WILL 
 WARBUR.TON 
 
 GEORGE GISSINi 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 LIBRARY 
 
 Joseph Whitmore Barry 
 dramatic library 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 TWO FRIENDS 
 
 OF Cornell University 
 
 C934 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 47 1 6. W6 1905 
 
 Will Warburton; a romance of real life, by 
 
 3 1924 013 458 421 
 
The original of tliis bool< is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013458421 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
THE PRIVATE PAPERS OF 
 HENRY RYECROFT 
 
 By GEORGE GISSING. 
 12 mo. $ 1.50 
 
 The Times.—*' Mr, Gissing has never written anything 
 more remarkable ... in many ways it is his best work . . . 
 strikes us as a tour deforce" 
 
 The Daily Telegraph.—" Mr. W. L. Courtney in a 
 column review quotes Mr. Swinburne's phrase as being the 
 best description possible ; ' Oh, golden book of spirit and of 
 sense.' " 
 
 VERANILDA 
 
 12 mo. % 1.50 
 
 Mr. H. G. I 'Wells says in the Sphere: "Gissirg's 
 maturest, latest and most deliberately conceived book . . . 
 the book that lay nearest his heart during the last years of 
 his life.'' 
 
 Mr. W. L.Courtney, in the Daily Telegfraph : "A 
 
 work for which he was eminently fitted by his tastes and 
 predelictions ; ' Veranilda' is an historical romance such as 
 we rarely see in our modern times." 
 
 Dr. ^Villiam Barry in The Bookman: "Fine work- 
 manship. ... It belongs emphatically to literature, and it 
 cannot fail to give pleasure." 
 
 Mr. Frederic Harrison says : "I judge it to be far the 
 most important book which George Gissing ever produced. 
 ... I think these pages contain his best and most original 
 work." 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE GISSING 
 
 author of " the private papers of henry ryecroft ' 
 "veranilda'' "new grub street" "demos'' etc 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 E. P. BUTTON AND COMPANY 
 
 1905 
 
/^ 
 
 BUTLER & Tanner. 
 
 THE Selwood Printing works, 
 
 FROME, AND London. 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 THE sea-wind in his hair, his eyes agleam with 
 the fresh memory of Alpine snows, Will 
 Warburton sprang out of the cab, paid the driver 
 a double fare, flung on to his shoulder a heavy bag 
 and ran up, two steps at a stride, to a flat on the 
 fourth floor of the many-tenanted building hard by 
 Chelsea Bridge. His rat-tat- tat brought to the 
 door a thin yellow face, cautious in espial, through 
 the narrow opening. 
 
 " Is it you, sir ? " 
 
 " All right, Mrs. Hopper ! How are you ? — how 
 are you ? " 
 
 He threw his bag into the passage, and cordially 
 grasped the woman's hands. 
 
 " Dinner ready ? Savagely hungry. Give me 
 three minutes, and serve." 
 
 For about that length of time there sounded in 
 the bedroom a splashing and a blowing ; then 
 Warburton came forth with red cheeks. He seized 
 upon a little pile of letters and packets which lay 
 on his writing-table, broke envelopes, rent wrappers, 
 and read with now an ejaculation of pleasure, now 
 a grunt of disgust, and again a mirthful half roar. 
 Then, dinner — the feeding of a famished man of 
 robust appetite and digestion, a man three or four 
 years on the green side of thirty. It was a speedy 
 
 5 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 business, in not much more than a quarter of an 
 hour there disappeared a noble steak and its appur- 
 tenances, a golden-crusted apple tart, a substantial 
 slice of ripe Cheddar, two bottles of creamy Bass. 
 
 " Now I can talk ! " cried Will to his servant, as 
 he threw himself into a deep chair, and began light- 
 ing his pipe. " What's the news ? I seem to have 
 been away three months rather than three weeks. " 
 
 " Mr. Franks called yesterday, sir, late in the 
 afternoon, when I was here cleaning. He was very 
 glad to hear you'd be back to-day, and said he 
 might look in to-night." 
 
 " Good ! What else ? " 
 
 " My brother-in-law wishes to see you, sir. He's 
 in trouble again — lost his place at Boxon's a few 
 days ago. I don't exac'ly know how it happened, 
 but he'll explain everything. He's very unfor- 
 tunate, sir, is AUchin." 
 
 " Tell him to come before nine to-morrow morn- 
 ing, if he can." 
 
 " Yes, sir. I'm sure it's very kind of you, sir." 
 
 " What else ? " 
 
 " Nothing as I can think of just now, sir." 
 
 Warburton knew from the woman's way of 
 speaking that she had something still in her mind ; 
 but his pipe being well lit, and a pleasant lassitude 
 creeping over him, he merely nodded. Mrs. Hopper 
 cleared the table, and withdrew. 
 
 The window looked across the gardens of Chelsea 
 Hospital (old-time Ranelagh) to the westward reach 
 of the river, beyond which lay Battersea Park, with 
 its lawns and foliage. A beam of the July sunset 
 struck suddenly through the room. Warburton 
 was aware of it with half -closed eyes ; he wished to 
 stir himself, and look forth, but languor held his 
 limbs, and wreathing tobacco-smoke kept his 
 
 6 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 thoughts among the mountains. He might have 
 quite dozed off had not a sudden noise from within 
 aroused him— the immistakable crash of faUing 
 crockery. It made him laugh, a laugh of humorous 
 expostulation. A minute or two passed, then came 
 a timid tap at his door, and Mrs. Hopper showed 
 her face. 
 
 " Another accident, sir, I'm sorry to say, " were 
 her faltering words. 
 
 " Extensive ? " 
 
 " A dish and two plates, I'm sorry to say, sir." 
 
 " Oh, that's nothing." 
 
 " Of course I shall make them good, sir." 
 
 " Pooh ! Aren't there plates enough ? " 
 
 " Oh, quite enough — ^just yet, sir." 
 
 Warburton subdued a chuckle, and looked with 
 friendly smile at his domestic, who stood squeezing 
 herself between the edge of the door and the jamb — 
 her habit when embarrassed. Mrs. Hopper had 
 served him for three years ; he knew all her weak- 
 nesses, but thought more of her virtues, chief of 
 which were honest intention and a moderate apti- 
 tude for plain cooking. A glance about this room 
 would have proved to any visitor that Mrs. Hopper's 
 ideas of cleanliness were by no means rigid, 
 her master had made himself to a certain extent 
 responsible for this defect ; he paid little attention 
 to dust, provided that things were in their wonted 
 order. Mrs. Hopper was not a resident domestic ; 
 she came at stated hours. Obviously a widow, 
 she had a poor, loose-hung, trailing little body, 
 which no nourishment could plump or fortify. 
 Her visage was habitually doleful, but contracted 
 itself at moments into a grin of quaint drollery, 
 which betrayed her for something of a humorist. 
 
 " My fingers is aU gone silly to-day, sir," she 
 
 7 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 pursued. " I daresay it's because I haven't had 
 much sleep these last few nights." 
 
 " How's that ? " 
 
 " It's my poor sister, sir — my sister Liza, I 
 mean — she's had one of her worst headaches — 
 the extra special, we call 'em. This time it's lasted 
 more than three days, and not one minute of rest 
 has the poor thing got." 
 
 Warburton was all sympathy ; he inquired 
 about the case as though it were that of an intimate 
 friend. Change of air and repose were obvious 
 remedies ; no less obviously, these things were out 
 of the question for a working woman who lived on 
 a few shillings a week. 
 
 " Do you know of any place she could go to ? " 
 asked Warburton, adding carelessly, " if the means 
 were provided." 
 
 Mrs. Hopper squeezed herself more tightly than 
 ever between door and jamb. Her head was bent 
 in an abashed way, and when she spoke it was in 
 a thick, gurgling tone, only just intelligible. 
 
 " There's a little lodging 'ouse at Southend, 
 sir, where we used to go when my 'usband could 
 afford it." 
 
 " Well, look here. Get a doctor's opinion whether 
 Southend would do ; if not, which place would. 
 And just send her away. Don't worry about the 
 money." 
 
 Experience enabled Mrs. Hopper to interpret 
 this advice. She stammered gratitude. 
 
 " How's your other sister — Mrs. AUchin ? " 
 Warburton inquired kindly. 
 
 " Why, sir, she's doing pretty well in her 'ealth, 
 sir, but her baby died yesterday week. I hope 
 you'll excuse me, sir, for all this bad news just when 
 you come back from your hohday, and when it's 
 
 8 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 natural as you don't feel in very good spirits." 
 Will had much ado not to laugh. On his return 
 from a holiday, Mrs. Hopper always presumed 
 him to be despondent in view of the resumption 
 of daily work. He was beginning to talk of Mrs. 
 Allchin's troubles, when at the outer door sounded 
 a long nervous knock. 
 
 " Ha ! That's Mr. Franks." 
 
 Mrs. Hopper ran to admit the visitor. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 WARBURTON ! " cried a high-pitched voice 
 from the passage. "Have you seen 
 The Art World ? " 
 
 And there rushed into the room a tall, auburn- 
 headed young man of five-and-twenty, his comely 
 face glowing in excitement. With one hand he 
 grasped his friend's, in the other he held out a 
 magazine. 
 
 " You haven't seen it ! Look here ! What 
 d'you think of that, confound you ! " 
 
 He had opened the magazine so as to display 
 an illustration, entitled " Sanctuary," and stated 
 to be after a painting by Norbert Franks. 
 
 " Isn't it good ? Doesn't it come out well ? 
 — deuce take you, why don't you speak ? " 
 
 " Not bad — for a photogravure," said War- 
 burton, who had the air of a grave elder in the 
 presence of this ebullient youth. 
 
 " Be hanged ! We know all about that. The 
 thing is that it's there. Don't you feel any sur- 
 prise ? Haven't you got anything to say ? Don't 
 you see what this means, you old ragamuffin ? " 
 
 " Shouldn't wonder if it meant coin of the realm — 
 for your shrewd dealer." 
 
 " For me too, my boy, for me too ! Not out 
 of this thing, of course. But I've arrived, I'm 
 lance, the way is clear ! Why, you don't seem 
 to know what it means getting into The Art World." 
 
 " I seem to remember," said Warburton, smiling, 
 lo 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " that a month or two ago, you hadn't language 
 contemptuous enough for this magazine and all 
 connected with it." 
 
 " Don't be an ass ! " shrilled the other, who 
 was all this time circling about the little room 
 with much gesticulation. " Of course one talks 
 like that when one hasn't enough to eat and can't 
 sell a picture. I don't pretend to have altered 
 my opinion about photogravures, and all that. 
 But come now, the thing itself ? Be honest, 
 Warburton. Is it bad, now ? Can you look at 
 that picture, and say that it's worthless ? " 
 
 " I never said anything of the kind." 
 
 " No, no ! You're too deucedly good-natured. 
 But I always detected what you were thinking, 
 and I saw it didn't surprise you at all when the 
 Academy muffs refused it." 
 
 " There you're wrong," cried Warburton. " I 
 was really surprised." 
 
 " Confound your impudence ! Well, you may 
 think what you like. I maintain that the thing 
 isn't half bad. It grows upon me. I see its merits 
 more and more." 
 
 Franks was holding up the picture, eyeing it 
 intently. " Sanctuary " represented the interior 
 of an old village church. On the ground against 
 a pillar, crouched a young and beautiful woman, 
 her dress and general aspect indicating the last 
 degree of vagrant wretchedness ; worn out, she 
 had fallen asleep in a most graceful attitude, and 
 the rays of a winter sunset smote upon her pallid 
 countenance. Before her stood the village clergy- 
 man, who had evidently just entered, and foimd 
 her here ; his white head was bent in the wonted 
 attitude of clerical benevolence ; in his face blended 
 a gentle wonder and a compassionate tenderness. 
 
 II 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " If that had been hung at Burhngton House, 
 Warburton, it would have been the picture of 
 the year." 
 
 " I think it very Ukely." 
 
 " Yes, I know what you mean, you sarcastic 
 old ruffian. But there's another point of view. 
 Is the drawing good or not ? Is the colour good 
 or not ? Of course you know nothing about it, 
 but I tell you, for your information, I think it's 
 a confoundedly clever bit of work. There remains 
 the subject, and where's the harm in it ? The 
 incident's quite possible. And why shouldn't the 
 girl be good-looking ? " 
 
 " Angehc ! " 
 
 " Well why not ? There are girls with angelic 
 faces. Don't I know one ?" 
 
 Warburton, who had been sitting with a leg 
 over the arm of his chair suddenly changed his 
 position. 
 
 " That reminds me," he said. " I came across 
 the Pomfrets in Switzerland." 
 
 " Where ? When ? " 
 
 " At Trient ten days ago. I spent three or 
 four days with them. Hasn't Miss Elvan men- 
 tioned it ? " 
 
 " I haven't heard from her for a long time, " 
 replied Franks. " Well, for more than a week. 
 Did you meet them by chance ? " 
 
 " Quite. I had a vague idea that the Pomfrets 
 and their niece were somewhere in Switzerland." 
 
 " Vague idea ! " cried the artist " Why, I 
 told you all about it, and growled for five or six 
 hours one evening here because I couldn't go 
 with them." 
 
 " So you did," said Warburton, " but I'm afraid I 
 was thinking of something else, and when I started 
 
 12 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 for the Alps, I had really forgotten all about it. I 
 made up my mind suddenly, you know. We're 
 having a troublesome time in Ailie Street, and 
 it was holiday now or never. By the bye, we 
 shall have to wind up. Sugar spells ruin. We 
 must get out of it whilst we can do so with a 
 whole skin." 
 
 " Ah, really ? " muttered Franks. " Tell me 
 about that presently ; I want to hear of Rosa- 
 mund. You saw a good deal of her, of course ? " 
 
 " I walked from Chamonix over the Col de 
 Balme — ^grand view of Mont Blanc there ! Then 
 down to Trient, in the valley below. And there, 
 as I went in to dinner at the hotel, I found the 
 three. Good old Pomfret would have me stay 
 awhile, and I was glad of the chance of long talks 
 with him. Queer old bird, Ralph Pomfret." 
 
 " Yes, yes, so he is," muttered the artist, ab- 
 sently. " But Rosamund — ^was she enjoying her- 
 self ? " 
 
 " Very much, I think. She certainly looked 
 very well." 
 
 " Have much talk with her ? " asked Franks, 
 as if carelessly. 
 
 " We discussed you, of course. I forget whether 
 our conclusion was favourable or not." 
 
 The artist laughed, and strode about the room 
 with his hands in his pockets." 
 
 " You know what ? " he exclaimed, seeming 
 to look closely at a print on the wall. "I'm 
 going to be married before the end of the year. 
 On that point I've made up my mind. I went 
 yesterday to see a house at Fulham — Mrs. Cross's, 
 by the bye, it's to let at Michaelmas, rent forty- 
 five. All but settled that I shall take it. Risk 
 be hanged. I'm going to make money. What 
 
 13 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 an ass I was to take that fellow's first offer for 
 ' Sanctuary ' ! It was low water with me, and 
 I felt bilious. Fifty guineas ! Your fault, a 
 good deal, you know ; you made me think worse 
 of it than it deserved. You'll see ; Blackstaffe'll 
 make a small fortune out of it ; of course he 
 has all the rights— idiot that I was ! Well, it's 
 too late to talk about that. — And I say, old man, 
 don't take my growl too literally. I don't really 
 mean that you were to blame. I should be an 
 ungrateful cur if I thought such a thing." 
 
 " How's ' The Slummer ' getting on ? " asked 
 Warburton good-humouredly. 
 
 " Well, I was going to say that I shall have 
 it finished in a few weeks. If Blackstaffe wants 
 ' The Slummer ' he'll have to pay for it. Of 
 course it must go to the Academy, and of course 
 I shall keep all the rights — unless Blackstaffe 
 makes a reaUy handsome offer. Why, it ought 
 to be worth five or six hundred to me at least. 
 And that would start us. But I don't care, even 
 if I only get half that, I shall be married all the 
 same. Rosamund has plenty of pluck. I couldn't 
 ask her to start life on a pound a week — about 
 my average for the last two years ; but with two 
 or three hundred in hand, and a decent little 
 house, like that of Mrs. Cross's, at a reasonable 
 rent — well, we shall risk it. I'm sick of waiting. 
 And it isn't fair to a girl — that's my view. Two 
 years now ; an engagement that lasts more than 
 two years isn't likely to come to much good. 
 You'll think my behaviour pretty cool, on one 
 point. I don't forget, you old usurer, that I owe 
 you something more than a hundred pounds " 
 
 " Pooh ! " 
 
 " Be poohed yourself ! But for you, I should 
 14 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 have gone without dinner many a day ; but for 
 you, I should most likely have had to chuck 
 painting altogether, and turn clerk or dock- 
 labourer. But let me stay in your debt a little 
 longer, old man. I can't put off my marriage 
 any longer, and just at first I shall want all the 
 money I can lay my hands on." 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Hopper entered with a 
 lamp. There was a pause in the conversation. 
 Franks lit a cigarette, and tried to sit stni, but 
 was very soon pacing the floor again. A tum- 
 bler of whisky and soda reanimated his flagging 
 talk. 
 
 " No ! " he exclaimed. " I'm not going to 
 admit that ' Sanctuary ' is cheap and sentimental, 
 and all the rest of it. The more I think about it, 
 the more convinced I am that it's nothing to be 
 ashamed of. People have got hold of the idea 
 that if a thing is popular it must be bad art. 
 That's all rot. I'm going in for popularity. Look 
 here ! Suppose that's what I was meant for ? 
 What if it's the best I have in me to do ? Shouldn't 
 I be a jackass if I scorned to make money by what, 
 for me, was good work, and preferred to starve 
 whilst I turned out pretentious stuff that was 
 worth nothing from my point of view ? " 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder if you're right," said 
 Warburton reflectively. " In any case, I know 
 as much about art as I do about the differential 
 calculus. To make money is a good and joyful 
 thing as long as one doesn't bleed the poor. So 
 go ahead, my son, and luck be with you ! " 
 
 " I can't find my model yet for the Slummer's 
 head. It mustn't be too like the ' Sanctuary ' 
 girl, but at the same time it must be a popular 
 t57pe of beauty. I've been haunting refreshment 
 
 15 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 bars and florists' shops ; lots of good material, 
 but never quite the thing. There's a damsel at 
 the Crystal Palace — but this doesn't interest you, 
 you old misog5mist." 
 
 " Old what ? " exclaimed Warburton, with an 
 air of genuine surprise. 
 
 " Have I got the word wrong ? I'm not much 
 of a classic " 
 
 " The word's all right. But that's your idea 
 of me, is it ? " 
 
 The artist stood and gazed at his friend with 
 an odd expression, as if a joke had been arrested 
 on his lips by graver thought. 
 
 " Isn't it true ?" 
 
 " Perhaps it is ; yes, yes, I daresay." 
 
 And he turned at once to another subject. 
 
 i6 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE year was 1886. 
 When at business, Warburton sat in a 
 high, bare room, which looked upon little Ailie 
 Street, in Whitechapel ; the air he breathed had 
 a taste and odour strongly saccharine. If his eye 
 strayed to one of the walls, he saw a map of the 
 West Indies ; if to another, it fell upon a map of 
 St. Kitts ; if to the third, there was before him a 
 plan of a sugar estate on that little island. Here 
 he sat for certain hours of the solid day, issuing 
 orders to clerks, receiving commercial callers, study- 
 ing trade journals in sundry languages — often read- 
 ing some book which ha^ no obvious reference to 
 the sugar-refining industry. It was not Will's 
 ideal of life, but hither he had suffered himself to 
 be led by circumstance, and his musings suggested 
 no practicable issue into a more congenial world. 
 
 The death of his father when he was sixteen 
 had left him with a certain liberty for shaping a 
 career. What he saw definitely before him was 
 a small share in the St. Kitts property of Messrs. 
 Sherwood Brothers, a small share in the London 
 business of the same firm, and a small sum of ready 
 money — these things to be his when he attained 
 his majority. His mother and sister, who hved 
 in a little country house down in Huntingdonshire, 
 were modestly but securely provided for, and WiU 
 might have gone quietly on with his studies till 
 
 17 B 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 he could resolve upon a course in life. But no 
 sooner was he freed from paternal restraint than 
 the lad grew restive ; nothing would please him 
 but an adventure in foreign lands ; and when it 
 became clear that he was only wasting his time at 
 school, Mrs. Warburton let him go to the West 
 Indies, where a place was found for him in the 
 house of Sherwood Brothers. At St. Kitts, Will 
 remained tiU he was one-and-twenty. Long before 
 that, he had grown heartily tired of his work, 
 disgusted with the climate, and oppressed with 
 home sickness, but pride forbade him to return 
 until he could do so as a free man. 
 
 One thing this apprenticeship to life had taught 
 him — that he was not made for subordination. 
 " I don't care how poor I am," thus he wrote to 
 his mother, "but I will be my own master. To 
 be at other people's orders brings out all the bad 
 in me ; it makes me sullen and bearish, and all 
 sorts of ugly things, which I certainly am not 
 when my true self has play. So, you see, I must 
 find some independent way of life. If I had to 
 live by carrying round a Punch and Judy show, 
 I should vastly prefer it to making a large income 
 as somebody's servant." 
 
 Meanwhile, unfortunately for a young man of 
 this temperament, his prospects had become less 
 assured. There was perturbation in the sugar 
 world ; income from St. Kitts and from White- 
 chapel had sensibly diminished, and it seemed 
 but too likely, would continue to do so. For 
 some half-year WiU lived in London, " looking 
 about him," then he announced that Godfrey 
 Sherwood, at present sole representative of Sher- 
 wood Brothers, had offered him an active partner- 
 ship in Little Ailie Street, and that he had accepted 
 
 i8 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 it. He entered upon this position without zeal, 
 but six months' investigation had taught him that 
 to earn money without surrendering his indepen- 
 dence was no very easy thing ; he probably might 
 wait a long time before an opening would present 
 itself more attractive than this at the sugar-refinery. 
 Godfrey Sherwood was a schoolfellow of his, 
 but some two or three years older ; much good 
 feeling existed between them, their tastes and 
 tempers having just that difference in similarity 
 which is the surest bond of friendship. Judged 
 by his talk, Sherwood was all vigour, energy, frre ; 
 his personal habits, on the other hand, inclined 
 to tranquilhty and ease — a great reader, he loved 
 the literature of romance and adventure, knew 
 by heart authors such as Malory and Froissart, 
 had on his shelves all the books of travel and adven- 
 ture he could procure. As a boy he seemed destined 
 to any life save that of humdrum commerce, of 
 which he spoke with contempt and abhorrence ; 
 and there was no reason why he should not have 
 gratified his desire of seeing the world, of leading 
 what he called " the life of .. man," Yet here he 
 was, sitting each day in a counting-house in White- 
 chapel, with nothing behind him but a few rambles 
 on the continent, and certainly with no immediate 
 intention of going far afield. His father's death 
 left him in sole command of the business, and his 
 reasonable course would have been to retire from 
 it as soon as possible, for foreign competition was 
 making itself felt m the English trade, and many 
 firms more solidly established than that in Little 
 Ailie Street had either come to grief or withdrawn 
 from the struggle. But Godfrey's inertia kept 
 him in the familiar routine, with day-to-day post- 
 ponement of practical decision. When Warburton 
 
 19 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 came back from St. Kitts, and their friendship 
 was renewed, Godfrey's talk gave full play to his 
 imaginative energies. Yes, yes, the refining busi- 
 ness was at a bad pass just now, but this was only 
 temporary ; those firms that could weather the 
 storm for a year or two longer would enter upon a 
 time of brilliant prosperity. Was it to be supposed 
 that the Government would allow a great industry 
 to perish out of mere regard for the fetish of Free 
 Trade ? City men with first-hand information 
 declared that " measures " were being prepared ; 
 in one way or another, the English trade would 
 be rescued and made triumphant over those bounty- 
 fed foreigners. 
 
 " Hold on ? " cried Sherwood. " Of course I 
 mean to hold on. There's pleasure and honour 
 in the thing. I enjoy the fight. I've had thoughts 
 of getting into Parliament, to speak for sugar. 
 One might do worse, you know. There'll be 
 a dissolution next year, certain. First-rate fun, fight- 
 ing a constituency. But in that case I must have 
 a partner here — why that's an idea. How would 
 it suit you ? Why not join me ? " 
 
 And so the thing came about. The terms which 
 Godfrey offered were so generous that Will had 
 to reduce them before he accepted : even thus, he 
 found his income, at a stroke, all but doubled. 
 Sherwood, to be sure, did not stand for Parliament, 
 nor was anything definite heard about that sugar- 
 protecting budget which he stiU believed in. In 
 Little Ailie Street business steadily declined. 
 
 " It's a disgrace to England ! " cried Godfrey. 
 " Monstrous that not a finger should be lifted to 
 save one of our most important industries. You, 
 of course, are free to retire at any moment, WiU. 
 For my own part, here I stand, come what may. 
 
 20 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 If it's ruin, ruin let it be. I'll fight to the last. A 
 man owes me ten thousand pounds. When I 
 recover it, and I may any day — I shall put every 
 penny into the business." 
 
 " Ten thousand pounds ! " exclaimed Warburton 
 in astonishment. " A trade debt, do you mean ? " 
 
 " No, no. A friend of mine, son of a millionaire, 
 who got into difficulties some time ago, and bor- 
 rowed of me to clear himself. Good interest, and 
 principal safe as Consols. In a year at most I 
 shall have the money back, and every penny shall 
 go into the business." 
 
 Will had his private view of the matter, and 
 not seldom suffered a good deal of uneasiness as 
 he saw the inevitable doom approach. But already 
 it was too late to withdraw his share from the con- 
 cern ; that would have been merely to take advan- 
 tage of Sherwood's generosity, and Will was himself 
 not less chivalrous. In Godfrey's phrase, they 
 continued " to fight the ship," and perhaps would 
 have held out to the moment of sinking, had not 
 the accession of the Liberals to power in the spring 
 of this present year caused Sherwood so deep a 
 disgust that he turned despondent and began to 
 talk of surrender to hopeless circumstance. 
 
 " It's all up with us. Will. This Government 
 speUs ruin, and will count it one of its chief glories 
 if we come to grief. But, by Heaven, they shan't 
 have that joy. We'll square up, quietly, com- 
 fortably, with dignity. We'll come out of this 
 fight with arms and baggage. It's still possible, 
 you know. We'll sell the St. Kitts estate to the 
 Germans. We'll find some one to buy us up here — 
 the place would suit a brewer. And then — by 
 Jove ! we'll make jam." 
 
 "Jam?" 
 
 21 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Isn't it an idea ? Cheap sugar has done for 
 the refiners, but it's a fortune for the jam trade. 
 Why not put all we can realize into a jam factory ? 
 We'll go down into the country ; find some delightful 
 place where land is cheap ; start a fruit farm ; run 
 up a building. Doesn't it take you, Will ? Think 
 of going to business every day through lanes over- 
 hung with fruit-tree blossoms ! Better that than 
 the filth and stench and gloom and uproar of White- 
 chapel — what ? We might found a village for our 
 workpeople — the ideal village, perfectly healthy, 
 every cottage beautiful. Eh ? What ? How does 
 it strike you. Will ? " 
 
 " Pleasant. But the money ? " 
 
 " We shall have enough to start ; I think we 
 shall. If not, we'll find a moneyed man to join 
 us." 
 
 " What about that ten thousand pounds ? " 
 suggested Warburton. 
 
 Sherwood shook his head. 
 
 " Can't get it just yet. To tell you the truth, 
 it depends on the death of the man's father. No, 
 but if necessary, some one will easily be found. 
 Isn't the idea magnificent ? How it would rile 
 the Government if they heard of it ! Ho, ho ! " 
 
 One could never be sure how far Godfrey was 
 serious when he talked like this ; the humorous 
 impulse so blended with the excitability of his 
 imagination, that people who knew him little and 
 heard him talking at large thought him something 
 of a crack-brain. The odd thing was that, with 
 all his peculiarities, he had many of the charac- 
 teristics of a sound man of business ; indeed, had 
 it been otherwise, the balance-sheets of the refinery 
 must long ago have shown a disastrous deficit. 
 As Warburton knew, things had been managed 
 
 22 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 with no little prudence and sagacity ; what he 
 did not so clearly understand was that Sherwood 
 had simply adhered to the traditions of the firm, 
 following very exactly the path marked out for 
 him by his father and his uncle, both notable 
 traders. Concerning Godfrey's private resources, 
 Warburton knew little or nothing ; it seemed 
 probable that the elder Sherwood had left a con- 
 siderable fortune, which his only son must have 
 inherited. No doubt, said Will to himself, this 
 large reserve was the explanation of his partner's 
 courage. 
 
 So the St. Kitts estate was sold, and, with all 
 the deliberate dignity demanded by the fact that 
 the Government's eye was upon them, Sherwood 
 Brothers proceeded to terminate their affairs in 
 Whitechapel. In July, Warburton took his three 
 weeks' holiday, there being nothing better for him 
 to do. And among the letters he found on his 
 table when he returned, was one from Sherwood, 
 which contained only these words : 
 
 " Great opportunity in view. Our fortunes are 
 made ! " 
 
 23 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 WHEN Franks was gone, Warburton took 
 up The Art World, which his friend had 
 left, and glanced again at the photogravure of 
 " Sanctuary." He knew, as he had declared, no- 
 thing about art, and judged pictures as he judged 
 books, emotionally. His bent was to what is 
 called the realistic point of view, and " Sanctuary " 
 made him smile. But very good-naturedly ; for 
 he liked Norbert Franks, and believed he would 
 do better things than this. Unless ? 
 
 The thought broke off with an uneasy inter- 
 rogative. 
 
 He turned to the few lines of text devoted to 
 the painter. Norbert Franks, he read, was still a 
 very young man ; " Sanctuary," now on exhi- 
 bition at Birmingham, was his first important 
 picture ; hitherto he had been chiefly occupied 
 with work in black and white. There followed a 
 few critical comments, and prophecy of achieve- 
 ments to come. 
 
 Yes. But again the uneasy interrogative. 
 
 Their acquaintance dated from the year after 
 Warburton's return from St. Kitts. Will had 
 just established himself in his flat near Chelsea 
 Bridge, delighted to be a Londoner, and was spend- 
 ing most of his leisure in exploration of London's 
 vastness. He looked upon all his earlier years as 
 wasted, because they had not been passed in the 
 
 24 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 city on the Thames. The history of London, the 
 multitudinous hfe of London as it lay about him, 
 with marvels and mysteries in every highway and 
 byway, occupied his mind, and wrought upon his 
 imagination. Being a stout walker, and caring 
 little for any other form of exercise, in his free 
 hours he covered many a league of pavement. A 
 fine summer morning would see him set forth, 
 long before milk-carts had begun to rattle along 
 the streets, and on one such expedition, as he step- 
 ped briskly through a poor district south of the 
 river, he was surprised to see an artist at work, 
 painting seriously, his easel in the dry gutter. 
 He slackened his pace to have a glimpse of the 
 canvas, and the painter, a young, pleasant-looking 
 fellow, turned round and asked if he had a match. 
 Able to supply this demand, Warburton talked 
 whilst the other relit his pipe. It rejoiced him, he 
 said, to see a painter engaged upon such a subject 
 as this — a bit of squalid London's infinite pictur- 
 esqueness. 
 
 The next morning Warburton took the same 
 walk, and again found the painter at work. They 
 talked freely ; they exchanged invitations ; and 
 that same evening Norbert Franks chmbed the 
 staircase to Will's flat, and smoked his first pipe 
 and drank his first whisky-and-soda in the pleasant 
 room overlooking Ranelagh. His own quarters 
 were in Queen's Road, Battersea, at no great dis- 
 tance. The two young men were soon seeing a 
 great deal of each other. When their friendship 
 had ripened through a twelvemonth, Franks, al- 
 ways impecunious, cheerily borrowed a five-pound 
 note; not long after, he mirthfully doubled his 
 debt ; and this grew to a habit with him. 
 
 "You're a capitalist, Warburton," he remarked 
 25 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 one day, " and a generous fellow, too. Of course 
 I shall pay what I owe you when I sell a big 
 picture. Meanwhile, you have the gratification 
 of supporting a man of genius, without the least in- 
 convenience to yourself. Excellent idea of yours 
 to strike up a friendship, wasn't it ? " 
 
 The benefit was reciprocal. Warburton did 
 not readily form intimacies ; indeed Godfrey Sher- 
 wood had till now been almost the only man he 
 called friend, and the peculiarity of his temper 
 exposed him to the risk of being too much alone. 
 Though neither arrogant nor envious, Will found 
 little pleasure in the society of people who, from 
 any point of view, were notably his superiors ; 
 even as he could not subordinate himself in money- 
 earning relations, so did he become iU-at-ease, lose 
 all spontaneity, in company above his social or 
 intellectual level. Such a man's danger was ob- 
 vious ; he might, in default of congenial associates, 
 decline upon inferiors ; all the more that a softness 
 of heart, a fineness of humanity, ever disposed 
 him to feel and show special kindness for the 
 poor, the distressed, the unfortunate. Sherwood's 
 acquaintances had little attraction for him ; they 
 were mostly people who lived in a luxurious way, 
 went in for sports, talked about the money mar- 
 ket — all of which things fascinated Godfrey, though 
 in truth he was far from belonging by nature to 
 that particular world. With Franks, Will could 
 be wholly himself, enjoying the slight advantage 
 of his larger means, extending his knowledge with- 
 out undue obligation, and getting all the good that 
 comes to a man from the exercise of his kindliest 
 feelings. 
 
 With less of geniality, because more occupied 
 with himself, Norbert Franks resembled his new 
 
 26 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 friend in a distaste for ordinary social pleasures 
 and an enjoyment of the intimacies of life. He 
 stood very much alone in the world, and from 
 the age of eighteen he had in one way or another 
 supported himself, chiefly by work on illustrated 
 papers. His father, who belonged to what is 
 called a good family, began life in easy circum- 
 stances, and gained some reputation as a connois- 
 seur of art ; imprudence and misfortune having 
 obliged him to sell his collection, Mr. Franks took 
 to buying pictures and bric-a-brac for profit, and 
 during the last ten years of his life was associated 
 in that capacity with a London firm. Norbert, 
 motherless from infancy and an only child, received 
 his early education at expensive schools, but, show- 
 ing little aptitude for study and much for use of 
 the pencil, was taken by his father at twelve years 
 old to Paris, and there set to work under a good 
 art-teacher. At sixteen he went to Italy, where 
 he remained for a couple of years. Then, on 
 a journey in the East, the elder Franks died. 
 Norbert returned to England, learnt that a matter 
 of fifty pounds was all his heritage, and pluckily 
 turned to the task of keeping himself alive. Herein 
 his foreign sketch-books proved serviceable, but 
 the struggle was long and hard before he could 
 house himself decently, and get to serious work as a 
 painter. Later on, he was wont to say that this 
 poverty had been the best possible thing for him, 
 its enforced abstinences having come just at the 
 time when he had begun to " wallow " — his word 
 for any sort of excess ; and " wallowing " was 
 undoubtedly a peril to which Norbert's temper 
 particularly exposed him. Short commons made 
 him, as they have made many another youth, sober 
 and chaste, at all events in practice ; and when 
 
 27 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 he began to lift up his head, a httle ; when, at the 
 age of three-and-twenty, he earned what seemed to 
 him at first the luxurious income of a pound or 
 so a week ; when, in short, the inclination to " wal- 
 low " might again have taken hold upon him, it 
 was his chance to fall in love so seriously and hope- 
 fully that all the better features of his character 
 were drawn out, emphasized, and, as it seemed, 
 for good and all established in predominance. 
 
 Not long after his first meeting with Warburton, 
 he one day received, through the publishers of a 
 book he had illustrated, a letter signed " Ralph 
 Pomfret," the writer of which asked whether 
 " Norbert Franks " was the son of an old friend of 
 whom he had lost sight for many years. By way 
 of answer, Franks called upon his correspondent, 
 who lived in a pleasant little house at Ashtead, in 
 Surrey ; he found a man of something less than 
 sixty, with a touch of eccentricity in his thoughts 
 and ways, by whom he was hospitably received, and 
 invited to return whenever it pleased him. It 
 was not very long before Franks asked permission 
 to make the Pomfrets acquainted with his friend 
 Warburton, a step which proved entirely justi- 
 fiable. Together or separately, the two young 
 men were often to be seen at Ashtead, whither 
 they were attracted not only by the kindly and 
 amusing talk of Ralph Pomfret, but at least 
 as much by the grace and sweetness and sym- 
 pathetic intelligence of the mistress of the house, 
 for whom both entertained respect and admira- 
 tion. 
 
 One Sunday afternoon, Warburton, tempted as 
 usual by the thought of tea and talk in that delight- 
 ful little garden, went out to Ashtead, and, as he 
 pushed open the gate, was confused and vexed at 
 
 28 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 the sight of strangers ; there, before the house, 
 stood a middle-aged gentleman and a young girl, 
 chatting with Mrs. Pomfret. He would have turned 
 away and taken himself off in disappointment, but 
 that the clank of the gate had attracted attention, 
 and he had no choice but to move forward. The 
 strangers proved to be Mrs. Pomfret's brother and 
 his daughter ; they had been spending half a year 
 in the south of France, and were here for a day or 
 two before returning to their home at Bath. When 
 he had recovered his equanimity, Warburton 
 became aware that the young lady was fair to look 
 upon. Her age seemed about two-and-twenty ; 
 not very tall, she bore herself with perhaps a touch 
 of conscious dignity and impressiveness ; perfect 
 health, a warm complexion, magnificent hair, 
 eyes that shone with gaiety and good-nature, made 
 of Rosamund Elvan a living picture such as Will 
 Warburton had not often seen ; he was shy in 
 her presence, and by no means did himself justice 
 that afternoon. His downcast eyes presently 
 noticed that she wore shoes of a peculiar kind — 
 white canvas with soles of plaited cord ; in the course 
 of conversation he learnt that these were a memento 
 of the Basque country, about which Miss Elvan 
 talked with a very pretty enthusiasm. Will went 
 away, after all, in a dissatisfied mood. Girls were 
 to him merely a source of disquiet. " If she be 
 not fair for me — " was his ordinary thought ; and 
 he had never yet succeeded in persuading himself 
 that any girl, fair or not, was at all likely to con- 
 ceive the idea of devoting herself to his happiness. 
 In this matter, an excessive modesty subdued him. 
 It had something to do with his holding so much 
 apart from general society. 
 
 On the evening of the next day, there was a 
 39 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 thunderous knock at Warburton's flat, and in 
 rushed Franks. 
 
 " You were at Ashtead yesterday," he cried. 
 
 " I was. What of that ? " 
 
 " And you didn't come to tell me about the 
 Elvans ! " 
 
 " About Miss Elvan, I suppose you mean ? " said 
 
 wm. 
 
 " Well, yes, I do. I went there by chance this 
 afternoon. The two men were away somewhere, — 
 I found Mrs. Pomfret and that girl alone together. 
 Never had such a delightful time in my life ! But 
 I say, Warburton, we must understand each other. 
 Are you — do you — I mean, did she strike you par- 
 ticularly ? " 
 
 Will threw back his head and laughed. 
 
 " You mean that ? " shouted the other, joy- 
 ously. " You reaUy don't care — it's nothing to 
 you ? " 
 
 " Why, is it anything to you ? " 
 
 " Anything ? Rosamund Elvan is the most 
 beautiful girl I ever saw, and the sweetest, and 
 the brightest, and the altogether flooringest ! And, 
 by heaven and earth, I'm resolved to marry her ! " 
 
 30 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 AS he sat musing, The Art World still in his 
 hand, Warburton could hear his friend's 
 voice ring out that audacious vow. He could re- 
 member, too, the odd little pang with which he 
 heard it, a half spasm of altogether absurd jealousy. 
 Of course the feeling did not last. There was no 
 recurrence of it when he heard that Franks had 
 again seen Miss Elvan before she left Ashtead ; 
 nor when he learnt that the artist had been spending 
 a day or two at Bath. Less than a month after 
 their first meeting, Franks won Rosamund's con- 
 sent. He was frantic with exultation. Arriving 
 with the news at ten o'clock one night, he shouted 
 and maddened about Warburton's room until 
 finally turned out at two ui the morning. His 
 circumstances being what they were, he could not 
 hope for marriage yet awhile ; he must work and 
 wait. Never mind ; see what work he would 
 produce ! Yet it appeared to his friend that 
 all through the next twelvemonth he merely 
 wasted time, such work as he did finish being of 
 very slight value. He talked and talked, now of 
 Rosamund, now of what he was going to do, until 
 Warburton, losing patience, would cut him short 
 with " Oh, go to Bath ! " — an old cant phrase 
 revived for its special appropriateness in this 
 connection. Franks went to Bath far oftener 
 
 31 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 than he could afford, money for his journey being 
 generally borrowed from his long-enduring friend. 
 
 Rosamund herself had nothing, and but the 
 smallest expectations should her father die. Two 
 years before this, it had occurred to her that she 
 should like to study art, and might possibly find 
 in it a means of self-support. She was allowed 
 to attend classes at South Kensington, but little 
 came of this except a close friendship with a girl 
 of her own age, by name Bertha Cross, who was 
 following the art course with more serious purpose. 
 When she had been betrothed for about a year, 
 Rosamund chanced to spend a week in London at 
 her friend's house, and this led to acquaintance 
 between Franks and the Crosses. For a time, 
 Warburton saw and heard less of the artist, who 
 made confidantes of Mrs. Cross and her daughter, 
 and spent many an evening with them talking, 
 talking, talking about Rosamund ; but this inti- 
 macy did not endure very long, Mrs. Cross being a 
 person of marked peculiarities, which in the end 
 overtried Norbert's temper. Only on the fourth 
 story flat by Chelsea Bridge could the lover find 
 that sort of S5nTipathy which he really needed, 
 solacing yet tonic. But for Warburton he would 
 have worked even less. To Will it seemed an odd 
 result of fortunate love that the artist, though in 
 every other respect a better man than before, shoiild 
 have become, to aU appearances, less zealous, less 
 efficient, in his art. Had Rosamund Elvan the 
 right influence on her lover ; in spite of Norbert's 
 lyric eulogy, had she served merely to confuse his 
 aims, perhaps to bring him down to a lower level 
 of thought ? 
 
 There was his picture, " Sanctuary." Before 
 he knew Rosamund, Franks would have scoffed 
 
 32 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 at such a subject, would have howled at such treat- 
 ment of it. There was notable distance between 
 this and what Norbert was painting in that summer 
 sunrise four years ago, with his portable easel in 
 the gutter. And Miss Elvan admired " Sanctuary" 
 — at least, Franks said she did. True, she also 
 admired the picture of the pawnshop and the public- 
 house ; Will had himself heard her speak of it with 
 high praise, and with impatient wonder that no 
 purchaser could be found for it. Most likely she 
 approved of ever5^hing Norbert did, and had no more 
 serious criterion. Unless, indeed, her private test 
 of artistic value were the financial result. 
 
 Warburton could not altogether believe that. 
 Annoyance with the artist now and then inclined 
 him to slighting thought of Rosamund ; yet, on 
 the whole, his view of her was not depreciatory. 
 The disadvantage to his mind was her remarkable 
 comeliness. He could not but fear that so much 
 beauty must be inconsistent with the sterling quali- 
 ties which make a good wife. 
 
 Will's eye feU on Sherwood's note, and he went 
 to bed wondering what the project might be which 
 was to make their fortune. 
 
 33 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 HE had breakfasted, and was smoking his pipe 
 as he wrote a letter, when Mrs. Hopper an- 
 nounced the visit, by appointment, of her brother- 
 in-law, Allchin. There entered a short, sturdy, 
 red-headed young fellow, in a Sunday suit of respect- 
 able antiquity ; his features were rude, his aspect 
 dogged ; but a certain intelligence showed in his 
 countenance, and a not unamiable smile responded 
 to the bluff heartiness of Warburton's greeting. 
 By original calling, Allchin was a grocer's assis- 
 tant, but a troublesome temper had more than once 
 set him adrift, the outcast of grocerdom, to earn a 
 living as best he could by his vigorous thews, and 
 it was in one of these intervals that, having need of 
 a porter at the works, Warburton had engaged 
 him, on Mrs. Hopper's petition. After a month 
 or so of irreproachable service, Allchin fought 
 with a foreman, and took his discharge. The same 
 week, Mrs. Allchin presented him with their first 
 child ; the famUy fell into want ; Mrs. Hopper 
 (squeezed between door and jamb) drew her 
 master's attention to the lamentable case, and help 
 was of course forthcoming. Then, by good luck, 
 Allchin was enabled to resume his vocation ; he 
 got a place at a grocer's in Fulham Road, and in a 
 few weeks presented himself before his benefactor, 
 bringing half-a-crown as a first instalment toward 
 
 34 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 the discharge of his debt ; for only on this condition 
 had he accepted the money. Half a year elapsed 
 without troublesome incident ; the man made 
 regular repayment in small sums ; then came the 
 disaster which Mrs. Hopper had yesterday an- 
 nounced. 
 
 "Well, AUchin," cried Warburton, "what's 
 the latest ? " 
 
 Before speaking, the other pressed his hps tightly 
 together and puffed out his cheeks, as if it cost him 
 an effort to bring words to the surface. His reply 
 came forth with explosive abruptness 
 
 " Lost my place at Boxon's, sir." 
 
 " And how's that ? " 
 
 " It happened last Saturday, sir. I don't want 
 to make out as I wasn't at all to blame. I know 
 as well as anybody that I've got a will of my own. 
 But we're open late, as perhaps you know, sir, on 
 Saturday night, and Mr. Boxon — well, it's only the 
 truth — he's never quite himself after ten o'clock. 
 I'd worked from eight in the morning to something 
 past midnight — of course I don't think nothing of 
 that, 'cause it's reg'lar in the trade. But — well, 
 in come a customer, sir, a woman as didn't rightly 
 know what she wanted ; and she went out with- 
 out buying, and Mr. Boxon he see it, and he come 
 up to me and calls me the foulest name he could 
 turn his tongue to. And so — well, sir, there was 
 unpleasantness, as they say " 
 
 He hesitated, Warburton eyeing him with a 
 twinkle of subdued amusement. 
 
 " A quarrel, in fact, eh ? " 
 
 " It did about come to that, sir ! ' 
 
 " You lost your temper, of course." 
 
 " That's about the truth, sir." 
 
 " And Boxon turned you out ? " 
 35 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 AUchin looked hurt. 
 
 "Well, sir, I've no doubt he'd have liked to, 
 but I was a bit beforehand with him. When I see 
 him last, he was settin' on the pavement, sir, rubbin' 
 his 'ead." 
 
 In spite of his inclination to laugh, Will kept 
 a grave countenance. 
 
 " I'm afraid that kind of thing won't do, Allchin. 
 You'll be in serious trouble one of these days." 
 
 " That's what my wife says, sir. I know well 
 enough as it's hard on her, just after we've lost the 
 baby — as perhaps Mrs. Hopper'll have told you, 
 sir." 
 
 " I was very sorry to hear it, Allchin." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. You've always something kind 
 to say. And I'm that vexed, because I was get- 
 ting on well with paying my debts. But Mr. Boxon, 
 sir, he's many a time made me that mad that I've 
 gone out into the back yard and kicked the wall 
 tiU my toes were sore, just to ease my feelings, like. 
 To tell the truth, sir, I don't think he's ever rightly 
 sober, and I've heard others say the same. And 
 his business is fallin' off, something shockin'. Cus- 
 tomers don't like to be insulted ; that's only natural. 
 He's always going down to Kempton Park, or 
 Epsom, or some such place. They do say as he 
 lost 'undreds of pounds at Kempton Park last week. 
 It's my opinion the shop can't go on much longer. 
 Well, sir, I thought I just ought to come and tell 
 you the truth of things, and I won't disturb you no 
 longer. I shall do my best to find another place." 
 
 Warburton's impulse was to offer temporary 
 work in Little Ailie Street, but he remembered 
 that the business was not in a position to increase 
 expenses, and that the refinery might any day be 
 closed. 
 
 36 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " All right," he answered cheerily, " let me know 
 how you get on." 
 
 When Allchin's heavy footsteps had echoed 
 away down the stairs, Mrs. Hopper answered her 
 master's call. 
 
 " I suppose they have a little money to go on 
 with ? " Warburton inquired. " I mean, enough 
 for a week or so." 
 
 " Yes, I think they have that, sir. But I see 
 how it'll be. My poor sister'll end in the work'us. 
 Allchin'U never keep a place. Not that I can 
 blame him, sir, for givin' it to that Boxon, 'cause 
 every one says he's a brute." 
 
 " Well, just let me know if they begin to be in 
 want. But of course AUchin can always get work 
 as a porter. He must learn to keep his fists down, 
 if he doesn't want to be perpetually out of employ- 
 ment." 
 
 " That's what I tell him, sir. And my poor 
 sister, sir, she's never stopped talkin' to him, day 
 or night you may say, ever since it happened " 
 
 "Merciful Heavens!" groaned Warburton to 
 himself. 
 
 37 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 AT half-past nine he reached Little Ailie Street. 
 " Mr. Sherwood not here yet, I suppose ? " 
 asked Will. 
 
 " Oh yes, he is, sir," replied the manager ; " been 
 here for half an hour." 
 
 Warburton went on to the senior partner's room. 
 There sat Godfrey Sherwood bent over a book 
 which, to judge from the smile upon his face, could 
 have nothing to do with the sugar-refining ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " How do, WiU ? " he exclaimed, with even more 
 than his usual cheerfulness. " Did you ever read 
 ' The Adventures of a Younger Son ' ? Oh, you 
 must. Listen here. He's describing how he 
 thrashed an assistant master at school ; thrashed 
 him, he says, till ' the sweat dropped from his brows 
 like rain-drops from the eaves of a pig-sty ! ' Ho- 
 ho-ho ! What do you think of that for a compari- 
 son ? Isn't it strong ? By Jove ! a bracing book ! 
 Trelawny, you know ; the friend of Byron. As 
 breezy a book as I know. It does one good." 
 
 Godfrey Sherwood was, as regards his visage, 
 what is called a plain young man, but his smile told 
 of infinite good-nature, and his voice, notwith- 
 standing its frequent note of energy or zeal, had a 
 natural softness of intonation which suggested other 
 qualities than the practical and vigorous. 
 
 " Enjoyed your holiday ? " he went on, rising, 
 38 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 stretching himself, and offering a box of cigarettes. 
 " You look well. Done any summits ? When we 
 get our affairs in order, I must be off somewhere 
 myself. Northward, I think. I want a little brac- 
 ing cold. I should like to see Iceland. You know 
 the Icelandic sagas ? Magnificent ! There's the 
 saga of Grettir the Strong — by Jove ! But come, 
 this isn't business. I have news for you, real, sub- 
 stantial, hopeful news." 
 
 They seated themselves in roundbacked chairs, 
 and Will lighted a cigarette. 
 
 " You know my thoughts were running on jam ; 
 jam is our salvation ; of that I have long been con- 
 vinced. I looked about, made a few inquiries, 
 and by good luck, not long after you went off for 
 your holiday, met just the man I wanted. You've 
 heard of Applegarth's jams ? " 
 
 WUl said he had seen them advertised. 
 
 " Well, I came across Applegarth himself. I 
 was talking to Linklater — and jams came up. 
 ' You ought to see my friend Applegarth,' said he ; 
 and he arranged for us to meet. Applegarth hap- 
 pened to be in town, but he lives down in Somerset, 
 and his factory is at Bristol. We all dined together 
 at the Junior Carlton, and Applegarth and I got on 
 so well that he asked me down to his place. Oxford 
 man, clever, a fine musician, and an astronomer ; 
 has bunt himself a little observatory — magnificent 
 telescope. By Jove ! you should hear him handle 
 the violin. Astonishing fellow ! Not much of a 
 talker ; rather dry in his manner ; but no end of 
 energy, bubbling over with vital force. He began 
 as a barrister, but couldn't get on, and saw his 
 capital melting. ' Hang it ! ' said he, ' I must 
 make some use of what money I have ' ; and he 
 thought of jam. Brilliant idea ! He began in a 
 
 39 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 very modest way, down at Bristol, only aiming at 
 local trade But his jams were good ; the demand 
 grew ; he juilt a factory ; profits became con- 
 siderable. And now, he wants to withdraw from 
 active business, keeping an interest. Wants to 
 find some one who would run and extend the con- 
 cern — put in a fair capital, and leave him to draw 
 his income quietly. You see ? " 
 
 " Seems a good opportunity," said Warburton. 
 
 " Good ? It's simply superb. He took me 
 over the works — a really beautiful sight, everjrthing 
 so admirably arranged. Then we had more pri- 
 vate talk. Of course I spoke of you, said I could do 
 nothing till we had consulted together. I didn't 
 seem too eager — not good policy. But we've had 
 some correspondence, and you shall see the letters." 
 
 He handed them to his partner. Warburton saw 
 that there was a question of a good many thousand 
 pounds. 
 
 " Of course," he remarked, " I could only stand 
 for a /ery small part in this." 
 
 " Well, we must talk about that. To tell you 
 the truth, Will," Sherwood continued, crossing his 
 legs and clasping his hands behind his head, " I 
 don't see my way to find the whole capital, and yet 
 I don't want to bring in a stranger. Applegarth 
 could sell to a company any moment, but that 
 isn't his idea ; he wants to keep the concern in as 
 few hands as possible. He has a first-rate manager ; 
 the mere jam-making wouldn't worry us at all ; 
 and the office work is largely a matter of routine. 
 Will you take time to think about it ? " 
 
 The figures which Warburton had before him 
 were decidedly stimulating ; they made a very 
 pleasant contrast to the balance-sheets with which 
 he had recently had to deal. He knew roughly 
 
 40 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 what sum was at his disposal for investment ; the 
 winding-up of the business here could be com- 
 pleted at any moment, and involved no risk of sur- 
 prises. But a thought had occurred to him which 
 kept him silently reflecting for some minutes. 
 
 " I suppose," he said presently, " this affair has 
 about as little risk as anything one could put money 
 in?" 
 
 " I should say," Godfrey answered, with his 
 man-of -business air, " that the element of risk is 
 non-existent. What can be more solid than jam ? 
 There's competition to be sure ; but Applegarth is 
 already a good name throughout England, and in 
 the West they swear by it. At Bristol, Exeter, 
 Dorchester — all over there — ^Applegarth holds the 
 field. Very seriously speaking, I see in this proposal 
 nothing but sure and increasing gain." 
 
 " You know as well as I do," Will resumed, " how 
 I stand. I have no resources of my own beyond 
 what you are aware of. But I've been thinking " 
 
 He broke off, stared at the window, drummed 
 on the arm of his chair, Sherwood waiting with a 
 patient smile. 
 
 " It's my mother and sister I have in mind," 
 Will resumed. " That property of theirs ; it 
 brings them about a hundred and fifty pounds a 
 year in cash, and three times that in worry. At 
 any moment they might sell. A man at St. Neots 
 offers four thousand pounds ; I suspect more might 
 be got if Tumbull, their lawyer, took the matter in 
 hand. Suppose I advise them to sell and put the 
 money in Applegarth ? " 
 
 " By Jove ! " cried Sherwood. " How could 
 they do better ? Splendid idea ! " 
 
 " Yes — if all goes well. Bear in mind, on the other 
 hand, that if they lost this money, they would have 
 
 41 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 nothing to live upon, or as good as nothing. They 
 draw some fifty pounds a year from another source, 
 and they have their own house — that's all. Ought 
 I to take this responsibility ? " 
 
 " I don't hesitate to guarantee," said Sherwood, 
 with glowing gravity, " that in two years' time 
 their four thousand pounds shall produce three 
 times what it does now. Only think, my dear 
 fellow ! Jam — think what it means ! " 
 
 For ten minutes Godfrey rhapsodised on the 
 theme. Warburton was moved by his eloquence. 
 
 " I shaU run down to St. Neots," said Will at 
 length. 
 
 " Do. And then we'll both of us go down to 
 Bristol. I'm sure you'U like Applegarth. By 
 the bye, you never went in for astronomy, did you ? 
 I felt ashamed of my ignorance. Why, it's one of 
 the most interesting subjects a man can study. 
 I shall take it up. One might have a little observa- 
 tory of one's own. Do you know Bristol at all ? 
 A beastly place, the town, but perfectly delightful 
 country quite near at hand. Applegarth lives in an 
 ideal spot — you'll see." 
 
 There was a knock at the door and the manager 
 entered. Other business claimed their attention. 
 
 42 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 WARBURTON often returned from White- 
 chapel to Chelsea on foot, enjoying the 
 long walk after his day in the office. This evening, 
 a heavily clouded sky and sobbing wind told that 
 rain was not far off ; nevertheless, wishing to think 
 hard, which he could never do so well as when walk- 
 ing at a brisk pace, he set off in the familiar direction 
 — a straight cut across South London. 
 
 In Lower Kennington Lane he stopped, as his 
 habit was, at a little stationer's shop, over which 
 was the name Potts. During his last year in the 
 West Indies, he had befriended an English lad 
 whose health was suffering from the climate, and 
 eventually had paid his passage to the United 
 States, whither the young adventurer wished to 
 go in pursuit of his fortune. Not long after he 
 received a letter of thanks from the lad's father, 
 and, on coming to London, he sought out Mr. 
 Potts, whose gratitude and its quaint expression 
 had pleased him. The acquaintance continued ; 
 whenever Warburton passed the shop he stepped 
 in and made purchases — generally of things he 
 did not in the least want. Potts had all the charac- 
 teristics which were wont to interest WUl, and 
 touch his sympathies ; he was poor, weak of body, 
 humble-spirited, and of an honest, simple mind. 
 Nothing more natural and cordial than Will's bear- 
 ing as he entered and held out his hand to the 
 
 43 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 shopkeeper. How was business ? Any news lately 
 from Jack ? Jack, it seemed, was doing pretty 
 well at Pittsburgh ; would Mr. Warburton care 
 to read a long letter that had arrived from him a 
 week ago ? To his satisfaction, Will found that 
 the letter had enclosed a small sum of money, for 
 a present on the father's birthday. Having, as 
 usual, laden himself with newspapers, periodicals 
 and notepaper, he went his way. 
 
 At grimy Vauxhall he crossed the river, and 
 pursued his course along Grosvenor Road. Rain 
 had begun to fall, and the driving of the wind 
 obliged him to walk with the umbrella before his 
 face. Happening to glance ahead, when not far 
 from home, he saw, at a distance of twenty yards, 
 a man whom he took for Norbert Franks. The 
 artist was coming toward him, but suddenly he 
 turned round about, and walked rapidly away, 
 disappearing in a moment down a side street. 
 Franks it certainly was ; impossible to mistake 
 his figure, his gait ; and Warburton felt sure that 
 the abrupt change of direction was caused by his 
 friend's desire to avoid him. At the end of the 
 byway he looked, and there was the familiar figure, 
 marching with quick step into the rainy distance. 
 Odd ! but perhaps it simply meant that Franks 
 had not seen him. 
 
 He reached home, wrote some letters, made 
 preparations for leaving town by an early train 
 next morning, and dined with his customary appetite. 
 Whilst smoking his after-dinner pipe, he thought 
 again of that queer little incident in Grosvenor 
 Road, and resolved of a sudden to go and see 
 Franks. It still rained, so he took advantage of 
 a passing hansom, and drove in a few minutes 
 to the artist's lodging on the south side of Battersea 
 
 44 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Park. The door was opened to him by the land- 
 lady, who smiled recognition. 
 
 " No, sir, Mr. Franks isn't at home, and hasn't 
 been since after breakfast this morning. And I 
 don't understand it ; because he told me last night 
 that he'd be working aU day, and I was to get 
 meals for him as usual. And at ten o'clock the 
 model came — that rough man he's putting into 
 the new picture, you know, sir ; and I had to send 
 him away, when he'd waited more than an hour." 
 
 Warburton was puzzled. 
 
