the only standard, and spends that pity only
on one sort and type of existence. She accepted Rae-
burn, then the best parti in the county, without under-
standing or loving him, simply that she might use his
power and wealth for certain social ends to which the
crude philanthropy of her youth had pledged itself.
Naturally, they were no sooner engaged than Eaeburn
found himself launched upon a long wrestle with the
girl who had thus — in the selfishness of her passion-
ate idealist youth — opened her relation to him with a
deliberate affront to the heart offered her. The en-
gagement had stormy passages, and was for a time
wholly broken off. Aldous was made bitterly jealous,
136
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136 SIR GEORGE TRESSADT
or miserably unhappy. Marcella left the old house
in the neighbourhood of the Maxwell property, where
her lover had first seen and courted her. She plunged
into London life, and into nursing, that common outlet
for the woman at war with herself or society. She
suffered and struggled, and once or twice she came
very near to throwing away all her chances of happi-
ness. But in the end, Maxwell tamed her; Maxwell
recovered her. The rise of love in the unruly, impetu-
ous creature, when the rise came, was like the sudden
growth of some great forest flower. It spread with
transforming beauty over the whole nature, till at last
the girl who had once looked upon him as the mere
tool of her own moral ambitions threw herself upon
Maxwell's heart with a self-abandoning passion and
penitence, which her developed powers and her adora-
ble beauty made a veritable intoxication.
And Maxwell was worthy that she should do this
thing. When he and Marcella first met, he was a man
of thirty, very able, very reserved, and often painfully
diffident as to his own powers and future. He was the
only young representative of a famous stock, and had
grown up from his childhood under the shadow of great
sorrows and heavy responsibilities. The stuff of the
poet and the thinker lay hidden behind his shy man-
ners ; and he loved Marcella Boyce with all the deli-
cacy, all the idealising respect, that passion generates
in natures so strong and so highly tempered. At the
same time, he had little buoyancy or gaiety ; he had
a belief in his class, and a constitutional dislike of
change, which were always fighting in his mind with
the energies of moral debate ; and he acquiesced very
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SIB QEORQE TBESSADT 187
easily — perhaps indifferently — in many outward con-
ventions and prejudices.
The crisis through which Marcella put him devel-
oped and matured the man. To the influences of love,
moreover, were added the influences of friendship —
of such a friendship as our modern time but seldom
rears to perfection. In Raeburn's college days, a man
of rare and delicate powers had possessed himself of
Raeburn's tenacious affection, and had thenceforward
played the leader to Raeburn's strength, physical and
moral, availing himself freely, wherever his own failed
him, of the powers and capacities of his friend. For
he himself bore in him from his youth up the seeds of
physical failure and early death. It was partly the
marvellous struggle in him of soul with body that
subdued to him the homage of the stronger man. And
it was clearly his influence that broke up and fired
Raeburn's slower and more distrustful temper, in-
forming an inbred Toryism, a natural passion for
tradition, and the England of tradition with that
** repining restlessness" which is the best spur of
noble living.
Hallin was a lecturer and an economist ; a man who
lived in the perception of the great paradox that in
our modern world political power has gone to the
workman, while yet socially and intellectually he re-
mains little less weak, or starved, or subject than
before. When he died he left to Raeburn a legacy of
feelings and ideas, all largely concerned with this
contrast between the huge and growing " tyranny " of
the working class and the individual helplessness or
bareness of the working man. And it was these feel-
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138 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY
ings and ideas which from the beginning made a link
between Raeburn and the young revolts and compas-
sions of Marcella Boyce. They were at one in their
love of Edward Hallin; and after Hallin^s death, in
their sore and tender wish to make his thoughts tell
upon the English world.
The Maxwells had now been married some five
years, years of almost incredible happiness. The
equal comradeship of marriage at its best and finest,
all the daily disciplines, the profound and painless
lessons of love, the covetous bliss of parentage, the
constant anxieties of power nobly understood, had
harmonised the stormy nature of the woman, and had
transformed the somewhat pessimist and scrupulous
character of the man. Not that life with Marcella
Maxwell was always easy. Now as ever she remained
on the moral side a creature of strain and effort, tor-
mented by ideals not to be realised, and eager to drive
herself and others in a breathless pursuit of them.
But if in some sort she seemed to be always dragging
those that loved her through the heart of a tempest,
the tempest had such golden moments ! No wife had
ever more capacity for all the delicacies and depths of
passion towards the man of her choice. All the anx-
ieties she brought with her, all the perplexities and
difficulties she imposed, had never yet seemed to
Maxwell anything but divinely worth while. So far,
indeed, he had never even remotely allowed himself
to put the question. Her faults were her; and she
was his light of life.
For some time after their marriage, which took place
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT 189
about a year after Ms accession to the title and estates,
they had lived at the stately house in Brookshire be-
longing to the Maxwells, and Marcella had thrown
herself into the management of a large household and
property with characteristic energy and originality.
She had tried new ways of choosing and governing
her servants ; new ways of entertaining the poor, and
of making Maxwell Court the centre, not of one class,
but of all. She ran up a fair score of blunders, but not
one of them was the blunder of meanness or vulgarity.
Her nature was inventive and poetic, and the rich ful-
filment that had overtaken her own personal desires
did but sting her eager passion to give and to serve.
Meanwhile the family house in town was sold, and
what with the birth of her son, and the multiplicity
of the rural interests to which she had set her hand,
Marcella felt no need of London. But towards the
end of the second year she perceived — though he
said little about it — that there was in her hus-
band's mind a strong and persistent drawing towards
his former political interests and associations. The
late Lord Maxwell had sat in several Conservative
cabinets, and his grandson, after a distinguished
career in the House as a private member, had ac-
cepted a subordinate place in the Government only
a few months before his grandfather's death trans-
ferred him to the Lords. After that event, a scrupu-
lous conscience had forced him to take landowning
as a profession and an arduous one. The Premier
made him flattering advances, and his friends re-
monstrated, but he had none the less relinquished
office, and buried himself on his land.
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140 SIR GEORGE TRESS AD Y
Now, however, after some three years' hard and
unremitting work, the estate was in excellent con-
dition; the "new ways" of the new owners had
been well started; and both Maxwell and Marcella
had fitting lieutenants who could be left in charge.
Moreover, matters were being agitated at the mo-
ment in politics which had special significance for
the man's idealist and reflective mind. His country
friends and neighbours hardly understood why.
For it was merely a question of certain further meas-
ures of factory reform. A group of labour leaders
were pressing upon the public and the Government
a proposal to pass a special Factory Act for certain
districts and trades of East London. In spite of Com-
missions, in spite of recent laws, " sweating,'' so it was
urged, was as bad as ever — nay, in certain localities
and industries was more frightful and more oppressive
than ever. The waste of life and health involved in
the great clothing industries of East London, for in-
stance, which had provoked law after law, inquiry
after inquiry, still went — so it was maintained — its
hideous way.
" Have courage ! " cried the reformers. " Take, at
last, the only effectual step. Make it penal to prac-
tise certain trades in the houses of the people — drive
them all into factories of a certain size, where alone
these degraded industries can be humanised and con-
trolled. Above all, make up your mind to a legal
working day for East London men as well as East
London women. Try the great experiment first of all
in this omnivorous, inarticulate London, this dustbin
for the rubbish of all nations. Here the problem is
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SIR GEORGE TRE8SADY 141
worst — here the victims are weakest and most man-
ageable. London will bear what would stir a riot in
Birmingham or Leeds. Make the experiment as par-
tial and as tentative as you please — give the Home
Office power to extend or revoke it at will — but
try it!''
The change proposed was itself of vast importance,
and was, moreover, but a prelude to things still more
far-reaching. But, critical as it was, Maxwell was
prepared for it. During the later years of his friend
Hallin's life the two men had constantly discussed
the industrial consequences of democracy with un-
flagging eagerness and intelligence. To both it
seemed not only inevitable, but the object of the
citizen's dearest hopes, that the rule of the people
should bring with it, in ever-ascending degree, the
ordering and moralising of the worker's toil. Yet
neither had the smallest belief that any of the great
civilised communities would ever see the State the
sole landlord and the sole capitalist; or that Col-
lectivism as a system has, or deserves to have, any
serious prospects in the world. To both, possession
— private and personal possession — from the child's
first toy, or the tiny garden where it sows its pas-
sionately watched seeds, to the great business or the
great estate, is one of the first and chiefest elements
of human training, not to be escaped by human effort,
or only at such a cost of impoverishment and disaster
that mankind would but take the step — supposing
it conceivable that it should take it — to retrace it
instantly.
Maxwell's heart, however, was much less concerned
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142 SIR GEORGE TRES8ADT
with this belief, tenaciously as he held it, than with
its relative — the limitation of private possession by
the authority of the common conscience. That "we
are not our own " has not, indeed, been left to Lassalle
or Marx to discover. But if you could have moved
this quiet Englishman to speak, he would have said —
his strong, brooding face all kindled and alive — that
the enormous industrial development of the past cen-
tury has shown us the forces at work in the evolution
of human societies on a gigantic scale, and by thus
magnifying them has given us a new understanding
of them. The vast extension of the individual will
and power which science has brought to humanity dur-
ing the last hundred years was always present to him
as food for a natural exultation — a kind of pledge of
the boundless prospects of the race. On the other
hand the struggle of society brought face to face with
this huge increment of the individual power, forced to
deal with it for its own higher and mysterious ends,
to moralise and socialise it lest it should destroy itself
and the State together ; the slow steps by which the
modern community has succeeded in asserting itself
against the individual, in protecting the weak from
his weakness, the poor from his poverty, in defending
the woman and child from the fierce claims of capital,
in forcing upon trade after trade the axiom that no
man may lawfully build his wealth upon the exhaus-
tion and degradation of his fellow — these things
stirred in him the far deeper enthusiasms of the
moral nature. Nay more! Together with all the
other main facts which mark the long travail of man's
ethical and social life, they were among the only
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SIB GEORGE TRE88ADT 148
" evidences " of religion a critical mind allowed itself
— the most striking signs of something " greater than
we know" working among the dust and ugliness of
our common day. Attack wealth as wealth, possession
as possession, and civilisation is undone. But bring
the force of the social conscience to bear as keenly
and ardently as you may, upon the separate activities
of factory and household, farm and office; and from
the results you will only get a richer individual free-
dom, one more illustration of the divinest law man
serves — that he must "die to live," must surrender
to obtain.
Such at least was Maxwell's persuasion ; though as
a practical man he admitted, of course, many limita-
tions of time, occasion, and degree. And long compan-
ionship with him had impressed the same faith also
on Marcella. With the natural conceit of the shrewd
woman, she would probably have maintained that
her social creed came entirely of mother-wit and her
own exertions — her experiences in London, reading,
and the rest. In reality it was in her the pure birth
of a pure passion. She had learnt it while she was
learning to love Aldous Raebum ; and it need astonish
no one that the more dependent all her various phi-
losophies of life hBtd become on the mere personal in-
fluence and joy of marriage, the more agile had she
grown in all that concerned the mere intellectual
defence of them. She could argue better and think
better; but at bottom, if the truth were told, they
were MaxwelPs arguments and Maxwell's thoughts.
So that when this particular agitation began, and
he grew restless in his silent way, she grew restless
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144 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
too. They took down the old worn portfolios of
Hallin's papers and letters, and looked through them,
night after night, as they sat alone together in the
great library of the Court. Both Marcella and Aldous
could remember the writing of many of these innu-
merable drafts of Acts, these endless memoranda on
special points, and must needs try, for love's sake, to
forget the terrible strain and effort with which a dying
man had put them together. She was led by them
to think of the many workmen friends she had made
during the year of her nursing life ; while he had re-
membrances of much personal work and investigation of
his own, undertaken during the time of his under-secre-
taryship, to add to hers. Another Liberal government
was slipping to its fall — if a Conservative government
came in, with a possible opening in it for Aldous Max-
well, what then ? Was the chance to be seized ?
One May twilight, just before dinner, as the two
were strolling up and down the great terrace just in
front of the Court, Aldous paused and looked at the
majestic house beside them.
"What's the good of talking about these things
while we live there? ^' he said, with a gesture towards
the house, half impatient, half humorous.
Marcella laughed. Then she sprang away from him,
considering, a sudden brightness in her eye. She had
an idea.
The idea after all was a very simple one. But the
probability is that, had she not been there to carry
him through, Maxwpll would have neither found it
nor followed it. However that may be, in a very few
days she had clothed it with fact, and made so real a
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SIB GEORGE TRESS ADT 146
thing of it that she was amazed at her own success.
She and Maxwell had settled themselves in a small
furnished house in the Mile End Eoad, and Maxwell
was once more studying the problems of his measure
that was to be in the midst of the populations to
whom it applied. The house had been recently let in
"apartments" by a young tradesman and his wife,
well known to Marcella. In his artisan days the
man had been her friend, and for a time her patient.
She knew how to put her hand on him at once.
They spent five months in the little house, while
the London that knew them in St. James's Square
looked on, and made the comments — half amused,
half inquisitive — that the act seemed to invite.
There was of course no surprise. Nothing surprises
the London of to-day. Or if there were any, it was
all Marcella's. In spite of her passionate sympathy
with the multitude who live in disagreeable homes on
about a pound a week, she herself was very sensitive
to the neighbourhood of beautiful things, to the
charm of old homes, cool woods, green lawns, and
the 'rise and fall of Brookshire hills. Against her
wish, she had thought of sacrifice in thinking of the
Mile End Eoad in August.
But there was no sacrifice. Frankly, these five
months were among the happiest of her life. She
and Maxwell were constantly together, from morning
till night, doing the things that were congenial to
them, and seeing the things that interested them.
They went in and out of every factory and work-
shop in which certain trades were practised, within
a three-mile radius; they became the intimate friends
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146 SIB GEORGE TRE8SADY
of every factory inspector and every trade-union offi-
cial in the place. Luckily, Maxwell's shyness — at
least in Mile End — was not of the sort that can be
readily mistaken for a haughty mind. He was always
ready to be informed ; his diffident kindness asked to
be set at ease ; while in any real ardour of debate his
trained capacity and his stores of knowledge would
put even the expert on his mettle.
As for Marcella, it was her idiosyncrasy that these
tailors, furriers, machinists, shirtmakers, by whom she
wUs surrounded in East London, stirred her imagi-
nation far more readily than the dwellers in great
houses and the wearers of fine raiment had ever
stirred it. And Marcella, in the kindled sympathetic
state, was always delightful to herself and others.
She revelled in the little house and its ugly, drug-
getted rooms; in the absence of all the usual para-
phernalia of their life ; in her undisturbed possession
of the husband who was at once her lover and the
best company she knew or could desire. On the few
days when he left her for the day on some errand in
which she could not share, to meet him at the train
in the evening like any small clerk's wife, to help him
carry the books and papers with which he was gen-
erally laden along the hot and dingy street, to make
him tea from her little spirit kettle, and then to hear
the news of the day in the shade of the little smutty
back-garden, while the German charwoman who
cooked for them had her way with the dinner —
there was not an incident in the whole trivial pro-
cession that did not amuse and delight her. She re-
newed her youth; she escaped from the burdensome
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SIB GEORGE TRESS ADY 147
"glories of our birth and state"; from that teasing
"duty to our equals '' on which only the wisest preach-
ers have ever laid sufficient stress ; and her one trouble
was that the little masquerade must end.
One other drawback indeed, one more blight upon a
golden time, there was. Not even Marcella could make
up her mind to transplant little Hallin, her only child,
from Maxwell Court to East London. It was spring-
time, and the woods about the Court were breaking
into sheets of white and blue. Marcella must needs
leave the boy to his flowers and his "grandame earth,"
sadly warned thereto by the cheeks of other little boys
in and about the Mile End Road. But every Friday
night she and Maxwell said good-bye to the two little
workhouse girls, and the German charwoman, and the
village boy from Mellor, who supplied them with all
the service they wanted in Mile End, took with them
the ancient maid who had been Marcella's mother's
maid, and fled home to Brookshire. So on Saturday
mornings it generally happened that little Hallin went
out to inform his particular friend among the garden
boys, that "Mummy had tum ome," and that he was
not therefore so much his own master as usual. He ex-
plained that he had to show mummy " eaps of things "
— the two new kittens, the " edge-sparrer's nest," and
the "ump they'd made in the churchyard over old
Tom Collins from the parish ouses," the sore place
on the pony's shoulder, the "ole that mummy's orse
had kicked in the stable door," and a host of other
curiosities. By way of linking the child with the
soil and its people, Marcella had taken care to give
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148 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY
him nursemaids from the village. And the village
being only some thirty miles from London, talked in
the main the language of London, a language which
it soon communicated to the tongue of Maxwell's heir.
Marcella tried to school her boy in vain. Hallin chat-
tered, laughed, broadened his a's and dropped all his
h's into a bottomless limbo none the less.
What days of joy those Saturdays were for mother
and child ! All the morning and till about four o'clock,
he and she would be inseparable, trailing about to-
gether over field and wood, she one of the handsomest
of women, he one of the plainest of children — a lit-
tle square-faced chubby fellow, with eyes monstrously
black and big, fat cheeks that hung a little over the
firm chin, a sallow complexion, and a large humorous
mouth.
But in the late afternoon, alas ! Hallin was apt to
find the world grow tiresome. For against all his
advice " mummy " would allow herself to be clad by
Annette, the maid, in a frock of state ; carriages would
drive up from the 5.10 train; and presently in the
lengthening evening the great lawns of the Court
would be dotted with strolling groups, or the red draw-
ing-room, with its Romneys and Gainsboroughs, would
be filled with talk and laughter circling round mummy
at the tea-table ; so that all that was left to Hallin was
that seat on mummy's knee — his big, dark head
pressed disconsolately against her breast, his thumb
in his mouth for comfort — which no boy of any spirit
would ever consent to occupy, so long as there was any
chance of goading a slack companion into things better
worth while.
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT 149
Marcella herself was no less rebellious at heart, and
would have asked nothing better than to be left free to
spend her weekly holiday in roaming an April world
with Hallin. But our country being what it is, the
plans that are made in Mile End or Shoreditch have
to be adopted by Mayfair or Mayf air's equivalent;
otherwise they are apt to find an inglorious tomb in
the portfolios that bred them. We have still, it seems,
a " ruling class " ; and in spite of democracy it is still
this " ruling class " that matters. Maxwell was per-
fectly aware of it ; and these Sundays to him were the
mere complements of the Mile End weekdays. Marcella
ruefully admitted that English life was so, and she did
her best. But on Monday mornings she was gener-
ally left protesting in her inmost soul against half
the women whom these peers and politicians, these
administrators and journalists, brought with them, or
wondering anxiously whether her particular share in
the social effort just over might not have done Aldous
more harm than good. She understood vaguely, with-
out vanity, that she was a power in this English society,
that she had many warm friends, especially among men
of the finer and abler sort. But when a woman loved
her, and insisted, as it were, on making her know it —
and, after all, the experience was not a rare one —
Marcella received the overture with a kind of grateful
surprise. She was accustomed, without knowing why,
to feel herself ill at ease with certain types of women ;
even in her own house she was often aware of being
furtively watched by hostile eyes ; or she found her-
self suddenly the goal of some sharp little pleasantry
that pricked like a stiletto. She supposed that she
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160 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
was often forgetful and indiscreet. Perhaps the large
court she held so easily on these occasions beneath the
trees or in the great drawing-rooms of the old house
had more to do with the matter. If so, she never
guessed the riddle. In society she was conscious of
one aim, and one aim only. Its very simplicity made
other women incredulous, while it kept herself in the
dark.
However, by dint of great pains, she had not yet
done Aldous any harm that counted. During all the
time of their East End sojourn, a Liberal govern-
ment, embarrassed by large schemes it had not force
enough to carry, was sinking towards inevitable col-
lapse. When the crash came, a weak Conservative
government, in which Aldous Maxwell occupied a
prominent post, accepted office for a time without a
dissolution. They came in on a cry of "industrial
reform," and, by way of testing their own party and
the country, adopted the Factory Bill for East Lon-
don, which had now, by the common consent of all
the workers upon it, passed into MaxwelPs hands.
The Bill rent the party in twain; but the Ministry
had the courage to go to the country with a pro-
gramme in which the Maxwell Bill held a promi-
nent place. Trade-unionism rallied to their support;
the forces both of reaction and of progress fought for
them, in strangely mingled ways ; and they were re-
turned with a sufficient, though not large, majority.
Lord Ardagh, the veteran leader of the party, became
Premier. Maxwell was made President of the Coun-
cil, while his old friend and associate, Henry Dowson,
became Home Secretary, and thereby responsible for
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SIB QEOBGE TRES8ADT 161
the conduct of the long-expected Bill through the
Commons.
When Maxwell came back to her on the afternoon
of his decisive interview with Lord Ardagh, she was
waiting for him in that same inner room where Tres-
sady paid his first visit. At the sound of her hus-
band's step outside, she sprang up, and they met
half-way, her hands clasped in his, against his breast,
her face looking up at him.
" Dear wife ! at last we have our chance — our real
chance," he said to her.
She clung to him, and there was a moment of high
emotion, in which thoughts of the past and of the dead
mingled with the natural ambition of two people in the
prime of life and power. Then Maxwell laughed and
drew a long breath.
" The eggs have been all put into my basket in the
most generous manner. We stand or fall by the Bill.
But it will be a hard fight. '*
And, in his acute, deliberate way, he began to sum
up the forces against him — to speculate on the action
of this group and that — Fontenoy's group first and
foremost.
Marcella listened, her beautiful hand pensive against
her cheek, her eyes on his. Half trembling, she real-
ised what failure, if after all failure should come,
would mean to him. Something infinitely tender and
maternal spoke in her, pledging her to the utmost help
that love and a woman could give.
Such for Maxwell and his wife had been the ante-
cedents of a memorable session.
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162 SIR GEORGE TRE8SADT
And now the session was here — was in full stream,
indeed, rushing towards the main battle still to come.
On the second night of Fontenoy's debate, Greorge
Tressady duly caught the Speaker's eye, and made a
very fair maiden speech, which earned him a good
deal more praise, both from his party and the press,
than he — in a disgusted mood — thought at all reason-
able. He had misplaced half his notes, and, in his
own opinion, made a mess of his main argument. He
remarked to Fontenoy afterwards that he had better
hang himself, and stalked home after the division
pleased with one thing only — that he had not al-
lowed Letty to come.
In reality he had done nothing to mar the reputa-
tion that was beginning to attach to him. Fontenoy
was content; and the scantiness of the majority by
which the Resolution was defeated served at once to
make the prospects of the Maxwell Bill, which was
to be brought in after Easter, more doubtful, and to
sharpen the temper of its foes.
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CHAPTER VIII
" Goodness ! — what an ugly place it is ! It wants
five thousand spent on it at once to make it toler-
able!"
The remark was Letty Tressady's. She was stand-
ing disconsolate on the lawn at Ferth, scanning the
old-fashioned house to which George had brought her
just five days before. They had been married a fort-
night, and were still to spend another week in the
country before going back to London and to Parlia-
ment. But already Letty had made up her mind that
Ferth must be rebuilt and refurnished, or she could
never endure it.
She threw herself down on a garden seat with a
sigh, still studying the house. It was a straight bar-
rack-like building, very high for its breadth, erected
early in the last century by an architect who, finding
that he was to be allowed but a very scanty sum for
his performance, determined with considerable strength
of mind to spend all that he had for decoration upon
the inside rather than the outside of his mansion.
Accordingly the inside had charm — though even so
much Letty could not now be got to confess ; panel-
lings, mantelpieces, and doorways showed the work of
a man of taste. But outside all that had been aimed
at was the provision of a central block of building
163
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154 SIR GEORGE TRE8SADY
carried up to a considerable height so as to give the
rooms demanded, while it economised in foundations
and general space; an outer wall pierced with the
plainest openings possible at regular intervals; a
high-pitched roof to keep out the rain, whereof the
original warm tiles had been long since replaced by
the chilliest Welsh slates ; and two low and disfigur-
ing wings which held the servants and the kitchens.
The stucco with which the house had been originally
covered had blackened under the influence of time,
weather, and the smoke from the Tressady coalpits.
Altogether, what with its pitchy colour, its mean
windows, its factory-like plainness and height, Ferth
Place had no doubt a cheerless and repellent air, which
was increased by its immediate surroundings. For it
stood on the very summit of a high hill, whereon the
trees were few and windbeaten; while the carriage
drives and the paths that climbed the hill were all
of them a coaly black. The flower garden behind the
house was small and neglected; neither shrubberies
nor kitchen garden, nor the small park, had any char-
acter or stateliness ; everything bore the stamp of by-
gone possessors who had been rich neither in money
nor in fancy; who had been quite content to live
small lives in a small way.
Ferth's new mistress thought bitterly of them, as
she sat looking at their handiwork. What could be
done with such a place ? How could she have Lon-
don people to stay there? Why, their very maids
would strike ! And, pray, what was a country house
worth, without the usual country-house amenities and
accessories ?
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SIB GEOBOE TBES8ADY 155
Yet she already began to feel fretted and hampered
about money. The inside of the house had been to
some extent renovated. She had helped George to
choose papers and curtains for the rooms that were
to be her special domain, while they were in London
together before Easter. But she knew that George
had at one time meant to do much more than had
actually been done; and he had been in a mood of
lover-like apology on the first day of their arrival.
" Darling, I had hoped to buy you a hundred pretty
things! — but times is bad — dreadful bad!'' he had
said to her with a laugh. " We will do it by degrees
— you won't mind ? "
Then she had tried to make him tell her why it was
that he had abandoned some of the schemes of im-
provement that had certainly been in his mind during
the first weeks of their engagement. But he had not
been very communicative, and had put the blame
mostly, as she understood him, on the " beastly pits "
and the very low dividends they had been earning
during the past six months.
Letty, however, did not in the least believe that the
comparatively pinched state of their finances, which,
bride as she was, she was already brooding over, was
wholly or even mainly due to the pits. She set her
little white teeth in sudden anger as she said to her-
self that it was not the pits — it was Lady Tressady !
George was crippled now because of the large sums
his mother had not been ashamed to wring from him
during the last six months. Letty — George's wife
— was to go without comforts and conveniences,
without the means of seeing her friends and taking
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156 SIB GEORGE TRE88ADT
her proper position in the world, because George's
mother — a ridiculous, painted old woman, who went
in for flirtations and French gowns, when she ought
to be subsiding quietly into caps and Bath chairs —
would sponge upon his very moderate income, and
take what did not belong to her.
"I am certain there is something in the back-
ground ! " said Letty to herself, as she sat looking at
the ugly house — " something that she is ashamed of,
and that she doesn't tell George. She couldn't spend
all that money on dress ! I believe she is a wicked old
woman — she has the most extraordinary creatures at
her parties."
The girl's delicate face stiffened vindictively as she
fell brooding for the hundredth time over Lady Tres-
sady's enormities.
Then suddenly the garden door opened, and Letty,
looking up, saw that George was on the threshold,
waving his hand to her. He had left her that morn-
ing — almost for the first time since their marriage —
to go and see his principal agent and discuss the posi-
tion of affairs.
As he approached her, she noticed instantly that he
was looking tired and ruffled. But the sight of her
smoothed his brow. He threw himself down on the
grass at her feet, and pressed his lips to the delicately
tended hand that lay upon her lap.
" Have you missed me, madame ? " he said, peremp-
torily.
Preoccupied as she was, Letty must needs flush and
smile, so well she knew from his eager eye that she
pleased him, that he noticed the pretty gown she had
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SIR GEORGE TRESS A DT 157
put on for luncheon, and that all the petting his ab-
sence had withdrawn from her for an hour or two had
come back to her. Other women — more or less of
her type — had found his ways beguiling before now.
He took courtship as an art, and had his own rooted
ideas as to how women should be treated. Neither
too gingerly nor too sentimentally — but, above all,
with variety !
He repeated his question insistently; whereupon
Letty said, with her pert brightness, thinking all the
time of the house, "I^m not going to make you vain.
Besides, I have been frightfully busy."
" You're not going to make me vain ? But I choose
to be vain. I'll go away for the whole afternoon if
I'm not made vain this instant. Ah! that's better.
Do you know that you have the softest little curl on
your soft little neck, and that your hair has caught
the sun on it this morning ? "
Letty instinctively put up a hand to tuck away
the curl. But he seized the hand. " Little vandal ! —
What have you been busy with ? "
"Oh! I have been over the house with Mrs.
Matthews," said Letty, in another tone. "George,
it's dreadful — the number of things that want do-
ing. Do you know, positively, we could not put
up more than two couples, if we tried ever so.
And as for the state of the attics! Now do lis-
ten, George ! "
And, holding his hand tight in her eagerness, she
went through a vehement catalogue of all that was
wanted — new furniture, new decoration, new grates,
a new hot-water system, the raising of the wings, and
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158 SIB GEORGE TBE88ADY
SO on to the alteration of the stables and the replan-
ning of the garden. She had no sooner begun upon
her list than George's look of worry returned. He
got up from the grass, and sat on the bench beside
her.
"Well, I'm sorry you dislike the place so much,''
he said, when her breath failed her, staring rather
gloomily at his despised mansion. "Of course, it's
quite true — it is an ugly hole. But the worst of it
is, darling, I don't quite see how we're to do all this
you talk about. I don't bring any good news from
the pits, alas ! "
He turned quickly towards her. The thought
flashed through his mind — could he be justly charged
with having married her on false pretences as to his
affairs? No! There had been no misrepresentation
of his income or his risks. Everything had been
plainly and honestly stated to her father, and there-
fore to her. Tor Letty knew all that she wanted to
know, and had managed her family since she was a
baby.
Letty flushed at his last words.
"Do you mean to say," she said with emphasis,
"that those men are really going to strike?"
"I am afraid so. We must enforce a reduction,
to avoid working at sheer loss, and the men vow
they'll come out."
"They want you to make them a present of the
mines, I suppose! " said Letty, bitterly. "Why, the
tales I hear of their extravagance and laziness! Mrs.
Matthews says they'll have none but the best cuts of
meat, that they all of them have an harmonium or a
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SIB GEORGE TRESSADT 169
piano in the house, that their houses are stuffed with
furniture — and the amount of money they spend in
betting on their dogs and their football matches is
perfectly sickening. And now, I suppose they'll
ruin themselves and us, rather than allow you to
make a decent profit!"
"That's about it," said George, flinging himself
back on the bench. "That's about it."
