David Chantrey.

BY W. G. WILLS,

AUTHOR OF "THE WIFE'S EVIDENCE," ETC.

CHAPTER XXIV.

WHO SENT THE WHITE FEATHER?

THE last chapter, we submit, closed very ominously, and with a lurid prospect for the forthcoming pages. Here is an inveterate gentleman, as strong as a lion, who has just buttoned a horsewhip under his coat, and started off to town with every sinew strung for vengeance. He arrived in town with unimpaired energy, and was so far in the right direction; but arrived in the Strand, what then? Is he going to break a lance against the moon?

The first course he took was the obvious one: he went straight to the office in Southampton Street, and asked to see the editor, announcing himself as one of the press. But here an invaluable opportunity of cooling his white-hot spirit was afforded him. The sub had not arrived, and might not be there till late. Time was nothing to Chantrey; he said he would wait; and whilst waiting, the ferment of his anger instead of abating grew fiercer and deeper. When the subeditor at length arrived, David sidled up behind him like a highwayman, and introduced himself as a member of the press. With this preface he acquitted himself of the following modest demand:

"There is a review in your last issue, sir, upon a novel entitled A Reed in the Wind, which is false, unjust, and infamous as a verdict on the work. It is personal and insulting beyond the license of such productions. I am here to demand the name of the reviewer."

"Then, sir, as a member of the press you show a very strange ignorance of its rules," said the gallant sub, regarding David's bulk, however, with a shade of natural misgiving.

"Then you refuse ?" said David.

"Certainly, sir; and beg you will instantly leave the office."

"Don't alarm yourself," said David, after a pause; “I hold you clear; but I warn you I shall spare neither time nor money to find your author out, and punish him for his falsehood."

"If you consider yourself injured, sir," said the sub, taking a somewhat milder tone when he saw that the intruder did not contemplate present violence,—" if you consider yourself injured, there is the paper to sue; but you can see that I have no concern with that." He then turned from Chantrey, gave some business directions to the clerk, and I went to his room.

Chantrey retired sullenly, and, when once more in the noisy street, he began to feel the necessity of letting off some of that fine generous high-pressure wrath which till then had sustained him. The race is not to the strong in these schemes of vengeance; unless circumstances and opportunity shape themselves into piston and wheel to our feelings, what a waste of anger and zeal may there be!

Chantrey went to his chambers to find time for reflection, and there he found the Major in full plume for a party at the Mastertons'. There was a delicious odour around him of scent and pomade, through which he swore at his meek valet about some blundered commission. David flung himself in his easy-chair in the sitting-room, and the Major observed him through the open door. The Major's spirits had risen in his rough and simple life, and his whim had exhausted itself: he was about to return to his hotel the next day. Meantime his relations with Chantrey were the pleasantest.

"You have seen that review, Chantrey," he said; "I saw it on Saturday; but I thought it better not to annoy you."

"Every one has read it, it appears," said Chantrey.

"When there was a favourable one, no one seemed to have read it but me.” No further remark was made till the Major coming into the room. approached Chantrey, and scrutinised his coat.

"I say, Chantrey, I've been trained to observe a man's rig-out; you don't wear stays, and that's not whalebone." He pointed to the handle of the riding-whip which was exposed in Chantrey's breast. "Now, my dear fellow, I ask you nothing. I see what it means; but take the advice of a disinterested friend,—don't make a fool of yourself; that sort of thing brings its own punishment. Don't be a boy; come, give it up to me."

David took the whip from his coat, and flung it aside.

"Your advice is kindly meant, Major de Lindesey," he said, "and I don't dispute it."

"Come, that's a good fellow. I'm an old military man, and have seen a great deal of that sort of bravado in my time. I never knew a case yet but the man who raised a whip was sorry for it afterwards. Goodnight, old fellow; smoke a pipe and have a glass of grog; you'll forget all about it, like all the world, next Monday morning.