 " I'll taJce my turn at waiting," he said. " Will 
 you please light the gas for me in the studio ? " 
 
 The studio was merely, in lodging-house language, 
 the first floor front ; a two-windowed room, with 
 the advantage of north light. On the waUs hung 
 a few framed paintings, several unframed and 
 unfinished, water-colour sketches, studies in crayon, 
 photographs, and so on. In the midst stood the 
 easel, supporting a large canvas, the artist's work 
 on which showed already in a state of hopeful 
 advancement. " The Slummer " was his provi- 
 sional name for this picture ; he had not yet hit 
 upon that more decorous title which might suit 
 the Academy catalogue. A glance discovered the 
 subject. In a typical London slum, between small 
 and vile houses, which lowered upon the narrow 
 way, stood a tall, graceful, prettily-clad young 
 woman, obviously a visitant from other spheres ; 
 her one hand carried a book, and the other was 
 held by a ragged, cripple child, who gazed up at 
 her with a look of innocent adoration. Hard by 
 stood a miserable creature with an infant at her 
 breast, she too adoring the representative of health, 
 wealth, and charity. Behind, a costermonger, 
 out of work, sprawled on the curbstone, viewing 
 
 45 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 the invader ; he, with resentful eye, his hp sugges- 
 tive of words unreportable. Where the face of 
 the central figure should have shone, the canvas 
 still remained blank. 
 
 " I'm afraid he's worried about her," said the 
 landlady, when she had lit the gas, and stood with 
 Warburton surveying the picture. " He can't 
 find a model good-looking enough. I say to Mr. 
 Franks why not make it the portrait of his own 
 young lady ? I'm sure she's good-looking enough 
 for anything and " 
 
 Whilst speaking, the woman had turned to 
 look at a picture on the wall. Words died upon 
 her lips ; consternation appeared in her face ; 
 she stood with finger extended. Warburton, glanc- 
 ing where he was accustomed to see the portrait 
 of Rosamund Elvan, also felt a shock. For, instead 
 of the face which should have smiled upon him, 
 he saw an ugly hole in the picture, the canvas having 
 been violently cut, or rent with a blow. 
 
 " Hallo ! What the deuce has he been doing ? " 
 
 " Well, I never ! " exclaimed the landlady. " It 
 must be himself that's done it ! What does that 
 mean now, I wonder ? " 
 
 Warburton was very uneasy. He no longer 
 doubted that Franks had purposely avoided him 
 this afternoon. 
 
 " I daresay," he added, with a pretence of care- 
 lessness, " the portrait had begun to vex him. 
 He's often spoken of it discontentedly, and talked 
 of painting another. It wasn't very good." 
 
 Accepting, or seeming to accept this explanation, 
 the landlady withdrew, and Will paced thoughtfully 
 about the floor. He was back in Switzerland, in 
 the valley which rises to the glacier of Trient. 
 Before him rambled Ralph Pomfret and his wife ; 
 
 46 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 at his side was Rosamund El van, who hstened with 
 a flattering air of interest to all he said, but herself 
 spoke seldom, and seemed, for the most part, 
 preoccupied with some anxiety. He spoke of 
 Norbert Franks ; Miss Elvan replied mechanically, 
 and at once made a remark about the landscape. 
 At the time, he had thought little of this ; now it 
 revived in his memory, and disturbed him. 
 
 An hour passed. His patience was nearly at 
 an end. He waited another ten minutes, then 
 left the room, called to the landlady that he was 
 going, and let himself out. 
 
 Scarcely had he walked half a dozen yards, 
 when he stood face to face with Franks. 
 
 " Ah ! Here you are ! I waited as long as I 
 could " 
 
 " I'll walk with you," said the artist, turning 
 on his heels. 
 
 He had shaken hands but limply. His look 
 avoided Warburton's. His speech was flat, wearied. 
 
 " What's wrong, Franks ? " 
 
 "As you've been in the studio, I daresay you 
 know." 
 
 " I saw something that surprised me." 
 
 " Did it surprise you ? " asked Norbert, in a 
 half-sullen undertone. 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " said Will, 
 with subdued resentment. 
 
 The rain had ceased ; a high wind buffeted 
 them as they went along the almost deserted 
 street. The necessity of clutching at his hat might 
 have explained Norbert's silence for a moment ; 
 but he strode on without speaking. 
 
 " Of course, if you don't care to talk about it," 
 said WiU, stopping short. 
 
 "I've been walking about all day," Franks 
 47 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 replied ; " and I've got hell inside me ; I'd rather 
 not have met you to-night, that's the truth. But 
 I can't let you go without asking a plain question. 
 Did it surprise you to see that portrait smashed ? " 
 
 " Very much. What do you hint at ? " 
 
 " I had a letter this morning from Rosamund, 
 sajdng she couldn't marry me, and that all must 
 be over between us. Does that surprise you ? " 
 
 " Yes, it does. Such a possibility had never 
 entered my mind." 
 
 Franks checked his step, just where the wind 
 roared at an unprotected comer. 
 
 " I've no choice but to believe you," he said, 
 irritably. " And no doubt I'm making a fool of 
 myself. That's why I shot out of your way this 
 afternoon — I wanted to wait till I got calmer. 
 Let's say good-night." 
 
 "You're tired out," said Warburton. "Don't 
 go any farther this way, but let me walk back 
 with you — I won't go in. I can't leave you in 
 this state of mind. Of course I begin to see what 
 you mean, and a wilder idea never got into any 
 man's head. Whatever the explanation of what 
 has happened, I have nothing to do with it." 
 
 " You say so, and I believe you." 
 
 " Which means, that you don't. I shan't cut 
 up rough ; you're not yourself, and I can make 
 all allowances. Think over what I've said, and 
 come and have another talk. Not to-morrow ; I 
 have to go down to St. Neots. But the day after, 
 in the evening." 
 
 " Very well. Good-night." 
 
 This time they did not shake hands. Franks 
 turned abruptly, with a wave of the arm, and 
 walked off unsteadily, like a man in liquor. Observ- 
 ing this, Warburton said to himself that not impro- 
 
 48 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 bably the artist had been trying to drown his 
 misery, which might account for his strange delusion. 
 Yet this explanation did not put Will's mind at 
 ease . Gloomily he made his way homeward through 
 the roaring night. 
 
 49 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 TEN o'clock next morning saw him alighting 
 from the train at St. Neots. A conveyance 
 for which he had telegraphed awaited him at the 
 station ; its driver, a young man of his own age 
 (they had known each other from boyhood), grinned 
 his broadest as he ran toward Will on the 
 platform, and relieved him of his bag. 
 
 " Well, Sam, how goes it ? Everybody flourish- 
 ing ? — Drive first to Mr. TurnbuU's office." 
 
 Mr. TurnbuU was a grey-headed man of three- 
 score, much troubled with lumbago, which made 
 him stoop as he walked. He had a visage of extra- 
 ordinary solemnity, and seemed to regard every 
 one, no matter how prosperous or cheerful, with 
 anxious conmiiseration. At the sight of WUl, he 
 endeavoured to smile, and his handshake, though 
 the flabbiest possible, was meant for a cordial 
 response to the young man's heartiness. 
 
 "I'm on my way to The Haws, Mr. TumbuU, 
 and wanted to ask if you could come up and see 
 us this evening ? " 
 
 " Oh, with pleasure," answered the lawyer, 
 his tone that of one invited to a funeral. " You 
 may count on me." 
 
 " We're winding up at Sherwood's. I don't 
 mean in bankruptcy ; but that wouldn't be far 
 off if we kept going." 
 
 " Ah ! I can well understand that," said Mr. 
 50 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Tumbull, with a gleam of satisfaction. Though 
 a thoroughly kind man, it always brightened him 
 to hear of misfortune, especially when he had him- 
 self foretold it ; and he had always taken the 
 darkest view of Will's prospects in Little Ailie 
 Street. 
 
 " I have a project I should like to talk over 
 with you " 
 
 " Ah ? " said the lawyer anxiously. 
 
 " As it concerns my mother and Jane- 
 
 " Ah .' " said Mr. Turnbull, with profound des- 
 pondency, 
 
 " Then we shall expect you. — Will it rain, do 
 you think ? " 
 
 " I fear so. The glass is very low indeed. It 
 wouldn't surprise me if we had rain through the 
 whole month of August." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! I hope not," replied Will 
 laughing. 
 
 He drove out of the town again, in a different 
 direction, for about a mile. On rising ground, 
 overlooking the green vaUey of the Ouse, stood 
 a small, plain, solidly-built house, sheltered on 
 the cold side by a row of fine hawthorns, nearly 
 as high as the top of its chimneys. In front, 
 bordered along the road by hollies as impenetrable 
 as a stone wall, lay a bright little flower garden. 
 The Haws, originally built for the bailiff of an estate, 
 long since broken up, was nearly a century old. 
 Here Will's father was bom, and here, after many 
 wanderings, he had spent the greater part of his 
 married life. 
 
 " Sam," said WUl, as they drew up at the gate, 
 " I don't think I shaU pay for this drive. You're 
 much richer than I am." 
 
 " Very good, sir," was the chuckling reply, for 
 51 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Sam knew he always had to expect a joke of this 
 kind from young Mr. Warburton. " As you please, 
 sir." 
 
 " You couldn't lend me half-a-crown, Sam ? " 
 
 " I daresay I could, sir, if you really wanted 
 it." 
 
 " Do then." 
 
 Will pocketed the half-crown, jumped off the 
 trap, and took his bag. 
 
 " After all, Sam, perhaps I'd better pay. Your 
 wife might grumble. Here you are." 
 
 He handed two shillings and sixpence in small 
 change, which Sam took and examined with a 
 grin of puzzlement. 
 
 " Well, what's the matter ? Don't you say 
 thank you, nowadays ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir — thank you, sir — it's all right, Mr. 
 Will." 
 
 " I should think it is indeed. Be here to-morrow 
 morning, to catch the 6. 30 up train, Sam." 
 
 As Will entered the garden, there came forward 
 a girl of something and twenty, rather short, square 
 shouldered, firmly planted on her feet, but withal 
 brisk of movement ; her face was remarkable for 
 nothing but a grave good-humour. She wore a 
 broad-brimmed straw hat, and her gardening 
 gloves showed how she was occupied. Something 
 of shyness appeared in the mutual greeting of brother 
 and sister. 
 
 " Of course, you got my letter this morning ? " 
 said Wm. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Mr. Turnbull is coming up to-night." 
 
 " I'm glad of that," said Jane thoughtfully, 
 rubbing her gloves together to shake off moist 
 earth. 
 
 52 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Of course he'll prophesy disaster, and plunge 
 you both into the depths of discouragement. But 
 I don't mind that. I feel so confident myself that 
 I want some one to speak on the other side. He'll 
 have to make inquiries, of course. — Where's 
 mother? " 
 
 The question was answered by Mrs. Warburton 
 herself, who at that moment came forth from the 
 house ; a taU, graceful woman, prematurely white- 
 headed, and enfeebled by ill-health. Between 
 her and Jane there was little resemblance of feature ; 
 WiU, on the other hand, had inherited her oval face, 
 arched brows and sensitive mouth. Emotion had 
 touched her cheek with the faintest glow, but 
 ordinarily it was pale as her hand. Nothing, how- 
 ever, of the invalid declared itself in her tone or 
 language ; the voice, soft and musical, might have 
 been that of a young woman, and its vivacity was 
 only less than that which marked the speech of her 
 son. 
 
 " Come and look at the orange lilies," were 
 her first words, after the greeting. " They've 
 never been so fine." 
 
 " But notice Pompey first," said Jane. " He'll 
 be offended in a minute." 
 
 A St. Bernard, who had already made such 
 advances as his dignity permitted, stood close by 
 Will, with eyes fixed upon him in grave and surprised 
 reproach. The dog's name indicated a historical 
 preference of Jane in her childhood ; she had 
 always championed Pompey against Caesar, follow- 
 ing therein her brother's guidance. 
 
 " Hallo, old Magnus ! " cried the visitor, cordially 
 repairing his omission. " Come along with us and 
 see the lilies." 
 
 It was only when all the sights of the little garden 
 53 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 had been visited, Mrs. Warburton forgetting her 
 weakness as she drew Will hither and thither, that 
 the business for which they had met came under 
 discussion. Discussion, indeed, it could hardly 
 be called, for the mother and sister were quite 
 content to listen whilst Will talked, and accept 
 his view of things. Small as their income was, 
 they never thought of themselves as poor ; with 
 one maid-servant and the occasional help of a 
 gardener, they had all the comfort they wished for, 
 and were able to bestow of their superfluity in 
 vegetables and flowers upon less fortunate acquain- 
 tances. Until a year or two ago, Mrs. Warburton 
 had led a life of ceaseless activity, indoors and out ; 
 such was the habit of her daughter, who enjoyed 
 vigorous health, and cared little for sedentary 
 pursuits and amusements. Their property, land 
 and cottages hard by, had of late given them a 
 good deal of trouble, and the proposal to sell had 
 more than once been considered, but Mr. TumbuU, 
 most cautious of counsellors, urged delay. Now, 
 at length, the hoped-for opportunity of a good 
 investment seemed to have presented itself ; Will's 
 sanguine report of what he had learnt from Sherwood 
 was gladly accepted. 
 
 " It'll be a good thing for you as well," said Jane. 
 
 " Yes, it comes just in time. Sherwood knew 
 what he was doing ; now and then I've thought 
 he was risking too much, but he's a clear-headed 
 fellow. The way he has kept things going so long 
 in Ailie Street is really remarkable." 
 
 " I daresay you had your share in that. Will," 
 said Mrs. Warburton. 
 
 " A very smaU one ; my work has never been 
 more than routine. I don't pretend to be a man 
 of business. If it had depended upon me, the 
 
 54 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 concern would have fallen to pieces years ago, 
 like so many others. House after house has gone 
 down ; our turn must have come very soon. As 
 it is, we shall clear out with credit, and start afresh 
 gloriously. By the bye, don't get any but Apple- 
 garth's jams in future." 
 
 " That depends," said Jane laughing, " if we 
 like them." 
 
 In their simple and wholesome way of living, 
 the Warburtons of course dined at midday, and 
 Will, who rarely ate without appetite, surpassed 
 himself as trencherman ; nowhere had food such 
 a savour for him as under this roof. The home- 
 made bread and home-grown vegetables he was 
 never tired of praising ; such fragrant and tooth- 
 some loaves, he loudly protested, were to be eaten 
 nowhere else in England. He began to talk of 
 his holiday abroad, when all at once his countenance 
 fell, his lips closed ; in the pleasure of being " at 
 home," he had forgotten all about Norbert Franks, 
 and very unwelcome were the thoughts which 
 attached themselves to this recollection of his 
 days at Trient. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " asked Jane, noticing 
 his change of look. 
 
 "Oh, nothing — a stupid affair. I wrote to 
 you about the Pomfrets and their niece. I'm 
 afraid that girl is an idiot. She used the oppor- 
 tunity of her absence, I find, to break with Franks. 
 No excuse whatever ; simply sent him about his 
 business." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed both the ladies, who had 
 been interested in the artist's love story, as narrated 
 to them, rather badly, by Will on former occasions. 
 
 " Of course, I don't know much about it. But 
 it looks bad. Perhaps it's the best thing that 
 
 55 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 could have happened to Franks, for it may mean 
 that he hasn't made money fast enough to please 
 her." 
 
 " But you gave us quite another idea of Miss 
 Elvan," said his mother. 
 
 " Yes, I daresay I did. Who knows ? I don't 
 pretend to understand such things," 
 
 A little before sunset came Mr. Tumbull, who 
 took supper at The Haws, and was fetched away 
 by his coachman at ten o'clock. With this old 
 friend, who in Will's eyes looked no older now than 
 when he first knew him in early chUdhood, they 
 talked freely of the Applegarth business, and Mr. 
 Tumbull promised to make inquiries at once. Of 
 course, he took a despondent view of jam. Jam, 
 he inclined to think, was being overdone ; after aU, 
 the country could consume only a certain quantity 
 of even the most wholesome preserves, and a glut 
 of jam already threatened the market. Apple- 
 garth ? By the bye, did he not remember pro- 
 ceedings in bankruptcy connected with that 
 unusual name ? He must look into the matter. 
 And, talking about bankruptcy — oh 1 how bad 
 his lumbago was to-night ! — poor Thomas Hart, 
 of Three Ash Farm, was going to be sold up. Dear, 
 dear ! On every side, look where one would, no- 
 thing but decline and calamity. What was England 
 coming to ? Day by day he had expected to see 
 the failure of Sherwood Brothers ; how had they 
 escaped the common doom of sugar refiners ? Free 
 trade, free trade ; aU very fine in theory, but 
 look at its results on com and sugar. For his own 
 part he favoured a policy of moderate protection. 
 
 All this was not more than Will had foreseen. 
 It would be annoying if Mr. Tumbull ultimately 
 took an adverse view of his proposal ; in that 
 
 56 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 case, though his mother was quite free to manage 
 her property as she chose, Will felt that he should 
 not venture to urge his scheme against the lawyer's 
 advice, and money must be sought elsewhere. A 
 few days would decide the matter. As he went 
 upstairs to bed, he dismissed worries from his mind. 
 
 The old quiet, the old comfort of home. Not a 
 sound but that of pattering rain in the still night. 
 As always, the room smelt of lavender, blended 
 with that indescribable fragrance which comes 
 of extreme cleanliness in an old country house. 
 But for changed waU paper and carpet, everything 
 was as Will remembered it ever since he could 
 remember anything at all ; the same simple furni- 
 ture, the same white curtains, the same pictures, 
 the same little hanging shelf, with books given to 
 him in childhood. He thought of the elder brother 
 who had died at school, and lay in the little church- 
 yard far away. His only dark memory, that of 
 the poor boy's death after a very short illness, 
 before that other blow which made him fatherless. 
 
 The earlier retrospect was one of happiness 
 unbroken ; for aU childish sorrows lost themselves 
 in the very present sense of peace and love envelo- 
 ping those far-away years. His parents' life, as 
 he saw it then, as in reflection he saw it now, 
 remained an ideal ; he did not care to hope for 
 himself, or to imagine, any other form of domestic 
 contentment. As a child, he would have held 
 nothing less conceivable than a moment's discord 
 between father and mother, and manhood's medi- 
 tation did but confirm him in the same view. 
 
 The mutual loyalty of kindred hearts and minds 
 — that was the best life had to give. And Will's 
 thoughts turned once more to Norbert Franks ; 
 he, poor fellow, doubtless now raging against the 
 
 57 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 faithlessness which had blackened all his sky. In 
 this moment of softened feeling, of lucid calm, 
 Warburton saw Rosamund's behaviour in a new 
 light. Perhaps she was not blameworthy at all, 
 but rather deserving of all praise ; for, if she had 
 come to know, beyond doubt, that she did not love 
 Norbert Franks as she had thought, then to break 
 the engagement was her simple duty, and the 
 courage with which she had taken this step must 
 be set to her credit. Naturally, it would be some 
 time before Franks himself took that view. A 
 third person, whose vanity was not concerned, 
 might moralise thus 
 
 Will checked himself on an impleasant thought. 
 Was his vanity, in truth, unconcerned in this 
 story ? Why, then, had he been conscious of a 
 sub-emotion, quite unavowable, which contradicted 
 his indignant sympathy during that talk last night 
 in the street ? If the lover's jealousy were as ridicu- 
 lous as he pretended, why did he feel what now he 
 could confess to himself was an unworthy titillation, 
 when Franks seemed to accuse him of some part 
 in the girl's disloyalty ? Vanity, that, sure enough ; 
 vanity of a very weak and futile kind. He would 
 stamp the last traces of it out of his being. Happily 
 it was but vanity, and no deeper feeling. Of this 
 he was assured by the reposeful sigh with which 
 he turned his head upon the pillow, drowsing 
 to oblivion. 
 
 One unbroken sleep brought him to sunrise ; 
 a golden glimmer upon the blind in his return to 
 consciousness told him that the rain was over, 
 and tempted him to look forth. What he saw 
 was decisive ; with such a sky as that gleaming 
 over the summer world, who could lie in bed ? 
 Will always dressed as if in a fury ; seconds sufficed 
 
 58 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 him for details of the toilet, which, had he spent 
 minutes over them, would have fretted his nerves 
 intolerably. His bath was one wild welter — not 
 even the ceiling being safe from splashes ; he clad 
 himself in a brief series of plunges ; his shaving 
 might have earned the applause of an assembly 
 gathered to behold feats of swift dexterity. Quietly 
 he descended the stairs, and found the house-door 
 already open ; this might only mean that the 
 servant was already up, but he suspected that the 
 early riser was Jane. So it proved ; he walked 
 toward the kitchen garden, and there stood his 
 sister, the sun making her face rosy. 
 
 " Come and help to pick scarlet runners," was 
 her greeting, as he approached. " Aren't they 
 magnificent ? " 
 
 Her eyes sparkled with pleasure as she pointed 
 to the heavy clusters of dark-green pods, hanging 
 amid leaves and scarlet bloom. 
 
 " Splendid crop ! " exclaimed Will, with answering 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 " Doesn't the scent do one good ? " went on 
 his sister. " When I come into the garden on a 
 morning like this, I have a feeling — oh, I can't 
 describe it to you — perhaps you wouldn't under- 
 stand " 
 
 " I know," said Will, nodding. 
 
 " It's as if nature were calling out to me, like a 
 friend, to come and admire and enjoy what she 
 has done. I feel grateful for the things that earth 
 offers me." 
 
 Not often did Jane speak like this ; as a rule 
 she was anything but effusive or poetical. But a 
 peculiar animation shone in her looks this morning, 
 and sounded in her voice. Very soon the reason 
 was manifest ; she began to speak of the Applegarth 
 
 59 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 business, and declared her great satisfaction with it. 
 
 " There'll be an end of mother's worry," she 
 said, " and I can't tell you how glad I shall be. 
 It seems to me that women oughtn't to have to 
 think about money, and mother hates the name 
 of it ; she always has done. Oh, what a blessing 
 when it's all off our hands ! We shouldn't care, 
 even if the new arrangement brought us less." 
 
 " And it is certain to bring you more," remarked 
 Will, " perhaps considerably more." 
 
 " Weil, I shan't object to that ; there are lots 
 of uses for money ; but it doesn't matter." 
 
 Jane's sincerity was evident. She dismissed 
 the matter, and her basket being full of beans, 
 seized a fork to dig potatoes. 
 
 " Here, let me do that," cried Will, interposing. 
 
 " You ? Well then, as a very great favour." 
 
 " Of course I mean that. It's grand to turn 
 up potatoes. What sort are these ? " 
 
 " Pink-eyed flukes," replied Jane, watching 
 him with keen interest. " We haven't touched 
 them yet." 
 
 " Mealy, eh ? " 
 
 " BaUs of flour ! " 
 
 Their voices joined in a cry of exultation, as 
 the fork threw out even a finer root than they had 
 expected. When enough had been dug, they 
 strolled about, looking at other vegetables. Jane 
 pointed to some Savoy seedlings, which she was 
 going to plant out to-day. Then there sounded a 
 joyous bark, and Pompey came bounding toward 
 them. 
 
 " That means the milk-boy is here," said Jane. 
 " Pompey always goes to meet him in the morning. 
 Come and drink a glass — warm." 
 
 60 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 BACK at Chelsea, Will sent a note to Norbert 
 Franks, a line or two without express refer- 
 ence to what had happened, asking him to come and 
 have a talk. Three days passed, and there was 
 no reply. Will grew uneasy ; for, though the 
 artist's silence perhaps meant only sullenness, 
 danger might lurk in such a man's thwarted passion. 
 On the fourth evening, just as he had made up his 
 mind to walk over to Queen's Road, the familiar 
 knock sounded. Mrs. Hopper had left ; Will went 
 to the door, and greeted his visitor in the usual way. 
 But Franks entered without speaking. The lamp- 
 light showed a pitiful change in him ; he was yellow 
 and fishy-eyed, unshaven, disorderly in dress ; 
 indeed, so well did he look the part of the despairing 
 lover that Warburton suspected a touch of theatric 
 consciousness. 
 
 "If you hadn't come to-night," said Will, "I 
 should have looked you up." 
 
 Franks lay limply in the armchair, staring 
 blankly. 
 
 " I ought to have come before," he replied in 
 low, toneless voice. " That night when I met 
 you, I made a fool of myself. For one thing, I 
 was drunk, and I've been drunk ever since." 
 
 '\Ha 1 That accounts for your dirty collar," 
 remarked Will, in his note of dry drollery. 
 
 " Is it dirty ? " said the other, passing a finger 
 6i 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 round his neck. " What does it matter ? 
 Httle dirt more or less, in a world so full of it- 
 
 Warburton could not contain himself ; he laughed, 
 and laughed again. And his mirth was contagious ; 
 Franks chuckled, unwillingly, dolefully. 
 
 " You are not extravagant in sjnupathy," said 
 the artist, moving with fretful nervousness. 
 
 " If I were, would it do you any good, old fellow ? 
 Look here, are we to talk of this affair or not ? 
 Just as you like. For my part, I'd rather talk 
 about ' The Slummer.' I had a look at it the other 
 day. Uncommonly good, the blackguard on the 
 curbstone, you've got him." 
 
 " You think so ? " Franks sat a little straighter, 
 but still with vacant eye. " Yes, not bad, I 
 think. But who knows whether I shall finish the 
 thing." 
 
 " If you don't," replied his friend, in a matter- 
 of-fact tone, " you'll do something better. But 
 I should finish it, if I were you. If you had the 
 courage to paint in the right sort of face — the girl, 
 you know." 
 
 " What sort of face, then ? " 
 
 " Sharp-nosed, thin-lipped, rather anaemic, with 
 a universe of self-conceit in the eye." 
 
 " They wouldn't hang it, and nobody would 
 buy it. Besides, Warburton, you're wrong if 
 you think the slummers are always that sort. 
 Still, I'm not sure I shan't do it, out of spite. There's 
 another reason, too — I hate beautiful women ; I 
 don't think I shall ever be able to paint another." 
 
 He sprang up, and paced, as of old, about the 
 room. Will purposely kept silence. 
 
 " I've confessed," Franks began again, with 
 effort, " that I made a fool of myself the other 
 night. But I wish you'd tell me something about 
 
 62 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 your time at Trient. Didn't you notice anything ? 
 Didn't anything make you suspect what she was 
 going to do ? " 
 
 " I never for a moment foresaw it," replied Wni, 
 with unemphasised sincerity. 
 
 " Yet she must have made up her mind whilst 
 you were there. Her astounding hypocrisy ! I had 
 a letter a few days before, the same as usual " 
 
 " Quite the same ? " 
 
 " Absolutely ! — Well, there was no difference 
 that struck me. Then all at once she declares 
 that for months she had felt her position false 
 and painful. What a monstrous thing ! Why 
 did she go on pretending, plapng a farce ? I 
 could have sworn that no girl lived who was more 
 thoroughly honest in word and deed and thought. 
 It's awful to think how one can be deceived. I 
 understand now the novels about unfaithful wives, 
 and all that kind of thing. I always said to myself — 
 ' Pooh, as if a fellow wouldn't know if his wife were 
 deceiving him ' ! By Jove this has made me 
 afraid of the thought of marriage. I shall never 
 again trust a woman." 
 
 Warburton sat in meditation, only half smiling. 
 
 " Of course, she's ashamed to face me. For 
 fear I should run after her, she wrote that they 
 were just leaving Trient for another place, not 
 mentioned. If I wrote, I was to address to Bath, 
 and the letter would be forwarded. I wrote — 
 of course a fool's letter ; I only wish I'd never 
 sent it. Sometimes I think I'll never try to see 
 her again ; sometimes I think I'll make her see 
 me, and teU her the truth about herself. The 
 only thing is — I'm half afraid — I've gone through 
 torture enough ; I don't want to begin again. Yet 
 
 if I saw her " 
 
 63 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 He took another turn across the room, then 
 checked himself before Warburton. 
 
 " Tell me honestly what you think about it. 
 I want advice. What's your opinion of her ? " 
 
 " I have no opinion at all. I don't pretend to 
 know her well enough." 
 
 " Well, but," persisted Franks, " your impression 
 — your feeling. How does the thing strike you ? " 
 
 " Why, disagreeably enough ; that's a matter 
 of course." 
 
 " You don't excuse her ? " asked Norbert, his 
 eyes fixed on the other. 
 
 " I can imagine excuses " 
 
 " What ? What excuse can there be for de- 
 liberate h37pocrisy, treachery ? " 
 
 " If it was deliberate," replied Warburton, " there's 
 nothing to be said. In your position — since you 
 ask advice — I should try to think that it wasn't, 
 but that the girl had simply changed her mind, and 
 went on and on, struggling with herself tiU she could 
 stand it no longer. I've no taste for melodrama ; 
 quiet comedy is much more in my line — comedy 
 ending " with mutual tolerance and forgiveness. 
 To be sure, if you feel you can't live without her, 
 if you're determined to fight for her " 
 
 " Fight with whom ? " cried Franks. 
 
 " With her ; then read Browning, and blaze away. 
 It may be the best ; who can teU ? Only — on 
 this point I am clear — no self-deception 1 Don't 
 go in for heroics just because they seem fine. Settle 
 with yourself whether she is indispensable to you 
 or not. — Indispensable ? why, no woman is that 
 to any man ; sooner or later, it's a matter of in- 
 difference. And if you feel, talking plainly with 
 yourself, that the worst is over already, that it 
 doesn't after all matter as much as you thought ; 
 
 64 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 why, get back to your painting. If you can paint 
 only ugly women, so much the better, I've no 
 doubt." 
 
 Franks stood reflecting. Then he nodded. 
 
 " All that is sensible enough. But, if I give 
 her up, I shall marry some one else straight away." 
 
 Then he abruptly said good-night, leaving War- 
 burton not unhopeful about him, and much con- 
 soled by the disappearance of the shadow which 
 had threatened their good understanding. 
 
 65 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE Crosses, mother and daughter, lived at 
 Walham Green. The house was less pleas- 
 ant than another which Mrs. Cross owned at Putney, 
 but it also represented a lower rental, and poverty 
 obliged them to take this into account. When the 
 second house stood tenantless, as had now been the 
 case for half a year, Mrs. Cross' habitually querulous 
 comment on life rose to a note of acrimony very 
 afflictive to her daughter Bertha. The two bore 
 as little resemblance to each other, physical or 
 mental, as mother and child well could. Bertha 
 Cross was a sensible, thoughtful girl, full of kindly 
 feeling, and blest with a humorous turn that en- 
 abled her to see the amusing rather than the 
 carking side of her pinched life. These virtues 
 she had from her father. Poor Cross, who supple- 
 mented a small income from office routine by occa- 
 sional comic journalism, and even wrote a farce 
 (which brought money to a theatrical manager), 
 made on his deathbed a characteristic joke. He had 
 just signed his will, and was left alone with his 
 wife. " I'm sure I've always wished to make 
 your life happy," piped the afflicted woman. " And 
 I yours," he faintly answered ; adding, with a sad, 
 kind smile, as he pointed to the testamentary docu- 
 ment, " Take the will for the deed." 
 
 The two sons had emigrated to British Columbia, 
 66 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 and Bertha would not have been sorry to join her 
 brothers there, for domestic labour on a farm, in 
 peace and health, seemed to her considerably better 
 than the quasi-genteel life she painfuUy supported. 
 She had never dreamt of being an artist, but, show- 
 ing some facility with the pencil, was sent by her 
 father to South Kensington, where she met and made 
 friends with Rosamund Elvan. Her necessity and 
 her application being greater than Rosamund's, 
 Bertha before long succeeded in earning a little 
 money ; without this help, life at home would 
 scarcely have been possible for her. They might, 
 to be sure, have taken a lodger, having spare rooms, 
 but Mrs. Cross could only face that possibility 
 if the person received into the house were " respect- 
 able " enough to be called a paying guest, and no 
 such person offered. So they lived, as no end of 
 " respectable " families do, a life of penury and 
 seclusion, sometimes going without a meal that they 
 might have decent clothing to wear abroad, never 
 able to buy a book, to hear a concert, and only by 
 painful sacrifice able to entertain a friend. When, 
 on a certain occasion, Miss Elvan passed a week at 
 their house (Mrs. Cross approved of this friend- 
 ship, and hoped it might be a means of discovering 
 the paying guest), it meant for them a near approach 
 to starvation during the month that ensued. 
 
 Time would have weighed heavily on Mrs. Cross 
 but for her one recreation, which was perennial, 
 ever fresh, constantly full of surprises and excite- 
 ment. Poor as she was, she contrived to hire a 
 domestic servant ; to say that she " kept " one 
 would come near to a verbal impropriety, seeing 
 that no servant ever remained in the house for more 
 than a few months, whilst it occasionally happened 
 that the space of half a year would see a succession 
 
 67 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 of some half dozen " generals." Underpaid and 
 underfed, these persons (they varied in age from 
 fourteen to forty) were of course incompetent, 
 careless, rebellious, and Mrs. Cross found the sole 
 genuine pleasure of her life in the war she waged 
 with them. Having no reasonable way of spending 
 her hours, she was thus supplied with occupation ; 
 being of acrid temper, she was thus supplied with a 
 subject upon whom she could fearlessly exercise 
 it ; being remarkably mean of disposition, she saw in 
 the paring-down of her servant's rations to a work- 
 ing minimum, at once profit and sport ; lastly, 
 being fond of the most trivial gossip, she had a 
 never-failing topic of discussion with such ladies 
 as could endure her society. 
 
 Bertha, having been accustomed to this domestic 
 turbulence all her life long, for the most part paid 
 no heed to it. She knew that if the management of 
 the house were in her hands, instead of her mother's, 
 things would go much more smoothly, but the 
 mere suggestion of such a change (ventured once at 
 a moment of acute crisis) had so amazed and exas- 
 perated Mrs. Cross, that Bertha never again looked 
 in that direction. Yet from time to time a revolt of 
 common sense forced her to speak, and as the only 
 possible way, if quarrel were to be avoided, she began 
 her remonstrance on the humorous note. Then 
 when her mother had been wearying her for half an 
 hour with complaints and lamentations over the 
 misdoings of one Emma, Bertha as the alternative 
 to throwing up her hands and rushing out of the 
 house, began laughing to herself, whereat Mrs. Cross 
 indignantly begged to be informed what there was 
 so very amusing in a state of affairs which would 
 assuredly bring her to her grave. 
 
 " If only you could see the comical side of it, 
 68 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 mother," replied Bertha. " It really has one, 
 you know. Emma, if only you would be patient 
 with her, is a well-meaning creature, and she says 
 the funniest things. I asked her this morning if 
 she didn't think she could find some way of remem- 
 bering to put the salt on the table. And she looked 
 at me very solemnly, and said, ' Indeed, I will, miss. 
 rU put it into my prayers, just after ' our daily 
 bread.' " 
 
 Mrs. Cross saw nothing in this but profanity. 
 She turned the attack on Bertha, who, by her 
 soft way of speaking, simply encouraged the ser- 
 vants, she declared, in negligence and insolence. 
 
 " Look at it in this way, mother," replied the 
 girl, as soon as she was suffered to speak. " To 
 be badly served is bad enough, in itself ; why 
 make it worse by ceaseless talking about it, so 
 leaving ourselves not a moment of peace and quiet ? 
 I'm sure I'd rather put the salt on the table my- 
 self at every meal, and think no more about it, than 
 worry, worry, worry over the missing salt-cellars 
 from one meal to the next. Don't you feel, dear 
 mother, that it's shocking waste of life ? " 
 
 " What nonsense you talk, child ! Are we to 
 live in dirt and disorder ? Am I never to correct 
 a servant, or teach her her duties ? But of course 
 everything / do is wrong. Of course you could 
 do everything so very much better. That's what 
 children are nowadays." 
 
 Whilst Mrs. Cross piped on, Bertha regarded 
 her with eyes of humorous sadness. The girl often 
 felt it a dreary thing not to be able to respect — 
 nay, not to be able to feel much love for— her 
 mother. At such times, her thought turned to the 
 other parent, with whom, had he and she been left 
 alone, she could have lived so happily, in so much 
 
 69 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 mutual intelligence and affection. She sighed and 
 moved away. 
 
 The unlet house was a very serious matter, 
 and when one day Norbert Franks came to talk 
 about it, saying that he would want a house very 
 soon, and thought this of Mrs. Cross's might suit 
 him. Bertha rejoiced no less than her mother. In 
 consequence of the artist's announcement, she 
 wrote to her friend Rosamund, saying how glad she 
 was to hear that her marriage approached. The 
 reply to this letter surprised her. Rosamund had 
 been remiss in correspondence for the last few months ; 
 her few and brief letters, though they were as 
 affectionate as ever, making no mention of what had 
 formerly been an inexhaustible topic — the genius, 
 goodness, and brilliant hopes of Franks. Now she 
 wrote as if in utter despondency, a letter so confused 
 in style and vague in expression, that Bertha could 
 gather from it little or nothing except a grave doubt 
 whether Franks' marriage was as near as he supposed. 
 A week or two passed, and Rosamund again wrote — 
 from Switzerland ; again the letter was an unin- 
 telligible maze of dreary words, and a mere moaning 
 and sighing, which puzzled Bertha as much as it 
 distressed her. Rosamund's epistolary style, when 
 she wrote to this bosom friend, was always pitched 
 in a key of lyrical emotion, which now and then 
 would have been trying to Bertha's sense of humour 
 but for the sincerity manifest in every word ; hither- 
 to, however, she had expressed herself with perfect 
 lucidity, and this sudden change seemed ominous 
 of alarming things. Just when Bertha was anxi- 
 ously wondering what could have happened, — of 
 course inclined to attribute blame, if blame there 
 were, to the artist rather than to his betrothed — 
 a stranger came to inquire about the house to let. 
 
 70 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 It was necessary to ascertain at once whether 
 Mr. Franks intended to become their tenant or 
 not. Mrs. Cross wrote to him, and received the 
 briefest possible reply, to the effect that his plans 
 were changed. 
 
 " How vexatious ! " exclaimed Mrs. Cross. " I 
 had very much rather have let to people we know ! 
 I suppose he's seen a house that suits him better." 
 
 " I think there's another reason," said Bertha, 
 after gazing for a minute or two at the scribbled, 
 careless note. " The marriage is put off." 
 
 " And you knew that," cried her mother, " all 
 the time, and never told me ! And I might have 
 missed twenty chances of letting. Really, Bertha, 
 I. never did see anything like you. There's that 
 house standing empty month after month, and we 
 hardly know where to turn for money, and you 
 knew that Mr. Franks wouldn't take it, and yet 
 you say not a word ! How can you behave in such 
 an extraordinary way ? I think you really find 
 pleasure in worrying me. Any one would fancy 
 you wished to see me in my grave. To think 
 that you knew all the time ! " 
 
 71 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THERE passed a fortnight. Bertha heard no- 
 thing more of Miss Elvan, tiU a letter arrived 
 one morning in an envelope, showing on the back an 
 address at Teddington. Rosamund wrote that 
 she had just returned from Switzerland, and was 
 staying for a few days with friends ; would it be 
 possible for Bertha to come to Teddington the same 
 afternoon, for an hour or two's talk ? The writer 
 had so much to say that could not be conveyed in 
 a letter, and longed above all things to see Bertha, 
 the only being in whom, at a very grave juncture 
 in her life, she could absolutely confide. " We shall 
 be quite alone — Mr. and Mrs. Capron are going to 
 town immediately after lunch. This is a lovely 
 place, and we shall have it to ourselves all the after- 
 noon. So don't be frightened — I know how you 
 hate strangers — but come, come, come ! " 
 
 Bertha took train early in the afternoon. By 
 an avenue of elms she passed into a large and 
 beautiful garden, and so came to the imposing 
 front door. Led into the drawing-room, she had 
 time to take breath, and to gaze at splendours such 
 as she had never seen before ; then with soundless 
 footfall, entered a slim, prettily-dressed girl who 
 ran towards her, and caught her hands, and kissed 
 her with graceful tenderness. 
 
 " My dear, dear old Bertha ! What a happi- 
 ness to see you again ! How good of you to come ! 
 
 72 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Isn't it a lovely place ? And the nicest people. 
 You've heard me speak of Miss Anderton, of Bath. 
 She is Mrs. Capron — married half a year ago. And 
 they're just going to Egypt for a year, and — what 
 do you think ? — I'm going with them." 
 
 Rosamund's voice sunk and faltered. She stood 
 holding Bertha's hands, and gazing into her face 
 with eyes which grew large as if in a distressful 
 appeal. 
 
 " To Egypt ? " 
 
 " Yes. It was decided whilst I was in Swit- 
 zerland. Mrs. Capron wants a friend to be with 
 her ; one who can help her in water-colours. She 
 thought, of course, that I couldn't go ; wrote to 
 me just wishing it were possible. And I caught 
 at the chance ! Oh, caught at it I " 
 
 " That's what I don't understand," said Bertha. 
 
 " I want to explain it aU. Come into this cosy 
 comer. Nobody will disturb us except when 
 they bring tea. — Do you know that picture of 
 Leader's ? Isn't it exquisite ! — Are you tired, Ber- 
 tha ? You look so, a little. I'm afraid you walked 
 from the station, and it's such a hot day. But oh, 
 the loveliness of the trees about here ! Do you 
 remember our first walk together ? You were 
 shy, stiff ; didn't feel quite sure whether you liked 
 me or not. And I thought you — just a little critical. 
 But before we got back again, I think we had begun 
 to understand each other. And I wonder whether 
 you'll understand me now. It would be dreadful 
 if I felt you disapproved of me. Of course if you 
 do, I'd much rather you said so. You will — won't 
 you ? " 
 
 She again fixed her eyes upon Bertha with the 
 wide, appealing look. 
 
 " Whether I say it or not," repUed the other, 
 73 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " you'll see what I think. I never could help 
 that." 
 
 " That's what I love in you ! And that's what 
 I've been thinking of, all these weeks of misery — 
 your perfect sincerity. I've asked myself whether 
 it would be possible for you to find yourself in such 
 a position as mine ; and how you would act, how 
 you would' speak. You're my ideal of truth and 
 Tightness, Bertha; I've often enough told you 
 that." 
 
 Bertha moved uncomfortably, her eyes averted. 
 
 " Suppose you just tell me what has happened," 
 she added quietly. 
 
 " Yes, I will. I hope you haven't been thinking 
 it was some fault of his ? " 
 
 " I couldn't help thinking that." 
 
 "Oh! Put that out of your mind at once. 
 The fault is altogether mine. He has done nothing 
 whatever — he is good and true, and all that a man 
 should be. It's I who am behaving badly ; so 
 badly that I feel hot with shame now that I come 
 to teU you. I have broken it off. I've said I 
 couldn't marry him." 
 
 Their eyes met for an instant. Bertha looked 
 rather grave, but with her wonted kindliness of 
 expression ; Rosamund's brows were wrinkled 
 in distress, and her lips trembled. 
 
 "I've seen it coming since last Christmas," she 
 continued, in a hurried, tremulous undertone. " You 
 know he came down to Bath ; that was our last 
 meeting ; and I felt that something was wrong. Ah, 
 so hard to know oneself ! I wanted to talk to you 
 about it ; but then I said to myself — what can 
 Bertha do but tell me to know my own mind ? 
 And that's just what I couldn't come to, — to under- 
 stand my own feelings. I was changing, I knew that. 
 
 74 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 I dreaded to look into my own thoughts, from day 
 to day. Above all, I dreaded to sit down and write 
 to him. Oh, the hateful falsity of those letters ! 
 — Yet what could I do, what could I do ? I had 
 no right to give such a blow, unless I felt that 
 anything else was utterly, utterly impossible." 
 
 " And at last you did feel it ? " 
 
 " In Switzerland — yes. It came like a flash of 
 lightning. I was walking up that splendid valley 
 — you remember my description — up toward the 
 glacier. That morning I had had a letter, naming 
 the very day for our marriage, and speaking of the 
 house — your house at Putney — he meant to take. 
 I had said to myself — ' It must be ; I can do no- 
 thing. I haven't the courage.' Then, as I was 
 walking, a sort of horror fell upon me, and made 
 me tremble ; and when it passed I saw that, so 
 far from not having the courage to break, I should 
 never dare to go through with it. And I went back 
 to the hotel, and sat down and wrote, without 
 another moment's thought or hesitation." 
 
 " What else could you have done ? " said Bertha, 
 with a sigh of relief. " When it comes to horror 
 and tremblings ! " 
 
 There was a light in her eye which seemed the 
 precursor of a smile ; but her voice was not un- 
 sympathetic, and Rosamund knew that one of 
 Bertha Cross' smiles was worth more in the way of 
 friendship than another's tragic emotion 
 
 " Have patience with me," she continued, " whilst 
 I try to explain it all. The worst of my position 
 is, that so many people will know what I have done, 
 and so few of them, hardly any one, wiU understand 
 why. One can't talk to people about such things. 
 Even Winnie and father— I'm sure they don't really 
 understand— though I'm afraid they're both rather 
 
 75 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 glad. What a wretched thing it is to be misjudged. 
 I feel sure, Bertha, that it's just this kind of thing 
 that makes a woman sit down and write a novel 
 — where she can speak freely in disguise, and do 
 herself justice. Don't you think so ? " 
 
 "I shouldn't wonder," replied the listener, 
 thoughtfully. " But does it really matter ? If 
 you know you're only doing what you must do ? " 
 
 " But that's only how it seems to me. Another, 
 in my place, would very likely see the must on the 
 other side. Of course it's a terribly complicated 
 thing — a situation like this. I haven't the slightest 
 idea how one ought to be guided. One could argue 
 and reason all day long about it — as I have done 
 with myself for weeks past." 
 
 " Try just to teU me the reason which seems to 
 you the strongest," said Bertha. 
 
 " That's very simple. I thought I loved him, 
 and I find I don't." 
 
 " Exactly. But I hardly see how the change 
 came about." 
 
 " I wUl try to tell you," replied Rosamund. 
 " It was that picture, ' Sanctuary,' that began it. 
 When I first saw it, it gave me a shock. You know 
 how I have always thought of him — an artist living 
 for his own idea of art, painting just as he liked, 
 what pleased him, without caring for the public 
 taste. I got enthusiastic ; and when I saw that he 
 seemed to care for my opinion and my praise — of 
 course all the rest followed. He told me about his 
 life as an art student — Paris, Rome, all that ; and 
 it was my ideal of romance. He was very poor, 
 sometimes so poor that he hardly had enough to eat, 
 and this made me proud of him, for I felt sure 
 he could have got money if he would have conde- 
 scended to do inferior work. Of course, as I too 
 
 76 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 was poor, we could not think of marrying before 
 his position improved. At last he painted ' Sanc- 
 tuary.' He told me nothing about it. I came and 
 saw it on the easel, nearly j&nished. And — this 
 ie the shocking thing — I pretended to admire it. I 
 was astonished, pained — yet I had the worldliness 
 to smile and praise. There's the fault of my cha- 
 acter. At that moment, truth and courage were 
 wanted, and I had neither. The dreadful thing is 
 to think that he degraded himself on my account. 
 If I ;had said at once what I thought, he would 
 have confessed— would have told me that im- 
 patience had made him untrue to himself. And 
 from that day ; oh, this is the worst of all. Bertha — 
 he has adapted himself to what he thinks my, lower 
 mind and lower aims ; he has consciously debased 
 himself, out of thought for me. Horrible ! Of 
 course he believes in his heart that I was a hjrpocrite 
 before. The astonishing thing is that this didn't 
 cause him to turn cold to me. He must have felt 
 that, but somehow he overcame it. All the worse ! 
 The very fact that he still cared for me shows how 
 bad my influence has been. I feel that I have 
 wrecked his life, Bertha — and yet I cannot give him 
 my own, to make some poor sort of amends." 
 
 Bertha was listening wth a face that changed 
 from puzzled interest to wondering confusion. 
 
 " Good gracious ! " she exclaimed when the 
 speaker ceased. "Is it possible to get into such 
 entanglements of reasoning about what one thinks 
 and feels ? It's beyond me. Oh they're bringing 
 the tea. Perhaps a cup of tea will clear my 
 wits." 
 
 Rosamund at once began to speak of the land- 
 scape by Leader, which hung near them, and con- 
 tinued to do so even after the servant had withdrawn, 
 
 77 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Her companion was silent, smiling now and then 
 in an absent way. They sipped tea. 
 
 " The tea is doing me so much good," Bertha 
 
 said, " I begin to feel equal to the most complicated 
 
 reflections. And so you really believe that Mr. 
 
 Franks is on the way to perdition, and that you are 
 
 - the cause of it ? " 
 
 Rosamund did not reply. She had half averted 
 her look ; her brows were knit in an expression of 
 trouble ; she bit her lower Hp. A moment passed, 
 and 
 
 " Suppose we go into the garden," she said, rising. 
 " Don't you feel it a little close here ? " 
 
 They strolled about the paths. Her companion, 
 seeming to have dismissed from mind their subject 
 of conversation, began to talk of Eg}^t, and the 
 delight she promised herself there. 
 
 Presently Bertha reverted to the unfinished story. 
 
 " Oh, it doesn't interest you." 
 
 " Doesn't it indeed ! Please go on. You had 
 just explained all about ' Sanctuary ' — which isn't 
 really a bad picture at all." 
 
 " Oh, Bertha ! " cried the other in pained protest. 
 " That's your good nature. You never can speak 
 severely of anybody's work. The picture is shame- 
 ful, shameful ! And its successor, I am too sure, 
 will be worse still, from what I have heard of it. 
 Oh, I can't bear to think of what it all means — Now 
 that it's too late, I see what I ought to have done. 
 In spite of everything and everybody I ought to have 
 married him in the first year, when I had courage 
 and hope enough to face any hardships. We spoke 
 of it, but he was too generous. What a splendid 
 thing to have starved with him — to have worked 
 for him whilst he was working for art and fame, 
 to have gone through all that together, and have 
 
 78 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 come out triumphant ! That was a life worth living. 
 But to begin marriage at one's ease on the profits 
 of pictures such as ' Sanctuary ' — oh, the shame 
 of it ! Do you think I could face the friends who 
 would come to see me ? " 
 
 " How many friends," asked Bertha, " would 
 be aware of your infamy ? I credit myself with 
 a little imagination. But I should never have sus- 
 pected the black baseness which had poisoned your 
 soul." 
 
 Again Rosamund bit her lip, and kept a short 
 silence. 
 
 " It only shows," she said with some abrupt- 
 ness, " that I shall do better not to speak of it at all, 
 and let people think what they like of me. If even 
 you can't understand." 
 
 Bertha stood still, and spoke in a changed voice. 
 
 " I understand very well — or think I do. I'm 
 perfectly sure that you could never have broken 
 your engagement unless for the gravest reason — 
 and for me it is quite enough to know that. Many 
 a girl ought to do this, who never has the courage. 
 Try not to worry about explanations, the thing is 
 done, and there's an end of it. I'm very glad indeed 
 you're going quite away ; it's the best thing possible. 
 When do you start ? " she added. 
 
 " In three days. — Listen, Bertha, I have something 
 very serious to ask of you. It is possible — 
 isn't it ? — that he may come to see you some day. 
 If he does, or if by chance you see him alone, and 
 if he speaks of me, I want you to make him think — 
 you easily can — that what has happened is all for 
 his good. Remind him how often artists have 
 been spoilt by marriage, and hint— you surely could 
 — that I am rather too fond of luxury, and that 
 kind of thing." 
 
 79 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Bertha wore an odd smile. 
 
 " Trust me," she repHed, " I will blacken you 
 most effectually." 
 
 " You promise ? But, at the same time, you 
 will urge him to be true to himself, to endure 
 poverty " 
 
 " I don't know about that. Why shouldn't 
 poor Mr. Franks have enough to eat it he can get 
 it? " 
 
 " Well — but you promise to help him in the 
 other way ? You needn't say very bad things ; 
 just a smile, a hint " 
 
 " I quite understand," said Bertha, nodding. 
 
 80 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 WARBURTON had never seen Godfrey Sher- 
 wood so restless and excitable as during 
 these weeks when the business in Little Ailie Street 
 was being brought to an end, and the details of the 
 transfer to Bristol were being settled. Had it not 
 been inconsistent with all the hopeful facts of the 
 situation, as well as with the man's temper, one 
 would have thought that Godfrey suffered from 
 extreme nervousness ; that he lived under some 
 oppressive anxiety, which it was his constant en- 
 deavour to combat with resolute high spirits. It 
 seemed an odd thing that a man who had gone 
 through the very real cares and perUs of the last 
 few years without a sign of perturbation, nay, with 
 the cheeriest equanimity, should let himself be 
 thrown into disorder by the mere change to a more 
 promising state of things. Now and then Warbur- 
 ton asked himself whether his partner could be con- 
 cealing some troublesome fact with regard to Apple- 
 garth's concern ; but he dismissed the idea as too 
 improbable ; Sherwood was far too good a fellow, 
 far too conscientious a man of business, to involve 
 his friend in obvious risk — especially since it had 
 been decided that Mrs. Warburton's and her 
 daughter's money should go into the affair. The 
 inquiries made by Mr. TumbuU had results so satis- 
 factory that even the resolute pessimist could not 
 but grudgingly admit his inabihty to discover 
 
 8i F 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 storm-signals. Though a sense of responsibility 
 made a new element in his life, which would not let 
 him sleep quite so soundly as hitherto, Will per- 
 suaded himself that he had but to get to work, 
 and all would be right. 
 
 The impression made upon him by Applegarth 
 himself was very favourable. The fact that the 
 jam manufacturer was a university man, an as- 
 tronomer, and a musician, had touched Warbur- 
 ton's weak point, and he went down to Bristol the 
 first time with an undeniable prejudice at the back 
 of his mind ; but this did not survive a day or two's 
 intercourse. Applegarth recommended himself by 
 an easy and humorous geniality of bearing which 
 Warburton would have been the last man to resist ; 
 he talked of his affairs with the utmost frankness. 
 
 " The astonishing thing to me is," he said, " that 
 I've made this business pay. I went into it on 
 abstract principle. I knew nothing of business. 
 At school, I rather think, I learnt something about 
 ' single and double entry,' but I had forgotten it 
 all — just as I find myself forgetting how to multiply 
 and divide, now that I am accustomed to the higher 
 mathematics. However, I had to earn a little 
 money, somehow, and I thought I'd try jam. And 
 it went by itself, I really don't understand it, mere 
 good luck, I suppose. I hear of fellows who have 
 tried business, and come shocking croppers. Per- 
 haps they were classical men : nothing so hopeless 
 as your classic. I beg your pardon ; before say- 
 ing that, I ought to have found out whether either 
 of you is a classic." 
 
 The listeners both shook their heads, and laughed. 
 
 " So much the better. An astronomer, it is 
 plain, may manufacture jam ; a fellow brought up 
 on Greek and Latin verses couldn't possibly." 
 
 82 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 They were together at Bristol for a week, then 
 Sherwood received a telegram, and told Warbur- 
 ton that he must return to London immediately. 
 
 " Something that bothers you ? " said Will, 
 noting a peculiar tremor on his friend's counten- 
 ance. 
 
 " No, no ; a private affair ; nothing to do with 
 us. You stay on till Saturday ? I might be back 
 in twenty-four hours." 
 
 " Good. Yes ; I want to have some more talk 
 with Applegarth about that advertising proposal. 
 I don't like to start with quite such a heavy out- 
 lay." 
 
 " Nor I either," replied Godfrey, his eyes wander- 
 ing. He paused, bit the end of his moustache, and 
 added. " By the bye, the St. Neots money will 
 be paid on Saturday, you said ? " 
 
 " I believe so. Or early next week." 
 
 " That's right. I want to get done. Queer 
 how these details fidget me. Nerves ! I ought 
 to have had a holiday this summer. You were 
 wiser." 
 
 The next day Warburton went out with Apple- 
 garth to his house some ten miles south of Bristol, 
 and dined there, and stayed over night. It had 
 not yet been settled where he and Sherwood should 
 have their permanent abode ; there was a sug- 
 gestion that they should share a house which was 
 to let not far from Applegarth's, but Will felt un- 
 easy at the thought of a joint tenancy, doubting 
 whether he could live in comfort with any man. 
 He was vexed at having to leave his flat in Chelsea, 
 which so thoroughly suited his habits and his 
 tastes. 
 
 Warburton and his host talked much of Sherwood. 
 
 " When I first met him," said the jam-manu- 
 83 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 facturer, " he struck me as the queerest man of 
 business — except myself— that I had ever seen. 
 He talked about Norse sagas, witchcraft, and so 
 on, and when he began about business, I felt un- 
 easy. Of course I know him better now." 
 
 " There are not many steadier and shrewder men 
 than Sherwood," remarked Will. 
 
 " I feel sure of that," replied the other. And 
 he added, as if to fortify himself in the opinion : 
 " Yes, I feel sure of it." 
 
 " In spite of all his energy, never rash." 
 
 " No, no ; I can see that. Yet," added Apple- 
 garth, again as if for self-confirmation, " he has 
 energy of an uncommon kind." 
 
 " That will soon show itself," replied Warburton, 
 smiling. " He's surveying the field like a general 
 before battle." 
 
 " Yes. No end of bright ideas. Some of them 
 — perhaps — not immediately practicable." 
 
 " Oh, Sherwood looks far ahead." 
 
 Applegarth nodded, and for a minute or two 
 each was occupied with his own reflections. 
 
 84 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 GODFREY having telegraphed that he must 
 remain in town, Warburton soon joined 
 him. His partner was more cheerful and sanguine 
 than ever ; he had cleared off numberless odds and 
 ends of business ; there remained little to be done 
 before the day, a week hence, appointed for the 
 signature of the new deed, for which purpose 
 Applegarth would come to London. Mr. TurnbuU, 
 acting with his wonted caution, had at length 
 concluded the sale of Mrs. Warburton's property, 
 and on the day after his return. Will received from 
 St. Neots a letter containing a cheque for four 
 thousand pounds ! All his own available capital 
 was already in the hands of Sherwood ; a sum 
 not much greater in amount than that invested by 
 his mother and sister. Sherwood, for his part, put 
 in sixteen thousand, with regrets that it was all he 
 had at command just now ; before long, he might 
 see his way greatly to increase their capital, but 
 they had enough for moderate enterprise in the 
 meanwhile. 
 
 Not half an hour after the post which brought 
 him the cheque, Warburton was surprised by a 
 visit from his friend. 
 
 " I thought you wouldn't have left home yet," 
 said Godfrey, with a nervous laugh, " I had a 
 letter from Applegarth last night, which I wanted 
 you to see at once." 
 
 S5 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 He handed it, and Will, glancing over the sheet, 
 found only an unimportant discussion of a small 
 detail. 
 
 " Well, that's all right," he said, " but I don't 
 see that it need have brought you from Wim- 
 bledon to Chelsea before nine o'clock in the 
 morning. Aren't you getting a little overstrung, 
 old man ? " 
 
 Godfrey looked it. His face was noticeably 
 thinner than a month ago, and his eyes had a 
 troubled fixity such as comes of intense preoccu- 
 pation. 
 
 " Daresay I am," he admitted with a show of 
 careless good-humour. " Can't get much sleep 
 lately." 
 
 " But why ? What the deuce is there to fuss 
 about ? Sit down and smoke a cigar. I suppose 
 you've had breakfast ? " 
 
 " No — yes, I mean, yes, of course, long ago." 
 
 Will did not believe the corrected statement. 
 He gazed at his friend curiously and with some 
 anxiety. 
 
 " It's an unaccountable thing that you should 
 fret your gizzard out about this new affair, which 
 seems all so smooth, when you took the Ailie Street 
 worries without turning a hair." 
 
 " Stupid — nerves out of order," muttered God- 
 frey, as he crossed, uncrossed, recrossed his legs, 
 and bit at a cigar, as if he meant to breakfast on 
 it. " I must get away for a week or two as soon 
 as we've signed." 
 
 " Yes, but look here." War hurt on stood be- 
 fore him, hands on hips, regarding him gravely, 
 and speaking with decision. " I don't quite un- 
 derstand you. You're not like yourself. Is there 
 anything you're keeping from me ? " 
 
 86 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Nothing — nothing whatever, I assure you, 
 Warburton." 
 
 But Will was only half satisfied. 
 
 " You have no doubts of Applegarth ? " 
 
 " Doubts ! " cried the other. " Not a shadow 
 of doubt of any sort, I declare and protest. No, 
 no ; it's entirely my own idiotic excitability. I 
 can't account for it. Just don't notice it, there's 
 a good fellow." 
 
 There was a pause. Will glanced again at Ap- 
 plegarth's note, whilst Sherwood went, as usual, 
 to stand before the bookcase, and run his eye along 
 the shelves. 
 