There was a pause of silence. The eyes of both
were turned to the colliery village far below, at the
foot of the hill. From this high stretch of garden
one looked across the valley and its straggling line
of houses, to the pits on the further hillside,
the straight black line of the "bank," the pulley
wheels, and tall chimneys against the sky. To the
left, along the ascending valley, similar chimneys
and " banks " were scattered at long intervals, while
to the right the valley dipped in sharp wooded undu-
lations to a blue plain bounded by far Welsh hills.
The immediate neighbourhood of Ferth, for a coal
country, had a woodland charm and wildness which
often surprised a stranger. There were untouched
copses, and little rivers and fern-covered hills, which
still held their own against the ever-encroaching
mounds of "spoil" thrown out by the mines. Only
the villages were invariably ugly. They were the
modern creations of the coal, and had therefore no
history and no originality. Their monotonous rows
of red cottages were like fragments from some dingy
town suburb, and the brick meeting-houses in which
they abounded did nothing to abate the general
unloveliness.
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160 8IB GEORGE TRE88ADY
This view from the Ferth hill was one which had
great familiarity for Tressady, and yet no charm.
As a boy he had had no love for his home and very
few acquaintances in the village. His mother hated
the place and the people. She had been married very
young — for the sake of money and position — to his
dull old father, who nevertheless managed to keep
his flighty wife in order by dint of a dumb, continu-
ous stubbornness and tyranny, which would have over-
borne a stronger nature than Lady Tressady's, She
was always struggling to get away from Ferth ; he to
keep her tied there. He was never at ease away from
his estate and his pits ; she felt herself ten years
yoimger as soon as she had lost sight of the grim
black house on its hilltop.
And this one opinion of hers she was able to im-
press upon her son — Greorge, too, was always glad to
turn his back on Ferth and its people. The colliers
seemed to him a brutal crew, given over to coarse
sports, coarse pleasures, and an odious religion. As
to their supposed grievances and hardships, his inti-
mate conviction as a boy had always been that the
miner got the utmost both out of his employers and
out of society that he was worth.
"Upon my word, I often think,'' he said at last,
his inward reverie finding speech, "I often think it
was a great pity my grandfather discovered the coal
at all! In the long run I believe we should have
done better without it. We should not at any rate
have been bound up with these hordes, with whom
you can no more reason than with so many blocks of
th6ir own coalP'
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY 161
Letty made no answer. She had turned back
towards the house. Suddenly she said, with an en-
ergy that startled him,
"George, what are we to do with that place? It
gives me a nightmare. The extraordinary thing is
the way that everything in it has gone to ruin.
Did your mother really live here while you were
away?"
George's expression darkened.
"I always used to suppose she was here," he said.
"That was our bargain. But I begin to believe now
that she was mostly in London. One can't wonder at
it — she always hated the place."
"Of course she was in London! " thought Letty to
herself, "spending piles of money, running shame-
fully into debt, and letting the house go to pieces.
Why, the linen hasn't been darned for years ! "
Aloud she said:
" Mrs. Matthews says a charwoman and a little girl
from the village used to be left alone in the house for
months, to play any sort of games, with nobody to
look after them — nobody — while you were away I"
George looked at his wife — and then would only
slip his arm round her for answer.
"Darling! you don't know how I've been worried
all the morning — don't let's make worry at home.
After all it is rather nice to be here together, isn't
it? — and we shall do — we sha'n't starve! Perhaps
we shall pull through with the pits after all — it is
difficult to believe the men will make such fools of
themselves — and — well ! you know my angel mother
<}a^'t always be swooping upon us as she has done
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162 SIR OEOBGE TBE88ADY
lately. Let's just be patient a little — very likely I
can sell a few bits of land before long that will give
us some money in hand — and then this small person
shall bedizen herself and the house as much as she
pleases. And meanwhile, madame ma femme, let me
point out to you that your George never professed to
be anything but a very bad match for you! "
Letty remembered all his facts and figures per-
fectly. Only somehow she had regarded them with
the optimism natural to a girl who is determined to
be married. She had promptly forgotten the adverse
chances he had insisted upon, and she had converted
all his averages into minima. No, she could not say
she had not been warned; but nevertheless the result
promised to be quite different from what she had
expected.
However, with her husband's arm round her, it was
not easy to maintain her ill-humour, and she yielded.
They wandered on into the wood which fringed the
hill on its further side, she coquetting, he courting
and flattering her in a hundred ways. Her soft new
dress, her dainty lightness and freshness, made har-
mony in his senses with the April day, the building
rooks, the breaths of sudden perfume from field and
wood, the delicate green that was creeping over the
copses, softening all the edges of the black scars left
by the pits. The bridal illusion returned. George
eagerly — hungrily — gave himself up to it. And
Letty, though conscious all the while of a restless
feeling at the back of her mind that they were losing
time, must needs submit.
However, when the luncheon gong had sounded and
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SIB GEORGE TRESS ADT 163
they were strolling back to the house, he bethought
himself, knit his brows again, and said to her:
" Do you know, darling, Dalling told me this morn-
ing '' — Dalling was the Tressadys' principal agent —
" that he thought it would be a good thing if we could
make friends with some of the people here? The
Union are not — or were not — quite so strong in this
valley as they are in some other parts. That's why
that fellow Bewick — confound him ! — has come to
live here of late. It might be possible to make some
of the more intelligent fellows hear reason. My
uncles have always managed the thing with a very
high hand — very natural ! — the men are a set of
rough, ungrateful brutes, who talk impossible stuff,
and never remember anything that's done for them —
but after all, if one has to make a living out of them,
one may as well learn how to drive them, and what
they want to be at. Suppose you come and show
yourself in the village this afternoon?"
Letty looked extremely doubtful.
" I really don't get on very well with poor people,
George. It's very dreadful, I know, but there ! — I'm
not Lady Maxwell — and I can't help it. Of course,
with the poor people at home in our own cottages it's
different — they always curtsy and are very respectful
— but Mrs. Matthews says the people here are so in-
dependent, and think nothing of being rude to you if
they don't like you."
George laughed.
" Go and call upon them in that dress and see ! I'll
eat my hat if anybody's rude. Beside, I shall be
there to protect you. We won't go, of course, to any
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164 SIR GEORGE TRE8SADT
of the strong Union people. But there are two or
three — an old nurse of mine I really used to be
rather fond of — and a fireman that's a good sort —
and one or two others. I believe it would amuse
you."
Letty was quite certain that it would not amuse her
at all. However, she assented unwillingly, and they,
went in to lunch.
So in the afternoon the husband and wife sallied
forth. Letty felt that she was being taken through
an ordeal, and that George was rather foolish to wish
it. However, she did her best to be cheerful, and to
please George she still wore the pretty Paris frock of
the morning, though it seemed to her absurd to be
trailing it through a village street with only colliers
and their wives to look at it.
"What ill luck,'' said George, suddenly, as they
descended their own hill, "that that fellow Bewick
should have settled down here, in one's very pocket,
like this!"
"Yes, you had enough of him at Malford, didn't
you? " said Letty. " I don't yet understand how he
comes to be here."
George explained that about the preceding Christ-
mas there had been, temporarily, strong signs of
decline in the Union strength of the Ferth district.
A great many miners had quietly seceded; one of the
periodical waves of suspicion as to funds and manage-
ment to which all trade unions are liable had swept
over the neighbourhood ; and wholesale desertion from
the Union standard seemed likely. In hot haste the
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SIB GEORGE TRESSADT 165
Central Committee sent down Bewick as organising
agent. The good fight he had made against Tressady
at the Market Malford election had given him pres-
tige; and he had both presence and speaking power.
He had been four months at Ferth, speaking all over
the district, and now, instead of leaving the Union,
the men had been crowding into it, and were just as
hot — so it was said — for a trial of strength with the
masters as their comrades in other parts of the county.
"And before Bewick has done with us, I should
say he'll have cost the masters in this district hun-
dreds of thousands. I call him dear at the money ! ''
said George, finally, with a dismal cheerfulness.
He was really full of Bewick, and of the general
news of the district which his agent had been that
morning pouring into his ear. But he had done his
best not to talk about either at luncheon. Letty had
a curious way of making the bearer of unpleasant tid-
ings feel that it was somehow all his own fault that
^ things should be so ; and George, even in this dawn
of marriage, was beginning, half consciously, to rec-
ognise two or three such peculiarities of hers.
" What I cannot understand," said Letty, vigorously,
" is why such people as Mr. Bewick are allowed to go
about making the mischief he does."
George laughed, but nevertheless repressed a sudden
feeling of irritation. The inept remark of a pretty
woman generally only amused him. But this Bewick
matter was beginning to touch him home.
" You see we happen to be a free country," he said
drily, "and Bewick and his like happen to be run-
ning us just now. Maxwell & Co. ai-e in the shafts —
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166 SIB GEORGE TSE88ADT
Bewick sits up aloft and whips on the team. The
extraordinary thing is that nothing personal makes
any difference. The people here know perfectly well
that Bewick drinks — that the woman he lives with
is not his wife — "
"George!" cried Letty, "how can you say such
dreadful things!''
"Sorry, my darling! but the world is not a nice
place. He picked her up somehow — they say she
was a commercial traveller's wife — left on his hands
at a country inn. Anyway she's not divorced, and
the husband's alive. She looks like a walking skele-
ton, and is probably going to die. Nevertheless they
say Bewick adores her. And as for my resentments
— don't be shocked — I'm inclined to like Bewick
all the better for that little affair. But then I'm not
pious, like the people here. However, they don't
mind — and they don't mind the drink — and they
believe he spends their money on magnificent dinners
at hotels — and they don't mind that. They don't
mini anything — they shout themselves hoarse when-
ever Bewick speaks — they're as proud as Punch if
he shakes hands with them — and then they tell the
most gruesome tales of him behind his back, and like
him all the better, apparently, for being a scoundrel.
Queer but true. Well, here we are — now, darling,
you may expect to be stared at ! "
For they had entered on the village street, and
Ferth Magna, by some quick freemasonry, had be-
come suddenly conscious of the bride and bridegroom.
Here and there a begrimed man in his shirt-sleeves
would open his front door cautiously and look at
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SIB GEORGE TRESSADT 167
them; the children and womenkind stood boldly on
the doorsteps and stared j while the people in the
little shops ran back into the street, parcels and bas-
kets in hand. The men working the morning shift
had just come back from the pits, and their wives
were preparing to wash their blackened lords, before
the whole family sat down to tea. But both tea and
ablutions were forgotten, so long as the owner of
Ferth Place and the new Lady Tressady were in
sight. The village eyes took note of everything; of
the young man's immaculate serge suit and tan waist-
coat, his thin, bronzed face and fair moustache ; of the
bride's grey gown, the knot of airy pink at her throat,
the coils of bright brown hair on which her hat was
set, and the buckles on her pretty shoes; Then the
village retreated within doors again; and each house
buzzed and gossiped its fill. There had been a cer-
tain amount of not very cordial response to George's
salutations; but to Letty's thinking the women had
eyed her with an unpleasant and rather hostile bold-
ness.
"Mary Batchelor's house is down here," said
George, turning into a side lane, not without a feel-
ing of relief. "I hope we sha'n't find her out — no,
there she is. You can't call these people affection-
ate, can you?"
They were close on a group of three brick cottages
all close together. Their doors were all open. In
one cottage a stout collier's wife was toiling through
her wash. At the door of another the sewing-machine
agent was waiting for his weekly paymeut; while on
the threshold of the third stood an elderly tottering
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168 SIR GEORGE TRESSADY
woman shading her eyes from the light as she tried
to make out the features of the approaching couple.
"Why, Mary!" said Greorge, "you haven't forgot-
ten me? I have brought my wife to see you."
And he held out his hand with a boyish kindness.
The old woman looked at them both in a bewildered
way. Her face, with its long chin and powerful nose,
was blanched and drawn, her grey hair straggling
from under her worn black-ribboned cap; and her
black dress had a neglected air, which drew George's
attention. Mary Batchelor, so long as he remem-
bered her, whether as his old nurse, or in later days
as the Bible-woman of the village, had always been
remarkable for a peculiar dignity and neatness.
"Mary, is there anything wrong?" he asked her,
holding her hand.
"Coom yer ways in," said the old woman, grasping
his arm, and taking no notice of Letty. " He's gone
— he'll not f reeten nobody — he wor here three days
afore they buried him. I could no let him go — but
it's three weeks now sen they put him away."
"Why, Mary, what is it? Not James! — not your
son!" said George, letting her guide him into the
cottage.
"Aye, it's James — it's my son," she repeated
drearily. "Will yer be takkin a cheer — an per-
haps " — she looked round uncertainly, first at Letty,
then at the wet floor where she had been feebly scrub-
bing — "perhaps the leddy ull be sittin down. I'm
nobbut in a muddle. But I don't seem to get forard
wi my work a momins — not sen they put im away."
And she dropped into a chair herself, with a long
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SIR GEORGE TRESSADY 169
sigh — forgetting her visitors apparently — her large
and bony hands, scarred with their life's work, lying
along her knees.
George stood beside her silent a moment.
" I hardly like to say I hadn't heard," he said at
last, gently. "You'll think I otight to have heard.
But I didn't know. I have been in town and very
busy."
"Aye," said Mary, without looking up, "aye, an
yer've been gettin married. I knew as yer didn't
mean nothin onkind."
Then she stopped again — till suddenly, with a fur-
tive gesture, she raised her apron, and drew it across
her eyes, which had the look of perennial tears.
On the other side of the cottage meanwhile a boy
of about fourteen was sitting. He had just done his
afternoon's wash, and was resting himself by the
fire, enjoying a thumbed football almanac. He had
not risen when the visitors entered, and while his
grandmother was speaking his lips still moved dumbly,
as he went on adding up the football scores. He was
a sickly, rather repulsive lad with a callous expression.
" Let me wait outside, George," said Letty, hurriedly.
Some instinct in her shrank from the poor mother
and her story. But George begged her to stay, and
she sat down nervously by the door, trying to protect
her pretty skirt from the wet boards.
"Will you tell me how it was ? " said George, sitting
down himself in front of the bowed mother, and bend-
ing towards her. " Was it in the pit ? Jamie wasn't
one of our men, I know. Wasn't it for Mr. Morrison
he worked ? "
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170 SIR GEORGE TRESSADT
Mrs. Batchelor made a sign of assent. Then she
raised her head quickly, and a flash of some passion-
ate convulsion passed through her face.
"It wor John Burgess as done it/' she said, staring
at George. " It wor him as took the boy's life. But
he's gone himsel — so theer — I'll not say no more.
It wor Jamie's first week o hewin — he'd been a
loader this three year, an taken a turn at the hewin
now an again — an five weeks sen John Burgess —
he wor butty for Mr. Morrison, yer know, in the
Owd Pit — took him on, an the lad wor arnin six an
sixpence a day. An he wor that pleased yo cud see
it shinin out ov im. And it wor on the Tuesday as he
went on the afternoon shift. I saw im go, an he wor
down'earted. An I fell a cryin as he went up the
street, for I knew why he wor down'eai*ted, an I asked
the Lord to elp him. And about six o'clock they come
runnin — an they towd me there'd bin an accident, an
they wor bringin im — an he wor alive — an I must
bear up. They'd found him kneelin in hip place with
his arm up, an the pick in it — just as the blast had
took him — An his poor back — oh! my God —
scorched off him — scorched off himJ*
A shudder ran through her. But she recovered her-
self and went on, still gazing intently at Tressady, her
gaunt hand raised as though for attention.
"An they braat him in, an they laid him on that
settle" — she pointed to the bench by the fire — "an
the doctors didn't interfere — there wor no wt to do —
they left me alone wi un. But he come to, a minute
after they laid im down — an I ses, ' Jamie, ow did it
appen ' an he ses, * Mother, it wor John Burgess — ee
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SIB GEORGE TBE88ADT 171
opened my lamp for to light hissen as had gone out —
an I don't know no more.' An then after a bit he ses,
'Mother, don't you fret — I'm glad I'm goin — I'd got
the drink in me,' he ses. An then he give two three
little breaths, as though he wor pantin — an I kiss him."
She stopped, her face working, her trembling hands
pressed hard against each other on her knee. Letty
felt the tears leap to her eyes in a rush that startled
herself.
" An he would a bin twenty-one year old, come next
August — an alius a lad as yer couldn't help gettin
fond on — not sen he were a little un. An when he
wor layin there, I ses to myself, 'He's the third as
the coal-gettin ha took from me.' An I minded my
feyther an uncle — how they was braat home both
togither, when I wor nobbut thirteen years old — not
a scar on em, nobbut a little blood on my feyther's
forehead — but stone dead, both on em — from the
afterdamp. Theer was thirty-six men killed in that
explosion — an I recolleck how old Mr. Morrison —
Mr. Walter's father — sent the cofl&ns round — an how
the men went on because they warn't good ones. Not
a man would go down the pit till they was changed —
if a man got the life choked out of im, they thowt
the least the masters could do was to give un a dacent
cofiin to lie in. But theer — nobody helped me wi
Jamie — I buried him mysel — an it wor aU o the
best."
She dried her eyes again, sighing plaintively.
George said what kind and consoling things he could
think of. Mary Batchelor put up her hand and
touched him on the arm as he leant over her.
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172 SIR GEORGE TRESS AD Y
" Aye, I knew yo'd be sorry — an yor wife — "
She turned feebly towards Letty, trying with her
blurred and tear-dimmed sight to make out what Sir
George's bride might be like. She looked for a mo-
ment at the small, elegant person in the comer, —
at the sheaf of nodding rosebuds on the hat — the
bracelets — the pink cheeks under the dainty veil, —
looked with a curious aloofness, as though from a
great distance. Then, evidently, another thought
struck her like a lash. She ceased to see or think of
Letty. Her grip tightened on George's arm.
" An I'm alius thinkin," she said, with a passionate
sob, "of that what he said about the drink. He'd
alius bin a sober lad, till this lasst winter it did
seem as though he cudna keep hisself from it — it kep
creepin on im — an several times lately he'd broke
out very bad, pay-days — an he knew I'd been f rettin.
And who was ter blame — I ast yo, or onybody — who
was it ter blame ? "
Her voice rose to a kind of cry.
" His f eyther died ov it, and his grandf eyther afore
that. His grandfeyther wor found dead i the road-
side, after they'd made him blind-drunk at owd
Morse's public-house, where the butty wor reckonin
with im an his mates. But he'd never ha gone near
the drink if they'd hadn't druv him to't, for he wasn't
inclined that way. But the butty as gave him work
kep the public, an if yer didn't drink, yer didn't get
no work. You must drink yoursel sick o Saturdays,
or theer'd be no work for you o Mondays. * Noa, yer
can sit at ome,' they'd say to un, ' ef yer so damned
pertickler.' I ast yor pardon, sir, for the bad word.
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SIB GEORGE TRESS ABY 178
but that's ow they'd say it. I've often heerd owd
John say as he'd a been glad to ha given the butty back
a shillin ov is pay to be let off the drink. An Willum,
that's my usband, he wor alius at it too — an the
doctor towd me one day, as Willum lay a^iyin, as it
ran in the blood — an Jamie heard im — I know he
did — for I f oun im on the stairs — listenin."
She paused again, lost in a mist of incoherent mem-
ories, the tears falling slowly.
After a minute's silence, George said — not indeed
knowing what to say — "We're very sorry for you,
Mary — my wife and I — we wish we could do any-
thing to help you. I am afraid it can't make any
difference* to you — T expect it makes it all the worse
— to think that accidents are so much fewer — that
so much has been done. And yet times are mended,
aren't they ? "
Mary made no answer.
George sat looking at her, conscious, as he seldom
was, of raw youth and unreadiness — conscious, too,
of Letty's presence in a strange, hindering way — as
of something that both blunted emotion and made one
rather ashamed to show it.
He could only pursue the lame topic of improve-
ment, of changed times. The disappearance of old
abuses, of " butties " and " tommy-shops " ; the greater
care for life ; the accident laws ; the inspectors. He
found himself growing eloquent at last, yet all the
time regarding himself, as it were, from a distance —
ironically.
Mary Batchelor listened to him for a while, her
head bent with something of the submission of the
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174 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
old servant, till something he said roused again the
quick shudder, the look of anguished protest.
" Aye, I dessay it's aw reet, Mr. George — I dessay
it is — what yer say. The inspectors is very cliver —
an the wages is paid proper. But theer — say what
yer will ! IVe a son on the railway out Lichfield way
— an he's alius taakin about is long hours — they're
killing im, he says — an I alius ses to im, * Yer may
jest thank the Lord, Harry, as yer not in the pits.'
He never gets no pity out o me. An soomtimes I
wakes in the morning, an I thinks o the men, cropin
away in the dark — down theer — under me and my
bed — for they do say the pits now runs right under
Ferth village — an I think to mysel — how Jong will
it be before yo poor fellers is laying like my Jim ?
Yer may be reet about the accidents, Mr. George —
but I knoWf ef yer wor to go fro house to house i this
village — it would be like tis in the Bible — I've often
thowt o them words — * Theer was not a house — no,
nary one ! — where there was not one dead,^ "
She hung her head again, muttering to herself.
George made out with dif&culty that she was going
through one phantom scene after another — of burn-
ing, wounds, and sudden death. One or two of the
phrases — of the fragmentary details that dropped
out without name or place — made his flesh creep.
He was afraid lest Letty should hear them, and was
just putting out his hand for his hat, when Mrs.
Batchelor gripped his arm again. Her face — so
white and large-featured — had the gleam of some-
thing like a miserable smile upon it.
" Aye, an the men theirsels ud say jest as you do.
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT 175
' Lor, Mrs. Batchelor/ they'd say, ^ why, the pits is as
safe as a church ' — an they'd laff — Jamie ud laff at
me times. But it's the women, Mr. George, as knows
— it's the women that ave to wash the bodies."
A great trembling ran through her again. George
instinctively rose, and motioned to Letty to go. She
too rose, but she did not go. She stood by the door,
her wide grey eyes fixed with a kind of fascination
on the speaker ; while behind her a ring of children
could be seen in the street, staring at the pretty lady.
Mary Batchelor saw nothing but Tressady, whom
she was still holding by the arm — looking up to him.
"Aye, but I didna disturb my Jamie, yer know.
Noa ! — I left im i the owd coat they'd thrown over
im i the pit — I dursn't ha touched is back. Noa, I
dursnH. But I made his shroud mysen, an I put it
ower his poor workin clothes, an I washed his face,
an is hands an feet — an then I kissed him, an I said,
'Jamie, yo mun go an tell the Lord as yo ha done your
best, an He ha dealt hardly by you ! — an that's the
treuth — He ha dealt hardly by yer ! ' "
She gave a loud sob, and bowed her head on her
hands a moment. Then, pushing back her grey locks
from her face, she rose, struggling for composure.
"Aye, aye, Mr. George — aye, aye, I'll not keep yer
no longer."
But as she took his hand, she added passionately :
"An I towd the vicar I couldn't be Bible-woman
no more. Theer's somethin broken in me sen Jamie
died. I must keep things to mysen — I ain't got
nuthin good to say to others — I'm alius grievin at
the Lord. Good-bye to yer — good-bye to yer."
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176 8IB GEORGE TRE88ADT
Her voice had grown absent, indifferent. But when
George asked her, just as they were leaving the cot-
tage, who was the boy sitting by the fire, her face
darkened. She came hurriedly to the door with them,
and said in George's ear :
"He's my darter's child — my darter by my first
usband. His feyther an mother are gone, an he come
up from West Bromwich to live wi me. But he isn't
no comfort to me. He don't take no notice of any-
body. He set like that, with his football, when Jamie
lay a-dyin. I'd as lief be shut on him. But theer —
I've got to put up wi im."
Letty meanwhile had approached the boy and looked
at him curiously.
" Do you work in the pits too ? " she asked him.
The boy stared at her.
" Yes," he said.
"Do you like it?"
He gave a rough laugh.
"I reckon yo've got to like it," he said. And turn-
ing his back on his questioner, he went back to his
almanac.
" Don't let us do any more visiting," said George,
impatiently, as they emerged into the main street.
"I'm out of love with the village. We*'ll do our
blandishments another day. Let's go a little further
up the valley and get away from the houses."
Letty assented, and they walked along the village,
she looking curiously into the open doors of the
houses, by way of return for the inquisitive attention
once more lavished upon herself and George.
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY 177
"The houses are quite comfortable," she said
presently. " And I looked into Mrs. Batchelor's back
room while you were talking. It was just as Mrs.
Matthews said — such good carpets and curtains, two
chests of drawers, and an harmonium — and pictures
— and flowers in the windows. George! what are'
^butties'?"
" ' Butties ' are sub-contractors," he said absently —
"men who contract with the pit-owners to get the
coal, either on a large or a small scale — now mostly
on a small scale. They engage and pay the colliers
in some pits, in others the owners deal direct."
" And what is a ^ tommy-shop ' ? "
"^ Tommy' is the local word for ' truck ' — paying
in kind instead of in money. You see, the butties and
the owners between them used to own the public-houses
and the provision-shops, and the amount of coin of the
realm the men got in wages in the bad old times was
infinitesimal. They were expected to drink the butty's
beer, and consume the butty's provisions — at the
butty's prices, of course — and the butty kept the ac-
counts. Oh ! it was an abomination ! but of course it
was done away with long ago."
" Of course it was ! " said Letty, indignantly. " They
never remember what's done for them. Did you see
what excellent teas there were laid out in some of the
houses — and those girls with their hats smothered in
feathers ? Why, I should never dream of wearing so
many ! "
She was once more her quick, shrewd self. All trace
of the tears that had surprised her while Mary
Batchelor was describing her son's death had passed
VOL. I — N
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178 8IB GEORGE TEE88ADT
away. Her half-malicious eyes glanced to right and
left, peering into the secrets of the village.
"And these are the people that talk of starving!"
she said to George, scornfully, as they emerged into
the open road. " Why, anyone can see — ''
• George, suddenly returned from a reverie, under-
stood what she was saying, and remarked, with an
odd look :
"You think their houses aren't so bad? One is
always a little surprised — don't you think ? — when
the poor are comfortable ? One takes it as something
to one's own credit — I detect it in myseK scores of
times. Well ! — one seems to say — they could have
done without it — one might have kept it for oneseK
— what a fine generous fellow I am ! "
He laughed.
" I didn't mean that at all," said Letty, protesting.
"Didn't you? Well, after all, darling — you see,
you don't have to live in those houses, nice as they
are — and you don't have to do your own scrubbing.
Ferth may be a vile hole, but I suppose you could put
a score of these houses inside it — and I'm a pauper,
but I can provide you with two housemaids. I say,
why do you walk so far away from me ? "
And in spite of her resistance, he took her hand,
put it through his arm, and held it there.
" Look at me, darling, " he said imperiously. " How
can anyone spy upon us with these trees and high
walls? I want to see how pretty and fresh you look
— I want to forget that poor thing and her tale. Do
you know that somewhere — far down in me — there's
a sort of black pool — and when anything stirs it up
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SIR GEORGE TBE88ADY 179
— for the moment I want to hang myself — the world
seems such an awful place! It got stirred up just
now — not while she was talking — but just as I
looked back at that miserable old soul, standing at
her door. She used to be such a jolly old thing —
always happy in her Bible — and in Jamie, T suppose
— quite sure that she was going to a nice heaven, and
would only have to wait a little bit, till Jamie got
there too. She seemed to know all about the Al-
mighty's plans for herself and everybody else. Her
drunken husband was dead; my father left her a bit
of money, so did an old uncle, I believe. She'd
gossip and pray and preach with anybody. And now
she'll weep and pine like that till she dies — and she
isn't sure even about heaven any more — and instead
of Jamie, she's got that oafish lad, that changeling,
hung round her neck — to kick her and ill-treat her
in another year or two. Well ! and do you ever think
that something like that has got to happen to all of
us — something hideous — some torture — something
that'll make us wish we'd never been born? Dar-
ling, am I a mad sort of a fool? Stop here — in the
shade — give me a kiss ! "
And he made her pause at a shady corner in the
road, between two oak copses on either hand — a
river babbling at the foot of one of them. He put
his arm round her, and stooping kissed her red lips
with a kind of covetous passion. Then, still holding
her, he looked out from the trees to the upper valley
with its scattered villages, its chimneys and engine-
houses.
"It struck me — what she said of the men under
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180 SIB GEORGE TRESSADT
our feet. They ^ re at it now, Letty, hewing and
sweating. Why are they there, and you and I here?
I'm precious glad, aren't you? But I'm not going to
make believe that there's no difference. Don't let's
be hypocrites, whatever we are."
Letty was perplexed and a little troubled. He had
only shown her this excitability once before — on that
odd uncomfortable night when he made her sit with
him on the Embankment. Whenever it came it
seemed to upset her dominant impression of him.
But yet it excited her too — it appealed to some-
thing undeveloped — some yearning, protecting in-
stinct which was new to her.
She suddenly put up her hand and touched his hair.
" You talk so oddly, George. I think sometimes "
— she laughed with a pretty gaiety — "you'll go
bodily over to Lady Maxwell and her 'set ' some day! "
George made a contemptuous sound.
"May the Lord preserve us from quacks," he said
lightly. "One had better be a hypocrite. Look,
little woman, there is a shower coming. Shall we
turn home?"
They walked home, chatting and laughing. At
their own front door the butler handed George a
telegram. He opened it and read:
" Must come down to consult you on important busi-
ness — shall arrive at Ferth about 9.30. — Amelia
Tressady."
Letty, who was looking over George's shoulder,
gave a little cry of dismay.
Then, to avoid the butler's eyes and ears, they
turned hurriedly into George's smoking-room which
opened off the hall, and shut the door.
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY 181
" George ! she has come to get more money out of
you!" cried Letty, anger and annoyance written in
every line of her little frowning face.
" Well, darling, she can't get blood out of a stone I "
said George, crushing the telegram in his hand and
throwing it away. "It is a little too bad of my
mother, I think, to spoil our honeymoon time like
this. However, it can't be helped. Will you tell
them to get her room ready?"
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CHAPTER IX
" NoW; my dear George ! I do think I may claim at
least that you should remember I am your mother ! " —
the speaker raised a fan from her knee, and used it
with some vehemence. " Of course I can't help seeing
that you don't treat me as you ought to do. I don't
want to complain of Letty — I daresay she was taken
by surprise — but all I can say as to her reception of
me last night is, that it wasn't pretty — that's all ; it
wasn't pretty. My room felt like an ice-house — Jus-
tine tells me nobody has slept there for months — and
no fire until just the moment I arrived; and — and no
flowers on the dressing-table — no little attentions^ in
fact. I can only say it was not what I am accustomed
to. My feelings overcame me ; that poor dear Justine
will tell you what a state she found me in. She cried
herself, to see me so upset."
