Why don't you get something de- 'My dear boy, you don't understand ladies' ways,' she says. "You have lived among savages. These strap shoes are the height of fashion, the last things out, and the best of their kind.' 'Fashion and style are out of my ken, I confess,' says Harold dryly; 'but I know very well what is decent and suitable wear for ladies; and those showy absurdities certainly are not. Take my advice, choose something of a neater pattern next time, unless-' He pauses abruptly. He feels that sentence is best left incomplete. It is the first time he has met his sister for months; yet he has found no pleasant word to say to her, and he has studiously avoided looking at his mother at all. The whole encounter is eminently distasteful to him, and, manlike, he determines to cut it short without a moment's delay. He lifts his hat, turns sharply away, and is about to proceed on his peregrination, when a heavy hand is laid upon his shoulder. 'I am indeed surprised to see you in town, Harold; how is it you have never come near me?' cries Mrs. Steele, shrill reproach in her nasal tone, and something like real sorrow in her bold dark eyes. all self-control at the same moment, 'to think that for a paltry dispute about a disreputable girl-' 'I had a matter of business to attend to in town,' says Harold, with deliberate coldness; 'and I can assure you I would not willingly have come to meet you anywhere.' The irate lady's voice is never gentle, and it rises to a shriek when she protests. 'Have a care, mother!' Harold interrupts her fiercely; 'you may try me too far.' His tone is neither filial nor respectful. He has always been too much spoilt to be a dutiful son, and he is too angry to show aught but resentment now. My goodness gracious!' cries Mrs. Steele, losing her temper and She is 'Too far, indeed! Don't talk such rubbish, Harry dear,' Cecilia interposes nervously. alarmed at the sensation this altercation is causing, and she turns from her mother to her brother in deprecating appeal. 'Do leave him alone, ma; don't be such a donkey, Hal dear,' she whispers anxiously. 'Have the kindness not to interfere, Cecilia,' says Harold peremptorily. This conversation is between my mother and myself alone.' 'And your mother tells you, Harold,' continues Mrs. Steele, quite unabashed, that she considers your conduct base, ungrateful, infamous! After all I have done for you, after the patience and indulgence I have always shown you, after so far forgetting my duty to your precious sisters for your sake as to take in and shelter that shameless-' 'Mother!' cries Harold, in fierce appeal, and his face is white with passion, how dare you?' He is regardless of the fact that the lady in the Frou-Frou coiffure and two or three others are forming a circle about him, and are evidently listening to the excited altercation with intense interest. 'Since you persist in heaping insults on injuries, let me inform you of my intentions, clearly, once, and for all. I swear I will never enter your house, or willingly see your face again, until I have found Clare. When that time comes-' He pauses a moment, and his white face is convulsed by some sort of spasm. 'When that day comes, I will bring my wife back to you.' 'You idiot! You most infatuated boy!' cries Mrs. Steele, her rage finding a sudden vent in a burst of hysterical sobs. She clenches her fists, and she trembles with passion. She also is unconscious of the crowd gathering around her. More angry words follow; cruel things are said by one and the other which, were the speakers less carried away by passion, could never be forgotten or forgiven. Personally Cecilia cares nothing about the subject under discussion; but even she is roused to sullen anger by Harold's supposition that she will ever consent to receive that Clare as a sister-inlaw. What! low designing minx, who was little better than a servant! Never shall the hand of friendly encouragement be extended to such a hussy by her-never! In any case it is most disgraceful of Harold to make a public scandal like this. 'We shall have a policeman interfering directly,' she cries, emulating Mrs. Steele's shrill tone of remonstrance; if you, Harold, must fight mother, do, for good ness' sake, choose some other place for your rows.' Her harsh appeal has the desired effect. Mrs. Steele allows herself to be led away, and Harold turns his back, and marches off in silence. It is the second time he has parted from his mother in bitter anger. In his freshly-aroused indignation he almost forgets the jealous fury against Hetheringham, which has savagely preoccupied him during the last month. To think that his mother should speak and act thus-the mother he once loved and wholly trusted! He had confided his Clare to her, and she had betrayed him. O— He is rushing out of the Arcade with hasty steps and head low bent. The sympathetic Frou-Frou is following him closely. She is profoundly interested in this handsome unhappy boy. He hurries on, and cannons sharply against a man who is coming in at the north entrance. 