 " Anything new in my way ? " he asked. " I 
 want a good long quiet read. — Palgrave's Ara- 
 bia ! Where did you pick up that ? One of 
 the most glorious books I know. That and Lay- 
 ard's Early Travels sent me to heaven for a 
 month, once upon a time. You don't know Lay- 
 ard ? I must give it to you. The essence of ro- 
 mance ! As good in its way as the Arabian Nights.'" 
 
 Thus he talked on for a quarter of an hour, and 
 it seemed to relieve him. Returning to matters 
 of the day, he asked, half abruptly : 
 
 " Have you the St. Neots cheque yet ? " 
 
 " Came this morning." 
 
 " Payable to Sherwood Brothers, I suppose ? " 
 said Godfrey, " Right. It's most convenient so." 
 
 Will handed him the cheque, and he gazed at 
 it as if with peculiar satisfaction. He sat smil- 
 ing, cheque in one hand, cigar in the other, until 
 Warburton asked what he was thinking over. 
 
 " Nothing— nothing. Well, I suppose I'd better 
 take it with me ; I'm on my way to the bank." 
 
 As Will watched the little slip of paper disap- 
 pear into his friend's pocket-book, he had an un- 
 
 87 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 accountable feeling of disquiet. Nothing could 
 be more unworthy than distrust of Godfrey Sher- 
 wood ; nothing less consonant with all his ex- 
 perience of the man ; and, had the money been 
 his, he would have handed it over as confidently 
 as when, in fact, dealing with his own capital the 
 other day. But the sense of responsibility to 
 others was a new thing to which he could not yet 
 accustom himself. It occurred to him for the first 
 time that there was no necessity for accumulat- 
 ing these funds in the hands of Sherwood ; he 
 might just as well have retained his own money 
 and this cheque until the day of the signing of the 
 new deed. To be sure, he had only to reflect a 
 moment to see the foolishness of his misgiving ; 
 yet, had he thought of it before 
 
 He, too, was perhaps a little overstrung in the 
 nerves. Not for the first time, he mentally threw 
 a malediction at business, and all its sordid ap- 
 purtenances. 
 
 A change came over Sherwood. His smile grew 
 more natural ; his eye lost its fixity ; he puffed at 
 his cigar with enjoyment. 
 
 " What news of Franks ? " were his next words. 
 
 " Nothing very good," answered Will, frown- 
 ing. " He seems to be still playing the fool. I've 
 seen him only once in the last fortnight, and then 
 it was evident he'd been drinking. I couldn't 
 help saying a plain word or two, and he turned 
 sullen. I called at his place last night, but he wasn't 
 there ; his landlady tells me he's been out of town 
 several times lately, and he's done no work." 
 
 " Has the girl gone ? " 
 
 " A week ago. I have a letter from Ralph Pom- 
 fret. The good old chap worries about this affair ; 
 so does Mrs. Pomfret. He doesn't say it plainly, 
 
 88 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 but I suspect Franks has been behaving theatri- 
 cally down at Ashstead ; it's possible he went there 
 in the same state in which I saw him last. Pom- 
 fret would have done well to punch his head, but 
 I've no doubt they've stroked and patted and poor- 
 fellow'd him — the very worst thing for Franks." 
 
 " Or for any man," remarked Sherwood. 
 
 " Worse for him than for most. I wish I had 
 more of the gift of brutality ; I see a way in which 
 I might do him good ; but it goes against the grain 
 with me." 
 
 " That I can believe," said Godfrey, with his 
 pleasantest look and nod. 
 
 " I was afraid he might somehow scrape together 
 money enough to pursue her to Egypt. Perhaps 
 he's trying for that. The Pomfrets want me to 
 go down to Ashstead and have a talk with them 
 about him. Whether he managed to see the girl 
 before she left England, I don't know." 
 
 " After all, he has been badly treated," said 
 Sherwood sympathetically. 
 
 " Well, yes, he has. But a fellow must have 
 common sense, most of aU with regard to women. 
 Fm rather afraid Franks might think it a fine 
 thing to go to the devil because he's been jilted. 
 It isn't fashionable nowadays ; there might seem 
 to be a sort of originality about it." 
 
 They talked for a few minutes of business mat- 
 ters, and Sherwood briskly went his way. 
 
 Four days passed. Warburton paid a visit to 
 the Pomfrets, and had from them a confirmation 
 of all he suspected regarding Norbert Franks. 
 The artist's behaviour at Ashstead had been very 
 theatrical indeed ; he talked much of suicide, pre- 
 ferably by the way of drink, and, when dissuaded 
 from this, with a burst of tears— veritable tears— 
 
 89 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 begged Ralph Pomfret to lend him money enough 
 to go to Cairo ; on which point, also, he met with 
 kindUest opposition. Thereupon, he had raged 
 for half an hour against some treacherous friend, 
 unnamed. Who this could be, the Pomfrets had 
 no idea. Warburton, though he affected equal 
 ignorance, could not doubt but that it was him- 
 self, and he grew inwardly angry. Franks had 
 been to Bath, and had obtained a private inter- 
 view with Winifred El van, in which (Winifred 
 wrote to her aunt) he had demeaned himself very 
 humbly and pathetically, first of all imploring the 
 sister's help with Rosamund, and, when she de- 
 clared she could do nothing, entreating to be told 
 whether or not he was ousted by a rival. Rather 
 impatient with the artist's follies than troubled 
 about his sufferings. Will came home again. He 
 wrote a brief, not unfriendly letter to Franks, 
 urging him to return to his better mind — the half- 
 disdainful, half-philosophical resignation which he 
 seemed to have attained a month ago. The 
 answer to this was a couple of lines ; " Thanks. Your 
 advice, no doubt, is well meant, but I had rather 
 not have it just now. Don't let lis meet for the 
 present." Will shrugged his shoulders, and tried 
 to forget all about the affair. 
 
 He did not see Sherwood, but had a note from 
 him written in high spirits. Applegarth would 
 be in town two days hence, and aU three were to 
 dine at his hotel. Having no occupation. War- 
 burton spent most of his time in walking about Lon- 
 don ; but these rambles did not give him the wonted 
 pleasure, and though at night he was very tired, 
 he did not sleep well. An inexplicable nervous- 
 ness interfered with all his habits of mind and 
 body. He was on the point of running down to 
 
 90 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 St. Neots, to get through the last day of intoler- 
 able idleness, when the morning post again brought 
 a letter from Sherwood. 
 
 " Confound the fellow ! " he muttered, as he 
 tore open the envelope. " What else can he have 
 to say ? No infernal postponement, I hope " 
 
 He read the first line and drew himself up like a 
 man pierced with pain. 
 
 " My dear Warburton " — thus wrote his part- 
 ner, in a hand less legible than of wont — " I have 
 such bad news for you that I hardly know how to 
 tell it. If I dared, I would come to you at once, 
 but I simply have not the courage to face you un- 
 til you know the worst, and have had time to get 
 accustomed to it. It is seven o'clock ; an hour 
 ago I learnt that all our money is lost — all yours, 
 all that from St. Neots, all mine — every penny 
 I have. I have been guilty of unpardonable folly — 
 how explain my behaviour ? The truth is, after 
 the settlement in Little Ailie Street, I found my- 
 self much worse off than I had expected. I went 
 into the money market, and made a successful 
 deal. Counting on being able to repeat this, I 
 guaranteed the sixteen thousand for Bristol ; but 
 the second time I lost. So it has gone on ; all 
 these last weeks I have been speculating, winning 
 and losing. Last Tuesday, when I came to see 
 you, I had about twelve thousand, and hoped 
 somehow to make up the deficiency. As the devil 
 would have it, that same morning I met a City ac- 
 quaintance, who spoke of a great coup to be made 
 by any one who had some fifteen thousand at com- 
 mand. It meant an immediate profit of 25 per 
 cent. Like a fool, I was persuaded — as you will see 
 when I go into details, the thing looked horribly 
 tempting. I put it all — every penny that lay at 
 
 91 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 our bank in the name of Sherwood Bros. And 
 now I learn that the house I trusted has smashed. 
 It's in the papers this evening — Biggies, Thorpe and 
 Biggies — you'll see it. I dare not ask you to for- 
 give me. Of course I shall at once take steps to 
 raise the money owing to you, and hope to be able 
 to do that soon, but it's all over with the Bristol 
 affair. I shall come to see you at twelve to-morrow. 
 
 " Yours, 
 " G. F. Sherwood." 
 
 92 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 AFTER all, there's something in presenti- 
 ment." 
 
 This was the first thought that took shape in 
 Will's whirling mind. The second was, that he 
 might rationally have foreseen disaster. All the 
 points of strangeness which had struck him in 
 Sherwood's behaviour came back now with such 
 glaring signiiicance that he accused himself of in- 
 conceivable limpness in having allowed things to 
 go their way — above all in trusting Godfrey with 
 the St. Neots cheque. On this moment of painful 
 lucidity followed blind rage. Why, what a grovel- 
 ling imbecile was this fellow ! To plunge into wild 
 speculation, on the word of some City shark, with 
 money not his own ! But could one credit the 
 story ? Was it not more likely that Sherwood 
 had got involved in some cunning thievery which 
 he durst not avow ? Perhaps he was a mere liar 
 and hypocrite. That story of the ten thousand 
 pounds he had lent to somebody — how improbable 
 it sounded ; why might he not have invented it, 
 to strengthen confidence at a critical moment ? 
 The incredible baseness of the man ! He, who 
 knew weU all that depended upon the safe invest- 
 ment of the St. Neots money — to risk it in this 
 furiously reckless way. In all the records of City 
 scoundrelism, was there a blacker case ? 
 
 Raging thus, Warburton became aware that Mrs. 
 93 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Hopper spoke to him. She had just laid break- 
 fast, and, as usual when she wished to begin a con- 
 versation, had drawn back to the door, where 
 she paused. 
 
 " That Boxon, the grocer, has had a bad acci- 
 dent, sir." 
 
 " Boxon ? — grocer ? " 
 
 " In the Fulham Road, sir ; him as AUchin was 
 with." 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 Heedless of her master's gloomy abstraction, 
 Mrs. Hopper continued. She related that Boxon 
 had been at certain races where he had lost money 
 and got drunk ; driving away in a trap, he had 
 run into something, and been thrown out, with 
 serious injuries, which might prove fatal. 
 
 " So much the worse for him," muttered War- 
 burton. "I've no pity to spare for fools and black- 
 guards." 
 
 " I should think not, indeed sir. I just men- 
 tioned it, sir, because AUchin was telling us about 
 it last night. He and his wife looked in to see 
 my sister, Liza, and they both said they never see 
 such a change in anybody. And they said how 
 grateful we ought to be to you, sir, and that I'm 
 sure we are, for Liza'd never have been able to go 
 away without your kindness." 
 
 Listening as if this talk sounded from a vague 
 distance, Warburton was suddenly reminded of 
 what had befallen himself ; for as yet he had thought 
 only of his mother and sister. He was ruined. 
 Some two or three hundred pounds, his private 
 bank account, represented all he had in the world, 
 and all prospect of making money had been taken 
 away from him. Henceforth, small must be his 
 charities. If he gained his own living, he must 
 
 94 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 count himself lucky ; nothing more difficult than 
 for a man of his age and position, unexpectedly 
 cut adrift, to find work and payment. By good 
 fortune, his lease of this fiat came to an end at 
 Michaelmas, and already he had given notice that 
 he did not mean to renew. Mrs. Hopper knew 
 that he was on the point of leaving London, and 
 not a little lamented it, for to her the loss would be 
 serious indeed. Warburton's habitual generosity 
 led her to hope for some signal benefaction ere 
 his departure ; perhaps on that account she was 
 specially emphatic in gratitude for her sister's 
 restoration to health. 
 
 " We was wondering, sir," she added, now 
 having wedged herself between door and jamb, 
 " whether you'd be so kind as to let my sister Liza 
 see you just for a minute or two, to thank you her- 
 self, as I'm sure she ought ? She could come any 
 time as wouldn't be ill-convenient to you." 
 
 " I'm extremely busy, Mrs. Hopper," WiU re- 
 plied. " Please tell your sister I'm delighted 
 to hear she's done so well at Southend, and I hope 
 to see her some day ; but not just now. By the bye, 
 I'm not going out this morning, so don't wait, when 
 you've ftnished." 
 
 By force of habit he ate and drank. Sherwood's 
 letter lay open before him ; he read it through again 
 and again. But he could not fix his thoughts upon 
 it. He found himself occupied with the story 
 of Boxon, wondering whether Boxon would live or 
 die. Boxon, the grocer — why, what an ass a man 
 must be, a man with a good grocery business, to 
 come to grief over drink and betting ! Shopkeep- 
 ing — ^what a sound and safe life it was ; indepen- 
 dent, as far as any money-earning life can be so. 
 There must be a pleasure in counting the contents 
 
 95 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 of one's till every night. Boxon ! Of course, a 
 mere brute. There came into Will's memory the 
 picture of Boxon landed on the pavement one night, 
 by AUchin's fist or toe — and of a sudden he laughed. 
 
 When he had half-smoked his pipe, compara- 
 tive calmness fell upon him. Sherwood spoke of 
 at once raising the money he owed, and, if he suc- 
 ceeded in doing so, much of the mischief would 
 be undone. The four thousand pounds might be 
 safely invested somewhere, and life at The Haws 
 would go on as usual. But was it certain that Sher- 
 wood could " raise " such sums, being himself, as 
 he declared, penniless ? This disclosure showed 
 him in an unpleasantly new light, as anything but 
 the cautious man of business, the loyal friend, 
 he had seemed to be. Who could put faith in a 
 money-market gambler ? Why, there was no 
 difference to speak of between him and Boxon. 
 And if his promise proved futile — what was to be 
 done ? 
 
 For a couple of hours. Will stared at this ques- 
 tion. When the clock on his mantelpiece struck 
 eleven, he happened to notice it, and was surprised 
 to find how quickly time had passed. By the bye, 
 he had never thought of looking at his newspaper, 
 though Sherwood referred him to that source of 
 information on the subject of Biggies, Thorpe and 
 Biggies. Yes, here it was. A firm of brokers ; 
 unfortunate speculations ; failure of another house — 
 aU the old story. As likely as not, the financial 
 trick of a cluster of thieves. Will threw the paper 
 aside. He had always scorned that cunning of the 
 Stock Exchange, now he thought of it with fiery 
 hatred. 
 
 Another hour passed in feverish waiting ; then, 
 just at mid-day, a knock sounded at the outer door. 
 
 96 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Anything but a loud knock ; anything but the 
 confident summons of a friend. Will went to 
 open. There stood Godfrey Sherwood, shrunk 
 together like a man suffering from cold ; he scarcely 
 raised his eyes. 
 
 Will's purpose, on finding Sherwood at his door, 
 was to admit him without a word, or any form of 
 greeting ; but the sight of that changed face and 
 pitiful attitude overcame him ; he offered a hand, 
 and felt it warmly pressed. 
 
 They were together in the room ; neither had 
 spoken. Will pointed to a chair, but did not himself 
 sit down. 
 
 " I suppose it's all true, Warburton," began the 
 other in a low voice, " but I can't believe it yet. 
 I seem to be walking in a nightmare ; and when you 
 gave me your hand at the door, I thought for a 
 second that I'd just woke up." 
 
 " Sit down," said Will, " and let's have it out. 
 Give me the details." 
 
 " That's exactly what I wish to do. Of course 
 I haven't been to bed, and I've spent the night in 
 writing out a statement of all my dealings for the 
 past fifteen months. Here it is — and here are my 
 pass-books." 
 
 Will took the paper, a half-sheet of foolscap, one 
 side almost covered with figures. At a glance he 
 saw that the statement was perfectly intelligible. 
 The perusal of a few lines caused him to look up in 
 astonishment. 
 
 " You mean to say that between last September 
 and the end of the year you lost twenty-five thousand 
 pounds ? " 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " And you mean to say that you still went on with 
 your gambling ? " 
 
 97 Q 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Things were getting bad in Ailie Street, you 
 know." 
 
 " And you did your best to make them desperate." 
 
 Sherwood's head seemed trying to bury itself 
 between his shoulders ; his feet hid themselves under 
 the chair, he held his hat in a way suggestive of the 
 man who comes to beg. 
 
 " The devil of the City got hold of me," he replied, 
 with a miserable attempt to look Warburton in the 
 
 " Yes," said Will, " that's clear. Then, a month 
 ago, you really possessed only nine thousand 
 pounds ? " 
 
 " That was all I had left, out of nearly forty 
 thousand." 
 
 " What astonishes me is, that you won from time 
 to time." 
 
 " I did ! " exclaimed Godfrey, with sudden 
 animation. " Look at the fifth of February — 
 that was a great day ! It's that kind of thing that 
 tempts a man on. Afterwards I lost steadily ; 
 but I might have won any day. And I had to make 
 a good deal, if we were to come to terms with Apple- 
 garth. I nearly did it. I was as cautious as a 
 man could be — content with small things. If 
 only I hadn't been -oressed for time ! It was only 
 the want of time iua.t made me use your money. 
 Of course, it was criminal. Don't think I wish to 
 excuse myself for one moment. Absolutely crimi- 
 nal. I knew what was at stake. But I thought the 
 thing was sure. It promised at the least twenty- 
 five per cent. We should have started brilliantly 
 at Bristol — several thousands for advertisement, 
 beyond our estimate. I don't think the Biggies 
 people were dishonest— — " 
 
 " You don't think so ! " interrupted Will, con- 
 98 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 temptuously. " If there's any doubt we know on 
 which side it weighs. Just tell me the facts. What 
 was the security ? " 
 
 Sherwood replied with a brief, clear, and obviously 
 honest account of the speculation into which he 
 had been drawn. To the listener it seemed astound- 
 ing that any responsible man should be lured by 
 such gambler's chance ; he could hardly find patience 
 to point out the manifest risks so desperately 
 incurred. And Sherwood admitted the full extent 
 of his folly ; he could only repeat that he had acted 
 on an irresistible impulse, to be explained, though 
 not defended, by the embarrassment in which he 
 found himself. 
 
 " Thank Heaven, this is over ! " he exclaimed 
 at last, passing his handkerchief over a moist 
 forehead. " I don't know how I got through last 
 night. More than once, I thought it would be easier 
 to kill myself than to come and face you. But 
 there was the certainty that I could make good 
 your loss. I may be able to do so very soon. I've 
 written to " 
 
 He checked himself on the point of uttering a 
 name ; then with eyes down, reflected for a moment. 
 
 " No, I haven't the right to tell you, though 
 I should like to, to give you confidence. It's the 
 story of the ten thousand pounds, you remember ? 
 When I lent that money, I promised never to let 
 any one know. Even if I can't reaHse your capital 
 at once, I can pay you good interest until the 
 money's forthcoming. That would be the same 
 thing to you ? " 
 
 Warburton gave him a keen look, and said 
 gravely— 
 
 " Let's understand each other, Sherwood. Have 
 you any income at all ? " 
 
 99 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " None whatever now, except the interest on 
 the ten thousand ; and that — well, I'm sorry to 
 say it hasn't been paid very regularly. But in 
 future it must be— it shall be. Between two and 
 three thousand are owing to me for arrears." 
 
 " It's a queer story." 
 ' " I know it is," admitted Godfrey. " But I hope 
 you don't doubt my word ? " 
 
 " No, I don't — What's to be done about Apple- 
 garth ? " 
 
 " I must see him," replied Sherwood with a 
 groan. " Of course you have no part in the miser- 
 able business. I must write at once, and then go 
 and face him." 
 
 " Of course I shall go with you." 
 
 " You will ? That's kind of you. Luckily he's 
 a civilised man, not one of the City brutes one 
 might have had to deal with." 
 
 " We must hope he'll live up to his reputation," 
 said Warburton, with the first smile, and that no 
 cheery one, which had risen to his lips during this 
 interview. 
 
 From that point the talk became easier. All 
 the aspects of their position were considered, with- 
 out stress of feeling, for Will had recovered his 
 self-control ; and Sherwood, soothed by the sense 
 of having discharged an appalling task, tended 
 once more to sanguine thoughts. To be sure, neither 
 of them could see any immediate way out of the 
 gulf in which they found themselves ; all hope of 
 resuming business was at an end ; the only practical 
 question was, how to earn a living ; but both were 
 young men, and neither had ever known privation ; 
 it was difficult for them to believe all at once that 
 they were really face to face with that grim necessity 
 which they had thought of as conquering others, 
 
 100 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 but never them. Certain unpleasant steps, how- 
 ever, had at once to be taken. Sherwood must 
 give up his house at Wimbledon ; Warburton 
 must look about for a cheap lodging into which 
 to remove at Michaelmas. Worse still, and more 
 urgent, was the duty of making known to Mrs. 
 Warburton what had happened. 
 
 " I suppose I must go down at once," said Will 
 gloomily. 
 
 " I see no hurry," urged the other. " As a matter 
 of fact, your mother and sister will lose nothing. 
 You undertook to pay them a minimum of three per 
 cent, on their money, and that you can do ; I guar- 
 antee you that, in any case." 
 
 Wni mused. If indeed it were possible to avoid 
 
 the disclosure ? But that would involve much 
 
 lying, a thing, even in a good cause, little to his 
 taste. Still, when he thought of his mother's 
 weak health, and how she might be affected by 
 the news of this catastrophe, he began seriously 
 to ponder the practicability of well-meaning decep- 
 tion. That, of course, must depend upon their 
 difficulties with Applegarth remaining strictly pri- 
 vate ; and even so, could Mr. TurnbuU's scent 
 for disaster be successfully reckoned with ? 
 
 " Don't do anything hastily, Warburton, I beg 
 of you," continued the other. " Things are never 
 so bad as they look at first sight. Wait till I have 
 seen — you know who. I might even be able to — 
 but it's better not to promise. Wait a day or two, 
 at all events." 
 
 And this Warburton resolved to do ; for, if the 
 worst came to the worst, he had some three htmdred 
 pounds of his own still in the bank, and so could 
 assure, for two years at all events, the income of 
 which his mother and Jane had absolute need. For 
 
 lOI 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 himself, he should find some way of earning bread 
 and cheese ; he could no longer stand on his dignity, 
 and talk of independence, that was plain. 
 
 When at length his calamitous partner had gone, 
 he made an indifferent lunch on the cold meat he 
 found in Mrs. Hopper's precincts, and then decided 
 that he had better take a walk ; to sit still and 
 brood was the worst possible way of facing such a crisis. 
 There was no friend with whom he could discuss 
 the situation ; none whose companionship would 
 j ust now do him any particular good. Better to walk 
 twenty miles, and tire himself out, and see how 
 things looked after a good night's sleep. So he put 
 on his soft hat, and took his walking-stick, and 
 slammed the door behind him. Some one was com- 
 ing up the stairs ; sunk in his own thoughts he paid 
 no heed, even when the other man stood in front of 
 him. Then a familiar voice claimed his attention. 
 
 " Do you want to cut me, Warburton ? " 
 
 102 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 WARBURTON stopped, and looked into the 
 speaker's face, as if he hardly recognised 
 him. 
 
 " You're going out," added Franks, turning round. 
 " I won't keep you." 
 
 And he seemed about to descend the stairs 
 quickly. But Will at length found voice. 
 
 " Come in. I was thinking of something, and 
 didn't see you." 
 
 They entered, and passed as usual into the sitting- 
 room, but not with the wonted exchange of friendly 
 words. The interval since their last meeting seemed 
 to have alienated them more than the events which 
 preceded it. Warburton was trying to smile, but 
 each glance he took at the other's face made 
 his lips less inclined to relax from a certain severity 
 rarely seen in them ; and Franks succeeded but ill 
 in his attempt to lounge familiarly, with careless 
 casting of the eye this way and that. It was he 
 who broke silence. 
 
 " I've found a new drink — ^gin and laudanum. 
 First rate for the nerves." 
 
 " Ah ! " replied Warburton gravely. " My latest 
 tipple is oU of vitriol with a dash of strychnine. 
 Splendid pick-me-up." 
 
 Franks laughed loudly, but unmirthfuUy. 
 " No, but I'm quite serious," he continued. 
 "It's the only thing that keeps me going. If 
 
 103 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 I hadn't found the use of laudanum in small doses, 
 I should have tried a very large one before now." 
 
 His language had a note of bravado, and his 
 attitude betrayed the self-conscious actor, but 
 there was that in his countenance which could 
 only have come of real misery. The thin cheeks, 
 heavy-lidded and bloodshot eyes, ill-coloured lips, 
 made a picture anything but agreeable to look upon ; 
 and quite in keeping with it was the shabbiness of 
 his garb. After an intent and stem gaze at him. 
 Will asked bluntly : 
 
 " When did you last have a bath ? " 
 
 " Bath ? Good God — how do I know ? " 
 
 And again Franks laughed in the key of stage 
 recklessness. 
 
 " I should advise a Turkish," said Will, " followed 
 by rhubarb of the same country. You'd feel vastly 
 better next day." 
 
 " The remedies," answered Franks, smiling dis- 
 dainfully, " of one who has never been through 
 moral suffering." 
 
 " Yet efficacious, even morally, I can assure 
 you. And, by the bye, I want to know when you're 
 going to finish ' The Slummer.' " 
 
 " Finish it ? Why, never ! I could as soon 
 turn to and build a bridge over the Thames." 
 
 " What do you mean ? I suppose you have to 
 earn your living ? " 
 
 "I see no necessity for it. What do I care, 
 whether I live or not ? " 
 
 " Well, then, I am obliged to ask whether you 
 feel it incumbent upon you — to pay your debts ? " 
 
 The last words came out with a jerk, after a 
 little pause which proved what it cost Warburton 
 to speak them. To save his countenance, he as- 
 sumed an unnatural grimness of feature, staring 
 
 104 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Franks resolutely in the face. And the result 
 was the artist's utter subjugation ; he shuffled, 
 dropped his head, made confused efforts to reply. 
 
 " Of course I shall do so — somehow," he muttered 
 at length. 
 
 " Have you any other way — honest way — except 
 by working ? " 
 
 "Very well, then, I'll find work. Real work. 
 Not that cursed daubing, which it turns my stomach 
 to think of." 
 
 Warburton paused a moment, then said kindly : 
 
 " That's the talk of a very sore and dazed man. 
 Before long, you'll be yourself again, and you'll 
 go back to your painting with an appetite. And 
 the sooner you try the better. I don't particularly 
 like dunning people for money, as I think you know, 
 but, when you can pay that debt of yours, I shall 
 be glad. I've had a bit of bad luck since last we 
 saw each other." 
 
 Franks gazed in heavy-eyed wonder, uncertain 
 whether to take this as a joke or not. 
 
 " Bad luck ? What sort of bad luck ? " 
 
 " Why, neither on the turf nor at Monte Carlo. 
 But a speculation has gone wrong, and I'm adrift. 
 I shall have to leave this flat. How I'm going to 
 keep myself alive, I don't know yet. The Bristol 
 affair is of course off. I'm as good as penniless, 
 and a hundred pounds or so will come very con- 
 veniently, whenever you can manage it." 
 
 " Are you serious, Warburton ? " 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " You've reaUy lost everything ? You've got 
 to leave this flat because you can't afford it ? " 
 
 " That, my boy, is the state of the case." 
 
 " By Jove ! No wonder you didn't see me as 
 I came upstairs. What the deuce ! You in Queer 
 
 105 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Street ! I never dreamt of such a thing as a pos- 
 sibihty. I've always thought of you as a flourishing 
 capitalist — sound as the Mansion House. Why 
 didn't you begin by telling me this ? I'm about as 
 miserable as a fellow can be, but I should never 
 have bothered you with my miseries. — Warburton 
 in want of money ? Why, the idea is grotesque ; 
 I can't get hold of it. I came to you as men go to 
 a bank. Of course, I meant to pay it all, some day, 
 but you were so generous and so rich, I never thought 
 there would be any hurry. I'm astounded — I'm 
 floored ! " 
 
 With infinite satisfaction, Warburton saw the 
 better man rising again in his friend, noted the 
 change of countenance, of bearing, of tone. 
 
 " You see," he said, with a nod and a smile, 
 " that you've no choice but to finish ' The Slum- 
 mer ! ' " 
 
 Franks looked about him uneasily, fretfully. 
 
 " Either that — or something else," he muttered. 
 
 " No — that ! It'll bring you two or three hundred 
 pounds without much delay." 
 
 " I daresay it would. But if you knew how I 
 loathe and curse the very sight of the thing — Why 
 I haven't burnt it I don't know." 
 
 " Probably," said Will, " because in summer 
 weather you take your gin and laudanum cold." 
 
 This time the artist's laugh was more genuine. 
 
 " The hideous time I have been going through ! " 
 he continued. " It's no use trying to give you an 
 idea of it. Of course you'd say it was aU damned 
 foolery. WeU, I shan't go through it again, that's 
 one satisfaction. I've done with women. One 
 reason why I loathe the thought of going on with 
 that picture is because I still have the girl's head to 
 put in. But I'll do it. I'll go back and get to work 
 
 io6 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 at once. If I can't find a model, I'll fake the head — 
 get it out of some woman's paper where the fashions 
 are illustrated ; that'll do very well. I'll go and 
 see how the beastly thing looks. It's turned against 
 the wall, and I wonder I haven't put my boot 
 through it." 
 
 107 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 WARBURTON waited for a quarter of an hour 
 after the artist had gone, then set out for 
 his walk. The result of this unexpected conversation 
 with Franks was excellent ; the foolish fellow seemed 
 to have recovered his common sense. But Will 
 felt ashamed of himself. Of course he had acted 
 solely with a view to the other's good, seeing no hope 
 but this of rescuing Franks from the slough in which 
 he wallowed ; nevertheless, he was stung with 
 shame. For the first time in his life he had asked 
 repayment of money lent to a friend. And he had 
 done the thing blunderingly, without tact. For 
 the purpose in view, it would have been enough to 
 speak of his own calamity ; just the same effect 
 would have been produced on Franks. He saw this 
 now, and writhed under the sense of his gross- 
 ness. The only excuse he could urge for himself 
 was that Franks' behaviour provoked and merited 
 rough handling. Still, he might have had perspica- 
 city enough to understand that the artist was not 
 so sunk in squalor as he pretended. 
 
 "Just hke me," he growled to himself, with 
 a nervous twitching of the face. " I've no presence 
 of mind. I see the right thing when it's too late, 
 and when I've made myself appear a bounder. 
 How many thousand times have I blundered in 
 this way! A man like me ought to live alone — 
 as I've a very fair chance of doing in future." 
 
 His walk did him no good, and on his return 
 1 08 
 
WILI, WARBURTON 
 
 he passed a black evening. With Mrs. Hopper, 
 who came as usual to get dinner for him, he held 
 little conversation ; in a few days he would have 
 to tell her what had befallen him, or invent some 
 lie to account for the change in his arrangements, 
 and this again tortured Will's nerves. In one 
 sense of the word, no man was less pretentious ; 
 but his liberality of thought and behaviour consisted 
 with a personal pride which was very much at the 
 mercy of circumstance. Even as he could not 
 endure subjection, so did he shrink from the thought 
 of losing dignity in the eyes of his social inferiors. 
 Mere poverty and lack of ease did not frighten 
 him at all ; he had hardly given a thought as yet 
 to that aspect of misfortune. What most of all 
 distressed his imagination (putting aside thought 
 of his mother and sister) was the sudden fall from 
 a position of genial authority, of beneficent command, 
 with all the respect and gratitude and consideration 
 attaching thereto. He could do without personal 
 comforts, if need were, but it pained him horribly 
 to think of being no longer a patron and a master. 
 With a good deal more philosophy than the average 
 man, and vastly more benevolence, he could not 
 attain to the humility which v/ould have seen in this 
 change of fortune a mere surrender of privileges 
 perhaps quite unjustifiable. Social grades were an 
 inseparable part of his view of life ; he recognised 
 the existence of his superiors — though resolved to 
 have as little to do with them as possible, and took 
 it as a matter of course that multitudes of men 
 should stand below his level. To imagine himself 
 an object of pity for Mrs. Hopper and Allchin and 
 the rest of them wrought upon his bile, disordered 
 his digestion. 
 
 He who had regarded so impatiently the trials 
 109 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 of Norbert Franks now had to go through an evil 
 time, with worse results upon his temper, his 
 health, and whole being, than he would have thought 
 conceivable. For a whole fortnight he lived in a 
 state of suspense and forced idleness, which helped 
 him to understand the artist's recourse to gin and 
 laudanum. The weather was magnificent, but 
 for him no sun rose in the sky. If he walked about 
 London, he saw only ugliness and wretchedness, 
 his eyes seeming to have lost the power of perceiving 
 other things. Every two or three days he heard from 
 Sherwood, who wrote that he was doing his utmost, 
 and continued to hold out hope that he would soon 
 have money : but these letters were not reassuring. 
 The disagreeable interview with Applegarth had 
 passed off better than might have been expected. 
 Though greatly astonished, and obviously in some 
 doubt as to the facts of the matter, Applegarth 
 behaved as a gentleman, resigned all claims upon 
 the defaulters, and brought the affair to a decent 
 close as quickly as possible. But Warburton came 
 away with a face so yellow that he seemed on the 
 point of an attack of jaundice. For him to be the 
 object of another man's generous forbearance was 
 something new and intolerable. Before parting with 
 Sherwood, he spoke to him bitterly, all but savagely. 
 A few hours later, of course, repentance came upon 
 him, and he wrote to ask pardon. An evil time. 
 
 At length Sherwood came to Chelsea, having 
 written to ask for a meeting. Will's forebodings 
 were but too well justified. The disastrous man 
 came only to say that all his efforts had failed. 
 His debtor for ten thousand pounds was himself 
 in such itraits that he could only live by desperate 
 expedients, and probably would not be able to pay 
 a penny of interest this year. 
 
 no 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Happily," said Sherwood, " his father's health 
 is breaking. One is obliged to talk in this brutal 
 way, you know. At the father's death it will be 
 all right ; I shall then have my legal remedy, if 
 there's need of it. To take any step of that sort 
 now would be ruinous ; my friend would be cut off 
 with a shilling, if the affair came to his father's 
 ears." 
 
 " So this is how we stand," said Warburton, 
 grimly. " It's all over." 
 
 Sherwood laid on the table a number of bank- 
 notes, saying simply : 
 
 " There's two hundred and sixty pounds — the 
 result of the sale of my furniture and things. Will 
 you use that and trust me a little longer ? " 
 
 Warburton writhed in his chair. 
 
 " What have you to live upon ? " he asked with 
 eyes downcast. 
 
 " Oh, I shall get on all right. I've one or two 
 ideas." 
 
 " But this is all the money you have ? " 
 
 " I've kept about fifty pounds," answered the 
 other, " out of which I can pay my debts — they're 
 small — and the rent of my house for this quarter." 
 
 Warburton pushed back the notes. 
 
 " I can't take it — you know I can't." 
 
 " You must." 
 
 " How the devil are you going to live ? " cried 
 Will, in exasperation. 
 
 " I shall find a way," rephed Sherwood with an 
 echo of his old confident tone. " I need a httle 
 time to look about me, that's all. There's a relative 
 of mine, an old fellow who lives comfortably in 
 North Wales, and who invites me down every two 
 or three years. The best thing will be for me to go 
 and spend a short time with him, and get my nerves 
 
 III 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 into order — I'm shaky, there's no disguising it. 
 I haven't exhausted all the possibilities of raising 
 money ; there's hope still in one or two directions ; 
 if I get a little quietness and rest I shall be able to 
 think things out more clearly. Don't you think 
 this justifiable ? " 
 
 As to the money he remained inflexible. Very 
 reluctantly Warburton consented to keep this sum, 
 giving a receipt in form. 
 
 " You haven't said anything to Mrs. Warburton 
 yet ? " asked Sherwood nervously. 
 
 " Not yet," muttered Will. 
 
 " I wish you could postpone it a little longer. 
 Could you — do you think — without too much strain 
 of conscience ? Doesn't it seem a pity — when any 
 day may enable me to put things right ? " 
 
 Will muttered again that he would think of it ; 
 that assuredly he preferred not to disclose the matter 
 if it could decently be kept secret. And on this 
 Sherwood took his leave, going away with a brighter 
 face than he had brought to the interview ; whilst 
 Will remained brooding gloomily, his eyes fixed on 
 the bank-notes, in an unconscious stare. 
 
 Little of a man of business as he was, Warburton 
 knew very well that things at the office were passing 
 in a flagrantly irregular way : he knew that any one 
 else in his position would have put this serious 
 affair into legal hands, if only out of justice to 
 Sherwood himself. More than once he had thought 
 of communicating with Mr. TumbuU, but shame 
 withheld him. It seemed improbable, too, that 
 the solicitor would conni\'e at keeping his friends 
 at The Haws ignorant of what had befallen them, 
 and with every day that passed Will felt more 
 disposed to hide that catastrophe, if by any means 
 that were possible. Already he had half committed 
 
 112 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 himself to this deception, having written to his mother 
 (without mention of any other detail) that he might, 
 after all, continue to live in London, where Apple- 
 garth's were about to establish a warehouse. The 
 question was how, if he put aside all the money he had 
 for payment of pretended dividend to his mother and 
 sister, how, in that case, was he himself to live ? 
 At the thought of going about applying for clerk's 
 work, or anything of that kind, cold water flowed 
 down his back ; rather than that, he would follow 
 AUchin's example, and turn porter — an independent 
 position compared with bent-backed slavery on an 
 ofl&ce-stool. Some means of earning money he 
 must find without delay. To live on what he had, 
 one day longer than could be helped, would be 
 sheer dishonesty. Sherwood might succeed in 
 bringing him a few hundreds — of the ten thousand 
 Will thought not at aU, so fantastic did the whole 
 story sound — but that would be merely another 
 small instalment of the sum due to the unsuspecting 
 victims at St. Neots. Strictly speaking, he owned 
 not a penny ; his very meals to-day were at the 
 expense of his mother and Jane. This thought 
 goaded him. His sleep became a mere nightmare ; 
 his waking, a dry-throated misery. 
 
 In spite of loathing and dread, he began to read 
 the thick-serried columns of newspaper advertise- 
 ment. Wanted ! Wanted ! Wanted ! Wants by 
 the thousand ; but many more those of the would-be 
 employed than those of the would-be employers, 
 and under the second heading not one in a hundred 
 that offered him the slightest hint or hope. Wanted ! 
 Wanted. To glance over these columns is like 
 listening to the clamour of a hunger-driven multi- 
 tude ; the ears sing, the head turns giddy. After 
 a quarter of an hour of such search, Will flung the 
 
 113 H 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 paper aside, and stamped like a madman about his 
 room. A horror of Ufe seized him ; he understood, 
 with fearful sympathy, the impulse of those who, 
 rather than be any longer hustled in this howling 
 mob dash themselves to destruction. 
 
 He thought over the list of his friends. Friends 
 — what man has more than two or three ? At 
 this moment he knew of no one who wished him well 
 who could be of the slightest service. His acquaint- 
 ances were of course more numerous. There lay 
 on his table two invitations just received — the kind 
 of invitation received by every man who does not 
 live the life of a hermit. But what human signifi- 
 cance had they ? Not a name rose in his mind 
 which symbolised helpfulness. True, that might 
 be to some extent his own fault ; the people of 
 whom he saw most were such as needed, not such 
 as could offer, aid. He thought of Ralph Pomfret. 
 There, certainly, a kindly will would not be lacking, 
 but how could he worry with his foolish affairs 
 a man on whom he had no shadow of claim ? No : 
 he stood alone. It was a lesson in social science 
 such as reading could never have afforded him. 
 His insight into the order of a man's world had all 
 at once been marvellously quickened, the scope of 
 his reflections incredibly extended. Some vague 
 consciousness of this now and then arrested him 
 in his long purposeless walks ; he began to be aware 
 of seeing common things with new eyes. But the 
 perception was akin to fear ; he started and looked 
 nervously about, as if suddenly aware of some 
 peril. 
 
 One afternoon he was on his way home from a 
 westward trudge, plodding along the remoter part 
 of Fulham Road, when words spoken by a woman 
 whom he passed caught his ears. 
 
 114 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " See ' ere ! The shutters is up. Boxon must 
 be dead." 
 
 Boxon ? How did he come to know that name ? 
 He slackened his pace, reflecting. Why, Boxon 
 was the name of the betting and drinking grocer, 
 with whom AUchin used to be. He stopped, and 
 saw a group of three or four women staring at the 
 closed shop. Didn't Mrs. Hopper say that Boxon 
 had been nearly killed in a carriage accident ? 
 Doubtless he was dead. 
 
 He walked on, but before he had gone a dozen 
 yards, stopped abruptly, turned, crossed to the 
 other side of the road, and went back till he stood 
 opposite the closed shop. The name of the trades- 
 man in great gilt letters proved that there was no 
 mistake. He examined the building ; there were 
 two storys above the shop ; the first seemed to be 
 used for storage ; white blinds at the windows of the 
 second showed it to be inhabited. For some 
 five minutes Will stood gazing and reflecting ; 
 then, with head bent as before, he pursued his way. 
 
 When he reached home, Mrs. Hopper regarded 
 him compassionately ; the good woman was much 
 disturbed by the strangeness of his demeanour 
 lately, and feared he was going to be ill. 
 
 " You look dre'ful tired, sir, " she said. " I'll 
 make you a cup of tea at once. It '11 do you good." 
 
 " Yes, get me some tea, " answered Warburton, 
 absently. Then, as she was leaving the room, he 
 asked, " Is it true that the grocer Boxon is dead ? " 
 
 " I was going to speak of it this morning, sir, " 
 replied Mrs. Hopper, "but you seemed so busy. 
 Yes, sir, he's died — died the day before yesterday, 
 they say, and it'd be surprising to hear as anybody's 
 sorry." 
 
 " Who'll take his business ? " asked Warburton. 
 115 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " We was talking about that last night, sir, me 
 and my sister Liza, and the AUchins. It's fallen 
 off a great deal lately, what else could you expect ? 
 since Boxon got into his bad ways. But anybody 
 as had a little money might do well there. Allchin 
 was saying he wished he had a few 'undreds." 
 
 " A few hundred would be enough ? " interrupted 
 the listener, without noticing the look of peculiar 
 eagerness on Mrs. Hopper's face. 
 
 " Allchin thinks the goodwill can be had for 
 about a 'undred, sir ; and the rent, it's only eighty 
 pounds " 
 
 " Shop and house ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; so Allchin says. It isn't much of a 
 'ouse, of course." 
 
 " What profits could be made, do you suppose, 
 by an energetic man ? " 
 
 " When Boxon began, sir," replied Mrs. Hopper, 
 with growing animation, " he used to make — so 
 Allchin says — a good five or six 'undred a year. 
 There's a good deal of profit in the grocery business, 
 and Boxon's situation is good ; there's no other 
 grocer near him. But of course — as Allchin says — 
 you want to lay out a good deal at starting " 
 
 " Yes, yes, of course, you must have stock. " 
 said Will carelessly. " Bring me some tea at once, 
 Mrs. Hopper." 
 
 It had suddenly occurred to him that Allchin 
 might think of trying to borrow the capital where- 
 with to start this business, and that Mrs. Hopper 
 might advise her brother-in-law to apply to him 
 for the loan. 
 
 But this was not at all the idea which had prompted 
 Will's inquiries. 
 
 Ii6 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 ANOTHER week went by. Warburton was 
 still living in the same restless way, but did 
 not wear quite so gloomy a countenance ; now and 
 then he looked almost cheerful. That was the case 
 when one morning he received a letter from Sher- 
 wood. Godfrey wrote that, no sooner had he 
 arrived at his relative's in North Wales than he 
 was seized with a violent liver-attack, which for 
 some days prostrated him ; he was now recovering, 
 and better news still, had succeeded in borrowing 
 a couple of hundred pounds. Half of this sum he 
 sent to Warburton ; the other half he begged to be 
 allowed to retain, as he had what might prove 
 a very fruitful idea for the use of the money — 
 details presently. To this letter Will immediately 
 replied at some length. The cheque he paid into 
 his account, which thus reached a total of more 
 than six hundred pounds. 
 
 A few days later, after breakfast as usual, he let 
 his servant clear the table, then said with a peculiar 
 smile. 
 
 " I want to have a little talk with you, Mrs. 
 Hopper. Please sit down." 
 
 To seat herself in her master's presence went 
 against all Mrs. Hopper's ideas of propriety. Seeing 
 her hesitate, Will pointed steadily to a chair, and 
 the good woman, much flurried, placed herself on the 
 edge of it. 
 
 117 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " You have noticed," Warburton resumed, " that 
 I haven't been quite myself lately. There was a 
 good reason for it. I've had a misfortune in busi- 
 ness ; all my plans are changed ; I shall have to 
 begin quite a new life — a different life altogether 
 from that I have led till now." 
 
 Mrs. Hopper seemed to have a sudden pain in the 
 side. She groaned under her breath, staring at the 
 speaker pitifully. 
 
 " There's no need to talk about it, you know, " 
 Will went on with a friendly nod. " I tell you, 
 because I'm thinking of going into a business in 
 which your brother-in-law could help me, if he 
 cares to." 
 
 He paused. Mrs. Hopper kept her wide eyes 
 on him. 
 
 " Allchin'll be very glad to hear of that, sir. 
 What am I saying ? Of course I don't mean he'll 
 be glad you've had misfortune, sir, and I'm that 
 sorry to hear it, I can't tell you. But it does just 
 happen as he's out of work, through that nasty 
 temper of his. Not, " she corrected herself hastily, 
 "as I ought to call him nasty-tempered. With 
 a good employer, I'm sure he'd never get into no 
 trouble at all." 
 
 " Does he still wish to get back into the grocery 
 business ? " 
 
 " He'd be only too glad, sir. But, of course, 
 any place as you offered him " 
 
 " Well, it happens, " said Warburton, " that 
 it is the grocery business I'm thinking about." 
 
 " You, sir ? " gasped Mrs. Hopper. 
 
 " I think I shall take Boxon's shop." 
 
 " You, sir ? Take a grocer's shop ? — You mean, 
 you'd put AUchin in to manage it ? " 
 
 "No, I don't, Mrs. Hopper," replied Will, 
 Il8 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 smiling mechanically. " I have more than my 
 own living to earn ; other people are dependent upon 
 me ; so I must make as much money as possible. I 
 can't afford to pay a manager. I shall go behind 
 the counter myself, and AUchin, if he cares for 
 the place, shall be my assistant." 
 
 The good woman could find no words to express 
 her astonishment. 
 
 " Suppose you have a word with AUchin, and 
 send him to see me this evening ? I say again, 
 there's no need to talk about the thing to anybody 
 else. We'll just keep it quiet between us." 
 
 " You can depend upon me, sir, " declared Mrs. 
 Hopper. " But did you hever ! It's come upon 
 me so sudden like. And what'U AUchin say ! 
 Why, he'U think I'm having a game with 
 him." 
 
 To this point had WUl Warburton brought him- 
 self, urged by conscience and fear. Little by 
 little, since the afternoon when he gazed at Boxon's 
 closed shop, had this purpose grown in his mind, 
 until he saw it as a possibUity — a desirability — 
 a fact. By shopkeeping, he might hope to earn 
 sufficient for supply of the guaranteed income 
 to his mother and sister, and at the same time 
 be no man's servant. His acquaintance with 
 AUchin enabled him to disregard his lack of grocery 
 experience ; with AUchin for an assistant, he would 
 soon overcome initial difficulties. Only to Godfrey 
 Sherwood had he communicated his project. " What 
 difference is there, " he wrote, " between selling 
 sugar from an office in Whitechapel, and seUing it 
 from behind a counter in Fulham Road ? " And 
 Sherwood — who was still reposing in North Wales 
 — wrote a long, affectionate, admiring reply. " You 
 are splendid ! What energy ! What courage ! I 
 
 119 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 could almost say that I don't regret my criminal 
 recklessness, seeing that it has given the occasion 
 for such a magnificent display of character." He 
 added, " Of course it will be only for a short time. 
 Even if the plans I am now working out — details 
 shortly — come to nothing (a very unlikely thing), 
 I am sure to recover my ten thousand pounds in a 
 year or so." — " Of course, " he wrote in a post- 
 script, " I breathe no word of it to any mortal." 
 
 This letter — so are we made — did Warburton 
 good. It strengthened him in carrying through 
 the deception of his relatives and of Mr. Tumbull, 
 for he saw himself as splendide mendax. In Sher- 
 wood's plans and assurances he had no shadow of 
 faith, but Sherwood's admiration was worth having, 
 and it threw a gilding upon the name of grocer. 
 Should he impart the secret to Norbert Franks ? 
 That question he could not decide just yet. In any 
 case, he should tell no one else ; all other acquaint- 
 ances must be content — if they cared to inquire — 
 with vague references to an " agency, " or some- 
 thing of the sort. Neither his mother nor Jane 
 ever came to London ; for them, his change of 
 address to a poorer district would have no signifi- 
 cance. In short, London, being London, it seemed 
 perfectly feasible to pass his life in a grocer's shop 
 .vithout the fact becoming known to any one from 
 whom he wished to conceal it. 
 
 The rent of the shop and house was eighty-five 
 pounds — an increase upon that paid by Boxon. 
 " Plant " was estimated at a hundred and twenty- 
 five ; the stock at one hundred and fifty, and the 
 goodwill at a round hundred. This made a total 
 of four hundred and sixty pounds, leaving War- 
 burton some couple of hundred for aU the expenses 
 of his start. The landlord had consented to do 
 
 130 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 certain repairs, including a repainting of the shop, 
 and this work had already begun. Not a day must 
 be lost. Will knew that the first half-year would 
 decide his fate as a tradesman. Did he come out 
 at the end of six months with sufficient profit to pay 
 a bare three per cent, on the St. Neots money, all 
 would be safe and well. If the balance went 
 against him, why then the whole battle of life was 
 lost, and he might go hide his head in some corner 
 even more obscure. 
 
 Of course he counted largely on the help of 
 Allchin. AUchin, though pig-headed and pug- 
 nacious, had a fair knowledge of the business, to 
 which he had been bred, and of business matters 
 in general always talked shrewdly. Unable, what- 
 ever his own straits, to deal penuriously with any one. 
 Will had thought out a liberal arrangement, whereby 
 all the dwelling part of the house should be given 
 over, rent free, to Allchin and his wife, with per- 
 mission to take one lodger ; the assistant to be 
 paid a small salary, and a percentage on shop 
 takings when they reached a certain sum per 
 month. This proposal, then, he set before the 
 muscular man on his presenting himself this after- 
 noon. AUchin's astonishment at the story he had 
 heard from Mrs. Hopper was not less than that of 
 the woman herself. With difficulty persuaded 
 to sit down, he showed a countenance in which the 
 gloom he thought decorous struggled against 
 jubilation on his own account : and Warburton 
 had not talked long before his listener's features 
 irresistibly expanded in a happy grin. 
 
 " How would something of this kind suit you ? " 
 asked Will. 
 
 " Me, sir ? " AUchin slapped his leg. " You 
 ask how it suits me? " 
 
 121 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 His feelings were too much for him. He grew 
 very red, and could say no more. 
 
 " Then suppose we settle it so. I've written 
 out the terms of your engagement. Read and 
 sign." 
 
 Allchin pretended to read the paper, but obviously 
 paid no attention to it. He seemed to be struggling 
 with some mental obstacle. 
 
 " Something you want to alter ? " asked War- 
 burton. 
 
 " Why, sir, you've altogether forgot as I'm in 
 your debt. It stands to reason as you must take 
 that money out before you begin to pay me any- 
 thing." 
 
 " Oh, we won't say anything more about that 
 trifle. We're making a new beginning. But 
 look here, Allchin, I don't want you to quarrel 
 with me, as you do with every one else " 
 
 " With you, sir ? Ho, ho ! " 
 
 Allchin guffawed, and at once looked ashamed 
 of himself. 
 
 " I quarrel, " he added, " with people as are 
 insulting, or as try to best me. It goes against 
 my nature, sir, to be insulted and to be bested." 
 
 They talked about the details of the business, 
 and presently Allchin asked what name was to 
 be put up over the shop. 
 
 " I've thought of that, " answered Will. " What 
 do you say to — Jollyman ? " 
 
 The assistant was delighted ; he repeated the 
 name a dozen times, snorting and choking with 
 appreciation of the joke. Next morning, they 
 met again, and went together to look at the shop. 
 Here Allchin made great play with his valuable 
 qualities. He pointed out the errors and negli- 
 gencies of the late Boxon, declared it a scandal 
 
 122 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 that a business such as this should have been 
 allowed to fall off, and was full of ingenious ideas 
 for a brUliant opening. Among other forms of 
 inexpensive advertisement, he suggested that, for 
 the first day, a band should be engaged to play 
 in the front room over the shop, with the windows 
 open ; and he undertook to find amateur bandsmen 
 who would undertake the job on very moderate 
 terms. 
 
 Not many days elapsed before the old name had 
 disappeared from the house front, giving place 
 to that of Jollyman. Whilst this was being painted 
 up, AUchin stood on the opposite side of the way, 
 watching delightedly. 
 
 " When I think as the name used to be Boxon," 
 he exclaimed to his employer, " why, I can't believe 
 as any money was ever made here. Boxon ! Why, 
 it was enough to drive customers away ! If you 
 ever heard a worse name, sir, for a shopkeeper, 
 I should be glad to be told of it. But Jollyman ! 
 Why, it'll bring people from Putney, from Battersea, 
 from who knows how far. JoUyman's Teas, JoUy- 
 man's sugar — can't you hear 'em saying it, already ? 
 It's a fortune in itself, that name. Why, sir, if a 
 grocer called Boxon came at this moment, and 
 offered to take me into partnership on half profits, 
 I wouldn't listen to him — there ! " 
 
 Naturally, all this did not pass without many 
 a pang in Warburton's sensitive spots. He had 
 set his face like brass, or tried to do so ; but in the 
 night season he could all but have shed tears of 
 humiliation, as he tossed on his comfortless pillow. 
 The day was spent in visits to wholesale grocery 
 establishments, in study of trade journals, in 
 calculating innumerable petty questions of profit 
 and loss. When nausea threatened him : when an all 
 
 123 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 but horror of what lay before him assailed his mind ; 
 he thought fixedly of The Haws, and made a picture 
 to himself of that peaceful little home devastated by 
 his own fault. And to think that all this sweat and 
 misery arose from the need of gaining less than a 
 couple of hundred pounds a year ! Life at The Haws, 
 a life of refinement and goodness and tranquillity 
 such as can seldom be found, demanded only that — 
 a sum which the wealthy vulgar throw away upon 
 the foolish amusement of an hour. Warburton 
 had a tumultuous mind in reflecting on these things ; 
 but the disturbance was salutary, bearing him 
 through trials of nerve and patience and self-respect 
 which he could not otherwise have endured. 
 
 Warburton had now to find cheap lodgings 
 for himself, unfurnished rooms in some poor quarter 
 not too far from the shop. 
 
 At length, in a new little street of very red brick, 
 not far from Fulham Palace Road at the Hammer- 
 smith end, he came upon a smaU house which 
 exhibited in its parlour window a card inscribed : 
 " Two unfurnished rooms to be let to single gentle- 
 men only." The precision of this notice made him 
 hopeful, and a certain cleanliness of aspect in the 
 woman who opened to him was an added encourage- 
 ment ; but he found negotiations not altogether easy. 
 The landlady, a middle-aged widow, seemed to 
 regard him with some peculiar suspicion ; before even 
 admitting him to the house, she questioned him 
 closely as to his business, his present place of abode, 
 and so on, and Warburton was all but turning away 
 in impatience, when at last she drew aside, and 
 cautiously invited him to enter. Further acquaint- 
 ance with Mrs. Wick led him to understand that 
 the cold, misgiving in her eye, the sour rigidity of 
 her lips, and her generally repellant manner, were 
 
 124 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 characteristics which meant nothing in particular — 
 save as they resulted from a more or less hard life 
 amid London's crowd ; at present, the woman 
 annoyed him, and only the clean freshness of her 
 vacant rooms induced him to take the trouble of 
 coming to teirms with her. 
 
 " There's one thing I must say to you quite 
 plain, to begin with, " remarked Mrs. Wick, whose 
 language, though not disrespectful, had a certain 
 bluntness. " I can't admit female visitors — not 
 on any excuse." 
 
 Speaking thus, she set her face at its rigidest 
 and sourest, and stared past Warburton at the 
 wall. He, unable to repress a smile, declared his 
 perfect readiness to accept this condition of tenancy. 
 " Another thing," pursued the landlady, " is 
 that I don't like late hours." And she eyed him 
 as one might a person caught in flagrant crapulence 
 at one o'clock a.m. 
 
 " Why, neither do I, " Will replied. " But for 
 all that, I may be obliged to come home late now 
 and then." 
 
 " From the theatre, I suppose ? " 
 " I very seldom go to the theatre." (Mrs. Wick 
 looked sanguine for an instant, but at once relapsed 
 into darker suspicion than ever.) " But as to my 
 hour of returning home, I must have entire liberty." 
 The woman meditated, profound gloom on her 
 brows. 
 
 " You haven't told me, " she resumed, shooting 
 a glance of keen distrust, " exactly what your 
 business may be." 
 
 " I am in the sugar line," responded Will. 
 " Sugar ? You wouldn't mind giving me the 
 name of your employers ? " 
 
 The word so rasped on Warburton's sensitive 
 125 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 temper that he seemed about to speak angrily. 
 This the woman observed, and added at once : 
 
 " I don't doubt but that you're quite respectable, 
 sir, but you can understand as I have to be careful 
 who I take into my house." 
 
 " I understand that, but I must ask you to be 
 satisfied with a reference to my present landlord. 
 That, and a month's payment in advance, ought 
 to suffice." 
 
 Evidently it did, for Mrs. Wick, after shooting 
 one or two more of her sharpest looks, declared 
 herself willing to enter into discussion of details. 
 He required attendance, did he ? Well it all 
 depended upon what sort of attendance he expected ; 
 if he wanted cooking at late hours. — Warburton 
 cut short these anticipatory objections, and made 
 known that his wants were few and simple : plain 
 breakfast at eight o'clock, cold supper on the table 
 when he came home, a mid-day meal on Sundays, 
 and the keeping of his rooms in order ; that was all. 
 After morose reflection, Mrs. Wick put her demand 
 for rooms and service at a pound a week, but to 
 this Warburton demurred. It cost him agonies to 
 debate such a matter ; but, as he knew very well, 
 the price was excessive for unfurnished lodgings, 
 and need constrained him. He offered fifteen 
 shillings, and said he would call for Mrs. Wick's 
 decision on the morrow. The landlady allowed 
 him to go to the foot of the stairs, then stopped 
 him. 
 
 " I wouldn't mind taking fifteen shilHngs," 
 she said, " if I knew it was for a permanency." 
 
 " I can't bind myself more than by the month." 
 
 " Would you be willing to leave a deposit ? " 
 
 So the matter was settled, and Warburton ar- 
 ranged to enter into possession that day week. 
 
 126 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Without delay the shop repairs were finished, 
 inside and out ; orders for stock were completed ; 
 in two days — as a great bill on the shutters an- 
 nounced — "Joll5nnan's Grocery Stores" would 
 be open to the public. Allchin pleaded strongly 
 for the engagement of the brass band ; it wouldn't 
 cost much, and the effect would be immense. War- 
 burton shrugged, hesitated, gave way, and the 
 band was engaged. 
 
 127 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 ROSAMUND ELVAN was what ladies call a 
 good correspondent. She wrote often, she 
 wrote at length, and was satisfied with few or brief 
 letters in reply. Scarcely had she been a week at 
 Cairo, when some half dozen sheets of thin paper, 
 covered with her small swift writing, were dis- 
 patched to Bertha Cross, and, thence onwards, 
 about once a fortnight such a letter arrived at 
 Walham Green. Sitting by a fire kept, for economical 
 reasons, as low as possible, with her mother's voice 
 sounding querulously somewhere in the house, and 
 too often a clammy fog at the window. Bertha read 
 of Eg3^tian delights and wonders, set glowingly 
 before her in Rosamund's fluent style. She was 
 glad of the letters, for they manifested a true affec- 
 tion, and were in every way more interesting than 
 any others that she received ; but at times they 
 made the cheerless little house seem more cheerless 
 still, and the pang of contrast between her life and 
 Rosamund's called at such moments for all Bertha's 
 sense of humour to make it endurable. 
 