Lady Tressady was sitting upright on the straight-
backed sofa of George's smoking-room. George, who
was walking up and down the room, thought, with
discomfort, as he glanced at her from time to time,
that she looked curiously old and dishevelled. She
had thrown a piece of white lace round her head,
in place of the more elaborate preparation for the
world's gaze that she was wont to make. Her dress
— a study in purples — had been a marvel, but was
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SIR GEORGE TRESSADY 183
now old, and even tattered; the ruffles at her wrist
were tumbled; and the pencilling under her still
fine eyes had been neglected. George, between his
wife's dumb anger and his mother's folly, had passed
through disagreeable times already since Lady Tres-
sady's arrival, and was now once more endeavouring
to get to the bottom of her affairs.
" You forget, mother," he said, in answer to Lady
Tressady's complaint, "that the house is not mounted
for visitors, and that you gave us very short notice."
Nevertheless he winced inwardly as he spoke at the
thought of Letty's behaviour the night before.
Lady Tressady bridled.
" We will not discuss it, if you please," she said, •
with an attempt at dignity. " I should have thought
that you and Letty might have known I should not
have broken in on your honeymoon without most
pressing reasons. George ! " — her voice trembled, she
put her lace handkerchief to her eyes — "I am an
unfortunate and miserable woman, and if you — my
own darling son — don't come to my rescue, I — I
don't know what I may be driven to do ! "
George took the remark calmly, having probably
heard it before. He went on walking up and down.
" It's no good, mother, dealing in generalities, I am
afraid. You promised me this morning to come to
business. If you will kindly tell me at once what is
the matter, and what is the figure, I shall be obliged
to you."
Lady Tressady hesitated, the lace on her breast flut-
tering. Then, in desperation, she confessed herself^
first reluctantly, then in a torrent.
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184 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
During the last two years, then, she said, she had
been trying her luck for the first time in — well, in
speculation !
"Speculation!'' said George, looking at her in
amazement. "In what?"
Lady Tressady tried again to preserve her dignity.
She had been investing, she said — trying to increase
her income on the Stock Exchange. She had done it
quite as much for George's sake as her own, that she
might improve her position a little, and be less of a bur-
den upon him. Everybody did it ! Several of her best
women-friends were as clever at it as any man, and often
doubled their allowances for the year. She, of course,
had done it under the best advice. George knew that
she had friends in the City who would do anything —
positively anything — for her. But somehow —
Then her tone dropped. Her foot in its French shoe
began to fidget on the stool before her.
Somehow, she had got into the hands of a reptile —
there ! No other word described the creature in the
least — a sort of financial agent, who had treated her
unspeakably, disgracefully. She had trusted him im-
plicitly, and the result was that she now owed the
reptile who, on the strength of her name, her son, and
her aristocratic connections, had advanced her money
for these adventures, a sum —
" Well, the truth is I am afraid to say what it is,"
said Lady Tressady, allowing herself for once a cry of
nature, and again raising a shaky hand to her eyes.
"How much?" said George, standing over her,
cigarette in hand.
"Well — four thousand pounds!" said Lady Tres-
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SIB GEORGE TRESSADT 185
sady, her eyes blinking involuntarily as she looked up
at him.
^^ Four thoiisand pounds I" exclaimed George. "Pre-
posterous ! "
And, raising his hand, he flung his cigarette violently
into the fire and resumed his walk, hands thrust into*
his pockets.
Lady Tressady looked tearfully at his long, slim
figure as he walked away, conscious, however, even at
this agitated moment, of the quick thought that he had
inherited some of her elegance.
"George!"
" Yes — wait a moment — mother '' — he faced round
upon her decidedly. " Let me tell you at once, that at
the present moment it is quite impossible for me to
find that sum of money.''
Lady Tressady flushed passionately like a thwarted
child.
"Very well, then," she said — " very well. Then it
will be bankruptcy — and I hope you and Letty will
like the scandal!"
" So he threatens bankruptcy ? "
" Do you think I should have come down here ex-
cept for something like that ? " she cried. " Look at
his letters ! "
And she took a tumbled roll out of the bag on her
arm and gave it to him. George threw himself into
a chair, and tried to get some idea of the correspond-
ence; while Lady Tressady kept up a stream of
plaintive chatter he could only endeavour not to
hear.
As far as he could judge on a first inspection, the
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186 ^^^ GEORGE TRE88ADY
papers concerned a long series of risky transactions,
— financial gambling of the most pronounced sort, —
whereof the few gains had been long since buried
deep in scandalous losses. The outrageous folly of
some of the ventures and the magnitude of the sums
involved made him curse inwardly. It was the first
escapade of the kind he could remember in his
mother's history, and, given her character, he could
only regard it as adding a new and real danger to his
life and Letty's.
Then another consideration struck him.
"How on earth did you come to know so much
about the ins and outs of Stock Exchange business,"
he asked her suddenly, with surprise, in the midst of
his reading. "You never confided in me. I never
supposed you took an interest in such things.''
In truth, he would have supposed her mentally in-
capable of the kind of gambling finance these papers
bore witness of. She had never been known to do
a sum or present an account correctly in her life ; and
he had often, in his own mind, accepted her density
in these directions as a certain excuse for her debts.
Yet this correspondence showed here and there a
degree of financial legerdemain of which any City
swindler might have been proud — so far, at least, as
he could judge from his hasty survey.
Lady Tressady drew herself up sharply in answer
to his remark, though not without a flutter of the
eyelids which caught his attention.
"Of course, my dear George, I always knew you
thought your mother a fool. As a matter of fact, all
my friends tell me that I have a very clear head."
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SIR QEOBGE TBEiiSADY 187
George could not restrain himself from laughing
aloud.
"In face of this?" he said, holding up the final
batch of letters, which contained Mr. Shapetsky's
last formidable account; various imperious missives
from a "sharp-practice" solicitor, whose name hap-
pened to be disreputably known to George Tressady ;
together with repeated and most explicit assurances
on the part both of agent and lawyer, that if arrange-
ments were not made at once by Lady Tressady for
meeting at least half Mr. Shapetsky's bill — which
had now been running some eighteen months — and
securing the other half, legal steps would be taken
immediately.
Lady Tressady at first met her son's sarcasm in
angry silence, then broke into shrill denunciation of
Shapetsky's "villanies." How could decent people,
people in society, protect themselves against such
creatures !
George walked to the window, and stood looking
out into the April garden. Presently he turned, and
interrupted his mother.
"I notice, mother, that these transactions have
been going on for nearly two years. Do you remem-
ber, when I gave you that large sum at Christmas,
you said it would 'all but' clear you; and when I
gave you another large simi last month, you professed
to be entirely cleared? Yet all the time you were re-
ceiving these letters, and you owed this fellow almost
as much as you do now. Do you think it was worth
while to mislead me in that way ? "
He stood leaning against the window, his fingers
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188 SIR GEORGE TRESS ADY
drumming on the sill. The contrast between the
youth of the figure and the absence of youth in face
and voice was curious. Perhaps Lady Tressady felt
vaguely that he looked like a boy and spoke like a
master, for her pride rose.
"You have no right to speak to me like that,
George! I did everything for the best. I always
do everything for the best. It is my misfortune to
be so — so confiding, so hopeful. I must always
believe in someone — that's what makes my friends
so extremely fond of me. You and your poor darling
father were never the least like me — '' And she
went off into a tearful comparison between her own
character and the characters of her husband and son
— in which of course it was not she that suffered.
George did not heed her. He was once more star-
ing out of window, thinking hard. So far as he could
see, the money, or the greater part of it, would have
to be found. The man, of course, was a scoundrel, but
of the sort that keeps within the law ; and Lady Tres-
sady's monstrous folly had given him an easy prey.
When he thought of the many sacrifices he had made
for his mother, of her ample allowance, her incorrigible
vanity and greed — and then of the natural desires of
his young wife — his heart burned within him.
"Well, I can only tell you,'' he said at last, turning
round upon her, " that I see no way out. How is that
man's claim to be met? I don't know. Even if I
coiiM meet it — which I see no chance of doing — by
crippling myself for some time, how should I be at
liberty to do it ? My wife and her needs have now
the first claim upon me.'*
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SIR GEORGE TRESS ADT 189
" Very well," said Lady Tressady, proudly, raising
her handkerchief, however, to hide her trembling lips.
" Let me remind you," he continued^ ceremoniously,
" that the whole of this place is in bad condition, except
the few rooms we have just done up, and that money
must be spent upon it — it is only fair to Letty that it
should be spent. Let me remind you also, that you
are a good deal responsible for this state of things."
Lady Tressady moved uneasily. George was now
speaking in his usual half-nonchalant tone, and he had
provided himself with another cigarette. But his eye
held her.
"You will remember that you promised me while
I was abroad to live here and look after the house. I
arranged money affairs with you, and other affairs,
upon that basis. But it appears that during the four
years I was away you were here altogether, at different
times, about three months. Yet you made me believe
you were here ; if I remember right, you dated your
letters from here. And of course, in four years, an
old house that is totally neglected goes to the bad."
" Who has been telling you such falsehoods ? " cried
Lady Tressady. " I was here a great deal more than
that — a great deal more ! "
But the scarlet colour, do what she would, was dye-
ing her still delicate skin, and her eyes alternately
obstinate and shuflEling, tried to take themselves out
of the range of George's.
As for George, as he stood there coolly smoking, he
was struck — or, rather, the critical mind in him was
struck — by a sudden perception of the meanness of
aspect which sordid cares of the kind his mother was
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190 SIR GEORGE TRESS AD Y
now plunged in can give to the human face. He felt
the rise of a familiar disgust. How many scenes of
ugly battle over money matters could he not remem-
ber in his boyhood between his father and mother!
And later — in India — what things he had known
women do for money or dress! He thought scorn-
fully of a certain intriguing lady of his acquaintance
at Madras — who had borrowed money of him — to
whom he had given ball-dresses; and of another,
whose selfish extravagance had ruined one of the best
of men. Did all women tend to be of this make, how-
ever poetic might be their outward seeming ?
Aloud, he said quietly, in answer to his mothier's
protest :
"I think you will find that is about accurate. I
mention it merely to show you how it is that I find
myself now plunged in so many expenses. And, now,
doesn't it strike you as a little hard that I should be
called upon to strip and cripple myself still further —
not to give my wife the comforts and conveniences I
long to give her, but to pay such debts as those ? "
Involuntarily he struck his hand on the papers
lying in the chair where he had been sitting.
Lady Tressady, too, rose from her seat.
" George, if you are going to be violent towards your
mother, I had better go," she said, with an attempt at
dignity. "I suppose Letty has been gossiping with
her servants about me. Oh ! I knew what to expect ! "
cried Lady Tressady, gathering up fan and handker-
chief from the sofa behind her with a hand that shook.
" I always said from the beginning that she would set
you against me ! She has never treated me as — as a
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT 191
daughter — never! And that is my weakness — I
must be cared for — I must be treated with — with
tenderness."
" I wouldn't give way, mother, if I were you,'' said
George, quite unmoved by the show of tears. "I
think, if you will reflect upon it, that it is Letty and
I who have the most cause to give way. If you will
allow me, I will go and have a talk with her. I be-
lieve she is sitting in the garden."
His mother turned sullenly away from him, and he
left the room.
As he passed through the long oak-panelled hall that
led to the garden, he was seized with an odd sense of
pity for himself. This odious scene behind him, and
now this wrestle with Letty that must be gone through
— were these the joys of the honeymoon ?
Letty was not in the garden. But as he passed
into the wood on the farther side of the hill he
saw her sitting under a tree halfway down the slope,
with some embroidery in her hand. The April sun
was shining into the wood. A larch beyond Letty
was already green, and the twigs of the oak beneath
which she sat made a reddish glow in the bright
air. Patches of primroses and anemones starred the
ground about her, and trails of periwinkle touched
her dress. She was stooping, and her little hand
went rapidly — impatiently — to and fro.
The contrast between this fresh youth amid the
spring and that unlovely, reluctant age he had just
left behind him in the smoking-room struck him
sharply. His brow cleared.
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192 SIR GEORGE TRESSADT
As she heard his step she looked round eagerly.
" Well ? " she said, pushing aside her work.
He threw himself down beside her.
"Darling, I have had my talk. It is pretty bad
— worse than we had even imagined!"
Then he told her his mother's story. She could
hardly contain herself, as she listened, as he men-
tioned the total figure of the debts. It was evi-
dently with difficulty that she prevented herself
from interrupting him at every word. And when he
had barely finished she broke out :
" And what did you say ? ''
George hesitated.
" I told her, of course, that it was monstrous and
absurd to expect that we could pay such a sum."
Letty's breath came fast. His voice and manner
did not satisfy her at all.
"Monstrous? I should think it was! Do you
know how she has run up this debt?"
George looked at her in surprise. Her little face
was quivering under the suppressed energy of what
she was going to say.
"No!— do you?"
"Yes! — I know all about it. I said to my maid
last night — I hope, George, you won't mind, but you
know Grier has been an age with me, and knows all
my secrets — ^^I told her she must make friends with
your mother's maid, and see what she could find out.
I felt we must, in self-defence. And of course Grier
got it all out of Justine. I knew she would ! Jus-
tine is a little fool; and she doesn't mean to stay
much longer with Lady Tressady, so she didn't mind
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SIB GEORGE TBE88ADT 193
speaking. It is exactly as I supposed! Lady Tres-
sady didn't begin speculating for herself at all —
but for — somebody — else! Do you remember that
absurd-looking singer who gave a * musical sketch'
one day that your mother gave a party in Eccleston
Square — in February ? "
She looked at him with eagerness, an ugly, half-
shrinking innuendo in her expression.
George had suddenly moved away, and was sitting
now some little distance from his wife, his eyes bent
on the ground. However, at her question he made
a sign of assent.
"You do remember? Well," said Letty, trium-
phantly, "it is he who is at the bottom of it all. I
knew there must be somebody. It appears that he
has been getting money out of her for years — that
he used to come and spend hours, when she had that
little house in Bruton Street, when you were away —
I don't believe you ever heard of it — flattering her,
and toadying her, paying her compliments on her
dress and her appearance, fetching and carrying for
her — and of course living upon her ! He used to ar-
range all her parties. Justine says that he used even
to make her order all his favourite wines — such bills
as there used to be for wine ! He has a wife and chil-
dren somewhere, and of course the whole family lived
upon your mother. It was he made her begin specu-
lating. Justine says he has lost all he ever had
himself that way, and your mother couldn't, in fact,
*Zend' him" — Letty laughed scornfully — "money
fast enough. It was he brought her across that
odious creature Shapetsky — isn't that his name ?
VOL/ I — O
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194 SIB C^EORGE TRE88ADT
And that's the whole story. If there have been any
gains, he has made off with them — leaving her, of
course, to get out of the rest. Justine says that for
months there was nothing but business, as she calls
it, talked in the house — and she knew, for she used
to help wait at dinner. And such a crew of people as
used to be about the place ! "
She looked at him, struck at last by his silence and
his attitude, or pausing for some comment, some appre-
ciation of her cleverness in ferreting it all out.
But he did not speak, and she was puzzled. The
angry triumph in her eyes faltered. She put out her
hand and touched him on the arm.
"What is it, George? I thought — it would be
more satisfactory to us both to know the truth.''
He looked up quickly.
" And all this your maid got out of Justine ? You
asked her ? "
She was struck, offended, by his expression. It was
so*cool and strange — even, she could have imagined,
contemptuous.
" Yes, I did," she said passionately. " I thought I
was quite justified. We must protect ourselves."
He was silent again.
" I think," he said at last, drily, she watching him —
" I think we will keep Justine and Grier out of it, if
you please."
She took her work, and laid it down again, her
mouth trembling.
" So you had rather be deceived ? "
" I had rather be deceived than listen behind doors,**
he said, beginning in a light tone, which, however.
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SIR GEORGE TRESS ADT 195
passed immediately into one of bitterness. " Besides,
there is nothing new. For people like my mother
there is always some adventurer or adventuress in the
background — there always used to be in old days.
She never meant any serious harm; she was first
plundered, then we. My father used to be for ever
turning some impostor or other out of doors. Now I
suppose it is my turn."
This time it was Letty who kept silence. Her
needle passed rapidly to and fro. George glanced at
her queerly. Then he rose and came to stand near
her, leaning against the tree.
"You know, Letty, we shall have to pay that
money," he said suddenly, pulling at his moustache.
Letty made an exclamation under her breath, but
went on working faster than before.
He slipped down to the moss beside her, and caught
her hand.
" Are you angry with me ? "
"If you insult me by accusing me of listening
behind doors you can't wonder," said Letty, snatching
her hand away, her breast heaving.
He felt a bitter inclination to laugh, buf he re-
strained it, and did his best to make peace. In the
midst of his propitiations Letty turned upon him.
" Of course, I know you think I did it all for selfish-
ness," she said, half crying, "because I want new
furniture and new dresses. I don't ; I want to protect
you from being — being — plundered like this. How
can you do what you ought as a member of Parliament ?
how can we ever keep ourselves out of debt if — if — ?
How can you pay this money ? " she wound up, her
eyes flaming.
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196 SIR GEORGE TRE8SADT
" Well, you know," he said, hesitating — " you know
I suggested yesterday we should sell some land to do
up the house. I am afraid we must sell the land, and
pay this scoundrel — a proportion, at all events. Of
course, what I should like to do would be to put him —
and the other — to instant death, with appropriate
tortures ! Short of that, I can only take the matter
out of my mother's hands, get a sharp solicitor on my
side to match his rascal, and make the best bargain
I can."
Letty rolled up her work with energy, two tears of
■anger on her cheeks. " She otight to suffer ! " she cried,
her voice trembling — " she oiight to suffer ! "
" You mean that we ought to let her be made a bank-
rupt ? " he said coolly. " Well, no doubt it would be
salutary. Only, I am afraid it would be rather more
disagreeable to us than to her. Suppose we consider
the situation. Two young married people — charming
house — charming wife — husband just beginning in
politics — people inclined to be friends. Then you go
to dine with them in Brook Street — excellent little
French dinner — bride bewitching. Next morning you
see the bankruptcy of the host's mamma in the
* Times.' 'And he's the only son, isn't he? — he
must be well off. They say she's been dreadfully
extravagant. But, hang it ! you know, a man's mother !
— and a widow — no, I can't stand that. Sha'n't dine
with them again ! ' There ! do you see, darling ? Do
you really want to rub all the bloom off the peach ? "
He had hardly finished his little speech before the
odiousness of it struck himself.
" Am I come to talking to her like this 9 " he asked
himself in a kind of astonishment.
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SIR GEORGE TRESSADT 197
But Letty, apparently, was not astonished.
"Everybody would understand if you refused to
ruin yourself by going on paying these frightful debts.
I am sure something could be done/' she said, half
choked.
Greorge shook his head.
" But everybody wouldn't want to understand. The
dear world loves a scandal — doesn't really like being
amiable to newcomers at all. You would make a bad
start, dear — and all the world would pity mamma."
" Oh ! if you are only thinking what people would
say," cried Letty.
"No," said George, reflectively, but with a mild
change of tone. " Damn people 1 I can pull myself
to pieces so much better than they can. You see, dar-
ling, you're such an optimist. Now, if you'd only just
believe, as I do, that the world is a radically bad place,
you wouldn't be so surprised when things of this sort
happen. Eh, little person, has it been a radically bad
place this last fortnight ? "
He laid his cheek against her shoulder, rubbing it
gently up and down. But something hard and scorn-
ful lay behind his caress — something he did not mean
to inquire into.
"Then you told your mother," said Letty, after a
pause, still looking straight before her, "that you
would clear her ? "
" Not at all. I said we could do nothing. I laid it
on about the house. And all the time I knew per-
fectly well in my protesting soul, that if this man's
claim is sustainable we should have to pay up. And
I imagine that mamma knew it too. You can get out
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198 SIR GEORGE TRESS ADT
of anybody's debts but your mother's — that's appar-
ently what it comes to. Queer thing, civilisation!
Well now'' — he sprang to his feet — "let's go and
get it over."
Letty also rose.
" I can't see her again," she said quickly. '^I sha'n't
come down to lunch. Will she go by the three-o'clock
train ? "
" I will arrange it," said George.
They walked through the wood together silently.
As they came in sight of the house Letty's face
quivered again with restrained passion — or tears.
George, whose sangfroid was never disturbed out-
wardly for long, had by now resigned himself, and
had, moreover, recovered that tolerance of woman's
various weaknesses which was in him the fruit of a
wide, and at bottom hostile, induction. He set him-
self to cheer her up. Perhaps, after all, if he could
sell a particular piece of land which he owned near a
neighbouring large town, and sell it well, — he had
had offers for it before, — he might be able to clear his
mother, and still let Letty work her will on the house.
She mustn't take a gloomy view of things — he would
do his best. So that by the time they got into the
drawing-room she had let her hand slip doubtfully
into his again for a moment.
But nothing would induce her to appear at lunch.
Lady Tressady, having handed over all Shapetsky's
papers and all her responsibilities to George, grar
ciously told him that she could understand Letty's
annoyance, and didn't wish for a moment to intrude
upon her. She then called on Justine to curl her
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY 199
hair, put on a blue shot silk with marvellous pink
fronts just arrived from Paris, and came down to
lunch with her son in her most smiling mood. She
took no notice of his monosyllables, and in the hall,
while the butler discreetly retired, she kissed him
with tears, saying that she had always known his
generosity would come to the rescue of his poor
darling mamma.
" You will oblige me, mother, by not trying it again
too soon," was George's ironical reply as he put her
into the carriage.
In the afternoon Letty was languid and depressed.
She would not talk on general topics, and George
shrank in nervous disgust from reopening the subjects
of the morning. Finally, she chose to be tucked up
on the sofa with a novel, and gave George free leave
to go out.
It surprised him to find as he walked quickly down
the hill, delighting in the April sun, that he was glad
to be alone. But he did not in the least try to fling
the thought away from him, as many a lover would
have done. The events, the feelings of the day, had
been alike jarring and hateful f he meant to escape
from them.
But he could not escape from them all at once. A
fresh and unexpected debt of somewhere about four
thousand pounds does not sit lightly on a compara-
tively poor man. In spite of his philosophy for
Letty's benefit, he must needs harass himself anew
about his money affairs, planning and reckoning.
How many more such surprises would his mother
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200 SIR GEORGE TRES8ADY
spring upon him — and how was he to control her?
He realised now something of the life-long burden
his dull old father had borne — a burden which the
absences of school, college, and travel had hitherto
spared himself. What was he to appeal to in her ?
There seemed to be nothing — neither will nor con-
science. She was like the women without backs in
the fairy-tale.
Then, with one breath he said to himself that he
must kick out that singer-fellow, and with the next,
that he would not touch any of his mother's crew
with a barge-pole. Though he never pleaded ideals
in public, he had been all his life something of a
moral epicure, taking "moral" as relating rather to
manners than to deeper things. He had done his best
not to soil himself by contact with certain types —
among men especially. Of women he was less critical
and less observant.
As to this ugly feud opening between his mother
and his wife, it had quite ceased to amuse him. Now
that his marriage was a reality, the daily corrosion of
such a thing was becoming plain. And who was there
in the world to bear the brunt of it but he ? He saw
himself between the two — eternally trying to make
peace — and his face lengthened.
And if Letty would only leave the thing to him ! —
would only keep her little white self out of it ! He
wished he could get her to send away that woman
Grier — a forward second-rate creature, much too
ready to meddle in what did not concern her.
Then, with a shake of his thin shoulders, he pas-
sionately drove it all out of his thoughts.
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY 201
Let him go to the village, sound the feeling there if
he could, and do his employer's business. His troubles
as a pit-owner seemed likely to be bad enough, but
they did not canker one like domestic miseries. They
were a man's natural affairs; to think of them came
as a relief to him.
He had but a disappointing round, however.
In the first place he went to look up some of the
older "hewers," men who had been for years in the
employ of the Tressadys. Two or three of them had
just come back from the early shift, and their wives,
at any rate, were pleased and flattered by George's
call. But the men sat like stocks and stones while he
talked. Scarcely a word could be got out of them,
and George felt himself in an atmosphere of storm,
guessing at dangers, everywhere present, though not
yet let loose — like the foul gases in the pits under
his feet.
He behaved with a good deal of dignity, stifling his
pride here and there sufficiently to talk simply and
well of the general state of trade, the conditions of
the coal industry in the West Mercian district, the
position of the masters, the published accounts of one
or two large companies in the district, and so on. But
in the end he only felt his own anger rising in answer
to the sullenness of the men. Their sallow faces and
eyes weakened by long years of the pit expressed
little — but what there was spelt war.
Kor did his visits to what might be called his own
side give him much more satisfaction.
One man, a brawny "fireman," whom George had
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202 SIR OEOROE TRE88ADY
been long taught to regard as one of the props of law
and order in the district, was effusively and honestly
glad to see his employer. His wife hurried the tea,
and George drank and ate as heartily as his own
luncheon would let him in company with Macgregor
and his very neat and smiling family. Nothing could
be more satisfactory than Macgregor's general denun-
ciations of the Union and its agent. Bewick, in his
opinion, was a "drunken, low-livin scoundrel," who
got his bread by making mischief; the Union was
entering upon a great mistake in resisting the masters'
proposals; and if it weren't for the public-house and
idleness there wasn't a man in Ferth that couldn't
live wdl, ten per cent, reduction and all considered.
Nevertheless, he did not conceal his belief that battle
was approaching, and would break out, if not now, at
any rate in the late summer or autumn. Times, too,
were going to be specially bad for the non-society
men. The membership of the Union had been run-
ning up fast; there had been a row that very morning
at the pit where he worked, the Union men refusing
to go down in the same cage with the blacklegs. He
and his mates would have to put their backs into it.
Never fear but they would ! Bullying might be trusted
only to make them the more " orkard."
Nothing could have been more soothing than such
talk to the average employer in search of congenial
opinions. But George was not the average employer,
and the fastidious element in him began soon to make
him uncomfortable. Sobriety is, no doubt, admirable,
but he had no sooner detected a teetotal cant in his
companion than that particular axiom ceased to matter
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SIR GEORGE TRESSADT 208
to him. And to think poorly of Bewick might be a
salutary feature in a man's character, but it should be
for some respectable reason. George fidgeted on his
chair while Macgregor told the usual cock-and-bull
stories of monstrous hotel-bills seen sticking out of
Bewick's tail-pockets, and there deciphered by a gap-
ing populace; and his mental discomfort reached its
climax when Macgregor wound up with the remark :
"And thaty Sir George, is where the money goes
to! — not to the poor starving women and children,
I can tell yer, whose husbands are keepin him in
luxury. I've always said it. Whereas the accounts?
I've never seen no balance-sheet — never!'' he re-
peated solemnly. " They do say as there's one to be
seen at the 4odge' — "
"Why, of course there is, Macgregor," said George,
with a nervous laugh, as he got up to depart; "all the
big Unions publish their accounts."
The fireman's obstinate mouth and stubbly hair only
expressed a more pronounced scepticism.
" Well, I shouldn't believe in em," he said, " if they
did. I've niver seen a balance-sheet, and I don't sup-
pose I ever shall. Well, good-bye to you. Sir George,
and thank you kindly. Yo take my word, sir, if it
weren't for the public-house the men could afford to
lose a trifle now and again to let the masters make
their fair profit ! "
And he looked behind him complacently at his neat
cottage and well-clothed children.
But George walked away, impatient.
" His wages won't go down, anyway," he said to him-
self — for the wages of the "firemen," whose work
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204 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY
is of the nature of superintendence, hardly vary with
the state of trade. " And what suspicious idiocy about
the accounts ! "
His last visit was the least fortunate of any. The
fireman in question, Mark Dowse, Macgregor's chief
rival in the village, was a keen Radical, and George
found him chuckling over his newspaper, and the de-
feat of the Tory candidate in a recently decided County
Council election. He received his visitor with a sur-
prise which George thought not untinged with inso-
lence. Some political talk followed, in which Dowse's
Yorkshire wit scored more than once at his employer's
expense. Dowse, indeed, let himself go. He was on
the point of taking the examination for an under-man-
ager's certificate and leaving the valley. Hence there
were no strong reasons for servility, and he might talk
as he pleased to a young " swell " who had sold him-
self to reaction. George lost his temper somewhat,
was furiously ashamed of himself, and could only
think of getting out of the man's company with
dignity.
He was by no means clear, however, as he walked
away from the cottage, that he had succeeded in doing
so. What was the good of trying to make friends with
these fellows ? Neither in agreement nor in opposition
had he any common ground with them. Other people
might have the gifts for managing them; it seemed
to him that it would be better for him to take up the
line at once that he had none. Fontenoy was right.
Nothing but a state of enmity was possible — veiled
enmity at some times, open at others.
What were those voices on the slope above him ?
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SIR GEORGE TRESS ADT 205
He was walking along a road which skirted his
own group of pits. To his left rose a long slope of
refuse, partly grown over, ending in the "bank"
whereon stood the engine-house and winding-appa-
ratus. A pathway climbed the slope and made the
natural ascent to the pit for people dwelling in the
scattered cottages on the farther side of it.
Two men, he saw, were standing high up on the
pathway, violently disputing. One was Madan, his
own manager, an excellent man of business and a
bitter Tory. The other was Valentine Bewick.
As Tressady neared the road-entrance to the path-
way the two men parted. Madan climbed on towards
the pit. Bewick ran down the path.
As he approached the gate, and saw Tressady pass-
ing on the road, the agent called :
" Sir George Tressady ! "
George stopped.
Bewick came quickly up to him, his face crimson.
" Is it by your orders, Sir George, that Mr. Madan
insults and browbeats me when he meets me on a
perfectly harmless errand to one of the men in your
engine-house ? "
" Perhaps Mr. Madan was not so sure as you were,
Mr. Bewick, that the errand was a harmless one,"
said George, with a cool smile.
By this time, however, Bewick was biting his lip,
and very conscious that he had made an impulsive
mistake.
"Don't imagine for a moment," he said hotly, "that
Madan's opinion of anything I may be doing matters
one brass farthing to me ! Only I give you and him
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206 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY
fair warning that if he blackguards me again in the
way he has done several times lately, I shall have
him bound over/'
"He might survive it," said George. "But how
will you manage it ? You have had ill-luck, rather,
with the magistrates — haven't you ? "
He stood drawn up to his full height, thin, venom-
ous, alert, rather enjoying the encounter, which " let
off the steam " of his previous irritations.
Bewick threw him a furious look.
"You think that a damaging thing to say, do you,
Sir George? Perhaps the day will come — not so
far off, neither — when the magistrates will be no
longer your creatures, but ours. Then we shall see ! "
" Well, prophecy is cheap," said George. " Console
yourself with it, by all means."