'I beg your pardon-Maurice!' he cries, amazed at this second and still more surprising encounter with a member of his family. 'I thought you were in Cambridge?' 'And I felt sure you were in Portsmouth. Why are you not there?' asks Maurice sternly. 'I only came up for the day.' 'To see the match at Lord's?' 'As if I should come up for any reason but one!' says Harold sadly. Maurice sighs impatiently. Toujours la femme. Is he to hear of nothing but loveaffairs? Is the placid current of his scholastic life to be troubled by such vagaries at every turn? He begins to think of taking refuge in a monastery; there he would surely escape from all these troublesome victims of la grande passion. He is most anxious to keep his pulse calm and his brain cool to-day for that decisive interview with Kempton, who, as a rule, does certainly not err on the side of chivalrous hot-headedness. And now Harold has taken him by the arm, and expects him to listen to his ravings. These it is at any time painful for Maurice to hear, for he is really fond of the brother who seems bent on breaking with all his family, and is so evidently determined to make a fool of himself. How can the ex-tutor calmly prepare his arguments on the side of prudence and morality, while Harold is clamouring for the rights of youth, faith, and love? CHAPTER VI. MAURICE SPEAKS. 'Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools; To trembling clients be you mediators : Susie is standing on the thresh- now. Clare's troubled eyes. What more likely than that one or all these dangerous persons would be promenading in Regent-street this pleasant sunshiny Saturday morning? I dare not come, Susie,' she says, after some hesitation. And, seeing her friend so determined, Susie discreetly refrains from further importunity. 'In any case it would be wrong to leave Madame quite alone,' says Clare. There is no chance of her getting up to-day, and one of us ought to be at hand, in case anything is wanted.' 'You are always right, Clare,' says Susie; and if there should be any visitors for me, you can be my representative, eh?" Both the girls laugh at so ridiculous a suggestion. Except old Dr. Bertin, no visitor has entered Madame Delaine's apartments since Clare took up her residence there. The old Marquise has told Susie their lodger's real name, and such parts of her story as she deemed necessary; but she also has impressed the strictest reserve on her granddaughter. 'Don't mention anything about our poor young friend at the theatre,' she has said. 'We must always respect the wishes and the secrets of others.' In the theatre Susie talks very little to any one, and her interviews with her lover are all taken up with the pleasing discussion of their immediate personal affairs. Since Lord Kempton had returned to his allegiance, his devotion far exceeded any previous demonstration on his part, and the fact of the overt opposition at home, which marred the peace he had always found in his family circle, drove him the more frequently to seek rest and recreation with the little maid who idolised him and made his lightest word into a stringent law for herself. She now met him far oftener than she had hitherto been able to do; for Clare was at home to look after 'Gran,' and Clare connived at all poor little Susie's clandestine interviews with her lover, who often had an hour's talk with his betrothed in the morning while the latter was supposed to be out marketing. The Green Park was a quiet and convenient rendezvous, and many an 'odd' hour was spent there by Susie and Lord Kempton during the day, each waiting there on the chance of the other's appearance. Finding Clare determined not to accompany her, Susie presently sallies forth. 'Perhaps it is best for me to go alone,' she reflects, for I shall have an hour to spare, and if Clare were with me it would be no use to go into the Park; he would take no notice of me if I had a friend with me, of course.' Thus reconciled to her lack of companionship, Susie steps out of the dingy old house into the sunlit street. She looks as bright as the day. Clare has certainly had a hand in the making and draping of that fresh print dress, which suits Miss Susie's plump little figure to perfection, showing the graceful outline of it, but not adding to it by a single puff or plaiting. The dress has pink sprays upon it, and the neat straw bonnet is tied over the crown with a pink ribbon, which ends in a bow under the dimpled chin of its wearer. A dainty china shepherdess in a gloomy London street. Even the sun makes an effort to smile down upon the pretty figure athwart the old tiled roofs. Many a head is turned to watch her as she passes along, and as she gets into a gayer part of the town women in trailing gowns and tawdry finery wonder how much may be done with common print, if the gown is tastily made. Susie cares very She is hungry, so she buys a bun and a sausage-roll for her dinner. She will go and sit under the trees in the Green Park, and enjoy her simple repast al fresco. There is always a chance of her dear lord's appearing at the trysting-place. Smiling at the prospect, she walks along Piccadilly. 