 Not that Miss Elvan represented herself as happy. 
 In her very first letter she besought Bertha not to 
 suppose that her appreciation of strange and beauti- 
 ful things meant forgetfulness of what must be a 
 lifelong sorrow. " I am often worse than depressed. 
 I sleep very badly, and in the night I often shed 
 wretched tears. Though I did only what conscience 
 
 128 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 compelled me to do, I suffer all the miseries of re- 
 morse. And how can I wish that it should be 
 otherwise ? It is better, surely, to be capable of 
 such suffering, than to go one's way in light-hearted 
 egoism. I'm not sure that I don't sometimes 
 encourage despondency. You can understand that ? 
 I know you can, dear Bertha, for many a time I 
 have detected the deep feeling which lies beneath 
 your joking way." Passages such as this Bertha 
 was careful to omit when reading from the letters 
 to her mother. Mrs. Cross took very little inter- 
 est in her daughter's friend, and regarded the broken 
 engagement with no less disapproval than sur- 
 prise ; but it would have gravely offended her if 
 Bertha had kept this correspondence altogether to 
 herself. 
 
 " I suppose," she remarked, on one such oc- 
 casion, " we shall never again see Mr. Franks." 
 
 " He would find it rather awkward to call, no 
 doubt," replied Bertha. 
 
 " I shall never understand it ! " Mrs. Cross ex- 
 claimed, in a vexed tone, after thinking awhile. 
 " No doubt there's something you keep from me." 
 
 " About Rosamund ? Nothing whatever, I as- 
 sure you, mother." 
 
 " Then you yourself don't know all, that's quite 
 certain." 
 
 Mrs. Cross had made the remark many times, 
 and always with the same satisfaction. Her 
 daughter was content that the discussion should 
 remain at this point ; for the feeling that she had 
 said something at once unpleasant and unanswerable 
 made Mrs. Cross almost good humoured for at least 
 an hour. 
 
 Few were the distressful lady's sources of com- 
 fort, but one sure way of soothing her mind and 
 
 129 I 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 temper, was to suggest some method of saving 
 money, no matter how httle. One day in the win- 
 ter, Bertha passing along the further part of Fulham 
 Road, noticed a new-looking grocer's, the window 
 full of price tickets, some of them very attractive 
 to a housekeeper's eye ; on returning home she 
 spoke of this, mentioning figures which moved her 
 mother to a sour effervescence of delight. The 
 shop was rather too far away for convenience, but 
 that same evening Mrs. Cross went to inspect it, and 
 came back quite flurried with what she had seen. 
 
 " I shall most certainly deal at Jollyman's," 
 she exclaimed. " What a pity we didn't know of 
 him before ! Such a gentlemanly man — indeed, 
 quite a gentleman. I never saw a shopkeeper who 
 behaved so nicely. So different from BiUings — a 
 man I have always thoroughly disliked, and his 
 coffee has been getting worse and worse. Mr. Jolly- 
 man is quite willing to send even the smallest orders. 
 Isn't that nice of him — such a distance ! Billings 
 was quite insolent to me the day before yesterday, 
 when I asked him to send ; yet it was nearly a two- 
 shilling order. Never go into that shop again, 
 Bertha. It's really quite a pleasure to buy of Mr. 
 JoUyman ; he knows how to behave ; I really 
 almost felt as if I was talking to some one of 
 our own class. Without his apron, he must be a 
 thorough gentleman." 
 
 Bertha could not restrain a laugh. 
 
 " How thoughtless of him to wear an apron at 
 all ! " she exclaimed merrily. " Couldn't one 
 suggest to him discreetly, that but for the apron " 
 
 " Don't be ridiculous. Bertha ! " interrupted 
 her mother. " You always make nonsense of what 
 one says. Mr. Joll5anan is a shopkeeper, and it's 
 just because he doesn't forget that, after all, that 
 
 130 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 his behaviour is so good. Do you remember that 
 horrid Stokes, in King's Road ? There was a man 
 who thought himself too good for his business, and 
 in reaUty was nothing but an underbred, impertinent 
 creature. I can hear his ' Yes, Mrs. Cross — no, 
 Mrs. Cross — thank you, Mrs. Cross ' — and once, when 
 I protested against an overcharge, he cried out, 
 ' Oh, my dear Mrs. Cross ! ' The insolence of that 
 man ! Now, Mr. JoUyman " 
 
 It was not long before Bertha had an oppor- 
 tunity of seeing this remarkable shopkeeper, and 
 for once she was able to agree with her mother. 
 Mr. Jollyman bore very little resemblance to the 
 typical grocer, and each visit to his shop strengthened 
 Bertha's suspicion that he had not grown up in 
 this way of life. It cost her some constraint to 
 make a very small purchase of him, paying a few 
 coppers, and still more when she asked him if he 
 had nothing cheaper than this or that ; all the 
 more so that Mr. Jollyman seemed to share her 
 embarrassment, lowering his voice as if involun- 
 tarily, and being careful not to meet her eye. One 
 thing Bertha noticed was that, though the grocer 
 invariable addressed her mother as "madam," in 
 speaking to her he never used the grocerly " miss " ; 
 and when, by chance, she heard him bestow this 
 obj ectionable title upon a servant girl who was making 
 purchases at the same time. Bertha not only felt 
 grateful for the distinction, but saw in it a fresh 
 proof of Mr. JoU5Tnan's good breeding. 
 
 The winter passed, and with the spring came 
 events in which Bertha was interested. Mr. Elvan, 
 who for his health's sake spent the winter in 
 the south-west of France, fell so ill early in the 
 year that Rosamund was summoned from Egypt. 
 With all speed she travelled to St. Jean de Luz. 
 
 131 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 When she arrived, her father was no longer in 
 danger ; but there seemed no hope of his being 
 able to return to England for some months, so 
 Rosamund remained with him and her sister, and 
 was soon writing to her friend at Walham Green in 
 a strain of revived enthusiasm for the coimtry of 
 the Basques. A postscript to one of these letters, 
 written in the middle of May, ran as follows : "I 
 hear that N. F. has a picture in the Academy called 
 ' A Ministering Angel,' and that it promises to be 
 one of the most popular of the year. Have you 
 seen it ? " To this, Rosamund's correspondent 
 was able to reply that she had seen " N.F's " pic- 
 ture, and that it certainly was a good deal talked 
 about ; she added no opinion as to the merits of the 
 painting, and, in her next letter. Miss Elvan left 
 the subject untouched. Bertha was glad of this. 
 " A Ministering Angel " seemed to her by no means 
 a very remarkable production, and she liked much 
 better to say nothing about it than to depreciate 
 the painter ; for to do this would have been like 
 seeking to confirm Rosamund in her attitude 
 towards Norbert Franks, which was not at all 
 Bertha's wish. 
 
 A few weeks later, Rosamund returned to the 
 topic. " N. F's picture," she wrote, " is evidently 
 a great success— and you can imagine how I feel 
 about it. I saw it, you remember, at an early 
 stage, when he called it ' The Slummer,' and you 
 remember too, the effect it had upon me. Oh, 
 Bertha, this is nothing less than a soul's tragedy ! 
 When I think what he used to be, what I hoped of 
 him, what he hoped for himself ! Is it not dread- 
 ful that he should have fallen so low, and in so 
 short a time ! A popular success ! Oh, the shame 
 of it, the bitter shame ! " 
 
 132 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 At this point, the reader's smile threatened 
 laughter. But, feeling sure that her friend, if 
 guilty of affectation, was quite unconscious of it, she 
 composed her face to read gravely on. 
 
 " A soul's tragedy, Bertha, and I the cause of 
 it. One can see now, but too well, what is be- 
 fore him. All his hardships are over, and all his 
 struggles. He will become a popular painter — 
 one of those whose name is familiar to the crowd, 
 like — " instances were cited. " I can say, with 
 all earnestness, that I had rather have seen him 
 starved to death. Poor, poor N. F. ! Something 
 whispers to me that perhaps I was always under 
 an illusion about him. Could he so rapidly sink 
 to this, if he were indeed the man I thought him ? 
 Would he not rather have — oh, have done any- 
 thing ? — Yet this may be only a temptation of my 
 lower self, a way of giving ease to my conscience. 
 Despair may account for his degradation. And 
 when I remember that a word, one word, from me, 
 at the right moment, would have checked him on 
 the dangerous path ! When I saw ' Sanctuary,' why 
 had I not the courage to tell him what I thought ? 
 No, I became the accomplice of his suicide, and I, 
 alone, am the cause of this wretched disaster. — 
 Before long he will be rich. Can you imagine 
 N. F. rich ? I shudder at the thought." 
 
 The paper rustled in Bertha's hand ; her shoul- 
 ders shook ; she could no longer restrain the merry 
 laugh. When she sat down to answer Rosamund, 
 a roguish smile played about her lips. 
 
 " I grieve with you " — thus she began — " over 
 the shocking prospect of N. F.'s becoming rich. 
 Alas ! I fear the thing is past praying for ; I can 
 aU but see the poor young man in a shiny silk hat 
 and an overcoat trimmed with the most expensive 
 
 133 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 fur. His Academy picture is ever5Avhere pro- 
 duced ; a large photogravure will soon be pub- 
 lished ; all day long a crowd stands before it at 
 Burlington House, and his name — shall we ever 
 again dare to speak it ? — is on the lips of casual 
 people in train and 'bus and tram. How shall I 
 write on such a painful subject ? You see that 
 my hand is unsteady. Don't blame yourself too 
 much. The man capable of becoming rich will 
 become so, whatever the noble influences which 
 endeavour to restrain him. I suspect — I feel all 
 but convinced — that N. F. could not help him- 
 self ; the misfortune is that his fatal turn for money- 
 making did not show itself earlier, and so warn 
 you away. I don't know whether I dare send you 
 a paragraph I have cut from yesterday's Echo. 
 Yet I will — it will serve to show you that — as you 
 used to write from Egypt — all this is Kismet." 
 
 The newspaper cutting showed an item of news 
 interesting alike to the fashionable and the artistic 
 world. Mr. Norbert Franks, the young painter 
 whose Academy picture had been so much dis- 
 cussed, was about to paint the portrait of Lady 
 Rockett, recently espoused wife of Sir Samuel Roc- 
 kett, the Australian millionaire. As every one 
 knew, Lady Rockett had made a brilliant figure in 
 the now closing Season, and her image had been 
 in all the society journals. Mr. Franks might be 
 congratulated on this excellent opportunity for 
 the display of his admirable talent as an exponent 
 of female beauty. — " Exponent " was the word. 
 
 134 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 IN these summer days, whilst Norbert Franks 
 was achieving popularity, success in humbler 
 guise came to the humorous and much-enduring 
 artist at Walham Green. For a year or two. Ber- 
 tha Cross had spent what time she could spare 
 upon the illustration of a quaint old story-book, 
 a book which had amused her own childhood, 
 and stUl held its place in her affection. The work 
 was now finished ; she showed it to a publisher 
 of her acquaintance, who at once offered to pur- 
 chase it on what seemed to Bertha excellent terms. 
 Of her own abilities she thought very modestly 
 indeed, and had always been surprised when any 
 one consented to pay — oftener in shillings than 
 in pounds — for work which had cost her an infinity 
 of conscientious trouble ; now, however, she sus- 
 pected that she had done something not altogether 
 bad, and she spoke of it in a letter to Rosamund 
 Elvan, still in the country of the Basques. 
 
 " As you know," Rosamund replied, " I have 
 never doubted that you would make a success 
 one day, for you are wonderfully clever, and only 
 need a little more self-confidence in making your- 
 self known. I wish I could feel anything like so 
 sure of earning money. For I shall have to, that 
 is now certain. Poor father, who gets weaker 
 and weaker, talked to us the other day about what 
 we could expect after his death ; and it will be 
 
 135 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 only just a little sum for each of us, nothing like 
 enough to invest and live upon. I am working 
 at my water-colours, and I have been trying pastel 
 — there's no end of good material here. When the 
 end comes — and it can't be long — I must go to 
 London, and see whether my things have any 
 market value. I don't like the prospect of life 
 in a garret on bread and water — by myself, that 
 is. You know how J05rfuUy, gladly, proudly, I 
 would have accepted it, under other circumstances. 
 If I had real talent myself — but I feel more than 
 doubtful about that. I pray that I may not fall 
 too low. Can I trust you to overwhelm me with 
 scorn, if I seem in danger of doing vulgar 
 work ? " 
 
 Bertha yielded to the temptations of a later 
 summer rich in warmth and hue, and made little 
 excursions by herself into the country, leaving 
 home before her mother was up in the morning, 
 and coming back after sunset. Her sketching 
 materials and a packet of sandwiches were but a 
 light burden ; she was a good walker ; and the 
 shilling or two spent on the railway, which formerly 
 she could not have spared, no longer frightened 
 her. 
 
 In this way, one morning of September, she 
 went by early train as far as Epsom, walked through 
 the streets, and came into that high-banked lane 
 which leads up to the downs. Blackberries shone 
 thick upon the brambles, and above, even to the 
 very tops of the hedge-row trees, climbed the 
 hoary clematis. Glad in this leafy solitude, Bertha 
 rambled slowly on. She made no tmpleasing 
 figure against the rural background, for she was 
 straight and slim, graceful in her movements, and 
 had a face from which no one would have turned 
 
 136 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 indifferently, so bright was it with youthful enjoy- 
 ment and with older thought. 
 
 Whilst thus she lingered, a footstep approached, 
 that of a man who was walking in the same 
 direction. When close to her, this pedestrian stop- 
 ped, and his voice startled Bertha with unexpected 
 greeting. The speaker was Norbert Franks. 
 
 " How glad I am to see you ! " he exclaimed, 
 in a tone and with a look which vouched for his 
 sincerity. " I ought to have been to WaJham 
 Green long ago. Again and again I meant to 
 come. But this is joUy ; I like chance meetings. 
 Are you often down here in Surrey ? " 
 
 With amusement Bertha remarked the evi- 
 dence of prosperity in Franks' dress and bearing ; 
 he had changed notably since the days when he 
 used to come to their little house to talk of Rosa- 
 mund, and was glad of an indifferent cup of tea. 
 He seemed to be in very fair health, his countenance 
 giving no hint of sentimental sorrows. 
 
 Franks noticed a bunch of tinted leafage which 
 she was carrying, and spoke of its beauty. 
 
 " Going to make use of them, no doubt. What 
 are you working at just now ? " 
 
 Bertha told of her recent success with the 
 illustrated story-book, and Franks declared himself 
 delighted. Clearly, he was in the mood to be 
 delighted with ever5d:hing. Between his remarks, 
 which were uttered in the sprightliest tone, he 
 hummed phrases of melody. 
 
 " Your Academy picture was a great success," 
 said Bertha, discreetly watching him as she spoke. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose it was," he answered, with a 
 light-hearted laugh. " Did you see it ? — And 
 what did you think of it ? — No, seriously ; I should 
 like your real opinion. I know you have opinions." 
 
 i37 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " You meant it to be successful," was Bertha's 
 reply. 
 
 " Well, yes, I did. At the same time I think 
 some of the critics — the high and mighty ones, 
 you know — were altogether wrong about it. Per- 
 haps, on the whole, you take their view ? " 
 
 " Oh no, I don't," answered his companion, 
 cheerfully. " I thought the picture very clever, 
 and very true." 
 
 " I'm delighted ! I've always maintained that 
 it was perfectly true. A friend of mine — why, 
 you remember me speaking of Warburton — War- 
 burton wanted me to make the Slummer ugly. 
 But why ? It's just the prettiest girls — of that 
 kind — who go slumming nowadays. Still, you 
 are quite right. I did mean it to be ' successful.' 
 I had to make a success, that's the fact of the 
 matter. You know what bad times I was having. 
 I got sick of it, that's the truth. Then, I owed 
 money, and money that had to be paid back, one 
 way or another. Now I'm out of debt, and see 
 my way to live and work in decent comfort. And I 
 maintain that I've done nothing to be ashamed 
 of." 
 
 Bertha smiled approvingly. 
 
 " I've just finished a portrait — a millionaire's 
 wife, Lady Rockett," went on Franks. " Of 
 course it was my Slummer that got me the job. 
 Women have been raving about that girl's head ; 
 and it isn't bad, though I say it. I had to take a 
 studio at a couple of days' notice — couldn't ask 
 Lady Rockett to come and sit at that place of mine 
 in Battersea ; a shabby hole. She isn't reaUy 
 anything out of the way, as a pretty woman ; but 
 I've made her — well, you'U see it at some exhibi- 
 tion this winter, if you care to. Pleased ? Isn't 
 
 138 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 she pleased ! And her husband, the podgy old 
 millionaire baronet, used to come every day and 
 stare in delight. To tell you the truth, I think 
 it's rather a remarkable bit of painting. I didn't 
 quite know I could turn out anything so chic. I 
 shouldn't be surprised if I make a specialty of 
 women's portraits. How many men can flatter, 
 and still keep a good Mkeness ? That's what I've 
 done. But wait tiU you see the thing." 
 
 Bertha was bubbling over with amusement ; 
 for, whilst the artist talked, she thought of Rosa- 
 mund's farewell entreaty, that she would do her 
 best, if occasion offered, to strengthen Norbert 
 Franks under his affliction, even by depreciatory 
 comment on the faithless girl ; there came into her 
 mind, too, those many passages of Rosamund's 
 letters where Franks was spoken of in terms of 
 profoundest compassion mingled with dark re- 
 morse. Perhaps her smile, which quivered on 
 the verge of laughter, betrayed the nature of her 
 thought. Of a sudden, Franks ceased to talk ; 
 his countenance changed, overcast with melancholy ; 
 and when, after some moments' silence, Bertha again 
 spoke of the landscape, he gave only a dull assent to 
 her words. 
 
 " And it all comes too late," fell from him, 
 presently. "Too late." 
 
 " Your success ? " 
 
 " What's the good of it to me ? " He smote 
 his leg with the rattan he was swinging. " A 
 couple of years ago, money would have meant 
 ever3^hing. Now — ^what do I care about it ! " 
 
 Bertha's surprise obliged her to keep an un- 
 naturally solemn visage. 
 
 " Don't you think it'll grow upon you," she said, 
 ' if you give it time ? " 
 
 139 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Grow upon me ? Why, I'm only afraid it 
 
 may. That's just the danger. To pursue success — 
 vulgar success — when aU the better part has gone 
 
 out of life " 
 
 He ended on a sigh, and again whacked his leg 
 with the stick. 
 
 " But " urged his companion, as though gravely, 
 " isn't it easy not to pursue success ? I mean if it 
 really makes you uncomfortable. There are so 
 many kinds of work in art which would protect 
 you against the perils of riches." 
 
 Franks was watching her as she spoke. 
 " Miss Cross " he said, " I suspect you are satiri- 
 cal. I remember you used to have a turn that 
 way. Well, well, never mind ; I don't expect you 
 to understand me." 
 
 They had passed out of Ashtead Park and were 
 now ascending by the lane which leads up to 
 Epsom Common. 
 
 " I suppose we are both going the same way," 
 said Franks, who had recovered all his cheerful- 
 ness. " There's a train at something after five, 
 if we can catch it. Splendid idea of yours to 
 have a whole day's walking. I don't walk 
 enough. Are you likely to be going again before 
 long ? " 
 
 Bertha replied that she never made plans before- 
 hand. Her mood and the weather decided an 
 excursion 
 
 " Of course. That's the only way. Well, if 
 you'll let me, I must come to Walham Green, one 
 of these days. How's Mrs. Cross ? I ought to 
 have asked before, but I never do the right thing. — 
 Have you any particular day for being at home ? — 
 All right. If you had had, I should have asked you 
 to let me come on some other. I don't care much, 
 
 140 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 you know, for general society ; and ten to one, 
 when I do come I shall be rather gloomy. Old 
 memories, you know. — ReaUy very jolly, this 
 meeting with you. I should have done the walk to 
 Epsom just as a constitutional, without enjoying 
 it a bit. As it is " 
 
 141 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 IT was a week or two after the day in Surrey, 
 that Bertha Cross, needing a small wooden box 
 in which to pack a present for her brothers in 
 British Columbia, bethought herself of Mr. JoUyman. 
 The amiable grocer could probably supply her 
 want, and she went off to the shop. There the 
 assistant and an errand boy were unloading goods 
 just arrived by cart, and behind the counter, reading 
 a newspaper — for it was early in the morning — 
 stood Mr. Jollyman himself. Seeing the young 
 lady enter, he smiled and bowed ; not at all with 
 tradesmanlike emphasis, but rather, it seemed to 
 Bertha, like a man tired and absent-minded, per- 
 forming a civility in the well-bred way. The 
 newspaper thrown aside, he stood with headljent 
 and eyes cast down, listening to her request. 
 
 " I think I have something that will do very 
 well," he replied. " Excuse me for a moment." 
 
 From regions behind the shop, he produced a 
 serviceable box just of the right dimensions. 
 
 " It will do ? Then you shall have it in about 
 half an hour." 
 
 " I'm ashamed to trouble you," said Bertha 
 " I could carry it " 
 
 "On no account. The boy will be free in a few 
 minutes." 
 
 " And I owe you — ? " asked Bertha, purse in 
 hand. 
 
 142 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " The box has no value," replied Mr. JoUjmian, 
 with that smile, suggestive of latent humour, 
 which always caused her to smile responsively. 
 " And at the same time," he continued, a peculiar 
 twinkle in his eyes, " I will ask you to accept one 
 of these packets of chocolate. I am giving one 
 to-day to every customer — to celebrate the anniver- 
 sary of my opening shop." 
 
 " Thank you very much," said Bertha. And, 
 on an impulse, she added : "I will put it with 
 what I am sending in the box — a present for two 
 brothers of mine who are a long way off, in Canada." 
 
 His hands upon the counter, his body bent for- 
 ward, Mr. Joll5anan looked her for a moment in 
 the face. A crease appeared on his forehead, as 
 he said slowly and dreamily : 
 
 " Canada ? Do they like their life out there ? " 
 
 " They seem to enjoy it, on the whole. But 
 it evidently isn't an easy life." 
 
 " Not many kinds of life are." rejoined the 
 grocer. " But the open air — the liberty " 
 
 " Oh yes, that must be the good side of it," 
 assented Bertha. 
 
 " On a morning like this " 
 
 Mr. JoUyman's eyes wandered to a gleam of 
 sunny sky visible through the shop window. The 
 girl's glance passed quickly over his features, and 
 she was on the point of saying something ; but 
 discretion interposed. Instead of the too personal 
 remark, she repeated her thanks, bent her head 
 with perhaps a little more than the wonted gracious- 
 ness, and left the shop. 
 
 The grocer stood looking toward the doorway. 
 His countenance had fallen. Something of bitter- 
 ness showed in the hardness of his lips. 
 
 143 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 JUST a year since the day when AUchin's band 
 played at the first floor windows above 
 Jollyman's new grocery stores. 
 
 From the very beginning, business promised 
 well. He and his assistant had plenty of work ; 
 there was little time for meditation ; when not 
 serving customers, he was busy with practical 
 details of grocerdom, often such as he had not 
 foreseen, matters which called for aU his energy 
 and ingenuity. A gratifying aspect of the life 
 was that, day by day, he handled his returns in 
 solid cash. Jollyman's gave no credit ; all goods 
 had to be paid for on purchase or delivery ; and 
 to turn out the till when the shop had closed — to 
 make piles of silver and mountains of copper, with 
 a few pieces of gold beside them — put a cheering 
 end to the day's labour. Warburton found himself 
 clinking handfuls of coin, pleased with the sound. 
 Only at the end of the first three months, the close 
 of the year, did he perceive that much less than he 
 had hoped of the cash taken could be reckoned as 
 clear profit. He had much to learn in the cunning 
 of retail trade, and it was a kind of study that 
 went sorely against the grain with him. HappUy, 
 at Christmas time came Norbert Franks (whom 
 Will had decided not to take into his confidence) 
 and paid his debt of a hundred and twenty pounds. 
 This set things right for the moment. WiU was 
 
 144 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 able to pay a three-and-a-half per cent, dividend 
 to his mother and sister, and to fare ahead hopefully. 
 
 He would rather not have gone down to The 
 Haws that Christmastide, but feared that his failure 
 to do so might seem strange. The needful pre- 
 varication cost him so many pangs that he came 
 very near to confessing the truth ; he probably would 
 have done so, had not his mother been ailing, and, 
 it seemed to him, little able to bear the shock of 
 such a disclosure. So the honest deception went 
 on. WiU was supposed to be managing a London 
 branch of the Applegarth business. Great expen- 
 diture on advertising had to account for the smaJl- 
 ness of the dividend at first. No one less likely 
 than the ladies at The Haws to make trouble in 
 such a matter. They had what suf&ced to them, 
 and were content with it. Thinking over this in 
 shame-faced sohtude, Warburton felt a glow of 
 proud thankfulness that his mother and sister were 
 so unlike the vulgar average of mankind — that 
 rapacious multitude, whom nothing animates but a 
 chance of gain, with whom nothing weighs but a 
 commercial argument. A new tenderness stirred 
 within him, and resolutely he stamped under foot 
 the impulses of self-esteem, of self-indulgence, 
 which made his life hard to bear. 
 
 It was with a hard satisfaction that he returned 
 to the shop, and found aU going on in the usual way, 
 AUchin grinning a hearty welcome as he weighed 
 out sugar. WUl's sister talked of the scents of 
 her garden, how they refreshed and inspirited her ; 
 to him, the odour of the shop — new-roasted coffee 
 predominated to-day — had its invigorating effect ; 
 it meant money, and money meant life, the peaceful, 
 fruitful life of those dear to him. He scarcely gave 
 himself time to eat dinner, laid for him, as usual, 
 
 145 K 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 by Mrs. AUchin, in the sitting-room behind the shop ; 
 so eager was he to get on his apron, and return to 
 profitable labour. 
 
 At first, he had endured a good deal of physical 
 fatigue. Standing for so many hours a day wearied 
 him much more than walking would have done, 
 and with bodily exhaustion came at times a lowness 
 of spirits such as he had never felt. His resource 
 against this misery was conversation with Allchin. 
 In Allchin he had a henchman whose sturdy opti- 
 mism and gross common sense were of the utmost 
 value. The brawny assistant, having speedily 
 found a lodger according to the agreement, saw 
 himself in clover, and determined that, if he could 
 help it, his fortunes should never again suffer eclipse. 
 He and his wife felt a reasonable gratitude to the 
 founder of their prosperity — whom, by the bye, 
 they invariably spoke of as " Mr. Joll5anan " — and 
 did their best to smooth for him the unfamiliar path 
 he was treading. 
 
 The success with which Warburton kept his 
 secret, merely proved how solitary most men are 
 amid the crowds of London, and how easy it is for a 
 Londoner to disappear from among his acquaint- 
 ances whilst continuing to live openly amid the city's 
 roar. No one of those who cared enough about 
 him to learn that he had fallen on ill-luck harboured 
 the slightest suspicion of what he was doing ; he 
 simply dropped out of sight, except for the two or 
 three who, in a real sense of the word, could be called 
 his friends. The Pomfrets, whom he went to see at 
 very long intervals, supposed him to have some sort 
 of ofhce employment, and saw nothing in his demean- 
 our to make them anxious about him. As for 
 Norbert Franks, why, he was very busy, and came 
 not oftener than once a month to his friend's obscure 
 
 146 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 lodgings ; he asked no intrusive questions, and, 
 like the Pomfrets, could only suppose that War- 
 burton had found a clerkship somewhere. They 
 were not quite on the old terms, for each had gone 
 through a crisis of life, and was not altogether the 
 same as before ; but their mutual liking subsisted. 
 Obliged to retrench his hospitality, Warburton 
 never seemed altogether at his ease when Franks 
 was in his room ; nor could he overcome what seemed 
 to him the shame of having asked pa3mient of a debt 
 from a needy friend, notwithstanding the fact, 
 loudly declared by Franks himself, that nothing 
 could have been more beneficial to the debtor's 
 moral health. So Will listened rather than talked, 
 and was sometimes too obviously in no mood for 
 any sort of converse. 
 
 Sherwood he had not seen since the disastrous 
 optimist's flight into Wales ; nor had there come 
 any remittance from him since the cheque for a 
 hundred pounds. Two or three times, however, 
 Godfrey had written — thoroughly characteristic 
 letters — warm, sanguine, self-reproachful. From 
 Wales he had crossed over to Ireland, where he was 
 working at a scheme for making a fortune out of 
 Irish eggs and poultry. In what the " work " 
 consisted, was not clear, for he had no money, 
 beyond a small loan from his relative which enabled 
 him to live ; but he sent a sheet of foolscap covered 
 with computations whereby his project was proved 
 to be thoroughly practical and vastly lucrative. 
 
 Meanwhile, he had made one new acquaintance, 
 which was at first merely a source of amusement 
 to him, but little by little became something more. 
 In the winter days, when his business was new, 
 there one day came into the shop a rather sour- 
 lipped and querulous-voiced lady, who after much 
 
 147 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 discussion of prices, made a modest purchase and 
 asked that the goods might be sent for her. On 
 hearing her name — Mrs. Cross — the grocer smiled, 
 for he remembered that the Crosses of whom he 
 knew from Norbert Franks, Hved at Walham Green, 
 and the artist's description of Mrs. Cross tallied very 
 well with the aspect and manner of this customer. 
 Once or twice the lady returned ; then, on a day of 
 very bad weather, there came in her place a much 
 younger and decidedly more pleasing person, whom 
 Will took to be Mrs. Cross's daughter. Facial 
 resemblance there was none discoverable ; in bearing, 
 in look, in tone, the two were different as women 
 could be ; but at the younger lady's second visit, 
 his surmise was confirmed, for she begged him to 
 change a five-pound note, and, as the custom is in 
 London shops, endorsed it with her name — " Bertha 
 Cross." Franks had never spoken much of Miss 
 Cross ; " rather a nice sort of girl, " was as far as 
 his appreciation went. And with this judgment 
 Will at once agreed ; before long, he would have 
 inclined to be more express in his good opinion. 
 Before summer came, he found himself looking for- 
 ward to the girl's appearance in the shop, with a 
 sense of disappointment when — as generally hap- 
 pened — Mrs. Cross came in person. The charm of 
 the young face lay for him in its ever-present sug- 
 gestion of a roguishly winsome smile, which made 
 it difficult not to watch too intently the play of her 
 eyes and lips. Then, her way of speaking, which 
 was altogether her own. It infused with a humorous 
 possibility the driest, most matter-of-fact re- 
 marks, and Will had to guard himself against the 
 temptation to reply in a corresponding note. 
 
 " I suppose you see no more of those people — 
 what's their name — the Crosses ? " he let fall, as 
 
 148 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 if casually, one evening when Franks had come to 
 see him " 
 
 " Lost sight of them altogether," was the reply. 
 " Why do you ask ? " 
 
 " I happened to think of them," said Will ; and 
 turned to another subject. 
 
 149 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 WAS he to be a grocer for the rest of his life ? 
 — This question, which at first scarcely 
 occurred to him, absorbed as he was in the problem 
 of money-earning for immediate needs, at length 
 began to press and worry. Of course he had meant 
 nothing of the kind ; his imagination had seen in the 
 shop a temporary expedient ; he had not troubled 
 to pursue the ultimate probabilities of the life that 
 lay before him, but contented himself with the 
 vague assurance of his hopeful temper. Yet where 
 was the way out ? To save money, to accumulate 
 sufficient capital for his release, was an impossibility, 
 at all events within any reasonable time. And for 
 what windfall could he look ? Sherwood's ten 
 thousand pounds hovered in his memory, but no 
 more substantial than any fairy-tale. No man living, 
 it seemed to him, had less chance of being signally 
 favoured by fortune. He had donned his apron 
 and aproned he must remain. 
 
 Suppose, then, he so far succeeded in his business 
 as to make a little more than the household at St. 
 Neots required ; suppose it became practicable to — 
 well, say, to think of marriage, of course on the most 
 modest basis ; could he quite see himself offering 
 to the girl he chose the hand and heart of a grocer ? 
 He laughed. It was well to laugh ; merriment is 
 the great digestive, and an unspeakable boon to 
 the man capable of it in all but every situation ; 
 
 150 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 but what if she also laughed, and not in the sjnnpa- 
 thetic way ? Worse still, what if she could not 
 laugh, but looked wretchedly embarrassed, con- 
 fused, shamed ? That would be a crisis it needed 
 some philosophy to contemplate. 
 
 For the present, common sense made it rigorously 
 plain to him that the less he thought of these things, 
 the better. He had not a penny to spare. Only 
 by exercising an economy which in the old days 
 would have appalled him, could he send his mother 
 and sister an annual sum just sufficient to their needs. 
 He who scorned and loathed all kinds of parsimony 
 had learnt to cut down his expenditure at every 
 possible point. He still smoked his pipe ; he 
 bought newspapers ; he granted himself an excur- 
 sion, of the cheapest, on fine Sundays ; but these 
 surely were necessities of life. In food and clothing 
 and the common expenses of a civilised man, he 
 pinched remorselessly ; there was no choice. His 
 lodgings cost him very little ; but Mrs. Wick, 
 whose profound suspiciousness was allied with 
 imperfect honesty, now and then made paltry 
 overcharges in her bill, and he was angry with himself 
 for his want of courage to resist them. It meant only 
 a shilling or two, but retail trade had taught him the 
 importance of shillings. He had to remind himself 
 that, if he was poor, his landlady was poorer still, 
 and that in cheating him she did but foUow the 
 traditions of her class. To debate an excess of 
 sixpence for paraffin, of ninepence for bacon, would 
 have made him flush and grind his teeth for hours 
 afterwards ; but he noticed the effect upon himself 
 of the new habit of niggardliness — ^how it disposed 
 him to acerbity of temper. No matter how pure the 
 motive, a man cannot devote his days to squeezing 
 out pecuniary profits without some moral detriment. 
 
 151 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Formerly this woman, Mrs. Wick, with her gimlet 
 eyes, and her leech lips, with her spjdngs and eaves- 
 droppings, with her sour civility, her stinted dis- 
 charge of obligations, her pilferings and mendacities, 
 would have rather amused than annoyed him. 
 " Poor creature, isn't it a miserable as well as a 
 sordid life. Let her have her pickings, however 
 illegitimate, and much good may they do her." 
 Now he too often found himself regarding her with 
 something like animosity, whereby, to be sure, he 
 brought himself to the woman's level. Was it not 
 a struggle between him and her for a share of life's 
 poorest comforts ? When he looked at it in that 
 light, his cheeks were hot. 
 
 A tradesman must harden himself. Why, in 
 the early months, it cost him a wrench somewhere 
 to take coppers at the counter from very poor folk 
 who perhaps made up the odd halfpenny in farthings, 
 and looked at the coins reluctantly as they laid them 
 down. More than once, he said, " Oh never mind 
 the ha'penny," and was met with a look — not of 
 gratitude but of blank amazement. Allchin hap- 
 pened to be a witness of one such incident, and, in 
 the first moment of privacy, ventured a respectful 
 yet a most energetic, protest. " It's the kindness 
 of your 'eart, sir, and if anybody knows how much 
 of that you have, I'm sure it's me, and I ought to 
 be the last to find fault with it. But that'll never 
 do behind the counter, sir, never ! Why, just 
 think. The profit on what that woman bought was 
 just three farthings." He detailed the computation. 
 " And there you've been and given her a whole 
 ha'penny, so that you've only one blessed farthing 
 over on the whole transaction ! That ain't business, 
 sir ; that's charity ; and Joll}mian's ain't a chari- 
 table institution. You really must not, sir. It's 
 
 T52 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 unjust to yourself." And Will, with an uneasy shrug, 
 admitted his folly. But he was ashamed to the core. 
 Only in the second half-year did he reaUy accustom 
 himself to disregard a customer's poverty. He had 
 thought the thing out, faced aU its most sordid 
 aspects. Yes, he was fighting with these people 
 for daily bread ; he and his could live only if his 
 three farthings of profit were plucked out of that 
 toil-worn hand of charwoman or sempstress. Accept 
 the necessity, and think no more of it. He was a 
 man behind the counter ; he saw face to face the 
 people who supported him. With this exception 
 had not things been just the same when he sat 
 in the counting-house at the sugar refinery ? It 
 was an unpleasant truth, which appearances had 
 formerly veiled from him. 
 
 With the beginning of his second winter came 
 a new anxiety, a new source of bitter and degrading 
 reflections. At not more than five minutes' walk 
 away, another grocer started business ; happily 
 no great capitalist, but to all appearances a man 
 of enterprise who knew what he was about. 
 Morning and evening, Warburton passed the new 
 shop and felt his very soul turn sour in the thought 
 that he must do what in him lay to prevent that 
 man from gaining custom ; if he could make his 
 business a failure, destroy all his hopes, so much 
 the better. With AUchin, he held long and eager 
 conferences. The robust assistant was of course 
 troubled by no scruples ; he warmed to the combat, 
 chuckled over each good idea for the enemy's defeat ; 
 every nerve must be strained for the great Christmas 
 engagement ; as much money as possible must be 
 spent in making a brave show. And it was only 
 by pausing every now and then to remember why 
 he stood here, in what cause he was so ^debasing 
 
 153 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 the manner of his hfe, that Warburton could find 
 strength to go through such a trial of body and of 
 spirit. When, the Christmas fight well over, with 
 manifest triumph on his side he went down for 
 a couple of days to St. Neots, once more he had his 
 reward. But the struggle was telling upon his health ; 
 it showed in his face, in his bearing. Mother and 
 sister spoke uneasily of a change they noticed ; 
 surely he was working too hard ; what did he mean 
 by taking no summer holiday ? Will laughed. 
 
 " Business, business ! A good deal to do at first, 
 you know. Things'll be smoother next year." 
 
 And the comfort, the quiet, the simple content- 
 ment of that little house by the Ouse, sent him back 
 to Fulham Road, once more resigned, courage- 
 ous. 
 
 Naturally, he sometimes contrasted his own 
 sordid existence with the unforeseen success which 
 had made such changes in the life of Norbert Franks. 
 It was more than three months since he and Franks 
 had met, when, one day early in January, he received 
 a note from the artist. " What has become of you ? 
 I haven't had a chance of getting your way — work 
 and social foolery. Could you come and lunch 
 with me here, on Sunday, alone, like the old days ? 
 I have a portrait to show you." So on Sunday, 
 Warburton went to his friend's new studio, which 
 was in the Holland Park region. Formerly it was 
 always he who played the host, and he did not like 
 this change of positions ; but Franks, however 
 sensible of his good luck, and inclined at times to take 
 himself rather seriously, had no touch of the snob 
 in his temper ; when with him, Will generally lost 
 sight of unpleasant things in good-natured amuse- 
 ment. To-day, however, grocerdom lay heavily 
 on his soul. On the return journey from St. Neots 
 
 154 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 he had caught a cold, and a week of sore throat 
 behind the counter — a week too, of quarrel with a 
 wholesale house which had been cheating him — left 
 his nerves in a bad state. For reply to the artist's 
 cordial greeting he could only growl inarticulately. 
 
 " Out of sorts ? " asked the other, as they entered 
 the large well-warmed studio "You look rather 
 bad." 
 
 " Leave me alone," muttered Warburton. 
 
 " All right. Sit down here and thaw yourself." 
 
 But Will's eye had fallen on a great canvas, 
 showing the portrait of a brilliant lady who reclined 
 at ease and caressed the head of a great deer-hound. 
 He went and stood before it. 
 
 "Who's that ? " 
 
 " Lady Caroline — I told you about her — don't 
 you think it's rather good ? " 
 
 " Yes. And for that very reason I'm afraid it's 
 bad." 
 
 The artist laughed. 
 
 " That's good satire on the critics. When any- 
 thing strikes them as good — by a new man, that is — 
 they're ashamed to say so, just because they never 
 dare trust their own judgment. — But it is good, 
 Warburton ; uncommonly good. If there's a weak 
 point, it's doggy ; I can't come the Landseer. 
 Still, you can see it's meant for a doggy, eh ? " 
 
 " I guessed it," replied Will, warming his hands. 
 
 " Lady Caroline is superb," went on Franks, 
 standing before the canvas, head aside and hands 
 in his pocket. " This is my specialty, old boy — 
 lovely woman made yet lovelier, without loss of 
 likeness. She'll be the fury of the next Academy. — 
 See that something in the eyes, Warburton ? Don't 
 know how to call it. My enemies call it claptrap. 
 But they can't do the trick, my boy, they can't 
 
 155 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 do it. They'd give the end of their noses if they 
 could." 
 
 He laughed gaily, bojdshly. How well he was 
 looking ! Warburton, having glanced at him, 
 smiled with a surly kindness. 
 
 " All your doing, you know," pursued Franks, 
 who had caught the look and the smile. " You've 
 made me. But for you I should have gone to the 
 devil. I was saying so yesterday to the Crosses." 
 
 " The Crosses ? " 
 
 Wni had sharply turned his head, with a curious 
 surprise. 
 
 " Don't you remember the Crosses ? " said Franks, 
 smiling with a certain embarrassment, " Rosamund's 
 friends at Walham Green. I met them by chance 
 not long ago, and they wanted me to go and see 
 them. The old lady's a bore, but she can be agree- 
 able when she likes ; the girl's rather clever — does 
 pictures for children's books, you know. She seems 
 to be getting on better lately. But they are wretch- 
 edly poor. I was saying to them — oh, but that 
 reminds me of something else. You haven't seen 
 the Pomfrets lately ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then you don't know that Mr. Elvan's dead ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " He died a month ago, over there in the South 
 of France. Rosamund has gone back to Egypt, 
 to stay with that friend of hers at Cairo. Mis. 
 Pomfret hints to me that the girls will have to 
 find a way of earning their living ; Elvan has left 
 practically nothing. I wonder whether " 
 
 He smiled and broke off. 
 
 " Whether what ? " asked the listener. 
 
 " Oh, nothing. What's the time ? " 
 
 " Whether what ? " repeated Warburton, savagely. 
 156 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Well — whether Rosamund doesn't a little 
 regret ? " 
 
 " Do you ? " asked Will, without looking round. 
 
 " I ? Not for a moment, my dear boy ! She 
 did me the greatest possible kindness — only you 
 even did me a greater. At this moment I should 
 have been cursing and smoking cheap tobacco in 
 Battersea — unless I had got sick of it all and done 
 the hie jacet business, a strong probability. Never 
 did a girl behave more sensibly. Some day I hope 
 to tell her so ; of course when she has married 
 somebody else. Then I'll paint her portrait, and 
 make her the envy of a season — ^by Jove, I will ! 
 Splendid subject, she'd be. . . . When I think 
 of that beastly so-called portrait that I put my foot 
 through, the day I was in hell ! Queer how one 
 develops all at a jump. Two years ago I could no 
 more paint a woman's portrait than I could build 
 a cathedral. I caught the trick in the Slummer, 
 but didn't see all it meant till Blackstaffe asked me 
 to paint Lady Rockett. — Rosamund ought to have 
 given me the sack when she saw that daub, meant 
 for her. Good little girl ; she held as long as she 
 could. Oh, I'll paint her divinely, one of these 
 days." 
 
 The soft humming of a gong summoned them 
 to another room, where lunch was ready. Never 
 had Warburton showed such lack of genial humour 
 at his friend's table. He ate mechanically, and 
 spoke hardly at all. Little by little, Franks felt 
 the depressing effect of this companionship. When 
 they returned to the studio, to smoke by the fireside, 
 only a casual word broke the cheerless silence. 
 
 " I oughtn't to have come to-day," said Will, 
 at length, half apologetically. " I feel like a bear 
 with a sore head. I think I'm going." 
 
 157 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Shall I come and see you some evening ? " 
 asked the other in his friendliest tone. 
 
 " No — I mean not just yet. — I'll write and ask 
 you." 
 
 And Will went out into the frosty gloom. 
 
 158 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 BY way of AUchin, who knew all the gossip 
 of the neighbourhood, Warburton learnt that 
 his new competitor in trade was a man with five 
 children and a wife given to drink ; he had been in 
 business in another part of London, and was sus- 
 pected to have removed with the hope that new 
 surroundings might help his wife to overcome her 
 disastrous failing. A very respectable man, people 
 said ; kind husband, good father, honest dealer. 
 But Allchin reported, with a twinkle of the eye, 
 that aU his capital had gone in the new start, and 
 it was already clear that his business did not thrive. 
 
 " We shall starve him out ! " cried the assistant, 
 snapping his thumb and finger. 
 
 " And what'U become of him then ? " asked WUl. 
 
 " Oh, that's for him to think about, " replied 
 Allchin. " Wouldn't he starve us, if he could, sir ? " 
 
 And Warburton, brooding on this matter, stood 
 appalled at the ferocity of the struggle amid which 
 he lived, in which he had his part. Gone was all 
 his old enjoyment of the streets of London. In 
 looking back upon his mood of that earlier day, 
 he saw himself as an incredibly ignorant and care- 
 less man ; marvelled at the lightness of heart which 
 had enabled him to find amusement in rambling 
 over this vast slaughter-strewn field of battle. 
 Picturesque, forsooth ! Where was its picturesque- 
 ness for that struggling, soon-to-be-defeated 
 
 159 
 
WILL WARBURtON 
 
 tradesman, with his tipsy wife, and band of children 
 who looked to him for bread ? " And I myself am 
 crushing the man — as surely as if I had my hand 
 on his gullet and my knee on his chest ! Crush 
 him I must ; otherwise, what becomes of that 
 little home down at St. Neots — dear to me as his 
 children are to him. There's no room for both 
 of us ; he has come too near ; he must pay the 
 penalty of his miscalculation. Is there not the 
 workhouse for such people ? " And WUl went 
 about repeating to himself. " There's the work- 
 house — don't I pay poor-rates ? — the workhouse 
 is an admirable institution." 
 
 He lay awake many an hour of these winter 
 nights, seeing in vision his own life and the life of 
 man. He remembered the ofhce in Little Ailie 
 Street ; saw himself and Godfrey Sherwood sitting 
 together, talking, laughing, making a jest of their 
 effort to support a doomed house. Godfrey used 
 to repeat legends, sagas, stories of travel, as though 
 existence had not a care, or the possibility of one ; 
 and he, in turn, talked about some bit of London 
 he had been exploring, showed an old map he had 
 picked up, an old volume of London topography. 
 The while, world-wide forces, the hunger-struggle 
 of nations, were shaking the roof above their heads. 
 Theoretically they knew it. But they could escape 
 in time ; they had a cosy little comer preserved 
 for themselves, safe from these pestilent worries. 
 Fate has a grudge against the foolishly secure. If 
 he laughed now, it was in self-mockery. 
 
 The night of London, always rife with mysterious 
 sounds, spoke dreadfully to his straining ear. He 
 heard voices near and far, cries of pain or of misery, 
 shouts savage or bestial ; over and through all, 
 that low, far-off rumble or roar, which never for a 
 
 1 60 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 moment ceases, the groan, as it seemed, of suffering 
 multitudes. There tripped before his dreaming 
 eyes a procession from the world of wealth and 
 pleasure, and the amazement with which he viewed 
 it changed of a sudden to fiery wrath ; he tossed 
 upon the bed, uttered his rage in a loud exclamation, 
 felt his heart pierced with misery which brought 
 him all but to tears. Close upon astonishment and 
 indignation followed dread. Given health and 
 strength, he might perhaps continue to hold his own 
 in this merciless conflict ; perhaps, only ; but what 
 if some accident, such as befalls this man or that 
 in every moment of time, threw him among the 
 weaklings ? He saw his mother, in her age and 
 ill-health, reduced to the pittance of the poorest ; 
 his sister going forth to earn her living ; himself, a 
 helpless burden upon both. — Nay, was there not 
 rat-poison to be purchased ? 
 
 How — he cried within himself — how, in the name 
 of sense and mercy, is mankind content to live on 
 in such a world as this ? By what devil are 
 they hunted, that, not only do they neglect the 
 means of solace suggested to every humane and 
 rational mind, but, the vast majority of them spend 
 all their strength and ingenuity in embitter- 
 ing the common lot ? Overwhelmed by the hateful 
 unreason of it aU, he felt as though his brain reeled 
 on the verge of madness. 
 
 Every day, and all the day long, the shop, the 
 counter. Had he chosen, he might have taken 
 a half-holiday, now and then ; on certain days 
 AUchin was quite able, and abundantly willing, 
 to manage alone ; but what was the use ? To go to 
 a distance was merely to see with more distinctness 
 the squalor of his position. Never for a moment 
 was he tempted to abandon this work ; he saw no 
 
 l6l L 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 hope whatever of earning money in any other way, 
 and money he must needs earn, as long as he Uved. 
 But the life weighed upon him with a burden such 
 as he had never imagined. Never had he understood 
 before what was meant by the sickening weariness 
 of routine ; his fretfulness as a youth in the West 
 Indies seemed to him now inconceivable. His own 
 master ? Why, he was the slave of every kitchen 
 wench who came into the shop to spend a penny ; 
 he trembled at the thought of failing to please her, 
 and so losing her custom. The grocery odours, 
 once pleasant to him, had grown nauseating. 
 And the ever repeated tasks, the weighing, parcel 
 making, string cutting ; the parrot phrases a thou- 
 sand times repeated ; the idiot bowing and smiling — 
 how these things gnawed at his nerves, till he 
 quivered like a beaten horse. He tried to console 
 himself by thinking that things were now at the 
 worst ; that he was subduing himself, and would 
 soon reach a happy, dull indifference ; but in truth 
 it was with fear that he looked forward — fear of 
 unknown possibilities in himself ; fear that he 
 might sink yet more wretchedly in his own esteem. 
 For the worst part of his suffering was self-scorn. 
 When he embarked upon this strange enterprise, 
 he knew, or thought he knew, all the trials to which 
 he would be exposed, and not slight would have 
 been his indignation had any one ventured to hint 
 that his character might prove unequal to the test. 
 Sherwood's letter had pleased him so much, precisely 
 because it praised his resolve as courageous, manly. 
 On manliness of spirit. Will had always piqued him- 
 self ; it was his pride that he carried a heart equal 
 to any lot imposed upon him by duty. Yet little 
 more than a twelvemonth of shopkeeping had so 
 undermined his pluck, enfeebled his temper, that 
 
 162 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 he could not regard himself in the glass without 
 shame. He tried to explain it by failure of health. 
 Assuredly his physical state had for months been 
 declining and the bad cold from which he had 
 recently suffered seemed to complete his moral 
 downfall. In this piercing and gloom-wrapped 
 month of February, coward thoughts continually 
 beset him. In his cold lodgings, in the cold streets, 
 in the draughts of the shop, he felt soul and body 
 shrink together, till he became as the meanest of 
 starveling hucksters. 
 
 Then something happened, which rescued him 
 for awhile from this haunting self. One night, 
 just at closing time — a night of wild wind and 
 driven rain — Mrs. Hopper came rushing into the 
 shop, her face a tale of woe. Warburton learnt 
 that her sister " Liza, " the ailing girl whom he 
 had befriended in his comfortable days, had been 
 seized with lung hemorrhage, and lay in a lamentable 
 state ; the help of Mrs. AUchin was called for, and 
 any other that might be forthcoming. Two years 
 ago Will would have responded to such an appeal 
 as this with lavish generosity ; now, though the 
 impulse of compassion blinded him for a moment 
 to his changed circumstances, he soom remembered 
 that his charity must be that of a poor man, of a 
 debtor. He paid for a cab, that the two women 
 might speed to their sister through the stormy 
 night as quickly as possible, and he promised to 
 think of what could be done for the invalid — with 
 the result that he lost a night's sleep in calculating 
 what sum he might spare. On the morrow came 
 the news he had expected ; the doctor suggested 
 Brompton Hospital, if admission could be obtained ; 
 home treatment at this time of the year, and in 
 the patient's circumstances, was not likely to be of 
 
 163 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 any good. Warburton took the matter in hand, 
 went about making inquiries, found that there 
 must necessarily be delay. Right or wrong, he put 
 his hand in his pocket, and Mrs. Hopper was enabled 
 to nurse her sister in a way otherwise impossible. 
 He visited the sick-room, and for half an hour 
 managed to talk as of old, in the note of gallant 
 sympathy and encouragement. Let there be no 
 stint of fire, of food, of anything the doctor might 
 advise. Meanwhile, he would ask about other 
 hospitals — do everything in his power. As indeed 
 he did, with the result that in a fortnight's time, 
 the sufferer was admitted to an institution to which, 
 for the nonce, Warburton had become a subscriber. 
 
 He saw her doctor. " Not much chance, I'm 
 afraid. Of course, if she were able to change 
 climate — that kind of thing. But, under the cir- 
 cumstances ' ' 
 
 And through a whole Sunday morning Will 
 paced about his little sitting-room, not caring to 
 go forth, nor caring to read, caring for nothing at 
 all in a world so full of needless misery. " Of 
 course, if she were able to change climate — " Yes, 
 the accident of possessing money ; a life to depend 
 upon that ! In another station — though, as likely 
 as not, with no moral superiority to justify the 
 privilege — the sick woman would be guarded, 
 soothed, fortified by every expedient of science, 
 every resource of humanity. Chance to be poor, 
 and not only must you die when you need not, but 
 must die with the minimum of comfort, the 
 extreme of bodily and mental distress. This 
 commonplace struck so forcibly upon Will's imagina- 
 tion, that it was as a new discovery to him. He 
 stood amazed, bewildered — as men of any thinking 
 power are wont to do when experience makes real 
 
 164 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 to them the truisms of life. A few coins, or pieces 
 of printed paper to signify all that ! An explosion of 
 angry laughter broke the mood. 
 
 Pacing, pacing, back and fro in the little room, 
 for hour after hour, till his head whirled, and his 
 legs ached. Out of doors there was fitfully glinting 
 sunshine upon the wet roofs ; a pale blue now and 
 then revealed amid the grey rack. Two years 
 ago he would have walked twenty miles on a day 
 like this, with eyes for nothing but the beauty 
 and joy of earth. Was he not — he suddenly asked 
 himself — a wiser man now than then ? Did he not 
 see into the truth of things ; whereas, formerly, he 
 had seen only the deceptive surface ? There 
 should be some solace in this reflection, if he took 
 it well to heart. 
 
 Then his mind wandered away to Norbert Franks, 
 who at this moment was somewhere enjoying 
 himself. This afternoon he might be calling upon 
 the Crosses. Why should that thought be dis- 
 agreeable ? It was, as he perceived, not for the 
 first time. If he pictured the artist chatting side 
 by side with Bertha Cross, something turned cold 
 within him. By the bye, it was rather a long 
 time since he had seen Miss Cross ; her mother 
 had been doing the shopping lately. She might 
 come, perhaps, one day this week ; the chance 
 gave him something to look forward to. 
 
 How often had he called himself a fool for paying 
 heed to Bertha Cross's visits ? 
 
 165 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 AGAIN came springtime, and, as he stood 
 behind the counter, Warburton thought of 
 all that was going on in the world he had forsaken. 
 Amusements for which he had never much cared 
 haunted his fancy ; feeling himself shut out from 
 the life of grace and intellect, he suffered a sense of 
 dishonour, as though his position resulted from 
 some personal baseness, some crime. He numbered 
 the acquaintances he had dropped, and pictured 
 them as mentioning his name — if ever they did so 
 — with cold disapproval. Godfrey Sherwood had 
 ceased to write ; it was six months since his last 
 letter, in which he hinted a fear that the Irish 
 enterprise would have to be abandoned for lack 
 of capital. Even Franks, good fellow as he was, 
 seemed to grow lukewarm in friendship. The 
 painter had an appointment for a Sunday in May 
 at Will's lodgings, to smoke and talk, but on the 
 evening before he sent a telegram excusing himself. 
 Vexed, humiliated, Warburton wasted the Sunday 
 morning, and only after his midday meal yielded to 
 the temptation of a brilliant sky, which called 
 him forth. Walking westward, with little heed to 
 distance or direction, he presently found himself 
 at Kew ; on the bridge he lingered awhile, idly 
 gazing at boats, and, as he thus leaned over the 
 parapet, the sound of a voice behind him fell start- 
 lingly upon his ear. He turned, just in time to 
 
 i66 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 catch a glimpse of the features which that voice 
 had brought before his mind's eye, Bertha Cross 
 was passing, with her mother. Probably they had 
 not seen him. And even if they had, if they had 
 recognised him — did he flatter himself that the 
 Crosses would give any sign in public of knowing 
 their grocer ? 
 
 Wife his eyes on the graceful figure of Bertha, he 
 slowly followed. The ladies were crossing Kew 
 Green ; doubtless they would enter the Gardens 
 to spend the afternoon there. Would it not be 
 pleasant to join them, to walk by Bertha's side, 
 to talk freely with her, forgetting the counter, which 
 always restrained their conversation ? Bertha was 
 nicely dressed, though one saw that her clothes cost 
 nothing. In the old days, if he had noticed her at 
 aU she would have seemed to him rather a pretty 
 girl of the lower middle class, perhaps a little less 
 insignificant than her like ; now she shone for him 
 against a background of "customers," the one in 
 whom he saw a human being of his own kind, and 
 who, within the imposed limits, had given proof of 
 admitting his humanity. He saw her turn to 
 look at her mother, and smUe ; a smile of infinite 
 kindness and good-humour. Involuntarily his 
 own lips responded ; he walked on smiling — 
 smiling. 
 
 They passed through the gates ; he, at a distance 
 of a dozen yards, still foUowed. There was no 
 risk of detection ; indeed he was doing no harm ; 
 even a grocer might observe, from afar off, a girl 
 walking with her mother. But, after strolling 
 for a quarter of an hour, they paused beside a 
 bench, and there seated themselves. Mrs. Cross 
 seemed to be complaining of something ; Bertha 
 seemed to soothe her. When he was near enough 
 
 167 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 to be aware of this Will saw that he was too near. 
 He turned abruptly on his heels, and — stood face 
 to face with Norbert Franks. 
 
 " Hallo ! " exclaimed the painter, with an air 
 of embarrassment. " I thought that was your 
 back ! " 
 
 " Your engagement was here ? " asked Will 
 bluntly, referring to the other's telegram of excuse. 
 
 " Yes. I was obliged to " 
 
 He broke off, his eyes fixed on the figures of 
 Bertha and her mother. 
 
 " You were obliged ? " 
 
 " You see the ladies there," said Franks in a 
 lower voice, " there, on the seat ? It's Mrs. Cross 
 and her daughter — you remember the Crosses ? 
 I called to see them yesterday, and only Mrs. Cross 
 was at home, and — the fact is, I as good as promised 
 to meet them here, if it was fine." 
 
 " Very well," replied Warburton carelessly, 
 " I won't keep you." 
 
 " Go, but " 
 
 Franks was in great confusion. He looked this 
 way and that, as if seeking for an escape. As Will 
 began to move away, he kept at his side. 
 
 " Look here, Warburton, let me introduce you 
 to them. They're very nice people ; I'm sure you'd 
 like them ; do let me " 
 
 " Thank you, no. I don't want any new ac- 
 quaintances." 
 
 " Why ? Come along old man, " urged the 
 other. " You're getting too grumpy ; you live too 
 much alone. Just to please me " 
 
 " No ! " answered Will, resolutely, walking on. 
 
 " Very well — just as you like. But, I say, should 
 I find you at home this evening ? Say, nine o'clock. 
 I particularly want to have a talk." 
 
 1 68 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 "Good. I'll be there," replied Will, and so, 
 with knitted brows strode away. 
 
 Very punctually did the visitor arrive that evening. 
 He entered the room with that same look of em- 
 barrassment which he had worn during the brief 
 colloquy at Kew ; he shook hands awkwardly, and, 
 as he seated himself, talked about the fall of tem- 
 perature since sunset, which made a fire agreeable. 
 Warburton, ashamed of the suUenness he could 
 not overcome, rolled this way and that in his chair, 
 holding the poker and making lunges with it at a 
 piece of coal which would not break. 
 
 " That was a lucky chance, " began Franks at 
 length, " our meeting this afternoon." 
 
 " Lucky ? Why ? " 
 
 " Because it has given me the courage to speak 
 to you about something. Queerest chance I 
 ever knew that you should be there close by the 
 Crosses." 
 
 " Did they ask who I was ? " inquired War- 
 burton after a violent lunge with the poker, which 
 sent pieces of coal flying into the room. 
 