The two men measured each other eye to eye.
Then, unexpectedly, after the relief of his outburst,
the philosopher's instincts which were so oddly inter-
woven with the rest of Tressady's nature reasserted
themselves.
" Look here," he said, in another manner, advancing
a step. "I think this is all great nonsense. If
Madan has exceeded his duty, I will see to it. And,
meanwhile, don't you think it would be more worthy
of us, as a couple of rational beings, if, now we have
met, we had a few serious words on the state of things
in this valley ? You and I fought a square fight at
Malf ord — you at least said as much. Why can't we
fight a square fight here ? "
Bewick eyed him doubtfully. He was leaning on
his stick, recovering breath and composure. George
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SIB GEORGE TRE88ADY 207
noticed that since the Malf ord election, even he had
lost youth and looks. He had the drunkard's skin
and the drunkard's eyes. Yet there were still the
make and proportions of the handsome athlete. He
was now a man of about thirty-two ; but in his first
youth he had carried the miner's pick for some four
or five years, and during the same period had been
one of the most famous football-players of the county.
As George knew, he was still the idol of the local
clubs, and capable in his sober spells of amazing feats
both of strength and endurance.
"Well, I have no objection to some conversation
with you," said Bewick, at last, slowly.
" Let's walk on, then," said George.
And they walked past the gate of Ferth, towards
the railway-station, which was some two miles off.
About an hour later the two men returned along the
same road. Both had an air of tension; both were
rather pale.
" Well, it comes to this," said George, as he stopped
beside his own gate, "you believe our case — the bad-
ness of trade, the disappearance of profits, pressure of
contracts, and all the rest of it — and you still refuse
on your part to bear the smallest fraction of the bur-
den ? You will claim all you can get in good times
— you will give back nothing in bad ? "
"That is so," said Bewick, deliberately; "that is
so, precisely. We will take no risks; we give our
labour and in return the workman must live. Make
the consumer pay, or pay yourselves out of your good
years" — he turned imperceptibly towards the bar-
rack-like house on the hill. " We don't care a ha'porth
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208 8IR GEOBOE TRE88ADT
which it is! — only don't you come on the man who
risks his life, and works like a galley-slave five days
a week for a pittance of five-and-twenty shillings, or
thereabouts, to pay — for he wonH, He's tired of it.
Not till you starve him into it, at any rate ! "
George laughed.
" One of the best men in the village has been giving
me his opinion this afternoon that there isn't a man
in that place" — he pointed to it — "that couldn't
live, and live well — aye, and take the masters' terms
to-morrow — but for the drink ! "
His keen look ran over Bewick from head to foot.
"And I know who that is," said Bewick, with a
sneer. "Well, I can tell you what the rest of the
men in that place think, and it's this : that the man
in that village who doemH drink is a mean skunk,
who's betraying his own flesh and blood to the capi-
talists ! Oh ! you may preach at us till you're black
in the face, but drink we shall till we get the control of
our own labour. For, look here ! Directly we cease
to drink — directly we become good boys on your
precious terms — the standard of life falls, down come
wages, and you sweep off our beer-money to spend on
your champagne. Thank you. Sir George ! but we're
not such fools as we look — and that don't suit us!
Good-day to you."
And he haughtily touched his hat in response to
George's movement, and walked quickly away.
George slowly mounted his own hill. The cheq-
uered April day was declining, and the dipping sun
was flooding the western plain with quiet light.
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SIB GEORGE TRESS A BY 209
Rooks were circling round the hill, filling the air with
long-drawn sound. A cuckoo was calling on a tree
near at hand, and the evening was charged with spring
scents — scents of leaf and grass, of earth and rain.
Below, in an oak copse across the road, a stream
rushed ; and from a distance came the familiar rattle
and thud of the pits.
George stood still a moment under a ragged group
of Scotch firs — one of the few things at Ferth that
he loved — and gazed across the Cheshire border to
the distant lines of Welsh hills. The excitement of
his talk with Bewick was subsiding, leaving behind
it the obstinate resolve of the natural man. He
should tell his uncles there was nothing for it but to
fight it out. Some blood must be let; somebody must
be master.
What poor limited fools, after all, were the best of
the working men — how incapable of working out any
serious problem, of looking beyond their own noses
and the next meal ! Was he to spend his life in
chronic battle with them — a set of semi-civilised bar-
barians — his countrymen in nothing but the name?
And for what cause — to what cry? That he might
defend against the toilers of this wide valley a certain
elegant house in Brook Street, and find the means
to go on paying his mother's debts ? — such debts
as he carried the evidence of, at that moment, in his
pocket.
Suddenly there swept over his mind with pricking
force the thought of Mary Batchelor at her door, blind
with weeping and pain — of the poor boy, dead in his
prime. Did those two figures stand for the realities at
VOL, I — P
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210 8IB GEORGE TBE88ADT
the base of tMngs — the common labours, affections,
agonies, which uphold the world ?
His own life looked somehow poor and mean to
him as he turned back to it. The Socialist of course
— Bewick — would say that he and Letty and his
mother were merely living, and dressing, and enjoy-
ing themselves, paying butlers, and starting carriages
out of the labour and pain of others — that Jamie
Batchelor and his like risked and brutalised their
strong young lives that Lady Tressady and her like
might "jig and amble'' through theirs.
Pure ignorant fanaticism, no doubt ! But he was
not so ready as usual to shelter himself under the
big words of controversy. Fontenoy's favourite argu-
ments had momentarily no savour for a kind of moral
nausea.
" I begin to see it was a ' cursed spite ' that drove
me into the business at all," he said to himself, as he
stood under the trees.
What he was really suffering from was an impa-
tience of new conditions — perhaps surprise that he
was not more equal to them. Till his return home
— till now, almost — he had been an employer and a
coal-owner by proxy. Other people had worked for
him, had solved his problems for him. Then a tran-
sient impulse had driven him home — made him accept
Fontenoy's offer. — worse luck ! — at least, Letty apart !
The hopefulness and elation about himself, his new
activities, and his Parliamentary prospects, that had
been his predominant mood in London seemed to him
at this moment of depression mere folly. What he
really felt, he declared to himself, was a sort of
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY 211
cowardly shrinking from life and its tests — the rec-
ognition that at bottom he was a weakling, with-
out faiths, without true identity.
Then the quick thought-process, as it flowed on,
told him that there are two things that protect men
of his stamp from their own lack of moral stamina :
perpetual change of scene, that turns the world into
a spectacle — and love. He thought with hunger of
his travel-years ; holding away from him, as it were,
for a moment the thought of his marriage.
But only for a moment. It was but a few weeks
since a woman's life had given itself wholly into his
hands. He was still thrilling under the emotion and
astonishment of it. Tender, melting thoughts flowed
upon him. His little Letty ! Had he ever thought
her perfect, free from natural covetousness and weak-
nesses ? What folly ! He to ask for the grand style
in character !
He looked at his watch. How long he had left her!
Let him hurry, and make his peace.
However, just as he was turning, his attention was
caught by something that was passing on the opposite
hillside. The light from the west was shining full on
a white cottage with a sloping garden. The cottage
belonged to the Wesleyan minister of the place, and
had been rented by Bewick for the last six months.
And just as George was turning away he saw Bewick
come out of the door with a burden — a child, or a
woman little larger than a child — in his arms. He
carried her to an armchair which had been placed on
the little grass-plat. The figure was almost lost in
the chair, and sat motionless while Bewick brought
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212 SIR QBOnOB TRE8SADY
cushions and a stool. Then a baby came to play on
the grass, and Bewick hung over the back of the
chair, bending so as to talk to the person in it.
"Dying?" said George to himself. "Poor devil!
he must hate something."
He sped up the hill, and found Letty still on the
sofa and in the last pages of her novel. She did not
resent his absence apparently, — a freedom, so far,
from small exaction for which he inwardly thanked
her. Still, from the moment that she raised her eyes
as he came in, he saw that if she was not angry with
him for leaving her alone, her mind was still as sore
as ever against him and fortune on other accounts —
and his revived ardour drooped. He gave her an
account of his adventures, but she was neither in-
quiring nor sympathetic; and her manner all the
evening had a nervous dryness that took away the
pleasure of their tMe-drtMe, Any old friend of Letty's,
indeed, could hardly have failed to ask what had
become of that small tinkling charm of manner, that
girlish flippancy and repartee, that had counted for so
much in George's first impressions of her ? They were
no sooner engaged than it had begun to wane. Was
it like the bird or the flower, that adorns itself only
for the wooing time, and sinks into relative dinginess
when the mating effort is over ?
On this particular evening, indeed, she was really
absorbed half the time in gloomy thoughts of Lady
Tressady's behaviour and the poorness of her own
prospects. She lay on the sofa again after dinner —
her white slimness and bright hair showing delicately
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SIR OEOROE TRE8SADT 213
against the cushions — playing still with her novel,
while George read the newspapers. Sometimes she
glanced at him unsteadily, with a pinching of the lips.
But it was not her way to invite a scene.
Late at night he went up to his dressing-room.
As he entered it Letiy was talking to her maid. He
stopped involuntarily in the darkness of his own room,
and listened. What a contrast between this Letty and
the Letty of the drawing-room ! They were chattering
fast, discussing Lady Tressady, and Lady Tressady's
gowns, and Lady Tressady's affairs. What eagerness,
what malice, what feminine subtlety and acuteness !
After listening for a few seconds, it seemed to him as
though a score of new and Ugly lights had been thrown
alike upon his mother and on human nature. He stole
away again without revealing himself.
When he returned the room was nearly dark, and
Letty was lying high against her pillows, waiting for
him. Suddenly, after she had sent her maid away,
she had felt depressed and miserable, and had begun
to cry. And for some reason hardly clear to herself
she had lain pining for George's footstep. When he
came in she looked at him with eyes still wet, re-
proaching him gently for being late.
In the dim light, surrounded with lace and white-
ness, she was a pretty vision ; and George stood beside
her, responding and caressing.
But that black depth in his nature, of which he had
spoken to her — which he had married to forget — was,
none the less, all ruffled and vocal. For the first time
since Letty had consented to marry him he did not think
or say to himself, as he looked at her, that he was a
lucky man, and had done everything for the best.
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CHAPTER X
Thus, with the end of the honeymoon, whatever
hopes or illusions George Tressady had allowed him-
self in marrying, were already much bedimmed. His
love-dream had been meagre and ordinary enough.
But even so, it had not maintained itself.
Nevertheless, such impressions and emotions pass.
The iron fact of marriage outstays them, tends always
to modify, and, at first, to conquer them.
Upon the Tressadys' return to London, Letty, at
any rate, endeavoured to forget her great defeat of the
honeymoon in the excitement of furnishing the house
in Brook Street. Certainly there could be no question,
in spite of all her high speech to Miss TuUoch and
others, that in her first encounter with Lady Tressady,
Lady Tressady had won easily. Letty had forgotten
to reckon on the hard realities of the filial relation,
and could only think of them now, partly with exas-
peration, partly with despair.
Lady Tressady, however, was for the moment some-
what subdued, and on the return of the young people
to town she did her best to propitiate Letty. In
Letty's eyes, indeed, her offence was beyond repara-
tion. But, for the moment, there was outward amity
at least between them ; which for Letty meant chiefly
that she was conscious of making all her purchases
2U
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SIR OEOROE TRE88ADT 215
for the house and planning all her housekeeping
arrangements under a constant critical inspection;
and, moreover, that she was liable to find all her
afternoon-teas with particular friends, or those per-
sons of whom she wished to make particular friends,
broken up by the advent of the overdressed and be-
rouged lady, who first put the guests to flight, and
was then out of temper because they fled.
Meanwhile George found the Shapetsky matter ex-
tremely harassing. He put on a clever lawyer ; but
the Shapetsky would have scorned to be overmatched
by anybody else's abilities, and very little abatement
could be obtained. Moreover, the creditor's temper
had been roughened by a somewhat unfortunate letter
George had written in a hurry from Ferth, and he
showed every sign of carrying matters with as high a
hand as possible.
Meanwhile, George was discovering, like any other
landowner, how easy it is to talk of selling land, how
difB-Cult to sell it. The buyer who would once have
bought was not now forthcoming ; the few people who
nibbled were, naturally, thinking more of their own
purses than Tressady's; and George grew red with
indication over some of the offers submitted to him
by his country solicitor. With the payment of a first
large instalment to Shapetsky out of his ordinary ac-
count, he began to be really pressed for money, just
as the expenses of the Brook Street settling-in were at
their height. This pecuniary strain had a marked
effect upon him. It brought out certain features of
character which he no doubt inherited from his father.
Old Sir William had always shown a scrupulous and
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216 SIR GEOBQB TRF88ADT
petty temper in money matters. He could not increase
his possessions: for that he had apparently neither
brains nor judgment ; nor could he even protect him-
self from the more serious losses of business, for
George found heavy debts in existence — mortgages
on the pits and so forth — when he succeeded. But
as the head of a household Sir William showed ex-
traordinary tenacity and spirit in the defence of his
petty cash ; and the exasperating extravagance of the
wife whom, in a moment of infatuation, he had been
cajoled into marrying, intensified and embittered a
natural characteristic.
George so far resembled him that both at school and
college he had been a rather careful and abstemious
boy. Probably the spectacle of his mother's advent-
ures had revealed to him very early the humilia-
tions of the debtor. At any rate, during his four years
abroad he had never exceeded the modest yearly sum
he had reserved for himself on leaving England ; and
the frugality of his personal expenditure had counted
for something in the estimates formed of him during
his travels by competent persons.
Nevertheless, at this beginning of household life he
was still young and callow in all that concerned the
management of money ; and it had never occurred to
him that his somewhat uncertain income of about four
thousand a year would not be amply sufficient for any-
thing that he and Letty might need ; for housekeep-
ing, for children — if children came — for political
expenses, and even for those supplementary presents
to his mother which he had all along recognised as
inevitable. Now, however, what with the difficulty
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SIB GEORGE TBE88ADT 217
he found in settling the Shapetsky affair, what with
Letty's demands for the house, and his revived dread
of what his mother might be doing, together with his
overdrawn account and the position of his colliery
property, a secret fear of embarrassment and disaster
began to torment him, the offspring of a temperament
which had never perhaps possessed any real buoyancy.
Occasionally, under the stimulus of this fear, he
would leave the House of Commons on a Wednesday
or Saturday afternoon, walk to Warwick Square, and
appear precipitately in his mother's drawing-room, for
the purpose of examining the guests — or possible
harpies — who might be gathered there. He did his
best once or twice to dislodge the "singer-fellow'' — an
elderly gentleman with a flabby face and long hair,
who seemed to George to be equally boneless, physi-
cally and morally. Nevertheless, he was not to be
dislodged. The singer, indeed, treated the young
legislator with a mixture of deference and artistic
condescension, which was amusing or enraging as you
chose to take it. And once, when George attempted
very plain language with his mother. Lady Tressady
went into hysterics, and vowed that she would not be
parted from her friends, not even by the brutality of
young married people who had everything they wanted,
while she was a poor lone widow, whose life was not
worth living. The whole affair was, so to speak, sor-
didly innocent. Mr. ifullerton — such was the gentle-
man's name — wanted creature-comforts and occasional
loans ; Lady Tressady wanted company, compliments,
and "musical sketches" for her little tea-parties.
Mrs. Fullerton was as ready as her husband to supply
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218 SIB GEORGE TRE88ADY
the two former ; and even the children, a fair-haired,
lethargic crew, painfully like their boneless father in
Tressady's opinion, took their share in the general
exploitation of Tressady's mamma. Lady Tressady
meanwhile posed as the benefactor of genius in dis-
tress ; and vowed, moreover, that " poor dear Fullerton''
was in no way responsible for her recent misfortunes.
The "reptile," and the " reptile" only, was to blame.
After one of these skirmishes with his mother,
George, ruffled and disgusted, took his way home, to
find Letty eagerly engaged in choosing silk curtains
for the drawing-room.
" Oh ! how lucky ! " she cried, when she saw him.
" Now you can help me decide — siich a business ! "
And she led him into the drawing-room, where
lengths of pink and green brocade were pinned against
the wall in conspicuous places.
George admired, and gave his verdict in favour of a
particular green. Then he stooped to read the ticket
on the corner of the pattern, and his face fell.
" How much will you want of this stuff, Letty ? ''
he asked her.
" Oh ! for the two rooms, nearly fifty yards," said
Letty, carelessly, opening another bundle of patterns
as she spoke.
"It is twenty-six shillings a yard!" said George,
rather gloomily, as he fell, tired, into an armchair.
"Well, yes, it is dear. But then, it is so good that
it will last an age. I think I must have some of it
for the sofa, too," said Letty, pondering.
George made no reply.
Presently Letty looked up.
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT 219
" Why, George ? — George, what is the matter ?
Don't you want anything pretty for this room ? You
never take any interest in it at all."
"I'm only thinking, darling, what fortunes the
upholsterers must make," said George, his hands
pent-house over his eyes.
Letty pouted and flushed. The next minute she
came to sit on the edge of his chair. She was dressed
-^rather overdressed, perhaps — in a pale blue dress
whereof the inventive ruffles and laces pleased her
own critical mind extremely. George, well accus-
tomed by now to the items in his mother's bills, felt
uncomfortably, as he looked at the elegance beside
him, that it was a question of guineas — many guineas.
Then he hated himself for not simply admiring her —
his pretty little bride — in her new finery. What was
wrong with him ? This beastly money had put every-
thing awry !
Letty guessed shrewdly at what was the matter.
She bit her lip, and looked ready to cry.
"Well, it is hard," she said, in a low, emphatic
voice, " that we can't please ourselves in a few trifles
of this sort — when one thinks why ! "
George took her hand, and kissed it affectionately.
"Darling, only just for a little — till I get out of
this brute's clutches. There are such pretty, cheap
things nowadays — aren't there ? "
"Oh! if you want to have a South Kensington
drawing-room," said Letty, indignantly, "with four-
penny muslin curtains and art pots, you can do that
for nothing. But I'd rather go back to horsehair and
a mahogany table in the middle at once I "
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220 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
"You needn^t wear ^ greenery-yallery ' gowns, you
know," said George, laughing ; " that^s the one unpar-
donable thing. Though, if you did wear them, you'd
become them."
And he held her at arm's length that he might prop-
erly admire her new dress.
Letty, however, was not to be flattered out of her
lawful dues in the matter of curtains — that Lady
Tressady's debts might be paid the sooner. She threw
herself into a long wrestle with George, half angry,
half plaintive, and in the end she wrung out of him
much more considerable matters than the brocades
originally in dispute. Then George went down to his
study, pricked in his conscience, and vaguely sore
with Letty. Why ? Women in his eyes were made
for silken gauds and trinkets : it was the price that
men were bound to pay them for their society. He
had watched the same sort of process that had now
been applied to himself many times already in one or
more of the Anglo-Indian households with which he
had grown familiar, and had been philosophically
amused by it. But the little comedy, transferred to
his own hearth, seemed somehow to have lost humour
and point.
Still, with two young people, under thirty, just
entering upon that fateful second act of the play of
life which makes or mars us all, moments of dissatis-
faction and depression — even with Shapetskys and
Lady Tressadys in the background — were but rare
specks in the general sum of pleasure. George had
fallen once more under the Parliamentary illusion,
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SIR GEORGE TRESSADT 221
as soon as he was again within reach of the House of
Commons and in frequent contact with Fontenoy.
The link between him and his strange leader grew
daily stronger as they sat side by side, through some
hard-fought weeks of Supply, throwing the force of
their little group now on the side of the Government,
now on that of the Opposition, always vigilant, and
often successful. George became necessary to Fonte-
noy in a hundred ways ; for the younger man had a
mass of connaissances, — to use the irreplaceable French
word, — the result of his more normal training and his
four years of intelligent travel, which Fontenoy was
almost wholly without. Many a blunder did George
save his chief; and no one could have offered his
brains for the picking with a heartier goodwill. On
the other hand, the instinctive strength and acuteness
of Fontenoy's judgment were unmatched, according to
Tressady's belief, in the House of Commons. He was
hardly ever deceived in a man, or in the significant
points of a situation. His followers never dreamt of
questioning his verdict on a point of tactics. They
followed him blindly ; and if the gods sent defeat, no
one blamed Fontenoy. But in success his grunt of
approval or congratulation rewarded the curled young
aristocrats who made the nucleus of his party as noth-
ing else did ; while none of his band ever affronted or
overrode him with impunity. He wielded a natural
kingship, and, the more battered and gnarled became
his physical presence, the more remarkable was his
moral ascendency.
One discouragement, however, he and his group
suffered during the weeks between Easter and Whit-
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222 8IB OEOBGE TBE88ABY
suntide. They were hungry for battle, and the best
of the battle was for the moment denied them; for,
owing to a number of controverted votes in Supply
and the slipping-in of two or three inevitable debates
on pressing matters of current interest, the Second
Reading of the Maxwell Bill was postponed till after
Whitsuntide, when it was certainly to take prece-
dence. There was a good deal of grumbling in the
House, led by Fontenoy ; but the Government could
only vow that they had no choice, and that their ad-
versaries could not possibly be more eager to fight
than they were to be fought.
Life, then, on this public side, though not so keen
as it would be presently, was still rich and stirring.
And meanwhile society showed itself gracious to the
bride and bridegroom. Letty's marriage had made
her unusually popular for the time with her own
acquaintance. For it might be called success ; yet it
was not of too dazzling a degree. What, therefore,
with George's public and Parliamentary relations, the
calls of officials, the attentions of personal friends, and
the good offices of Mrs. Watton, who was loftily de-
termined to "launch'' her niece, Letty was always
well pleased with the look of her hall-table and the
cards upon it when she returned home in her new
brougham from her afternoon round. She left them
there for George to see, and it delighted her particu-
larly if Lady Tressady came in during the interval.
Meanwhile they dined with many folk, and made
preliminary acquaintance with the great ones of the
land. Letty's vanity swelled within her as she read
over the list of her engagements. Nevertheless, she
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SIB GEORGE TBE88ADT 223
often came home from her dinner-parties flat and dis-
appointed. She did not feel that she made way ; and
she found herself constantly watching the triumphs
of other women with annoyance or perplexity. What
was wrong with her ? Her dress was irreproachable,
and, stirred by this great roaring world, she recalled
for it the little airs and graces she had almost ceased
to spend on George. But she constantly found her-
self, as she thought, neglected; while the slightest
word or look of some happy person in a simple gown,
near by, had power to bring about her that flattering
crowd of talkers and of courtiers for which Letty
pined.
The Maxwells called very early on the newly wedded
pair, and left an invitation to dinner with their cards.
But, to Letty's chagrin, she and George were already
engaged for the evening named, and when they duly
presented themselves at St. James's Square on a Sun-
day afternoon, it was to find that the Maxwells were
in the country. Once or twice in some crowded room
Letty or George had a few hurried words with Lady
Maxwell, and Marcella would try to plan a meeting.
But what with her engagements and theirs, nothing
that she suggested could be done.
" Ah ! well, after Whitsuntide,'' she said, smiling, to
Letty one evening that they had interchanged a few
words of polite regret on the stairs at some official
party. " I will write to you in the country, if I may.
Ferth Place, is it not? "
"No," said Letty, with easy dignity; "we shall not
be at home, — not at first, at any rate. We are going
for two or three days to Mrs. Allison, at Castle Luton."
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224 8IB GEORGE TRE88ABY
"Are you? You will have a pleasant time. Such
a glorious old house ! "
And Lady Maxwell swept on; not so fast, how-
ever, but that she found time to have a few words
of Parliamentary chat with Tressady on the land-
ing.
Letty made her little speech about Castle Luton
with a delightful sense of playing the rare and fa-
voured part. Nothing in her London career, so far,
had pleased her so much as Mrs. Allison's call and
Mrs. Allison's invitation. For, although on the few
occasions when she had seen this gentle, white-haired
lady, Letty had never felt for one moment at ease with
her, still, there could be no question that Mrs. Allison
was, socially, distinction itself. She had a following
among all parties. For although she was Fontenoy's
friend and inspirer, a strong Church-woman, and a
great aristocrat, she had that delicate, long-descended
charm which shuts the lions' mouths, and makes it
possible for certain women to rule in any company.
Even those who were most convinced that the Mrs. Alli-
sons of this world are the chief obstacles in the path
of progress, deliberated when they were asked to
Castle Luton, and fell — protesting. And for a certain
world, high-born, cultivated, and virtuous, she was
almost a figure of legend, so widespread was the feel-
ing she inspired, and so many were the associations
and recollections that clustered about her.
So that when her cards, those of her son Lord An-
coats, and a little accompanying note in thin French
handwriting — Mrs. Allison had been brought up in
Paris — arrived, Letty had a start of pleasure. " To
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SIB OEOBGE TBE88ADT 225
meet a few friends of mine " — that meant, of course,
one of the parties. She supposed it was Lord Fonte-
noy's doing. He was said to ask whom he would to
Castle Luton. Under the influence of this idea, at any
rate, she bore herself towards her husband's chief at
their next meeting with an effusion which made Fon-
tenoy supremely uncomfortable.
The week before Whitsuntide happened to be one of
special annoyance for Tressady. His reports from
Ferth were steadily more discouraging; his attempts
to sell his land made no way ; and he saw plainly that,
if he was to keep their London life going, to provide
for Shapetsky's claims, and to give Letty what she
wanted for renovations at Ferth, he would have to sell
some of the very small list of good securities left him
by his father. Most young men in his place, perhaps,
would have taken such a thing with indifference ; he
brooded over it. " I am beginning to spend my capi-
tal as income," he said to himself. " The strike will
be on in July ; next half-year I shall get almost nothing
from the pits ; rents won't come to much ; Letty wants
all kinds of things. How long will it be before I, too,
am in debt, like my mother, borrowing from this
person and that?"
Then he would make stem resolutions of economy,
only to be baffled by Letty's determination to have
everything that other people had; above all, not to
allow her own life to be stinted because he had so
foolishly adopted his mother's debts. She said little ;
or said it with smiles and a bridal standing on her
Hghts not to be answered. But her persistence in a par-
ticular kind of claim, and her new refusal to be taken
VOL. I — Q
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226 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
into his confidence and made the partner of his anxi-
eties, raised a miserable feeling in his mind as the
weeks went on.
" No ! '' she said to herself, all the time resenting
bitterly what had happened at Ferth ; " if I let him
talk to me about it, I shall be giving in, and letting
her trample on me! If George will be so weak, he
must find the money somehow. Of course he can ! I
am not in the le<xst extravagant. I am only doing
what everybody expects me to do."
Meanwhile this state of things did not make Lady
Tressady any more welcome in Brook Street, and there
were symptoms of grievances and quarrels of another
sort. Lady Tressady heard that the young couple had
already given one or two tiny dinner-parties, and to
none of them had she been invited. One day that
George had been obliged to go to Warwick Square to
consult her on business, he was suddenly overwhelmed
with reproaches on this point.
" I suppose Letty thinks I should spoil her parties !
She is ashamed of me, perhaps " — Lady Tressady
gave an angry laugh. " Oh ! very well ; but I should
like you and her to understand, George, that I have
been a good deal more admired in my time than ever
Letty need expect to be ! "
And George's mother, in a surprising yellow tear
gown, threw herself back on her chair, bridling with
wrath and emotion. George declared, with good tem-
per, that he and Letty were well aware of his mother's
triumphs ; whereupon Lady Tressady, becoming tear-
ful, said she knew it wasn't a pretty thing to say —
of course it wasn't — but if one was treated unkindly
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SIB GEORGE TRESSADT 227
by one's only son and his wife, what could one do but
assert oneself ?
George soothed her as best he could, and on his re-
turn home said tentatively to Letty, that he believed
it would please his mother if they were to ask her to
a small impromptu dinner of Parliamentary friends
which they were planning for the following Friday.
"George!" exclaimed Letty, her eyes gleaming,
"we can't ask her! I don't want to say anything
disagreeable, but you must see that people don't like
her — her dress is so extraordiruxi^, and her manners
— it sets people against the house. I do think it's too
bad that — "
She turned aside with a sudden sob. George kissed
her, and sympathised with her; for he himself was
never at ease now for an instant while his mother was
in the room. But the widening of the breach which
Letty's refusal brought about only made his own posi-
tion between the two women the more disagreeable to
a man whose ideal of a home was that it should be a
place of perpetual soothing and amusement.
On the very morning of their departure for Castle
Luton matters reached a small crisis. Letty, tired
with some festivity of the night before, took her
breakfast in bed ; and George, going upstairs toward
the middle of the morning to make some arrangement
with her for the journey, found her just come down,
and walking up and down the drawing-room, her pale
pink dress sweeping the floor, her hands clasped be-
hind her. She was very pale, and her small lips were
tightly drawn.
He looked at her with astonishment.
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228 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY
^' What is the matter, darling ? "
"Oh! nothing," said Letty, trying to speak with
sarcasm. "Nothing at all. I have only just been
listening to an account of the way in which your
mother speaks of me to her friends. I ought to be
flattered, of course, that she notices me at all ! But
I think I shall have to ask you to request her to put
off her visit to Ferth a little. It could hardly give
either of us much enjoyment."
George first pulled his moustaches, then tried, as
usual, to banter or kiss her into composure. Above
all, he desired not to know what Lady Tressady had
said. But Letty was determined he should know.
" She was heard " — she began passionately, holding
him at arm's length — "she was heard saying to a
wTiole roomful of people yesterday, that I was * pretty,
of course — rather pretty — but so second rate — and
so provincial ! It was such a pity dear George had
not waited till he had been a few months in Lon-
don. Still, of course, one could only make the best
of it!'"
Letty mimicked her mother-in-law's drawling voice,
two red spots burning on either cheek the while, and
her little fingers gripping George's arm.
"I don't believe she ever said such things. Who
told you so ? " said George, stiffening, his arm drop-
ping from her waist.
Letty tossed her head.
"Never mind! I ov^ght to know, and it doesn't
really matter how I know. She did say them."
" Yes, it does matter," said George, quickly, walk-
ing away to the other side of the room. " Letty ! if
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY 229
you would only send away that woman Grier, you
can't think how much happier we should both be."
Letty stood still, opening her blue eyes wide.
" You want me — to get rid — of Grier," she
said, "my own particular pet maid? And why —
please?"
George had the courage to stick to his point, and
the result was a heated and angry scene — their first
real quarrel — which ended in Letty's rushing up-
stairs in tears, and declaring she would go nowhere.
He might go to Castle Luton, if he pleased ; she was
far too agitated and exhausted to face a houseful of
strangers.
The inevitable reconciliation, with its usual accom-
paniments of headache and eau de cologne, took time,
and they only just completed their preparations and
caught their appointed train.