"By the way, my good sir," he said, coming back from the door with a changed voice, "you were the philosopher who preached to me the other day a sublime contempt under insult. Ha, ha! Here I catch you with a riding-whip under your coat, setting forth to horsewhip a reviewer. By George, it's very rich!" laughed the Major. "Singular enough, old fellow, that we should have been thrown together," continued he, rambling on. "We must have been born under the same star: both of us under a sort of cloud; both of us under insult, and at fault for the scent. 'Pon my life, it's very singular. But you and I are opposite natures. You'll never find me with a horsewhip in my sleeve.

VOL. XIV.

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Time, my good fellow! Make a confederate of Time, and keep yourself quiet."

And having behaved himself thus, like a wise and loyal friend, the Major departed in his cab to the Mastertons', from whom he had received a very cordial invitation, and whither we shall follow him.

The Major made a most signal and gratifying discovery upon this night. He had probably looked for slight and indifference in various ill-repressed shapes; he had nerved himself to the juncture, and resolved to face it out. Instead, he was met by smiles and favour; kind speeches greeted him on all sides, such as never comforted a man whose only heritage was his honour. To my readers who know the world this was expected a solution of the most commonplace problem; but the Major had been off his balance, and remorse had blinded his experience.

He found out then that, instead of being a black sheep, he was a black swan—a most rare bird in the town. Marrying gentlemen had gone up cent per cent; he-the insulted, the disgraced-was at a positive premium. It followed then, to his mind, as a consequence, that this disgrace was but a phantom of solitude-the morbid imagination of a too sensitive mind. He was not only well received, not only treated with charitable indulgence, but there was quite a little fuss and industry to set him at his ease and make him duly aware of his value-no difficult task among mortals.

Arrogance is like the giant son of earth, which gains new strength by a tumble in the mud. There is added need of self-assertion and audacity. Before an hour was over, the Major was not only himself, but he became conscious that he was a prize to be put up and contested for. That peculiar well-known caution which eldest sons and men of property must cultivate awoke in his manner.

It really was almost farcical, knowing as we do the Major's antecedents, to see how he grew coy in proportion to the sense of his importance-his reserve and his airs, as he was introduced to this lady and recognised by that lady. A man of substance in a room full of worldly ladies is generally an amusing spectacle, and I have studied the animal with much delight. He trips so gingerly through the red ploughshares; he dare not be sentimental for his life, or he might stand committed; flirtation is almost fatal. He must be coy-coy and shy as a beauty of seventeen; though his nose be snub and his cheeks puffy, he must bridle like a beauty.

A coy bird was our laird this night; though labouring under an illfavoured countenance, he drew up to a courteous civility, and treated the young ladies coquettishly enough. Upon the slightest touch of sentiment, he is bound to bridle and look coy like a young beauty, or to outrage it with some heartless joke.

Mr. Masterton, of whom we have lately caught a glimpse in Sir Hugh Rowly's carriage, was a tall and showy man, of about forty in appearance, but probably some five years older. He came forward to

welcome the Major with a fine glowing welcome, flinging his coatlapels back before he shook hands with him.

Sir Hugh Rowly was here, in his beaming state of celibacy, sending soft smiles through the air in every direction, as a boy might send soapbubbles. He was standing by the chair of his protégée Miss Masterton. She rose as the Major entered, and, leaving the baronet to smile alone, came forward-a splendid young woman, in orange silk, with the port of a king's daughter. She had bracelets on her arms and pearls on her neck, and a Scotch-plaid ribbon was conspicuous on her breast; but there was a haggard beauty on her face which made her notable in a crowded room. There were prettier girls about her; but that pale-olive cheek of hers, with the delicate hollow upon it, was isolated as it were among the rosy ovals of the young faces around. Her hair was rather hastily banded up, and seemed about to tumble on her shoulders. The oil-paint, we fear, was not thoroughly washed from her hands. In fact, she looked rather slovenly in her orange silk and pearls, but singularly striking.