 " They didn't happen to see me whilst I was 
 talking with you. But, in any case," added 
 Franks, " they wouldn't have asked. They're 
 well-bred people, you know — really ladies. I suspect 
 you've had a different idea of them. Wasn't that 
 why you wouldn't let me introduce you ? " 
 
 " Not at all," answered Will, with a forced 
 laugh. " I've no doubt of their ladyhood." 
 
 " The fact of the matter is," continued the 
 other, crossing and uncrossing, and re-crossing his legs 
 in nervous restlessness, " that I've been seeing 
 them now and then since I told you I was going to 
 call there. You guess why ? It isn't Mrs. Cross, 
 depend upon it." 
 
 169 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Mrs. Cross's tea, perhaps ? " said Will, with a 
 hard grin. 
 
 " Not exactly. It's the worst tea I ever tasted. 
 I must advise her to change her grocer." 
 
 Warburton exploded in a roar of laughter, and 
 cried, as Franks stared wonderingly at him : 
 
 " You'll never make a better joke in your life 
 than that." 
 
 " Shows what I can do when I try," answered 
 the artist. " However, the tea is shockingly bad." 
 
 " What can you expect for one and sevenpence 
 halfpenny per pound ? " cried Will. 
 
 " How do you know what she pays ? " 
 
 Warburton's answer was another peal of merri- 
 ment. 
 
 " Well, I shouldn't wonder," Franks went on. 
 " The fact is, you know, they're very poor. It's a 
 miserable sort of a life for a girl like Bertha Cross. 
 She's clever, in her way ; did you ever see any 
 of her work ? Children's book-illustrating ? It's 
 more than passable, I assure you. But of course 
 she's wretchedly paid. Apart from that, a really 
 nice girl." 
 
 " So this is what you had to tell me ? " said 
 Warburton, in a subdued voice, when the speaker 
 hesitated. 
 
 " I wanted to talk about it, old man, that's the 
 truth." 
 
 Franks accompanied these words with a shy 
 smiling look of such friendly appeal that Will felt 
 his hard and surly humour begin to soften, and 
 something of the old geniality stirring under the 
 dull weight that had so long oppressed him. 
 
 " I suppose it's settled," he asked, staring at 
 the fire. 
 
 " Settled ? How ? " 
 
 170 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " When it comes to meetings at Kew Gardens — " 
 
 " Oh don't misunderstand," exclaimed Franks 
 nervously, " I told you that it was with the mother 
 I made the appointment — not with Bertha herself. 
 I'm quite sure Bertha never heard a word of it." 
 
 " Well, it comes to the same thing." 
 
 " Not at all ! I half wish it did." 
 
 " Half ? " asked Warburton, with a quick glance. 
 
 " Can't you see that I haven't really made up 
 my mind," said Franks, fidgeting in his chair. 
 " I'm not sure of myself — and I'm still less sure of her. 
 It's all in the air. I've been there perhaps half a 
 dozen times — but only like any other acquaintance. 
 And, you know, she isn't the kind of girl to meet 
 one half way. I'm sorry you don't know her. 
 You'd be able to understand better. — Then, you see, 
 there's something a little awkward in her position 
 and mine. She's the intimate friend of — of the 
 other one, you know ; at least, I suppose she still 
 is ; of course we haven't said anything about that. 
 It makes misunderstandings very possible. Sup- 
 pose she thought I made friends with her in the 
 hope of getting round to the other again ? You 
 see how difficult it is to judge her behaviour — to 
 come to any conclusion." 
 
 " Yes, I see," Warburton let fall, musingly. 
 
 " And, even if I were sure of understanding her — 
 there's myself. Look at the position, now. I 
 suppose I may call myself a successful man ; well 
 on the way to success, at all events. Unless fortune 
 plays me a dirty trick, I ought soon to be making 
 my three or four thousand a year ; and there's the 
 possibility of double that. Think what that means, 
 in the way of opportunity. Once or twice, when I 
 was going to see the Crosses, I've pulled myself up 
 and asked what the deuce I was doing — but I went 
 
 171 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 all the same. The truth is, there's something 
 about Bertha — I wish you knew her, Warburton ; 
 I really wish you did. She's the kind of girl any 
 man might marry. Nothing brilliant about her 
 — but — well, I can't describe it. As different 
 as could be from — the other. In fact, it isn't 
 easy to see how they became such close friends. 
 Of course, she knows all about me — what I'm doing, 
 and so on. In the case of an ordinary girl in her 
 position, it would be irresistible ; but I'm not at all 
 sure that she looks at it in that way. She behaves 
 to one — weU, in the most natural way possible. 
 Now and then I rather think she makes fun of 
 me." 
 
 Warburton allowed a low chuckle to escape 
 him. 
 
 " Why do you laugh ? — I don't mean that she 
 does it disagreeably. It's her way to look at 
 things on the humorous side — and I rather like 
 that. Don't you think it a good sign in a girl ? " 
 
 " That depends," muttered Will. 
 
 " Well, that's how things are. I wanted to tell 
 you. There's nobody else I should think of talking 
 to about it." 
 
 Silence hung between them for a minute or two. 
 
 " You'll have to make up your mind pretty soon, 
 I suppose," said Warburton at length, in a not 
 unpleasant voice. 
 
 " That's the worst of it. I don't want to be 
 in a hurry — it's just what I don't want." 
 
 " Doesn't it occur to you," asked Will, as if a 
 sudden idea had struck him, " that perhaps she's 
 no more in a hurry than you are ? " 
 
 " It's possible. I shouldn't wonder. But if 
 I seem to be playing the fool ? " 
 
 " That depends on yourself. — But," Will added, 
 172 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 with a twinkle in his eye, " there's just one piece 
 of advice I should like to offer you." 
 
 " Let me have it," replied the other eagerly. 
 " Very good of you, old man, not to be bored." 
 
 " Don't," said Warburton, in an impressive 
 undertone, " don't persuade Mrs. Cross to change 
 her grocer." 
 
 173 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THIS conversation brought Warburton a short 
 relief. Laughter, even though it come from 
 the throat rather than the midriff, tends to dispel 
 morbid humours, and when he woke next morn- 
 ing, after unusually sound sleep. Will had a pleasure 
 in the sunlight such as he had not known for a long 
 time. He thought of Norbert Franks, and chuck- 
 led ; of Bertha Cross, and smiled. For a day or 
 two the toil of the shop was less irksome. Then 
 came sordid troubles which again overcast the 
 sky. Acting against his trusty henchman's ad- 
 vice, Wni had made a considerable purchase of 
 goods from a bankrupt stock ; and what seemed to 
 be a great bargain was beginning to prove a serious 
 loss. Customers grumbled about the quality of 
 articles supplied to them out of this unlucky ven- 
 ture, and among the dissatisfied was Mrs. Cross, 
 who came and talked for twenty minutes about 
 some tapioca that had been sent to her, obliging 
 Mr. JoUyman to make repeated apologies and 
 promises that such a thing should never occur 
 again. When the querulous-voiced lady at length 
 withdrew, Will was boiling over with rage. 
 
 " Idiot ! " he exclaimed, regardless of the fact 
 that Allchin overheard him. 
 
 " You see, sir," remarked the assistant. " It's 
 just as I said ; but I couldn't persuade you." 
 
 Will held his lips tight and stared before him. 
 
 " There'll be a net loss of ten pounds on that 
 174 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 transaction," pursued Allchin. " It's a principle 
 of honest business, never buy a bankrupt stock. 
 But you wouldn't listen to me, sir " 
 
 " That'll do, Allchin, that'll do ! " broke in the 
 master, quivering with the restraint he imposed 
 upon himself. " Can't you see I'm not in a mood 
 for that sort of thing ? " 
 
 This same day, there was a leakage of gas on 
 the premises, due to bad workmanship in some 
 new fittings which had cost Will more than he 
 liked. Then the shop awning gave way, and 
 fell upon the head of a passer-by, who came into 
 the shop swearing at large and demanding com- 
 pensation for his damaged hat. Sundry other 
 things went wrong in the course of the week, and 
 by closing-time on Saturday night Warburton's 
 nerves were in a state of tension which threatened 
 catastrophe. He went to bed at one o'clock ; at 
 six in the morning, not having closed his eyes for a 
 moment, he tumbled out again, dressed with fury, 
 and rushed out of the house. 
 
 It was a morning of sunny showers ; one moment 
 the stones were covered with shining moisture, 
 and the next were steaming themselves dry under 
 unclouded rays. Heedless whither he went, so 
 he did but move quickly enough. Will crossed the 
 river, and struck southward, till he found himself by 
 Clapham Junction. The sun had now triumphed ; 
 the day would be brilliant. Feeling already better 
 for his exercise, he stood awhile reflecting, and decided 
 at length to go by rail into the country. He might 
 perhaps call on the Pomfrets at Ashtead ; that 
 would depend upon his mood. At all events he 
 would journey in that direction. 
 
 It was some three months since he had seen 
 the Pomfrets. He had a standing invitation to 
 
 175 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 the pleasant little house, where he was always 
 received with simple, cordial hospitality. About 
 eleven o'clock, after a ramble about Ashtead Com- 
 mon, he pushed open the garden wicket, and knocked 
 at the door under the leafy porch. So quiet was 
 the house, that he half feared he would find nobody 
 at home ; but the servant at once led him in, 
 and announced him at the door of her master's 
 sanctum. 
 
 " Warburton ? " cried a high, hearty voice, 
 before he had entered. " Good fellow. Every 
 day this week I've been wanting to ask you to come ; 
 but I was afraid ; it's so long since we saw you, I 
 fancied you must have been bored the last time 
 you were here." 
 
 A small, thin, dry-featured man, with bald occiput 
 and grizzled beard, Ralph Pomfret sat deep in an 
 easy chair, his legs resting on another. Humour 
 and kindliness twinkled in his grey eye. The room, 
 which was full of books, had a fair view of meadows, 
 and hill. Garden perfumes floated in at the open 
 window. 
 
 " Kind fellow, to come like this," he went on. 
 " You see that the old enemy has a grip on me. 
 He pinches, he pinches. He'll get at my vitals 
 one of these days, no doubt. And I've not even 
 the satisfaction of having got my gout in an honour- 
 able way. If it had come to me from a fine old 
 three-bottle ancestor ! But I, who never had 
 a grandfather, and hardly tasted wine till I 
 was thirty years old — why, I feel ashamed to call 
 myself gouty. Sit down, my wife's at church. 
 Strange thing that people still go to church — but 
 they do, you know. Force of habit, force of habit. 
 Rosamund's with her." 
 
 " Miss Elvan ? " asked Warburton, with surprise. 
 176 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Ah, yes ; I forgot you didn't know she was 
 here. Came back with those friends of hers from 
 Egypt a week ago. She has no home in England 
 now ; don't know where she will decide to live." 
 
 " Have you seen Norbert lately ? " continued 
 Mr, Pomfret, all in one breath, " He's too busy to 
 come out to Ashtead, perhaps too prosperous. But 
 no, I won't say that ; I won't really think it. A 
 good lad, Norbert — better, I suspect, than his 
 work. There's a strange thing now ; a painter 
 without enthusiasm for art. He used to have a 
 little ; more than a little ; but it's all gone. Or so 
 it seems to me." 
 
 "He's very honest about it," said Warburton. 
 " Makes no pretences — calls his painting a trick, 
 and really feels surprised, I'm sure, that he's so 
 successful." 
 
 " Poor Norbert ! A good lad, a good lad. I 
 wonder — do you think if I wrote a line, mention- 
 ing, by the way, that Rosamund's here, do you 
 think he'd come ? " 
 
 The speaker accompanied his words with an 
 intimate glance. Will averted his eyes, and gazed 
 for a moment at the sunny landscape. 
 
 " How long will Miss Elvan stay ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, as long as she likes. We are very glad 
 to have her." 
 
 Their looks met for an instant. 
 
 " A pity, a pity ! " said Ralph, shaking his head 
 and smiling. " Don't you think so ? " 
 
 "Why, yes. I've always thought so." 
 
 Will knew that this was not strictly the truth. 
 But in this moment he refused to see anything but 
 the dimly suggested possibihty that Franks might 
 meet again with Rosamund Elvan, and again suc- 
 cumb to her charm. 
 
 177 M 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! " resumed Ralph, " that one 
 should interfere where lives are at stake ! Noth- 
 ing of that, nothing of that. You are as little dis- 
 posed for it as I am. But simply to acquaint him 
 
 with the fact ? " 
 
 "I see no harm. If I met him ? " 
 
 " Ah ! To be sure. It would be natural to 
 
 say 
 
 " I owe him a visit," remarked Will. 
 
 They talked of other things. All at once War- 
 burton had become aware that he was hungry ; 
 he had not broken his fast to-day. Happily, the 
 clock on the mantelpiece pointed towards noon. 
 And at this moment there sounded voices within 
 the house, followed by a tap at the study door 
 which opened, admitting Mrs. Pomfret. The lady 
 advanced with hospitable greeting ; homely of look 
 and speech, she had caught her husband's smUe, 
 and something of his manner — testimony to the 
 happiness of a long wedded life. Behind her came 
 the figure of youth and grace which Warburton's 
 eyes expected ; very little changed since he last 
 saw it, in the Valley of Trient, Warburton was 
 conscious of an impression that the young lady 
 saw him again with pleasure. In a minute or two, 
 Mrs. Pomfret and her niece had left the room, but 
 Warburton still saw those pure, pale features, the 
 emotional eyes and lips, the slight droop of the 
 head to one side. Far indeed — so he said within 
 himself — from his ideal ; but, he easily under- 
 stood, strong in seductiveness for such a man as 
 Franks, whom the old passion had evidently 
 left lukewarm in his thought of other women. 
 
 The bell gave a welcome siunmons to lunch — 
 or dinner, as it was called in this household of simple 
 traditions. Helped by his friend's arm, Ralph 
 178 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 managed to hobble to table ; he ate little, and 
 talked throughout the meal in his wonted vein of 
 cheerful reflection. Will enjoyed everything that 
 was set before him ; the good, wholesome food, 
 which did credit to Mrs. Pomfret's housekeeping, 
 had a rare savour after months of dining in the 
 little parlour behind his shop, varied only by Mrs. 
 Wick's cooking on Sundays. One thing, however, 
 interfered with his ease ; seated opposite to Rosa- 
 mund Elvan, he called to mind the fact that his 
 toilet this morning had been of the most summary 
 description ; he was unshaven, and his clothing 
 was precisely what he had worn all yesterday at the 
 counter. The girl's eyes passed observantly over 
 him now and then ; she was critical of appear- 
 ances, no doubt. That his aspect and demean- 
 our might be in keeping, he bore himself somewhat 
 bluffly, threw out brief, blunt phrases, and met 
 Miss Elvan's glance with a confident smile. No 
 resentment of this behaviour appeared in her look 
 or speech ; as the meal went on, she talked more 
 freely, and something of frank curiosity began to 
 reveal itself in her countenance as she listened to him. 
 
 Ralph Pomfret having hobbled back to his study 
 chair, to doze, if might be, for an hour or two, the 
 others presently strolled out into the garden, where 
 rustic chairs awaited them on the shadowy side. 
 
 " You have your pipe, I hope ? " said the 
 hostess, as Warburton stretched himself out with 
 a sigh of content. 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " And matches ? " 
 
 " Yes— No ! The box is empty." 
 
 " I'll send you some. I have one or two things 
 to see to indoors." 
 
 So Will and Rosamund sat alone, gazing idly 
 179 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 at the summer sky, hearing the twitter of a bird, 
 the hum of insects, whilst the scents of flower and 
 leaf lulled them to a restful intimacy. Without a 
 word of ceremony, Will used the matches that 
 were brought him, and puffed a cloud into the 
 warm air. They were talking of the beauties of 
 this neighbourhood, of the delightful position of the 
 house. 
 
 " You often come out to see my uncle, I sup- 
 pose," said Rosamund. 
 
 ",Not often, I'm seldom free, and not always in 
 the humour." 
 
 " Not in the humour for this ? " 
 
 " It sounds strange, doesn't it ? " said WiU, meet- 
 ing her eyes. " When I'm here, I want to be here 
 always ; winter or summer, there's nothing more 
 enjoyable — in the way of enjoyment that does only 
 good. Do you regret Egypt ? " 
 
 " No, indeed. I shall never care to go there 
 again." 
 
 " Or the Pyrenees ? " 
 
 " Have you seen them yet ? " asked Rosamund. 
 
 Will shook his head. 
 
 " I remember your saying," she remarked, 
 " you would go for your next holiday to the Basque 
 country," 
 
 " Did I ? Yes — when you had been talking 
 much about it. But since then I've had no holi- 
 day." 
 
 " No holiday— all this time ? " 
 
 Rosamund's brows betrayed her sympathy. 
 
 " How long is it since we were together in Swit- 
 zerland ? " asked Will, dreamily, between puffs. 
 " This is the second summer, isn't it ? One loses 
 count of time, there in London, I was saying to 
 Franks the other day — - — " 
 
 i8o 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 He stopped, but not abruptly ; the words seemed 
 to murmur away as his thoughts wandered. Rosa- 
 mund's eyes were for a moment cast down. But 
 for a moment only ; then she fixed them upon him 
 in a steady, untroubled gaze. 
 
 " You were saying to Mr. Franks ? " 
 
 The quiet sincerity of her voice drew Warbur- 
 ton's look. She was sitting straight in the cane 
 chair, her hands upon her lap, with an air of pleas- 
 ant interest. 
 
 " I was saying — oh, I forget — it's gone." 
 
 " Do you often see him ? " Rosamund inquired 
 in the same calmly interested tone. 
 
 " Now and then. He's a busy man, with a great 
 many friends — like most men who succeed." 
 
 " But you don't mean, I hope, that he cares less 
 for his friends of the old time, before he succeeded ? " 
 
 " Not at all," exclaimed Will, rolling upon his 
 chair, and gazing at the distance. " He's the 
 same as ever. It's my fault that we don't meet 
 oftener. I was always a good deal of a solitary, 
 you know, and my temper hasn't been improved by 
 ill-luck." 
 
 " Ill-luck ? " 
 
 Again there was sympathy in Rosamund's knitted 
 brow ; her voice touched a note of melodious 
 surprise and pain. 
 
 " That's neither here nor there. We were talk- 
 ing of Franks. If anything, he's improved, I should 
 say. I can't imagine any one bearing success 
 better — just the same bright, good-natured, sincere 
 fellow. Of course, he enjoys his good fortune — 
 he's been through hard times." 
 
 " Which would have been harder still, but for 
 a friend of his," said Rosamund, with eyes thought- 
 fully drooped. 
 
 i8i 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Warburton watched her as she spoke. Her 
 look and her voice carried him back to the Valley 
 of Trient ; he heard the foaming torrent ; saw the 
 dark fir-woods, felt a cool breath from the glacier. 
 Thus had Rosamund been wont to talk ; then, 
 as now, touching his elementary emotions, but 
 moving his reflective self to a smile. 
 
 " Have you seen Miss Cross since you came 
 back ? " he asked, as if casually. 
 
 " Oh, yes. If I stay in England, I hope to live 
 somewhere near her. Perhaps I shall take rooms 
 in London, and work at water-colours and black- 
 and-white. Unless I go to the Basque country, 
 where my sister is. Don't you think, Mr. War- 
 buton, one might make a lot of drawings in the 
 Pyrenees, and then have an exhibition of them in 
 London ? I have to earn my living, and I must 
 do something of that kind." 
 
 Whilst Wni was shaping his answer Mrs. Pom- 
 fret came toward them from the house, and the 
 current of the conversation was turned. Presently 
 Ralph summoned his guest to the book-room, 
 where they talked till the kindly hour of tea. But 
 before setting out for his homeward journey, War- 
 burton had another opportunity of exchanging 
 words with Miss Elvan in the garden. 
 
 " Well, I shall hear what you decide to do," 
 he said, bluffly. " If you go to the Pyrenees — 
 but I don't think you will." 
 
 " No, perhaps not. London rather tempts me," 
 was the girl's dreamy reply. 
 
 " I'm glad to hear it." 
 
 " I must get Bertha's advice — Miss Cross'." 
 
 Will nodded. He was about to say something, 
 but altered his mind ; and so the colloquy ended. 
 
 182 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 TOWARD ten o'clock that evening, Warbur- 
 ton alighted from a train at Netting Hill 
 Gate, and walked through heavy rain to the abode 
 of Norbert Franks. With satisfaction, he saw the 
 light at the great window of his studio, and learnt 
 from the servant who admitted him that Franks 
 had no company. His friend received him with 
 surprise, so long was it since Warburton had looked 
 in unexpectedly. 
 
 " Nothing amiss ? " said Franks, examining 
 the hard-set face, with its heavy eyes, and cheeks 
 sunken. 
 
 " All right. Came to ask for news, that's aU." 
 
 " News ? Ah, I understand. There's no news." 
 
 " Still reflecting ? " 
 
 " Yes. Keeping away, just to see how I like 
 it. Sensible that, don't you think ? " 
 
 Warburton nodded. The conversation did not 
 promise much vivacity, for Franks looked tired, 
 and the visitor seemed much occupied with his 
 own thoughts. After a few words about a canvas 
 which stood on the easel — another woman the 
 artist was boldly transforming into loveliness — 
 WUl remarked carelessly that he had spent the day 
 at Ashtead. 
 
 " By Jove, I ought to go and see those people," 
 said Franks. 
 
 . " Better wait a little, perhaps," returned the 
 
 183 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 other with a smile. " Miss Elvan is with them." 
 
 " Ah ! Lucky you told me — not that it mat- 
 ters much," added Franks, after a moment's re- 
 flection, " at all events as far as I'm concerned. 
 But it might be a little awkward for her. How 
 long is she staying ? " 
 
 Will told all he knew of Miss Elvan's projects. 
 He went on to say that she seemed to him more 
 thoughtful, more serious, than in the old time ; 
 to be sure, she had but recently lost her father, 
 and the subduing influence of that event might 
 have done her good. 
 
 " You had a lot of talk ? " said Franks. 
 
 " Oh, we gossiped in the garden. Poor old Pom- 
 fret has his gout, and couldn't come out with us. 
 What do you think, by the bye, of her chance of 
 living by art ? She says she'll have to." 
 
 " By that, or something else, no doubt," Franks 
 replied disinterestedly. " I know her father had 
 nothing to leave, nothing to make an income." 
 
 " Are her water-colours worth anything ? " 
 
 " Not much, I'm afraid, I can't quite see her living 
 by anything of that sort. She's the amateur, pure 
 and simple. Now, Bertha Cross — there's the kind 
 of girl who does work and gets paid for it. In her 
 modest line, Bertha is a real artist. I do wish you 
 knew her, Warburton." 
 
 " So you have said a good many times," remarked 
 Will. " But I don't see how it would help you. 
 I know Miss Elvan, and " 
 
 He paused, as if musing on a thought. 
 
 " And what ? " asked Franks impatiently. 
 
 " Nothing — except that I like her better than I 
 used to." 
 
 As he spoke, he stood up. 
 
 " Well, I can't stay. It's raining like the devil. 
 184 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 I wanted to know whether you'd done anything 
 decisive, that's all." 
 
 "I'll let you know when I do," answered Franks, 
 suppressing a yawn. " Good-night, old man." 
 
 For a fortnight, Warburton led his wonted life, 
 shut off as usual from the outer world. About this 
 time, Allchin began to observe with anxiety the 
 change in his master's aspect and general behaviour. 
 
 "I'm afraid you're not feeling quite yourself, 
 sir," he said at closing time one night. " I've 
 noticed lately you don't seem quite well." 
 
 " Have you ? Well, perhaps you are right. 
 But it doesn't matter." 
 
 " If you'U excuse me, sir," returned the assis- 
 tant, " I'm afraid it does matter. I hope, sir, you 
 won't think I speak disrespectful, but I've been 
 noticing that you didn't seem to care about waiting 
 on customers lately." 
 
 " You've noticed that ? " 
 
 " I have, sir, if the truth must be told. And I 
 kept saying to myself as it wasn't like you. What 
 I'm afraid of, sir, if you don't mind me saying it, 
 is that the customers themselves are beginning to 
 notice it. Mrs. Gilpin said to me yesterday — 
 ' What's come to Mr. Jollyman ? ' she says. ' He 
 hasn't a civil word for me !' she says. Of course, 
 I made out as you'd been suffering from a bad 
 'eadache, and I shouldn't wonder if that's the truth, 
 sir." 
 
 Warburton set his teeth and said nothing. 
 
 " You wouldn't like to take just a little 'oliday, 
 sir ? " returned Allchin. " This next week, I 
 could manage well enough. It might do you good, 
 sir, to have a mouthful of sea air — " 
 
 "I'll think about it," broke in the other 
 abruptly. 
 
 185 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 He was going away without another word, but, 
 in crossing the shop, he caught his henchman's 
 eye fixed on him with a troublous gaze. Self- 
 reproach checked his steps. 
 
 " You're quite right, Allchin," he said in a con- 
 fidential tone. " I'm not quite up to the mark, and 
 perhaps I should do well to take a holiday. Thank 
 you for speaking about it." 
 
 He walked home, and there, on his table, he 
 found a letter from Franks, which he eagerly tore 
 open. " I have as good as decided," wrote the 
 artist. " Yesterday, I went to Ashtead, and saw 
 R. We met like old friends — just as I wished. 
 Talked as naturally as you and I. I suspect — 
 only suspect of course — that she knows of my visits 
 to Walham Green, and smiles at them ! Yes, as 
 you say, I think she has improved — decidedly. 
 The upshot of it all is that I shall call on the Crosses 
 again, and, when an opportunity offers, try my 
 chance. I think I am acting sensibly, don't you ? " 
 
 After reading this, Will paced about his room 
 for an hour or two. Then he flung himself into 
 bed, but got no sleep until past dawn. Rising at 
 the usual hour, he told himself that this would not 
 do ; to live on in this way was mere moral suicide ; 
 he resolved to run down to St. Neots, whence, if 
 his mother were capable of the journey, she and 
 Jane might go for a week or two to the seaside. 
 So, having packed his travelling bag, he walked to 
 the shop, and arranged with AUchin for a week's 
 absence, greatly to the assistant's satisfaction. Be- 
 fore noon he was at The Haws. But the idea of a 
 family expedition to the seaside could not be carried 
 out : Mrs. Warburton was not strong enough to 
 leave home, and Jane had just invited a friend to 
 come and spend a week with them. Disguising as 
 
 i86 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 best he could his miserable state of mind and body, 
 WiU stayed for a couple of days. The necessity 
 for detailed l3^g about his affairs in London — 
 lying which would long ago have been detected, 
 but for the absolute confidence of his mother and 
 sister, and the retired habits of their life — added 
 another cause of unrest to those already tormenting 
 him, and he was glad to escape into solitude. Though 
 with Httle faith in the remedy, he betook himself 
 to a quiet spot on the coast of Norfolk, associated 
 with memories of holiday in childhood, and there 
 for the rest of the time he had allowed himself did 
 what a man could do to get benefit from sea and 
 sky. 
 
 And in these endless hours of solitude there grew 
 upon him a perception of the veritable cause of his 
 Ulness. Not loss of station, not overwork, not 
 love ; but simply the lie to which he was committed. 
 There was the root of the matter. Slowly, dimly, 
 he groped toward the fact that what rendered his 
 life intolerable was its radical dishonesty. Lived 
 openly, avowedly, it would have involved hardships 
 indeed, but nothing of this dull wretchedness which 
 made the world a desert. He began to see how 
 much better, how much easier, it would have been 
 to tell the truth two years ago. His mother was 
 not so weak-minded a woman as to be stricken 
 down by loss of money ; and as for Sherwood, his 
 folly merited more than the unpleasantness that 
 might have resulted to him from disclosure. Gro- 
 cerdom with a clear conscience would have been a 
 totally different thing from grocerdom surrepti- 
 tiously embraced. Instead of slinking into a cor- 
 ner for the performance of an honourable act, he 
 should have declared it, frankly, unaffectedly, to 
 all who had any claim upon him. At once, the enter- 
 
 187 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 prise became amusing, interesting. If it disgraced 
 him with any of his acquaintances, so much the 
 worse for them ; all whose friendship was worth 
 having would have shown only the more his friends ; 
 as things stood, he was ashamed, degraded, not by 
 circumstances, but by himself. 
 
 To undo it all — ? To proclaim the truth — ? 
 Was it not easy enough ? He had proved now that 
 his business would yield income sufficient for his 
 mother and sister, as well as for his own needs ; 
 the crisis was surmounted ; why not cast off this 
 load of mean falsehood, which was crushing him to 
 the ground ? By Heaven ! he would do so. 
 
 Not immediately. Better wait till he had heard 
 from Jane that their mother was a little stronger, 
 which would probably be the case in a week or two. 
 But (he declared in his mind) the resolve was taken. 
 At the first favourable moment he would undo his 
 folly. Before taking this step, he must of course 
 announce it to Godfrey Sherwood ; an unpleasant 
 necessity ; but no matter. 
 
 He walked about the beach in a piping wiad, 
 waved his arms, talked to himself, now and then 
 raised a great shout. And that night he slept 
 soundly. 
 
 1 88 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 HE got back to Fulham Road in time for the 
 press of Saturday night. AUchin declared 
 that he looked much better, and customers were 
 once more gratified by Mr. JoUyman's studious 
 civility. On Sunday morning he wrote a long 
 letter to Sherwood, which, for lack of other address, 
 he sent to the care of Godfrey's relative in Wales. 
 This was something done. In the afternoon he 
 took a long walk, which led him through the Holland 
 Park region. He called to see Franks, but the artist 
 was not at home ; so he left a card asking for news. 
 And the next day brought Franks' telegraphic 
 reply. " Nothing definite yet. Shall come to see 
 you late one of these evenings. I have not been 
 to Walham Green." Though he had all but per- 
 suaded himself that he cared not at all, one way or 
 the other, this message did Warburton good. Mid- 
 way in the week, business being slack, he granted 
 himself a half holiday, and went to Ashtead, 
 merely in friendliness to Ralph Pomfret — so he 
 said to himself. 
 
 From Ashtead station to the Pomfrets' house 
 was a good twenty minutes' walk. As he strode 
 along, eyes upon the ground, Will all at once saw 
 the path darkened by a shadow ; he then became 
 conscious of a female figure just in front of him, and 
 heedlessly glancing at the face, was arrested by a 
 familiar smile. 
 
 189 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " You were coining to see us ? " asked Miss Elvan, 
 offering her hand. " What a pity that I have 
 to go to town ! Only just time to catch the train." 
 
 " Then I'll walk back to the station with you — 
 may I ? " 
 
 " I shall be delighted, if you don't mind the trouble. 
 I have an appointment with Miss Cross. She has 
 found rooms which she thinks will suit me, and we're 
 going to look at them together." 
 
 " So you have decided for London ? " 
 
 " I think so. The rooms are at Chelsea, in 
 Oakley Crescent. I know how fond you are of 
 London, and how weU you know it. And I know 
 so little ; only a street or two here and there. I 
 mean to remedy my ignorance. If ever you have 
 an afternoon to spare, Mr. Warburton, I should 
 be so glad if you would let me go with you to see 
 interesting places." 
 
 For an instant. Will was surprised, confused, 
 but Rosamund's entire simplicity and directness 
 of manner rebuked this sensation. He replied 
 in a corresponding tone that nothing would please 
 him more. They were now at the railway station, 
 and the train approached. Rosamund having 
 sprung into a carriage, gave her hand through 
 the window, saying : 
 
 " I may be settled in a day or two. You wiU 
 hear " 
 
 With the sentence unfinished, she drew back, 
 and the train rolled away. For a minute or two, 
 Warburton stood on the platform, his lips mechani- 
 cally prolonging the smUe which had answered 
 Miss Elvan's, and his thoughts echoing her last 
 words. When he turned, he at first walked slowly ; 
 then his pace quickened, and he arrived at the 
 Pomfrets' house, as though on urgent business. 
 
 190 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 In the garden he caught sight of Ralph, recovered 
 from his attack of gout, sitting at his ease, pipe in 
 mouth. Will told of his meeting with Miss Elvan. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; she's off to London town — ^wants to 
 live there, like all the rest of the young people. In 
 thirty years' time she'U have had enough of it, and 
 be glad to creep into a quiet comer like this. My 
 wife's in the house, teaching our new maid to make 
 tea-cakes — you shall have some at five o'clock. 
 I wonder whether any girl could be found nowadays 
 who knows how to make tea-cakes ? There's 
 Rosamund — she knows no more about that kind 
 of thing than of ship-building. Do you know any 
 young lady who could make a toothsome tea-cake ? " 
 
 " I'm not quite sure," answered Will reflectively, 
 " but I have one in mind who perhaps does — it 
 wouldn't surprise me." 
 
 " That's to your credit. By the bye, you know 
 that Norbert has been here." 
 
 " Yes, I heard of it. He wrote to tell me." 
 
 " Aye, but he's been twice — did you know that ? 
 He was here yesterday." 
 
 " Indeed ? " 
 
 Ralph looked at the other with an odd smile. 
 
 " One might have expected a little awkward- 
 ness between them," he continued. " Not a bit 
 of it. There again — your girl of to-day ; she has 
 a way of her own with aU this kind of thing. Why 
 they just shook hands as if they'd never been any- 
 thing but pleasant friends. AU the same, as I 
 tell you, Norbert has been a second time." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear it," said Warburton. 
 
 Will had purposed getting back to the shop 
 about seven o'clock. He was, indeed, back in 
 London at that hour, but his state of mind tempted 
 him to shirk squalid duty ; instead of turning 
 
 191 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 toward Fulham Road, he took his way into the 
 Strand, and there loitered in the evening sunshine, 
 self-reproachful, yet enjojdng the unwonted liberty. 
 It was dinner-time ; restaurants exhaled their 
 pungent odours, and Will felt sharpening appetite. 
 For the first time since his catastrophe, he granted 
 himself the dinner of a well-to-do man, and, as 
 would naturally befall in such a case, made his 
 indulgence large. 
 
 Several days passed and brought no letter from 
 any one. But at midnight on Saturday, there lay 
 awaiting him a letter addressed in Sherwood's well- 
 known hand. Godfrey began by excusing himself 
 for his delay in replying ; he had had rather a nasty 
 attack of illness, and was only now able to hold 
 his pen. But it was lucky he had not written 
 before ; this very morning there had reached him 
 the very best news. " The father of the man who 
 owes me ten thousand pounds is dying. Off and on 
 he has been ill for a long time, but I hear at length 
 that there can be no doubt whatever that the end 
 is near. I can't pretend to any human feeling in this 
 matter ; the man's death means Ufe for us — so 
 the world goes. Any day now, you may have a 
 telegram from me announcing the event. Of the 
 prompt pa}anent of the debt as soon as my friend 
 inherits, there is no shadow of doubt. I therefore 
 urge you very strongly not to make a disclosure. 
 It will be needless. Wait till we see each other. I 
 am still in Ireland — for a reason which I will explain 
 when we meet." 
 
 Will drew a long breath. If ever news came 
 opportunely, it was this. He threw up the window 
 of his stuffy little sitting-room, and looked out into 
 the summer night. The murmur of London once 
 more made music to his ears. 
 
 192 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 ROSAMUND took the Chelsea lodgings pro- 
 posed to her by Bertha Cross, and in a 
 few days went to Uve there. The luggage which 
 she brought from Ashtead enabled her to add 
 a personal touch to the characterless rooms : in 
 the place of the landlady's ornaments, which 
 were not things of beauty, she scattered her own 
 bibelots, and about the walls she hung a number 
 of her own drawings, framed for the purpose, as 
 well as several which bore the signature, " Norbert 
 Franks." Something less than a year ago, when 
 her father went abroad, their house at Bath had 
 been given up, and the furniture warehoused ; 
 for the present, Rosamund and her sister were 
 content to leave things thus. The inheritance 
 of each amounted only to a few hundred pounds. 
 
 " It's enough to save one from worry for a year 
 or two," said Rosamund to her friend Bertha. 
 " I'm not extravagant ; I can live here very com- 
 fortably. And there's a pleasure in the thought 
 that one's work not only may succeed but must." 
 
 " I'm sure I hope so," replied Bertha, " but 
 Where's the must ? " 
 
 " What am I to do if it doesn't ? " asked Miss 
 Elvan, with her sweet smile, and in a tone of irre- 
 sistible argument. 
 
 " True," conceded her humorous friend. " There's 
 no other way out of the difficulty." 
 
 193 N 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 This was on the day of Rosamund's coming 
 to Chelsea. A week later, Bertha found the sit- 
 ting-room brightened with the hanging water- 
 colours, with curtains of some delicate fabric 
 at the windows, with a new rug before the fire 
 place. 
 
 "These things have cost so little," said Rosa- 
 mund, half apologetically. "And — yes, I was 
 obliged to buy this little tea service ; I reaUy 
 couldn't use Mrs. Darby's ; it spoilt the taste 
 of the tea. Trifles, but they really have their 
 importance ; they help to keep one in the right 
 mind. Oh, I must show you an amusing letter 
 I've had from Winnie. Winifred is prudence 
 itself. She wouldn't spend a sixpence uimeces- 
 sarUy. ' Suppose one fell ill,' she writes, ' what 
 a blessing it would be to feel that one wasn't help- 
 less and dependent. Oh, do be careful with your 
 money, and consider very, very seriously what is 
 the best course to take in your position.' Poor, 
 dear old Winnie ! I know she frets and worries 
 about me, and pictures me throwing gold away 
 by the handful. Yet, as you know, that isn't 
 my character at all. If I lay out a few sovereigns 
 to make myself comfortable here, I know what 
 I'm doing ; it'll all come back again in work. 
 As you know, Bertha, I'm not afraid of poverty 
 — not a bit ! I had very much rather be shock- 
 ingly poor, living in a garret and half starved, than 
 just keep myself tidily going in lodgings such as 
 these were before I made the little changes. Win- 
 nie has a terror of finding herself destitute. She 
 jumped for joy when she was offered that work, 
 and I'm sure she'd be content to live there in the 
 same way for years. She feels safe as long as she 
 needn't touch her money." 
 
 194 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Winifred Elvan, since her father's death, had 
 found an engagement as governess in an Eng- 
 Hsh family at St. Jean de Luz. This, in the 
 younger sister's eyes, involved a social decline, 
 more disagreeable to her than she chose to con- 
 fess. 
 
 " The one thing," pursued Rosamund, " that 
 I reaUy dread, is the commonplace. If I were 
 utterly, wretchedly, grindingly poor, there'd be 
 at all events a savour of the uncommon about it. 
 I can't imagine myself marrying a prosperous 
 shopkeeper ; but if I cared for a clerk who had 
 nothing but a pound a week, I would marry him 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " The result," said Bertha, " might be lament- 
 ably commonplace." 
 
 " Not if it was the right sort of man. — Tell 
 me what you think of that bit." She pointed 
 to a framed drawing. " It's in the valley of Bi- 
 dassoa." 
 
 They talked art for a little, then Rosamund 
 fell into musing, and presently said : 
 
 " Don't you think Norbert has behaved very 
 well." 
 
 " How well ? " 
 
 " I mean, it would have been excusable, per- 
 haps, if he had betrayed a little unkind feeling 
 toward me. But nothing of the kind, absolutely 
 nothing. I'm afraid I didn't give him credit for 
 so much manliness. When he came to Ashtead 
 the second time, of course I understood his motive 
 at once. He wished to show me that his beha- 
 viour at the first meeting wasn't mere bravado 
 and to assure me that I needn't be afraid of him. 
 There's a great deal of delicacy in that ; it really 
 pleased me." 
 
 195 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Bertha Cross was gazing at her friend with a 
 puzzled smile. 
 
 " You're a queer girl," she remarked. 
 
 "Queer? Why?" 
 
 " Do you mean that you were really and truly 
 surprised that Mr. Franks behaved like a gen- 
 tleman ? " 
 
 " Oh, Bertha ! " protested the other. " What 
 a word ! " 
 
 " Well, like a man, then." 
 
 " Perhaps I oughtn't to have felt that," admit- 
 ted Rosamund thoughtfully. " But I did, and 
 it meant a good deal. It shows how very right 
 I was when I freed myself." 
 
 " Are you quite sure of that ? " asked Bertha, 
 raising her eyebrows and speaking more seriously 
 than usual. 
 
 " I never was more sure of anything." 
 
 " Do you know, I can't help thinking it an argu- 
 ment on the other side." 
 
 Rosamund looked her friend in the eyes. 
 
 " Suppose it means that you were altogether 
 mistaken about Mr. Franks ? " went on Bertha, 
 in the same pleasant tone between jest and earnest. 
 
 " I wasn't mistaken in my own feeling," said 
 Rosamund in her melodious undertone. 
 
 " No ; but your feeling, you have always said, 
 was due to a judgment you formed of Mr. Franks' 
 character and motives. And now you confess 
 that it looks very much as if you had judged him 
 wrongly." 
 
 Rosamund smiled and shook her head. 
 
 " Do you know," asked Bertha, after a pause, 
 " that he has been coming to our house lately ? " 
 
 " You never mentioned it. But why shouldn't 
 he go to your house ? " 
 
 196 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Rather, why should he ? " asked Bertha, 
 with a laugh. " Don't trouble to guess. The 
 reason was plain enough. He came to talk about 
 you." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed the listener with amused 
 deprecation. 
 
 " There's no doubt of it ; no — shadow — of — 
 doubt. In fact, we've had very pleasant little 
 chats about you. Of course I said all the dis- 
 agreeable things I could ; I knew that was what 
 you would wish." 
 
 " Certainly," fell from Rosamund. 
 
 " I didn't positively calumniate you, but just 
 the unpleasant little hints that a friend is so well 
 able to throw out ; the sort of thing likely to chill 
 any one. I hope you quite approve ? " 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " Well, the odd thing was that they didn't quite 
 have the effect I aimed at. He talked of you 
 more and more, instead of less and less. Wasn't 
 it provoking, Rosamund ? " 
 
 Again their eyes encountered. 
 
 " I wish," continued Miss Elvan, " I knew how 
 much of this is truth, and how much Bertha's 
 peculiar humour." 
 
 " It's substantial truth. That there may be 
 humour in it, I don't deny, but it isn't of my im- 
 porting." 
 
 " When did he last come to see you ? " Rosa- 
 mund inquired. 
 
 " Let me see. Just before he went to see 
 you." 
 
 " It doesn't occur to you," said Rosamund, 
 slowly meditative, " that he had some other rea- 
 son — not the apparent one — for coming to your 
 house ? " 
 
 197 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " It doesn't occur to me, and never will occur 
 to'me," was Bertha's amused answer. 
 
 When it was time for Bertha to walk home- 
 wards, Rosamund put her hat on, and they went 
 out together. Turning to the west, they passed 
 along Che5nie Walk, and paused awhile by old 
 Chelsea Church. The associations of the neigh- 
 bourhood moved Miss Elvan to a characteristic 
 display of enthusiasm. Delightful to live here ! 
 A joy to work amid such memories, of ancient and 
 of latter time ! 
 
 " I must get Mr. Warburton to come and walk 
 about Chelsea with me," she added. 
 
 " Mr. Warburton ? " 
 
 " He's a great authority on London antiquities. 
 Bertha, if you happen to see Norbert these 
 days, do ask him for Mr. Warburton's ad- 
 dress." 
 
 " Why not ask your people at Ashtead ? " said 
 Bertha. 
 
 " I shan't be going there for two or three weeks. 
 Promise to ask Norbert — wiU you ? For me, 
 of course." 
 
 Bertha had turned to look at the river. Her face 
 wore a puzzled gravity. 
 
 " I'll try to think of it," she replied, walking 
 slowly on. 
 
 " He's a great mystery," were Rosamund's 
 next words. " My uncle has no idea what he does, 
 and Norbert, they tell me, is just as ignorant, 
 or at all events, professes to be. Isn't it a queer 
 thing ? He came to grief in business two years 
 ago, and since then he has lived out of sight. Uncle 
 Ralph supposes he had to take a clerk's place 
 somewhere, and that he doesn't care to talk 
 about it. 
 
 198 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 "Is he such a snob ? " asked Bertha, disinter- 
 estedly. 
 
 " No one would think so who knows him. I'm 
 convinced there's some other explanation." 
 
 " Perhaps the truth is yet more awful," said 
 Bertha solemnly. " He may have got a place in a 
 shop." 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! " exclaimed the other, with 
 a pained look. " Don't say such things ! A poor 
 clerk is suggestive — it's possible to see him in 
 a romantic light — but a shopman ! If you knew 
 him, you would laugh at the idea. Mystery suits 
 him very well indeed ; to teU the truth, he's much 
 more interesting now than when one knew him as 
 a partner in a manufactory of some kind. You 
 see he's unhappy — there are lines in his face " 
 
 " Perhaps," suggested Bertha, " he has married 
 a rich widow and daren't confess it." 
 
 199 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 IT was on Saturday night that Godfrey Sher- 
 wood came at length to Warburton's lodgings. 
 Reaching home between twelve and one o'clock 
 Will saw a man who paced the pavement near 
 Mrs. Wick's door ; the man, at sight of him, has- 
 tened forward ; there were exclamations of sur- 
 prise and of pleasure. 
 
 " I came first of all at nine o'clock," said Sher- 
 wood. " The landlady said you wouldn't be back 
 before midnight, so I came again. Been to the 
 theatre, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered WiU, " taking part in a play 
 called ' The Grocer's Saturday Night.' " 
 
 " I'd forgotten. Poor old fellow ! You won't 
 have much more of that, thank Heaven ! — Are you 
 too tired to talk to-night ? " 
 
 " No, no ; come in." 
 
 The house was silent and dark. Will struck a 
 match to light the candle placed for him at the 
 foot of the stairs, and led the way up to his sitting- 
 room on the first floor. Here he lit a lamp, and 
 the two friends looked at each other. Each saw 
 a change. If Warburton was thin and heavy- 
 eyed, Sherwood's visage showed an even more notice- 
 able falling-off in health. 
 
 " What's been the matter with you ? " asked 
 Will. " Your letter said you had had an illness, 
 and you look as if you hadn't got over it yet." 
 
 " Oh, I'm all right now," cried the other. " Liver 
 
 200 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 got out of order — or the spleen, or something — 
 I forget. The best medicine was the news I got 
 about old Strangw5m. — There, by Jove ! I've 
 let the name out. The wonder is I never did it 
 before, when we were talking. It doesn't matter 
 now. Yes, it's Strangwyn, the whisky man. 
 He'U die worth a million or two, and Ted is his 
 only son. I was a fool to lend that money to Ted, 
 but we saw a great deal of each other at one time, 
 and when he came asking for ten thousand — a mere 
 nothing for a fellow of his expectations — nobody 
 thought his father could live a year, but the old man 
 has held out all this time, and Ted, the rascal, kept 
 swearing he couldn't pay the interest on his debt. 
 Of course I could have made him ; but he knew I 
 shouldn't dare to risk the thing coming to his 
 father's ears. I've had altogether about three hun- 
 dred pounds, instead of the four hundred a year 
 he owed me — it was at four per cent. Now, of 
 course, I shall get all the arrears — ^but that won't 
 pay for all the mischief that's been done." 
 
 " Is it certain," asked Will, " that Strangwyn 
 wiU pay ? " 
 
 " Certain ? If he doesn't I sue him. The case 
 is plain as daylight." 
 
 " There's no doubt that he'll have his father's 
 money ? " 
 
 " None whatever. For more than a year now, he's 
 been on good terms with the old man. Ted is a 
 very decent fellow, of his sort. I don't say that I 
 care as much for him now as I used to ; we've both 
 of us altered ; but his worst fault is extravagance. 
 The old man, it must be confessed, isn't very good 
 form ; he smeUs rather of the distillery ; but Ted 
 Strangw5m might come of the best family in the land. 
 Oh, you needn't have the least anxiety. Strangwyn 
 
 201 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 will pay, principal and interest, as soon as the old 
 man has retired ; and that may happen any day, 
 any hour. — How glad I am to see you again. Will ! 
 I've known one or two plucky men, but no one 
 like you. I couldn't have gone through it ; I 
 should have turned coward after a month of that. 
 Well, it's over, and it'll be something to look back 
 upon. Some day, perhaps, you'll amuse your 
 sister by telling her the story. To tell you the 
 truth, I couldn't bear to come and see you ; I should 
 have been too miserably ashamed of myself. — And 
 not a soul has found you out, all this time ? " 
 
 " No one that I know of." 
 
 " You must have suffered horribly from loneliness. 
 — But I have things to tell you, important things." 
 He waved his arm. " Not to-night ; it's too late, 
 and you look tired to death." 
 
 " Tell on," said Warburton. " If I went to bed 
 I shouldn't sleep — where are you staying ? " 
 
 " Morley's Hotel. Not at my own expense," 
 Sherwood added hastily. " I'm acting as secretary 
 to a man — a man I got to know in Ireland. A 
 fine fellow ! You'll know him very soon. It's 
 about him that I want to tell you. But first of all, 
 that idea of mine about Irish eggs. The trouble 
 was I couldn't get capital enough. My cousin 
 Hackett risked a couple of hundred pounds ; it was 
 all lost before the thing could really be set going. 
 I had a bad time after that, WiU, a bad time, I tell 
 you. Yet good results came of it. For two or three 
 months I lived on next to nothing — a few pence a 
 day, all told. Of course, if I had let Strangwyn 
 know how badly off I was, he'd have sent a cheque ; 
 but I didn't feel I had any right to his money, it 
 was yours, not mine. Besides, I said to myself that, 
 if I suffered, it was only what I deserved ; I took it 
 
 202 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 as a sort of expiation of the harm I'd done. All 
 that time I was in Dublin, I tried to get employment 
 but nobody had any use for me — until at last, 
 when I was aU but dying of hunger, somebody 
 spoke to me of a certain Milligan, a young and 
 very rich man living in Dublin. I resolved to go 
 and see him, and a lucky day it was. You remember 
 ConoUy — Bates's traveller ? Well, Milligan is just 
 that man, in appearance ; a thorough Irishman, 
 and one of the best hearted fellows that ever lived. 
 Though he's rich I found him living in a very plain 
 way, in a room which looked like a museum, full 
 of fossils, stuffed birds and animals, queer old 
 pictures, no end of such things. Well, I told him 
 plainly who I was, and where I was ; and almost 
 without thinking, he cried out — ' What could 
 be simpler ? Come and be my secretary.' — ' You 
 want a secretary ? ' — ' I hadn't thought of it,' said 
 Milligan, ' but now it strikes me it's just what I do 
 want. I knew there was something. Yes, yes. 
 come and be my secretary ; you're just the man.' 
 He went on to tell me he had a lot of correspondence 
 with sellers of curiosities, and it bored him to write 
 the letters. Would I come for a couple of hours a 
 day ? He'd pay me twenty pounds a month. You 
 may suppose I wasn't long in accepting. We began 
 the next day, and in a week's time we were good 
 friends. MiUigan told me that he'd always had weak 
 health, and he was convinced his life had been saved 
 by vegetarianism. I myself wasn't feeling at all 
 fit just then ; he persuaded me to drop meat, and 
 taught me aU about the vegetarian way of living. 
 I hadn't tried it for a month before I found the 
 most wonderful results. Never in my life had I 
 such a clear mind, and such good spirits. It re- 
 made me." 
 
 203 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " So you've come to London to hunt for curios ? " 
 interposed Will. 
 
 " No, no ; let me go on. When I got to know 
 Milligan well, I found that he had a large estate 
 somewhere in Connaught. And, as we talked, an 
 idea came to me." Again he sprang up from his 
 chair. " ' If I were a landowner on that scale,' I 
 said, ' do you know what I should do — I should 
 make a vegetarian colony ; a self-supporting settle- 
 ment of people who ate no meat, drank no alcohol, 
 smoked no tobacco ; a community which, as years 
 went on, might prove to the world that there was 
 the true ideal of civilised life — health of mind and 
 of body, true culture, true humanity ! ' " The 
 eyes glowed in his fleshless, colourless face ; he 
 spoke with arm raised, head thrown back — the 
 attitude of an enthusiastic preacher. " Milligan 
 caught at the idea — caught at it eagerly. ' There's 
 something fine in that ! ' he said. ' Why shouldn't 
 it be done ? ' ' You're the man that could do it,' 
 I told him. ' You'd be a benefactor to the human 
 race. Isolated examples are all very well, but 
 what we want is an experiment on a large scale, 
 going on through more than one generation. Let 
 children be bom of vegetarian parents, brought 
 up as vegetarians, and this in conditions of life 
 every way simple, natural, healthy. This is the 
 way to convert the world.' So that's what we're 
 working at now, MUligan and I. Of course there 
 are endless difficulties ; the thing can't be begun 
 in a hurry ; we have to see no end of people, and 
 correspond with the leaders of vegetarianism every- 
 where. But isn't it a grand idea ? Isn't it worth 
 working for ? " 
 
 Warburton mused, smiling. 
 
 " I want you to join us," said Sherwood abruptly. 
 204 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Ho, ho ! That's another matter." 
 
 " I shall bring you books to read." 
 
 "I've no time. I'm a grocer." 
 
 " Pooh ! " exclaimed Sherwood. " In a few days 
 you'll be an independent man. — Yes, yes, I know 
 that you'll have only a small capital, when things 
 are settled ; but it's just people with a small capital 
 that we want to enlist ; the very poor and the 
 well-to-do will be no use to us. It's too late to-night 
 to go into details. We have time to talk, plenty of 
 time. That you will join us, I feel sure. Wait 
 till you've had time to think about it. For my 
 own part, I've found the work of my life, and I'm 
 the happiest man living ! " 
 
 He walked round and round the table, waving his 
 arms, and Warburton, after regarding him curiously, 
 mused again, but without a smile. 
 
 205 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 BEHIND his counter next morning, Will thought 
 over Sherwood's stor}^, and laughed to 
 himself wonderingly. Not that any freak of his 
 old partner's — of the man whom he had once re- 
 garded as, above all, practical and energetic — could 
 now surprise him ; but it seemed astonishing that 
 Godfrey should have persuaded a man of solid 
 means, even a Celt, to pledge himself to such an 
 enterprise Was the story true ? Did Milligan 
 really exist ? If any doubt were possible on this 
 point, did it not also throw suspicion on the story 
 of Strangwyn, and the ten thousand pounds ? 
 Will grew serious at the reflection. He had never 
 conceived a moment's distrust of Sherwood's 
 honesty, nor did his misgiving now take that form ; 
 the question which troubled him throughout to-day 
 was — whether Godfrey Sherwood might be a victim 
 of delusions. Certainly he had a very strange 
 look ; that haggard face, those brilliant eyes— — 
 So disquieting was the suspicion that, at closing 
 time. Will could no longer resist an impulse to 
 betake himself to Morley's Hotel. Sherwood had 
 said that Milligan was there only for a few days, 
 until the wealthy Irishman could find a furnished 
 house suitable to his needs whilst he remained in 
 London. Arrived at the hotel, he inquired for his 
 friend ; Sherwood had dined and gone out. Will 
 hesitated a moment, then asked whether Mr. 
 
 206 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Milligan was to be seen. Mr. Milligan, he learnt, 
 had gone out with Mr. Sherwood. So Milhgan did 
 exist. Will's relief at settling this point banished his 
 doubts on all the others. He turned westward 
 again, and through a night of soft, warm rain 
 walked all the way to his lodgings. 
 
 On the third day after, late in the evening, 
 Sherwood paid him a second visit. Godfrey was 
 in high spirits. He announced that Milligan had 
 taken a house near the Marble Arch, where he 
 also, as secretary, would have his quarters, and 
 that already a meeting had been convened of 
 the leading London vegetarians. Things were 
 splendidly in train. Then he produced an evening 
 newspaper, with a paragraph, which spoke of the 
 serious illness of Mr. Strangw3nfl ; recovery, it 
 was said, could hardly be hoped for. 
 
 " What's more, " cried Sherwood. "I've seen 
 Ted Strangw5ni himself. Nobody could behave 
 better. The old man, he assured me, couldn't 
 last more than a day or two, and he promised — 
 quite spontaneously, I didn't say a word — to 
 pay his debt in full as soon as ever his father's 
 will was proved, which will be done as quickly 
 as possible. — And now, have you thought over 
 what I said the other night ? " 
 
 " Thought— yes." 
 
 " With not much result, I see. Never mind ; 
 you must have time. T want you to meet Milli- 
 gan. Could you come to lunch next Sunday ? 
 He invites you." 
 
 Warburton shook his head. He had never 
 cared for the acquaintance of rich men, and was 
 less than ever disposed to sit at their tables. All 
 his anxieties regarding Sherwood's mental con- 
 dition having been set at rest, he would go on 
 
 207 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 with his grocer's life as long as need be, strength- 
 ened with the hope that shone before him. 
 
 The end of July had come. After a week of 
 rain, the weather had turned bright, with a coolness 
 at morning and evening very pleasant at this 
 time of year in London streets. Warburton had 
 business in the City which he must needs see to 
 personally ; he was on the point of leaving the 
 shop, dressed as became a respectable citizen, 
 silk hat and all, when in the doorway appeared 
 Miss Bertha Cross. A certain surprise marked 
 her smile of recognition ; it meant, no doubt, that, 
 never before having seen Mr. Joll5mian save bare- 
 headed and aproned, she was struck with the 
 change in his aspect when thus equipped for going 
 abroad. Immediately Mr. Joll5mian doffed his 
 hat and stepped behind the counter. 
 
 " Please don't let me keep you, " said Bertha, 
 with a glance towards Allchin, who was making 
 parcels at the back of the shop. " I only want 
 some — some matches, and one or two trifling 
 things." 
 
 Never had she seemed so embarrassed in making 
 a purchase. Her eyes fell, and she half turned 
 away. Mr. Joll5mian appeared to hesitate, he 
 also glancing towards Allchin ; but the young 
 lady quickly recovered herself, and, taking up 
 a packet of something exhibited on the counter, 
 asked its price. The awkwardness was at an end ; 
 Bertha made her purchases, paid for them, and 
 then left the shop as usual. 
 
 It was by the last post on the evening after 
 this day that Warburton received a letter of which 
 the exterior puzzled him. Whose could be this 
 graceful, delicate hand ? A woman's doubtless ; 
 yet he had no female correspondent, save those 
 
 208 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 wko wrote from St. Neots. The postmark was 
 London. He opened, " Dear Mr. Warburton " — 
 a glance over the leaf showed him — " Sincerely 
 yours, Rosamund Elvan." H'm ! 
 
 " Dear Mr. Warburton, — I am settled in my 
 lodgings here, and getting seriously to work. 
 It has occurred to me that you might be able to 
 suggest some quaint corner of old London, un- 
 known to me, which would make a good subject 
 for a water-colour. London has been, I am sure, 
 far too much neglected by artists ; if I could mark 
 out a claim here, as the colonists say, I should 
 be lucky. For the present, I am just sketching 
 (to get my hand in) about Chelsea. To-morrow 
 afternoon, about six o'clock, if this exquisite mellow 
 weather continues, I shall be on the Embankment 
 in Battersea Park, near the Albert Bridge, where 
 I want to catch a certain effect of sky and water." 
 
 That was all. And what exactly did it mean ? 
 Warburton's practical knowledge of women did 
 not carry him very far, but he was wont to theorise 
 at large on the subject, and in this instance it 
 seemed to him that one of his favourite generalities 
 found neat application. Miss Elvan had in a high 
 degree the feminine characteristic of not knowing 
 her own mind. Finding herself without substantial 
 means, she of course meant to marry, and it was 
 natural that she should think of marrying Norbert 
 Franks ; yet she could not feel at all sure that she 
 wished to do so ; neither was she perfectly certain 
 that Franks would again offer her the choice. 
 Infthis state of doubt she inclined to cultivate the 
 acquaintance of Franks' intimate friend, knowing 
 that she might thus, very probably, gather hints 
 as to the artist's state of mind, and, if it seemed 
 good to her, could indirectly convey to him a 
 
 209 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 suggestion of her own. Warburton concluded, 
 then, that he was simply being made use of by 
 this t5rpical young lady. That point settled, 
 he willingly lent himself to her device, for he desired 
 nothing better than to see Franks lured back to 
 the old allegiance, and away from the house at 
 Walham Green. So, before going to bed, he 
 posted a reply to Miss Elvan's letter, saying that 
 he should much like a talk with her about the artistic 
 possibilities of obscure London, and that he would 
 walk next day along the Battersea Embankment, 
 with the hope of meeting her. 
 