Meanwhile the storm of the day had taken all
savour from Letty's expectations, and made George
feel the whole business an effort and a weariness.
Letty sat pale and silent in her corner, devoured with
regrets that she had not put on a thicker veil to hide
the ravages of the morning; while George turned
over the pages of a political biography, and could not
prevent his mind from falling back again and again
into dark places of dread and depression.
" You are my earliest guests," said Mrs. Allison, as
she placed a chair for Letty beside herself, on the
lawn at Castle Luton. "Except, indeed, that Lady
Maxwell and her little boy are here somewhere, roam-
ing about. But none of our other friends could get
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230 SIB GEORGE TBE88ADT
down till later. I am glad we shall have a little
quiet time before they come."
" Lady Maxwell ! " said Letty. " I had no idea they
were coming. Oh, what a lovely day ! and how beau-
tiful it all is ! " she cried, as she sat down and looked
round her. The colour came back into her cheeks.
She forgot her determination to keep her veil down,
and raised it eagerly.
Mrs. Allison smiled.
" We never look so well as in May — the river is so
full, and the swans are so white. Ah ! I see Edgar
has already taken Sir George to make friends with
them."
And Letty, looking across the broad green lawn,
saw the flash of a brimming river and a cluster of
white swans, beside which stood her husband and a
young man in a serge suit, who was feeding the swans
with bread — Lord Ancoats, no doubt, the happy
owner of all this splendour. To the left of their
figures rose a stone bridge with a high, carved parapet,
and beyond the river she saw green hills and woods
against a radiant sky. Then, to her right was this
wonderful yellowish pile of the old house. She began
to admire and exclaim about it with a great energy
and effusion, trying hard to say the correct and culti-
vated thing, and, in fact, repeating with a good deal
of exactness what she had heard said of it by others.
Her hostess listened to her praises with a gentle
smile. Gentleness, indeed, a rather sad gentleness,
was the characteristic of Mrs. Allison. It seemed to
make an atmosphere about her — her delicate blanched
head and soft face, her small figure, her plain black
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SIB GEORGE TRESS AD Y 231
dress, her hands in their white rufELes. Her friends
called it saintliness. At any rate, it set her apart,
giving her a peculiar ethereal dignity which made her
formidable in society to many persons who were not
liable to shyness. Letty from the beginning had felt
her formidable.
Yet nothing could be kinder or simpler than her
manner. In response to Letty's enthusiasms she let
herself be drawn at once into speaking of her own
love for the house, and on to pointing out its feat-
ures.
" I am always telling these things to newcomers,"
she said, smiling. " And I am not clever enough to
make variations. But I don't mind, somehow, how
often I go through it. You see, this front is Tudor,
and the south front is a hundred years later, and both
of them, they say, are the finest of their kind. Isn't
it wonderful that two men, a hundred years apart,
should each have left such a noble thing behind him.
One inspired the other. And then we — we poor
moderns come after, and must cherish what they left
us as .we best can. It's a great responsibility, don't
you think? to live in a beautiful house."
" I'm afraid I don't know much about it," said Letty,
laughing ; " we live in such a very ugly one."
Mrs. Allison looked sympathetic.
" Oh ! but then, ugly ones have character ; or they
are pretty inside, or the people one loves have lived
in them. That would make any place a House
Beautiful. Aren't you near Ferth ? "
"Yes; and I am afraid you'll think me dreadfully
discontented," said Letty, with one of her little laugh-
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232 SIB GEORGE TRESS ADT
ing airs ; " but there really isn't anything to make up
in our barrack of a place. It's like a blackened brick
set up on end at the top of a hill. And then the
villages are so hideous/'
" Ah I I know that coal-country," said Mrs. Allison,
gravely — "and I know the people. Have you made
friends with them yet ? "
" We wer^ only there for our honeymoon. George
says that next month the whole place will be out on
strike. So just now they hate us — they will hardly
look at us in the street. But, of course, we shall give
away things at Christmas."
Mrs. Allison's lip twitched, and she shot a glance
at the bride which betrayed, for all her gentleness,
the woman of a large world and much converse with
mankind. What a curious, hard little face was Lady
Tressady's under the outer softness of line and hue,
and what an amazing costume! Mrs. Allison had
no quarrel with beautiful gowns, but the elabora-
tion, or, as one might say, the research of Letty's
dress struck her unpleasantly. The time that it
must have taken to think out!
Aloud she said :
"Ah! the strike. Yes, I fear it is inevitable.
Ancoats has some property not very far from you,
and we get reports. Poor fellows! if it weren't for
the wretched agitators who mislead them — but there,
we mustn't talk of these things. I see Lady Maxwell
coming."
And Mrs. Allison waved her hand to a tall figure
in white with a child beside it that had just emerged
on the far distance of the lawn.
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SIB GEOBGE TRE88ADY 23S
" Is Lord Maxwell here, too ? " asked Letty.
"He is coming later. It seems strange, perhaps,
that you should find them here this Sunday, for Lord
Fontenoy comes to-morrow, and the great fight will be
on so soon. But when I foiind that they were free,
and that Maxwell would like to come, I was only too
glad. After all, rival politicians in England can still
meet each other, even at a crisis. Besides, Maxwell
is a relation of ours, and he was my boy's guardian —
the kindest possible guardian. Politics apart, I have
the greatest respect for him. And her too. Why is
it always the best people in the world that do the
most mischief ? '^
At the mention of Lord Fontenoy it had been
Letty's turn to throw a quick side look at Mrs.
Allison. But the name was spoken in the quietest
and most natural way; and yet, if one analysed the
tone, in a way that did imply something exceptional,
which, however, all the world knew, or might know.
" Is Lady Maxwell an old friend of yours, too ? "
asked Letty, longing to pursue the subject, and vexed
to see how fast the mother and child were approach-
ing.
"Only since her marriage. To see her and Max-
well together is really a poem. If only she wouldn't
identify herself so hotly, dear woman! with every-
thing he does and wishes in politics. There is no
getting her to hear a word of reason. She is another
Maxwell in petticoats. And it always seems to me
so unfair. Maxwell without beauty and without petti-
coats is quite enough to fight! Look at that little
fellow with his flowers ! — such an oddity of a child ! "
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234 SIR GEORGE TRESS ADT
Then she raised her voice.
"My dear, what a ramble you must have made.
Come and have a shady chair and some tea.''
For answer Marcella, laughing, held up a glorious
bunch of cuckoo-pint and marsh marigold, while little
Hallin at her skirts waved another trophy of almost
equal size. The mother's dark face was flushed with
exercise and pleasure. As she moved over the grass,
the long folds of a white dress falling about her, the
flowers in her hand, the child beside her, she made a
vision of beauty lovely in itself and lovely in all that
it suggested. Frank joy and strength, happiness, pur-
ity of heart — these entered with her. One could al-
most see their dim heavenly shapes in the air about her.
Neither Letty nor Mrs. Allison could take their
eyes from her. Perhaps she knew it. But if she
did, it made no difference to her perfect ease of
bearing. She greeted Letty kindly.
" You didn't expect to see me here, did you. Lady
Tressady ? But it is the unexpected that happens."
Then she put her hand on Mrs. Allison's shoulder,
bending her height to her small hostess.
"What a day, and what a place! Hallin and I
have been over hill and dale. But he is getting such
a botanist, the little monkey! He will hardly for-
give me because I forgot one of the flowers we found
out yesterday in his botany book."
"She said it was ^ Robin-run-in-the-'edge,' and it
isn't — it's 'edge mustard," said Hallin, severely, hold-
ing up a little feathery stalk.
Mrs. Allison shook her head, endeavouring to suit
her look to the gravity of the offence.
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SIB GEOBGE TRESS AD Y 286
"Mother must learn her lessons better, mustn't she?
Go and shake hands, little man, with Lady Tressady."
Hallin went gravely to do as he was told. Then
he stood on one foot, and looked Letty over with a
considering eye.
"Are you going to a party?" he said suddenly,
putting out a small and grimy finger, and pointing to
her dress.
" Hallin ! come here and have your tea," said his
mother, hastily. Then she turned to Letty with the
smile that had so often won Maxwell a friend.
" I am sorry to say that he has a rooted objection
to anything that isn't rags in the way of clothes. He
entirely declined to take me across the river till I
had rolled up my lace cloak and put it in a bush.
And he won't really be friends with me again till we
have both got back to the scarecrow garments we
wear at home."
" Oh ! children are so much happier when they are
dirty," said Letty, graciously, pleased to feel herself
on these easy terms with her two companions. " What
beautiful flowers he has! and what an astonishing
little botanist he seems to be!"
And she seated herself beside Hallin, using all her
blandishments to make friends with him, which, how-
ever, did not prove to be an easy matter. For when
she praised his flowers, Hallin only said, with his
mouth full: "Oh! but mammy's bunch is hever so
much bigger;" and when she offered him cake, the
child would sturdily put the cake away, and hold it
and her at arm's length till his mute look across the
table had won his mother's nod of permission.
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236 81R GEORGE TBES8ADT
Letty at last thought him an odd, ill-mannered
child, and gave up courting him, greatly to Hallin's
satisfaction. He edged closer and closer to his mother,
established himself finally in her pocket, and browsed
on all the good things with which Mrs. Allison pro-
vided him, undisturbed.
"How late they are!" said Marcella, looking at
her watch. " Tell me the names again, dear lady " —
she bent forward, and laid her hand affectionately on
Mrs. Allison's knee. "Your parties are always a
work of art."
Mrs. Allison flushed a little, as though she liked the
compliment, and ran laughingly through the names.
" Lord and Lady Maxwell."
" Ah ! " said Marcella, " the least said about them
the soonest mended. Go on."
" Lord and Lady Cathedine."
Marcella made a face.
" Poor little thing ! I always think of the remark
about the Queen in * Alice in Wonderland.' * A little
kindness, and putting her hair in curl-papers, would do
wonders for her.' She is so limp and thin and melan-
choly. As for him — isn't there a race or a prize-fight
we can send him to ? "
Mrs. Allison tapped her lightly on the lips.
" I won't go on unless my guests are taken prettily."
Marcella kissed the delicate wrinkled hand.
" I'll be good. What do you keep such an air here
for ? It gets into one's head."
Letty Tressady, indeed, was looking on with a feel-
ing of astonishment. These merry, childlike airs had
absolutely no place in her conception of Lady Max-
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SIR GEORGE TRESS ALT 287
well. Nor could she know that Mrs. Allison was one
of the very few people in the world to whom Marcella
was ever drawn to show them.
"Sir Philip Wentworth," pursued Mrs. Allison,
smiling. " Say anything malicious about him, if you
can ! "
"Don't provoke me. What a mercy I brought a
volume of 'Indian Studies' in my bag! I will go
up early, before dinner, and finish them.''
"Then there is Madeleine Penley, and Elizabeth
Kent."
A quick involuntary expression crossed Marcella's
face. Then she drew herself up with dignity, and
crossed her hands primly on her lap.
"Let me understand. Are you going to protect
me from Lady Kent this time? Because, last time
you threw me to the wolves in the most dastardly
way."
Mrs. Allison laughed out.
"On the contrary, we all enjoyed your skirmish
with her in November so much, we shall do our best
to provoke another in May."
Marcella shook her head.
" I haven't the energy to quarrel with a fly. And
as for Aldous — please warn his lady at dinner that
he may go to sleep upon her shoulder ! "
" You poor thing ! " — Mrs. Allison put out a sym-
pathetic hand. "Are you so tired? Why will you
turn the world upside down?"
Marcella took the hand lightly in both hers.
" Why will you fight reform ? "
And the eyes of the two women met, not without a
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238 8IB OEORGE TRE88ADT
sudden grave passion. Then Marcella dropped the
hand, and said, smiling :
" Castle Luton isn't full yet. Who else ? "
"Oh ! some young folk — Charlie Naseby."
"A nice boy — a very nice boy — not half such a
coxcomb as he looks. Then the Levens — I know the
Levens are coming, for Betty told me that she got out
of two other engagements as soon as you asked her."
"Oh! and, by the way, Mr. Watton — Harding
Watton," said Mrs. Allison, turning slightly towards
Lady Tressady.
The exclamation on Lady Maxwell's lips was
checked by something she saw on her hostess's face,
and Letty eagerly struck in;
"Harding coming?— r my cousin? I am so glad.
I suppose I oughtn't to say it, but he is such a clever,
such an agreeable, creature. But you know the Wat-
tons, don't you. Lady Maxwell ? "
Marcella was busying herself with Hallin's tea.
" I know Edward Watton," she said, turning her
beautiful clear look on Letty. " He is a real friend
of mine."
"Oh! but Harding is rrnich the cleverer," said
Letty. And pleased both to find the ball of talk in
her hands, and to have the chance of glorifying a re-
lation in this world of people so much bigger than
herself, she plunged into an extravagant account —
all adjectives and superlatives — of Harding Watton's
charms and abilities, to which Lady Maxwell listened
in silence.
" Tactless ! " thought Mrs, Allison, with vexation,
but she did not know how to stop the stream. In
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SIR GEORGE TRES8ADY 239
truth, since she had given Lord Fontenoy leave to in-
vite Harding Watton she had had time to forget the
invitation, and she was sorry now to think of his
housing with the Maxwells. For Watton had been
recently Lord Fontenoy's henchman and agent in a
newspaper attack upon the Bill, and upon Maxwell
personally, that even Mrs. Allison had thought violent
and unfair. Well, it was not her fault. But Lady
Tressady ought to have better information and better
sense than to be chattering like this. She was just
about to interpose, when Marcella held up her hand.
" I hear the carriages ! "
The hostess hastened towards the house, and Mar-
cella followed her, with Hallin at her skirts. Letty
looked after Lady Maxwell with the same mixture
of admiration and jealous envy she had felt several
times before. " I don't feel that I shall get on with
her," she said to herself, impatiently. " But I don't
think I want to. George took her measure at once."
Part of this reflection, however, was not true.
Letty's ambition would have been very glad to " get
on " with Marcella Maxwell.
Just as his wife was ready for dinner, and Grier
had disappeared, George entered Letty's room. She
was standing before a tall glass, putting the last
touches to her dress — smoothing here, pinning there,
turning to this side and to that. George, unseen him-
self, stood and watched her — her alternate looks of
anxiety and satisfaction, her grace, the shimmering
folds of the magnificent wedding-dress in which she
had adorned herself.
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240 8IR GEOBGB TRESSADT
He, however, was neither happy nor gay. But he
had come in feeling that he must make an effort —
many efforts, if their young married life was to be
brought back to that level of ease and pleasure which
he had once taken for granted, and which now
seemed so hard to maintain. If that ease and pleasure
were ultimately to fail him, what should he do ? He
shrank impatiently from the idea. Then he would
scoff at himself. How often had he read and heard
that the first year of marriage is the most difficult.
Of course it must be so. Two individualities cannot
fuse without turmoil, without heat. Let him only
make his effort.
So he walked up to her and caught her in his arms.
" Oh, George ! — my hair ! — and my flowers ! "
"Never mind," he said, almost with roughness.
" Put your head there. Say you hate the thought of
our day, as I do ! Say there shall never be one like
it again ! Promise me ! "
She felt the beating of his heart beneath her cheek.
But she stood silent. His appeal, his unwonted agi-
tation, revived in her all the anger and irritation
that had begun to prey upon her thoughts. It was
all very well, but why were they so pinched and un-
comfortable ? Why must everybody — Mrs. Allison,
Lady Maxwell, a hundred others — have more wealth,
more scope, more consideration than she? It was
partly his fault.
So she gradually drew herself away, pushing him
softly with her small gloved hand.
"I am sure I hate quarrelling," she said. "But
there! Oh, George! don't let's talk of it any more!
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SIB GEORGE TBE8SADT 241
And look what you have done to my poor hair. You
dear, naughty boy ! "
But though she called him " Dear," she frowned as
she took off her gloves that she might mend what he
had done.
George thrust his hands into his pockets, walked
to the window, and waited. As he descended the
great stairs in her wake he wished Castle Luton and
its guests at the deuce. What pleasure was to be got
out of grimacing and posing at these country-house
parties ? And now, according to Letty, the Maxwells
were here. A great gine for everybody !
VOL. I — B
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CHAPTER XI
"That lady sitting by Sir George? What! Lady
Maxwell? No — the other side? Oh! that's Lady
Leven. Don't you know her? She's tremendous
fun!"
And the dark-eyed, rosy-cheeked young man who
was sitting beside Letty nodded and smiled across the
table to Betty Leven, merely by way of reminding her
of his existence. They had greeted before dinner — a
greeting of comrades.
Then he turned back, with sudden decorum, to this
Lady Tressady, whom he had been commissioned to
take in to dinner. "Quite pretty, but rather — well,
ordinary ! " he said to himself, with a critical coolness
bred of much familiarity with the best things of Vanity
Fair. He had been Ancoats's friend at Cambridge,
and was now disporting himself in the Guards, but
still more — as Letty of course assumed — in the heart
of the English well-born world. She knew that he
was Lord Naseby, and that some day he would be a
mkrquis. A halo, therefore, shone about him. At the
same time, she had a long experience of young men,
and, if she flattered him, it was only indirectly, by a
sort of teasing aggression that did not allow him to
take his attention from her.
" I declare you are better than any peerage ! " she
242
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8IB GEORGE TRES8ADT 243
said to him presently, when he had given her a short
biography, first of Lord Cathedine, who was sitting
opposite, then of various other members of the com-
pany. " I should like to tie you to my fan when I go
out to dinner."
" Would you ? " said the young man, drily. " Oh !
you will soon know all you want to know."
" How are poor little people from Yorkshire to find
their way about in this big world ? You are all so
dreadfully absorbed in each other. In the first place,
you all marry each other."
"Do we? — though I don't quite understand who
* we ' means. Well, one must marry somebody, I sup-
pose, and cousins are less trouble than other people."
Involuntarily, the yoimg man's eyes travelled along
the table to a fair girl on the opposite side, dazzlingly
dressed in black. She was wielding a large fan of
black feathers, which threw both hair and complexion
into amazing relief; and she seemed to be amusing
herself in a nervous, spasmodic way with Sir Frank
Leven. Letty noticed his glance.
"Oh! you have not earned your testimonial yet,
not by any manner of means," she said. "That is
Lady Madeleine Penley, isn't it ? Is she a relation
of Mrs. Allison's ? "
" She is a cousin. That is her mother. Lady Kent,
sitting beside poor Ancoats. Such an old character !
By the end of dinner she will have got to the bottom
of Ancoats, or know the reason why."
"Is Lord Ancoats such a mystery?" said Letty,
running an inquisitive eye over the black front, sharp
nose, and gorgeously bejewelled neck of a somewhat
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244 SIB GEORGE TRESS ADT
noisy and forbidding old lady sitting on the right
hand of the host.
Young Naseby's expression in answer rather piqued
her. There was a quick flash of something that was
instantly suppressed, and the youth said composedly,
" Oh ! we are all mysteries for Lady Kent."
But Letty noticed that his eyes strayed back to
Lord Ancoats, and then again to Lady Madeleine.
He seemed to be observing them, and Letty's sharp-
ness at once took the hint. No doubt the handsome,
large-featured girl was here to be " looked at." Prob-
ably a good many maidens would be passed in review
before this young Sultan made his choice! By the
way he must be a good deal older than Greorge had
imagined. Clearly he left college some time ago.
What a curious face he had — a small, crumpled face,
with very prominent blue eyes ; curly hair of a red-
dish colour, piled high, as though for effect, above his
white brow ; together with a sharp chin and pointed
moustache, which gave him the air of an old French
portrait. He was short in stature, but at the same
time agile and strongly built. He wore one or two
fine old rings, which drew attention to the delicacy of
his hands; and his manner struck her as at once
morose and excitable. Letty regarded him with in-
voluntary respect as the son of Mrs. Allison — much
more as the master of Castle Luton and fifty thousand
a year. But if he had not been the master of Castle
Luton she would have probably thought, and said,
that he had a disagreeable Bohemian air.
" Haven't you really made acquaintance with Lady
Kent ? " said Lord Naseby, returning to the charge —
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SIR GEORGE TRE8SADY 245
his laziness was somewhat at a loss for conversation.
" I should have thought she was the person one could
least escape knowing in the three kingdoms."
" I have seen her, of course/' said Letty, lightly,
though, alas! untruly. "But I am afraid you can
hardly realise that I have only been three short
seasons in London — two with an old aunt, who never
goes out, in Cavendish Square, poor dull old dear!
and another with Mrs. Watton, of Malford."
"Oh! with Mrs. Watton, of Malford," said Lord
Naseby, vaguely. Then he became suddenly aware
that Lady Leven, on the other side of the table, was
beckoning to him. He leant across, and they ex-
changed a merry war of words about something of
which Letty knew nothing.
Letty, rather incensed, thought him a puppy, drew
herself up, and looked round at the ex-Governor beside
her. She saw a fine head, the worn yellow face and
whitened hair of a man who has suffered under a hot
climate, and an agreeable, though somewhat courtly,
smile. Sir Philip Wentworth was not troubled with
the boyish fastidiousness of Lord Naseby. He per-
ceived merely that a pretty young woman wished to
make friends with him, and met her wish at once.
Moreover, he identified her as the wife of that " promis-
ing and well-informed fellow, Tressady,'' with whom he
had first made friends in India, and had now — just
before dinner — renewed acquaintance in the most
cordial fashion.
He talked graciously to the wife, then, of Tressady's
abilities and Tressady's career. Letty at first liked it.
Then she was seized with a curious sense of discomfort.
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246 SIR GEORGE TRESS ADT
Her eyes wandered towards the head of the table,
where George was talking — why! actually talking
earnestly, and as though he were enjoying himself,
to Lady Maxwell, whose noble head and neck, rising
from a silver white dress, challenged a great Grenoese
Vandyck of a Marchesa Balbi which was hanging just
behind her, and challenged it victoriously.
So other people thought and said these things of
George ? Letty was for a moment sharply conscious
that they had not occupied much place in her mind
since her marriage, or, for the matter of that, since
her engagement. She had taken it for granted that
he was " distinguished " — that was part of the bargain.
Only, she never seemed as yet to have had either time
or thought to give to those parts and elements in his
life which led people to talk of him as this old Indian
was doing.
Curtains, carpets, gowns, cabinets; additions to
Ferth ; her own effect in society ; how to keep Lady
Tressady in her place — of all these things she had
thought, and thought much. But George's honourable
ambitions, the esteem in which he was held, the place
he was to make for himself in the world of men — in
thinking of these her mind was all stiff and unpractised.
She was conscious first of a moral prick, then of a
certain irritation with other people.
Yet she could not help watching George wistfully.
He looked tired and pale, in spite of the animation
of his talk. Well! no doubt she looked pale too.
Some of the words and phrases of their quarrel flashed
across her. In this beautiful room, with its famous
pictures and its historical associations, amid this
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SIR OEOBOE TRE88ADT 247
accumulated art and wealth, the whole thing was
peculiarly odious to remember. Under the eyes of
Vandyck's Marchesa one would have liked to think
of oneself as always dignified and refined, always
elegant and calm.
Then Letty had a revulsion, and laughed at herself.
"As if these people didn't have tempers, and
quarrel about money! Of course they do! And if
they don't — well, we all know how easy it is to be
amiable on fifty thousand a year."
After dinner Mrs. Allison led the way to the " Green
Drawing-room." This room, hung with Gainsborough
portraits, was one of the sights of the house, and to-
night Marcella Maxwell especially looked round her
on entering it, with enchantment.
"You happy people!" she said to Mrs. Allison.
"I never come into this room without anxiously
asking myself whether I am fit to make one of the
company. I look at my dress, or I am doubtful about
my manners, or I wish someone had taught me to
dance the minuet!"
"Yes," said Betty Leven, running up to a vast
picture, a life-size family group, which covered the
greater part of the farther wall of the room. " What
a vulgar, insignificant chit one feels oneseK without
cap or powder !— without those ruffles, or those tippets,
or those quilted petticoats! Mrs. Allison, may my
maid come down to-morrow while we are at dinner
and take the pattern of those ruffles ? No — no ! she
shaVt! Sacrilege! You pretty thing!" she said,
addressing a figure — the figure of a girl in white
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248 SIB GEORGE TBESSADT
with thin virginal arms and bust, who seemed to be
coming out of the picture, almost to be already out of
it and in the room. " Come and talk to me. Don't
think any more of your father and mother there. You
have been curtsying to them for a himdred years ; and
they are rather dull, stupid people, after all. Come
and tell us secrets. Tell us what you have seen in
this room — all the foolish people making love, and
the sad people saying good-bye."
Betty was kneeling on a carved chair, her pretty
arms leaning on the back of it, her eyes fixed half
in laughter, half in sentiment, on the figure in the
picture.
Lady Maxwell suddenly moved closer to her, and
Letty heard her say in a low voice, as she put her
hand on Lady Leven's arm :
" Don't, Betty ! donH ! It was in this room he pro-
posed to her, and it was in this room he said good-
bye. Maxwell has often told me. I believe she never
comes in here alone — only for ceremony and when
there is a crowd."
A look of consternation crossed Lady Leven's lively
little face. She glanced shyly towards Mrs. Allison.
That lady had moved hastily away from the group in
front of the picture. She was sitting by herself, look-
ing straight before her, with a certain stiffness, her
thin hands crossed on her knee. Betty impetuously
went towards her, and was soon sitting on a stool
beside her, chattering to her and amusing her.
Meanwhile Marcella invited Lady Tressady to come
and sit with her on a sofa beneath the great picture.
Letty followed her, settled her satin skirts in their
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8IB GEOBOB TBB88ADT 249
most graceful folds, put one little foot on a Louis
Quinze footstool which seemed to invite it, and then
began to inform herself about the house and the
family.
At the beginning of their talk it was clear that Lady
Maxwell wished to ingratiate herself. A friendly
observer would have thought that she was trying to
make a stranger feel more at ease in this house and
circle, where she herself was a familiar guest. Betty
Leven, catching sight of the pair from the other side
of the room, said to herself, with inward amusement,
that Marcella was " realising the wife."
At any rate, for some time Lady Maxwell talked
with sympathy, with effusion even, to her companion.
In the first place she told her the story of their
hostess.
Thiriy years before, Mrs. Allison, the daughter and
heiress of a Leicestershire squire, had married Henry
Allison, old Lord Ancoats's second son, a young cap-
tain in the Guards. They enjoyed three years of
life together; then the chances of a soldier's career,
as interpreted by two high-minded people, took Henry
Allison out to an obscure African coast, to fight one
of the innumerable " little wars '' of his country. He
fell, struck by a spear, in a single-file march through
some nameless swamp; and a few days afterwards the
words of a Foreign Office telegram broke a pining
woman's heart.
Old Lord Ancoats's death, which followed within a
month or two, was hastened by the shock of his son's
loss ; and before the year was out the eldest son, who
was sickly and unmarried, also died, and Mrs. Allison's
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260 8IB QEOBQE TBE88ADT
boy, a child of two, became the owner of Castle
Luton. The mother saw herself called upon to fight
down her grief, to relinquish the quasi-religious life
she had entered upon, and instead to take her boy to
the kingdom he was to rule, and bring him up there.
" And for twenty-two years she has lived a wonder-
ful life here," said Marcella; " she has been practically
the queen of a whole countryside, doing whatever she
pleased, the mother and friend and saint of everybody.
It has been all very paternal and beautiful, and —
abominably Tory and tyrannous! Many people, I
suppose, think it perfect. Perhaps I don't. But
then, I know very well I can't possibly disagree with
her a tenth part as strongly as she disagrees with
me."
"Oh! but she admires you so much," cried Letty,
with effusion ; " she thinks you mean so nobly ! "
Marcella opened her eyes, involuntarily wondering
a little what Lady Tressady might know about it.
"Oh! we don't hate each other," she said, rather
drily, "in spite of politics. And my husband was
Ancoats's guardian."
"Dear me ! " said Letty. " I should think it wasn't
easy to be guardian to fifty thousand a year."
Marcella did not answer — did not, indeed, hear.
Her look had stolen across to Mrs. Allison — a sad,
affectionate look, in no way meant for Lady Tressady.
But Letty noticed it.
" I suppose she adores him," she said.
Marcella sighed.
"There was never anything like it. It frightens
one to see."
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY 251
" And that, of course, is why she won't marry Lord
Fontenoy ? "
Marcella started, and drew away from her com-
panion.
^•I don't know," she said stiffly; "and I am sure
that no one ever dared to ask her."
"Oh! but. of course it's what everyone says," said
Letty, gay and unabashed. "That's what makes it so
exciting to come here, when one knows Lord Fontenoy
so very well."
Marcella met this remark with a discouraging
silence.
Letty, however, was determined this time to mak^
her impression. She plunged into a lively, and often
audacious gossip about every person in the room in
turn, asking a number of intimate or impertinent
questions, and yet very seldom waiting for Marcella's
reply, so anxious was she to show off her own informa-
tion and make her own comments. She let Marcella
understand that she suspected a great deal, in the
matter of that handsome Lady Madeleine. It was
immensely interesting, of course; but wasn't Lord
Ancoats a trifle wild ? — she bent over and whispered
in Marcella's ear ; was it likely that he would settle
himself so soon? — didn't one hear sad tales of his
theatrical friends and the rest ? And what could one
expect ! As if a young man in such a position was
not certain to have his fling ! And his mother would
have to put up with it. After all, men quieted down
at last. Look at Lord Cathedine !
And with an air of boundless knowledge she touched
upon the incidents of Lord Cathedine's career, hashing
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262 SIR GEORGE TRESS ADT
up, with skilful deductions of her own, all that Lord
Naseby had said or hinted to her at dinner. Pooi
Lady Cathedine ! didn't she look a walking skeleton,
with her strange, melancholy face, and every bone
showing ? Well, who could wonder ! And when one
thought of their money difficulties, too !
Lady Tressady lifted her white shoulders in com-
passion.
By this time Marcella's black eyes were wandering
insistently round the room, searching for means of
escape. Betty, far away, noticed her air, and con-
cluded that the "realisation" was making rapid, too
rapid, progress. Presently, with a smiling shake of
her little head, she left her own seat and went to her
friend's assistance.
At the same moment Mrs. Allison, driven by her
conscience as a hostess, got up for the purpose of intro-
ducing Lady Tressady to a lady in grey who had been
sitting quiet, and, as Mrs. Allison feared, lonely, in a
corner, looking over some photographs. Marcella, who
had also risen, put out a hand to Betty, and the two
moved away together.