She too welcomed the Major, and he soon settled down beside her contented. Her address seemed rather bold, perhaps; but it was the boldness of singularity rather than forwardness. Her manner appeared wavering between conciliation and flippant defiance. At first she seemed even nervous and confused. Pride was up, and watchful.

The Major spoke of the Opera and town gaieties. She did not care for them. He inquired about her pictures; but she lifted her brows, and replied in monosyllables. He spoke of books; but she seemed unread. But when he allowed her to lead the conversation, at first she grew a little sentimental, and talked quite feelingly of the days they had spent together at U**** Park; of the little pictures she used to paint under his fostering eyeglass; of the portrait he sat for; and as she spoke she kept restlessly twining her lithe hands together.

Miss Masterton, in fact, lost no time about it-such sentiment as she was mistress of she brought to bear upon him. Such soft approaches are all the means permitted to poor woman-soft, distant beckonings, as it were; whilst man alone has the privilege of direct advance to ask for what he wants. She talked reminiscences, which is the best way for a lady to make love.

"Will you ever forget that lovely day we went out boating on the lake? I've got the sketch we made yet. You remember how awfully late for dinner we were, and in such disgrace, because we could not help watching that wonderful red sun setting behind the willows," said she, with the slightest retrospective softness.

The Major's memory was languid; too vivacious a recollection of sailing on a lake with a lady would be particular, at least whilst her father's joyous eye was upon him.

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Aw, think I remember-very raw day," he said, with judgment.

In a moment her manner hardened; she laughed carelessly.

"I have treasured another little scene," she said. "Don't you remember when I grouped the beggar-children under the elm-tree for a sketch, whilst you sat by with your scented pocket-handkerchief to your nose, enduring the odour of rags for my sake? Could you have undergone so much for Miss Blenheim? Fire and steel are trifles, of course-only want vulgar 'pluck.' But there was a touching sort of martyrdom about you, with your pocket-handkerchief to your nose, yet faithful to your post. When will you come to have your portrait finished?"

"I have not the time just now, or I'm sure I should be very happy," said the Major politely: he thought he caught a ring of satire in her talk, which he did not like.

"It is always staring at me reproachfully from the wall. If you do not come soon, I shall paint-in a wreath-a triple wreath of willow, bays, and laurel, but especially willow, for you were very spoony, you know, and Milly was very nasty and cruel."

"You should paint me as a laird," said the Major—“ a laird at my own mahogany, with my castle in the background.”

"How awfully jolly' it must be," said Miss Masterton, looking up in his face demurely, "to feel the owner of a whole mountain in Scotland, as you sit in a London house!"

"I can assure you, Miss Masterton, it is sometimes a mountain upon one's breast."

"That's just the saucy way you rich people 'chaff' us poor people. It just makes us envy you twice as much. I fancy it would be dreadful to be a tenant of yours, Major."

"Why?"

"Oh, I really can't say. You'd get 'waxy,' I suppose, if I told you."

"I'll promise you to be calm," said the Major.

"Well, you are good-looking enough; it isn't that: but you do look so Scotch; in point of fact, rather a screw.' Now am I right?"

"You are very complimentary, upon my word and honour. I must forgive you; we are such old friends. Why, then, do you trim your dress with Scotch-plaid ribbons?"

"Are they not flashy? Of course you are vain enough to think it is in compliment to you."

"You have suggested it," said the Major.

"I'll put it beyond mistake: in the first place, I have black hair and yellow cheeks, so the plaid should be becoming; and in the second,” she paused and looked at him, "I wear them in honour of that old darling, Sir Colin Campbell."

"I humbly hope he has some higher honours in store for him," smiled the Major, grimly.

"Are you aware, Major de Lindesey, that you are a much greater swell to-night as a laird than if you were a soldier? It's quite humiliat