 And thus it came to pass. Through the morn- 
 ing there were showers, but about noon a breeze 
 swept the sky fair, and softly glowing summer 
 reigned over the rest of the day. In his mood 
 of hopefulness, Warburton had no scruple about 
 abandoning the shop at tea-time ; he did not even 
 trouble himself to invent a decorous excuse, but 
 told Allchin plainly that he thought he would 
 have a walk. His henchman, who of late had 
 always seemed rather pleased than otherwise 
 when Warburton absented himself, loudly ap- 
 proved the idea. 
 
 " Don't you 'urry back, sir. There'll be no 
 business as I can't manage. Don't you think of 
 'urrpng. The air'U do you good." 
 
 As he walked away. Will said to himself that 
 no doubt Allchin would only be too glad of a chance 
 of managing the business independently, and 
 that perhaps he hoped for the voluntary retirement 
 of Mr. Jollyman one of these days. Indeed, things 
 were likely to take that course. And Allchin 
 was a good, honest fellow, whom it would be a 
 pleasure to see flourishing. — How much longer 
 would old Strangwyn cumber the world ? 
 
 210 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 With more of elasticity than usual in his rapid 
 stride. Will passed out of Fulham Road into King's 
 Road, and down to the river at Che3me Walk, 
 whence his eye perceived a sitting figure on the 
 opposite bank. He crossed Albert Bridge ; he 
 stepped down into the Park ; he drew near to the 
 young lady in grey trimmed with black, who was 
 at work upon a drawing. Not until he spoke did 
 she seem aware of his arrival ; then with her bright- 
 est smile of welcome, she held out a pretty hand, 
 and in her melodious voice thanked him for so 
 kindly taking the trouble to come. 
 
 "Don't look at this," she added. "It's too 
 difficult — I can't get it right " 
 
 What his glance discovered on the block did not 
 strengthen Will's confidence in Rosamund's claim 
 to be a serious artist. He had always taken for 
 granted that her work was amateurish, and that 
 she had little chance of living by it. On the whole, 
 he felt glad to be confirmed in this view ; Rosamund 
 as an incompetent was more interesting to him 
 than if she had given proof of great ability. 
 
 " I mustn't be too ambitious," she was saying. 
 " The river suggests dangerous comparisons. I 
 want to find little corners of the town such as no 
 one ever thought of painting " 
 
 " Unless it was Norbert Franks," said Will 
 genially, leaning on his stick with both hands, 
 and looking over her head. 
 
 " Yes, I had almost forgotten," she answered 
 with a thoughtful smile. " In those days, he 
 did some very good things." 
 
 " Some remarkably good things. Of course 
 you know the story of how he and I first met ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. Early morning — a quiet little street 
 — I remember. Where was that ? " 
 
 311 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 ■' Over yonder." Will nodded southward. " I 
 hope he'll take that up again some day." 
 
 " Oh, but let me do it first, " exclaimed Rosa- 
 mund, laughing. " You mustn't rob me of my 
 chance, Mr. Warburton ? Norbert Franks is 
 successful and rich, or going to be ; I am a poor 
 struggler. Of course, in painting London, it's 
 atmosphere one has to try for above all. Our 
 sky gives value, now and then, to forms which 
 in themselves are utterly uninteresting." 
 
 " Exactly what Franks used to say to me. There 
 was a thing I wanted him to try — but then came 
 the revolution. It was the long London street, 
 after a hot, fine day, just when the lamps have 
 been lit. Have you noticed how golden the hghts 
 are ? I remember standing for a long time at 
 th ■ end of Harley Street, enjoying that effect. 
 Franks was going to try it — but then came the 
 revolution." 
 
 " For which — you mean, Mr. Warburton — I 
 was to blame." 
 
 Rosamund spoke in a very low voice and a very 
 sweet, her head bent. 
 
 " Why, yes," replied Will, in the tone of cor- 
 responding masculinity, " though I shouldn't my- 
 self have used that word. You, no doubt, were 
 the cause of what happened, and so, in a sense, 
 to blame for it. But I know it couldn't be helped." 
 
 " Indeed, it couldn't," declared Rosamund, 
 raising her eyes a little, and looking across the 
 river. 
 
 She had not in the least the air of a coquette. 
 Impossible to associate any such trivial idea with 
 Rosamund's habitual seriousness of bearing, and 
 with the stamp of her features, which added some 
 subtle charm to regularity and refinement. By 
 
 212 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 temper critical, and especially disposed to mis- 
 trustful scrutiny by the present circumstances, 
 Warburton was yet unable to resist the softening 
 influence of this quintessential womanhood. In 
 a certain degree, he had submitted to it during 
 that hoHday among the Alps, then, on the whole, 
 he inclined to regard Rosamund impatiently and 
 with slighting tolerance. Now that he desired to 
 mark her good quaUties, and so justify himself 
 in the endeavour to renew her conquest of Norbert 
 Franks, he exposed himself to whatever peril 
 might lie in her singular friendliness. True, no 
 sense of danger occurred to him, and for that very 
 reason his state was the more precarious. 
 
 " You have seen him lately at Ashtead ? " 
 was his next remark. 
 
 " More than once. And I can't tell you how 
 glad we were to see each other ! I knew in a 
 moment that he had really forgiven me — and I 
 have always wanted to be assured of that. How 
 thoroughly good and straightforward he is ! I'm 
 sure we shall be friends aU our lives." 
 
 " I agree with you," he said, " that there's 
 no better fellow living. Till now, I can't see a 
 sign of his being spoilt by success. And spoilt 
 in the worst sense, I don't think he ever will be, 
 happen what may, there's a simplicity about him 
 which makes his safeguard. But, as for his paint- 
 ing — well, I can't be so sure, I know little or nothing 
 about it, but it's plain that he no longer takes 
 his work very seriously. It pleases people — they pay 
 large prices for it — where's the harm ? Still, 
 if he had some one to keep a higher ideal before 
 him " 
 
 He broke off, with a vague gesture. Rosamund 
 looked up at him. 
 
 213 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " We must try," she said, with quiet earnest- 
 ness. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know that Fm any use," repUed 
 Will, with a laugh. " I speak with no authority. 
 But you — yes. Yoti might do much. More than 
 any one else possibly could." 
 
 " That is exaggerating, Mr. Warburton," said 
 Rosamund. " Even in the old days my influence 
 didn't go for nmch. You speak of the ' revolution ' 
 caused by — by what happened ; but the truth 
 is that the revolution had begun before that. 
 Remember I saw ' Sanctuary ' while he was paint- 
 ing it, and, but we won't talk of that " 
 
 " To tell you the truth," returned Warburton, 
 meeting her eyes steadily, with his pleasantest 
 look, " I saw no harm in ' Sanctuary.' I think 
 he was quite right to do what he could to earn 
 money. He wanted to be married ; he had waited 
 quite long enough ; if he hadn't done something 
 of the kind, I should have doubted whether he 
 was very much in earnest. No, no ; what I call 
 the revolution began when he had lost all hope. 
 At the time he would have given up painting al- 
 together, I believe ; if it hadn't been that he owed 
 me money, and knew I wanted it." 
 
 Rosamund made a quick movement of interest. 
 
 " I never heard about that." 
 
 " Franks wouldn't talk about it, be sure. He 
 saw me in a hobble — I lost everything, all at once 
 — and he went to work like a brick to get money 
 for me. And that, when he felt more disposed 
 to poison himself than to paint. Do you think 
 I should criticise the work he did under these 
 circumstances ? " 
 
 " No, indeed ! Thank you, Mr. Warburton, 
 for teUing me that story." 
 
 214 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " How exquisite London is at this time of the 
 year ! " Rosamund murmured, as having declared 
 it was time to be walking homewards, they walked 
 slowly towards the bridge. " I'm glad not to 
 be going away. Look at that lovely sky ! Look 
 at the tones of those houses. — Oh, I must make 
 use of it all ! Real use, I mean, as splendid 
 material for art, not only for money-making. Do 
 advise me, Mr. Warburton. Where shall I go to 
 look for bits ? " 
 
 Walking with bent head, Will reflected. 
 
 "^Do you know Camberwell ? " he asked. " There 
 are good little corners " 
 
 " I don't know it at all. Could you — I'm afraid 
 to ask. You couldn't spare time ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, easily. That's to say, during certain 
 hours." 
 
 " On Monday say ? In the afternoon ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " How kind of you ! " murmured Rosamund. 
 " If I were only an amateur, amusing myself, I 
 couldn't give you the trouble ; but it's serious ; 
 I must earn money before long. You see, there's 
 nothing else I can do. My sister — you know I 
 have a sister ? — she has taken to teaching ; she's 
 at St. Jean de Luz. But I'm no use for anything 
 of that kind. I must be independent. Why 
 do you smile ? " 
 
 " Not at you, but at myself. I used to say 
 the same thing. But I had no talent of any kind, 
 and when the smash came " 
 
 They were crossing the bridge. Will looked 
 westward, in the direction of his shop, and it struck 
 him how amusing it would be to startle Rosamund 
 by a disclosure of his social status. Would she 
 still be anxious for his company in search of the 
 
 215 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 picturesque ? He could not feel sure — curiosity 
 urged him to try the experiment, but an obscure 
 apprehension closed his lips. 
 
 " How very hard for you ! " sighed Rosamund. 
 "But don't think," she added quickly, "that 
 I have a weak dread of poverty. Not at all ! 
 So long as one can support oneself.. Nowadays, 
 when every one strives and battles for money, 
 there's a distinction in doing without it." 
 
 Five mmutes more, and they were in Oakley 
 Crescent. Rosamund paused before reaching the 
 house in which she dwelt, took the camp-stool 
 from her companion, and offered her hand for 
 good-bye. Only then did Warburton become 
 aware that he had said nothing since that remark 
 of hers about poverty ; he had walked in a dream. 
 
 !l6 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 AUGUST came, and Strangw5m, the great 
 whisky distiller, was yet alive. For very 
 shame, Will kept his thoughts from that direction. 
 The gloomy mood had again crept upon him, 
 in spite of all his reasons for hope ; his sleep became 
 mere nightmare, and his day behind the counter 
 a bilious misery. 
 
 Since the occasion last recorded. Bertha Cross 
 had not been to the shop. One day, the order 
 was brought by a servant ; a week later, Mrs. Cross 
 herself appeared. The querulous lady wore a 
 countenance so nearly cheerful that Warburton 
 regarded her uneasily. She had come to purchase 
 tea, and remarked that it was for use during a 
 seaside holiday ; you could never depend on the 
 tea at seaside places. Perhaps, thought WUl, the 
 prospect of change sufficed to explain her equani- 
 mity. But for the rest of the day he was so glum 
 and curt, that AUchin frequently looked at him 
 with pained remonstrance. 
 
 At home, he found a telegram on his table. 
 He clutched at it, rent the envelope. But no ; it 
 was not what he expected. Norbert Franks asked 
 him to look in that evening. So, weary and heart- 
 sick as he was, he took the train to Notting Hill 
 Gate. 
 
 " What is it ? " he asked bluntly, on entering 
 the studio. 
 
 217 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Wanted a talk, that was all, " replied his 
 friend. " Hope I haven't disturbed you. You 
 told me, vou remember, that you preferred coming 
 here." 
 
 " All right. I thought you might have news for 
 me." 
 
 "Well," said Franks, smiling at the smoke 
 of his cigarette, " there's perhaps something of 
 the sort. " 
 
 The other regarded him keenly. 
 
 " You've done it." 
 
 " No — — ; not exactly. Sit down ; you're 
 not in a hurry ? I went to Walham Green a few 
 days ago, but Bertha wasn't at home. I saw 
 her mother. They're going away for a fortnight, 
 to Southwold, and I have a sort of idea that I 
 may run down there. I half promised." 
 
 Will nodded, and said nothing. 
 
 " You disapprove ? Speak plainly, old man. 
 What's j^our real objection ? Of course I've 
 noticed before now that you have an objection. 
 Out with it ! " 
 
 " Have you seen Miss Elvan again ? " 
 
 " No. Have you ? " 
 
 " Two or three times." 
 
 Franks was surprised. 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " Oh, we've had some walks together." 
 
 " The deuce you have ! " cried Franks, with 
 a laugh. 
 
 " Don't you want to know what we talked 
 about, " pursued Warburton, looking at him with 
 half-closed eyelids. " Principally about you." 
 
 " That's very flattering — but perhaps you abused 
 me?" 
 
 " On the whole, no. Discussed you, yes, and 
 218 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 in considerable detail, coming to the conclusion 
 that you were a very decent feUow, and we both 
 of us liked you very much." 
 Franks laughed gaily, joyously. 
 " Que vous etes aimdbles, tous-les-deux ! You 
 make me imagine I'm back in Paris. Must I 
 round a compliment in reply ? " 
 
 " That's as you like. But first I'll tell you the 
 upshot of it all, as it shapes itself to me. Hasn't it 
 even dimly occurred to you that, under the cir- 
 cumstances, it would be. — well, say a graceful 
 thing — to give that girl a chance of changing her 
 mind again ? " 
 
 " What— Rosamund ? " 
 " It never struck you ? " 
 
 " But, hang it all, Warburton ! " exclaimed 
 the artist. " How should I have thought of it ? 
 You know very well — and then, it's perfectly 
 certain she would laugh at me." 
 
 " It isn't certain at all. And, do you know, it 
 almost seems to me a point of honour." 
 
 " You're not serious ? This is one of your 
 solemn jokes — such as you haven't indulged in 
 lately." 
 
 " No, no. Listen," said Wni, with a rigid ear 
 nestness on his face as he bent forward in the chair. 
 " She is poor, and doesn't know how she's going 
 to live. You are flourishing, and have all sorts 
 of brilliant things before you ; wouldn't it be a 
 generous thing — the kind of thing one might expect 
 of a fellow with his heart in the right place — ? 
 You understand me ? " 
 
 Franks rounded his eyes in amazement. 
 " But — am I to understand that she expects it ? " 
 " Not at all. She heisn't in the remotest way 
 betrayed such a thought — be assured of that. 
 
 219 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 She isn't the sort of girl to do such a thing. It's 
 entirely my own thought." 
 
 The artist changed his seat, and for a moment 
 wore a look of perturbed reflection. 
 
 " How the deuce," he exclaimed, " can you come 
 and talk to me like this when you know I've as 
 good as committed myself ? " 
 
 " Yes, and in a wobbling, half-hearted way 
 which means you had no right even to think of 
 committing yourself. You care nothing about 
 that other girl " 
 
 " You're mistaken. I care a good deal. In 
 fact " 
 
 " In fact " echoed Warburton with good-natured 
 scorn " so much that you've all but made up your 
 mind to go down to Southwold whilst she is there ! 
 Bosh ! You cared for one girl in a way you'll never 
 care for another." 
 
 " WeU — perhaps — yes that may be true " 
 
 " Of course it's true. If you don't marry her, 
 go in for a prize beauty or for an heiress or any- 
 thing else that's brilliant. Think of the scope 
 before a man like you." 
 
 Franks smiled complacently once more. 
 
 " Why, that's true," he replied. " I was going 
 to tell you about my social adventures. Who 
 do you think I've been chumming with ? Sir 
 Luke Griffin — the great Sir Luke. He's asked me 
 down to his place in Leicestershire, and I think I 
 shall go. He's really a very nice fellow. I always 
 imagined him loud, vulgar, the typical parvenu. 
 Nothing of the kind — no one would guess that he 
 began life in a grocer's shop. Why, he can talk quite 
 decently about pictures, and reaUy likes the m." 
 
 Warburton listened with a chuckle. 
 
 " Has he daughters ? " 
 
 220 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 "Three, and no son. The youngest, about 
 seventeen, an uncommonly pretty girl. Well, as 
 you say, why shouldn't I marry her and a quarter 
 of a million ? By Jove ! I believe I could. She 
 was here with her father yesterday. I'm going 
 to paint the three girls together. — Do you know, 
 Warburton, speaking without any foolish vanity, 
 what astonishes me is to think of the enormous 
 choice of wives there is for a man of decent appear- 
 ance and breeding who succeeds in getting himself 
 talked about. Without a joke, I am convinced 
 I know twenty girls, and more or less nice girls, 
 who would have me at once, if I asked them. I'm 
 not a conceited fellow — am I now ? I shouldn't 
 say this to any one else. I'm simply convinced of 
 its being a fact." 
 
 Warburton declared his emphatic agreement. 
 
 " Seeing that, " he added, " why are you in such a 
 hurry ? Your millionaire grocer is but a stepping- 
 stone ; who knows but you may soon chum 
 with dukes ? If any man living ought to be cautious 
 about his marriage, it's you." 
 
 The artist examined his friend with a puzzled 
 smile. 
 
 " I should like to know, Warburton, how much of 
 this is satire, and how much serious advice. Perhaps 
 it's all satire — and rather savage ? " 
 
 " No, no, I'm speaking quite frankly." 
 
 " But, look here, there's the awkward fact that 
 I reaUy have gone rather far with the Crosses." 
 
 WiU made a movement of aU but angry impatience. 
 
 " Do you mean," he asked quickly, " that she 
 has committed herself in any way ? " 
 
 " No, that she certainly hasn't," was Franks, 
 deliberate reply, in a voice as honest as the smile 
 which accompanied it. 
 
 221 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " My advice then is — break decently off, and 
 either do what I suggested, or go and amuse yourself 
 with millionaire Sir Luke, and extend your oppor- 
 tunities." 
 
 Franks mused. 
 
 " You are serious about Rosamund ? " he asked, 
 after a glance at Warburton's set face. 
 
 " Think it over," Will replied, in a rather hard 
 voice. " I saw the thing like that. Of course, it's 
 no business of mine ; I don't know why I interfere ; 
 every man should settle these matters in his own 
 way. But it was a thought I had, and I've told it 
 you. There's no harm done." 
 
 222 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 WHEN Warburton reached his lodging the 
 next evening he found a letter on his table. 
 Again the fine feminine hand ; it was the second 
 time that Rosamund had written to him. A vague 
 annoyance mingled with his curiosity as he tore 
 the envelope. She began by telling him of a draw- 
 ing she had made in Camberwell Grove — not bad, 
 it seemed to her, but she wished for his opinion. 
 Then, in a new paragraph : 
 
 " I have seen Norbert again. I call him Nor- 
 bert, because I always think of him by that name, 
 and there's an affectation in writing ' Mr. Franks.' 
 I felt that, when we talked of him, and I really 
 don't know why I didn't simply call him Norbert 
 then. I shall do so in future. You, I am sure, 
 have little respect for silly social conventions, and 
 you will understand me. Yes, I have seen him 
 again, and I feel obliged to tell you about it. It was 
 reaUy very amusing. You know, of course, that 
 aU embarrassment was over between us. At Ash- 
 tead we met like the best of friends. So, when 
 Norbert wrote that he wanted to see me, I thought 
 nothing could be more natural, and felt quite glad. 
 But, as soon as we met, I saw something strange in 
 him, something seemed to have happened. And — 
 how shall I teU you ? It's only a guess of mine- 
 things didn't come to foolish extremities — ^but I 
 reaUy believe that the poor fellow had somehow 
 
 323 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 persuaded himself that it's his duty to — no, I can't 
 go on, but I'm sure you will understand. I was 
 never so amused at anything. 
 
 " Why do I write this to you ? I hardly know. 
 But I have just a suspicion that the story may not 
 come to you quite as a surprise. If Norbert thought 
 he had a certain duty — strange idea ! — perhaps 
 friends of his might see things in the same way. 
 Even the most sensible people are influenced by 
 curious ideas on one subject. I need not say that, 
 as soon as the suspicion dawned upon me, I did 
 my best to let him understand how far astray he 
 was going. I think he understood. I feel sure he 
 did. At all events he got into natural talk again, 
 and parted in a thoroughly reasonable way. 
 
 " I beg that you won't reply to this letter. I 
 shall work on, and hope to be able to see you again 
 before long." 
 
 Warburton threw the sheet of paper on to the 
 table, as if dismissing it from his thoughts. He 
 began to walk about the room Then he stood 
 motionless for ten minutes. " What's the matter 
 with me ? " this was the current of his musing. 
 " I used to think myself a fellow of some energy ; 
 but the truth is, I know my mind about nothing, 
 and I'm at the mercy of every one who chooses to 
 push me this way or that." 
 
 He took up the letter again, and was about to 
 re-read it, but suddenly altered his mind, and thrust 
 the folded paper into his pocket. 
 
 Eight days went by. WiU had a visit from 
 Sherwood, who brought news that the whisky dis- 
 tiller had seemed a little better, but could not pos- 
 sibly live more than a week or two. As regards the 
 vegetarian colony all went well ; practical men were 
 at work on the details of the scheme ; Sherwood 
 224 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 toiled for ten hours a day at secretarial correspon- 
 dence. Next day, there came a postcard from 
 Rosamund. 
 
 " Work ready to show you. Could you come 
 and have a cup of tea to-morrow afternoon ? " 
 
 At the conventional hour Will went to Oakley 
 Crescent. Not, however, as he had expected, to 
 find Miss Elvan alone ; with her sat Mrs. Pomfret, 
 in London for the afternoon. The simple and 
 kindly lady talked as usual, but WiU, nervously 
 observant, felt sure that she was not quite at her 
 ease. On the other hand, nothing could have been 
 more naturally graceful than Rosamund's demean- 
 our ; whether pouring out tea, or exhibiting her 
 water-colours, or leading the talk to subjects of com- 
 mon interest, she was charming in her own way, a 
 way which borrowed nothing from the every-day 
 graces of the drawing-room. Her voice, always 
 subdued, had a range of melodious expression which 
 caressed the ear, no matter how trifling the words 
 she uttered, and at moments its slightly tremulous 
 murmur on rich notes suggested depths of sentiment 
 lying beneath this famiUar cahn. To her aunt she 
 spoke with a touch of playful affection ; when her 
 eyes turned to Warburton, their look almost sug- 
 gested the frankness of simple friendship, and her 
 tone was that of the largest confidence. 
 
 Never had Will felt himself so lulled to oblivion 
 of things external ; he forgot the progress of time, 
 and only when Mrs. Pomfret spoke of the train she 
 had to catch, made an effort to break the lazy spell 
 and take his leave. 
 
 On the morrow, and on the day after that, he 
 shirked business during the afternoon, excusing 
 himself with the plea that the heat of the shop 
 was insufferable. He knew that neglect of work 
 
 225 p 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 was growing upon him, and again he observed that 
 Allchin seemed rather pleased than vexed by these 
 needless absences. The third day saw him behind 
 the counter until iive o'clock, when he was sum- 
 moned as usual to the back parlour to tea. Laying 
 before him a plate of watercress and slices of brown 
 bread and butter, Mrs. Allchin, a discreetly con- 
 versational young woman, remarked on the con- 
 tinued beauty of the weather, and added a hope 
 that Mr. Joll3anan would not feel obliged to remain 
 in the shop this evening. 
 
 " No, no, it's your husband's turn," Will replied 
 good-naturedly. " He wants a holiday more than 
 I do." 
 
 " Allchin want a 'oliday, sir ! " exclaimed the 
 woman. " Why he never knows what to do with 
 himself when he's away from business. He enjoys 
 business, does Allchin. Don't you think of him, 
 sir. I never knew a man so altered since he's been 
 kept to regular work all the year roimd. I used 
 to dread the Sundays, and still more the Bank holi- 
 days when we were here first ; you never knew who 
 he'd get quarrelling with as soon as he'd nothing 
 to do. But now, sir, why I don't believe you'll find 
 a less quarrelsome man anywhere, and he was saying 
 for a joke only yesterday, that he didn't think he 
 could knock down even a coster, he's so lost the 
 habit." 
 
 Will yielded and stole away into the mellowing 
 sunshine. He walked westward, tiU he found him- 
 self on the Embankment by Albert Bridge ; here, 
 after hesitating awhUe, he took the turn into Oakley 
 Street. He had no thought of calling to see Miss 
 Elvan ; upon that he could not venture ; but he 
 thought it barely possible that he might meet with 
 her in this neighbourhood, and such a meeting would 
 
 226 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 have been pleasant. Disappointed, he crossed the 
 river, lingered a little in Battersea Park, came back 
 again over the bridge, — and, with a sudden leap 
 of the heart, which all but made his whole body 
 spring forward, saw a slim figure in grey moving 
 by the parapet in front of Cheyne Walk. 
 
 They shook hands without speaking, very much 
 as though they had met by appointment. 
 
 " Oh, these sunsets ! " were Rosamund's first 
 words, when they had moved a few steps together. 
 
 " They used to be my delight when I lived there,' ' 
 Will replied, pointing eastward. 
 
 " Show me just where it was, will you ? " 
 
 They turned, and went as far as Chelsea Bridge, 
 where Warburton pointed out the windows of his 
 old flat. 
 
 " You were very happy there ? " said Rosamund. 
 
 " Happy — ? Not unhappy, at all events. Yes, 
 in a way I enjoyed my life ; chiefly because I didn't 
 think much about it." 
 
 " Look at the sky, now." 
 
 The sun had gone down in the duskily golden 
 haze that hung above the river's vague horizon. 
 Above, on the violet sky, stood range over range 
 of pleated clouds, their hue the deepest rose, 
 shading to purple in the folds. 
 
 " In other countries," continued the soft, mur- 
 muring voice, " I have never seen a sky like that. 
 I love this London ! " 
 
 " As I used to," said Warburton, " and shall 
 again." 
 
 t They loitered back past Chelsea Hospital, ex- 
 changing brief, insignificant sentences. Then for 
 many minutes neither spoke, and in this silence they 
 came to the foot of Oakley Street, where again 
 they stood gazing at the sky. Scarcely changed 
 
 227 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 in form, the western clouds had shed their splen- 
 dour, and were now so coldly pale that one would 
 have imagined them stricken with moonlight ; but 
 no moon had risen, only in a clear space of yet blue 
 sky glistened the evening star. 
 
 " I must go in," said Rosamund abruptly, as 
 though starting from a dream. 
 
 228 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 SHE was gone, and Warburton stood biting 
 his lips. Had he shaken hands with her ? 
 Had he said good-night ? He could not be sure. 
 Nothing was present to him but a sense of gawkish 
 confusion, following on a wild impulse which both 
 ashamed and alarmed him, he stood in a bumpkin 
 attitude, biting his lips. 
 
 A hansom came crawling by, and the driver 
 called his attention — " Keb, sir ? " At once he 
 stepped forward, sprang on to the footboard, and 
 — stood there looking foolish. 
 
 " Where to, sir ? " 
 
 " That's just what I can't tell you," he answered 
 with a laugh. " I want to go to somebody's house, 
 but don't know the address." 
 
 " Could you find it in the Directory, sir ? They've 
 got one at the comer." 
 
 " Good idea." 
 
 The cab keeping alongside with him, he walked 
 to the public-house, and there, midway in whisky- 
 and-soda, looked up in the great red volume the 
 name of Strangws^i. There it was, — a house in 
 Kensington Gore. He jumped into the hansom, 
 and, as he was driven down Park Lane, he felt that 
 he had enjoyed nothing so much for a long time ; 
 it was the child's delight in " having a ride " ; the 
 air blew deliciously on his cheeks, and the trotting 
 clap of the horse's hoofs, the jingle of the bells, 
 
 229 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 aided his exhilaration. And when the driver pulled 
 up, it was with an extraordinary gaiety that Will 
 paid him and shouted good-night. 
 
 He approached the door of Mr. Strangwyn's 
 dwelling. Some one was at that moment turning 
 away from it, and, as they glanced at each other, 
 a cry of recognition broke from both. 
 
 " Coming to make inquiry ? " asked Sherwood. 
 " I've just been doing the same thing." 
 
 " WeU ? " 
 
 " No better, no worse. But that means, of 
 course, nearer the end." 
 
 " Queer we should meet," said War burton. 
 " This is the first time I've been here." 
 
 " I can quite understand your impatience. It 
 seems an extraordinary case ; the poor old man, 
 by every rule, ought to have died weeks ago. 
 Which way are you walking ? " 
 
 Will answered that he did not care, that he would 
 accompany Sherwood. 
 
 " Let us walk as far as Hyde Park Corner, then," 
 said Godfrey. " Delighted to have a talk with 
 you." He slipped a friendly hand under his com- 
 panion's arm. " Why don't you come. Will, and 
 make friends with Milligan ? He's a splendid fel- 
 low ; you couldn't help taking to him. We are 
 getting on gloriously with our work. For the 
 first time in my life I feel as if I had something 
 to do that's really worth doing. I tell you this 
 scheme of ours has inconceivable importance ; it 
 may have results such as one dare not talk about." 
 
 " But how long will it be before you really make 
 a start ? " asked Warburton, with more interest 
 than he had yet shown in this matter. 
 
 " I can't quite say — can't quite say. The de- 
 tails are of course full of difficulty — the thing 
 
 230 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 wouldn't be worth much if they were not. One 
 of Milligan's best points is, that he's a thoroughly 
 practical man — thoroughly practical man. It's no 
 commercial enterprise we're about, but, if it's to 
 succeed, it must be started on sound principles. 
 I'd give anything if I could persuade you to join 
 us, old fellow. You and your mother and sister — 
 you're just the kind of people we want. Think 
 what a grand thing it will be to give a new start to 
 civilisation ! Doesn't it touch you ? " 
 
 Warburton was mute, and, taking this for a sign 
 of the impressionable moment, Sherwood talked 
 on, ardently, lyrically, until Hyde Park Corner was 
 reached. 
 
 " Think it over, WiU. We shall have you yet ; 
 I know we shall. Come and see MiUigan." 
 
 They parted with a warm hand-grip, and War- 
 burton turned toward Fulham Road. 
 
 When Warburton entered the shop the next morn- 
 ing, AUchin was on the lookout for him. 
 
 " I want to speak to you, sir," he said, " about 
 this golden syrup we've had from Rowbottom's — " 
 
 Wni listened, or seemed to listen, smiling at 
 vacancy. To whatever AUchin proposed, he gave 
 his assent, and in the afternoon, without daring 
 to say a word he stole into freedom. 
 
 He was once more within sight of Albert Bridge, 
 He walked or prowled — for half an hour close about 
 Oakley Crescent. Then, over the bridge and into 
 the Park. Back again, and more prowling. At 
 last, weary and worn, to the counter and apron, 
 and AUchin's talk about golden syrup. 
 
 The next day, just before sunset, he sauntered 
 on the Embankment. He lifted up his eyes, and 
 there, walking towards him, came the slim figure in 
 grey. 
 
 231 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Not like the other evening," said Rosamund, 
 before he could speak, her eyes turning to the dull, 
 featureless west. 
 
 He held her hand, until she gently drew it away, 
 and then was frightened to find that he had held 
 it so long. From head to foot, he quivered, de- 
 liciously, painfully. His tongue suffered a semi- 
 paralysis, so that, tr5nng to talk, he babbled — 
 something about the sweetness of the air — a scent 
 
 from the gardens across the river 
 
 " I've had a letter from Bertha Cross," said his 
 companion, as she walked slowly on. " She conies 
 home to-morrow." 
 
 " Bertha Cross — ? Ah, yes, your friend " 
 
 The name sounded to Warburton as if from a 
 remote past. He repeated it several times to him- 
 self. 
 
 They stood with face turned toward the lurid 
 south. The air was very still. From away down 
 the river sounded the bells of Lambeth Church, 
 their volleying clang softened by distance to a 
 monotonous refrain, drearily at one with the sad- 
 ness of the falling night. Warburton heard them, 
 yet heard them not ; all external sounds blended 
 with that within him, which was the furious beating 
 of his heart. He moved a hand as if to touch Rosa- 
 mund's, but let it faU as she spoke. 
 
 " I'm afraid I must go. It's really raining " 
 
 Neither had an umbrella. Big drops were be- 
 ginning to splash on the pavement. Warburton 
 felt one upon his nose. 
 
 " To-morrow," he uttered thickly, his tongue 
 hot and dry, his lips quivering. 
 
 " Yes, if it's fine," replied Rosamund. 
 " Early in the afternoon ? " 
 " I can't. I must go and see Bertha." 
 232 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 They were walking at a quick step, and already 
 getting wet. 
 
 " At this hour then," panted WHl. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Lambeth bells were lost amid a hollow boom of 
 distant thunder. 
 
 " I must run," cried Rosamund. " Good-bye." 
 
 He followed, keeping her in sight until she entered 
 the house. Then he turned and walked like a 
 madman through the hissing rain — walked he knew 
 not whither — his being a mere erratic chaos, a 
 s5anbol of Nature's prime impulse whirling amid 
 London's multitudes. 
 
 233 
 
CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 TIRED and sullen after the journey home from 
 the seaside, Mrs. Cross kept her room. In 
 the little bay-windowed parlour, Bertha Cross and 
 Rosamund Elvan sat talking confidentially. 
 
 " Now, do confess," urged she of the liquid eyes 
 and sentimental accent. " This is a little plot of 
 yours — all in kindness, of course. You thought 
 it best — you somehow brought him to it ? " 
 
 Half laughing, Bertha shook her head. 
 
 " I haven't seen him for quite a long time. And 
 do you really think this kind of plotting is in my 
 way ? It would as soon have occurred to me to 
 try and persuade Mr. Franks to join the fire-brigade." 
 
 " Bertha ! You don't mean anything by that ? 
 You don't think I am a danger to him ? " 
 
 " No, no, no ! To tell you the truth, I have 
 tried to think just as little about it as possible, one 
 way or the other. Third persons never do any 
 good in such cases, and more often than not get into 
 horrid scrapes." 
 
 " Fortunately," said Rosamund, after musing 
 a moment with her chin on her hand, "I'm sure 
 he isn't serious. It's his good-nature, his sense of 
 honour. I think all the better of him for it. When 
 he understands that I'm in earnest, we shall just be 
 friends agcdn, real friends." 
 
 " Then you are in earnest ? " asked Bertha, her 
 eyelids winking mirthfully. 
 
 234 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Rosamund's reply was a very grave nod, after 
 which she gazed awhile at vacancy. 
 
 " But," resumed Bertha, after reading her friend's 
 face, " you have not succeeded in making him under- 
 stand yet ? " 
 
 " Perhaps not quite. Yesterday morning I had 
 a letter from him, asking me to meet him in 
 Kensington Gardens. I went, and we had a long 
 talk. Then in the evening, by chance, I saw Mr. 
 Warburton." 
 
 " Has that anything to do with the matter ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! " "replied Miss Elvan hastily. " I 
 mention it, because, as I told you once before, Mr. 
 Warburton always likes to talk of Norbert." 
 
 " I see. And you talked of him ? " 
 
 " We only saw each other for a few minutes. 
 The thunder-storm came on. — Bertha, I never 
 knew any one so mysterious as Mr. Warburton. 
 Isn't it extraordinary that Norbert, his intimate 
 friend, doesn't know what he does ? I can't help 
 thinking he must write. One can't associate him 
 with anything common, mean." 
 
 " Perhaps his glory will burst upon us one of 
 these days," said Bertha. 
 
 " It really wouldn't surprise me. He has a 
 remarkable face — the kind of face that sug- 
 gests depth and force. I am .sure he is very 
 proud. He could bear any extreme of poverty 
 rather than condescend to ignoble ways of earning 
 money." 
 
 " Is the poor man very threadbare ? " asked 
 Bertha. " Has his coat that greenish colour which 
 comes with old age in cheap material ? " 
 
 " You incorrigible ! As far as I have noticed, 
 he is quite properly dressed." 
 
 " Oh, oh ! " protested Bertha, in a shocked tone. 
 235 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Properly dressed ! What a blow to my roman- 
 tic imagination ! I thought at least his coat-cuffs 
 would be worn out. And his boots ? Oh, surely 
 he is down at heel ? Do say that he's down at 
 heel, Rosamund ! " 
 
 " What a happy girl you are, Bertha,*' said the 
 other after a laugh. " I sometimes think I would 
 give anything to be like you." 
 
 " Ah, but you don't know — you can't see into 
 the gloomy depths, hidden from every eye but my 
 own. For instance, while here we sit, talking as 
 if I hadn't a care in the world I am all the time 
 thinking that I must go to Mr. Joll5Tnan's — the 
 grocer's, that is — as we haven't a lump of sugar in 
 the house." 
 
 " Then let me walk with you," said Rosamund. 
 " I oughtn't to have come worrying you to-day, 
 before you had time to settle down. Just let me 
 walk with you to the grocer's, and then I'll leave 
 you at peace." 
 
 They presently went forth, and walked for some 
 distance westward along Fulham Road. 
 
 "Here's Mr. Jollyman's," said Bertha. "Will 
 you wait for me, or come in ? " 
 
 Rosamund followed her friend into the shop. 
 Absorbed in thought, she scarcely raised her eyes, 
 until a voice from behind the counter replied to 
 Bertha's " Good-morning " ; then, suddenly look- 
 ing up, she saw that which held her motionless. 
 For a moment she gazed like a startled deer ; the 
 next her eyes fell, her face turned away ; she fled 
 out into the street. 
 
 And there Bertha found her, a few yards from 
 the shop. 
 
 " Why did you run away ? " 
 
 Rosamund had a dazed look. 
 236 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Who was that behind the counter ? " she asked, 
 under her breath. 
 
 " Mr. JoUyman. Why?" 
 
 The other walked on. Bertha kept at her side 
 
 " What's the matter ? " 
 
 " Bertha — Mr. JoUyman is Mr. Warburton." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " 
 
 " But he is ! Here's the explanation — here's the 
 mystery. A grocer — in an apron ! " 
 
 Bertha was standing still. She, too, looked 
 astonished, perplexed. 
 
 " Isn't it a case of extraordinary likeness ? " she 
 asked, with a grave smile. 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ! I met his eye — he showed that 
 he knew me — and then his voice. A grocer — in 
 an apron .'' " 
 
 " This is very shocking," said Bertha, with a 
 recovery of her natural humour. " Let us walk. 
 Let us shake off the nightmare." 
 
 The word applied very well to Rosamund's con- 
 dition ; her fixed eyes were like those of a somnam- 
 bulist. 
 
 " But, Bertha ! " she suddenly exclaimed, in a 
 voice of almost petulant protest. " He knew you 
 all the time — oh, but perhaps he did not know your 
 name ? " 
 
 " Indeed he did. He's constantly sending things 
 to the house." 
 
 " How extraordinary ! Did you ever hear such 
 an astonishing thing in your life ? " 
 
 " You said more than once," remarked Bertha, 
 " that Mr. Warburton was a man of mystery." 
 
 " Oh, but how could I have imagined — ! ^ 
 grocer ! " 
 
 "In an apron ! " added the other, with awed 
 voice. 
 
 237 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " But, Bertha, does Norbert know ? He de- 
 clared he had never found out what Mr. Warburton 
 did. Was that true, or not ? " 
 
 "Ah, that's the question. If poor Mr. Franks 
 has had this secret upon his soul ! I can hardly 
 believe it. And yet — they are such intimate 
 friends." 
 
 " He must have known it," declared Rosamund. 
 
 Thereupon she became mute, and only a syl- 
 lable of dismay escaped her now and then during 
 the rest of the walk to the Crosses' house. Her 
 companion, too, was absorbed in thought. At 
 the door Rosamund offered her hand. No, she 
 would not come in ; she had work which must 
 positively be finished this afternoon whilst daylight 
 lasted. 
 
 Out of the by-street, Rosamund turned into 
 Fulham Road, and there found a cab to convey 
 her home. On entering the house, she gave in- 
 structions that she was at home to nobody this 
 afternoon ; then she sat down at the table, as 
 though to work on a drawing, but at the end of an 
 hour her brush had not yet been dipped in colour. 
 She rose, stood in the attitude of one who knows 
 not what to do, and at length moved to the window. 
 Instantly she drew back. On the opposite side of 
 the little square stood a man, looking toward her 
 house ; and that man was Warburton. 
 
 From safe retirement, she watched him. He 
 walked this way ; he walked that ; again he stood 
 still, his eyes upon the house. Would he cross 
 over ? Would he venture to knock at the door ? 
 No, he withdrew ; he disappeared. 
 
 Presently it was the hour of dusk. Every few 
 minutes Rosamund reconnoitred at the window, 
 and at length, just perceptible to her straining 
 
 238 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 eyes, there again stood Warburton. He came 
 forward. Standing with hand pressed against her 
 side, she waited in nervous anguish for a knock at 
 the front door ; but it did not sound. She stood 
 motionless for a long, long time, then drew a deep, 
 deep breath, and trembled as she let herself sink into 
 a chair. 
 
 Earlier than usual, she went up to her bedroom. 
 In a comer of the room stood her trunk ; this she 
 opened, and from the chest of drawers she took forth 
 articles of apparel, which she began to pack, as 
 though for a journey. When the trunk was half 
 full, she ceased in weariness, rested for a little, and 
 then went to bed. 
 
 And in the darkness there came a sound of sub- 
 dued sobbing. It lasted for some minutes — ceased 
 — for some minutes was again audible. Then 
 silence fell upon the chamber. 
 
 Lying awake between seven and eight next morn- 
 ing, Rosamund heard the postman's knock. At 
 once she sprang out of bed, slipped on her dressing- 
 gown, and rang the bell. Two letters were brought 
 up to her ; she received them with tremulous hand. 
 Both were addressed in writing, unmistakably 
 masculine ; the one was thick, the other was thin ; 
 and this she opened first. 
 
 " Dear Miss Elvan " — it was Warburton who 
 wrote — " I hoped to see you this evening, as we 
 had appointed. Indeed, I musi see you, for, as 
 you may imagine, I have much to say. May I 
 come to your house ? In any case, let me know 
 place and hour, and let it be as soon as possible. 
 Reply at once, I entreat you. Ever sincerely 
 yours " 
 
 She laid it aside, and broke the other envelope. 
 
 " Dear, dearest Rosamund "—thus began Nor- 
 239 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 bert Franks — " our talk this morning has left me 
 in a state of mind which threatens frenzy. You 
 know I haven't too much patience. It is out of 
 the question for me to wait a week for your 
 answer, though I promised. I can't wait even a 
 couple of days. I must see you again to-morrow — 
 must, must, must. Come to the same place, there's 
 a good, dear, sweet, beautiful girl ! If you don't, I 
 shall be in Oakley Crescent, breaking doors open, 
 behaving insanely. Come early " 
 
 And so on, over two sheets of the very best note- 
 paper, with Norbert's respectable address hand- 
 somely stamped in red at the top. (The other 
 missive was on paper less fashionable, with the 
 address, sadly plebeian, in mere handwriting.) 
 Having read to the end, Rosamund finished her 
 dressing and went down to the sitting-room. 
 Breakfast was ready, but, before giving her attention 
 to it, she penned a note. It was to Warburton. 
 Briefly she informed him that she had decided to 
 join her sister in the south of France, and that she 
 was starting on the journey this morning. Her 
 address, she added, would be " c/o Mrs. Alfred Cop- 
 pinger, St. Jean de Luz, Basses P5n:6nees." And 
 therewith she remained Mr. Warburton's sincerely. 
 
 " Please let this be posted at once," said Rosa- 
 mund when the landlady came to clear away. 
 
 And posted it was. 
 
 240 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 HIS hands upon the counter, Warburton stared 
 at the door by which first Rosamund, then 
 Bertha Cross, had disappeared. His nerves were 
 a-tremble ; his eyes were hot. Of a sudden he 
 felt himself shaken with irresistible mirth ; from 
 the diaphragm it mounted to his throat, and only 
 by a great effort did he save himself from exploding 
 in laughter. The orgasm possessed him for several 
 minutes. It was followed by a sense of light- 
 heartedness, which set him walking about, rubbing 
 his hands together, and humming tunes. 
 
 At last the burden had fallen from him ; the 
 foolish secret was blown abroad ; once more he 
 could look the world in the face, bidding it think 
 of him what it would. 
 
 They were talking now — the two girls, discussing 
 their strange discovery. When he saw Rosamund 
 this evening — of course he would see her, as she 
 had promised — her surprise would already have 
 lost its poignancy ; he had but to tell the story 
 of his disaster, of his struggles, and then to an- 
 nounce the coming moment of rescue. No chance 
 could have been happier than this which betrayed 
 him to these two at the same time ; for Bertha 
 Cross's good sense would be the best possible cor- 
 rective of any shock her more sensitive companion 
 might have received. Bertha Cross's good sense 
 — that was how he thought of her, without touch 
 
 241 Q 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 of emotion ; whilst on Rosamund his imagination 
 dwelt with exultant fervour. He saw himself as 
 he would appear in her eyes when she knew all — 
 noble, heroic. What he had done was a fine thing, 
 beyond the reach of ordinary self-regarding mor- 
 tals, and who more capable than Rosamund of 
 appreciating such courage ? After all, fate was 
 kind. In the bj^ways of London it had wrought 
 for him a structure of romance, and amid mean 
 pursuits it exalted him to an ideal of love. 
 
 And as he thtis dreamt, and smiled and gloried 
 — very much like an aproned Malvolio — the hours 
 went quickly by. He found himself near Albert 
 Bridge, pacing this way and that, expecting at 
 every moment the appearance of the slim figure 
 clad in grey. The sun set ; the blind of Rosa- 
 mund's sitting-room showed that there was lamp- 
 light within ; and at ten o'clock Warburton still 
 hung about the square, hoping — against his reason 
 — that she might come forth. He went home, 
 and wrote to her. 
 
 In a score of ways he explained to himself her 
 holding aloof. It was vexation at his not having 
 confided in her ; it was a desire to reflect before 
 seeing him again ; it was — and so on, all through 
 the night, which brought him never a wink of 
 sleep. Next morning, he did not go to the shop ; 
 it would have been impossible to stand at the counter 
 for ten minutes, he sent a note to Allchin, saying 
 that he was detained by private affairs, then set 
 off for a day-long walk in the country, to kiU time 
 until the coming of Rosamund's reply. On his 
 return in the afternoon, vhe found it awaiting 
 him. 
 
 An hour later he was in Oakley Crescent. He 
 stood looking at the house for a moment, then 
 
 242 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 approached, and knocked at the door. He asked 
 if Miss Elvan was at home. 
 
 " She's gone away," was the reply of the land- 
 lady, who spoke distantly, her face a respectable 
 blank. 
 
 " Left for good ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered the woman, her eyes fall- 
 ing. 
 
 " You don't know where she has gone to ? " 
 
 " It's somewhere abroad, sir — in France, I think. 
 She has a sister there." 
 
 This was at five o'clock or so. Of what hap- 
 pened during the next four hours. Will had never 
 a very distinct recollection. Beyond doubt, he 
 called at the shop, and spoke with AUchin ; be- 
 yond doubt, also, he went to his lodgings and packed 
 a travelling bag. Which of his movements were 
 performed in cabs, which on foot, he could scarce 
 have decided, had he reflected on the matter 
 during the night that followed. That night was 
 passed in the train, on a steamboat, then again 
 on the railway. And before sunrise he was in 
 Paris. 
 
 At the railway refreshment-room, he had break- 
 fast, eating with some appetite ; then he drove 
 to the terminus of another line. The streets of 
 Paris, dim vistas under a rosy dawn, had no reality 
 for his eyes ; the figures flitting here and there, 
 the voices speaking a foreign tongue, made part 
 of a phantasm in which he himself moved no less 
 fantastically. He was in Paris ; yet how could 
 that be ? He would wake up, and find himself 
 at his lodgings, and get up to go to business in 
 Fulham Road ; but the dream bore him on. Now 
 he had taken another ticket. His bag was being 
 registered — for St. Jean de Luz. A long journey 
 
 243 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 lay before him. He yawned violently, half remem- 
 bering that he had passed two nights without sleep. 
 Then he found himself seated in a corner of the 
 railway carriage, an unknown landscape slipping 
 away before his eyes. 
 
 Now for the first time did he seem to be really 
 aware of what he was doing. Rosamund had 
 taken flight to the Pyrenees, and he was in hot 
 pursuit. He grew exhilarated in the thought of 
 his virile energy. If the glimpse of him aproned 
 and behind a counter had been too great a shock 
 for Rosamund's romantic nature, this vigorous 
 action would more than redeem his manhood in 
 her sight. " Yes, I am a grocer ; I have lived 
 for a couple of years by selling tea and sugar — 
 not to speak of treacle ; but none the less I am the 
 man you drew on to love you. Grocer though I 
 be, I come to claim you ! " Thus would he speak, 
 and how could the reply be doubtful ? In such 
 a situation, all depends on the man's strength and 
 passionate resolve. Rosamund should be his ; 
 he swore it in his heart. She should take him as 
 he was, grocer's shop and all ; not until her troth 
 was pledged would he make known to her the pro- 
 spect of better things. The emotions of the primi- 
 tive lover had told upon him. She thought to 
 escape him, by flight across Europe ? But what 
 if the flight were meant as a test of his worthiness ? 
 He seized upon the idea, and rejoiced in it. Rosa- 
 mund might well have conceived this method of 
 justifying both him and herself. "If he loves 
 me as I would be loved, let him dare to follow ! " 
 
 To-morrow morning he would stand before her, 
 grocerdom a thousand miles away. They would 
 walk together, as when they were among the Alps. 
 Why, even then, had ;his heart prompted, had 
 
 344 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 honour permitted, he could have won her. He 
 believed now, what at the time he had refused 
 to admit, that Franks' moment of jealous anger 
 was not without its justification. Again they 
 would meet among the mountains, and the shop 
 in Fulham Road would be seen as at the wrong 
 end of a telescope — its due proportions. They 
 would return together to England, and at once 
 be married. As for the grocery business 
 
 Reason lost itself amid ardours of the natural 
 man. 
 
 He paid little heed to the country through which 
 he was passing. He flung himself on to the dark 
 platform, and tottered drunkenly in search of the 
 exit. Billet ? Why, yes, he had a iillet some- 
 where. Hotel ? Yes, yes, the hotel, — no matter 
 which. It took some minutes before his brain 
 could grasp the idea that his luggage cheque was 
 wanted ; he had forgotten that he had any lug- 
 gage at all. Ultimately, he was thrust into some 
 sort of a vehicle, which set him down at the hotel 
 door. Food ? Good Heavens, no ; but some- 
 thing to drink, and a bed to tumble into — quick. 
 
 He stood in a bedroom, holding in his hand a 
 glass of he knew not what beverage. Before him 
 was a waiter, to whom — very much to his own 
 surprise — he discoursed fluently in French, or 
 something meant for that tongue. That it was 
 more than sixty hours since he had slept ; that 
 he had started from London at a moment's no- 
 tice ; that the Channel had been very rough for 
 the time of the year ; that he had never been 
 in this part of France before, and hoped to see a 
 good deal of the Pyrenees, perhaps to have a run 
 into Spain; that first of all he wanted to find the 
 abode of an English lady named Mrs. Cap — Cop — 
 
 245 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 he couldn't think of the name, but he had written 
 it down in his pocket-book. 
 
 The door closed ; the waiter was gone ; but 
 Warburton still talked French. 
 
 " Oui, oui — en effet — tres fatigue, horrible- 
 ment fatigue ! Trois nuits sans sommeil — trois 
 nuits — trois ! " 
 
 His clothes fell in a heap on the floor ; his body 
 fell in another direction. He was dead asleep. 
 
 246 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 AMID struggle and gloom the scene changed. 
 He was in Kew Gardens, rushing hither 
 and thither, in search of some one. The sun still beat 
 upon him, and he streamed at every pore. Not 
 only did he seek" in vain, but he could not remember 
 who it was that he sought. This way and that, 
 along the broad and narrow walks, he hurried in 
 torment, until of a sudden, at a great distance, he 
 descried a figure seated on a bench. He bounded 
 forward. In a moment he would see the face, 
 and would know 
 
 When he awoke a sense of strangeness hung 
 about him, and, as he sat up in bed, he remembered. 
 This was the hotel at St. Jean de Luz. What could 
 be the time ? He had no matches at hand, and 
 did not know where the bell was. Looking around, 
 he perceived at length a thread of light, of day- 
 light undoubtedly, which must come from the win- 
 dow. He got out of bed, cautiously crossed the 
 floor, found the window, and the means of opening 
 it, then unlatched the shutters which had kept the 
 room in darkness. At once a flood of sunshine 
 poured in. Looking forth, he saw a quiet little 
 street of houses and gardens, and beyond, some 
 miles away, a mountain peak rising against the 
 cloudless blue. 
 
 His watch had run down. He rang the bell, 
 and learnt that the hour was nearly eleven. 
 
 247 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " I have slept well," he said in his Anglo-French. 
 " I am hungry. Bring me hot water. And find 
 out, if you can, where lives Mrs. Coppinger. I 
 couldn't remember the name last night — Mrs. 
 Coppinger." 
 
 In half an hour he was downstairs. The Eng- 
 lish lady for whom he inquired lived, they told 
 him, outside St. Jean de Luz, but not much more 
 than a mile away. Good, he would go there after 
 lunch. And until that meal was ready, he strolled 
 out to have a look at the sea. Five minutes' walk 
 brought him on to the shore of a rounded bay, 
 sheltered by breakwaters against Atlantic storms : 
 above a sandy beach lay the little town, with grassy 
 slopes falling softly to the tide on either hand. 
 
 At noon, he ate and drank heroically, then, 
 having had his way pointed out to him, set forth 
 on the quest. He passed through the length of 
 the town, crossed the little river Nivelle, where he 
 paused for a moment on the bridge, to gaze at the 
 panorama of mountains, all but to the summit clad 
 in soft verdure, and presently turned into an in- 
 land road, which led him between pastures and 
 fields of maize, gently upwards. On a height before 
 him stood a house, which he believed to be that he 
 sought ; he had written down its unrememberable 
 Basque name, and inquiry of a peasant assured 
 him that he was not mistaken. Having his goal in 
 view, he stood to reflect. Could he march up to 
 the front door, and ask boldly for Miss Elvan ? 
 But — the doubt suddenly struck him — what if 
 Rosamund were not living here ? At Mrs. Cop- 
 pinger's her sister was governess ; she had bidden 
 him address letters there, but that might be merely 
 for convenience ; perhaps she was not Mrs. Cop- 
 pinger's guest at aU, but had an abode some- 
 
 248 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 where in the town. In that case, he must see her 
 sister — who perhaps, nay, all but certainly, had 
 never heard his name. 
 
 He walked on. The road became a hollow lane, 
 with fern and heather and gorse intermingled be- 
 low the thickets on the bank. Another five minutes 
 would bring him to the top of the hill, to the avenue 
 of trees by which the house was approached. And 
 the nearer he came, the more awkward seemed 
 his enterprise. It might have been better to write 
 a note to Rosamund, announcing his arrival, and 
 asking for an interview. On the other hand that 
 was a timid proceeding ; boldly to present him- 
 self before her would be much more effective. If 
 he could only be sure of seeing her, and seeing her 
 alone 
 
 For a couple of hours did he loiter irresolutely, 
 ever hoping that chance might help him. Perhaps, 
 as the afternoon grew cooler, people might come 
 forth from the house. His patience at length worn 
 out, he again entered the avenue, half resolved to 
 go up to the door. 
 
 All at once he heard voices — the voices of chil- 
 dren, and toward him came two little girls, fol- 
 lowed by a young lady. They drew near. Stand- 
 ing his ground, with muscles tense, Warburton 
 glanced at the young lady's face, and could not doubt 
 that this was Rosamund's sister ; the features 
 were much less notable than Rosamund's, but 
 their gentle prettiness made claim of kindred with 
 her. Forthwith he doffed his hat, and advanced 
 respectfully. 
 
 " I think I am speaking to Miss Elvan ? " 
 
 A nervous smile, a timidly surprised affirmative, 
 put him a little more at his ease. 
 
 " My name is Warburton," he pursued, with the 
 249 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 half humorous air of one who takes a liberty which 
 he feels sure will be pardoned. " I have the pleasure 
 of knowing your relatives, the Pomfrets, and " 
 
 " Oh, yes, my sister has often spoken of you," 
 said Winifred quickly. Then, as if afraid that 
 she had committed an indiscretion, she cast down 
 her eyes and looked embarrassed. 
 
 " Your sister is here, I think," fell from War- 
 burton, as he threw a glance at the two little girls, 
 who had drawn apart. 
 
 " Here ? Oh, no. Not long ago she thought of 
 coming, but " 
 
 Will stood confounded. All manner of con- 
 jectures flashed through his mind. Rosamund 
 must have broken her journey somewhere. That 
 she had not left England at all seemed impossible. 
 
 " I was mistaken," he forced himself to remark 
 carelessly. Then, with a friendly smile, " Forgive 
 me for intruding myself. I came up here for the 
 view. ■" 
 
 " Yes, isn't it beautiful ! " exclaimed Winifred, 
 evidently glad of this diversion from personal topics. 
 And they talked of the landscape, until Warburton 
 felt that he must take his leave. He mentioned 
 where he was sta5Tng, said that he hoped to spend 
 a week or so at St. Jean de Luz — and so got away, 
 with an uneasy feeling that his behaviour had not 
 exactly been such as to recommend him to the 
 timid young lady. 
 
 Rosamund had broken her journey somewhere, 
 that was evident ; perhaps in Paris, where he 
 knew she had friends. If she did not arrive this 
 evening, or to-morrow, her sister would at all events 
 hear that she was coming. But how was he to be 
 informed of her arrival ? How could he keep an 
 espial on the house ? His situation was wretchedly 
 
 250 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 unlike that he had pictured to himself ; instead of 
 the romantic lover, carrying all before him by the 
 energy of passion, he had to play a plotting, al- 
 most sneaking part, in constant fear of being taken 
 for a presumptuous interloper. Lucky that Rosa- 
 mund had spoken of him to her sister. Well, he 
 must wait ; though waiting was the worst torture 
 for a man in his mood. 
 
 He idled through the day on the seashore. Next 
 morning he bathed, and had a long walk, coming 
 back by way of the Coppingers' house, but passing 
 quickly, and seeing no one. When he returned to 
 the hotel, he was told that a gentleman had called 
 to see him, and had left his card " Mr. Alfred Cop- 
 pinger." Ho, ho ! Winifred Elvan had men- 
 tioned their meeting, and the people wished to be 
 friendly. Excellent ! This afternoon he would 
 present himself. Splendid. All his difficulties 
 were at an end. He saw himself once more in a 
 gallant attitude. 
 
 The weather was very hot — unusually hot, said 
 people at the hotel. As he climbed the hill 
 between three and four o'clock, the sun's ardour 
 reminded him of old times in the tropics. He 
 passed along the shady avenue, and the house 
 door was opened to him by a Basque maid-servant, 
 who led him to the drawing-room. Here, in a 
 dim light which filtered through the interstices of 
 shutters, sat the lady of the house alone. 
 
 " Is it Mr. Warburton ? " she asked, rising feebly, 
 and speaking in a thin, fatigued, but kindly voice. 
 " So kind of you to come. My husband will be 
 delighted to see you. How did you get up here 
 on such a day ? Oh, the terrible heat ! " 
 
 In a minute or two the door opened to admit Mr. 
 Coppinger, and the visitor, his eyes now accustomed 
 
 251 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 to the gloom, saw a ruddy, vigorous, middle-aged 
 man, dressed in flannels, and wearing the white 
 shoes called espadrilles. 
 
 " Hoped you would come," he cried, shaking 
 hands cordially. "Why didn't you look in yes- 
 terday ? Miss Elvan ought to have told you that 
 it does me good to see an Englishman. Here for a 
 holiday ? Blazing hot, but it won't last long. 
 South wind. My wife can't stand it. She's here 
 because of the doctors, but it's all humbug ; there 
 are lots of places in England would suit her just 
 as well, and perhaps better. Let's have some tea, 
 Alice, there's a good girl. Mr. Warburton looks 
 thirsty, and I can manage a dozen cups or so. 
 Where's Winifred ? Let her bring in the kits. 
 They're getting shy ; it'll do them good to see a 
 stranger." 
 
 Will stayed for a couple of hours, amused with 
 Mr. Coppinger's talk, and pleased with the gentle 
 society of the ladies. The invitation to breakfast 
 being seriously repeated, he rejoiced to accept it. 
 See how Providence favours the daring. When 
 Rosamund arrived, she would find him established 
 as a friend of the Coppingers. He went his way 
 exultingly. 
 