They stopped on the threshold of a large window at
the side of the room, which stood wide open to the
night. Outside, beyond a broad flight of steps, stretched
a formal Dutch garden. Its numberless small beds,
forming stiff scrolls and circles on a ground of white
gravel, lay in bright moonlight. Even the colours of
the hyacinths and tulips with which they were planted
could be seen, and the strong scent from them filled
the still air. At the far end of this flat-patterned place
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SIB GEORGE TEE88ADY 253
a group of tail cypress and ilex, black against the sky,
struck a note of Italy and the South ; while, through
the yew hedges which closed in the little garden, broad
archways pierced at intervals revealed far breadths of
silvery English lawn and the distant gleam of the river.
" Well, my dear," said Betty, laughing, and slipping
her arm through Marcella's as they stood in the open-
ing of the window, " I see you have been doing your
duty for once. Let me pat you on the back. All the
more that I gather you are not exactly enchanted with
Lady Tressady. You really should keep your face in
order. From the other end of the room I know exactly
what you think of the person you are talking to."
" Do you ? " said Marcella, penitently. " I wish you
didn't."
" Well you may wish it, for it doesn't help the polit-
ical lady to get what she wants. However, I don't
think that Lady Tressady has found out yet that you
don't like her. She isn't thin-skinned. If you had
looked like that when you were talking to me, I would
have paid you out somehow. What is the matter with
her?"
"Oh! I don't know," said Marcella, impatiently,
raising her shoulders. "But she jarred. I pined to
get away — I don't think I ever want to talk to her
again."
"No," said Betty, ruminating; "I'll tell you what
it is — she isn't a gentleman! Don't interrupt me!
I mean exactly what I say — sJie isnH a gentleman.
She would do and say all the things that a nice man
squirms at. I always have the oddest fancy about
that kind of person. I see them as they must be at
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254 SIB GEORGE TBES8ADT
night — all the fine clothes gone — just a little black
soul scrawled between the bedclothes ! "
" You to call me censorious ! " said Marcella, laugh-
ing, and pinching her friend's arm.
" My dear, as I have often before remarked to you,
I am not a great lady, with a political campaign to
fight. If you knew your business, you would make
friends with the mammon of unrighteousness in the
shape of Lady Tressadys. / may do what I please — I
have only a husband to manage ! " and Betty's light
voice dropped into a sigh.
" Poor Betty ! " said Marcella, patting her hand.
"Is Frank as discontented as ever?"
" He told me yesterday he hated his existence, and
thought he would try whether the Serpentine would
drown him. I said I was agreeable, only he would
never achieve it without me. I should have to 'tice
away the police while he looked for the right spot.
So he has promised to take me into partnership, and
it's all right so far."
Then Betty fell to sighing in earnest.
" It's all very well ^ chafl&ng,' but I am a miserable
woman. Erank says I have ruined his life ; that it's
all my ambition ; that he might have made a decent
country gentleman if I hadn't sown the seed of every
vice in him by driving him into politics. Pleasant,
isn't it, for a model wife like me ? "
"You'll have to let him give it up," said Marcella,
smiling; "I don't believe he'll ever reconcile himself
to the grind and the town life."
Betty clenched her small hands.
" My dear ! I never promised to marry a sporting
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SIR GEOBQE TBEB8ABT 265
boor, and I can't yet make up my mind to sink to it.
Don't let's talk of it! I only hope he'll vote straight
in the next few months. But the thought of being
kept through August drives him desperate already.
Ah ! here they are — plagues of the human race ! — "
and she waved an accusing hand towards the incom-
ing stream of gentlemen. "Now, I'll prophesy, and
you watch. Lady Tressady will make two friends
here — Harding Watton — oh! I forgot, he's her
cousin ! — and Lord Cathedine. Mark my words. By
the way — " Betty caught Marcella's arm and spoke
eagerly into her friend's ear. Her eyes meanwhile
glanced over her shoulder towards Lady Madeleine
and her mother, who were seated on the farther side
of the room.
Marcella's look followed Betty's, but she showed
no readiness to answer Betty's questions. When
Letty had made her astonishing remarks on the sub-
ject of Madeleine Penley, Lady Maxwell had tried to
stop her with a hauteur which would have abashed
most women, though it had but small effect on the
bride. And now, even to Betty, who was Madeleine
Penley's friend, Marcella was not communicative;
although when Betty was carried off by Lord Naseby
who came in search of her as soon as he entered the
drawing-room, the elder woman stood for a moment
by the window, watching the girl they had been talk-
ing of with a soft serious look.
But the softness passed. A slight incident dis-
turbed it. For the spectator saw Lady Kent, who
was sitting beside her daughter, raise a gigantic fan
and beckon to Lord Ancoats. He came unwillingly,
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256 SIB GEORGE TBE88ADY
and she made some bantering remark. Lady Made-
leine meanwhile was bending over a book of photo-
graphs, with a flushed cheek and a look of constraint.
Ancoats stood near her for a moment uneasily, frown-
ing and pulling at his moustache. Then with an
abrupt word to Lady Kent, he turned away and threw
himself on a sofa beside Lord Cathedine. Lady Made-
leine bent lower over her book, her beautiful hair mak-
ing a spot of fire in the room. Marcella caught the
expression of her profile, and her own face took a look
of pain. She would have liked to go instantly to the
girl's side, with some tenderness, some caress. But
that gorgon Lady Kent, now looking extremely fierce,
was in the way, and moreover other young men had
arrived to take the place Ancoats had apparently,
refused.
Meanwhile Letty saw the arrival of the gentlemen
with delight. She had found but small entertain-
ment in the lady to whom Mrs. Allison had intro-
duced her. Miss Paston, the sister of Lord Ancoats's
agent, was a pleasant-looking spinster of thirty-five
in a Quakerish dress of grey silk. Her face bore wit-
ness that she was capable and refined. But Letty
felt no desire whatever to explore capability and
refinement. She had not come to Castle Luton to
make herself agreeable to Miss Paston.
So the conversation languished. Letty yawned a
little, and flourished her fan a great deal, till the
appearance of the men brought back the flush to her
cheek and animation to her eye. She drew herself
up at once, hungry for notice and success. Mrs.
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SIR GEORGE TRESSADT 257
Hawkins, the vicar's wife at Malford, would have been
avenged could she have watched her old tyrant under
these chastening circumstances.
Harding Watton crossed the room when he saw his
cousin, and took the corner of the sofa beside her.
Letty received him graciously, though she was per-
haps disappointed that it was not Lord Ancoats or
Lord Cathedine. Looking round before she gave her-
self to conversation with him, she saw that George
was standing near the open window with Lord Max-
well and Sir Philip Wentworth, the ex-Governor.
They were talking of India, and Sir Philip had his
hand on George's arm.
"Yes, I saw Dalhousie go," he said eagerly. "I
was only a lad of twenty, but I can't think of it now
without a lump in my throat. When he limped on to
the Hooghly landing-stage on his crutches we couldn't
cheer him — I shall never forget that sudden silence I
In eight years he had made a new India, and there
we saw him, — our little hero, — dying of his work at
forty-six before our eyes ! . . . Well, I couldn't have
imagined that a young man like you would have
known or cared so much about that time. What a
talk we have had! Thank you!"
And the veteran tightened his grip cordially for a
moment on Tressady's arm, then dropped it and
walked away.
Tressady threw his wife a bright glance, as though
to ask her how she fared. Letty smiled graciously in
reply, feeling a sudden softening pleasure in being so
thought of. As her eyes met her husband's she saw
Marcella Maxwell, who was still standing by the win-
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258 SIR OEOROE TRE88ADT
dow, turn towards George and call to him. George
moved forward with alacrity. Then he and Lady
Maxwell slowly walked down the steps to the garden,
and disappeared through one of the archways to the
left.
" That great lady and George seem at last to have
made friends," said Harding Watton to Letty, in a
laughing undertone. " I have no doubt she is trying
to win him over. Well she may! Before the next
few weeks are over the Government will be in a fix
with this Bill; and not even their ^beautiful lady'
will help them out. Maxwell looks as glum as an
owl to-night."
Letty laughed. The situation pleased her vanity a
good deal. The thought of Lady Maxwell humiliated
and defeated — partly by George's means — was de-
cidedly agreeable to her. Which would seem to show
that she was, after all, more sensitive or more quick-
eyed than Betty Leven had been ready to allow.
Meanwhile Marcella and George Tressady were
strolling slowly towards the river, along a path that
crossed the great lawns. In front of them the stretches
of grass, bathed in silvery light and air, ran into far
distances of shade under majestic trees just thicken-
ing to a June wealth of foliage. Below, these distant
tree-masses made sharp capes and promontories on
the white grass; above, their rounded tops rose dark
against a blue, light-breathing sky. At one point
the river pierced the blackness of the wood, and in
the space thus made the spire of a noble church shot
heavenward. Swans floated dimly along the stream
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SIB GEOHGE TRE88ADY 259
and under the bridge. The air was fresh, but the
rawness of spring was gone. It was the last week
of May; the "high midsummer pomps" were near —
a heavenly prophecy in wood and field.
And not even Tressady^s prejudice — which, in-
deed, was already vanishing — could fail to see in
the beautiful woman beside him the fitting voice and
spirit of such a scene.
To-night he said to himself that one must needs
believe her simple, in spite of report. During their
companionship this evening she had shown him more
and more plainly that she liked his society ; her man-
ner towards him, indeed, had by now a soft surrender
and friendliness that no man could possibly have met
with roughness, least of all a man young and ambi-
tious. But at the same time he noticed again, as he
had once noticed with anger, that she was curiously
free from the usual feminine arts and wiles. After
their long talk at dinner, indeed, he began, in spite
of himself, to feel her not merely an intellectual com-
rade, — that he had been conscious of from the first, —
but rather a most winning and attaching companion.
It was a sentiment of friendly ease, that seemed to
bring with it a great relief from tension. The sordid
cares and frictions of the last few weeks, and the
degrading memories of the day itself, alike ceased to
wear him.
Yet all the time he said to himself, with inward
amusement, that he must take care! They had not
talked directly of the Bill at dinner, but they had
talked round and about it incessantly. It was clear
that the Maxwells were personally very anxious; and
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260 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
George knew well that the public position of the
Ministry was daily becoming more difficult. There
had been a marked cooling on the subject of the Bill
among their own supporters ; one or two London mem-
bers originally pledged to it were even believed to be
wavering; and this campaign lately started by Eon-
tenoy and Watton against two of the leading clauses
of the measure, in a London "daily/' bought for the
purpose, had been so far extremely damaging. The
situation was threatening indeed, and Maxwell might
well look harassed.
Yet Tressady had detected no bitterness in Lady
Maxwell's mood. Her temper rather seemed to him
very strenuous, very eager, and a little sad. Alto-
gether, he had been touched, he knew not exactly
why, by his conversation with her. "We are going
to win," he said to himself, "and she knows it."
Yet to think thus gave him, for the first time, no
particular pleasure.
As they strolled along they talked a little of some
of the topics that had been started at dinner, topics
semi-political and semi-social, till suddenly Lady
Maxwell said, with a change of voice:
" I heard some of your conversation with Sir Philip
just now. How differently you talk when you talk of
India!"
"I wonder what that means," said George, smiling.
"It means, at any rate, that when I am not talking
of India, but of English labour, or the poor, you
think I talk like a brute."
"I shouldn't put it like that," she said quietly.
"But when you talk of India, and people like the
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SIR GEORGE TRESS AD Y 261
Lawrences or Lord Dalhousie, then it is that one
sees what you really admire — what stirs you —
what makes you feel."
"Well, ought I not to feel? Is there to be no
gratitude towards the people that have made one's
country?"
He looked down upon her gaily, perfectly conscious
of his own tickled vanity. To be observed and ana-
lysed by such a critic was in itself flattery.
"That have made one's country?" she repeated,
not without a touch of irony. Then suddenly she
became silent.
George thrust his hands into his pockets and waited
a little.
" Well? " he said presently. " Well? I am waiting
to hear you prove that the Dalhousies and the Law-
rences have done nothing for the country, compared
to — what shall we say? — some trade-union secretary
whom you particularly admire."
She laughed, but he did not immediately draw his
answer. They had reached the river-bank and the
steps of the little bridge. Marcella mounted the
bridge and paused midway across it, hanging over
the parapet. He followed her, and both stood gazing
at the house. It rose from the grass like some fabric
of yellowish ivory cut and scrolled and fretted by
its Tudor architect, who had been also a goldsmith.
There were lights like jewels in its latticed win-
dows ; the dark fulness of the trees, disposed by an
artist-hand, enwrapped or fell away from it as the
eye required ; and on the dazzling lawns, crossed by
soft bands of shadow, scattered forms moved up and
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262 SIR GEORGE TRES8ADT
down — women in trailing dresses, and black-coated
men. There were occasional sallies of talk and
laughter, and from the open window of the drawing-
room came the notes of a violin.
" Brahms ! " said Marcella, with delight. " Nothing
but music and he could express this night — or the
river — or the rising glow and bloom of everything.''
As she spoke George felt a quick gust of pleasure and
romance sweep across him. It was as though senses
that had been for long on the defensive, tired, or
teased merely by the world, gave way in a moment to
joy and poetry. He looked from the face beside him
to the pictured scene in which they stood — the soft
air filled his lungs — what ailed him? — he only knew
that after many weeks he was, somehow, happy and
buoyant again!
Lady Maxwell, however, soon forgot the music and
the moonlight.
"That have made one's country?" she repeated,
pausing on the words. "And of course that house
appeals to you in the same way? Famous people
have lived in it — people who belong to history. But
for me, the real making of one's country is done out
of sight, in garrets and workshops and coalpits, by
people who die every minute — forgotten — swept into
heaps like autumn leaves, their lives mere soil and
foothold for the generation that comes after them.
All yesterday morning, for instance, I spent trying to
feed a woman I know. She is a shirtmaker; she has
four children, and her husband is a docker out of
work. She had sewed herself sick and blind. She
couldn't eat, and she couldn't sleep. But she had
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SIB GEORGE TRESS AD Y 263
kept the children alive — and the man. Her life will
flicker out in a month or two; but the children's lives
will have taken root, and the man will be eating and
earning again. What use would your Dalhousies and
Lawrences be to England without her and the hun-
dreds of thousands like her?"
"And yet it is you," cried George, unable to for-
bear the chance she gave him, " who would take away
from this very woman the power of feeding her chil-
dren and saving her husband — who would spoil all
the lives in the clumsy attempt to mend one of
them. How can you quote me such an instance!
It amazes me."
"Not at all. I have only to use my instance for
another purpose, in another way. You are thinking
of the Bill, of course? But all we do is to say to
some of these victims, 'Your sacrifice, as it stands, is
too costly; the State in its own interest cannot go on
exacting or allowing it. We will help you to serve
the community in ways that shall exhaust and wound
it less.'"
"And as a first step, drive you all comfortably into
the workhouse! " said George. "Don't omit that."
"Many individuals must suffer," she said steadily.
"But there will be friends to help — friends that will
strain every nerve to help."
All her heart showed itself in voice and emphasis.
Almost for the first time in their evening's talk her
natural passionateness came to sight — the Southern,
impulsive temper, that so often made people laugh at
or dislike her. Under the lace shawl she had thrown
round her on coming out he saw the quick rise and
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264 8IE GEORGE TRE88ADY
fall of the breast, the nervous clasp of the hands
lying on the stonework of the bridge. These were
her prophetess airs again. To-night they still amused
him, but in a gentler and more friendly way.
" And so, according to your own account, you will
protect your tailoress and unmake your country. I
am sorry for your dilemma," he said, laughing.
"Ah! well," — she shrugged her shoulders with a
sigh, — "don't let's talk of it. It's all too pressing
— and sore — and hot. And to think of the weeks
that are just coming on!"
George, hanging over the parapet beside her, felt
reply a little awkward, and said nothing. For a min-
ute or two the night made itself heard, the gentle
slipping of the river, the fitful breathings from the
trees. A swan passed and repassed below them, and
an owl called from the distant woods.
Presently Marcella lifted a white finger and pointed
to the house.
"One wouldn't want a better parable," she said.
"It's like the State as you see it — magnificent,
inspiring, a thing of pomp and dignity. But we
women, who have to drive and keep going a house
like that — we know what it all rests upon. It rests
upon a few tired kitchen-maids and boot-boys and
scullery-girls, hurrying, panting creatures, whom a
guest never sees, who really run it all. I know, for
I have tried to unearth them, to organise them, to
make sure that no one was fainting while we were
feasting. But it is incredibly hard; half the human
race believes itself born to make things easy for the
other half. It comes natural to them to ache and toil
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SIB GEORGE TRESS AD Y 265
while we sit in easy chairs. What they resent is that
we should try to change it."
"Groodness!" said George, pulling at his mous-
taches. "I don't recognise my own experience of
the ordinary domestic polity in that summary."
"I daresay. You have to do with the upper ser-
vant, who is always a greater tyrant than his master,"
she retorted, her voice expressing a curious medley of
laughter and feeling. " I am speaking of the people
that are not seen, like the tailoress and shirtmaker,
in your drum-and-trumpet State."
" Well, you may be right, " said George, drily. " But
I confess — if I may be quite frank — that I don't
altogether trust you to judge. I want at least, before
I strike the balance between my Dalhousie and your
tailoress, to hear what those people have to say who
have not crippled their minds — by pity ! "
**Pity!" she said, her lip trembling in spite of
herself. "Pity! — you count pity a disease?"
"As you — and others — practise it," he replied
coolly, turning round upon her. "It is no good;
the world can't be run by pity. At least, living
always seems to me a great brutal, rushing, rough-
and-tumble business, which has to be carried on
whether we like it or no. To be too careful, too
gingerly over the separate life, brings it all to a
standstill. Meddle too much, and the Demiurge who
set the machine going turns sulky and stops working.
Then the nation goes to pieces — till some strong ruff-
ian without a scruple puts it together again."
"What do you mean by the Demiurge?"
He laughed.
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266 SIR QEOBQE TBMSSADY
"Why do you make me explain my flights? Well,
I suppose, the natural daimonic power in things,
which keeps them going and set them off; which is
not us, or like us, and cares nothing for us."
His light voice developed a sudden energy during
his little speech.
"Ah!" said Marcella, wistfully. "Yes, if one
thought that, I could understand. But, even so, if
the power behind things cares nothing for us, I
should only regard it as challenging us to care more
for each other. Do you mind my asking you a few
plain questions? Do you know anything personally
of the London poor? I mean, have you any real
friends among them, whose lives you know?"
" Well, I sit with Eontenoy while he receives depu-
tations from all those tailoresses and shirtmakers and
fur-sewers that you want to put in order. The har-
assed widow streams through his room perpetually —
wailing to be let alone ! "
Marcella made a sound of amused scorn.
"Oh! you think that nothing," said Greorge, indig-
nant. " I vow I could draw every type of widow that
London contains — I know them intimately."
She shook her head.
" I give up London. Then, in the North, aren't you
a coal-owner? Do you know your miners? "
"Yes, and I detest them!" said Gteorge, shortly;
"pig-headed brutes! They will be on strike next
month, and I shall be defrauded of my lawful income
till their lordships choose to go back. Pity me, if
you please — not them!"
"So I do," she said with spirit — "if you hate the
men by whom you live I "
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SIB GEORGE TBES8ADT 267
There was silence. Then suddenly George said, in
another tone :
" But sometimes, I don't deny, the beggars wring it
out of one — your pity. I saw a mother last week —
Suppose we stroll on a little. I want to see how the
river gets out of the wood."
They descended the bridge, and turned again into
the river-path. Greorge told the story of Mary
Batchelor in his half -ironic way, yet so that here
and there Marcella shivered. Then gradually, as
though it were a relief to him to talk, he slipped
into a half-humorous, half-serious discussion of his
mine-owner's position and its difficulties. Incident-
ally and unconsciously a good deal of his history
betrayed itself in his talk: his bringing-up, his
mother; the various problems started in his mind
since his return from India; even his relations to his
wife. Once or twice it flashed, across him that he
was confessing himself with an extraordinary frank-
ness to a woman he had made up his mind to dislike.
But the reflection did not stop him. The balmy night,
the solitude, this loveliness that walked beside him so
willingly and kindly — with every step they struck his
defences from him ; they drew ; they penetrated.
With her, too, everything was simple and natural.
She had felt his attraction at their first meeting ; she
had determined to make a friend of him; and she was
succeeding. As he disclosed himself she felt a strange
compassion for him. It was plain to her woman's in-
stinct that he was at heart lonely and uncompanioned.
Well, what wonder with that hard, mean little being
for a wife I Had she captured him, or had he thrown
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268 SIB GEORGE TBE88ADT
himself away upon her in mere wantonness, out of
that defiance of sentiment which appeared to be his
favourite parti-prisf In any case, it seemed to this
happy wife that he had done the one fatal and irrep-
arable thing; and she was genuinely sorry for him.
She felt him very young, too. As far as she could
gather, he was about two years her junior; but her
feeling made the gap much greater.
Yet, of course, the situation, — Maxwell, Fontenoy,
— all that those names implied to him and her, made
a thrilling under-note in both their minds. She
never forgot her husband and his straits ; and in
George's mind Fontenoy's rugged figure stood senti-
nel. Given the circumstances, both her temperament
and her affections drove her inevitably into trying,
first to attract, then to move and influence her com-
panion. And given the circumstances, he could but
yield himself bit by bit to her woman's charm ;
while full all the time of a confident scorn for her
politics.
Insensibly, the stress upon them drew them back to
London and to current affairs, and at last she said to
him, with vehemence :
" You must see these people in the flesh — and not
in your house, but in theirs. Or, first come and meet
them in mine?"
" Why, please, should you think St. James's Square
a palace of truth compared to Carlton House Ter-
race?" he asked her, with amusement. Fontenoy
lived in Carlton House Terrace.
"I am not inviting you to St. James's Square," she
said quietly. " That house is only my home for one
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SIR GEORGE TRES8ADT 269
set of purposes. Just now my true home is not there
at all. It is in the Mile End Road."
George asked to be informed, and opened his eyes
at her account of the way in which she still divided
her time between the West End and the East, spend-
ing always one or two nights a week among the trades
and the work-people she had come to know so inti-
mately, whose cause she was fighting with such per-
sistence.
"Maxwell doesn't come now," she said. "He is
too busy, and his work there is done. But I go
because I love the people, and to talk with them and
live with them part of every week keeps one's mind
clear as to what one wants, and why. Well," — her
voice showed that she smiled, — " will you come? My
old maid shall give you coffee, and you shall meet a
roomful of tailors and shirtmakers. You shall see
what people look like in the flesh — not on paper —
after working fourteen hours at a stretch, in a room
where you and I could not breathe ! "
"Charming!" — he bowed ironically. "Of course
I will come."
They had paused under the shadow of a grove of
beech-trees, and were looking back towards the moon-
lit garden and the house. Suddenly George said, in
an odd voice :
"Do you mind my saying it? You know, nobody
is ever converted — politically — nowadays."
In the darkness her flush could not be seen. But
he felt the mingled pride and soreness in her voice,
under its forced brightness.
" I know. How long is it since a speech turned a
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270 8IB OEOBGE TBE88ADT
vote in the House of Commons ! One wonders why
people take the trouble to speak. Shall we go back?
Ah! there is someone pursuing us — my husband and
Ancoats ! ''
And two figures, dark for an instant against the
brightness of the lawns, plunged into the shadow of
the wood.
"You wanderers !'' said Maxwell, as he distin-
guished his wife's white dress. "Is this path
quite safe in this darkness? Suppose we get out
of it."
The river, indeed, beneath a steep bank, ran close
beside them, and the trees meeting overhead all but
shut out the moon. Maxwell, in some anxiety, caught
his wife's arm, and made her pause till his eye should
be once more certain of the path. Meanwhile Ancoats
and Tressady walked quickly back to the lawn, An-
coats talking and laughing with unusual vigour.
The Maxwells did not hurry themselves. As they
emerged from the wood Marcella slipped her hand
into her husband's. It was her characteristic caress.
The slim, strong hand loved to feel itself in the
shelter of his ; while to him that seeking touch was
the symbol of all that she brought him — the inven-
tive, inexhaustible arts of a passion which was a kind
of genius.
"Don't go in! " she pleaded. "Why should we?"
"No! — why should we?" he repeated, sighing.
"Why are we here at all? — that is what I have
been asking myself all the evening. And now more
than ever since my walk with that boy Ancoats."
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SIB GEOBGE TRESSADT 271
"Tell me about it,'' she said eagerly. «* Could you
get nothing out of him? "
Maxwell shrugged his shoulders.
"Nothing. He vows that everything is all right;
that he knows a pack of slanderers have been 'yelp-
ing at him, ' and he wishes both they and his mother
would let him alone."
" His mother ! " cried Marcella, outraged.
"Well, I suppose I said to him the kind of thing
you would evidently like to say. But with no result.
He merely laughed, and chattered about everything
under the sun — his race-horses, new plays, politics —
Heaven knows what! He is in an excited state —
feverish, restless, and, I should think, unhappy. But
he would tell nothing — to me."
"How much do you think she knows?"
"His mother? Nothing, I should say. Every now
and then I detect a note of extra anxiety when she
talks to him; and there is evidently something in
her mind, some impression from his manner, perhaps,
which is driving her more keenly than ever towards
this marriage. But I don't believe a single one of
the stories that have reached us has reached her.
And now — here is this poor girl — and even my dull
eyes have noticed that to-night he has purposely,
markedly, avoided her."
Marcella felt her cheek flame.
" And when one thinks of his behaviour in the win-
ter!" she cried.
They wandered on along a path that skirted the wood,
talking anxiously about the matter which had in truth
brought them to Castle Luton. In spite of the com-
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272 8IB GEORGE TRE88ADT
parative gentleness of English political relations,
neither Maxwell nor Marcella, perhaps, would will-
ingly have become Charlotte Allison's guests at a
moment when her house was actually the headquar-
ters of a violent and effective opposition to MaxwelPs
policy, when moreover the leader of that opposition
was likely to be of the party. But about a fortnight
before Whitsuntide some tales of young Ancoats had
suddenly reached Maxwell's ears, with such effect that
on his next meeting with Ancoats's mother he practi-
cally invited himself and Marcella — greatly to Mrs.
Allison's surprise — to CaStle Luton for Whitsuntide.
Eor the boy had been Maxwell's ward, and Henry
Allison had been the intimate friend and comrade of
MaxwelPs father. And Maxwell's feeling for his
father, and for his father's friends, was of such a
kind that his guardian's duties had gone deep with
him. He had done his best for the boy, and since
Ancoats had reached his majority his ex-guardian
had still kept him anxiously in mind.
Of late indeed Ancoats had troubled himself very
little about his guardian, or his guardian's anxieties.
He seemed to have been devoting a large share of his
mind to the avoidance of his mother's old friends;
and the Maxwells, for months, in spite of many
efforts on their part, had seen little or nothing of
him. Maxwell for various reasons had begun to
suspect a number of uncomfortable things with regard
to the young fellow's friends and pleasures. Yet
nothing could be taken hold of till this sudden emer-
gence of a particular group of stories, coupling An-
coats^s name with that of a notorious little actress
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SIB GEORGE TBE88ADY 273
whose adventures had already provided a certain class
of newspaper with abundant copy.
Then Maxwell, who cared personally very little for
the red-haired youth himself, took alarm for the
mother's sake. For in the case of Mrs. Allison a
scandal of the kind suggested meant a tragedy. Her
passion for her son was almost a tragedy already, so
closely mingled in it were the feelings of the mother
and those of the Christian, to whom " vice " is not
an amusement, but an agony.
Yet, as Marcella said and felt, it was a hard fate
that had forced Maxwell to concern himself with
Ancoats's love-affairs at this particular moment.
"Don't think of it," she said at last, urgently, as
they walked along. " It is too bad ; as if there were
not enough ! "
Maxwell stood still, with a little smile, and put his
arm round her shoulders.
" Dear, I shall soon have time enough, probably, to
think about Ancoats's affairs or anything else. Do
you know that I was planning this morning what we
would do when we go out ? Shall we slip over to the
Australian colonies in the autumn ? I would give a
good deal to see them for myself."
She gave a low cry of pain.
"Why are you so depressed to-night? Is there
any fresh news?"
"Yes. And, altogether, things look increasingly
bad for us, and increasingly well for them. It will
be extraordinarily close anyway — probably a matter
of a vote or two."
VOL. I — T
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274 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
And he gave her a summary of his after-dinner con-
versation with Lord Cathedine, a keen ally of Fonte-
noy's in the Lords, and none the less a shrewd fellow
because he happened to be also a detestable person.
Marcella heard the news of one or two fresh defec-
tions from the Government with amazement and indig-
nation. She stood there in the darkness, leaning
against the man she loved, her heart beating fast and
stormily. How could the world thus misconceive and
thwart him? And what could she do? Her mind
ran passionately through a hundred schemes, refusing
to submit — to see him baffled and defeated.
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CHAPTER XII
To Lord Ancoats himself tMs party of his mother's
was an oppression and a nuisance. He had only been
induced to preside over it with difficulty; and his
mother had been both hurt and puzzled by his reluc-
tance to play the host.
If you had asked Maxwell's opinion on the point,
he would have told you that Ancoats's bringing up
had a good deal to do with the present anxieties
of Ancoats's mother. He — Maxwell — had done his
best, but he had been overmatched.
First and foremost, Ancoats had been to no public
school. It was not the custom of the family; and
Mrs. Allison could not be induced to break the tra-
dition. There was accordingly a succession of tutors,
whose Church-principles at least were sound. And
Ancoats showed himself for a time an impressionable,
mystical boy, entirely in sympathy with his mother.
His confirmation was a great family emotion, and
when he was seventeen Mrs. Allison had difficulty
in making him take food enough in Lent to keep him
in health. Maxwell was beginning to wonder where
it would end, when the lad was sent to Cambridge,
and the transformation scene that might always per-
haps have been expected, began.
He had been two years at Trinity when he went to
275
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276 8IB GJSOBGE TBE88ADT
pay the Maxwells a visit at the Court. Maxwell could
hardly believe his eyes or ears. The boy who at nine-
teen was an authority on church music and ancient
"uses/' by twenty-one talked and thought of nothing
in heaven or earth but the stage and French briodrbrcLc.
His conversation swarmed with the names of actors,
singers, and dancers ; but they were names that meant
nothing except to the initiated. They were the small
people of the small theatres ; and Ancoats was a Triton
among them, not at all, so he carefully informed his
kindred, because of his wealth and title, but because
he too was an artist, and could sing, revel, write, and
dance with the best of them.
For some time Maxwell was able to console Mrs.