'Miss Delane, I believe?' says a voice at her elbow. She looks up startled, and sees Mr. Steele at her side, hat in hand. 'Will you allow me to walk a little way with you?' he asks deferentially. Susie blushes rosy-red, but she does not speak. 'Silence gives consent,' thinks Maurice. He has determined to avail himself to the utmost of the happy opportunity chance offers him. He was on his way to Hyde House; but a quiet tête-à-tête with Susie may considerably diminish the difficulties of the pending interview with his ex-pupil. 'I am very anxious to speak to you on a matter of grave importance, Miss Delane,' he says earnestly. 'If you can spare me a few minutes I shall be grateful to you. Shall we cross over and sit in the Park? It will be easier for us to talk there.' Poor little Susie stops a moment, and glances into her companion's serious face with evident dismay. 'Is it anything-anything about the gentleman who brought you to the Kaleidoscope, sir?' She cannot bring herself to pronounce the name of the man she loves to a stranger. 'Yes; what I have to say concerns Lord Kempton as well as yourself,' Maurice answers promptly. Can you spare me a few minutes ?' 'Certainly,' she says; but she does not inform him of her previous intention to eat her dinner in the Park. And if her lover should chance to come that way! Well, she must risk that. It was no invitation of hers that led Mr. Steele to address her. They are already crossing the road side by side, and in another moment he is placing a chair upon the grass for her. She is reconciled to the position of affairs now, and it is his turn to be troubled and ill at ease. He has had very little intercourse with women. Girls are to him as a race apart; his experience is at fault where they are concerned, and he is utterly at a loss as to how a woman should be managed. But the dainty little lady by his side by no means alarms him; indeed, he is conscious of a feeling of tenderness and compassion when she turns those honest blue eyes towards him; but sentiment brings him no nearer the unpleasant task he has set himself, and it is not until he has twice risen from his chair, and vigorously cleared his throat that he finds utterance for his premoni tory remarks. 'I know Lord Kempton and his family well,' he says. His father, the Earl of Fermanagh, came to Cambridge the other day on pur pose to speak to me about his son's engagement to you.' O, what did he say?-is he less angry?' asks Susie, folding her little hands in appeal, and looking with concentrated eagerness into Maurice's solemn face, who, after a pause, replies, 'I do not think his lordship is angry, but he is certainly surprised, anxious, and much distressed.' 'O' says Susie, with a quick sigh that sounds like a sob. She is surely not going to cry,' thinks Maurice, in alarm. 'I must run away if she does; I cannot stand tears.' 'I believe you really are an honest, right-minded, good girl,' he says quickly. That is my excuse for addressing you on this very delicate matter. Lord Kempton has spoken of you to me in the highest terms; indeed, he laid considerable stress on your powers of discretion and on your excellent sense. The time has now come when your moral strength will be put to a severe test. It rests with you to prove how far you are deserving of the esteem in which you are held.' He pauses, but he does not look into her face. Had he done so, the childish alarm in her troubled blue eyes would surely have modified the solemnity of his remarks. Poor little Susie! Her life hitherto has been a simple reflex of the lives of those about her, and her thoughts have been pretty equally divided between her duties at the theatre and the comfort of her feeble old grandmother at home. Mr. Steele's sudden appeal to her moral strength, and his allusion to the esteem in which her lover holds Her existence until now has been im her, seem to stagger her. pulsive, irresponsible-more like that of bird or bee than of a human being burdened with the cares of a bread-winner. She has fought her little battle against an exacting world, bravely, heartily. She has never troubled herself to think about the duties which lay close at hand, nor of her humble share |