 But neither on the morrow, nor the day after, 
 did Winifred receive any news from her sister. 
 Will of course kept to himself the events of his last 
 two days in London ; he did not venture to hint 
 at any knowledge of Rosamund's movements. A 
 suspicion was growing in his mind that she might 
 not have left England ; in which case, was ever 
 man's plight more ridiculous than his ? It would 
 mean that Rosamund had deliberately misled him ; 
 but could he think her capable of that ? If it were 
 so, and if her feelings toward him had undergone 
 252 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 so abruptly violent a change simply because of the 
 discovery she had made — why, then Rosamund 
 was not Rosamund at all, and he might write him- 
 self down a most egregious ass. 
 
 Had not an inkling of some such thing whis- 
 pered softly to him before now ? Had there not 
 been moments, during the last fortnight, when he 
 stood, as it were, face to face with himself, and felt 
 oddly abashed by a look in his own eyes ? 
 
 Before leaving his lodgings he had written on 
 a piece of paper : " Poste Restante, St. Jean de 
 Luz, France," and had given it to Mrs. Wick, with 
 the charge to forward immediately any letter or 
 telegram that might arrive for him. But his in- 
 quiries at the post-of&ce were vain. To be sure, 
 weeks had often gone by without bringing him a 
 letter ; there was nothing strange in this silence ; 
 yet it vexed and disquieted him. On the fourth 
 day of his waiting, the weather suddenly broke, 
 rain fell in torrents, and continued for forty-eight 
 hours. Had not the Coppingers' house been open 
 to him he must have spent a wretched time. Re- 
 turning to the hotel on the second evening of deluge, 
 he looked in at the post-office, and this time a letter 
 was put into his hand. He opened and read it at 
 once. 
 
 " Dear old boy, why the deuce have you gone 
 away to the end of the earth without letting me 
 know ? I called at your place this evening, and 
 was amazed at the sight of the address which your 
 evil-eyed woman showed me — looking as if she 
 feared I should steal it. I wanted particularly 
 to see you. How long are you going to stay down 
 yonder ? Rosamund and I start for our honey- 
 moon on Thursday next, and we shall probably be 
 away for a couple of months, in Tyrol. Does this 
 
 253 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 astonish you ? It oughtn't to, seeing that you've 
 done your best to bring it about. Yes, Rosamund 
 and I are going to be married, with the least pos- 
 sible delay. I'll tell you aU the details some day 
 — though there's very little to tell that you don't 
 know. Congratulate me on having come to my 
 senses. How precious near I was to making a 
 tremendous fool of myself. It's you I have to 
 thank, old man. Of course, as you saw, I should 
 never have cared for any one but Rosamund, and 
 it's pretty sure that she would never have been 
 happy with any one but me. I wanted you to be a 
 witness at our wedding, and now you've bolted, 
 confound you ! Write to my London address, and 
 it will be forwarded." 
 
 Will thrust the letter into his pocket, went out 
 into the street, and walked to the hotel through 
 heavy rain, without thinking to open his umbrella. 
 
 Next morning, the sky was clear again, the 
 sunny air fresh as that of spring. Will rose earlier 
 than usual, and set out on an excursion. He took 
 train to Hendaye, the little frontier town, at the 
 mouth of the Bidassoa, crossed the river in a boat, 
 stepped on to Spanish soil, and climbed the hill 
 on which stands Fuenterabbia. 
 
 Later he passed again to the French shore, and 
 lunched at the hotel. Then he took a carriage, 
 and drove up the gorge of Bidassoa, enjo5dng the 
 wild mountain scenery as much as he had enjoyed 
 anything in his life. The road bridged the river ; 
 it brought him into Spain once more, and on as far 
 as to the Spanish village of Vera, where he lingered 
 in the mellowing afternoon. All round him were 
 green slopes of the Pyrenees, green with pasture and 
 with turf, with bracken, with woods of oak. There 
 came by a yoke of white oxen, their heads covered 
 
 254 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 with the wonted sheepskin, and on their foreheads 
 the fringe of red wool tassles ; he touched a warm 
 flank with his palm, and looked into the mild, 
 lustrous eyes of the beast that passed near him. 
 
 " Vera, Vera," he repeated to himself, with 
 pleasure in the name. He should remember Vera 
 when he was back again behind the counter in 
 Fulham Road. He had never thought to see the 
 Pyrenees, never dreamt of looking at Spain. It 
 was a good holiday. 
 
 " Vera, Vera," he again murmured. How came 
 the place to be so called ? The word seemed to 
 mean true. He mused upon it. 
 
 He dined at the village inn, then drove at dusk 
 back to Hendaye, down the great gorge ; crags and 
 precipices, wooded ravines and barren heights gloom- 
 ing magnificently under a sky warm with after- 
 glow ; beside him the torrent leapt and roared, and 
 foamed into whiteness. 
 
 r And from Hendaye the train brought him back 
 to St. Jean de Luz. Before going to bed, he penned 
 a note to Mr. Coppinger, saying that he was un- 
 expectedly obliged to leave for England, at an 
 early hour next day, and regretted that he could 
 not come to say good-bye. He added a postscript. 
 " Miss Elvan will, of course, know of her sister's 
 marriage to Norbert Franks. I hear it takes place 
 to-morrow. Very good news." 
 
 This written, he smoked a meditative pipe, and 
 went upstairs humming a tune. 
 
 255 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 TOUCHING the shore of England, Will stamped 
 like a man who returns from exile. It was 
 a blustering afternoon, more like November than 
 August ; livid clouds pelted him with rain, and 
 the wind chilled his face ; but this suited very well 
 with the mood which possessed him. He had been 
 away on a holiday — a more expensive holiday 
 than he ought to have allowed himself, and was 
 back full of vigour. Instead of making him qual- 
 mish, the green roarers of the Channel had braced 
 his nerves, and put him in good heart ; the boat 
 could not roll and pitch half enough for his spirits. 
 A holiday — a run to the Pyrenees and back ; who 
 durst say that it had been anything else ? The only 
 person who could see the matter in another light 
 was little likely to disclose her thoughts. 
 
 At Dover he telegraphed to Godfrey Sherwood : 
 " Come and see me to-night." True, he had been 
 absent only a week, but the time seemed to him so 
 long that he felt it must have teemed with events. 
 In the railway carriage he glowed with good fellow- 
 ship toward the other passengers ; the rain-beaten 
 hop-lands rejoiced his eyes, and the first houses of 
 London were so many friendly faces greeting his 
 return. From the station he drove to his shop. 
 AUchin, engaged in serving a lady, forgot himself 
 at the sight of Mr. Joll5niian, and gave a shout of 
 welcome. All was right, nothing troublesome had 
 
 356 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 happened ; trade better than usual at this time of 
 year. 
 
 " He'll have to put up the shutters," said AUchin 
 confidentially, with a nod in the direction of the 
 rival grocer. " His wife's been making a row in the 
 shop again — disgraceful scene — talk of the 'ole 
 neighbourhood. She began throwing things at 
 customers, and somebody as was badly hit on the 
 jaw with a tin of sardines complained to the police. 
 We shall be rid of him very soon, you'll see, sir." 
 
 This gave Warburton small satisfaction, but 
 he kept his human thoughts to himself, and presently 
 went home. Here his landlady met him with the 
 announcement that only a few hours ago she had 
 forwarded a letter delivered by the post this morning. 
 This was vexatious ; several days must elapse 
 before he could have the letter back again from 
 St. Jean de Luz. Sure that Mrs. Wick must have 
 closely scrutinised the envelope, he questioned 
 her as to handwriting and postmark, but the woman 
 declared that she had given not a glance to these 
 things, which were not her business. Couldn't 
 she even remember whether the writing looked 
 masculine or feminine ? No ; she had not the 
 slightest idea ; it was not her business to " pry " ; 
 and Mrs. Wick closed her bloodless lips with virtuous 
 severity. 
 
 He had tea and walked back again to the shop, 
 where as he girt himself with his apron, he chuckled 
 contentedly. 
 
 " Has Mrs. Cross looked in ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered his henchman, " she was 
 here day before yes'day, and asked where you was. 
 I said you was travelling for your health in foreign 
 parts." 
 
 " And what did she say to that ? " 
 
 257 R 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " She said ' Oh ' — that's all, sir. It was a very 
 small order she gave. I can't make out how she 
 manages to use so little sugar in her 'ouse. It's 
 certain the servant doesn't have her tea too sweet — 
 what do you think, sir ? " 
 
 Warburton spoke of something else. 
 
 At nine o'clock he sat at home awaiting his 
 visitor. The expected knock soon sounded and 
 Sherwood was shown into the room. Will grasped 
 his hand, calling out : " What news ? " 
 
 " News ? " echoed Godfrey, in a voice of no good 
 omen. " Haven't you heard ? " 
 
 " Heard what ? " 
 
 " But your telegram — ? Wasn't that what 
 it meant ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " cried Will. " Speak, 
 man ! I've been abroad for a week. I know 
 nothing ; I telegraphed because I wanted to see 
 you, that was all." 
 
 " Confound it ! I hoped you knew the worst. 
 Strangwyn is dead." 
 
 "He's dead ?" Well, isn't that what we've 
 been waiting for ? " 
 
 " Not the old man," groaned Sherwood, " not 
 the old man. It's Ted Strangw}^ that's dead. 
 Never was such an extraordinary case of bad 
 luck. And his death — the most astounding you 
 ever heard of. He was down in Yorkshire for the 
 grouse. The dogcart came round in the morn- 
 ing, and as he stood beside it, stowing away a 
 gun or something, the horse made a movement 
 forward, and the wheel went over his toe. He 
 thought nothing of it. The next day he was ill ; it 
 turned to tetanus ; and in a few hours he died. 
 Did you ever in your life hear anything like that ? " 
 
 Warburton had listened gravely. Towards the 
 258 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 end, his features began to twitch, and, a moment 
 after Godfrey had ceased, a spasm of laughter 
 overcame him. 
 
 " I can't help it, Sherwood," he gasped. " It's 
 brutal, I know, but I can't help it." 
 
 " My dear boy," exclaimed the other, with a 
 countenance of relief, " I'm delighted you can 
 laugh. Talk about the irony of fate — eh ? I 
 couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the para- 
 graph in the paper yesterday. But, you know," 
 he added earnestly, " I don't absolutely give up 
 hope. According to the latest news, it almost 
 looks as if old Strangwyn might recover ; and, 
 if he does, I shaU certainly try to get this money 
 out of him. If he has any sense of honour " 
 
 WiU again laughed, but not so spontaneously. 
 
 " My boy," he said, " it's all up, and you know 
 it. You'll never see a penny of your ten thou- 
 sand pounds." 
 
 " Oh, but I can't help hoping " 
 
 " Hope as much as you like. How goes the 
 other affair ? " 
 
 " Why, there, too, odd things have been hap- 
 pening. Milligan has just got engaged, and, to 
 tell you the truth, to a girl I shouldn't have thought 
 he'd ever have looked twice at. It's a Miss Par- 
 ker, the daughter of a City man. Pretty enough 
 if you like, but as far as I can see, no more 
 brains than a teapot, and I can't for the life of 
 me understand how a man like Milligan — . But 
 of course, it makes no difference ; our work goes 
 on. We have an enormous correspondence." 
 
 " Does Miss Parker interest herself in it ? " 
 asked WUl. 
 
 " Oh, yes, in a way, you know ; as far as she 
 can. She has turned vegetarian, of course. To 
 
 259 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 tell you the truth, Warburton, it vexes me a good 
 deal. I didn't think Milligan could do such a 
 silly thing. I hope he'll get married quickly. 
 Just at present, the fact is, he isn't quite him- 
 self." 
 
 Again Warburton was subdued by laughter. 
 
 " Well, I thought things might have been hap- 
 pening whilst I was away," he said, " and I wasn't 
 mistaken. Luckily, I have come back with a 
 renewed gusto for the shop. By the bye, I'm going 
 to keep that secret no longer. I'm a grocer, and 
 probably shall be a grocer all my life, and the 
 sooner people know it the better. I'm sick of 
 hiding away. Tell MiUigan the story ; it will 
 amuse Miss Parker. And, talking of Miss Parker, 
 do you know that Norbert Franks is married ? 
 His old love — Miss Elvan. Of course it was the 
 sensible thing to do. They're off to Tyrol. As 
 soon as I have their address, I shall write and 
 tell him all about Joll5mian's." 
 
 " Of course, if you really feel you must," said 
 Godfrey, with reluctance. " But remember that 
 I still hope to recover the money. Old Strangwyn 
 has the reputation of being an honourable man " 
 
 " Like Brutus," broke in Warburton, cheer- 
 fully. " Let us hope. Of course we will hope. 
 Hope springs eternal " 
 
 Days went by, and at length the desired letter 
 came back from St. Jean de Luz. Seeing at a 
 glance that it was from his sister. Will reproached 
 himself for having let more than a month elapse 
 without writing to St. Neots. Of his recent " holi- 
 day " he had no intention of saying a word. Jane 
 wrote a longer letter than usual, and its tenor was 
 disquieting. Their mother had not been at all 
 well lately; Jane noticed that she was ^becoming 
 
 260 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 very weak. '* You know how she dreads to give 
 trouble, and cannot bear to have any one worry 
 about her. She has seen Dr. Edge twice in the 
 last few days, but not in my presence, and I feel 
 sure that she has forbidden him to tell me the 
 truth about her. I dare not let her guess how 
 anxious I am, and have to go on in my usual way, 
 just doing what I can for her comfort. If you 
 would come over for a day, I should feel very 
 glad. Not having seen mother for some time, 
 you would be better able than I to judge how she 
 looks." After reading this Will's self-reproaches 
 were doubled. At once he set off for St. Neots. 
 
 On arriving at The Haws, he found Jane garden- 
 ing, and spoke with her before he went in to see 
 his mother. 
 
 He had been away from home, he^said, and 
 her letter had strayed in pursuit of him. 
 
 " I wondered," said Jane, her honest eyes search- 
 ing his countenance. " And it's so long since you 
 sent a word ; I should have written again this 
 afternoon." 
 
 " I've been abominably neglectful," he replied, 
 " and time goes so quickly." 
 
 " There's something strange in your look," 
 said the girl. " What is it, I wonder ? You've 
 altered in some way I don't know how," 
 
 " Think so ? but never mind me ; tell me 
 about mother," 
 
 They stood among the garden scents, amid 
 the flowers, which told of parting summer, and 
 conversed with voices softened by tender solici- 
 tude, Jane was above all anxious that her brother's 
 visit should seem spontaneous, and Will pro- 
 raised not to hint at the news she had sent him. 
 They entered the house together. Mrs. Warbur- 
 261 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 ton, after her usual morning occupations, had 
 lain down on the couch in the parlour, and fallen 
 asleep ; as soon as he beheld her face, Will under- 
 stood his sister's fears, White, motionless, beauti- 
 ful in its absolute calm, the visage might have been 
 that of the dead ; after gazing for a moment, 
 both, on the same impulse, put forth a hand to 
 touch the unconscious form. The eyelids rose ; 
 a look of confused trouble darkened the features ; 
 then the lips relaxed in a happy smile. 
 
 " Will — and you find me asleep ? — I appeal 
 to Jane ; she will tell you it's only an accident. 
 Did you ever before see me asleep like this, Jane ? " 
 
 At once she rose, and moved about, and strove 
 to be herself ; but the effort it cost her was too 
 obvious ; presently she had to sit down, with 
 tremulous limbs, and Will noticed that her fore- 
 head was moist. 
 
 Not tni evening did he find it possible to lead 
 the conversation to the subject of her health. 
 Jane had purposely left them alone. Her son 
 having said that he feared she was not so well 
 as usual, Mrs. Warburton quietly admitted that 
 she had recently consulted her doctor. 
 
 " I am not young. Will, you know. Sixty- 
 five next birthday." 
 
 " But you don't call that old ! " exclaimed 
 her son. 
 
 " Yes, it's old for one ofjmy family, dear. None 
 of us, that I know of, lived to be much more than 
 sixty, and most died long before. Don't let us 
 wear melancholy faces," she added, with that 
 winning smile which had ever been the blessing 
 of all about her. " You and I, dear, are too sen- 
 sible, I hope, to complain or be frightened because 
 life must have an end. When my time comes, 
 
 262 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 I trust to my children not to make me unhappy 
 by forgetting what I have always tried to teach 
 them. I should like to think — and I know — that 
 you would be sorry to lose me ; but to see you 
 miserable on my account, or to think you miserable 
 after I have gone — I couldn't bear that." 
 
 Wni was silent, deeply impressed by the calm 
 voice, the noble thought. He had always felt 
 no less respect than love for his mother, especi- 
 ally during the latter years, when experience of 
 life better enabled him to understand her rare 
 qualities ; but a deeper reverence took possession 
 of him whUst she was speaking. Her words not 
 only extended his knowledge of her character ; 
 they helped him to an understanding of himself, 
 to a clearer view of life, and its possibilities. 
 
 " I want to speak to you of Jane," continued 
 Mrs. Warburton, with a look of pleasant reflection. 
 " You know she went to see her friend, Miss Winter, 
 a few weeks ago. Has she told you anything 
 about it ? " 
 
 "Nothing at aU." 
 
 " Well, do you know that Miss Winter has taken 
 up flower-growing as a business, and it looks as 
 if she would be very successful. She is renting 
 more land, to make gardens of, and has two girls 
 with her, as apprentices. I think that's what 
 Jane will turn to some day. Of course she won't 
 be really obliged to work for her living, but, when 
 she is alone, I'm certain she won't be content to 
 live just as she does now — she is far too active ; 
 but for me, I daresay she would go and join Miss 
 Winter at once." 
 
 " I don't much care for that idea of girls going 
 out to work when they could live quietly at home," 
 said Will. 
 
 263 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " I used to have the same feeling," answered 
 his mother, " but Jane and I have often talked 
 about it, and I see there is something to be said 
 for the other view. At all events, I wanted to 
 prevent you from wondering what was to become 
 of her when she was left alone. To be sure," 
 she added, with a bright smile, " Jane may marry. 
 I hope she will. But I know she won't easily be 
 persuaded to give up her independence. Jane 
 is a very independent little person." 
 
 "If she has that in mind," said Will, "why 
 shouldn't you both go and live over there, in 
 Suffolk ? You could find a house, no doubt " 
 
 Mrs. Warburton gently shook her head. 
 
 " I don't think I could leave The Haws. And 
 — for the short time " 
 
 " Short time ? but you are not seriously Ul, 
 mother." 
 
 " If I get stronger," said Mrs. Warburton, 
 without raising her eyes, " we must manage to 
 send Jane into Suffolk. I could get along very 
 well alone. But there — we have talked enough 
 for this evening, Will. Can you stay over to- 
 morrow ? Do, if you could manage it. I am 
 glad to have you near me." 
 
 When they parted for the night. Will asked 
 his sister to meet him in the garden before break- 
 fast, and Jane nodded assent. 
 
 264 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 THE garden was drenched in dew, and when 
 about seven o'clock, the first sunbeam 
 pierced the grey mantle of the east, every leaf 
 flashed back the yellow light. Will was walking 
 there alone, his eyes turned now and then to the 
 white window of his mother's room. 
 
 Jane came forth with her rosy morning face, 
 her expression graver than of wont. 
 
 " You are uneasy about mother," were her 
 first words. " So am I, very. I feel convinced 
 Dr. Edge has given her some serious warning ; 
 I saw the change in her after his last visit." 
 
 " I shall go and see him," said Will. 
 
 They talked of their anxiety, then Warburton 
 proposed that they should walk a little way along 
 the road, for the air was cool. 
 
 " I've something I want to tell you," he began, 
 when they had set forth. " It's a little startling 
 — rather ludicrous, too. What should you say 
 if some one came and told you he had seen me 
 serving behind a grocer's counter in London ? " 
 
 " What do you mean, Will ? " 
 
 " Well, I want to know how it would strike you. 
 Should you be horrified ? " 
 
 " No ; but astonished." 
 
 "Very well. The fact of the matter is then," 
 said Warburton, with an uneasy smile, " that 
 
 265 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 for a couple of years I have been doing that. It 
 came about in this way " 
 
 He related Godfrey Sherwood's reckless pro- 
 ceedings, and the circumstances which had decided 
 him to take a shop. No exclamation escaped 
 the listener ; she walked with eyes downcast, 
 and, when her brother ceased, looked at him very 
 gently, affectionately. 
 
 " It was brave of you. Will," she said. 
 
 " Well, I saw no other way of making good the 
 loss ; but now I am sick of living a double life — 
 that has really been the worst part of it, aU along. 
 What I want to ask you, is — would it be wise or 
 not to tell mother ? Would it worry and distress 
 her ? As for the money, you see there's nothing to 
 worry about ; the shop will yield a sufficient income, 
 though not as much as we hoped from Apple- 
 garth's ; but of course I shall have to go on behind 
 the counter." 
 
 He broke off, laughing, and Jane smiled, though 
 with a line of trouble on her brow. 
 
 " That won't do," she said, with quiet decision. 
 
 " Oh, I'm getting used to it." 
 
 " No, no, Win, it won't do. We must find a better 
 way. I see no harm in shopkeeping, if one has been 
 brought up to it ; but you haven't, and it isn't 
 suitable for you. About mother — yes, I think 
 we'd better tell her. She won't worry on account 
 of the money ; that isn't her nature, and it's 
 very much better that there should be confidence 
 between us all." 
 
 " I haven't enjoyed telling lies," said Will, 
 " I assure you." 
 
 " That I'm sure you haven't, poor boy ! — but 
 Mr. Sherwood ? Hasn't he made any effort to 
 
 help you. Surely he " 
 
 266 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Poor old Godfrey ! " broke in her brother, 
 laughing. " It's a joke to remember that I used 
 to think him a splendid man of business, far more 
 practical than I. Why, there's no dreamier 
 muddlehead living." 
 
 He told the stories of Strangwyn and of Milli- 
 gan with such exuberance of humour that Jane 
 could not but join in his merriment. 
 
 " No, no ; it's no good looking in that direc- 
 tion. The money has gone, there's no help for it. 
 But you can depend on JoUyman's. Of course 
 the affair would have been much more dif&cult 
 without Allchin. Oh, you must see Allchin some 
 day ! " 
 
 " And absolutely no one has discovered the 
 secret ? " asked Jane. 
 
 Will hesitated, then. 
 
 " Yes, one person. You remember the name 
 of Miss Elvan ? A fortnight ago — imagine the scene 
 — she walked into the shop with a friend of hers, 
 a Miss Cross, who has been one of my customers 
 from the first. As soon as she caught sight of me 
 she turned and ran ; yes, ran out into the street 
 in indignation and horror. Of course she must have 
 told her friend, and whether Miss Cross will ever 
 come to the shop again, I don't know. I never 
 mentioned that name to you, did I ? The Crosses 
 were friends of Norbert Franks. And, by the bye, 
 I hear that Franks was married to Miss Elvan a 
 few days ago — just after her awful discovery. 
 No doubt she told him, and perhaps he'll drop my 
 acquaintance." 
 
 " You don't mean that ? " 
 
 " Well, not quite ; but it wouldn't surprise 
 me if his wife told him that really one mustn't 
 be too intimate with grocers. In future, I'm 
 
 267 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 going to tell everybody ; there shall ^be no more 
 hiding and sneaking. That's what debases a 
 man ; not the selling of sugar and tea. A short 
 time ago, I had got into a vile state of mind ; I 
 felt like poisoning myself. And I'm convinced 
 it was merely the burden of lies weighing upon 
 me. Yes, yes, you're quite right ; of course, mother 
 must be told. Shall I leave it to you, Jane ? I 
 think you could break it better." 
 
 After breakfast. Will walked into St. Neots, 
 to have a private conversation with Dr. Edge, 
 and whilst he was away Jane told her mother 
 the story of the lost money. At the end of an 
 hour's talk, she went out into the garden, where 
 presently she was found by her brother, who had 
 walked back at his utmost pace, and wore a per- 
 turbed countenance. 
 
 " You haven't told yet ? " were his first words, 
 uttered in a breathless undertone. 
 
 " Why ? " asked Jane startled. 
 
 " I'm afraid of the result. Edge says that 
 every sort of agitation must be avoided." 
 
 " I have told her," said Jane, with quiet voice, 
 but anxious look. " She was grieved on your 
 account, but it gave her no shock. Again and 
 again she said how glad she was you had let us 
 know the truth." 
 
 " So far then, good." 
 
 " But Dr. Edge— what did he tell you ? " 
 
 " He said he had wanted to see me, and thought 
 of writing. Yes, he speaks seriously." 
 
 They talked for a little, then Will went into 
 the house alone, and found his mother as she sat 
 in her wonted place, the usual needlework on her 
 lap. As he crossed the room, she kept her eyes 
 upon him in a gaze of the gentlest reproach, mingled 
 
 268 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 with a smile, which told the origin of Will's whole- 
 some humour. 
 
 " And you couldn't trust me to take my share 
 of the trouble ? " 
 
 " I knew only too well," replied her son, " that 
 your own share wouldn't content you." 
 
 " Greedy mother ! — Perhaps you were right, 
 Will. I suppose I should have interfered, and 
 made everything worse for you ; but yoii needn't 
 have waited quite so long before telling me. The 
 one thing that I can't understand is Mr. Sherwood's 
 behaviour. You had always given me such a 
 different idea of him. Really, I don't think he 
 ought to have been let off so easily." 
 
 " Oh, poor old Godfrey ! What could he do ? 
 He was sorry as man could be, and he gave me all 
 the cash he could scrape together " 
 
 " I'm glad he wasn't a friend of mine," said 
 Mrs. Warburton. " In all my life, I have never 
 quarrelled with a friend, but I'm afraid I must 
 have fallen out with Mr. Sherwood. Think of 
 the women who entrust their all to men of that 
 kind, and have no strong son to save them from 
 the consequences." 
 
 After the mid-day meal all sat together for 
 an hour or two in the garden. By an evening 
 train, Will returned to London. Jane had promised 
 to let him have frequent news, and during the en- 
 suing week she wrote twice with very favourable 
 accounts of their mother's condition. A month 
 went by without any disquieting report, then 
 came a letter in Mrs. Warburton's own hand. 
 
 " My dear Will," she wrote, " I can't keep secrets 
 as long as you. This is to inform you that a week 
 ago I let The Haws, on annual tenancy, to a friend 
 of Mr. TumbuU's, who' "was looking forj;_such a 
 
 269 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 house. The day after to-morrow we begin our 
 removal to a home which Jane has taken near to 
 Miss Winter's in Suffolk. That she was able to 
 find just what we wanted at a moment's notice 
 encourages me in thinking that Providence is 
 on our side, or, as your dear father used to say, 
 that the oracle has spoken. In a week's time I 
 hope to send news that we are settled. You are 
 forbidden to come here before our departure, but 
 will be invited to the new home as soon as pos- 
 sible. The address is " etc. 
 
 The same post brought a letter from Jane. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed by the news," she wrote. 
 " Mother has been so firm in this resolve since 
 the day of your leaving us, that I could only obey 
 her. Wonderful and delightful to teU, she seems 
 better in health. I dare not make too much of 
 this, after what Dr. Edge said, but for the present 
 she is certainly stronger. As you suppose, I am 
 going to work with Miss Winter. Come and see 
 us when we are settled, and you shall hear all our 
 plans. Everything has been done so quickly, 
 that I live in a sort of a dream. Don't worry, 
 and of course don't on any account come." 
 
 These letters arrived in the evening, and, after 
 reading them, Warburton was so moved that he 
 had to go out and walk under the starry sky, in 
 quiet streets. Of course the motive on which his 
 mother had acted was a desire to free him as soon 
 as possible from the slavery of the shop ; but that 
 slavery had now grown so supportable, that he 
 grieved over the sacrifice made for his sake. After 
 all, would he not have done better to live on with 
 his secret ? And yet — and yet " 
 
 270 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 WITH curiosity which had in it a touch of 
 amusement, Will was waiting to hear from 
 Norbert Franks. He waited for nearly a month, 
 and was beginning to feel rather hurt at his friend's 
 neglect, perhaps a little uneasy on another score, 
 when there arrived an Italian postcard, stamped 
 Venice. " We have been tempted as far as this," 
 ran the hurried scrawl. " Must be home in ten 
 days. Shall be delighted to see you again." War- 
 burton puckered his brows and wondered whether 
 a previous letter or card had failed to reach him. 
 But probably not. 
 
 At the end of September, Franks wrote from 
 his London address, briefly but cordially, with 
 an invitation to luncheon on the next day, which 
 was Sunday. And Warburton went. 
 
 He was nervous as he knocked at the door ; 
 he was rather more nervous as he walked into 
 the studio. Norbert advanced to him with a 
 shout of welcome, and from a chair in the back- 
 ground rose Mrs. Franks. Perceptibly changed, 
 both of them. The artist's look was not quite 
 so ingenuous as formerly; his speech, resolute 
 in friendliness, had not quite the familiar note. 
 Rosamund, already more mature of aspect, smiled 
 somewhat too persistently, seemed rather too bent 
 on showing herself unembarrassed. They plunged 
 
 271 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 into talk of Tyrol, of the Dolomites, of Venice, and, 
 so talking, passed into the dining-room. 
 
 " Queer little house this, isn't it ? " said Mrs. 
 Franks as she sat down to table. " Everything 
 is sacrificed to the studio ; there's no room to 
 turn anywhere else. We must look at once for 
 more comfortable quarters." 
 
 " It's only meant for a man living alone," said 
 the artist, with a laugh. Franks laughed frequently, 
 whether what he said was amusing or not. " Yes, 
 we must find something roomier." 
 
 " A score of sitters waiting for you, I suppose ? " 
 said Warburton. 
 
 "Oh, several. One of them such an awful 
 phiz that I'm afraid of her. If I make her pre- 
 sentable, it'll be my greatest feat yet. But the 
 labourer is worthy of his hire, j'ou know, and this 
 bit of beauty-making will have its price." 
 
 " You know how to interpret that, Mr. War- 
 burton," said Rosamund, with a discreetly con- 
 fidential smile. " Norbert asks very much less 
 than any other portrait painter of his reputation 
 would." 
 
 " He'll grow out of that bad habit," Will repUed. 
 His note was one of joviality, almost of bluffness. 
 
 " I'm not sure that I wish him to," said the 
 painter's wife, her eyes straying as if in a sudden 
 dreaminess. " It's a distinction nowadays not to 
 care for money. Norbert jokes about making an 
 ugly woman beautiful," she went on earnestly, 
 " but what he will really do is to discover the very 
 best aspect of the face, and so make something 
 much more than an ordinary likeness." 
 
 Franks fidgeted, his head bent over his plate. 
 
 " That's the work of the great artist," exclaimed 
 Warburton, boldly flattering. 
 
 272 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Humbug ! " growled Franks, but at once he 
 laughed and glanced nervously at his wife. 
 
 Though this was Rosamund's only direct utter- 
 ance on the subject, Warburton discovered from 
 the course of the conversation, that she wished to 
 be known as her husband's fervent admirer, that 
 she took him with the utmost seriousness, and was 
 resolved that everybody else should do so. The 
 " great artist " phrase gave her genuine pleasure ; 
 she rewarded Will with the kindest look of her 
 beautiful eyes, and from that moment appeared 
 to experience a relief, so that her talk flowed more 
 naturally. Luncheon over, they returned to the 
 studio, where the men lit their pipes, while Rosa- 
 mund, at her husband's entreaty, exhibited the 
 sketches she had brought home. 
 
 " Why didn't you let me hear from you ? " 
 asked Warburton. " I got nothing but that flimsy 
 postcard from Venice." 
 
 " Why, I was always meaning to write," answered 
 the artist. " I know it was too bad. But time 
 goes so quickly " 
 
 " With you, no doubt. But if you stood be- 
 hind a counter all day " 
 
 Will saw the listeners exchange a startled glance, 
 followed by an artificial smUe. There was an 
 instant's dead silence. 
 
 " Behind a counter — ? " fell from Norbert, as 
 if he failed to understand. 
 
 " The counter ; my counter ! " shouted Will 
 blusterously. " You know very well what I mean. 
 Your wife has told you all about it." 
 
 Rosamund flushed, and could not raise her eyes. 
 
 " We didn't know," said Franks, with his nervous 
 httle laugh, " whether you cared — to talk about 
 
 it " 
 
 273 s 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " I'll talk about it with any one you like. So you 
 do know ? That's all right. I still owe my apology 
 to Mrs. Franks for having given her such a shock. 
 The disclosure was reaUy too sudden." 
 
 "It is I who should beg you to forgive me, Mr. 
 Warburton," replied Rosamund, in her sweetest 
 accents. " I behaved in a very silly way. But 
 my friend Bertha Cross treated me as I deserved. 
 She declared that she was ashamed of me. But 
 do not, pray do not, think me worse than I was. 
 I ran away really because I felt I had surprised a 
 secret. I was embarrassed, — I lost my head. 
 I'm sure you don't think me capable of really mean 
 feelings ? " 
 
 " But, old man," put in the artist, in a half 
 pained voice, " what the deuce does it all mean ? 
 Tell us the whole story, do." 
 
 Will told it, jestingly, effectively. 
 
 " I was quite sure," sounded, at the close, 
 in Rosamund's voice of tender s}mipathy, " that 
 you had some noble motive. I said so at once to 
 Bertha." 
 
 " I suppose," said Will, " Miss Cross will never 
 dare to enter the shop again ? " 
 
 " She doesn't come ! " 
 
 " Never since," he answered laughingly. ".^Her 
 mother has been once or twice, and seems to regard 
 me with a very suspicious eye. Mrs. Cross was told 
 no doubt ? " 
 
 " That I really can't say," replied Rosamund, 
 averting her eyes. " But doesn't it do one good 
 to hear such a story, Norbert ? " she added im- 
 pulsively. 
 
 " Yes, that's pluck," replied her husband, with 
 the old spontaneity, in his eyes the old honest look 
 which hitherto had somehow been a little obscured. 
 
 274 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " I know very well that I couldn't have done it." 
 Warburton had not looked at Rosamund since 
 her explanation and apology. He was afraid of 
 meeting her eyes ; afraid as a generous man who 
 shrinks from inflicting humiliation. For was it 
 conceivable that Rosamund could support his gaze 
 without feeling humiliated ? Remembering what 
 had preceded that discovery at the shop ; bearing 
 in mind what had followed upon it ; he reflected 
 with astonishment on the terms of her self-reproach. 
 It sounded so genuine ; to the ears of her husband 
 it must have been purest, womanliest sincerity. 
 As though she could read his thoughts, Rosamund 
 addressed him again in the most naturally playful 
 tone. 
 
 " And you have been in the Basque country 
 since we saw you. I'm so glad you really took 
 your holiday there at last ; you often used to 
 speak of doing so. And you met my sister — 
 Winifred wrote to me all about it. The Coppingers 
 were dehghted to see you. Don't you think them 
 nice people ? Did poor Mrs. Coppinger seem any 
 better ? " 
 
 In spite of himself, Will encountered her look, 
 met the beautiful eyes, felt their smile envelop 
 him. Never till now had he known the passive 
 strength of woman, that characteristic which at 
 times makes her a force of Nature rather than 
 an individual being. Amazed, abashed, he let 
 his head faU — and mumbled something about Mrs. 
 Coppinger's state of health. 
 
 He did not stay much longer. When he took 
 his leave, it would have seemed natural if Franks 
 had come out to walk a little way with him, but 
 his friend bore him company only to the door. 
 
 275 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Let us see you as often as possible, old man. 
 I hope you'U often come and lunch on Sunday ; 
 nothing could please us better." 
 
 Franks' handgrip was very cordial, the look 
 and tone were affectionate, but Will said to him- 
 self that the old intimacy was at an end ; it must 
 now give place to mere acquaintanceship. He 
 suspected that Franks was afraid to come out and 
 waUc with him, afraid that it might not please his 
 wife. That Rosamund was to rule — very sweetly 
 of course, but unmistakably — no one could doubt 
 who saw the two together for five minutes. It 
 would be, in all likelihood, a happy subjugation, 
 for Norbert was of anything but a rebellious temper ; 
 his bonds would be of silk ; the rewards of his do- 
 cility would be such as many a self-assertive man 
 might envy. But when Warburton tried to imagine 
 himself in such a position, a choked laugh of 
 humorous disdain heaved his chest. 
 
 He wandered homewards in a dream. He re- 
 lived those moments on the Embankment at Chelsea, 
 when his common sense, his reason, his true emo- 
 tions, were defeated by an impulse now scarcely 
 intelligible ; he saw himself shot across Europe, 
 like a parcel despatched by express ; and all that 
 fury and rush meaningless as buffoonery at a 
 pantomime ! Yet this was how the vast majority 
 of men " fell in love " — if ever they did so at all. 
 This was the prelude to marriages innumerable, 
 marriages destined to be dull as ditchwater or sour 
 as verjuice. In love, forsooth ! Rosamund at all 
 events knew the value of that, and had saved him 
 from his own infatuation. He owed her a lifelong 
 gratitude. 
 
 That evening he re-read a long letter from Jane 
 which had reached him yesterday. His sister 
 gave him a full description of the new home in 
 
 276 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Suffolk, and told of the arrangement she had made 
 with Miss Winter, whereby, in a twelvemonth, 
 she would be able to begin earning a little money, 
 and, if all went well, before long would become 
 self-supporting. Could he not run down to see 
 them ? Their mother had borne the removal 
 remarkably well, and seemed, indeed, to have a new 
 vigour ; possibly the air might suit her better than 
 at The Haws. Will mused over this, but had no 
 mind to make the j ourney j ust yet. It would be a pain 
 to him to see his mother in that new place ; it 
 would shame him to see his sister at work, and 
 to think that all this change was on his account. 
 So he wrote to mother and sister, with more of 
 expressed tenderness than usual, begging them 
 to let him put off his visit yet a few weeks. Presently 
 they would be more settled. But of one thing let 
 them be sure ; his daily work was no burden what- 
 ever to him, and he hardly knew whether he would 
 care to change it for what was called the greater 
 respectability of labour in an office. His health 
 was good ; his spirits could only be disturbed by 
 ill news from those he loved. He promised that 
 at all events he would spend Christmas with them. 
 
 September went by. One of the Sundays was 
 made memorable by a visit to Ashtead. Will 
 had requested Franks to relate in that quarter the 
 story of Mr. Joll5anan, and immediately after 
 hearing it, Ralph Pomfret wrote a warm-hearted 
 letter which made the recipient in Fulham chuckle 
 with contentment. At Ashtead he enjoyed himself 
 in the old way, gladdened by the pleasure with 
 which his friends talked of Rosamund's marriage. 
 Mrs. Pomfret took an opportunity of speaking to 
 him apart, a bright smile on her good face. 
 
 " Of course we know who did much, if not 
 277 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 everything, to bring it about. Rosamund came 
 and told me how beautifully you had pleaded 
 Norbert's cause, and Norbert confided to my hus- 
 band that, but for you, he would most likely have 
 married a girl he really didn't care about at all. 
 I doubt whether a mere man ever did such a thing 
 so discreetly and successfully before ! " 
 
 In October, WUl began to waver in his resolve not 
 to go down into Suffolk before Christmas. There 
 came a letter from his mother which deeply moved 
 him ; she spoke of old things as well as new, 
 and declared that in her husband and in her children 
 no woman had ever known truer happiness. This was 
 at the middle of the week ; Will all but made up his 
 mind to take an early train on the following Sunday. 
 On Friday he wrote to Jane, telling her to expect 
 him, and, as he walked home from the shop that 
 evening he felt glad that he had overcome the 
 feelings which threatened to make this first visit 
 something of a trial to his self-respect. 
 
 " There's a telegram a-waiting for you, sir," 
 said Mrs. Wick, as he entered. 
 
 The telegram contained four words : 
 
 " Mother ill. Please come." 
 
 278 
 
CHAPTER XLI 
 
 HAPPEN what might in the world beyond her 
 doors, Mrs. Cross led the wonted life of 
 domestic discomfort and querulousness. An in- 
 terval there had been this summer, a brief, uncertain 
 interval, when something like good-temper seemed 
 to struggle with her familiar mood ; it was the 
 month or two during which Norbert Franks re- 
 sumed his friendly visitings. Fallen out of Mrs. 
 Cross's good graces since his failure to become her 
 tenant a couple of years ago, the artist had but 
 to present himself again to be forgiven, and when 
 it grew evident that he came to the house on Bertha's 
 account, he rose into higher favour than ever. 
 But this promising state of things abruptly ended. 
 One morning. Bertha, with a twinkle in her eyes, 
 announced the fact of Franks' marriage. Her 
 mother was stricken with indignant amaze. 
 
 " And you laugh about it ? " 
 
 " It's so amusing," answered Bertha. 
 
 Mrs. Cross examined her daughter. 
 
 " I don't understand you," she exclaimed, in 
 a tone of irritation. " I do not understand you. 
 Bertha ! All I can say is, behaviour more dis- 
 graceful I never " 
 
 The poor lady's feelings were too much for her. 
 She retreated to her bedroom, and there passed 
 the greater part of the day. But in the evening 
 curiosity overcame her suUenness. Having ob- 
 
 279 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 tained as much information about the artist's mar- 
 riage as Bertha could give her, she reUeved herself 
 in an acrimonious criticism of him and Miss Elvan. 
 
 " I never liked to say what I really thought 
 of that girl," were her concluding words. " Now 
 your eyes are opened. Of course you'll never see 
 her again ? " 
 
 " Why, mother ? " asked Bertha. " I'm very 
 glad she has married Mr. Franks. I always hoped 
 she would, and felt pretty sure of it." 
 
 " And you mean to be friends with them both ? " 
 
 " Why not ?— But don't let us talk about that," 
 Bertha added good-humouredly. " I should only 
 vex you. There's something else I want to tell 
 you, something you'll really be amused to hear." 
 
 " Your ideas of amusement, Bertha " 
 
 " Yes, yes, but listen. It's about Mr. Jolly- 
 man. Who do you think Mr. JoUyman really 
 is?" 
 
 Mrs. Cross heard the story with bent brows 
 and lips severely set. 
 
 " And why didn't you tell me this before, pray ? " 
 
 " I hardly know," answered the girl, thought- 
 fully, smiling. " Perhaps because I waited to 
 hear more to make the revelation more complete. 
 But " 
 
 " And this," exclaimed Mrs. Cross, " is why 
 you wouldn't go to the shop yesterday ? " 
 
 " Yes," was the frank reply. " I don't think 
 I shall go again." 
 
 " And, pray, why not ? " 
 
 Bertha was silent. 
 
 " There's one very disagreeable thing in your 
 
 character. Bertha," remarked her mother severely, 
 
 " and that is your habit of hiding and concealing. 
 
 To think that you found this out more than a 
 
 280 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 week ago ! You're very, very unlike your father. 
 He never kept a thing from me, never for an hour. 
 But you are always full of secrets. It isn't nice — 
 it isn't at all nice." 
 
 Since her husband's death Mrs. Cross had never 
 ceased discovering his virtues. When he lived, 
 one of the reproaches with which she constantly 
 soured his existence was that of secretiveness. 
 And Bertha, who knew something and suspected 
 more of the truth in this matter, never felt it so 
 hard to bear with her mother as when Mrs. Cross 
 bestowed such retrospective praise. 
 
 " I have thought it over," she said quietly, 
 disregarding the reproof, " and on the whole I 
 had rather not go again to the shop." 
 
 Thereupon Mrs. Cross grew angry, and for half 
 an hour clamoured as to the disadvantage of leaving 
 Joll5anan's for another grocer's. In the end she 
 did not leave him, but either went to the shop her- 
 self or sent the servant. Great was her curiosity 
 regarding the disguised Mr. Warburton, with whom, 
 after a significant coldness, she gradually resumed 
 her old chatty relations. At length, one day 
 in autumn, Bertha announced to her that she 
 could throw more light on the Jollyman mystery ; 
 she had learnt the full explanation of Mr. Warbur- 
 ton's singular proceedings. 
 
 " From those people, I suppose ? " said Mrs. 
 Cross, who by this phrase signified Mr. and Mrs. 
 Franks. " Then I don't wish to hear one word 
 of it." 
 
 But as though she had not heard this remark, 
 Bertha began her narrative. She seemed to repeat 
 what had been told her with a quiet pleasure. 
 
 " Well, then," was her mother's comment, " after 
 all, there's nothing disgraceful." 
 
 281 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " I never thought there was." 
 
 " Then why have you refused to enter his shop ? " 
 
 " It was awkward," repUed Bertha. 
 
 " No more awkward for you than for me," said 
 Mrs. Cross. " But I've noticed, Bertha, that 
 you are getting rather selfish in some things — 
 I don't of course say in everything — and I think it 
 isn't difficult to guess where that comes from." 
 
 Soon after Christmas they were left, by a familiar 
 accident, without a servant ; the girl who had 
 been with them for the last six months somehow 
 contrived to get her box secretly out of the house, 
 and disappeared (having just been paid her wages) 
 without warning. Long and loudly did Mrs. Cross 
 rail against this infamous behaviour. 
 
 The next morning, a young woman came to 
 the house and inquired for Mrs. Cross ; Bertha, 
 who had opened the door, led her into the dining 
 room, and retired. Half an hour later, Mrs. 
 Cross came into the parlour, beaming. 
 
 " There now ! If that wasn't a good idea ! 
 Who do you think sent that girl. Bertha ? — Mr. 
 JoUjonan." 
 
 Bertha kept silence. 
 
 " I had to go into the shop yesterday, and I 
 happened to speak to Mr. JoIl5anan of the trouble 
 I had in finding a good servant. It occurred 
 to me that he might just possibly know of some 
 one. He promised to make inquiries, and here 
 at once comes the nicest girl I've seen for a long 
 time. She had to leave her last place because 
 it was too hard ; just fancy, a shop where she 
 had to cook for sixteen people, and see to five bed- 
 rooms ; no wonder she broke down, poor thing. 
 She's been resting for a month or two : and she 
 lives in the same house as a person named Mrs. 
 
 282 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Hopper, who is the sister of the wife of Mr. Jolly- 
 man's assistant. And she's quite content with 
 fifteen pounds — quite." 
 
 As she listened, Bertha wrinkled her forehead, 
 and grew rather absent. She made no remark, 
 until, after a long account of the virtues she had 
 already descried in Martha — this was the girl's 
 name — Mrs. Cross added that of course she must 
 go at once and thank Mr. JoUyman. 
 
 " I suppose you still address him by that name ? " 
 fell from Bertha. 
 
 " That name ? Why, I'd really almost for- 
 gotten that it wasn't his real name. In any case, 
 I couldn't use the other in the shop, could I ? " 
 
 " Of course not ; no." 
 
 " Now you speak of it, Bertha," pursued Mrs. 
 Cross, " I wonder whether he knows that I know 
 who he is ? " 
 
 " Certainly he does." 
 
 " When one thinks of it, wouldn't it be better, 
 Bertha, for you to go to the shop again now and 
 then ? I'm afraid the poor man may feel hurt. 
 He must have noticed that you never went again 
 after that discovery, and one really wouldn't like 
 him to think that you were offended." 
 
 " Offended ? " echoed the girl with a laugh. 
 " Offended at what ? " 
 
 " Oh, some people, you know, might think 
 his behaviour strange — using a name that's not 
 his own, and — and so on." 
 
 " Some people might, no doubt. But the poor 
 man, as you caU him, is probably quite indifferent 
 as to what we think of him." 
 
 " Don't you think it would be well if you went 
 in and just thanked him for sending the servant ? " 
 
 " Perhaps," replied Bertha, carelessly. 
 283 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 But she did not go to Mr. Jollyman's, and Mrs. 
 Cross soon forgot the suggestion. 
 
 Martha entered upon her duties, and discharged 
 them with such zeal, such docihty, that 
 her mistress never tired of lauding her. She was 
 a young woman of rather odd appearance ; slim 
 and meagre and red-headed, with a never failing 
 simper on her loose lips, and blue eyes that fre- 
 quently watered ; she had somehow an air of 
 lurking gentility in faded youth. Undeniable as 
 were the good qualities she put forth on this scene 
 of innumerable domestic failures, Bertha could 
 not altogether like her. Submissive to the point 
 of slavishness, she had at times a look which did 
 not harmonize at all with this demeanour, a some- 
 thing in her eyes disagreeably suggestive of mock- 
 ing insolence. Bertha particularly noticed this on 
 the day after Martha had received her first wages. 
 Leave having been given her to go out in the afternoon 
 to make some purchases, she was rather late in 
 returning, and Bertha, meeting her as she entered, 
 asked her to be as quick as possible in getting tea ; 
 whereupon the domestic threw up her head and 
 regarded the speaker from under her eyelids with 
 an extraordinary smile ; then with a " Yes, miss, 
 this minute, miss " scampered upstairs to take 
 her things off. All that evening her behaviour 
 was strange. As she waited at the supper table 
 she seemed to be subduing laughter, and in clear- 
 ing away she for the first time broke a plate ; where- 
 upon she burst into tears, and begged forgiveness 
 so long and so wearisomely that she had at last to 
 be ordered out of the room. 
 
 On the morrow all was well again ; but Bertha 
 could not help watching that singular countenance, 
 and the more she observed, the less she liked it. 
 
 384 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 The more " willing " a servant the more toil 
 did Mrs. Cross exact from her. When occasions 
 of rebuke or of dispute were lacking, the day would 
 have been long and wearisome for her had she not 
 ceaselessly plied the domestic drudge with tasks, 
 and narrowly watched their execution. The spec- 
 tacle of this slave-driving was a constant trial to 
 Bertha's nerves ; now and then she ventured a 
 mild protest, but only with the result of exciting 
 her mother's indignation. In her mood of growing 
 moral discontent. Bertha began to ask herself 
 whether acquiescence in this sordid tryanny was 
 not a culpable weakness, and one day early in the 
 year — a wretched day of east-wind — when she 
 saw Martha perched on an outer window-sill 
 cleaning panes, she found the courage to utter 
 resolute disapproval. 
 
 " I don't understand you, Bertha," replied 
 Mrs. Cross, the muscles of her face quivering as 
 they did when she felt her dignity outraged. " What 
 do we engage a servant for ? Are the windows 
 to get so dirty we can't see through them ? " 
 
 " They were cleaned not many days ago," said 
 her daughter, " and I think we could manage to 
 see till the weather's less terrible." 
 
 " My dear, if we managed so as to give the ser- 
 vant no trouble at all, the house would soon be 
 in a pretty state. Be so good as not to interfere. 
 It's really an extraordinary thing that as soon as 
 I find a girl who ahnost suits me, you begin to try 
 to spoil her. One would think you took a pleasure 
 in making my life miserable " 
 
 Overwhelmed with floods of reproach. Bertha 
 had either to combat or to retreat. Again her 
 nerves failed her, and;^,she left the room. 
 
 At dinner that day there was a roast leg of mut- 
 285 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 ton, and, as her habit was, Mrs. Cross carved the 
 portion which Martha was to take away for her- 
 self. One very small and very thin slice, together 
 with one unwholesome Httle potato, represented 
 the servant's meal. As soon as the door had 
 closed, Bertha spoke in an ominously quiet voice. 
 
 " Mother, this won't do. I am very sorry to 
 annoy you, but if you caU that a dinner for a girl 
 who works hard ten or twelve hours a day, I don't. 
 How she supports life, I can't understand. You 
 have only to look into her face to see she's starving. 
 I can bear the sight of it no longer." 
 
 This time she held firm. The conflict lasted 
 for half an hour, during which Mrs. Cross twice 
 threatened to faint. Neither of them ate an5d;hing, 
 and in the end Bertha saw herself, if not defeated, 
 at all events no better off than at the beginning, 
 for her mother clung fiercely to authority, and 
 would obviously hve in perpetual strife rather 
 than yield an inch. For the next two days do- 
 mestic life was very unpleasant indeed ; mother 
 and daughter exchanged few words ; meanwhile 
 Martha was tasked, if possible, more vigorously 
 than ever, and fed mysteriously, meals no longer 
 doled out to her under Bertha's eyes. The third 
 morning brought another crisis. 
 
 " I have a letter from Emily," said Bertha 
 at breakfast, naming a friend of hers who lived 
 in the far north of London. " I'm going to see her 
 to-day." 
 
 " Very well," answered Mrs. Cross, between 
 rigid lips. 
 
 " She says that in the house where she lives, 
 there's a bed-sitting-room to let. 1 think, mother, 
 it might be better for me to take it." 
 
 " You will do just as you please, Bertha." 
 286 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " I shall have dinner to-day with Emily, and 
 be back about tea-time." 
 
 " I have no doubt," replied Mrs. Cross, " that 
 Martha will be so obliging as to have tea ready 
 for you. If she doesn't feel strong enough, of 
 course I wiU see to it myself." 
 
 287 
 
CHAPTER XLII 
 
 ON the evening before, Martha had received her 
 month's wages, and had been promised the 
 usual afternoon of hberty to-day ; but, as soon as 
 Bertha had left the house, Mrs. Cross summoned 
 the domestic, and informed her bluntly that the 
 holiday must be postponed. 
 
 " I'm very sorry, mum," replied Martha, with 
 an odd, half-frightened look in her watery eyes. 
 " I'd promised to go and see my brother as has 
 just lost his wife ; but of course, if it isn't con- 
 venient, mum " 
 
 " It reaUy is not, Martha. Miss Bertha will 
 be out all day, and I don't like being left alone. 
 You shall go to-morrow instead." 
 
 Half an hour later, Mrs. Cross went out shopping, 
 and was away till noon. On returning, she found 
 the house full of the odour of something burnt. 
 
 " What's this smell, Martha ? " she asked at the 
 kitchen door, " what is burning ? " 
 
 " Oh, it's only a dishcloth as was drying and 
 caught fire, mum," answered the servant. 
 
 " Only ! What do you mean ? " cried the 
 mistress, angrily. " Do you wish to bum the 
 house down ? " 
 
 Martha stood with her arms akimbo, on her 
 thin, dough-pale face the most insolent of grins, 
 her teeth gleaming, and her eyes wide. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " cried Mrs. Cross. " Show 
 me the burnt cloth at once." 
 
 288 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " There you are, mum ! " 
 
 And Martha, with a kick, pointed to something 
 on the floor. Amazed and wrathful, Mrs. Cross 
 saw a long roller-towel, half a yard of it burnt to 
 tinder ; nor could any satisfactory explanation 
 of the accident be drawn from Martha, who laughed, 
 sobbed, and sniggered by turns as if she were 
 demented. 
 
 "Of course you will pay for it," exclaimed Mrs. 
 Cross for the twentieth time. " Go on with your 
 work at once, and don't let me have any more of 
 this extraordinary behaviour. I can't think what 
 has come to you." 
 
 But Martha seemed incapable of resuming her 
 ordinary calm. Whilst serving the one o'clock 
 dinner — which was very badly cooked — she wept 
 and sighed, and when her mistress had risen from 
 the table, she stood for a long time staring vacantly 
 before she could bestir herself to clear away. About 
 three o'clock, having several times vainly rung the 
 sitting-room bell, Mrs. Cross went to the kitchen. 
 The door was shut, and, on trpng to open it, she 
 found it locked. She called " Martha," again and 
 again, and had no reply, until, all of a sudden, a 
 shrill voice cried from within — " Go away ! Go 
 away ! " Beside herself with wrath and amaze- 
 ment, the mistress demanded admission ; for 
 answer, there came a violent thumping on the door 
 at the other side, and again the voice screamed — 
 " Go away ! Go away ! " 
 
 " What's the matter with you, Martha ? " asked 
 Mrs. Cross, beginning to feel alarmed. 
 
 " Go away ! " replied the voice fiercely. 
 
 " Either you open the door this moment, or I 
 call a policeman." 
 
 This threat had an immediate effect, though 
 289 T 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 not quite of the kind that Mrs. Cross hoped. The 
 key turned with a snap, the door was flung open, 
 and there stood Martha, in a Corybantic attitude, 
 brandishing a dinner-plate in one hand, a poker in 
 the other ; her hair was dishevelled, her face red, 
 and fury blazed in her eyes. 
 
 " You won't go away ? " she screamed " There, 
 then — there goes one of your plates ! " 
 
 She dashed it to the floor. 
 
 " You won't go away ? — There goes one of your 
 dishes ! — and there goes a basin ! — And there goes 
 a tea-cup ! " 
 
 One after another, the things she named perished 
 upon the floor. Mrs. Cross stood paralysed, horror- 
 stricken. 
 
 " You think you'll make me pay for them ? " 
 cried Martha frantically. " Not me — not me ! 
 It's you as owes me money — money for all the 
 work I've done as wasn't in my wages, and for the 
 food as I haven't had, when I'd ought to. What 
 do you caU that ? " She pointed to a plate of some- 
 thing on the kitchen table. " Is that a dinner for 
 a human being, or is it a dinner for a beetle ? D'you 
 think I'd eat it, and me with money in my pocket 
 to buy better ? You want to make a walkin' 
 skeleton of me, do you ? — but I'll have it out of 
 you, I will — There goes another dish ! And there 
 goes a sugar-basin ! And here goes your teapot ! " 
 
 With a shriek of dismay, Mrs. Cross sprang 
 forward. She was too late to save the cherished 
 object, and her aggressive movement excited 
 Martha to yet more alarming behaviour. 
 
 " You'd hit me, would you ? Two can play at 
 that game — you old skinflint, you ! Come an- 
 other step nearer, and I'U bring this poker on your 
 head ! You thought you'd get somebody you 
 290 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 could do as you liked with, didn't you ? You 
 thought because I was willing, and tried to do my 
 best, as I could be put upon to any extent, did you ? 
 It's about time you learnt your mistake, you old 
 cheese-parer ! You and me has an account to 
 settle. Let me get at you — let me get at you " 
 
 She brandished the poker so menacingly that 
 Mrs. Cross turned and fled. Martha pursued, 
 yelling abuse and threats. The mistress vainly 
 tried to shut the sitting-room door against her ; 
 in broke the furious maid, and for a moment so 
 handled her weapon that Mrs. Cross with difficulty 
 escaped a dangerous blow. Round and round the 
 table they went, until, the cloth having been drag- 
 ged off, Martha's feet caught in it, and she fell 
 heavily to the floor. To escape from the room, 
 the terrified lady must have stepped over her. 
 For a moment there was silence. Then Martha 
 made an attempt to rise, fell again, again struggled 
 to her knees, and finally collapsed, lying quite still 
 and mute. 
 
 Trembling, panting, Mrs. Cross moved cautiously 
 nearer, until she could see the girl's face. Martha 
 was asleep, unmistakably asleep ; she had even 
 begun to snore. Avoiding her contact with as 
 much disgust as fear, Mrs. Cross got out of the room, 
 and opened the front door of the house. This way 
 and that she looked along the streets, searching 
 for a policeman, but none was in sight. At this 
 moment, approached a familiar figure, Mr. Jolly- 
 man's errand boy, basket on arm ; he had parcels 
 to deliver here. 
 
 " Are you going back to the shop at once ? " 
 asked Mrs. Cross, after hurriedly setting down her 
 groceries in the passage. 
 
 " Straight back, mum." 
 291 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Then run as quickly as ever you can, and tell 
 Mr. Joll5niian that I wish to see him immediately — 
 immediately. Run ! Don't lose a moment ! " 
 
 Afraid to shut herself in with the sleeping fury, 
 Mrs. Cross remained standing near the front door, 
 which every now and then she opened to look for a 
 policeman. The day was cold ; she shivered, she 
 felt weak, wretched, ready to sob in her squahd 
 distress. Some twenty minutes passed, then, just 
 as she opened the door to look about again, a rapid 
 step sounded on the pavement, and there appeared 
 her grocer. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Jollyman ! " she exclaimed. " What 
 I have just gone through ! That girl has gone 
 raving mad — she has broken almost everything in 
 the house, and tried to kUl me with the poker. Oh, 
 I am so glad you've come ! Of course there's never 
 a policeman when they're wanted. Do please come 
 in." 
 
 Warburton did not at once understand who 
 was meant by " that girl," but when Mrs. Cross 
 threw open the sitting-room door, and exhibited 
 her domestic prostrate in disgraceful slumber, the 
 facts of the situation broke upon him. This was 
 the girl so strongly recommended by Mrs. Hopper. 
 
 " But I thought she had been doing very 
 weU " 
 
 " So she had, so she had, Mr. Jollyman — except 
 for a few little things — though there was always 
 something rather strange about her. It's only to- 
 day that she broke out. She is mad, I assure you, 
 raving mad ! " 
 
 Another explanation suggested itself to War- 
 burton. 
 