Allison with the historical reflection that more than
one son of the Oxford Movement had found in a pas-
sion for the stage a ready means of annoying the Eng-
lish Puritan. When it came, howeter, to the young
man's producing risky plays of his own composing at
extremely costly matinees, there was nothing for it
but to interfere. Maxwell at last persuaded him to
give up the farce of Cambridge and go abroad. But
Ancoats would only go with a man of his own sort ;
and their time was mostly spent in Paris, where
Ancoats divided his hard-spent existence between the
furious pursuit of Louis Quinze bibelots and the pat-
ronage of two or three minor theatres. To be the king
of a first night, raining applause and bouquets from
his stage-box, seemed to give him infinite content ; but
his vanity was hardly less flattered by the compli-
ments say of M. Tournonville, the well-known dealer
on the Quai Voltaire, who would bow himself before
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SIR GEORGE TRESS AD Y 277
the young Englislimaii with the admiring cry, " Mon
Dieu ! milord, que- vous Stes fin connaisseur ! " while
the dealer's assistant grinned among the shadows of
the back-shop.
At last, at twenty-four, he must needs return to Eng-
land for his coming of age under his grandfather's will
and the taking over of his estate. Under the sober-
ing influence of these events, his class and his mother
seemed for a time to recover him. He refurnished a
certain number of rooms at Castle Luton, and made a
special marvel of his own room, which was hung thick
with Boucher, Greuze, and Watteau engravings, lit-
tered with miniatures and trinkets, and encumbered
here and there with portfolios of drawings which he
was not anxious to unlock in his mother's presence.
Moreover, he was again affectionate to his mother,
and occasionally even went to church with her. The
instincts of the English aristocrat reappeared amid
the accomplishments of the petit-mattre, and poor Mrs.
Allison's spirits revived. Then the golden-haired
Lady Madeleine was asked to stay at Castle Luton.
When she came Ancoats devoted himself with extraor-
dinary docility. He drew her, made songs for her,
and devised French charades to act with her ; he even
went so far as to compare her with enthusiasm to the
Mttest and most wonderful " Salome " just exhibited in
the Salon by the latest and most wonderful of the im-
pressionists. But Lady Madeleine fortunately had not
seen the picture.
Then suddenly, one morning, Ancoats went up to
town without notice and remained there. After a
while his mother pursued him thither; but Ancoats
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278 8IR GEORGE TRESS ADT
was restless at sight of her, and she was not long in
London, though long enough to show the Maxwells
and others that her heart was anxiously set upon
Lady Madeleine as a daughter-in-law.
This then — taken together with the stories now
besprinkling the newspapers — was the situation.
Naturally, Ancoats's affairs, as he himself was irri-
tably &ware, were now, in one way or another, occu-
pying the secret thoughts or the private conversations
of most of his mother's guests.
For instance —
" Are you nice ? " said Betty Leven, suddenly, to
young Lord Naseby, in the middle of Sunday morn-
ing. " Are you in a charitable, charming, humble, and
trusting frame of mind ? Because, if not, I shall go
away — I have had too much of Lady Kent ! "
Charlie Naseby laughed. He was sitting reading
in the shade at the edge of one of the Castle Luton
lawns. For some time past he had been watching
Betty Leven and Lady Kent, as they talked under a
cedar-tree some little distance from him. Lady Kent
conversed with her whole bellicose person — her cap,
her chin, her nose, her spreading and impressive
shoulders. And from her gestures young Naseby
guessed that she had been talking to Betty Leven
rather more in character than usual.
He felt a certain curiosity about the t^te-drt^te. So
that when Betty left her companion and came tripping
over the lawn to the house, the young man lifted his
face and gave her a smiling nod, as though to invite
her to come and visit him on the way. Betty came^
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SIB GEORGE TRE88ADT 279
and then as she stood in front of him delivered the
home question already reported.
" Am I nice ? " repeated young Naseby. " Far from
it. I have not been to church, and I have been read-
ing a French novel of which I do not even propose to
tell you the name."
And he promptly slipped his volume into his
pocket.
"Which is worst?" said Betty, pensively: "to
break the fourth Commandment or the ninth ? Lady
Kent, of course, has been trampling on them both.
But the ninth is her particular victim. She calls it
* getting to the roots of things.' "
"Whose roots has she been delving at this morn-
ing?" said Naseby.
Betty looked behind her, saw that Lady Kent had
gone into the house, and let herself drop into the cor-
ner of Naseby's bench with a sigh of fatigue.
" One feels as though one were a sort of house-dog
tussling with a burglar. I have been keeping her off
all my friends' secrets by main force ; so she had to
fall back on George Tressady, and tell me ugly tales
of his mamma."
" George Tressady ! Why on earth should she do
him an ill turn ? I don't believe she ever saw him
before."
Betty pressed her lips. She and Charlie Naseby
had been friends since they wore round pinafores and
sat on high nursery chairs side by side.
" One needn't go to the roots of things," she said,
severely, "but one should have eyes in one's head.
Has it ever occurred to you that Ancoats has taken a
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280 8IB GEORGE TRE88ADY
special fancy to Sir George — that he sat talking to
him last night till all hours, and that he has been
walking about with him the whole of this morning,
instead of walking about — well ! with somebody else
— as he was meant to do ? Why do men behave in
this ridiculous manner? Women, of course. But
men I It's like a trout that won't let itself be landed.
And what's the good? It's only prolonging the
agony."
"Not at all," said Naseby, laughing. "There's
always the chance of slipping the hook." Then his
lively face became suddenly serious. " But it's time,
I think," he added, almost with vehemence, "that
Lady Kent stopped trying to land Ancoats. In the
first place, it's no good. He won't be landed against
his will. In the next — well, I only know," he broke
off, "that if I had a sister in love with Ancoats at the
present moment, I'd carry her off to the North Pole
rather than let her be talked about with him ! "
Betty opened her eyes.
" Then there is something in the stories ! " she cried.
" Of course, Frank told me there was nothing. And
the Maxwells have not said a word. And now 1
understand why Lady Kent has been dinning it into
my ears — I could only be thankful Mrs. Allison was
safe at church — that Ancoats should marry early.
*0h! my dear, it's always been the only hope for
them!'" Betty mimicked Lady Kent's deep voice
and important manner : " * Why, there was the grand-
father — his wife had a time ! — I could tell you things
about him I — oh ! and her too. — And even Henry Alli-
son I — ' There, of course, I stopped her."
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SIR GEORGE TBESSADY 281
"Old ghoul!'' said Naseby, in disgust. "So she
knows. And yet — good Heavens! where does that
charming girl come from?''
He knocked the end off his cigarette, and returned
it to his mouth with a rather unsteady hand.
" Knows ? — knows what ? " said Betty. There was
a pink flush, perhaps of alarm, on her pretty cheek,
but her eyes said plainly that if there were risks she
must run them.
Naseby hesitated. The natural reticence of one
young man about another held him back — and he was
Ancoats's friend. But he liked Lady Madeleine, and
her mother's ugly manoeuvres in the sight of gods and
men filled him with a restless ill-temper.
" You say the Maxwells have told you nothing ? "
he said at last. " But all the same I am pretty certain
that Maxwell is here for nothing else. What on earth
should he be doing in this galore just now ! Look at
him and Fontenoy ! They've been pacing that lime-
walk for a good hour. No one ever saw such a spec-
tacle before. Of course something's up ! "
Betty followed his eyes, and caught the figures of
the two men between the trunks as they moved through
the light and shadow of the lime-walk — Fontenoy's
massive head sunk in his shoulders, his hands clasped
behind his back ; Maxwell's taller and alerter form be-
side him. Fontenoy had, in fact, arrived that morn-
ing from town, just too late to accompany Mrs.
Allison and her flock to church; and Maxwell and
he had been together since the moment when Ancoats,
having brought his guest into the garden, had gone off
himself on arwalk with Tressady
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282 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
"Ancoats and Tressady came back past here,"
Naseby went on. " Ancoats stood still, with his hands
on his sides, and looked at those two. His expression
was not amiable. * Something hatching,' he said to
Tressady. I suppose Ancoats got his sneer from his
actor-friends — none of us could do it without prac-
tice. * Shall we go and pull the chief out of that ? '
But they didn't go. Ancoats turned sulky, and went
into the house by himself."
" I'm glad I don't have to keep that youth straight,"
said Betty, devoutly. " Perhaps I don't care enough
about him to try. But his mother's a darling saint !
— and if he breaks her heart he ought to be hung."
"She knows nothing — I believe — " said Naseby,
quickly.
" Strange ! " cried Betty. " I wonder if it pays to
be a saint. I shall know everything about my boy
when he's that age."
" Oh ! will you ? " said Naseby, looking at her with
a mocking eye.
"Yes, sir, I shall. Your secrets are not so difficult
to know, if one wants to know them. Heaven forbid,
however, that I should want to know anything about
any of you till Bertie is grown up ! Now, please tell
me everything. Who is the lady ? "
" Heaven forbid I should tell you ! " said Naseby,
drily.
" Don't trifle any more," said Betty, laying a remon-
strating hand on his arm ; " they will be home from
church directly."
"Well, I won't tell you any names," said Naseby,
reluctantly. "Of course, it's an actress — a very
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SIR GEORG:e TBE88ADT 283
small one. And, of course, she's a bad lot — and
pretty.''
" Why, there's no of course about it — about either
of them!" said Betty, with more indignation than
grammar. She also had dramatic friends, and was
sensitive on the point.
Naseby protested that if he must argue the ethics
of the stage before he told his tale, the tale would
remain untold. Then Betty, subdued, fell into an
attitude of meek listening, hands on lap. The tale
when told indeed proved to be a very ordinary affair,
marked out perhaps a trifle from the ruck by the facts
that there was another pretender in the field with
whom Ancoats had already had one scene in public,
and would probably have more; that Ancoats being
Ancoats, something mad and conspicuous was to be ex-
pected, which would bring the matter inevitably to his
mother's ears ; and that Mrs. Allison was Mrs. Allison.
" Can he marry her ? " said Betty, quickly.
"Thank Heaven! no. There is a husband some-
where in Chili. So that it doesn't seem to be a ques-
tion of driving Mrs. Allison out of Castle Luton. But
— well, between ourselves, it would be a pity to give
Ancoats so fine a chance of going to the bad, as he'll
get, if this young woman lays hold of him. He
mightn't recover it."
Betty sat silent a moment. All her gaiety had
passed away. There was a fierceness in her blue
eyes.
" And that's what we bring them up for ! " she ex-
claimed at last — "that they may do all these ugly,
stale, stupid things over again. Oh ! I'm not think-
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284 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY
ing so inucli of the morals ! " — she turned to Naseby
with a defiant look. " I am thinking of the hateful
cruelty and unkindness ! '^
" To his mother ? " said Naseby. He shrugged his
shoulders.
Betty allowed herself an outburst. Her little hand
trembled on her knee. Naseby did not reply. Not
that he disagreed ; far from it. Under his young and
careless manner he was already a person of settled
character, cherishing a number of strong convictions.
But since it had become the fashion to talk as frankly
of a matter of this kind to your married-women friends
as to anybody else, he thought that the women should
take it with more equanimity.
Betty, indeed, regained her composure very quickly,
like a stream when the gust has passed. They fell
into a keen, practical discussion of the affair. Who
had influence with Ancoats ? What man ? Naseby
shook his head. The difference in age between An-
coats and Maxwell was too great, and the men too
unlike in temperament. He himself had done what
he could, in vain, and Ancoats now told him nothing ;
for the rest, he thought Ancoats had very few friends
amid his innumerable acquaintance, and such as he
had, of a third-rate dramatic sort, not likely to be
of much use at this moment.
" I haven't seen him take to any fellow of his own
kind as much as he has taken to George Tressady
these two days, since he left Cambridge. But that's
no good, of course — it's too new."
The two sat side by side, pondering. Suddenly
Naseby said, smiling, with a change of expression :
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SIR GEOBGE TRESS AD Y 285
"Tins party is really quite interesting. Look
there ! "
Betty looked, and saw George Tressady, with his
hands in his pockets, lounging along a distant path
beside Marcella Maxwell.
« Well ! '' said Betty, " what then ? "
Naseby gave his mouth a twist.
"Nothing; only it's odd. I ran across them just
now — I was playing ball with that jolly little imp,
Hallin. You never saw two people more absorbed.
Of course he's «ow« le charme — we all are. Our Eng-
lish politics are rather rum, aren't they ? They don't
indulge in this amiable country-house business in a
South American republic, you know. They prefer
shooting."
"And you evidently think it a he9,lthier state of
things. Wait till we come to something nearer to our
hearths and bosoms than Factory Acts," said Betty,
with the wisdom of her kind. " All the same. Lord
Fontenoy is in earnest."
" Oh yes, Fontenoy is in earnest. So, I suppose, is
Tressady. So — good Heavens ! — is Maxwell. I say,
here comes the church party."
And from a side-door in a venerable wall, beyond
which could be seen the tower of a little church, there
emerged a small group of people — Mrs. Allison, Lady
Cathedine, and Madeleine Penley in front, escorted by
the white-haired Sir Philip ; and behind. Lady Tres-
sady, between Harding Watton and Lord Cathedine.
"Cathedine!" cried Naseby, staring at the group.
" Cathedine been to church ? "
"For the purpose, I suppose, of disappointing poor
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286 SIB GEOBGE TRE88ADT
Laura, who might have hoped to get rid of him," said
Betty, sharply. "No! — if I were Mrs. Allison I
should draw the line at Lord Cathedine."
" Nobody need see any more of Cathedine than they
want," said Naseby, calmly ; " and, of course, he be-
haves himself here. Moreover, there is no doubt at
all about his brains. They say Fontenoy expects to
make great use of him in the Lords,"
" By the way," said Betty, turning round upon him,
" where are you ? "
" Well, thank God ! I'm not in Parliament," was
Naseby's smiling reply. "So don't trouble me for
opinions. I have none. Except that, speaking gen-
erally, I should like Lady Maxwell to get what she
wants."
Betty threw him a sly glance, wondering if she
might tease him about the news she heard of him
from Marcella.
She had no time, however, to attack him, for Mrs.
Allison approached.
"What is the matter with her ? — with Madeleine?
— with all of them ? " thought Betty, suddenly.
For Mrs. Allison, pale and discomposed, did not
return, did not apparently notice Lady Leven's greet-
ing. She walked hastily past them, and would have
gone at once into the house but that, turning her
head, she perceived Lord Fontenoy hurrying towards
her from the lime-walk. With an obvious effort she
controlled herself, and went to meet him, leaning
heavily on her silver-topped stick.
The others paused, no one having, as it seemed^
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SIB GEORGE TBESSADY 2«7
anything to say. Letty poked the gravel with her
parasol; Sir Philip made a telescope of his hands,
and fixed it upon Maxwell, who was coming slowly
across the lawn; while Lady Madeleine turned a
handsome, bewildered face on Betty.
Betty took her aside to look at a flower on the
house.
"What's the matter?'' said Lady Leven, under
her breath.
"I don't know," said the other. "Something
dreadful happened on the way home. There was a
girl-"
But she broke off suddenly. Ancoats had just
opened and shut the garden-door, and was coming to
join his guests.
"Poor dear ! " thought Betty to herself, with a leap
of pity. It was so evident the girl's whole nature
thrilled to the approaching step. She turned her
head towards Ancoats, as though against her will,
her tall form drawn erect, in unconscious tension.
Ancoats's quick eyes ran over the group.
"He thinks we have been talking about him," was
Betty's quick reflection, which was probably not far
from the truth. For the young man's face at once
assumed a lowering expression, and, walking up to
Lady Tressady, whom as yet he had noticed no more
than civility required, he asked whether she would
like to see the " houses " and the rose-garden.
Letty, delighted by the attention, said Yes in her
gayest way, and Ancoats at once led her off. He
walked quickly, and their figures soon disappeared
ainong the trees.
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288 8IB GEOBGE TBES8ADY
Madeleine Penley gazed after them. Betty, who
had a miserable feeling that the girl was betraying
herself to men like Harding Watton or Lord Cathe-
dine, — a feeling which was, however, the creation of
her own nervous excitement, — tried to draw her
away. But Lady Madeleine did not seem to under-
stand. She stood mechanically buttoning and un-
buttoning her long gloves. "Yes, I'm coming," she
said, but she did not move.
Then Betty saw that Lord Naseby had approached
her ; and it seemed to the observer that all the young
man's vivid face was suffused with something at once
soft and fierce.
"The thorn-blossom on the hill is a perfect show
just now. Lady Madeleine," he said. " Come and look
at it. There will be just time before lunch."
The girl looked at him. The colour rushed to
her cheeks, and she walked submissively away beside
him.
Meanwhile Letty and Ancoats pursued their way
towards the greenhouses and walled gardens. Letty
tripped along, hardly able to keep up with her
companion's stride, but chattering fast all the time.
At every turn of the view she overflowed with praise
and wonder; nor could anything have been at once
more enthusiastic or more impertinent than the ques-
tions with which she plied him as to his gardeners,
his estate, and his affairs, in the intervals of pane-
gyric.
Ancoats at first hardly listened to her. A perfunc-
tory " Yes " or " No " seemed to be all that the situar
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SIB GEORGE TRESS ABY 289
tion demanded. Then, when he did sufficiently emerge
from the tempest of his own thoughts to catch some of
the things she was saying, his irritable temper rebelled
at once. What had Tressady been about ? — ill-bred,
tiresome woman !
His manner stiffened ; he stalked along in front of
her, doing his bare host's duty, and warding off her
conversation as much as possible; while Letty, on
her side, soon felt the familiar chill and mortification
creeping over her. Why, she wondered angrily, should
he have asked her to walk with him if he could not
be a more agreeable companion ?
Towards the end of the lime-walk they came across
Mrs. Allison and Lord Fontenoy. As they passed the
older pair the pale mother lifted her eyes to her son
with a tremulous smile.
But Ancoats made no response, nor had he any
greeting for Fontenoy. He carried his companion
quickly on, till they found themselves in a wilderness
of walled gardens opening one into another, each, as
it seemed, more miraculously ordered and more abun-
dantly stocked than its neighbour.
"I wonder you know your way," laughed Letty.
^^ And who can possibly consume all this ? "
" I haven't an idea," said Ancoats, abruptly, as he
opened the door of the tenth vinery. " I wish you'd
tell me."
Letty raised her eyebrows with a little cry of
protest.
" Oh ! but it makes the whole place so magnificent,
so complete."
^^ What is there magnificent in having too much ? "
VOL. I — u
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290 8IR GEORGE TRE88ADT
said Ancoats, shortly. "I believe the day of tiiese
huge country places, with all their dxdl greenhouses
and things, is done."
Much he cared, indeed, about his gardeners and his
grapes ! He was in the mood to feel his whole inher-
itance a burden round his neck. But at the same
time to revile his own wealth gave him a pungent
sense of playing the artist.
" Have you argued that with Lord Fontenoy ? " she
inquired archly.
" I should not take the trouble," he said, with care-
less hauteur. " Ah ! " — Letty's vanity winced under
his involuntary accent of relief — "I see your husband
and Lady Maxwell."
Marcella and George came towards them. They
were strolling along a broad flowery border, which
was at the moment a blaze of paeonies of all shades,
interspersed with tall pyramidal growths of honey-
suckle. Marcella was loitering here and there, bury-
ing her face in the fragrance of the honeysuckle, or
drawing her companion's attention in delight to the
glowing clumps of pseonies. Hallin hovered round
them, now putting his hand confidingly into Tressady's,
now tugging at his mother's dress, and now gravely
wooing the friendship of a fine St. Bernard that made
one of the party. George, with his hands in his
pockets, walked or paused as the others chose; and
it struck Letty at once that he was talking with un-
usual freedom and zest.
Yes, it was true, indeed, as Harding said — they
had made friends. As she looked at them the first
movement of a jealous temper stirred in Letty. She
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SIB GEORGE TRESS ADT 291
was angry with Lady Maxwell's beauty, and angry
with George's enjoyment. It was like the great lady
all over to slight the wife and annex the husband.
George certainly might have taken the trouble to
come and look for her on their return from church !
So, while Ancoats talked stiffly with Marcella, the
bride, a few paces off, let George understand through
her bantering manner that she was out of humour.
" But, dear, I had no notion you would be let out so
soon," pleaded George. " That good man really can't
earn his pay."
" Oh ! but of course you knew it was High Church
— all split up into little bits," said Letty, unappeased.
"But naturally — "
She was about to add some jealous sarcasm when it
was arrested by the arrival of Sir Philip Wentworth
and Watton, whose figures appeared in a side-arch-
way close to her.
" Ah ! well guessed," said Sir Philip. " I thought
we should find you among the paeonies. Lady Tres-
sady, did you ever see such a show? Ancoats, is
your head gardener visible on a Sunday ? I ask with
trembling, for there is no more magnificent member
of creation. But if I could get at him, to ask him
about an orchid I saw in one of your houses yester-
day, I should be grateful."
"Come into the next garden, then," said Ancoats,
" where the orchid-houses are. If he isn't there, we'll
send for him."
" Then, Lady Tressady, you must come and see me
through," said Sir Philip, gallantly. "I want to quar-
rel with him about a label — and you remember Dizzy's
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292 SIB GEORGE TBE88ADT
saying — 'a head gardener is always opinionated*?
Are you coming, Lady Maxwell ? "
Marcella shook her head, smiling.
" I am afraid I hate hothouses," she said.
" My dear lady, don't pine for the life according to
nature at Castle Luton ! " said Sir Philip, raising a
finger. " The best of hothouses, like the best of any-
thing, demands a thrill.'*
Marcella shrugged her shoulders.
" I get more thrill out of the paeonies."
Sir Philip laughed, and he and Watton carried off
Letty, whose vanity was once more happy in their
society ; while Ancoats, glad of the pretext, hurried
along in front to find the great Mr. Newmarch.
" I believe there are some wonderful irises out in the
Friar's Garden," said Marcella. "Mrs. Allison told
me there was a show of them somewhere. Let me see
if I can find the way. And Hallin would like the
goldfish in the fountain."
Her two companions followed her gladly, and she
led them through devious paths till there was a shout
from Hallin, and the most poetic corner of a famous
garden revealed itself. Amid the ruins of a cloister
that had once formed part of the dissolved Cistercian*
priory on whose confiscated lands Castle Luton ha.d
arisen, a rich medley of flowers was in full and per-
fect bloom. Irises in every ravishing shade of purple,
lilac, and gold, carpets of daffodils and narcissus, cov-
ered the ground, and ran into each corner and cranny
of the old wall. Yellow banksia and white clematis
climbed the crumbling shafts, or made n^w tracery for
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SIR GEOBOE TBE88ADT. 293
the empty windows, and where the ruin ended, yew
hedges, adorned at top with a whole procession of
birds and beasts, began. The flowery space thus en-
closed was broken in the centre by an old fountain ;
and as one sat on a stone seat beside it, one looked
through an archway, cut through the darkness of the
yews, to the blue river and the hills.
The little place breathed perfume and delight. But
Marcella did not, somehow, give it the attention it
deserved. She sat down absently on the bench by the
fountain, and presently, as George and Hallin were
poking among the goldfish, she turned to her com-
panion with the abrupt question:
"You didn't know Ancoats, I think, before this
visit, did you ? ''
" Only as one knows the merest acquaintance. Fon-
tenoy introduced me to him at the club."
Marcella sighed. She seemed to be arguing some-
thing with herseK. At last, with a quick look towards
the approaches of the garden, she said in a low voice :
"I think you must know that his friends are not
happy about him ? "
It so happened that Watton had found opportimity
to show Tressady that morning a paragraph from one
of the numerous papers that batten on the British
peer, his dress, his morals, and his sport. The para-
graph, without names, without even initials, contained
an outline of Lord Ancoats's affairs which Harding,
who knew everything of a scandalous nature, declared
to be well informed. It had made George whistle;
and afterwards he had watched Mrs. Allison go to
church with a new interest in her proceedings.
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294 8IR GEORGE TRE88ADY
So that when Marcella threw out her hesitating
question, he said at once :
" I know what the papers are beginning to say —
that is, I have seen a paragraph — ^'
"Oh! those newspapers!" she said in distress.
" We are all afraid of some madness, and any increase
of talk may hasten it. There is no one who can con-
trol him, and of late he has not even tried to conceal
things.''
"It is a determined face," said George. "I am
afraid he will take his way. How is it that he
comes to be so imlike his mother?"
" How is it that adoration and sacrifice count for so
little?" said Marcella, sadly. "She has given him
all the best of her life."
And she drew a rapid sketch of the youth's career
and the mother's devotion.
George listened in silence. What she said showed
him that in his conversations with Ancoats that young
man had been talking round and about his own case a
good deal I and when she paused he said drily :
" Poor Mrs. Allison ! But, you know, there must be
some crumples in the rose-leaves of the great."
She looked at him with a momentary astonishment.
" Why should one think of her as ' great ' ? Would
not any mother suffer ? First of all he is so changed ;
it is so difficult to get at him — his friends are so
unlike hers — he is so wrapped up in London, so apa-
thetic about his estate. All the religious sympathy
that meant so much to her is gone. And now he
threatens her with this — what shall I call it ? " — her
lip curled — "this entanglement. If it goes on, how
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SIB GEORGE TRE88ADY 296
shall we keep her from breaking her heart over it ?
Poor thing! poor mothers!"
She raised her white hand, and let it fall upon her
knee with one of the free, instinctive gestures that
made her beauty so expressive.
But George would not yield himseK to her feeling.
" Ancoats will get through it — somehow — as other
men do," he said stubbornly, "and she must get through
it too — and not break her heart."
Marcella was silent. He turned towards her after
a moment.
" You think that a brutal doctrine ? But if you'll
let me say it, life and ease and good temper are really
not the brittle things women make them ! Why do
they put all their treasure into that one bag they call
their affections ? There is plenty else in life — there
is indeed ! It shows poverty of mind ! "
He laughed, and taking up a pebble dropped it
sharply among the goldfish.
" Alack ! " said Marcella, caressing her child's head
as he stood playing beside her. " Hallin, I can't have
you kiss my hand like that. Sir George says it's
poverty of mind."
" It ain't," said Hallin, promptly. But his remark
had a deplorable lack of unction, for the goldfish,
startled by George's pebble, were at that moment per-
forming evolutions of the greatest interest, and his
black eyes were greedily bent upon them.
Both . laughed, and George let her remark alone.
But his few words left on Marcella a painful impres-
sion, which renewed her compassion of the night be-
fore. This young fellow, just married, protesting
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296 SIR GEORGE TRESS ADT
against an over-exaltation of the affections! — it
struck her as half tragic, half grotesque. And, of
course, it was explained by the idiosyncrasies of that
little person in a Paris gown now walking about
somewhere with Sir Philip!
Yet, just as she had again allowed herseK to think
of him as someone far younger and less mature than
herself, he quietly renewed the conversation, so far as
it concerned Ancoats, talking with a caustic good sense,
a shrewd perception, and at bottom with a good feel-
ing, that first astonished her, and then mastered her
friendship more and more. She found herself yield-
ing him a fuller and fuller confidence, appealing to
him, taking pleasure in anything that woke the humour
of the sharp, long face, or that rare blink of the blue
eyes that meant a leap of some responsive sympathy
he could not quite conceal.
And for him it was all pleasure, though he never
stopped to think of it. The lines of her slender form,
as she sat with such careless dignity beside him, her
lovely eyes, the turns of her head, the softening tones
of her voice, the sense of an emerging bond that had
in it nothing ignoble, nothing to be ashamed of, to-
gether with the child's simple liking for him, and the
mere physical delight of this morning of late May —
the rush and splendour of its white, thunderous
clouds, its penetrating, scented air: each and all
played their part in the rise of a new emotion he
would not have analysed if he could.
He was particularly glad that in this fresh day of
growing intimacy she had as yet talked politics or
" questions '' of any sort so little ! It made it all the
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SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT 297
more possible to escape from, to wholly overthrow in
his mind, that first hostile image of her, impressed —
strange unreason on his part ! — by that first meeting
with her in the crowd round the injured child, and in
the hospital ward. Had she started any subject of
mere controversy he would have held his own as
stoutly as ever. But so long as she let them lie, her-
self, the woman, insensibly argued for her, and wore
down his earlier mood.
So long, indeed, as he forgot Maxwell's part in it
all ! But it was not possible to forget it long. For
the wife's passion, in spite of a noble reticence, shone
through her whole personality in a way that alter-
nately touched and challenged her new friend. No ;
let him remember that Maxwell's ways of looking at
things were none the less pestilent because she put
them into words.
After luncheon Betty Leven found herself in a
corner of the Green Drawing-room. On the other
side of it Mrs. Allison and Lord Fontenoy were
seated together, with Sir Philip Wentworth not far
off. Lord Fontenoy was describing his week in Par-
liament. Betty, who knew and generally shunned
him, raised her eyebrows occasionally, as she caught
the animated voice, the queer laughs, and fluent
expositions, which the presence of his muse was
drawing from this most ungainly of worshippers.
His talk, indeed, was one long invocation; and the
little white-haired lady in the armchair was doing
her best to play Melpomene. Her speech was very
soft. But it made for battle; and Fontenoy was
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298 SIR QEOBGE TRESS ADT
never so formidable as when he was fresh from Castle
Luton.
Betty's thoughts, however, had once more slipped
away from her immediate neighbours, and were pur-
suing more exciting matters, — the state of Madeleine
Penley's heart and the wiles of that witch-woman in
London, who must be somehow plucked like a burr
from Ancoats's skirts, — when Marcella entered the
room, hat in hand.
"Whither away, fair lady?" cried Betty; "come
and talk to me."
" Hallin will be in the river," said Marcella, irreso-
lute.
" If he is. Sir George will fish him out. Besides,
I believe Sir George and Ancoats have gone for a
walk, and Hallin with them. I heard Maxwell tell
Hallin he might go."
Marcella turned an uncertain look upon Lord Eon-
tenoy and Mrs. Allison. But directly Maxwell's wife
entered the room. Maxwell's enemy had dropped his
talk of political affairs, and he was now showing Sir
Philip a portfolio of Mrs. Allison's sketches, with a
subdued ardour that brought a kindly smile to Mar-
cella's lip. In general, Pontenoy had neither eye
nor ear for anything artistic; moreover, he spoke
barbarous French, and no other European tongue;
while of letters he had scarcely a tincture. But
when it became a question of Mrs. Allison's accom-
plishments, her drawing, her embroidery, still more
her admirable French and excellent Italian, the books
she had read, and the poetry she knew by heart, he
was all appreciation — one might almost say, all
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SIR GEOBOE TRE88ADY 299
feeling. It was Cymon and Iphigenia in a modern
and middle-aged key.
His mien he fashioned and his tongue he filed.