 " Don't you notice a suspicious odour ? " he 
 asked significantly. 
 
 292 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " You think it's that ! " said Mrs. Cross, in a hor- 
 rified whisper. " Oh, I daresay you're right, I'm 
 too agitated to notice anything. Oh, Mr. Jolly- 
 man ! Do, do help me to get the creature out of the 
 house. How shameful that people gave her a good 
 character. But everybody deceives me — every- 
 body treats me cruelly, heartlessly. Don't leave 
 me alone with that creature, Mr. JoUjmaan. Oh, 
 if you knew what I have been through with ser- 
 vants ! But never anything so bad as this — 
 never ! Oh, I feel quite ill — I must sit down " 
 
 Fearful that his situation might become more 
 embarrassing than it was, Warburton supported 
 Mrs. Cross into the dining-room, and by dint of 
 loudly cheerful talk in part composed her. She 
 consented to sit with the door locked, whilst her 
 rescuer hurried in search of a policeman. Before 
 long, a constable's tread sounded in the hall ; Mrs. 
 Cross told her story, exhibited the ruins of her 
 crockery on the kitchen floor, and demanded in- 
 stant expulsion of the dangerous rebel. Between 
 them, Warburton and the man in authority shook 
 Martha into consciousness, made her pack her 
 box, put her into a cab, and sent her off to the house 
 where she had lived when out of service ; she all 
 the time weeping copiously, and protesting that 
 there was no one in the world so dear to her as her 
 outraged mistress. About an hour was thus con- 
 sumed. When at length the policeman had with- 
 drawn, and sudden quiet reigned in the house, Mrs. 
 Cross seemed again on the point of fainting. 
 
 " How can I ever thank you, Mr. JoUyman ! " 
 she exclaimed, half hysterically, as she let herself 
 sink into the armchair. "Without you, what 
 would have become of me ! Oh, I fed so weak, 
 
 if I had strength to get myself a cup of tea " 
 
 293 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Let me get it for you," cried Warburton. 
 " Notliing easier. T noticed the kettle by the 
 kitchen fire." 
 
 " Oh, I cannot allow, you, Mr. Joll5anan — you 
 are too kind — I feel so ashamed " 
 
 But Will was already in the kitchen, where he 
 bestirred himself so effectually that in a few minutes 
 the kettle had begun to sing. Just as he went back 
 to the parlour, to ask where tea could be found, the 
 front door opened, and in walked Bertha. 
 
 " Your daughter is here, Mrs. Cross," said Will, 
 in an undertone, stepping toward the limp and 
 pallid lady. 
 
 " Bertha," she cried. " Bertha, are you there ? 
 Oh, come and thank Mr. JoU5mian ! [f you knew 
 what has happened whilst you were away ! " 
 
 At the room door appeared the girl's astonished 
 face. Warburton' s eyes fell upon her. 
 
 " It's a wonder you find me alive, dear," pur- 
 sued the mother. " If one of those blows had 
 fallen on my head !" 
 
 " Let me explain," interposed Warburton quietly. 
 And in a few words he related the events of the 
 afternoon. 
 
 " And Mr. JoUyman was just getting me a cup 
 of tea. Bertha," added Mrs. Cross. " I do feel 
 ashamed that he should have had such trouble." 
 
 " Mr. JoU5mian has been very kind indeed," 
 said Bertha, with look and tone of grave sincerity. 
 " I'm sure we cannot thank him enough." 
 
 Warburton smiled as he met her glance. 
 
 " I feel rather guilty in the matter," he said, 
 " for it was I who suggested the servant. If you 
 wiU let me, I will do my best to atone by trying to 
 find another and a better." 
 
 " Run and make the tea, my dear," said Mrs. 
 294 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Cross. " Perhaps Mr. Jollyman will have a aip 
 with us " 
 
 This invitation was declined. Warburton sought 
 for his hat, and took leave of the ladies, Mrs. 
 Cross overwhelming him with gratitude, and 
 Bertha murmuring a few embarrassed words. As 
 soon as he was gone, mother and daughter took 
 hands affectionately, then embraced with more 
 tenderness than for a long, long time. 
 
 " I shall never dare to live alone with a servant," 
 sobbed Mrs. Cross. " If you leave me, I must go 
 into lodgings, dear." 
 
 " Hush, hush, mother," replied the girl, in her 
 gentlest voice. " Of course I shall not leave you." 
 
 " Oh, the dreadful things I have been through ! 
 It was drink, Bertha ; that creature was a drunkard 
 of the most dangerous kind. She did her best to 
 murder me. I wonder I am not at this moment 
 lying dead. — Oh, but the kindness of Mr. Jollyman ! 
 What a good thing I sent for him ! And he speaks 
 of finding us another servant ; but. Bertha, I shall 
 never try to manage a servant again — ^never. I 
 shall always be afraid of them ; I shall dread to 
 give the simplest order. You, my dear, must be 
 the mistress of the house ; indeed you must. I 
 give over everything into your hands. I will never 
 interfere ; I won't say a word, whatever fault I 
 may have to find ; not a word. Oh, that crea- 
 ture ; that horrible woman will haunt my dreams. 
 Bertha, you don't think she'll hang about the house, 
 and lie in wait for me, to be revenged ? We must 
 tell the policeman to look out for her. I'm sure 
 I shall never venture to go out alone, and if you 
 leave me in the house with a new servant, even 
 for an hour, I must be in a room with the door 
 locked. My nerves will never recover from this 
 
 295 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 shock. Oh, if you knew how ill I feel ! I'll have 
 a cup of tea, and then go straight to bed." 
 
 WhUst she was refreshing herself, she spoke 
 again of Mr. JoUyman. 
 
 " Do you think I ought to have pressed him to 
 stay, dear ? I didn't feel sure." 
 
 " No, no, you were quite right not to do so," 
 replied Bertha. "He of course understood that 
 it was better for us to be alone." 
 
 " I thought he would. Really, for a grocer, 
 he is so very gentlemanly." 
 
 " That's not surprising, mother." 
 
 " No, no ; I'm always forgetting that he isn't a 
 grocer by birth. I think. Bertha, it will only be right 
 to ask hun to come to tea some day before long." 
 
 Bertha reflected, a half-smile about her lips. 
 
 " Certainly," she said, " if you would like to." 
 
 " I really should. He was so very kind to me. 
 And perhaps — what do you think ? — ought we to 
 invite him in his proper name ? " 
 
 " No, I think not," answered Bertha, after a 
 moment's reflection. " We are not supposed to 
 know anything about that." 
 
 " To be sure not. — Oh, that dreadful creature. 
 I see her eyes, glaring at me, like a tiger's. Fifty 
 times at least did she chase me round this table. 
 I thought I should have dropped with exhaustion ; 
 and if I had, one blow of that poker would have 
 finished me. Never speak to me of servants, 
 Bertha. Engage any one you like, but do, do be 
 careful to make inquiries about her. I shall never 
 wish even to know her name ; I shall never look 
 at her face ; I shall never speak a word to her. I 
 leave aU the responsibility to you, dear. And 
 now, help me upstairs. I'm sure I could never 
 
 get up alone. I tremble in every limb " 
 
 296 
 
CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 WARBURTON'S mother was dead. The first 
 effect upon him of the certainty that she 
 could not recover from the unconsciousness in 
 which he found her when summoned by Jane's tele- 
 gram, was that of an acute remorse ; it pierced 
 him to the heart that she should have abandoned 
 the home of her life-time, for the strangeness and 
 discomfort of the new abode, and here have fal- 
 len, stricken by death — the cause of it, he himself, 
 he so unworthy of the least sacrifice. He had loved 
 her ; but what assurance had he been wont to give 
 her of his love ? Through many and many a year 
 it was much if he wrote at long intervals a hur- 
 ried letter. How seldom had he cared to go down 
 to St. Neots, and, when there, how soon had he 
 felt impatient of the Uttle restraints imposed upon 
 him by his mother's ways and prejudices. Yet 
 not a moment had she hesitated, ill and aged, when, 
 at so great a cost to herself, it seemed possible to 
 make hfe a little easier for him. This reproach 
 was the keenest pain with which nature had yet 
 visited him. 
 
 Something of the same was felt by his sister, 
 partly on her own, partly on his account, but as 
 soon as Jane became aware of his self torment, 
 her affection and her good sense soon brought suc- 
 cour to them both. She spoke of the life their 
 mother had led since coming into Suffolk, related 
 
 297 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 a hundred instances to prove how full of interest 
 and contentment it had been, bore witness to the 
 seeming improvement of health, and the even cheer- 
 fulness of spirits which had accompanied it. More- 
 over, there was the medical assurance that life 
 could not in any case have been prolonged ; that 
 change of place and habits counted for nothing 
 in the sudden end which some months ago had been 
 foretold. Jane confessed herself surprised at the 
 ease with which so great and sudden a change was 
 borne ; the best proof that could have been given 
 of their mother's nobleness of mind. Once only 
 had Mrs. Warburton seemed to think regretfully 
 of the old home ; it was on coming out of church 
 one morning, when, having stood for a moment to 
 look at the graveyard, she murmured to her daughter 
 that she would wish to be buried at St. Neots. 
 This, of course, was done ; it would have been 
 done even had she not spoken. And when, on the 
 day after the funeral, brother and sister parted to 
 go their several ways, the sadness they bore with 
 them had no embitterment of brooding regret. A 
 little graver than usual, Will took his place behind 
 the counter, with no word to AUchin concerning 
 the cause of his absence. He wrote frequently to 
 Jane, and from her received long letters, which 
 did him good, so redolent were they of the garden 
 life, even in mid-winter, and so expressive of a 
 frank, sweet, strong womanhood, like that of her 
 who was no more. 
 
 Meanwhile his business flourished. Not that 
 he much exerted himself, or greatly rejoiced to 
 see his till more heavily laden night after night, 
 by natural accretion custom flowed to the shop in 
 fuUer stream ; JoUyman's had established a repu- 
 tation for quahty and cheapness, and ,began 
 
 298 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 seriously to affect the trade of small rivals in the 
 district. As Allchin had foretold, the hapless grocer 
 with the drunken wife sank defeated before the end 
 of the year ; one morning his shop did not open, 
 and in a few days the furniture of the house was 
 carried off by some brisk creditor. It made War- 
 burton miserable to think of the man's doom ; when 
 Allchin, frank barbarian as he was, loudly exulted. 
 Will turned away in shame and anger. Had the 
 thing been practicable he would have given money 
 out of his own pocket to the ruined struggler. He 
 saw himself as a merciless victor ; he seemed to 
 have his heel on the other man's head, and to crush, 
 crush 
 
 At Christmas he was obliged to engage a second 
 assistant. Allchin did not conceal his dislike of 
 this step, but he ended by admitting it to be 
 necessary. At first, the new state of things did not 
 work quite smoothly ; Allchin was inclined to an 
 imperious manner, which the newcomer, by name 
 Goff, now and then plainly resented. But in a day 
 or two they were on fair terms, and ere long they 
 became cordial. 
 
 Then befell the incident of Mrs. Cross' Martha. 
 
 Not without uneasiness had Warburton sug- 
 gested a servant on the recommendation of Mrs. 
 Hopper, but credentials seemed to be fairly good, 
 and when, after a week or two, Mrs. Cross declared 
 herself more than satisfied, he blessed his good luck. 
 Long ago he had ceased to look for the reappear- 
 ance at the shop of Bertha Cross ; he thought of 
 the girl now and then, generally reverting in memory 
 to that day when he had followed her and her 
 mother into Kew Gardens — a recollection which 
 had lost all painfulness, and shone idyllically in 
 summer sunlight, but it mattered nothing to him 
 
 299 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 that Bertha showed herself no more. Of course 
 she knew his story from Rosamund, and in all like- 
 lihood she felt her self-respect concerned in holding 
 aloof from an acquaintance of his ambiguous stand- 
 ing. It mattered not a jot. 
 
 Yet when the tragi-comedy of Martha's out- 
 break unexpectedly introduced him to the house 
 at Walham Green, he experienced a sudden re- 
 vival of the emotions of a year ago. After his brief 
 meeting with Bertha, he did not go straight back 
 to the shop, but wandered a little in quiet by-ways, 
 thinking hard and smiling. Nothing more grotesque 
 than the picture of Mrs. Cross amid her shattered 
 crockery, Mrs. Cross pointing to the prostrate Mar- 
 tha, Mrs. Cross panting forth the chronicle of her 
 woes ; but Mrs. Cross' daughter was not involved 
 in this scene of pantomime ; she walked across the 
 stage, but independently, with a simple dignity, 
 proof against paltry or ludicrous circumstance. 
 If any one could see the laughable side of such 
 domestic squalor, assuredly it was Bertha herself ; 
 of that Will felt assured. Did he not remember 
 her smile when she had to discuss prices and quali- 
 ties in the shop ? Not many girls smile with so 
 much implication of humorous comment. 
 
 He had promised to look out for another ser- 
 vant, but hardly knew how to go to work. First 
 of all, Mrs. Hopper was summoned to an inter- 
 view in the parlour behind the shop, and Martha's 
 case was fully discussed. With much protesting 
 and circumlocution, Mrs. Hopper brought herself 
 at length to own that Martha had been known to 
 " take too much," but that was so long ago, and 
 the girl had solemnly declared, etc., etc. However, 
 as luck would have it, she did know of another 
 girl, a reaUy good general servant, who had only 
 
 300 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 just been thrown out of a place by the death of her 
 mistress, and who was living at home in Kentish 
 Town. Thither sped Warburton ; he saw the girl 
 and her mother, and, on returning, sent a note to 
 Mrs. Cross, in which he detailed all he had learnt 
 concerning the new applicant. At the close he 
 wrote : " You are aware, I think, that the name 
 under which I do business is not my own. Permit 
 me, in writing to you on a private matter, to use 
 my own signature " — which accordingly followed. 
 Moreover, he dated the letter from his lodgings, 
 not from the shop. 
 
 The next day brought him a reply ; he found 
 it on his breakfast table, and broke the envelope 
 with amused curiosity Mrs. Cross wrote that 
 " Sarah Walker " had been to see her, and if in- 
 quiries proved satisfactory, would be engaged. " We 
 are very greatly obliged for the trouble you have 
 taken. Many thanks for your kind inquiries as to 
 my health. I am glad to say that the worst of the 
 shock has passed away, though I fear that I shall 
 long continue to feel its effects." A few remarks 
 followed on the terrible difficulties of the servant 
 question ; then " Should you be disengaged on 
 Sunday next, we shall be glad if you will take a cup 
 of tea with us." 
 
 Over his coffee and egg, WiU pondered this invi- 
 tation. It pleased him, undeniably, but caused 
 him no undue excitement. He would have liked 
 to know in what degree Mrs. Cross' daughter was 
 a consenting party to the step. Perhaps she felt 
 that, after the services he had rendered, the least 
 one could do was to invite him to tea. Why should 
 he refuse ? Before going to business, he wrote a 
 brief acceptance. During the day, a doubt now 
 and then troubled him as to whether he had behaved 
 
 301 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 discreetly, but on the whole he looked forward to 
 Sunday with pleasant expectation. 
 
 How should he equip himself ? Should he go 
 dressed as he would have gone to the Pomfrets', 
 in his easy walking attire, jacket and soft-felt ? 
 Or did the circumstances dictate chimney-pot and 
 frock-coat ? He scoffed at himself for fidgeting 
 over the point ; yet perhaps it had a certain impor- 
 tance. After deciding for the informal costume, 
 at the last moment he altered his mind, and went 
 arrayed as society demands ; with the result that, 
 on entering the little parlour — that name suited 
 it much better than drawing-room — he felt over- 
 dressed, pompous, generally absurd. His cylinder 
 seemed to be about three feet high ; his gloves 
 stared their newness ; the tails of his coat felt as 
 though they wrapped several times round his legs, 
 and stiU left enough to trail upon the floor as he 
 sat on a chair too low for him. Never since the 
 most awkward stage of boyhood had he felt so 
 little at ease " in company." And he had a con- 
 viction that Bertha Cross was laughing at him. 
 Her smile was too persistent ; it could only be 
 explained as a compromise with threatening merri- 
 ment. 
 
 A gap in the conversation prompted Warburton 
 to speak of a little matter which was just now 
 interesting him. It related to Mr. Potts, the shop- 
 keeper in Kennington Lane, whom he used to 
 meet, but of whom for a couple of years and more, 
 he had quite lost sight. Stirred by reproach of 
 conscience, he had at length gone to make inquiries ; 
 but the name of Potts was no longer over the shop. 
 
 " I went in and asked whether the old man 
 was dead ; no, he had retired from business and 
 was lodging not far away. I found the house — a 
 302 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 rather grimy place, and the door was opened by 
 a decidedly grimy woman. I saw at once that 
 she didn't care to let me in. What was my busi- 
 ness ? and so on ; but I held firm, and got at 
 last into a room on the second floor, an uncomfortable 
 sitting-room, where poor old Potts welcomed me. 
 If only he had known my address, he said, he 
 should have written to teU me the news. His son 
 in America, the one I knew, was doing well, and 
 sent money every month, enough for him to live 
 upon. ' But was he comfortable in those lodgings ? ' 
 I asked. Of course I saw that he wasn't, and I 
 saw too that my question made him nervous. He 
 looked at the door, and spoke in a whisper. The 
 upshot of it was that he had fallen into the hands 
 of a landlady who victimised him ; just because 
 she was an old acquaintance, he didn't feel able to 
 leave her. ' Shall I help you to get away ? ' I 
 asked him, and his face shone with hope. Of 
 course the woman was listening at the keyhole ; 
 we both knew that. When I went away she had 
 run half down the stairs, and I caught her angry 
 look before she hid it with a grin. I must find 
 decent lodgings for the old fellow, as soon as pos- 
 sible. He is being bled mercilessly." 
 
 " How very disgraceful ! " exclaimed Mrs. Cross. 
 " Really, the meanness of some women of that 
 class ! " 
 
 Her daughter had her eyes cast down, on her 
 lips the faintest suggestion of a smile. 
 
 " I wonder whether we could hear of anything 
 suitable," pursued her mother, " by inquiring 
 of people we know out at HoUoway. I'm think- 
 ing of the Boltons, Bertha." 
 
 Mr. Potts' requirements were discussed, Bertha 
 interesting herself in the matter, and making 
 
 303 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 various suggestions. The talk grew more animated. 
 Warburton was led to tell of his own experience in 
 lodgings. Catching Bertha's eye, he gave his 
 humour full scope on the subject of Mrs. Wick, 
 and there was merriment in which even Mrs. Cross 
 made a show of joining. 
 
 " Why," she exclaimed, " do you stay in such 
 very uncomfortable rooms ? " 
 
 "It doesn't matter," Will replied, "it's only 
 for a time." 
 
 " Ah, you have other views ? " 
 
 " Yes," he answered, smiling cheerfully, " I 
 have other views." 
 
 304 
 
CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 TOWARD the end of the following week, Mrs. 
 Cross came to the shop. She had a busy air, 
 and spoke to Warburton in a confidential undertone, 
 
 " We have been making inquiries, and at last 
 I think we have heard of something that might 
 suit your poor friend. This is the address. My 
 daughter went there this morning, and had a long 
 talk with the woman, and she thinks it really 
 might do ; but perhaps you have already found 
 something ? " 
 
 " Nothing at aU," answered Will. " I am much 
 obliged to you. I will go as soon as possible." 
 
 " We shall be so glad to hear if it suits," said 
 Mrs. Cross. " Do look in on Sunday, will you ? 
 We are always at home at five o'clock. — Oh, I 
 have written out a little list of things," she added, 
 lajrnig, her grocery order on the counter. " Please 
 tell me what they come to." 
 
 Warburton gravely took the cash, and Mrs. 
 Cross, with her thinly gracious smile, bade him 
 good-day. 
 
 He did not fail to " look in " on Sunday, and 
 this time he wore his ordinary comfortable clothing. 
 The rooms recommended for Mr. Potts had seemed 
 to him just what were needed, and on his own 
 responsibility he had taken them. Moreover, he 
 had been to Kennington, and had made known to 
 
 305 u 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 the nervous old man the arrangements that were 
 proposed for him. 
 
 " But will he be allowed to leave ? " asked Bertha, 
 in her eyes the twinkle for which Will watched. 
 
 " He won't dare, he tells me, to give notice ; 
 but he'll only have to pay a week's rent in lieu 
 of it. I have promised to be with him at ten to- 
 morrow morning, to help him to get away. I 
 shall take my heaviest walking-stick ; one must 
 be prepared for every emergency. Glance over 
 the police news on Tuesday, Mrs. Cross, just to see 
 whether I have come to harm." 
 
 " We shaU be very anxious indeed," replied 
 the literal lady, with pained brow. " Couldn't 
 you let us hear to-morrow evening ? I know 
 only too well what dreadful creatures the women 
 of that class can be. I very strongly advise you, 
 Mr. Warburton, to be accompanied by a policeman. 
 I beg you will." 
 
 Late on the Monday afternoon, JoU3mian's 
 errand boy left a note for Mrs. Cross. It informed 
 her that all had gone weU, though " not without 
 uproar. The woman shrieked insults from her 
 doorstep after our departing cab. Poor Mr. Potts 
 was all but paralytic with alarm, but came round 
 famously at sight of the new lodgings. He wants 
 to thank you both." 
 
 It was on this same evening that Warburton 
 had a visit from Godfrey Sherwood. A fortnight 
 ago, just after Easter, had taken place the marriage 
 of Mr. Milligan and Miss Parker ; and Sherwood, 
 whilst his chief was absent on the honeymoon, had 
 run down to the seaside for a change of air. To- 
 night, he presented himself unexpectedly, and his 
 face was the prologue to a moving tale. 
 
 " Read that, Warburton " he held out a 
 
 306 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 letter. " Read that, and tell me what you think 
 of human nature." 
 
 It was a letter from Milligan, who, with many 
 explanations and apologies, wrote to inform his 
 secretary that the Great Work could not be pur- 
 sued, that the vegetarian colony in Ireland, which 
 was to civilise the world, must — so far as he was 
 concerned — remain a glorious dream. The fact 
 of the matter was, Mrs. Milligan did not like it. 
 She had tried vegetarianism ; it did not suit her 
 health ; moreover, she objected to living in Ireland, 
 on account of the dampness of the climate. Sadly, 
 reluctantly, Mrs. Milligan's husband had to forgo 
 his noble project. In consequence, he would have 
 no need henceforth of a secretary, and Sherwood 
 must consider their business relations at an end. 
 
 " He encloses a very liberal cheque," said God- 
 frey. " But what a downfall ! I foresaw it. I 
 hinted my fears to you as soon as Miss Parker 
 appeared on the scene. Poor old Milligan ! A 
 lost man — sunk in the commonplace — hopelessly 
 whelmed in vulgar matrimony. Poor old fellow ! " 
 
 Warburton chuckled. 
 
 " But that isn't all," went on the other, " Old 
 Strangwjm is dead, reaUy dead at last. I wrote 
 several times to him ; no acknowledgment of my 
 letters. Now it's all over. The ten thousand 
 pounds " 
 
 He made a despairing gesture. Then : 
 
 "Take that cheque, Warburton. It's all I 
 have ; take it, old fellow, and try to forgive me. 
 You won't ? Well, well, if I live, I'll pay you 
 yet ; but I'm a good deal run down, and these 
 disappointments have almost floored me. To tell 
 you the truth, the vegetarian diet won't do. I 
 feel as weak as a cat. If you knew the heroism 
 
 307 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 it has cost me, down at the seaside, to refrain 
 from chops and steaks. Now I give it up. An- 
 other month of cabbage and lentils and I should 
 be sunk beyond recovery. I give it up. This 
 very night I shall go and have a supper, a real 
 supper, in town. Will you come with me, old 
 man ? What's before me, I don't know. I have 
 half a mind to go to Canada as farm labourer ; it 
 would be just the thing for my health ; but let us 
 go and have one more supper together, as in the old 
 days. Where shall it be ? " 
 
 So they went into town, and supped royally, 
 with the result that Warburton had to see his 
 friend home. Over the second bottle, Godfrey 
 decided for an agricultural life in the Far West, 
 and Will promised to speak for him to a friend 
 of his, a lady who had brothers farming in British 
 Columbia ; but, before he went, he must be assured 
 that Warburton really forgave him the loss of that 
 money. Will protested that he had forgotten 
 all about it ; if any pardon were needed, he granted 
 it with all his heart. And so with affectionate 
 cordiality they bade each other good-night. 
 
 To his surprise, he received a letter from Sher- 
 wood, a day or two after, seriously returning to 
 the British Columbia project, and reminding him 
 of his promise. So, on Sunday, Will called for the 
 first time without invitation at Mrs. Cross', and, 
 being received with no less friendliness than hitherto, 
 began asking news of Bertha's brothers ; where- 
 upon followed talk upon Canadian farming life, 
 and the mention of Godfrey Sherwood. Bertha 
 undertook to write on the subject by the next mail ; 
 she thought it likely enough that her brothers might 
 be able to put Mr. Sherwood into the way of earning 
 a hving. 
 
 308 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " What do you think we did yesterday ? " said 
 Mrs. Cross. " We took the Uberty of calling upon 
 Mr. Potts. We had to go and see Mrs. Bolton, at 
 HoUoway, and, as it was so near, we thought we 
 might venture — using your name as our introduction. 
 And the poor old gentleman was delighted to see 
 us — wasn't he, Bertha ? Oh, and he is so grateful 
 for our suggestion of the lodgings." 
 
 Bertha's smile betrayed a little disquiet. Per- 
 ceiving this, Warburton spoke with emphasis. 
 
 " It was kind of you. The old man feels a little 
 lonely in that foreign region ; he's hardly been out 
 of Kennington for forty years. A very kind thought, 
 indeed." 
 
 " I am reUeved," said Bertha ; " it seemed to me 
 just possible that we had been guUty of a serious 
 indiscretion. Good intentions are very dangerous 
 things." 
 
 When next Warburton found time to go to 
 HoUoway, he heard all about the ladies' visit. 
 He learnt, moreover, that Mr. Potts had told them 
 the story of his kindness to the sick lad at St. Kitts, 
 and of his first visit to Kennington Lane. 
 
 309 
 
CHAPTER XLV 
 
 WHEN Bertha, at her mother's request, un- 
 dertook the control of the house, she knew 
 very well what was before her. 
 
 During a whole fortnight, Mrs. Cross faithfully 
 adhered to the compact. For the first time in her 
 life, she declared, she was enjoying peace. Feeling 
 much shaken in her nervous sj'stem, she rose late, 
 retired early, and, when downstairs, reclined a good 
 deal on the sofa. She professed herself unable to 
 remember the new servant's name, and assumed 
 an air of profound abstraction whenever " what do 
 you call her " came into the room. Not a question 
 did she permit herself as to the details of house- 
 hold management. Bertha happening (incauti- 
 ously) to complain of a certain joint supplied by 
 the butcher, Mrs. Cross turned a dreamy eye upon 
 it, and said, in the tone of one who speaks of long 
 ago, " In my time he could always be depended 
 upon for a small shoulder " ; then dismissed the 
 matter as in no way concerning her. 
 
 But repose had a restorative effect, and, in the 
 third week, Mrs. Cross felt the revival of her energies. 
 She was but fifty-three years old, and in spite of 
 languishing habits, in reality had very fair health. 
 Caring little for books, and not much for society, 
 how was she to pass her time if denied the resource 
 of household affairs ? Bertha observed the signs 
 of coming trouble. One morning, her mother came 
 
 310 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 downstairs earlier than usual, and after fidgeting 
 about the room, where her daughter was busy 
 at her drawing-board, suddenly exclaimed: 
 
 " I wish you would tell that girl to make my bed 
 properly. I haven't closed my eyes for three nights, 
 and I ache from head to foot. The way she 
 neglects my room is really shameful " 
 
 There followed intimate details, to which Bertha 
 listened gravely. 
 
 " That shall be seen to at once, mother," she re- 
 plied, and left the room. 
 
 The complaint, as she suspected, had very little 
 foundation. It was only the beginning ; day after 
 day did Mrs. Cross grumble about this, that and the 
 other thing, until Bertha saw that the anticipated 
 moment was at hand. The great struggle arose 
 out of that old point of debate, the servant's meals. 
 Mrs. Cross, stealing into the kitchen, had caught a 
 glimpse of Sarah's dinner, and so amazed was she, 
 so stirred with indignation to the depth of her soul, 
 that she cast off aJl show of respect for the new 
 order, and overwhelmed Bertha with rebukes. 
 Her daughter listened quietly until the torrent had 
 spent its force, then said with a smile : 
 
 " Is this how you keep your promise, mother ? " 
 
 " Promise ? Did I promise to look on at wicked 
 waste ? Do you want to bring us to the work- 
 house, child ? " 
 
 " Don't let us waste time in talking about what 
 we settled a month ago," replied Bertha decisively. 
 " Sarah is doing very well, and there must be no 
 change. I am quite content to pay her wages my- 
 self. Keep your promise, mother, and let us live 
 quietly and decently." 
 
 "If you call it living decently to pamper a 
 
 servant until she bursts with insolence " 
 
 311 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " When was Sarah insolent to you ? She has 
 never been disrespectful to me. Quite the con- 
 trary, I think her a very good servant indeed. 
 You know that I have a good deal of work to do 
 just now, and — to speak quite plainly — I can't 
 let you upset the orderly life of the house. Be 
 quiet, there's a dear. I insist upon it." 
 
 Speaking thus, Bertha laid her hands on her 
 mother's shoulders, and looked into the foolish, 
 angry face so steadily, so imperturbably, with such 
 a light of true kindness in her gentle eyes, yet at the 
 same time such resolution about the well-drawn lips 
 that Mrs. Cross had no choice but to submit. 
 Grumbling she turned ; sullenly she held her tongue 
 for the rest of the day ; but Bertha, at all events 
 for a time, had conquered. 
 
 The Crosses knew little and saw less of their 
 kith and kin. With her husband's family, Mrs. 
 Cross had naturaUy been on cold terms from an 
 early period of her married life ; she held no com- 
 munication with any of the name, and always gave 
 Bertha to understand that, in one way or another, 
 the paternal uncles and aunts had " behaved veiy 
 badly." Of her own blood, she had only a brother 
 ten years 3'ounger than herself, who was an estate 
 agent at Worcester. Some seven years had elasped 
 since their last meeting, on which occasion Mrs. 
 Cross had a little difference of opinion with her 
 sister-in-law. James Rawlings was now a widower, 
 with three children, and during the past year or two 
 not unfriendly letters had been exchanged be- 
 tween Worcester and Walham Green. Utterly 
 at a loss for a means of passing her time, Mrs. 
 Cross, in these days of domestic suppression, re- 
 newed the correspondence, and was surprised by 
 an invitation to pass a few days at her brother's 
 
 312 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 house. This she made known to Bertha about a 
 week after the decisive struggle. 
 
 " Of course, you are invited, too, but — I'm 
 afraid you are too busy ? " 
 
 Amused by her mother's obvious wish to go to 
 Worcester unaccompanied, Bertha answered that 
 she really didn't see how she was to spare the time 
 just now. 
 
 " But I don't like to leave you alone here " 
 
 Her daughter laughed at this scruple. She 
 was just as glad of the prospect of a week's solitude 
 as her mother in the thought of temporary escape 
 from the proximity of pampered Sarah. Thfc 
 matter was soon arranged, and Mrs. Cross left home. 
 
 This was a Friday. The next day, sunshine 
 and freedom putting her in holiday mood. 
 Bertha escaped into the country, and had a long 
 ramble like that, a year ago, on which she had 
 encountered Norbert Franks. Sunday morning 
 she spent quietly at home. For the afternoon 
 she had invited a girl friend. About five o'clock, 
 as they were having tea. Bertha heard a knock 
 at the front door. She heard the servant go to 
 open, and, a moment after, Sarah announced, 
 " Mr. Warburton." 
 
 It was the first time that Warburton had found a 
 stranger in the room, and Bertha had no difficulty 
 in reading the unwonted look with which he 
 advanced to shake hands. 
 
 " No bad news, I hope ? " she asked gravely, 
 after presenting him to the other visitor. 
 
 " Bad news ?— " 
 
 " I thought you looked rather troubled " 
 
 Her carefully composed features resisted Will's 
 scrutiny. 
 
 " Do I ? I didn't know it— but, yes," he added, 
 313 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 abruptly, " you are right. Something has vexed 
 me — a trifie." 
 
 " Look at these drawings of Miss Med win's. 
 They will make you forget all vexatious trifles." 
 
 Miss Medwin was, like Bertha, a book illustrator, 
 and had brought work to show her friend. Warbur- 
 ton glanced at the drawings with a decent show of 
 interest. Presently he inquired after Mrs. Cross, 
 and learnt that she was out of town for a week or so ; 
 at once his countenance brightened, and so shame- 
 lessly that Bertha had to look aside, lest her dis- 
 position to laugh should be observed. Conversation 
 of a rather artificial kind went on for half an hour, 
 then Miss Medwin jumped up and said she must go. 
 Bertha protested, but her friend alleged the necessity 
 of making another call, and took leave. 
 
 Warburton stood with a hand upon his chair. 
 Bertha, turning back from the door, passed by 
 him, and resumed her seat. 
 
 " A very clever girl," she said, with a glance 
 at the window. 
 
 " Very, no doubt," said Will, glancing the same 
 way. 
 
 " Won't you sit down ? " 
 
 " Gladly, if you don't think I am staying too 
 long. I had something I wanted to talk about. 
 That was why I felt glum when I came in and 
 found a stranger here. It's such a long time 
 since I had any part in ordinary society, that I'm 
 forgetting how to behave myself." 
 
 " I must apologise for you to Miss Medwin, 
 when I see her next," said Bertha, with drollery 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " She will understand if you tell her I'm only 
 a grocer," remarked Will, looking at a point above 
 her head. 
 
 314 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " That might complicate things." 
 
 " Do you know,'" resumed Warburton. " I 
 feel sure that the Franks will never again invite 
 me to lunch or dine there. Franks is very careful 
 when he asks me to go and see them ; he always 
 adds that they'll be alone — quite alone." 
 
 " But that's a privilege." 
 
 "So it may be taken ; but would it surprise 
 you if they really preferred to see as httle of me as 
 possible ? " 
 
 Bertha hesitated, smiling, and said at length with 
 a certain good-humoured irony : 
 
 " I think I should understand." 
 
 " So do I, quite," exclaimed Will, laughing. 
 " I wanted to teU you that Fve been looking about 
 me, trying to find some way of getting out of the 
 shop. It isn't so easy. I might get a clerkship 
 at a couple of pounds a week, but that doesn't strike 
 me as preferable to my present position. I've 
 been corresponding with Applegarth, the jam manu- 
 facturer, and he very strongly advises me to stick 
 to trade. I'm not sure that he isn't right." 
 
 There was silence. Each sat with drooping eyes. 
 
 " Do you know," Warburton then asked, " why 
 I turned grocer ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " It was a fortunate idea. I don't see how 
 else I should have made enough money, these 
 three years, to pay the income I owed to my mother 
 and sister, and to support myself. Since my 
 mother's death " 
 
 Her look arrested him. 
 
 " I am forgetting that you could not have known 
 of that. She died last autumn ; by my father's will, 
 our old house, at St. Neots then became mine ; 
 it's let ; the rent goes to my sister, and out of the 
 
 315 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 shop profits I easily make up what her own part 
 of the lost capital used to yield. Jane is going in 
 for horticulture, making a business of what was 
 always her chief pleasure, and before long she may 
 be independent ; but it would be shabby to get rid 
 of my responsibilities at her expense — don't you 
 think so ? " 
 
 " Worse than shabby." 
 
 " Good. I like to hear you speak so decidedly. 
 Now, if you please " — his own voice was not quite 
 steady — " tell me in the same tone whether you agree 
 with Applegarth — whether you think I should do 
 better to stick to the shop and not worry with 
 looking for a more respectable employment." 
 
 Bertha seemed to reflect for a moment, smiling 
 soberly. 
 
 " It depends entirely on how you feel about it." 
 
 " Not entirely," said Warburton, his features 
 nervously rigid ; " but first let me tell you how 
 I do feel about it. You know I began shopkeeping 
 as if I were ashamed of myself. I kept it a dead 
 secret ; hid away from everybody ; told elaborate 
 lies to my people ; and the result was what might 
 have been expected — before long I sank into a vile 
 hypochrondria, saw everything black or dirty grey, 
 thought life intolerable. When common sense 
 found out what was the matter with me, I resolved 
 to have done with snobbery and lying ; but a 
 sanguine friend of mine, the only one in my confi- 
 dence, made me believe that something was going to 
 happen — in fact, the recovery of the lost thou- 
 sands ; and I foolishly held on for a time. Since 
 the awful truth has been divulged, I have felt a 
 different man. I can't say that I glory in grocer- 
 dom, but the plain fact is that I see nothing degrad- 
 ing in it, and I do my day's work as a matter of 
 
 316 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 course. Is it any worse to stand behind a counter 
 than to sit in a counting-house ? Why should 
 retail trade be vulgar, and wholesale quite re- 
 pectable ? This is what I've come to, as far as 
 my own thought and feeling go." 
 
 " Then," said Bertha, after a moment's pause, 
 " why trouble yourself any more ? " 
 
 " Because " 
 
 His throat turned so dry that he had to stop 
 with a feasp. His fingers were doing their best 
 to destroy the tassels on the arm of his easy chair. 
 With an effort, he jerked out the next words. 
 
 " One may be content to be a grocer ; but what 
 about one's wife ? " 
 
 With head bent, so that her smile was half 
 concealed. Bertha answered softly — 
 
 " Ah, that's a question." 
 
 317 
 
CHAPTER XLVI 
 
 AFTER he had put the question, the reply 
 to which meant so much to him, Will's 
 eyes, avoiding Bertha, turned to the window. 
 Though there wanted still a couple of hours to 
 sunset, a sky overcast was already dusking the 
 little parlour. Distant bells made summons to 
 evening service, and footfalls sounded in the other- 
 wise silent street. 
 
 " It's a question," he resumed, " which has 
 troubled me for a long time. Do you remem- 
 ber — ^when was it ? A year ago ? — going one 
 Sunday with Mrs. Cross to Kew ? " 
 
 " I remember it very well." 
 
 " I happened to be at Kew that day," Will 
 continued, still nervously. " You passed me as 
 I stood on the bridge. I saw you go into the 
 Gardens, and I said to myself how pleasant it 
 would be if I could have ventured to join you in 
 your walk. You knew me — as your grocer. For 
 me to have approached and spoken, would have 
 been an outrage. That day I had villainous 
 thoughts." 
 
 Bertha raised her eyes ; just raised them till 
 they met his, then bent her head again. 
 
 " We thought your name was really Jolly- 
 man," she said, in a half-apologetic tone. 
 
 " Of course you did. A good invention, by 
 the bye, that name, wasn't it ? " 
 
 318 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 "Very good indeed," she answered, smiling. 
 
 " And you used to come to the shop." pursued 
 Will. "And I looked forward to it. There 
 was something human in your way of talking to 
 me." 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " Yes, but — it made me ask myself that ques- 
 tion. I comforted myself by saying that of course 
 the shop was only a temporary expedient ; I 
 should get out of it ; I should find another way 
 of making money ; but, you see, I'm as far from 
 that as ever ; and if I decide to go on shopkeep- 
 ing — don't I condemn myself to solitude ? " 
 
 " It is a difficulty," said Bertha, in the tone of one 
 who lightly ponders an abstract question. 
 
 " Now and then, some time ago, I half per- 
 suaded myself that, even though a difficulty, it 
 needn't be a fatal one." He was speaking now 
 with his eyes steadily fixed upon her ; " but that 
 was when you still came to the shop. Suddenly 
 you ceased " 
 
 His voice dropped. In the silence, Bertha 
 uttered a little " Yes." 
 
 " I have been wondering what that meant " 
 
 His speech was a mere parched gasp. Bertha 
 looked at him, and her eyebrows contracted, as 
 if in sympathetic trouble. Gently she asked : 
 
 " No explanation occurred to you ? " 
 
 With a convulsive movement, Will changed 
 his position, and by so doing seemed to have re- 
 leased his tongue. 
 
 " Several," he said, with a strange smile. " The 
 one which most plagued me, I should very likely 
 do better to keep to myself ; but I won't ; you 
 shall know it. Perhaps you are prepared for it. 
 Do you know that I went abroad last summer ? " 
 
 319 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " I heard of it." 
 
 " From Miss Elvan ? " 
 
 "From Mrs. Franks." 
 
 " Mrs. Franks — yes. She told you, then, that 
 I had been to St. Jean de Luz ? She told you that 
 I had seen her sister ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Bertha, and added quickly. 
 " You had long wished to see that part of France." 
 
 " That wasn't my reason for going. I went in 
 a fit of lunacy. I went because I thought Miss 
 Elvan was there. They told me at her Chelsea 
 lodgings that she had gone to St. Jean de Luz. 
 This was on the day after she came into the shop 
 with you. I had been seeing her. We met here 
 and there, when she was sketching. I went crazy. 
 Don't for a moment think the fault was hers — 
 don't dream of anything of the kind. I, I alone, 
 ass, idiot, was to blame. She must have seen 
 what had happened, and, in leaving her lodgings, 
 she purposely gave a false address, never imagin- 
 ing that I was capable of pursuing her across 
 Europe. At St. Jean de Luz I heard of her mar- 
 riage " 
 
 He stopped, breathless. The short sentences 
 had been flung out explosively. He was hot and 
 red. 
 
 " Did you suspect anything of all that ? " fol- 
 lowed in a more restrained tone. " If so, of course 
 I understand " 
 
 Bertha seemed to be deep in meditation. A 
 faint smile was on her lips. She made no answer. 
 
 " Are you saying to yourself," Wni went on 
 vehemently, " that, instead of being merely a 
 foolish man, I have shown myself to be shame- 
 less ? It was foolish, no doubt, to dream that 
 an educated girl might marry a grocer ; but when 
 
 320 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 he begins his suit by telhng such a story as this — ! 
 Perhaps I needn't have told it at all. Perhaps 
 you had never had a suspicion of such things ? 
 All the same, it's better so. I've had enough 
 of lies to last me for all my life ; but now that 
 I've told you, try to believe something else ; and 
 that is — that I never loved Rosamund Elvan 
 — never — ^never ! " 
 
 Bertha seemed on the point of laughing ; but 
 she drew in her breath, composed her features, 
 let her eyes wander to a picture on the wall. 
 
 " Can you believe that ? " Will asked, his voice 
 quivering with earnestness, as he bent forward 
 to her. 
 
 " I should have to think about it," was the 
 answer, calm, friendly. 
 
 " The fit of madness from which I suffered 
 is very common in men. Often it has serious 
 results. No end of marriages come about in that 
 way. Happily I was in no danger of that. I 
 simply made a most colossal fool of myself. And 
 all the time — all the time, I tell you, believe it 
 or not, as you will or can — I was in love with you." 
 
 Again Bertha drew in her breath, more softly 
 than before. 
 
 " I went one day from St. Jean de Luz over 
 the border into Spain, and came to a village among 
 the mountains, called Vera. And there my mad- 
 ness left me. And I thought of you — thought 
 of you all the way back to St. Jean de Luz, thought 
 of you as I had been accustomed to do in Eng- 
 land, as if nothing had happened. Do you think 
 it pained me then that Rosamund was Mrs. Franks ? 
 No more than if I had never seen her ; by that 
 time, fresh air and exercise were doing their work, 
 and at Vera I stood a sane man once more. I 
 321 X 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 find it hard to believe now that I really behaved 
 in that frantic way. Do you remember coming 
 once to the shop to ask for a box to send to 
 America ? As you talked to me that morning, 
 I knew what I know better still now, that there 
 was no girl that I liked as I liked you, no girl whose 
 face had so much meaning for me, whose voice 
 and way of speaking so satisfied me. But you 
 don't understand — I can't express it — it sounds 
 stupid " 
 
 " I understand very well," said Bertha, once 
 more on the impartial note. 
 
 " But the other thing, my insanity ? " 
 
 " I should have to think about that," she an- 
 swered, with a twinkle in her eyes. 
 
 Will paused a moment, then asked in a shame- 
 faced way : 
 
 " Did you suspect anything of the sort ? " 
 
 Bertha moved her head as if to reply, but after 
 all, kept silence. Thereupon Warburton stood 
 up and clutched his hat. 
 
 " Will you let me see you again — soon ? May 
 I come some afternoon in this week, and take 
 my chance of finding you at home ? — Don't an- 
 swer. I shall come, and you have only to refuse 
 me at the door. It's only — an importunate trades- 
 man." 
 
 Without shaking hands, he turned and left the 
 room. 
 
 Dreamily he walked homewards ; dreamily, 
 often with a smile upon his face, he sat through 
 the evening, now and then he pretended to read, 
 but always in a few minutes forgetting the page 
 before him. He slept well ; he arose in a cheer- 
 ful but still dreamy, mood ; and without a 
 thought of reluctance he went to his day's work. 
 
 322 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 Allchin met him with a long-drawn face, say- 
 ing : " She's dead, sir." He spoke of his con- 
 sumptive sister-in-law, whom Warburton had 
 befriended, but whom nothing had availed to 
 save. 
 
 " Poor girl," said Will kindly. " It's the end 
 of much suffering." 
 
 " That's what I say, sir," assented Allchin. 
 " And poor Mrs. Hopper, she's fair worn out with 
 nursing her. Nobody can feel sorry." 
 
 Warburton turned to his correspondence. 
 
 The next day, at about four o'clock, he again 
 called at the Crosses. Without hesitation the 
 servant admitted him, and he found Bertha 
 seated at her drawing. A little gravely perhaps, 
 but not at all inhospitably, she rose and offered 
 her hand. 
 
 " Forgive me," he began, " for coming again 
 so soon." 
 
 " Tell me what you think of this idea of a book- 
 cover," said Bertha, before he had ceased 
 speaking. 
 
 He inspected the drawing, found it pretty, 
 yet ventured one or two objections ; and Bertha, 
 after smiling to herself for a little, declared that 
 he had found the weak points. 
 
 " You are really fond of this work ? " asked 
 Will. " You would be sorry to give it up ? " 
 
 " Think of the world's loss," Bertha answered 
 with raised eyebrows. 
 
 He sat down and kept a short silence, whilst 
 the girl resumed her pencil. 
 
 " There were things I ought to have told you 
 on Sunday." Will's voice threatened huskiness. 
 " Things I forgot. That's why I have come again 
 so soon. I ought to have told you much more 
 
 323 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 about myself. How can you know my character 
 — my peculiarities — faults ? I've been going 
 over all that. I don't think I'm ill-tempered, 
 or unjust or violent, but there are things that 
 irritate me. Unpunctuality for instance. Din- 
 ner ten minutes late makes me fume ; failure 
 to keep an appointment makes me hate a person, 
 I'm rather a grumbler about food ; can't stand 
 a potato ill-boiled or an under-done chop. Then 
 — ah yes ! restraint is intolerable to me. I must 
 come and go at my own will. I must do and 
 refrain just as I think fit. One enormous advan- 
 tage of my shopkeeping is that I'm my own mas- 
 ter. I can't sxibordinate myself, won't be ruled. 
 Fault-finding would exasperate me ; dictation 
 would madden me. Then yes, the money matter. 
 I'm not extravagant, but I hate parsimony. 
 If it pleases me to give away a sovereign I must 
 be free to do it. Then — yes, I'm not very tidy 
 in my habits ; I have no respect for furniture ; 
 I like, when it's comfortable, to sit with my boots 
 on the fender ; and — I loathe antimacassars." 
 
 In the room were two or three of these articles, 
 dear to Mrs. Cross. Bertha glanced at them, 
 then bent her head and bit the end of her pen- 
 cil. 
 
 " You can't think of anything else ? " she asked, 
 when Will had been silent for a few seconds. 
 
 " Those are my most serious points." He rose. 
 " I only came to tell you of them, that you might 
 add them to the objection of the shop." 
 
 Bertha also rose. He moved toward her to 
 take leave. 
 
 " You will think ? " 
 
 Turning half way, Bertha covered her face 
 with her hands, like a child who is bidden " not 
 
 324 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 to look." So she stood for a moment ; then, facing 
 Will again, said : 
 
 " I have thought." 
 
 "And ?" . 
 
 " There is only one thing I am sorry for — that 
 you are nothing worse than a grocer. A grocer's 
 is such a clean, dainty, aromatic trade. Now 
 if you kept an oil shop — there would be some 
 credit in overlooking it. And you are so little 
 even of a grocer, that I should constantly forget 
 it. I should think of you simply as a very 
 honest man — the most honest man I ever knew." 
 
 Warburton's face glowed. 
 
 '* Should — should ? " he murmured. " Can't it 
 be shall ? " 
 
 And Bertha, smiling now without a touch of 
 roguishness, smiling in the mere joy of her heart, 
 laid a hand in his. 
 
 325 
 
CHAPTER XLVII 
 
 WHEN Mrs. Cross came home she brought 
 with her a changed countenance. The 
 lines graven by habitual fretfulness and sourness 
 of temper, by long-indulged vices of the femi- 
 nine will, could not of course be obliterated, but 
 her complexion had a healthier tone, her eyes 
 were brighter, and the smile with which she an- 
 swered Bertha's welcome expressed a more spon- 
 taneous kindliness than had appeared on her face 
 for many a year. She had recovered, indeed, 
 during her visit to the home of her childhood, 
 something of the grace and virtue in which she 
 was not lacking before her marriage to a man 
 who spoilt her by excess of good nature. Sub- 
 ject to a husband firm of will and occasionally 
 rough of tongue, she might have led a fairly happy 
 and useful life. It was the perception of this 
 truth which had strengthened Bertha in her ulti- 
 mate revolt. Perhaps, too, it had not been with- 
 out influence on her own feeling and behaviour 
 during the past week. 
 
 Mrs. Cross had much to relate. At the tea- 
 table she told all about her brother's household, 
 described the children, lauded the cook and house- 
 maid — " Ah, Bertha, if one could get such ser- 
 vants here ! But London ruins them." 
 
 James Rawlings was well-to-do ; he lived in a 
 nice, comfortable way, in a pretty house just 
 
 326 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 outside the town. "Oh, and the air, Bertha. I 
 hadn't been there a day before I felt a different 
 creature." James had been kindness itself. Not 
 a word about old differences. He regretted that 
 his niece had not come, but she must come very 
 soon. And the children — Ahce, Tom, and Httle 
 Hilda, so well-behaved, so intelligent. She had 
 brought photographs of them all. She had brought 
 presents — all sorts of things." 
 
 After tea, gossip continued. Speaking of the 
 ages of the children, the eldest eight, the young- 
 est four, Mrs. Cross regretted their motherless 
 state. A lady-nurse had care of them, but with 
 this person their father was not quite satisfied. 
 He spoke of making a change. And here Mrs. 
 Cross paused, with a little laugh. 
 
 " Perhaps uncle thinks of marrying again ? " 
 said Bertha. 
 
 " Not a bit of it, my dear," replied her mother 
 eagerly. " He expressly told me that he should 
 never do that. I shouldn't wonder if — but let 
 bygones be bygones. No, he spoke of something 
 quite different. Last night we were talking, when 
 the children had gone to bed, and all at once he 
 startled me by saying — ' If only you could come 
 and keep house for me.' The idea ! " 
 
 " A wonderfully good idea it seems to me," 
 said Bertha, reflectively. 
 
 " But how is it possible, Bertha ? Are you 
 serious ? " 
 
 " Quite. I think it might be the very best 
 thing for you. You need something to do, mother. 
 If Uncle James really wishes it, you ought certainly 
 to accept." 
 
 Fluttered, not knowing whether to look pleased 
 or offended, surprised at her daughter's decisive- 
 
 327 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 ness, Mrs. Cross began urging objections. She 
 doubted whether James was quite in earnest ; 
 he had admitted that Bertha could not be left 
 alone, yet she could hardly go and live in his house 
 as well. 
 
 " Oh, don't trouble about me, mother," said 
 the listener. " Nothing is simpler." 
 
 " But what would you do ? " 
 
 " Oh, there are all sorts of possibilities. At 
 the worst " — Bertha paused a moment, face averted, 
 and lips roguish — " I could get married." 
 
 And so the disclosure came about. Mrs. Cross 
 seemed so startled as to be almost pained ; one 
 would have thought that no remotest possibility 
 of such a thing had ever occurred to her. 
 
 " Then Mr. Warburton has found a position ? " 
 she asked at length. 
 
 " No, he keeps to the shop." 
 
 " But — my dear — you don't mean to tell me — ? " 
 
 The question ended in a mere gasp. Mrs. Cross' 
 eyes were darkened with incredulous horror. 
 
 " Yes," said Bertha, calmly, pleasantly, " we 
 have decided that there's no choice. The busi- 
 ness is a very good one ; it improves from day 
 to day ; now that there are two assistants, Mr. 
 Warburton need not work so hard as he used 
 to." 
 
 " But, my dearest Bertha, you mean to say 
 that you are going to be the wife of a grocer ? " 
 
 " Yes, mother, I really have made up my mind 
 to it. After all, is it so very disgraceful ? " 
 
 " What will your friends say ? What will " 
 
 " Mrs. Grundy ? " interposed Bertha. 
 
 " I was going to say Mrs. Franks " 
 
 Bertha nodded, and answered laughingly : 
 
 " That's very much the same thing, I'm afraid." 
 328 
 
CHAPTER XLVIII 
 
 NORBERT FRANKS was putting the last 
 touches to a portrait of his wife ; a serious 
 portrait, full length, likely to be regarded as one 
 of his most important works. Now and then 
 he glanced at the original, who sat reading ; his 
 eye was dull, his hand moved mechanically, he 
 hummed a monotonous air. 
 
 Rosamund having come to the end of her book, 
 closed it, and looked up. 
 
 " Will that do ? " she asked, after suppress- 
 ing a little yawn. 
 
 The painter merely nodded. She came to his 
 side, and contemplated the picture, inclining her 
 head this way and that with an air of satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 " Better than the old canvas I put my foot 
 through, don't you think ? " asked Franks. 
 
 " Of course there's no comparison. You've 
 developed wonderfully. In those days " 
 
 Franks waited for the rest of the remark, but 
 his wife lost herself in contemplation of the por- 
 trait. Assuredly he had done nothing more re- 
 markable in the way of bold flattery. Any one 
 who had seen Mrs. Franks only once or twice, 
 and at her best, might accept the painting as a 
 fair " interpretation " of her undeniable beauty ; 
 those who knew her well would stand bewildered 
 before such a counterfeit presentment. 
 
 329 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Old Warburton must come and see it," said 
 the artist presently. 
 
 Rosamund uttered a careless assent. Long 
 since she had ceased to wonder whether Norbert 
 harboured any suspicions concerning his friend's 
 brief holiday in the south of France. Obviously, 
 he knew nothing of the dramatic moment which 
 had preceded, and brought about, his marriage ; 
 nor would he ever know. 
 
 " I really ought to go and look him up." Franks 
 added. " I keep on saying FU go to-morrow 
 and to-morrow. Any one else would think me 
 an ungrateful snob ; but old Warburton is too 
 good a fellow. To tell the truth, I feel a Httle 
 ashamed when I think of how he's living. He 
 ought to have a percentage on my income. What 
 would have become of me if he hadn't put his 
 hand into his pocket when he was well off and 
 I was a beggar ? " 
 
 " But don't you think his business must be 
 profitable ? " asked Rosamund, her thoughts 
 only half attentive to the subject. 
 
 " The old chap isn't much of a business man, 
 I fancy," Franks answered with a smile. " And 
 he has his mother and sister to support. And 
 no doubt he's always giving away money. His 
 lodgings are miserable. It makes me uncomfort- 
 able to go there. Suppose we ask him to lunch 
 on Sunday ? " 
 
 Rosamund reflected for a moment. 
 
 " If you hke — I had thought of asking the Fitz- 
 james girls." 
 
 " You don't think we might have him at the 
 same time ? " 
 
 Rosamund pursed her lips a little, averting 
 her eyes as she answered : 
 
 330 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 " Would he care for it ? And he said-^didn't 
 he ? — that he meant to tell everybody, every- 
 where, how he earned his living. Wouldn't it 
 be just a little ? 
 
 Franks laughed uneasily. 
 
 "Yes, it might be just a little—. Well, he 
 must come and see the picture quietly. And I'll 
 go and look up the poor old fellow to-night, I 
 really will." 
 
 This time, the purpose was carried out. Franks 
 returned a little after midnight, and was sur- 
 prised to find Rosamund sitting in the studio. 
 A friend had looked in late in the evening, she 
 said, and had stayed talking. 
 
 " All about her husband's pictures, so tiresome ! 
 She thinks them monuments of genius ! " 
 
 " His last thing isn't half bad," said Franks, 
 good-naturedly. 
 
 " Perhaps not. Of course I pretended to think 
 him the greatest painter of modern times. Nothing 
 else will satisfy the silly little woman. You found 
 Mr. Warburton ? " 
 
 Franks nodded, smiling mysteriously 
 
 " I have news for you." 
 
 Knitting her brows a little his wife looked inter- 
 rogation. 
 
 " He's going to be married. Guess to whom." 
 
 " Not to ? " 
 
 " WeU ? " 
 
 " Bertha Cross- 
 
 Again Franks nodded and laughed. An odd 
 smUe rose to his wife's lips ; she mused for a 
 moment, then asked : 
 
 " And what position has he got ? " 
 
 " Position ? His position behind the counter, 
 that's all. Say's he shan't budge. By the bye, 
 
 331 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 his mother died last autumn ; he's in easier cir- 
 cumstances ; the shop does well, it seems. He 
 thought of trying for something else, but talked 
 it over with Bertha Cross, and they decided to 
 stick to groceries. They'll live in the house at 
 Walham Green. Mrs. Cross is going away — to 
 keep house for a brother of hers." 
 
 Rosamund heaved a sigh, murmuring : 
 
 " Poor Bertha ! " 
 
 " A grocer's wife," said Franks, his eyes wan- 
 dering. "Oh, confound it ! Really you know — " 
 He took an impatient turn across the floor. Again 
 his wife sighed and murmured : 
 
 " Poor Bertha ! " 
 
 " Of course," said Franks, coming to a pause, 
 " there's a good deal to be said for sticking to 
 a business which yields a decent income, and 
 promises much more." 
 
 " Money ! " exclaimed Rosamund scornfully. 
 " What is money ? " 
 
 " We find it useful," quietly remarked the 
 other. 
 
 " Certainly we do ; but you are an artist, Nor- 
 bert, and money is only an accident of your 
 career. Do we ever talk about it, or think about 
 it ? Poor Bertha ! With her talent ! " 
 
 The artist paced about, his hands in his jacket 
 pockets. He was smiling uneasily. 
 
 " Did you know anything of this kind was going 
 on ? " he asked, without looking at his wife. 
 
 " I had heard nothing whatever. It's ages 
 since Bertha was here." 
 
 " Yet you don't seem very much surprised." 
 
 " And you ? " asked Rosamund, meeting his 
 eyes. " Were you profoundly astonished ? " 
 
 " Why, yes. It came very unexpectedly. I 
 332 
 
WILL WARBURTON 
 
 had no idea they saw each other — except in the 
 shop." 
 
 " And it vexes you ? " said Rosamund, her 
 eyes upon his face. 
 
 " Vexes ? Oh, I can't say that." He fidgeted, 
 turned about, laughed. " Why should it vex 
 me ? After all, Warburton is such a thoroughly 
 good fellow, and if he makes money " 
 
 " Money ! " 
 
 " We do find it useful, you know," insisted Franks, 
 with a certain obstinacy, 
 
 Rosamund was standing before the picture, 
 and gazing at it. 
 
 " That she should have no higher ambition ! 
 Poor Bertha ! " 
 
 " We can't all achieve ambitions," cried Franks 
 from the other end of the room. " Not every 
 girl can marry a popular portrait-painter." 
 
 " A great artist ! " exclaimed his wife, with 
 emphasis. 
 
 As she moved slowly away, she kept her look 
 still turned upon the face which smiled from the 
 easel. Watching her tremulous eyebrows, her 
 uncertain lips, one might have fancied that Rosa- 
 mund sought the solution of some troublesome 
 doubt, and hoped, only hoped, to find it in that 
 image of herself so daringly glorified. 
 
 THE END 
 
 Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and 1-ondon.