And did a blunder come, Iphigenia gently and deftly
put it to rights.
" Where is Madeleine ? " asked Betty, as Marcella
approached her sofa.
" Walking with Lord Naseby, I think."
" What was the matter on the way from church ? "
asked Betty, in a low voice, raising her face to her
friend.
Marcella looked gravely down upon her.
"If you come into the garden I will tell you.
Madeleine told me.''
Betty, all curiosity, followed her friend through
the open window to a seat in the Dutch garden
outside.
" It wa^ a terrible thing that happened,'' said Mar-
cella, sitting erect, and speaking with a manner of
suppressed energy that Betty knew well ; " one of the
things that make my blood boil when I come here.
You know how she rules the village ? " — She turned
imperceptibly towards the distant drawing-room,
where Mrs. Allison's white head was still visible.
"Not only must all the cottages be beautiful, but all
the people must reach a certain standard of virtue.
If a man drinks, he must go ; if a girl loses her char-
acter, she and her child must go. It was such a girl
that threw herself in the way of the party this morn-
ing. Her mother would not part with her ; so the de-
cree went forth — the whole family must go. They
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300 SIR GEORGS TBESSADT
say the girl has never been right in her head since the
baby's birth; she raved and wept this morning, said
her parents conld find no work elsewhere — they must
die, she and her child must die. Mrs. Allison tried to
stop her, but couldn't; then she hurriedly sent the
others on, and stayed behind herself — only for a
minute or two; she overtook Madeleine almost im-
mediately. Madeleine is sure she was inexorable;
so am I; she always is. I once argued with her
about a case of the kind — a crud case ! ^ Those
are the sins * that make me shudder 1 ' she said, and
one could make no impression on her whatever.
You see how exhausted she looks this afternoon.
She will wear herself out, probably, praying and
weeping over the girl."
Betty threw up her hands.
" My dear ! — when she knows — "
"It may perfectly well kill her,'' said Marcella,
steadily. Then, after a pause, Betty saw her face
flush from brow to chin, and she added, in a low and
passionate voice : " Nevertheless, from all tyrannies
and cruelties in the name of Christ, good Lord, de-
liver us ! "
The two lingered together for some time without
speaking. Both were thinking of much the same
things, but both were tired with the endless talk-
ing of a country-house Sunday, and the rest was
welcome.
And presently Marcella rambled away from her
friend, and spent an hour pacing by herself in a glade
beside the river.
And there her mind instantly shook itself from
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SIB GEORGE TRE88ADY 301
every care but one — the yearning over her husband
and his work.
Two years of labour — she caught her breath with
a little sob — labour which had aged and marked
the labourer ; and now, was it really to be believed,
that after all the toil, after so much hope and promise
of success, everything was to be wrecked at last ?
She gave herself once more to eager forecasts and
combinations. As to individuals — she recalled Tres-
sady's blunt warning with a smile and a wince. But
it did not prevent her from falling into a reverie of
which he, or someone like him, was the centre.
Types, incidents, scenes, rose before her — if they
could only be pressed upon, burnt into such a mind,
as they had been burnt into her mind and Maxwell's !
That was the whole difficulty — lack of vision, lack of
realisation. Men were to have the deciding voice in
this thing, who had no clear conception of how pov-
erty and misery live, no true knowledge of this vast
tragedy of labour perpetually acted in our midst, no
rebellion of heart against conditions of life for other
men they themselves would die a thousand times
rather than accept. She saw herself, in a kind of
despair, driving such persons through streets, and
into houses she knew, forcing them to look, and feel.
Even now, at the last moment —
How much better she had come to know this
interesting, limited being, George Tressady, during
these twenty-four hours! She liked his youth,
his sincerity — even the stubbornness with which
he disclaimed inconvenient enthusiasms; and she
was inevitably flattered by the way in which
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302 8IR GEORGE TRESSADF
his evident prejudice against herself had broken
down.
His marriage was a misfortune, a calamity! She
thought of it with the instinctive repulsion of one who
has never known any temptation to the small vulgar-
ities of life. One could have nothing to say to a
little being like that. But all the more reason for
befriending the man !
An hour or two later Tressady found himself stroll-
ing home along the flowery bank of the river. It
was not long since he had parted from Lady Maxwell
and Hallin, and on leaving them he had turned back
for a while towards the woods on the hill, on the
pretext that he wanted more of a walk. Now, how-
ever, he was hurrying towards the house, that there
might be time for a chat with Letty before dressing.
She would think he had been away too long. But he
had proposed to take her on the river after tea, and
she had preferred a walk with Lord Cathedine.
Since then — He looked round him at the river
and the hills. There was a flush of sunset through
the air, and the blue of the river was interlaced with
rosy or golden reflections from a sky piled with stormy
cloud and aglow with every "visionary majesty" of
light and colour. The great cloud-masses were driv-
ing in a tragic splendour through the west ; and hue
and form alike, throughout the wide heaven, seemed
to him to breathe a marvellous harmony and poetry, to
make one vibrating "word " of beauty. Had some god
suddenly gifted him with new senses and new eyes ?
Never had he felt so much joy in Nature, such a lift-
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SIR GEORGE TRES8ADY 303
ing up to things awful and divine. Why ? Because
a beautiful woman had been walking beside him? —
because he had been talking with her of things that
he, at least, rarely talked of — realities of feeling, or
thought, or memory, that no woman had ever shared
with him before?
How had she drawn him to such openness, such
indiscretions? He was half ashamed, and then forgot
his discomfort in the sudden, eager glancing of the
mind to the future, to the opportunities of the day
just coming — for Mrs. Allison's party was to last till
Whit Tuesday — to the hours and places in London
where he was to meet her on those social errands of
hers. What a warm, true heart! What a woman,
through all her dreams and mistakes, and therefore
how adorable !
He quickened his pace as the light failed. Pres-
ently he saw a figure coming towards him, emerging
from the trees that skirted the main lawn. It was
Fontenoy, and Fontenoy's supporter must needs rec-
ollect himself as quickly as possible. He had not
seen much of his leader during the day. But he
knew well that Fontenoy never forgot his rdle, and
there were several points, newly arisen within the
last forty-eight hours, on which he might have ex-
pected before this to be called to counsel.
But Fontenoy, when he came up with the wanderer,
seemed to have no great mind for talk. He had evi-
dently been pacing and thinking by himself, and when
he was fullest of thought he was as a rule most silent
and inarticulate.
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804 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADY
"You are late ; so am I," he said, as he turned back
with Tressady.
Greorge assented.
"I have been thinking out one or two points of
tactics."
But instead of discussing them he sank into silence
again. George let him alone, knowing his ways.
Presently he said, raising his powerful head with
a jerk, "But tactics are not of such importance as
they were. I think the thing is done — done ! " he
repeated with emphasis.
George shrugged his shoulders.
" I don't know. We may be too sanguine. It is
not possible that Maxwell should be easily beaten."
Fontenoy laughed — a strange, high laugh, like a
jay's, that seemed to have no relation to his massive
frame, and died suddenly away.
"But we shall beat him," he said quietly; "and her,
too. A well-meaning woman — but what a foolish one ! "
George made no reply.
"Though I am bound to say," Fontenoy went on
quickly, "that in private matters no man could be
kinder and show a sounder judgment than Maxwell.
And I believe Mrs. Allison feels the same with regard
to her."
His look first softened, then frowned; and as he
turned his eyes towards the house, George guessed
what subject it was that he and Maxwell had dis-
cussed under the limes in the morning.
He found Letty in very good spirits, owing, as far
as he could judge, to the civilities and attentions of
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SIR GEORGE TRESSADY 305
Lord Cathedine. Moreover, she was more at ease in
her surroundings, and less daunted by Mrs. Allison.
"And of course, to-morrow," she said, as she put
on her diamonds, "it will be nicer still. We shall
all know each other so much better."
In her good-humour she had forgotten her twinge
of jealousy, and did not even inquire with whom he
had been wandering so long.
But Letty was disappointed of her last day at
Castle Luton. For the party broke up suddenly,
and by ten o'clock on Monday morning all Mrs.
Allison's guests but Lord Eontenoy and the Max-
wells had left Castle Luton.
It was on this wise.
After dinner on Sunday night Ancoats, who had
been particularly silent and irritable at table, sud-
denly proposed to show his guests the house. Accord-
ingly, he led them through its famous rooms and
corridors, turned on the electric light to show the
pictures, and acted cicerone to the china and the
books.
Then, suddenly it was noticed that he had somehow
slipped away, and that Madeleine Penley, too, was
missing. The party straggled back to the drawing-
room without their host.
Ancoats, however, reappeared alone in about half
an hour. He was extremely pale, and those who
knew him well, and were perforce observing him at
the moment, like Maxwell and Marcella, drew the
conclusion that he was in a state of violent though
suppressed excitement. His mother, however, strange
to say, noticed nothing. But she was clearly exhausted
VOL. I — X
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306 SIR GEORGE TRE88ADT
and depressed, and she gave an early signal for the
ladies' withdrawal.
The great house sank into quietness. But about an
hour after Marcella and Betty had parted at Betty's
door, Betty heard a quick knock, and opened it in
haste.
"Mrs. Allison is ill!" said Marcella in a low,
rapid voice. "I think everyone ought to go quite
early to-morrow. Will you tell Frank? I am go-
ing to Lady Tressady. The gentlemen haven't come
up."
Betty caught her arm. " Tell me — "
"Oh! my dear," cried Marcella, under her breath,
"Ancoats and Madeleine had an explanation in his
room. He told her everything — that child! She
went to Mrs. Allison — he asked her to! Then the
maid came for me in terror. It has been a heart-
attack — she has often had them. She is rather bet-
ter. But do let everybody go ! " and she wrung her
hands. " Maxwell and I must stay and see what can
be done."
Betty flew to ring for her maid and look up
trains. Lady Maxwell went on to Letty Tressady's
room.
But on the way, in the half-dark passage, she came
across George Tressady coming up from the smok-
ing-room. So she gave her news of Mrs. Allison's
sudden illness to him, begging him to tell his wife,
and to convey their hostess's regrets and apologies
for this untoward break-up of the party. It was the
reappearance of an old ailment, she said, and with
quiet would disappear.
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SIR GEOBGE TRE88ADY 807
George heard her with concern^ and though his
mind was active with conjectures, asked not a single
question. Only, when she said good-night to him,
he held her hand a friendly instant.
"We shall be off as early as possible, so it is good-
bye. But we shall meet in town — as you sug-
gested? "
"Please!" she said, and hurried off.
But just as he reached his own door, he turned
with a long breath towards the passage where he had
just seen her. It seemed that he saw her still — her
white face and dress, the trouble and pity under her
quiet manner, her pure sweetness and dignity. He
said to himself, with a sort of pride, that he had
made a friend, a friend whose sympathy, whose heart
and mind, he was now to explore.
Who was to make difficulties? Letty? But
already as he stood there, with his hand upon the
handle of her door, his mind, in a kind of flashing
dream, was already making division of his life be-
tween the woman he had married with such careless
haste and this other, who at highest thought of him
with a passing kindness, and at lowest regarded him
as a mere pawn in the political game.
What could he win by this friendship, that would
injure Letty? Nothing! absolutely nothing.
BND OF VOL. I
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Digitized by VjOOQIC
The Story of Bessie Costrell.
BY
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD.
i6mo. Cloth. 75 cents.
"It is the best work Mrs. Ward has ^ont:' — Philadelphia
Press.
" Mrs. Ward's new story is one of the daintiest little gems I
have come across in my weekly literary hunts." — Alan Dale
in New York World,
"The piece of fiction under consideration is the best short
story presented in many years, if not in a decade; presented so
thrillingly and graphically, we cannot avoid pronouncing this
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magazine will be glad of its appearance in book form, and it will
find a wide reading, not only for the interest and originality of
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new vein. As it stands completed, it bears the unmistakable
mark of an artist's hands, in every way a remarkably human and
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old John over his loss, the tragedy of Bessie's end, thrill the
reader as few stories succeed in doing, though many of them
make greater efforts." — New York World,
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,
66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.
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MARCELLA.
BY
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WITH A NEW PHOTOGRAVURE PORTRAIT.
In two volumes* small lamo, bound in polished buckram, in box,
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— Mr. Gladstone in the Nineteenth Century,
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Summer in Arcady.
A TALE OF NATURE.
BY
JAMBS LANE ALLSN,
Author of **A Kentucky Cardinal" "Aftermath^** " The Blue Grass
Region of Kentucky^* " John Gray*' etc,
i6mo. Cloth. $1.35.
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^ circulation and to be a stepping-stone to higher things." — The Chicago
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"James Lane Allen has endeared himself to thousands of readers. A
master of language, gifted with a true poetic temperament, a lover of human-
ity, and having high ideals for the art of writing as well as for the art of living,
his pages reveal the deep, strong character, capable of keen insight, yet of
sympathetic helpfulness, full of a strong and unusually appreciative love of
nature and a spirit of good will and cheer that aflfoixls encouragement to
weary men. Every book from his pen is a genuine fountain of life." — The
Hartford Post.
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,
^ FIFTH AVENUE, BEW YORK.
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The Daughter of a Stoic.
By CORNELIA ATWOOD PRATT.
lamo. Cloth. $1.25.
" From one end of the book to the other there is not a superfluous word,
nor an ill-chosen one ; yet you never feel, as occasionally happens in reading
a cleverly written tale, that the characters are lacking in effect. ... In
dialogue, pure and simple, she need fear nothing from comparison with such
masters of epigram as Anthony Hope and John Oliver Hobbes." — The
Critic.
" There is not a commonplace line in this unique and interesting novel.
... It is a healthful book, not at all in accord with the average modem
novel which makes passion king over body and soul." — The Lowell Times,
** To those familiar with the author's short stories 'The Daughter of a
Stoic' will bring the satisfaction of a fulfilled expectation. . . . The work is
so artistically done that a second reading is really necessary to show its
strength." — 5"/. Paul Globe,
The Grey Lady.
By HENRY SETON BIERRIMAN.
Author of ''With Edged Tools" " The Slave of the Lamp," etc,
lamo. Cloth. $1.25.
" Mr. H. S. Merriman's new novel is one of the best of the season, and
will claim the undivided attention of the reader from beginning to end.
Intensely dramatic; Mr. Merriman has done nothing better than this." —
Boston Daily Advertiser.
** A very good story is told with great power and in a way to arrest the
reader's attention from the first, and to hold it with increasin|; tension to the
very end. It is far above the average of novels, and is intrinsically strong
and meritorious." — Buffalo Commercial,
" A story of unusual merit, both as a literary production and for the great
strength of its character drawing. Some of its scenes are depicted with
remarkable power. The story throughout is of very deep interest, and it
will add to the author's reputation for constructive skill and originality." —
Boston Home Journal.
** * The Grey Lady ' is a romantic story, one of the new ones from the
presses of The Macmillan Company. The story is a pleasing one, and the
work is most artistically bound in grey and green." — Toledo Journal,
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,
66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.
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Embarrassments.
By HENRY JAMBS,
Author of "The Bostonians" " The Aspern Papers** ** A London
Life;' " Partial Portrait"
lamo. Cloth. $1.50.
" Mr. Henry Tames has produced no more clever and subtle work than
is to be found in his latest volume. . . . There are in these tales passages
of splendid realism. The portrait of Geoffrey Dowling is a masterpiece of
characterization. And there are sentences, unobtrusive asides, which flash
with the brilliancy of true wit." — New York Tribune.
** Mr. James' writings are distinctively works of art. One and all of
them appeal most strongly to cultivated minds. In no instance does he
descend from his transcendent ideals of literature. An acquaintance with
Henry James means an appreciation of the finer style of written English ;
and an mhalation of the atmosphere of purest English literature. No list of
books for the summer will be complete without * Embarrassments.' " —
Cambridge Press.
A First Fleet Family.
A Hitherto Unpublished Narrative of Certain Remarkable Advent-
ures Compiled from the Papers of Serjeant William
Dew of the Marines,
By LOUIS BSCK£ and WALTER JEFFREY.
With Illustrations, lamo. Cloth. $1.50.
" Has a capital subject for a novel of adventure, the voyage and early
history of the nrst penal settlers in Australia. The author has accumulated
a store of actual happenings which tell a pitiful and distressing tale."— The
Outlook.
"Such an excellent contribution to current literature needs but little
urgine. In it history, adventure, and story are so delightfully intermingled
that the book is sure to get itself read. Such books hold the reader far into
the night." — Boston Globe.
'* An ably written book giving in the form of a story an interesting ac
count of the first deportation of convicts to Botany Bay. . . . Remarkably
interesting, and in its manner often bears some resemblance to the style of
Blackmore and Stevenson." — Hartford Post.
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,
66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW TORE.
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ADAM JOHNSTONE'S SON
BY
F. MARION CRAWFORD,
Author of " Saracinesca" " Pieiro Ghisleri" " Don Orsino" " Casa
Braccio" etc,
WITH TWENTY-FOUR FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY
A. FORESTIER.
i2mo. Cloth. $1.50.
** Admirers of F. Marion Crawford's works will be glad to read his latest
book. ... A bright book it is, and stamped with the author's individual-
ity." — New York Herald,
" Every page of the narrative interests the reader, and the gradual sepa-
ration of the tangled threads is most skilfully managed.'* — Hartford Post.
** The art is perfect and the tale is completed to a finish. The plot and
the characters will engross one who sets about making their acquaintance." ^
Boston Courier.
** If you doubt that it is a good story just read the first few chapters and
then try to stop." — Providence News.
" It is not only one of the most enjoyable novels that Mr. Crawford has
ever written, but it is a novel that will make people think." — Boston Beacon.
"Mr. F. Marion Crawford has never displayed greater deftness in telling
a simple, straightforward love story in such a way as to rivet the reader's
attention than in ' Adam Johnstone's Son.' The originality of the plot is
singularly striking and bold. The few characters of the story are all drawn
with admirable clearness, and the analysis of motive is keen and consistent.
We think that none of Mr. Crawford's recent novels have been better adapted
to please and interest a large circle of readers than this slight story." — The
Outlook,
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,
66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.
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UNIFORM EDITION
OF THE WORKS OF
F. MARION CRAWFORD.
lamo. Cloth. Price fi.oo per volume.
KATHARINE LAUDERDALE.
The first of a series of novels dealing with New York life.
" Mr. Crawford at his best is a great novelist, and in ' Katharine Lauder-
dale' we have him at his best." — Boston Daily Advertiser.
** A most admirable novel, excellent in style, flashing with humor, and
full of the ripest and wisest reflections upon men and women." — TAe West-
minster Gazette.
'* It is the first time, we think, in American fiction that any such breadth
of view has shown itself in the study of our social framework." — L^e.
" It need scarcely be said that the story is skilfully and picturesquely
written, portraying sharply individual characters in well-defined surround-
ings." — N^ew York Commercial Advertiser.
** * Katharine Lauderdale ' is a tale of New York, and is up to the highest
level of his work. In some respects it will probably be regarded as his best.
None of his works, with the exception of ' Mr. Isaacs,' shows so clearly his
skill as a literary artist." — San Francisco Evening Bulletin,
PIETRO GHISLERI.
" The imaginative richness, the marvellous ingenuity of plot, the power
and subtlety of the portrayal of character, the charm of the romantic envi-
ronment, — the entire atmosphere, indeed, — rank this novel at once among
the great creations." — The Boston Budget.
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,
66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.
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SARACINESCA.
" His highest achievement, as yet, in the reahns of fiction. The work
has two distinct merits, either of which would serve to make it great, — that
of telling a perfect story in a perfect way, and of giving a graphic picture
of Roman society in the last days of the pope's temporal power. . . . The
story is exquisitely told." — Boston Traveler.
V One of the most engrossing novels we have ever read." — Boston
Timet.
SANT ILARIO.
A sequel to " Saradnesca."
" The author shows steady and constant improvement in his art. ' Sant*
Ilario ' is a continuation of the chronicles of the Saracinesca family. . . .
A singularly powerful and beautiful story. . . . Admirably developed,
with a naturalness beyond praise. ... It must rank with ' Greifenstein ' as
the best work the author has produced. It fulfils every requirement of
artbtic fiction. It brings out what is most impressive in human action,
without owing any of its effectiveness to sensationalism or artifice. It is
natural, fluent in evolution, accordant with experience, graphic in descrip-
tion, penetrating in analysis, and absorbing in interest." — New York
Tribune,
DON ORSINO.
A continuation of "Saracinesca" and "Sant* Ilario.'*
" The third in a rather remarkable series of novels dealing with three
generations of the Saracinesca family, entitled respectively * Saracinesca/
' Sant' Ilario,' and ' Don Orsino,' and these novels present an important
study of Italian life, customs, and conditions during the present century.
Each one of these novels is worthy of very careful reading, and offers
exceptional enjoyment in many ways, in the fascinating absorption of good
fiction, in interest of faithful historic accuracy, and in charm of style. The
* new Italy ' is strikingly revealed in * Don Orsino.' " — Boston Budget.
** We are inclined. to regard the book as the most ingenious of all Mr.
Crawford's fictions. Certainly it is the best novel of the season." — Even'
in£ Bulletin.
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,
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WITH THE IMMORTALS*
" Altogether an admirable piece of art worked in the spirit of a thorough
artist. Every reader of cultivated tastes will find it a book prolific in enter-
tainment of the most refined description, and to all such we commend it
heartily." — Boston Saturday Evening^ Gazette.
** Tlie strange central idea of the story could have occurred only to a
writer whose mind was very sensitive to the current modem thought and
progress, while its execution, the setting it forth in proper literary clothing,
could be successfully attempted only by one whose active literary ability
should be fully equalled by his power of assimilative knowledge both literary
and scientific, and no less by his courage and capacity for hard work. The
book will be found to have a fascination entirely new for the habitual reader
of novels. Indeed, Mr. Crawford has succeeded in taking his readers quite
above the ordinary plane of novel interest." — Boston Advertiser
MARZIO'S CRUCIFIX.
*' We take the liberty of saying that this work belongs to the highest
department of character-painting in words." — Churchman.
** We have repeatedly had occasion to say that Mr. Crawford possesses in
an extraordinary degree the art of constructing a story. His sense of pro-
portion is just, and his narrative flows along with ease and perspicuity. It
IS as if it could not have been written otherwise, so naturally does the story
unfold itself, and so logical and consistent is the sequence of incident after
incident. As a story 'Marzio's Crucifix' is perfectly constructed." — A'ew
York Commercial Advertiser.
KHALED.
A Story of Arabia.
" Throughout the fascinating story runs the subtlest analysis, suggesteo
rather than elaborately worked out, of human passion and motive, the build-
ing out and development of the character of the woman who becomes the
hero's wife and whose love he finally wins, being an especially acute and
hiehly finished example of the story-teller's art. . . . That it is beautifully
written and holds the interest of the reader, fanciful as it all is, to the verv
end, none who know the depth and artistic finish of Mr. Crawford's work
need be told."— ^A* Chicago Times.
PAUL PATOFF.
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,
66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.
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MR. ISAACS.
A Tale of Modem India.
" The writer first shows the hero in relation with the people of the East
and then skilfully brings into connection the Anglo-Saxon race. It is in
this showing of the different eflfects which the two classes of minds have
upon the central figure of the story that one of its chief merits lies. The
characters are original, and one does not reco^ize any of the hackneyed
personages who are so apt to be considered indispensabfe to novelists, and
which, dressed in one guise or another, are but tne marionettes, which are
all dominated by the same mind, moved by the same motive force. The men
are all endowed with individualism and independent life and thought .
There is a strong tinge of mysticism about the book which is one of its
greatest charms." — Boston Transcript.
** No story of human experience that we have met with since * John
Inglesant' has such an effect of transporting the reader into regions differing
from his own. ' Mr. Isaacs ' is the best novel that has ever laid its scenes in
our Indian dominions." — TAe Daily News^ London,
DR. CLAUDIUS.
A True Story.
" There is a suggestion of strength, of a mastery of facts, of a fund of
knowledge, that speaks well for future production. ... To be thoroughly
enjoyed, nowever, this book must be read, as no mere cursory notice can
give an adequate idea of its many interesting points and excellences, for
without a doubt ' Dr. Claudius' is the most interestine book that has oeen
})ublished for many months, and richly deserves a high place in the public
iavor." — St. Louis Spectator.
** To our mind it by nd means belies the promises of its predecessor.
The story, an exceedingly improbable and romantic one, is tola with much
skill; the characters are strongly marked without anjy suspicion of carica-
ture, and the author's ideas on social and political subjects are often brilliant
and always striking. It is no exaggeration to say that there is not a dull
page in tne book^ which is peculiarly adapted for tne recreation of student or
thinker." — Living Church.
TO LEEWARD.
" A story of remarkable power." — Review of Reviews.
** Mr. Crawford has written many strange and powerful stories of Italian
life, but none can be any stranger or more powerful than ' To Leeward/ with
its mixture of comedy and tragedy, mnocence and guilt." — Cottage
Hearth,
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,
66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.
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A CIGARETTE-MAKER'S ROMANCE.
" It is a touching romance, filled with scenes of great dramatic power.**
— Boston Commercial Bulletin.
** It is full of life and movement, and is one of the best of Mr. Crawford's
books." — Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.
*' The interest is unflagging throughout. Never has Mr. Crawford done
more brilliant realistic work than here. But his realism is only the case and
cover for those intense feelings which, placed under no matter what humble
conditions, produce the most dramatic and the most tragic situations. ...
This is a secret of genius, to take the most coarse and common material, the
meanest surroundings, the most sordid material prospects, and out of the
vehement passions which sometimes dominate all human beings to build up
with these poor elements scenes and passages, the dramatic and emoticmal
power of which at once enforce attention and awaken the profoundest inter-
est." — /few York Tribune*
GREIFENSTEIN.
" * Greifenstein ' is a remarkable novel, and while it illustrates once more
the author's unusual versatility, it also shows that he has not been tempted
into careless writing by the vogue of his earlier books. . . . There is
nothing weak or small or frivolous in the story. The author deals with
tremendous passions working at the height of their energy. His characters
are stem, rugged, determined men and women, governed by powerful preju-
dices and iron conventions, types of a military people, in whom the sense of
duty has been cultivated until it dominates all other motives, and in whom
the principle of ' noblesse oblige ' is, so far as the aristocratic class is con-
cerned, the fundamental rule of conduct. What such people may be capable
of is startlingly shown." — New York Tribune.
A ROMAN SINGER.
"One of Mr. Crawford's most charming stories — a love romance pure
and simple." — Boston Home yournal.
" ' A Roman Singer ' is one of his most finished, compact, and successful
stories, and contains a splendid picture of Italian life." — Toronto Mail,
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,
66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.
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THE THREE FATES.
" The strength of the story lies in its portrayal of the aspirations* dis-
ciplinary efforts, trials, and triumphs of the man who is a bom writer, and
who, by long and painful experiences, learns the good that is in him and the
way in which to give it effectual expression. The analytical quality of the
book is excellent, and the individuality of each one of the very dissimilar
three fates is set forth in an entirely satisfactory manner. . . . Mr. Craw-
ford has manifestly brought his best qualities as a student of human nature
and his finest resources as a master of an original and picturesque style to
bear upon this story. ^ Taken for all in all it is one of the most pleasing
of all his productions in fiction, and it affords a view of certain phases of
American, or i>erhaps we should say of New York, life that have not hitherto
been treated with anything like the same adequacy and felicity." — Boston
Beacon.
CHILDREN OF THE KING.
A Tale of Southern Italy.
"A sympathetic reader cannot fail to be impressed with the dramatic
power of this story. The simplicity of nature, tne uncorrupted truth of a
soul, have been portrayed by a master-hand. The suddenness of the unfore-
seen tragedy at the last renders the incident -of the story powerful beyond
description. One can only feel such sensations as the last scene of the story
incites. It may be added that if Mr. Crawford has written some stories
unevenly, he has made no mistakes in the stories of Italian life. A reader
of them cannot fail to gain a clearer, fuller acquaintance with the Italians
and the artistic spirit uiat pervades the country." — M. L. B. in Syracuse
Journal.
THE WITCH OF PRAGUE.
A Fantastic Tale.
Illustrated by W. J. Hennessy.
** * The Witch of Prague* is so remarkable a book as to be certain of as
wide a popularity as any of its predecessors. The keenest interest for most
readers will lie in its demonstration of the latest revelations of hypnotic
science. ... It is a romance of singular daring and power." — London
Academy.
** Mr. Crawford has written in many keys, but never in so strange a one
as that which dominates ' The Witch of Prague.' . . . The artistic skill
with which this extraordinary story Ls constructed and carried out is admira-
ble and delightful. ... Mr. Crawford has scored a decided triumph, for
the interest of the tale is sustained throughout. ... A very remarkable,
powerful, and interesting story." — JVew York Tribune.
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.
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ZOROASTER.
" The field of Mr. Crawford's imagination appears to be unbounded. . . .
In 'Zoroaster' Mr. Crawford's winged fancy ventures a daring flight.
. . . Yet ' Zoroaster ' is a novel rather than a drama. It is a drama in the
force of its situations and in the poetry and dignity of its language; but its
men and women are not men ana women of a play. By the naturalness of
their conversation and behavior they seem to live and lay hold of our htunan
sympathy more than the same characters on a stage could possibly do."
— The Times.
A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH.
" It is a pleasure to have anything so perfect of its kind as this brief and
vivid storv. ... It is doubly a success, being full of human sympathy, as
well as thoroughly artistic in its nice balanang of the unusual with the
commonplace, the clever juxtaposition of innocence and guilt, comedy and
tragedy, simplicity and intrigue." — Critic.
** Of all the stories Mr. Crawford has written, it is the most dramatic, the
most finished, the most compact. . . . The taste which is left in one's mind
after the story is finished is exactly what the fine reader desires and the
novelist intends. ... It has no defects. It is neither trifling nor trivial.
It is a work of art. It is perfect." — Boston Beacon.
MARION DARCHE.
" Full enough of incident to have furnished material for three or four
stories. ... A most interesting and engrossing; book. Every page unfolds
new possibilities, and the incidents multiply rapidly.'* — Detroit Free Press,
** We are disposed to rank * Marion Darche' as the best of Mr. Crawford's
American stories." — The Literary World.
AN AMERICAN POLITICIAN.
THE NOVEL: What It Is.
i8mo. Cloth. 75 Cents.
"When a master of his craft speaks, the public ma^r well listen with care-
ful attention, and since no fiction-writer of the day enjoys in this country a
broader or more enlightened popularity than Manon Crawford, his explana-
tion of * The Novel : What It Is,' will be received with flattering interest." —
Th$ Boston Btacon.
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,
66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.
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